Title: Stray Dogs
Rating: PG-13-ish
Warnings: sexuality (plug and play-ish, affection uguu~), spoilers for TF:P episode "Rock Bottom"
Summary: Transformers: Prime. Starscream takes comfort in the stray he picked up.
Notes: From a tfanonkink prompt, which is basically Starscream having a pet Vehicon who enjoys cleaning/pleasuring his Master. However, I must stress plug and play as one-sided. It's more like refueling, lol. A big thank you to nickel_curry, my kindly beta.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.

There were just some days where Starscream wanted to unscrew his head, wind it up for a pitch and throw it at Megatron's face. So hard the impact it would cave the warlord's face right into his skull. And if this could lead to his demise, all the better. But Starscream was pretty sure, one day, Megatron would rip his head off before he ever seriously considered it.

In conclusion, today had been utter shit.

Not that any other day was much better or brighter. Starscream worked with idiots. The drones were all incapable of holding up a fight for more than two minutes. That and for mindless slaves who could and would not dare question their superiors-and despite their doubts, Starscream still was their superior in rank-they were quite reluctant to take his orders. They needed Megatron's backup, like a bunch of hatchlings. Knock Out was about as reliable as Swindle's promises; the medic ought to change his profession to a freelancing freeloader. Breakdown, while semi-competent, still could not shake off the shame brought by the MECH incident. Airachnid was nearly as bad in her "free spirit" as Knock Out, and Soundwave? Haha, no. Just as Starscream took every chance to backstab Megatron, Soundwave was always willing to plant one in his.

Long and stressful were the days and those of success and victory seemed to be forgotten, cherished memories. Starscream blamed it on their leader. Sure, it's not like he'd been completely victorious on his own, but unlike his semi-psychotic warlord, he was always veeeerryyy close. That and the Seeker was more focused and, you know, not as... touched, so to speak. And so he would ignore the fact he'd spend more of his time sulking and/or scheming than getting any actual work done. Whatever order he was given, he was reluctant to take.

Megatron had it out for him. Oh, sure, Starscream always knew the Decepticon leader was going to attempt to off him once and for all one of these days. "Attempt" because Starscream would make sure he couldn't. But the incident at the old energon mine had been the straw that broke the snarling, frustrated tyrant's back. Begging and pleading had been the Seeker's only option at the time, though the moment Megatron hesitated, even for just a second, he was going to make a direct beeline for the exit. That or attempt to drive one of the drills into the bastard's spark.

Insert Autobots, the cave-in, his reluctant return; the taste of victory was near as the glower on the bulky, dimwitted Autobot's face he dug his claw into. But then the tiny, obnoxious femme just had to make it out alive-seriously, how was it everyonesurvived!-ruined everything. Stuck like Atlas with death approaching inch by inch to squash him like a bug. Screaming and shrieking for mercy just as a child would to his freed leader (well, at least his paranoia had been warranted) was the only reason he was alive. Badly damaged, covered in dirt and grime, but functioning.

When Starscream and Megatron returned to base, the former flying ahead of the latter so he could watch his every move, all the Seeker wanted to do was recharge and forget today's incident ever happened. But as the two stepped inside the base, Soundwave waiting silent and patient, Megatron reached over and grabbed his second-in-command tightly by the head. Starscream gasped as plating dented slightly beneath hard pressed claws; he was yanked back, forced around to meet the threatening, foreboding glare of his leader.

"Do not think you are safe, Starscream," Megatron growled, "your life still hangs in the balance."

Starscream widened his optics. "But, Master, I-"

Megatron yanked him forward, up until his feet just dangled slightly and they were face to face. Starscream winced, the scent of dried energon, oil and dirt hot on Megatron's breath. "We have much to discuss," the tyrant said, his tone dangerously amused. "And if you value your future, you will meet me on the bridge within one cycle."

The Seeker gulped. "Yes, Lord Megatron, of course."

