Starscream was not sure whether there were such things as limits to how many times one could land in slag-heaps for a lifetime; if the universe did have them, it seemed that Starscream was the exclusive exception, having escaped one disaster only to find himself on even worse ground. Perhaps staring right into the gullet of Unicron would be the only thing more disastrous than the sight his optics were treated with now – with energon blood staining a good portion of his helm and faceplates, it was no exaggeration when Starscream thought that Megatron looked like an Undead minus the shambling as the latter advanced towards him, one hand clenched in a fist that seemed all too eager to land itself on Starscream’s faceplates.
The Seeker’s first instinctive drive once the presented view was fully assessed was to flee the Pit out of there – but Megatron, though lacking the natural grace descended among the energon-blood of the flyers, made a desperate lunge for it, acknowledging that if he missed, Starscream would be well out of his reach for tonight; the warlord retained just enough ability to process simple thought patterns right now and he certainly was not up for a game of cat-and-mouse with a perfectly terrified Seeker. Starscream shrieked – funny thoughts raced in Megatron’s processors of how the jet-former’s voice sounded so very feminine that he might as well be a femme – and a blue fist was flailed upwards in frantic need to shield his neck-portion from what seemed to be strangulation from his leader. Megatron caught the servo easily and wrenched it into a painful twist, forcing Starscream to partially follow the movements or risked spraining the joints there. His shriek turned into a strangely high-pitched howl, a mixture of equally powerful shock and pain, as he was pulled completely inside by the Megatron-captured servo. Starscream tried to twist free of his leader’s grasp but his other punch suffered the same fate – and before he could even throw out his legs to start kicking, Megatron had stepped behind him, both servos still firmly gripping those of Starscream’s and slammed his shoulder-strut into the wall-mounted panel at the side of the door, hitting the ‘close’ button with force just short of damaging it completely.
“Megatron, you fragger!” Starscream’s voice shouted in helplessness, with Megatron pulling both of his arms backwards and standing where his pedes could not effectively connect. His Spark seemed to shrink in its casing when his voice was reflected back to his audio receptors by the mess hall’s smooth walls, hollow and ghostly in the emptiness of the place. Contacting his Trinemates was completely out of the question as well as hoping others might chance upon this ruckus and helped him out of this particular trouble – nobody had the same tenacity as himself to even begin questioning what did Megatron intended to do, let alone stepping in to save the Air Commander.
“Me, Starscream?” Megatron’s voice, already naturally rough, came out as a rasp that was one step behind from sounding like a resurrected Cybertronian. Starscream gasped as the grips on his servos tightened, threatening to crush his smaller digits into uselessness. “A fragger, you say? Look who’s talking…”
In all honesty, Megatron was hardly talking sense to Starscream’s audio receptors. He was too blinded by fear to take in a word of his leader and the pain was driving out all other imperative other than survival. He struggled, profanities shouted from his throat-piping got steadily louder and more colourful but for all the good his vocal and physical defiance did, he might as well did nothing. Megatron’s patience, never exactly in a high supply to begin with, soon ran out by his Second’s rebelliousness.
The mess hall echoed with the remnants of Megatron’s roar and effectively shutting up what noises Starscream’s mouth intended to produce out of the Seeker’s terror. The scuffling stopped just as abruptly and the two was suddenly left in a menacing quietness, broken only by the anxious sounds of turbine-whirring while Starscream waited in dread for the announcement of his retribution. In all honesty, the Seeker was now paralyzed by too much fear to begin another episode of fighting, let alone shouting demands for release. His Spark could only pray for survival after going through the slag Megatron surely had concocted just for his punishment. The urge to sob was overwhelming but Starscream dug in his denta into his bottom lip-component in as best effort to stifle any sound hinting of weakness.
Megatron made no appreciable movement that Starscream could discern even from their close proximity. Pit, his back laid flush against the other’s chest-piece at the moment but the only sign of life from the mech behind him was the steady, albeit slightly fast pulsations of the Spark deep within the silver frame. The stillness was in some way worse for the flyer compared to when he was slagged, the anticipation for pain that yet to come drove Starscream’s Spark into erratic beating…
Starscream’s frantic Spark literally stopped its beating for a moment. What had entered his audios just now was a complete contrast to Megatron’s harsh shouting – the raspy voice had gained an unexpected tenderness in the calling of his designation.
