This was actually written by a friend of mine ( irenicpie On tumblr ). Nevertheless, enjoy.

Arcee stared at her ceiling in the dark.

There was, she had surmised after long sleepless hours, two types of Decepticon. No, three types. Perhaps most common were the Decepticons who were 'Cons for the sake of killing, hurting, and torturing. Many names sprung to mind, and Airachnid's was the first of them.

Then there were those who were there because they had to be, and she imagined there were Decepticons who'd been threatened or otherwise forced, bribed, brainwashed.

And then there were the ones who'd been there since the beginning, had joined the Decepticons when they were simply a political movement. According to the stories, Soundwave had been one of the first – perhaps the very first – to stand beside Megatron; and surely at that early stage, it had only been an uprising against an unfair system. And Soundwave, being a loyalist, had stayed beside Megatron despite his descent into madness and tyranny.

Perhaps Soundwave had never begun with the intent to hurt anyone, and that was the possibility that Arcee clung to as she tried desperately to rationalise the fact that she'd fallen desperately in love with him.

Of course, Arcee couldn't completely declare Soundwave to be a closet Good Guy. He'd had many, many years to change his mind, or to secretly undermine his leader, and he'd certainly hurt people without any visible remorse.

But there was something undeniably exotic about dating one of The Enemy. In fact, Soundwave himself was completely different to any man she'd been with before, and on more counts than one. The most noticeable difference was his near-total, ever-present silence, but as time went on, Arcee found herself appreciating his other, more subtle differences.

It had started a while ago, in a small bar miles away from Autobot territory. Arcee had had an unbelievably terrible week, a depths-of-despair kind of week that had driven her as far from her friends as she could get in one evening. She chose somewhere that nobody would think to look for her, and consequently ended up in dark place crowded with strange men, and thick with cigarette smoke.

Soundwave had found her, rather predictably, drowning her sorrows. She caught him staring at her from across the room and – was that incredulity in his hard, blue-violet eyes? – her first thought was whether he'd try to take her out right then and there. He'd approached her, but to her surprise had simply manoeuvred his slim body through the crowd and sat beside her at the bar. As the night progressed, his steady silence had become almost comfortable as Arcee had grown used to his presence, and when he finally stood to leave, he'd offered her his hand: an invitation.

Feeling slightly reckless, she'd accepted. What was the worst that could happen? Despite being able to hold her drinks well, in addition to still remaining somewhat graceful and dignified, Soundwave had apparently deemed her too drunk to drive, and taken her home. He communicated through looks and gestures and the very occasional word, and Arcee found herself surprised at her ability to read him. A certain amount of communication was non-verbal, she knew, but she'd never had a conversation with a silent man before.

She had him park several streets away from her apartment, and they crept through backstreets and alleyways to the rear of the apartment building. They climbed the metal staircase on the outside of the building, Arcee giggling drunkenly before fumbling with her keys. Soundwave seemed to have other ideas, suddenly taking her arm and leading her, rather gently, up more flights until they emerged onto the roof.

The air was cold enough to turn their breath to steam, which mingled with the mist that enveloped them. The stars weren't visible, but Arcee didn't notice; her gaze instead was studying Soundwave's face intently. She'd learnt something fascinating. At first glance he appeared to be completely unemotional, though if you watched him long enough, you began to notice the tiniest changes. A minute tightening of the lips, the cant of his head, a little glance away.

And so, on a foggy winter night, with motives, implications and future unquestioned, they kissed until the sun rose.

Arcee sank further into the warmth of her blanket as she remembered.

There'd been a period of nothingness – not a single sight of or word from the elusive Decepticon – that had lasted for weeks. It was like falling into an abyss. The weeks almost became a month, after which time Arcee had begun to believe that whatever she had thought existed, was simply a kiss on a roof one night.

Her miserable notions were only strengthened when they met during a particularly violent heist, and Soundwave didn't spare her even a glance. Optimus, Bulkhead and Smokescreen all inquired as to her state of mind at various points during the day, to which she always replied affirmative – she was, physically.

Ratchet, however, was not so easily convinced.

"You're showing signs of stress and possible symptoms of depression," he told her. "You don't have to tell me why, but something certainly needs to be done about it."