Megatron smiled darkly; it was fleeting, replaced with a disappointed frown. He shoved Starscream aside, leaving the lanky 'con to scramble and catch his balance against the wall. He cowered beneath the glare before Megatron marched onward, heavy footfalls causing the ground to vibrate softly. Starscream looked up to find Soundwave staring down at him; the look he gave the silent communication's officer was enough to kill. But it did nothing to deter or disturb Soundwave; silence was his reply before he trailed after Megatron like the loyal lapdog he was.

Starscream rubbed his head, grimaced bitterly at the dents. This was both the perfect and inappropriate time to contemplate revenge, seeing as he was still skating on very thin ice. He shook his sore head and quickly opened a comm link. "Knock Out," he spat, "report."

There was nothing on the receiving end. Starscream waited a few seconds before sending another transmission. "Knock Out," he snapped, "you had better be in medbay where you belong." But still there was no response. Starscream gave a furious shiver, voice lowering but spitting, "If I find you are off somewhere joyriding and not in your appropriate quarters, I will have your obnoxiously red hide."

Starscream gathered to his feet and stormed to the medical bay. And, of course, Knock Out wasn't there. Starscream felt the returning rage bubble beneath his spark. He tapped lightly to his temple, growled, "Breakdown-Is Knock Out with you?"

"Negative," A response! The Pit has frozen over! "I believe he's out scouting."

"Sightseeing does not equal scouting!"

"Well, Soundwave was the one who gave him the orders. You should talk to him."

The last thing Starscream wanted to do was speak with the treacherous 'con. Not that he had any room to talk, but. The Seeker's entire chassis shook with fury and his farewell to Breakdown came out as a loud, frightening snarl. With the communication cut, Starscream swung a fist into the medbay panel. It squashed with a loud crunch, short circuiting as buttons popped out. Starscream retracted his hand, ignored the small metal tears on his knuckles. He'd been through enough pain that everything was going numb.

The Seeker stood there a moment, contemplating what to do next. There was no dire need for a medic. Starscream paused, suddenly struck with the best idea. Of course! It wasn't medical attention he needed. His frown quirked slightly, just so before he turned quickly on heels and marched to his quarters. With a soft whir, he opened another comm link.

III

The Vehicons and Eradicons had all been fitted with the same design, much like soldiers wore certain uniforms. The latter outranked the former, but not by much. It was their gift of flight that made them superior to their brethren. Beyond that, they were the same level of skill and intelligence. While the drones showed some signs of sentience, a handful were considered purely robotic with no sense of emotion or self-awareness. They simply did as they were told and did not question orders. It was too bad soldiers built purely for wars were practically useless.

And a defunct Vehicon was just pathetic. The lowest on the chain of command. In fact, if a Vehicon or Eradicon showed even the slightest of damage, they were to be deactivated. And while most could hold up their end, there were a few missing a couple nuts and bolts, so to speak. They never lasted long; either because they were just too weak or their superiors ordered their demise like some sort of mercy kill.

It was not to say, however, these dysfunctional drones were complete wastes. In battle, they were obstacles, if anything. But with a little reprogramming... Starscream had seen to the inspections of the first wave of Vehicons for the army's consideration. Immediately he picked out two slackers, and while one of them was fated to die that evening, the other... He had studied the Vehicon a few moments longer than need be. They were easy to spot, the malfunctions, but it wasn't because Starscream was second guessing his judgment...

Starscream stepped back and looked up. He snapped his fingers and a one-eyed Decepticon approached him. "Shockwave," he said, pointed to the seemingly apathetic Vehicon, "I want this reject delivered to my quarters."

"Lord Megatron has no use for malfunctions." Shockwave's optic was trained harshly on the Seeker, as if he weren't speaking of the drone.

"I said my quarters," Starscream growled. "Or are you just as bad at hearing as you are shooting?"

Shockwave's single optic darkened. "As you wish," he said simply. He hated the Seeker to the very core of his being, but he was his superior. And Megatron needed him-for now. Shockwave turned to the Vehicon and took his shoulder. "You there, VC701," he said, voice nearly booming, "come with me."

The drone followed obediently. As soon as they were out of ear shot, Shockwave added, "You are to serve Commander Starscream personally. I fear your fate is worse than deactivation."

