After a moment the clone re-opened his eyes. He'd waited long enough for Starscream to fire, but the killing strike never came. He looked up at his creator in confusion.
Starscream hummed. "Actually… before I kill you, there is one more little something that requires your services."
The clone frowned. "Really? You would trust me to go out on another mission, knowing that I know you wait here to kill me?"
Starscream's smirk widened. "There's no need to go anywhere. See, I've been away from my fellow soldiers for so long. Out here, in hiding, all by myself."
The clone suddenly looked bemused. "I see. I should have figured, after all I am you—I know perfectly well how twisted we really are."
"What's so twisted about it?" Starscream asked dismissively. "Beauty is beauty."
"Well," The clone said in exasperated agreement.
The clone leaned further back on its elbows and looked expectantly at his creator—or, rather, himself as it was better to think in this circumstance.
The original came forward and kneeled above his clone. The clone knew how this was going to go of course, so he let the original hold his arms above his head in a dominant gesture. He bared his pelvic basal-flesh and waited as the other did as well. Right now it was better to do nothing while his original fooled himself into believing he wanted it this way.
The original knew what his clone was doing of course; after all he'd used this exact ploy on his master literally countless times before. And before time turned the brute's drooling and moronic staring into eye-rolling, the trick had worked pathetically well.
But such a trick never has nor ever will work on Starscream, for many reasons; chiefly because you can't 'con a con' as Knock Out would say.
Mmm—Knock Out; he wouldn't mind having him here in place of the clone right about now. He didn't have to look to know that the clone had a much smaller knub than he was used to taking in. Both his knub and sheath were small since his pelvic area was near non-existent it was so small, not that Starscream minded since the bots he went for were the big and stupid type—and the big and stupid type usually wanted to be in his sheath.
And though millions of years ago the clone would be perfectly compatible, all those aforementioned big, dumb partners (especially the most frequently visited one) had seen to it that his sheath was now accustomed to accommodating very big bots with proportionately sized intimacy organs.
It might not matter; not with the way looking down at his own beautiful face and unbelievably alluring frame was making him more wanton than any other bot had ever before made him.
He looked at his face; smiling it was spark-sputtering gorgeous, which was the main of many reasons he hardly ever smiled—it made it all the more gratifying for those who received it and therefore a perfect tool for manipulation. And his clone was smiling, as if he didn't know that Starscream knew he wasn't dumb enough to actually believe his predecessor would be fooled by that fake plea to mercy. Sometimes Starscream was a mystery even to himself.
The wings splayed out behind the clone were strangely captivating even to another aerial; no one was really sure why Starscream's wings were so alluring—and even he found himself inexplicably enticed. His clone's raised arms exaggerated the sweep from his wide chest to his pole-thin waist.
Oh. For the first time he really understood those awed looks bots always gave him before and during interfacing. He was painfully beautiful.
He reached down to find that the double's knub had already become sensitive and rigid and figured that bizarre physical connection between creator and clone was the cause.
He filled his sheath with the clone finding no resistance whatsoever, which the other noticed. The clone gasped in pleasure, but even so smirked up at his original. He chucked insultingly, but even this sinister act Starscream found alluring.
"Done this before have we?" The clone joked.
"You have all of my memories—don't act so surprised," Starscream drawled as he moved roughly over his clone.
Some part of the clone wanted to further insult the original, but soon the sensations on his knub became too much for him to ignore in favor of thought.
Still, despite the gasping, jerking messes they were both becoming, he knew that it was only a matter of time before the original stopped pretending and demanded what he really wanted.
The original kept his eyes open, needing the visual stimulation to make up for his partner's unfulfilling size. Predictably, Starscream's partner was like him in the throes—he tilted his head back, his eyes were half lidded; both pairs of wings were fluttering and jerking in no discernible rhythm. The best thing to watch was the clone trying to spread his legs whorishly, but as he was straddled by his partner he couldn't manage it.
Starscream supposed some would see that as a submissive act, but he thought that laying back and demanding service from your partner—no matter how much bigger, stronger, or even Megatrony they were—was rather like being the boss of the situation. Not that he gave into the ridiculous obsession many other bots—well, mostly just Decepticons—had with being either submissive or dominating in interfacing with no in-betweens allowed.
Relatedly, this whole thing was taking a bit longer than his initial charge had suggested it would need to; which meant he wasn't getting what he really wanted.
He sighed almost resignedly, he didn't believe in this submissive interfacing business—but everyone else certainly did—and he worried if his clone was like everyone else in this regard, if so it would reveal that deep down he believed in it himself.
Oh well, once a liar always a liar. With his mind made up he lifted himself off the clone, giving it a glare so it wouldn't try escaping, not that the panting mess probably could if it tried. He splayed himself on the ground with a hand still wrapped around the clones arm to pull it over him. He brought his long legs up around the clone's middle where it settled between them.
The clone clearly wanted to smirk at him in triumph, but the need was too overwhelming so it really just appeared demented. Ironically this boosted Starscream's arrogance as it showcased just how fearsome and threatening he could look.
The clone now took on the thrusting with the fervor of one chasing his own climax rather than trying to impress, which was fine by Starscream as he wanted this to be done and over with already.
He watched his beautiful back arch as the clone was pleasured and listening to his normally grating voice turned explicitly bewitching—each little soft whine and cry hitting him harder than the small knub ever could.
His legs were shaking and it was getting to be too much—he hoped the clone's acquired memories of his past sessions would win out over his physical virginity.
Finally the clone seemed to be ready for the end; he took a servo off of his original's hip and retracted the wickedly sharp ends before pinching his partner's knub between two less-sharp but pointed tips.
Starscream only felt his shriek but he heard the echoes clear enough as they registered in his swimming processor. He lay limply on the ground as his intakes raced to regulate airflow and temperature; his heaving torso bearing the weight of his equally limp clone.
Reluctantly he rolled and laid his clone gently on the floor beneath him. With no further words he kneeled above his creation, lined his missile up with is spark and fired.
The clone died instantly, but his eyes had looked emptily at their creator before he even fired. The look was not lost on Starscream; the feeling behind it was one he was vicariously familiar with.
It was the same look he got every time someone who once had faith in him realized just how cold and heartless he really was. Skyfire; Prime; Breakdown; Megatron—sooner or later they all realized, or would realize, that he wasn't as fickle as they thought he was—hoped that he was.
Still. He looked at his lifeless clone and remembered his face during interfacing.
Starscream smiled. So this must be what it's like for Megatron—to see something with so much potential, with so much to appreciate and desire, that was just too untrustworthy to keep around. No wonder he could get the big lout so riled up.