“After all these while…you dare fraternize with the enemy? A traitor, no less…?”
Starscream tried to choke something out of his surprise-stricken vocalizer but all thoughts fled his processors when the warlord’s servos moved about until Starscream’s own was held in an one-handed grip – powerful enough by Megatron’s standard who had spent his activation cycles swinging Energon Morningstar in the gladiator rings – while the other servo pressed itself flat against the broad expanse of Starscream’s wings. The Seeker held back his ventilation, expecting more urgently of pain…but the digits were somehow tender against his metals.
“This has always been your fault, Starscream,” Megatron whispered. His voice was low and rough, as deep as the Well of the Sparks and as gloomy as the barren Cybertronian desert. “You’ve always sought for things that you can’t achieve. The Decepticon leadership, for one.”
There was a pause, a pause in which Starscream intended to fill with snarky replies that he felt rising from the depth of his despair and frustration when Megatron spoke again, “…and you wished for Skyfire’s company, for another. Keep in mind that I have offered him a place among the Decepticons but he turned from it. He is a traitor, deserving of destruction just like all Autobots.”
“Like you deserve better!” Starscream shrieked. There was a painful twang in his Spark when he heard of Skyfire spoken so. It pained him all the more greatly because he acknowledged the cold truth in his leader’s words. “At least he recognizes my potential!”
“Stupid fool. You seek recognition from an Autobot?”
Starscream let out a groan; there was a pressure on his spinal strut that bordered on pain yet it did not quite reach it yet, merely a warning. Megatron’s palm eased itself an astrosecond later and his voice took its turn to speak, “What about mine? Do you think you will be commanding my air force if I had not seen the potential in you?”
“And you still acted as if I’m just a – a disposable soldier! I’ve pledged to be led by you NOT because I want to be your punching bag!” Something within the jet-former threatened to break at this latest outburst, something tenuous and fragile that was vital to his control, “I’ve tried my hardest! But it doesn’t matter, does it? It only matters if you win – never mind if I’ve busted about every cog and gear trying to win battles for you! Never mind that I was the last to retreat just in case there are still chances to be victorious! It’s only about winning in your rusted processors! It’s – ”
Starscream was suddenly whirled about and it cut off his increasingly manic rants. Pain and confusion rendered him clueless when his instinctive drive had warned him to run and the Seeker suddenly found his back pinned to the wall, his servos raised above his helm and grasped tight by one of Megatron’s own. The shock of cold surface against his new, sensitive wings was not as uncomfortable as the fierce, intense glare from his leader’s optics. Megatron was not that kind of mech whose expressions could be readily read – his scowl hid many of the more hidden depths of and the same scowl was now shaping the Decepticon lord’s face; something secret and unbearable bubbled under the mask which seemed to stir Starscream into a new level of fear.
“Sometimes, I can’t help thinking that you worth more trouble than what is necessary,” an unused hand lifted to Starscream’s neck-level to brush the main fuel line. Starscream choked back a sob, fearing the moment when the digits would close around the tube. “…but Unicorn slag me to Pit; I can’t seem to get rid of you.”
Megatron’s weight was fully pressed upon Starscream’s front as the warlord leaned forward. It was an act without thinking; it had been eons since the Decepticon Supreme Commander allowed himself such extreme proximity, consumed by lust for victory against Prime as he was…but those eons were suddenly a space of nothingness when he let his head to dip down and felt the warmth of Starscream against his lip-components. There was a jerk from the jet-former’s body, too subtle to be denial, and then there was stillness between them. A quiet, strangely palpable pause that felt like the cosmic chronometer had halted its time measurement.
And the paused moment was resumed by the next astrosecond.
Something within Megatron rebelled at this show of weakness; an instinct that had preserved his activation through the hardships of gladiator fights and the consequent wars. It warned of foolishness when someone who earned a notorious reputation of being a backstabber was held so close to his person. His disgust bubbled to the surface at his faltering, during which the jet-former could have done something – kick, shoot, punch, it did not matter which one starscream’s deviousness came up with – and Megatron felt his primal urge to take the first offense spread in his limbs. Perhaps Starscream would see his new wings scarred; perhaps it would be his cockpit, bore open by the leader’s crushing fist; yet, whatever damage Megatron felt like dishing, the motivation was muted by the astonishment upon seeing the expression on Starscream’s faceplates.