III

The doors to the Air Commander's room slid open. Darkness poured out from within, shaping his menacing silhouette against the light. Starscream stepped inside, doors closing behind him. The light switched on immediately, revealing very little furnishing and personal touch. With a low, tired growl he swept the spike protruding from his nose piece back, in the same gesture a human would slide their fingers through their hair. The aggravation was still thrumming in his circuits and he moved heavily toward the center of the room.

A body-length mirror cast his reflection. He winced at the sight of all the dirt caking his features. "Scrapheap," he snapped, optics still on his reflection, "are you here?"

There was a soft shuffling from the corner of the room. The weak Vehicon emerged, carrying a bucket. He followed his commander as he moved to the plush stool sat neatly in the middle of the room. The Vehicon Scrapheap stood before him, sized him head to toe. "I care not to explain," Starscream grumbled. He waved a hand at him. "Clean me."

Scrapheap nodded and quickly rung out the wet cloth. He stepped behind the Seeker, a few feet taller, pressing the rag against his back. He worked in slow, circular motions, removing both the grime as well as relaxing the tired, aching dermal plating. Starscream purred, instantly melting into the touch. "Ahhh, yes, that's it."

Scrapheap's optical visor brightened. He carefully moved the rag up and down between shoulder and neck and Starscream tilted his head, giving him more room to clean the seams. The Vehicon quickly washed out the cloth, bringing it back to polish his shoulders. "All I want to do is recharge," the Seeker spat, "but it seems Megatron has not quite forgiven me."

Scrapheap nodded, massaging the rag against the nape and its cords. Starscream hummed and dropped his head forward. "And after risking my life to save his! You'd think the ungrateful rust bucket would forgive and forget."

The drone nodded, slipping around the sides of his neck. He let the rag trail down Starscream's back in a clean line, until it reached the edge of his back strut. Starscream tittered. "I am not afraid, however," he insisted, "as I was not afraid when he had his cannon trained on me. No, no. I told him he was a fool for wanting to dispose of me, his greatest soldier and asset." He raised his arm, the warm coolant soaking into his metallic skin. "Without me, he would be nothing."

Scrapheap gently wrapped his claws around his Master's wrist, held out his arm. It almost appeared as if they were going to waltz any second. Instead, he silently smeared the rag along the length of his limb, back and forth, leaving dirt stained water to drip from the silver armor.

"I can say the same for you, don't you think?" Starscream sneered. The Vehicon lowered his arm, moved quickly around to take the second and administrate the same treatment as he did the other. "You would have become your namesake. Nothing but rubble beneath mounds of trash."

Scrapheap's thumb caressed over the dented knuckles. Starscream's smirk was pleased. "Good. You understand. I wish others would."

With his back, arms and sides mostly cleaned, the Vehicon moved to kneel before the foot stool. Starscream raised his foot, Scrapheap gently taking him by the heel. With expert precision, he began massaging it clean. The Seeker watched him closely, at the way he both meticulously and gently applied his work. Starscream's optics shuddered as the rag slipped between seams along the top of his foot, ankle and heel. "You've become quite the professional," he noted. "You used to be so clumsy. I'm glad I no longer have to waste ammo to train you."

Scrapheap nodded. He held his thin ankle delicately, palming the moist rag up the front. "Though lately, you seem to have improved twice in your skill," Starscream observed. "It is no longer a chore for you now. You are enjoying this, aren't you?"

The drone made a small hum. He stroked a finger down ankle to the sharp tip of his Master's pede as he continued working along his calf. That was a definite 'yes.' Starscream purred, hiding most of his elation. "Nothing brings you more pleasure than servicing me," he said. Scrapheap responded by sending feather light touches along seams between knee and thigh. The Seeker shivered.

"You owe me your life," Starscream continued boasting, "and so I have every right to take it if I so desire."

The Vehicon nodded, cloth working beneath one thigh. Suddenly, the sharp edge of a claw was hooked beneath his elongated chin. Scrapheap looked up into his Master's optics, full of energy. "If you had a glossa, you'd be licking me clean, wouldn't you?" he snickered. Scrapheap tilted his head in agreement, his hands raising to cup the Seeker's hips - Starscream pushed his head down. "You're not finished."

