Author: Koi Lungfish
Disclaimer: Based on characters and situations from The Transformers ((c) 1986 Hasbro, Ltd). Used without permission. Text (c) 2007, Koi Lung Fish (Mark of Lung. All Rights Reserved.)
Continuity: Armada, Episode 25: Tactician.
"Demolisher," called the voice made from heavy velvet and sheathed claws.
Demolisher stopped on his tracks, last to the door - never wise - and with his back to Megatron - also not wise. His treads rattled in sudden terror, and he was glad the lack of atmosphere on the Moon would make that fright soundless.
"Why so sad, Demolisher?" the tyrant said, his voice murmuring in Demolisher's radio receiver with a teasing, knowing coyness. "Surely you're not upset over your role in Thrust's plan?"
"Well, I - sir," Demolisher said, spluttering over his words because he'd already been silenced once for voicing his opinion. "I thought I was your right-hand man." He turned around.
Megatron was standing in front of him, standing over him, towering, all power and treads and horns. Demolisher cursed the lack of air for hiding the sound of the tyrant's movement. "Demolisher," Megatron said softly, "I'd take you over my right hand any day."
"Thank you, sir - err, what?" Demolisher felt the horrible lurching sensation in his suspension that reminded him of driving over something solid-seeming only to feel it give way beneath him.
Megatron reached out and laid his left hand on Demolisher's shoulder. It was reassuring, in as much as it wasn't the hand that would've pulled him close to that monstrous hip-cannon, and worrying, in as much as it was the hand of Megatron. "There's a difference between second-in-command and right-hand man, Demolisher. You've always been my most loyal follower."
Demolisher risked a glimpse at the hand on his shoulder. Terrifyingly, sight confirmed touch - Megatron was flexing his fingers, stroking his shoulder with his hand, his claws catching and clicking silently on the edges of plating, sending teasey-scritchy feelings up and down his back. Demolisher's knees threatened to unlock from the position of rigid attention he was holding for fear of life, limb and Megatron.
"Nothing to say, soldier?" Megatron said. His fingers stilled but his thumb kept on stroking the edge of Demolisher's chest.
"I - thank-you, sir, but - I don't understand!"Why can't I think faster? Demolisher wished he could take his words back before he got his head blown off.
"What's there to understand?" Megatron's voice contained a note of anger, that come-and-go quickness. The heavy softness was pulled back for a second, for the sudden scratch of claws along Demolisher's shoulder.
Demolisher flinched, and looked at the bright gouges in his metal, trying to keep his fingers curled up because if Megatron thought he was about to shoot him ... There's a whole lot of things, like where Thrust came from and why he's got you to make Starscream your second-in-command and why your hand is moving up my shoulder - His thoughts were cut short as Megatron stroked his cheek with the side of his forefinger. Demolisher felt the tip of Megatron's claw scrape perilously close to his throat.
"Hmm?" Megatron's questioning sound on the radio sounded too pleased, his optics narrowing slightly, one corner of his mouth edge up towards a smile or a smirk. Demolisher felt trapped, too exposed, too boxed in, too confused. His knees wobbled. His fingers were rigidly straight. Megatron traced the seam of his cheek with his thumb.
"I-is there something I don't know about, sir?" Demolisher blurted out, his fingers shaking as Megatron touched him under the chin with the tips of his claws.
"Almost certainly," Megatron replied, his voice a melange of power and humour and condescension and something over-warm and over-close that made Demolisher want to run and hide. He wasn't sure his knees would stand the shock if he tried to move. "Demolisher ..." and the tyrant paused, mouth slightly open, slightly smiling. "You must have noticed how thankful I am for your loyalty, your ... hmm ... stalwart presence."
"I have warts?" Demolisher asked, quickly checking his arms and his chest.
Megatron sighed and shook his head, the blade-edges of his horns flashing in the dimness. "I am saying," and there was no humour this time, no hint of laughter, only the raw claws of subdued anger and power's insinuation of possible violence, "that I have long appreciated your presence, and that I think it is time you had a reward."
Why does that sound so bad? Demolisher wondered, trying not to shake at the knees. "Err - err - thank you, sir, but I really need to -"
"- shut up and accept your reward," Megatron interrupted, smooth and heavy, the claws sheathed as fast as they were shown. He gave Demolisher a gentle shove, pushing him backwards towards the door. "Demolisher ..." and his name came out long and low and rumbling like the engine of the best-engineered tank Demolisher could imagine. "We'll discuss your new position in my quarters." Megatron took a step forward, and the movement of his hips made the barrel of his cannon shift, starlight shining along the length of it. Megatron's right hand rested on the barrel, fingers curled around the shaft, thumb stroking in small circles.
My quarters.
New position.
Right-hand man.
"Oh," Demolisher said in the smallest voice he'd ever had, and Megatron smiled.
It was far too late to run.
Author's notes & addenda:
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