He had pulled back with all the expectation of seeing an energy blade gripped in Starscream’s servos somehow – never mind that the Seeker’s limbs were still captive to his – but the faceplates that met him were not the smug one he had familiarized with the fierce, ruthless, traitorous Air Commander. The glow in Starscream’s optics were faded but the rest of him was the picture of the adoring youth that had first walked in the Repair Chamber in those long-gone vorns, to be introduced by Soundwave as the first of Megatron’s Seekers. It was a history of time long gone and here was a tiny piece rematerialized – an easily forgotten thing amidst the business of bloodletting and glory-seeking.
“Go burn in the Pit, Megatron.”
Megatron was snapped back to reality by the statement and the youthful, bright Starscream was overwhelmed again by the picture of his older self. Now, a new rage swelled in the Seeker’s systems, made intense by the virtue of realization that he was about to be degraded and there was little he could do to save himself. Starscream’s voice cracked around the edges and Megatron pictured the Seeker’s sanity breaking under the pressure he was enduring, to be rebuilt from the leftover pieces and glued together by whatever motivation that had carried himself through all these eons.
“Mind your glossa, Seeker,” Megatron said dryly. This was a useless statement that Starscream would heartily agree to only as long as needed to escape the pain. Yet he could neither stop the reply nor his free hand from creeping up said Seeker’s torso. He expected a flinching from the contact but Starscream was motionless, save perhaps by the shivers he felt running under his digits.
“It doesn’t matter,” Starscream muttered softly and dimmed his optics, much to the warlord’s surprise. Surrendering his physiques to the abuse, the three words ran under his ventilation like a twisted prayer.
This Starscream unsettled Megatron – one who seemed to lost all the hard will he had encased himself with and leaving only the empty shell. That determination which had so beautifully defined the Seeker was lost to that damnable Skyfire, Unicron cursed his Spark, and Megatron thought disdainfully how that Autobot could still manage a small amount of victory even on his defeat; he would not have that.
With only the rational thought that Starscream should be his and all else dulled by the haze of high grades, Megatron brought the servo which had been trailing on the Seeker’s cockpit glass up to the chin-guard and held the faceplates up to him. It was another impulsive act that Megatron should not dream of doing should he was only a tad sober and less desperate, and he descended for the jet-former’s lip-components. He was not rejected, which mildly surprised him, but the simple pleasure indulged him greatly that Megatron for once felt like leaving logic behind and continued with the insanity.
“Just get over with it,” Starscream muttered, his tone without the bite of argument in it when he was free to speak. It was merely a plea to have the humiliation finished as quickly as possible.
Megatron did not feel like indulging the accusation with an answer. Instead he trailed a digit around Starscream’s lower jaw; feeling strangely unaccustomed to the act when he would have taken whatever that fancied his desire without further ado; no kiss, no petting, and certainly without any word to pertain his motive. Yet he had wasted significant amount of time with this tricouloured jet but he wanted it – the fantasy that had so long ago occupied his mind when he had interviewed the three Seekers that were now his Command Trine was now being lived out and he enjoyed it.
Starscream too noticed the peculiarity. Far too many times he had joined his leader down at the brig. There was no shortage of violence no matter what methods Megatron used to wring the knowledge or cooperation out of his prisoners. The jet-former had been sure that Megatron would spare him no mercy this time, having stretched his patience to the limit, but this…slowness was confusing him. And he was not at all hurt, not even with Megatron’s frame close to him and his wrists held to immobility above his helm. The survival instinct in him screamed urges to get away but he was held there by fascination, having never managed a close proximity to the warlord without suffering damages to a degree. Starscream was ready to attribute it to a new form of abuse but his thoughts came to an abrupt halt; too lost in speculation, he had failed to realize Megatron’s wandering digits until his throat-cablings were brushed. Reflexively, his frame tightened in expectation of strangulation, at the very least, but instead they continued to move in explorative intentions.
“What in the Pit are you doing…?!” Starscream gasped, fighting the involuntary moan that threatened to break loose. Whether he admitted it or not, the touches were sending specific messages to his neural networks and his body began to respond to them.