Scrapheap's optical visor flashed briefly. He caught Starscream's chest, dirtied was the pale violet Decepticon symbol smudged with dust. He slowly stood, never attempting to reach full height before his commander. The cloth moved in swift back-forth motions, the metal gleaming as the grime was washed away. Starscream hummed, optics shutting as the cool liquid soaked and streaked down his armor.

Scrapheap went to take the rag to his face, but hesitated. Starscream half-grinned pearly denta. "Very good," he purred. No one touched his face. He plucked the cloth from the drone's hands, quickly giving his face and helm a wipe-over. He dropped it back in the Vehicon's hands. "Though, honestly, I don't think this is the best you can do."

Scrapheap looked up from soaking the cloth. For a moment, Starscream could swear his blank face expressed fear and shock. As if the idea was simply preposterous. Good. "Show me the extent of your dedication," Starscream crooned.

The smaller Decepticon swallowed. He caught Starscream's wings flicker. If he failed... Scrapheap squeezed out the excess water and went to his Master's first wing. A sharp optic followed his moments. Scrapheap gently touched the wing, felt it stiffen momentarily. Vents cycling nervously, the drone began to wash Starscream's wings.

He had learned earlier on just how sensitive Seeker wings were. And even one little fuck up could send him flying across the room with a blast to the chest. He still had a couple scars from previous failures. But this time-this time he knew exactly where to touch and just the amount of pressure to apply. And it seemed to be working, because Starscream was going limp, his wings fluttering in a response that meant he was doing everything right. Scrapheap kept course; the one time he was praised, he became too bold and that ended up screwing him over in the end. He still had a painful kink in his backstrut to vouch for it.

It was routine, and Scrapheap kept his strokes safe and calculated. Starscream reclined forward, his back arching like a cat with nails running down the length of its spine. His system was whirring in a dark purr. Between the wings was also delicate, and the Vehicon massaged a few circles at the very center. A twitch and he froze; Starscream relaxed, and so he continued.

The flight home had removed most of the dirt. The rag was still relatively clean when Starscream straightened and Scrapheap obediently stepped back. Starscream reached back, swiped a finger along his wing before inspecting it. He rubbed digit against his thumb, examined both. His voice showed neither pride nor disgust. "Mediocre," he snorted, "but it'll do."

Scrapheap felt something in his spark drop. He felt so ashamed. The Seeker did not turn as he gestured him back. "But," he hummed, and the Vehicon lifted his head, "I suppose you have earned your reward."

The drone felt his enthusiasm hit the ceiling. He scuttled around his Master, dropped to his knees before the stool, rag discarded. Starscream shifted his leg forward, and the Vehicon took his foot in hand again. But this time he lowered his head, face caressed in a kiss-like gesture. He nuzzled the pede, fondled at the heel and the Seeker's vents hitched.

Keeping hold of his spindly leg, Scrapheap brushed his face and the side of his helm further up until he was between his legs, mock-kissing the inside of his thigh. Starscream swept his hand across the back of his servant's helm, snickered. "Good boy~"

Scrapheap shivered with delight. He gently pawed at his Master's hips. Before Starscream could say anything, a soft beep alerted him of an incoming transmission. He tapped his temple, grumbled, "What is it, Breakdown?"

"Knock Out's returned. I said you were looking for him."

Starscream rolled his eyes. Of all the times- "Tell him to meet me in the medbay in ten kliks. If I am not there sooner, tell him to wait. Even if it takes hours." It was only proper punishment. He cut the link before Breakdown could respond. The Seeker snorted at the drone below, still worshipping his leg. "I'll need that crackpot to check my joints and circuitry before I meet with Megatron."

Scrapheap hummed, understanding. He still clung to Starscream's leg, however. "But as I said," Starscream purred and flicked at his cheek, "I've still ten kliks." He groped at his chest, over the Decepticon symbol. "And between now, my repair job with Knock Out and Megatron's ranting, should I survive and return to my quarters instead of fleeing, I won't have time to refuel." He sneered, all oil and suggestive. "It would seem I need to borrow some energy before I go. Just enough to keep me online for the next few cycles."