Words were had between him and their leader and Arcee found herself granted with a week's leave. Having been directed to the south coast and firmly ordered to relax, Arcee found herself staying in seafront hotel beside a pebble beach. Upon exploration, she discovered a sheltered cove behind a precarious-looking rockslide that most of the holidaymakers chose to avoid.

Unknown to the Autobot – at the time, at least – she had been followed by a man who most certainly was not one of the conventional holidaymakers. She turned, and there he was: only a few feet behind her, standing in plain sight. It was a mark of his agility that his footsteps made hardly a sound on the pebbles that were shifting beneath Arcee's feet even as she stood still.

"Soundwave?"

Had he been shadowing her all the way from the city? The thought, as creepy as it should have been, was almost comforting. The slender 'Con looked out of place on a beach, bright sunlight making his pale skin appear almost translucent. Folding her arms across her chest, Arcee tried to appear displeased. "Why did you follow me?"

In response, Soundwave only looked away, at the cliff edge above them. 'He's checking our privacy', Arcee found herself thinking, secretly delighted that she could still deduce his actions as well as she could before. She sat down where she'd been standing, and watched him. He looked back down her, holding her gaze for a long moment before turning to the glistening water, striding down the bank until he stood only inches from it. She watched him as he hunted around along the waterline, searching for something.

After a few minutes, he plunged his hand into the water, retrieved something, then came and sat beside her, unfurling his abnormally long, graceful fingers to show a small but beautiful cockleshell, white, with traces of pink and yellow. He extended it towards her, and she understood that it was; a gift. A gift laced with meaning.

She took it gently from his palm. "Oh, thank you. It's beautiful," she said slowly, smiling despite herself; despite the weeks of anguish that still weighed heavy. There was any number of perfectly logical reasons for Soundwave to keep his distance, she realised, running her thumb across the ridges of the shell. She had been foolish.

There was a taste of sea salt in his kisses, and it was as strange and unfamiliar as their relationship. Affiliating with the enemy was a treacherous affair; accordingly, the risk produced a sense of certain doom. It was excitingly inexorable. And if they were condemned already, then why not make the most of the time they had?

Arcee moved closer to Soundwave, pressing herself against him whilst his arms enfolded her. Their kiss deepened as eagerness mounted, and when she bit his lip hard enough to draw blood, it seemed to rouse something inside him. Suddenly, he was pushing her back against the uncomfortable stones, kissing her face fervently. She knew what he wanted, and wanted it just as much.

But they were fifty yards from the crowded beach.

"Not here. Anyone could-"

He shook his head impatiently, and Arcee remembered his earlier observation of the cliff and rocks. Reassured, her concern quickly gave way to arousal, so she distracted him with a kiss, rolling him onto his back and straddling his waist. He was strikingly attractive this way, his head thrown back and his usually impeccable hair in disarray, spilling over the stones.

Despite the somewhat wild nature of their situation, he turned out to be a surprisingly attentive and considerate lover. Not so unsurprising was his remarkable skill, and Arcee's cries were fortunately lost to the crashing of the waves. His own climax was elusive until, without warning, Arcee fiercely bit the sensitive dip where his neck met shoulder, and she made the lofty, taciturn man all hers in one hoarse shout.

They spent a luxurious week flitting between their hotel rooms, and owing to both Soundwave and the break, Arcee found her temperament improving even past its previous state. Eventually, the pair had to return to their respective factions and homes, though that didn't mean the end of their relationship.

They continued to meet at their own risk, either at her apartment, or he'd take her to a place she'd never been before, somewhere open but solitary, with a view. It was another marked difference from her past relationships, during which she'd found herself in pubs, clubs and occasionally, high-end restaurants.

Sometimes they'd even stumble across each other in a fight. As tactfully and discreetly as possible, they'd completely ignore each other, risking not even a glance. The first time it had happened, Arcee had struggled to keep her composure. It was a battle in itself not to call out in alarm as Smokescreen had launched himself at Soundwave, but luckily he was a master at dodging blows.

When she arrived home, she was barely out of her jacket before there was a composed knock at the door. Upon opening it, she found herself immediately gathered into Soundwave's arms. They didn't make it to her bed. Instead, they shoved her leather trousers down to her ankles and rutted against the door, Soundwave nipping at her with remarkably sharp teeth. She was alive, they both were alive and there was blood on her face and Soundwave in her hands, and her permeating fear was lost amidst the height of passion.