Megatron grunted in annoyance and said, “Stay still, you fool of a Seeker,” and dived under Starscream’s chin-guard; to experience more intimately what his digits had felt. He latched his denta around the fattest of the cable and the fang-like canines grazed the tender metals of it, causing Starscream to flinch – yet it was obvious that Megatron intended no deliberate pain in the gesture. He could have easily crushed the cables even with his dentas but instead, Starscream felt his neck-wires being kissed and sucked; a curious sensation, made all the more so when he was reminded that the one doing it would more often than not hurt him at the slightest fault.
Starscream’s call was ignored. Megatron was more interested to lavish physical attention than verbal one, his one free servo roaming around the jet-former’s front while he continued his ministrations to the Seeker’s neck area. His core temperature steadily rose, fuelled by the delightful strokes on his person. Despite his pessimism, Starscream did relax; he was already at Megatron’s mercy and would be easily punished – yet he received none so far, and whatever Megatron was doing to him did not seem to intend humiliation for his part.
“If you think you can –”
“ – hurt you? I certainly can,” Megatron answered to the feeble threats, made only out of habitual rebellion rather than being serious about it. "For Pit’s sake, I can crush you in a klik if I have a mind – which I don’t.”
Starscream stilled himself at the reply, less afraid than puzzled now. To be this close to the warlord, he was as sure as could be in being punished – but the caresses from the silver Transformer intended nothing of the sort unless pleasure counted as a new form of torture. It astonished even himself to admit it but Megatron was being…not exactly gentle admittedly, but his roughness had yet caused the Seeker pain. His leader seemed genuine in the attention, perhaps for his own benefit than Starscream’s, but the Seeker could not deny that Megatron was doing something to him. Whether he would regret it in the morning, Starscream could not guess, but right now his systems recognized the heat that spread in his circuitries; long ago, Skyfire had stirred in him the same sensations – still was, or he would not have made his last desperate advance on the shuttle – but to feel it thus sparked by the Supreme Commander of the Decepticon was peculiar, to say the least.
But still enjoyable; though his internal drive warned of mischief and calamity, he could not fight his leader. It was terrifying in a wholly new light for he submitted willingly, Spark and body, when before Megatron he at least retained a small shred of anger, if nothing else. However, right now, as he shifted his helm to the side to better his leader’s access to his throat-cables and ceased his struggles, he found himself perfectly compliant to the bites on his fuel lines that stopped shy of hurting; and he was responding too, his screechy voice came out restrained behind the gritting of his denta, becoming pants and gasps, and finally, when Megatron pressed his frame as hard as he dared without paining the Seeker, Starscream let out a rich moan.
“Enjoying yourself now, I see…”
Starscream cast a venomous glare at the warlord. To the latter’s surprise, instead of screeching defiance, one of his long legs lifted up and hooked itself to Megatron’s hip-plating. The shock on Megatron’s faceplates was satisfying and the jet-former grinned that slag-eating grin he was famous for. He ground his chassis into Megatron’s touches, receptive to the advance unlooked for – the passion of a flyer was voracious, easily kindled and difficult to quench before it could find release. That of which Skyfire had ignited was now resumed by Megatron and Starscream, eager to forget the bitter memories, caught his leader unexpectedly in a fierce kiss. For once, Megatron did not mind the initiative by his subordinate and enjoyed what was offered to him. His hold on Starscream’s servo slackened just for an astrosecond as a new wave of lust swept over him; that small chance was quickly seized and the Seeker wriggled his wrists free but his servos came instead to Megatron’s shoulder-struts to grasp at the metals needily rather than pushing the warlord away.
A string of oral lubricant spanned between their lip-components momentarily upon parting. Megatron wiped them away with the back of his servo, never breaking optical contacts with his Second. He wondered how quickly the moods of a Seeker could fluctuate because Starscream looked to be nearer to himself once again rather than the pathetic, broken Seeker that Megatron had rescued from the Autobots. He reached for the wings laid flat against the wall; felt their warmth and subtle quivers as their new sensitivity welcomed the stimuli from Megatron’s servos. The white surface was smooth and untarnished; a small part of Megatron mourned that the wings would have to be rebranded, as with all of his Seekers…but that was for tomorrow. Tonight, he ran his servos over them and stroked the edges of the wings to hear the voice of pleasure from this beautiful Seeker. They were such delights to touch that the gun-former distinctly regretted sullying Starscream’s old wings...
to be continued...