Blaster was bobbing his head to the rhythm of the music he was listening, as he walked the corridors of the Ark. He felt content, as he worked on the details of the next party, already mixing beats, and tunes in his head. His carrier always said he had an exceptional audial for music. He assumed, he inherited his incredible musical hearing from his carrier, ( considering, he never knew his sire ), just as his cheerful extrovert personality, friendly nature, and hid his fierce love for dancing.

He knew he looked nothing alike his carrier, who was considered one of the prettiest among autobots, and was desired even by Decepicons. Blaster was bulkier, and a way more taller, some of the autobots described him being sluggish, until they saw him dance. Then, his slouchy posture disappeared, and he moved with a grace of a turbo-cat. Even his flamboyant paintjob was the total opposite of his carrier's monochrome.

With a set of dance steps, he entered the rec-room, returned the enthusiastic greetings, and answered some questions, about his, and Jazz's next party. Then, in the other corner of the room, he noticed the merry band of poker playing regulars: the Lambo twins, Ratchet, Bumblebee, and Smokescreen, not surprisingly, playing poker.

-Hey Yo! Can a mech join in?- He asked, clapping Smokescreen on the back, grinning.

-Yeah, sure, sparkling if you have the credit to buy in.- grumbled Rarchet

-Although you should know, we are not fooling around. You should consider carefully if you really want to enter the clash of cunning, luck and superior acting skills between these fine gentlemechs.- Ranted Smokescreen, as Ratchet rolled his optics, grumbling some more.

- Ha bring it on!- smiled Blaster, as he seated himself.

After arriving to earth, the Autobots took over a lots of elements of human culture, like their music, art, video-and other games. After one of the human soldiers teached the autobots how to play poker it became the number-one favourite game of the inhabitants of the Ark.

As the afternoon turned into twilight, Blaster started to regret his decision of playing poker with Smokescreen, who methodically continued to rob them blind, every one of them, challenging, them with well placed mocks. Indeed, the son of a glitch of a Praxian was the uncrowned king of poker.

True to his gambling heritage, Smokescreen was unbeatable. On the base only one mech could beat him in poker. Smokescreen found his match in Jazz, who was equally sly, whose acting skills was honed to the brink of an art form, energy field unreadable, and most importantly he was in the good graces of lady luck just as Smokescreen himself.

Secretly Blaster was gloating over the fact that Smokey's aft will be handed to him very soon.

-Hey Jazz! Are you in?- asked the Praxian noticing the saboteur.

-Naah mech….. Ah'm outta credits…Ah needed all mah savings ta buy a custom made, transformers sized saxophone- Blaster bursted out laughing. Jazz displayed his mock-hurt facial expression, as the others laughed.

-Ah Primus… Ya'r way too corny…- Blaster shook his helm.

-Ya wound me mech- said Jazz in a very dramatic manner, covering his chest plates with both of his servos.

-I think you are just afraid of a good, old fashioned aft whooping-pushed Smokescreen.

-Now, that's a challenge aint'it? Mah reputation is at stake, so consider ya challenge accepted.- answered Jazz

-Hey wait a minute! What about paying?

-Ya know what?- asked Jazz with a seductive smile on his lip-plates.- If ya win, Ah let ya frag me.- Jazz's visor glinted mischievously.

Blaster actually spat out his energon, he sipped a second earlier, staining the cards in his hands.

-Oh pit.. Ah didn't needed that mental image- said Blaster, covering his optic with a servo, massaging his temple-plates.- It's time for me ta go anyways….

-'Night kiddo- waved Jazz- Oh an' don't forget! Tomorrow in tha rec-room, ya, meh and the detailed plans of that party.

-Ya got it Boss!- Blaster mock saluted, as he slowly stood up. As he exited the room he heard Smokescreen.

-And what if you win?

-Ah get to keep all of ya credits…

-What?

After five more rounds, Ratchet left the room, penniless, without saying goodby, constantly grumbling about certain cheating sons of trash compactors, and swearing he would never play poker again. His behaviour wasn't even acknowledged. Soon the others left, not being able to keep up with the two poker-masters lucky streak.

Jazz suddenly broke their fierce kiss, as he was pinned to the wall.

-Do ya realize Ah let ya win? Do ya?

-Of course you did.- Smokescreen resigned his fate, that he would not win this argument, not that he minded it anyway, Jazz providing plenty of distraction, and compensation.

-Ahm glad ahm lost.- whispered Jazz between moans.

-Just as I. Although you didn't really took chances with that bet.- grunted Smokescreen, his servos roaming Jazz's chassis.- If you had won, you would have had all my credits. And if you would have lost, which you did… let's just say you wanted to be fragged anyway.

- Awww Smokey ... Quit tha psychoanalysin' an frag meh inta tha wall already! - giggled Jazz, grabbing Smokescreen by his chevron, pulling him down into another kiss. The praxian rolled his optics, as he felt Jazz wrapping his legs around his waist. In this position he had the leverage to harass Smokescreen's wings.

-Nghhh… Ah think Ah have a thing for doorwings- said Jazz as he licked the quivering appendages.

-I think you have, indeed.- approved the other, finding it more and more harder to talk coherently under Jazz's ministrations...

Their night was fun, decided Smokescreen as he wearily embraced the recharging bot beside him. Jazz definitely knew how to have a good time. Although the smaller bot was stunningly beautiful, fun in the berth, an easy conversation partner, and a ruthless warrior, Smokescreen knew for a fact that they didn't loved each other. They were regular berth partners, blowing up steam together, but every single mech could tell the same thing about Jazz. There was no bot on the ark who have never ever slept with Jazz, at least once. He even interfaced with Ironhide. Smokescreen shuddered to the thought of interfaceing with the ancient bot. As Jazz shifted, Smokescreen smoothed a digit over the still recharging, visored mech's delicate cheek-plate. Jazz had the darkest protoform skin he have ever saw, mused Smokescreen. He remembered when he first met with the saboteur, he found it quite exotic,he later heard it was the trade-mark of Polyhexians just as Praxian had their doorwings. The only other bot, who had the same dark protoform skin, was Blaster. Jazz shifted again.

- Prowl- mumbled Jazz quitely.

Smokescreen felt his spark squeezing. Sometimes he just wanted to kick some sense both into Jazz, as well as into Prowl. He really loved his socially impaired brother, with his perfectionist attitude, and with his workaholic tendencies, just as Jazz did obviously. The saboteur was constantly following him, trying to spend as much time with the ex-enforcer as he could, bringing him energon, when he was too tired, or too busy to take a brake, playing strategy games with Prowl, and Jazz even helped him clean his doorwings, which was the ultimate act of trust between praxian bonded couples. Despite these facts, Smokescreen knew that there was no intimate relationship between the two monochrome. He knew that Prowl didn't felt himself good enough for Jazz, sending his secret love to his death day-by-day. He didn't even wanted to think about what could have happened in the past with the saboteur, that he denied himself to connect intimately to the only mech he truly loved, mused Smokescreen as the recharge sequence claimed his consciousness.