The Vehicon understood completely, and was all too willing. His frame was jittery with excitement. He released his Master's leg and stood, his chestplates shifting aside to reveal a nest of black circuitry. Starscream wordlessly held out his hand, and Scrapheap took it, leading him to the bare berth nearby.

The Seeker relaxed and reclined back, propping himself on his elbows. He grinned wolfishly as the Vehicon settled both knees against his hips, reaching for the wiring inside. Starscream clicked his chest, two small panels opening to reveal sprockets. Two cords unwound around Scrapheap's fingers; Starscream could see they were attached to his small but pulsating spark chamber.

Starscream kept his hands to himself, didn't bother to help or move. Scrapheap quickly plugged the circuits into his Master's sprockets. The connection established a soft hum between their systems, and the Seeker could instantly feel all the warm devotion and love pass through him. Scrapheap, however, felt nothing; the connection was one-sided. But he didn't mind. As long as it pleased his commander, that was all he desired.

Starscream need not issue any further commands. As soon as Scrapheap was prepared, his Master waiting with a dulled expression on his face, he sent a mental command throughout his entire chassis. Moments later and the Seeker groaned, energy flooding inside him in electric currents. The Vehicon slowed down, not wanting to force feed too much at once. His hands dwindled at Starscream's hips, but never touched.

With each heave and command, Starscream felt more and more energy fill his weary spark. Scrapheap withdrew as much as he could from every source. His limbs began to feel weak and numb. But he kept going, watching as his Master shivered with delight and rejuvenation beneath him. Small sparks danced at the edge of the connection, giving Starscream's spark hard beats like a defibrillator to the heart.

Each jolt sent Starscream snickering. Dark and mischievous and full of giddy delight. His processors absorbed each current like sponges, soaking and sending the new energy into the more exhausted sectors of their host body. Scrapheap could feel his own CPU swim as his intakes and body flashed internal warning alerts. Starscream might have noticed he was weakening; he raised a hand, long talons wrapping tight around his servant's arm. Keep going, the grip commanded, nails digging into the armor.

Scrapheap was all too eager to please his Master. Even if it meant deactivating himself. Surely Starscream would not allow such, however. But even as he continued forcing the energy out of him, his processors tried to reason with him. Tell him if he continued much longer, he would offline. Which would be fine; unconscious but alive. But if he drained himself too much, auto-pilot would kick in and immediately force him back. And Starscream might not appreciate that.

The Seeker was hungry, continuing to swallow every ounce poured into him. Scrapheap knew he had to sense his body weakening, his system trying to stop the process. But he didn't care, and the Vehicon figured it was his right not to. After all, his fate could have been much, much worse. That and Starscream's moans were enough to silence those nagging, logical voices.

Scrapheap's vision began to cloud. Functions were on the verge of shutting down. The warning ping on his hub told him just one more minute and finis. The Vehicon gave something of a low groan and just before he was about to collapse on top of the Seeker, Starscream yanked one cord out of his chest. Something clicked and Scrapheap lifted his head, watched as his Master ripped out the second.

"Still too weak," Starscream grumbled. He pushed Scrapheap back; not too hard. He wasn't as angry as he sounded, otherwise the Vehicon would find himself flying across the room. Scrapheap wiggled back and away, sudden dizziness nearly knocking him over.

Starscream gathered to his feet, closing the panels. He marched across the room, Scrapheap attempting to follow him with filtered vision. "Recharge quickly," the Seeker ordered. He returned, dropping a laser gun in the drone's hand. Scrapheap's visor blinked at the weapon; he looked up into his superior's burning eyes. "I've a mission for you, should my fate be on the line again."

Scrapheap stood, knees buckling. "If Breakdown decides not to keep his word, you are to take his place," Starscream stated. He dug a talon beneath the Vehicon's chin, forced him to meet gazes. "Though you are useless on the battlefield, your devotion will come in quite handy. Besides." He paused to sweep a thumb across Scrapheap's face. "With the right position, aim and weapon, you'll make a decent sniper."

END

Time units (in this fic):
klik = minute
cycle = hour