WTF?
Megatron growled hostilly under his breath. That infernal banging had been going on for almost three Earth hours. Shifting irritablly on his throne, the Decepticon leader tried counting down from 3,000 in hopes of drowning out the noise. No such luck. Finally, Megatron had had enough. It was one thing to have some R&R during your off hours, but this was ridiculous. The tyrant rose to his peds, muttering curses in both English and Cybertronian. He wandered down the halls, following the ever increasing sound of music. When he finally found the source of all the ruckus, Megatron was unsurprised that it originated from the quarters of his dearly loyal Second in Command.
The music was almost at a deafening level. Punching in the code to the door, it slid open silently... And revieled a most interesting sight.
The music was blasting from the SiC's personal computer system, normally used for communications and such. Starscream was dancing around the room, his optics offline, a cardboard cut-out poised agaist one wall. The Air Commander was singing, dropping to one knee before the cut out, servos clasped over his spark... The cut-out was of Megatron.
I want your ugly, I want your disease.
I want your everything as long as it's free.
I want your love...
Love, love, love, I want your love.
I want the drama, the touch of your hand.
I want your leather studded kiss in the sand.
I want your love...
Love, love, love, I want your love.
Starscream spun up to his peds, supporting his weight on one arm against the wall, on one side of the cut-out-Megatron's head.
You know that I want you.
You know that I need you.
I want it bad, bad romance.
Twirling away, the Decepticon SiC spun like a ballerina, servos over his head before sliding them down to clasp his own waist.
I want your love, and I want your revenge.
You and me could write a bad romance.
I want your love, and all your love is revenge.
You and me could write a bad romance.
Ohh-oooh-oh-oh-oh-oh.
Caught in a bad romance.
Ohh-oooh-oh-oh-oh-oh.
Caught in a bad romance.
Pausing to strike an overly magestic pose, Starscream continued:
Ra-ra, ah-ah-ah.
Ruma-ma-ma-ma.
Ga-ga, oo la la.
Want your bad romance.
Ra-ra, ah-ah-ah.
Ruma-ma-ma-ma.
Ga-ga, oo la la.
Want your bad romance.
Pretending to be fearful of his little cardboard piece, Starscream dropped to both knee-joints, resting the back of his servo over his shuttered optics.
I want your horror, I want your design.
'Cus you're a criminal as long as you're mine.
I want your love.
Love, love, love, I want your love.
I want your psycho, your vertical stick.
Want you in my rear window, baby, you're sick.
I want your love.
Love, love, love, I want your love.
Pulling the cut-out-Megs flat against him, the Air Commander pretended to whisper in his audios.
You know that I want you.
And you know that I need you.
I want it bad, bad romance.
Twisting and replacing the c-o-M back against the wall, Starcream spread his arms wide against his wings, spinning gleefully around his quarters, somehow avoiding slamming into objects.
I want your love, and I want your revenge.
You and me could write a bad romance.
I want your love, and all your love is revenge.
You and me could write a bad romance.
Ohh-oooh-oh-oh-oh-oh.
Caught in a bad romance.
Ohh-oooh-oh-oh-oh-oh.
Caught in a bad romance.
Holding both arms high in the air, the SiC repeated once again:
Ra-ra, ah-ah-ah.
Ruma-ma-ma-ma.
Ga-ga, oo la la.
Want your bad romance.
Ra-ra, ah-ah-ah.
Ruma-ma-ma-ma.
Ga-ga, oo la la.
Want your bad romance.
Sitting on the edge of his berth, Starscream sipped at a small cube of energon resting there while the song continued.
Walk, walk, fashion, baby.
Work it, move that thing, crazy.
Walk, walk, fashion, baby.
Work it, move that thing, crazy.
Walk, walk, fashion, baby.
Work it, move that thing, crazy.
Walk, walk, passion, baby.
Work it, I'm a freak, baby.
Hopping back onto his peds he knelt pleadingly in front of the cut out.
I want your love, and I want your revenge.
I want your love, I don't wanna be friends.
J'ai ton amour, et je veux ton revenge.
J'ai ton amour, I don't wanna be friends.
Ohh-oooh-oh-oh-oh-oh.
Caught in a bad romance.
Ohh-oooh-oh-oh-oh-oh.
Caught in a bad romance.
Again, spinning like a sparkling receiving the most joyous of news, Starscream sang his spark out.
I want your love, and I want your revenge.
You and me could write a bad romance.
I want your love, and all your love is revenge.
You and me could write a bad romance.
Ohh-oooh-oh-oh-oh-oh.
Caught in a bad romance.
Ohh-oooh-oh-oh-oh-oh.
Caught in a bad romance.
Holding out both of his servos in a 'stop' motion, he recited flawlessly:
Ra-ra, ah-ah-ah.
Ruma-ma-ma-ma.
Ga-ga, oo la la.
Want your bad romance.
Starscream's intakes were heaving as he tried to cycle air to cool his systems. He'd finally gotten it down. Three hours of tireless practicing, he had finally gotten it right! Someone cleared their vocals in the direction of the door. With a squeek, the SiC flipped on his optics to be presented with a sight that made the energon in his cables seem to shudder to a stop. Megatron. The real one.
The Decepticon leader just stared, his faceplate below one optic occasionally twitching. The silence was almost unbarable. Finally, the tyrant asked somewhat anxiously, "You don't have Poker Face on that thing, do you?"
A/N: Yeah... I have absolutely no clue what I was thinking when I wrote this. I had freaking Bad Romance stuck in my head and it was 1 in the morning. Then my completely insane imagination began thinking: "What would happen if good ol' 'Screamer liked Lady Gaga and a certain someone?" The idea of the SiC dancng around his quarters was too silly for me not to share, so.. Voila! I called it WTF? beacause when finished, I was thinking: "WTF? Why did I write this?" Took about half an hour to an hour to finish. I need some sleep now. ~collapses onto the floor~