Chapter 2 is up! This one features the reason for the rating and a warning for violence, in the standard Megatron-is-punishing-Starscream-for-mutiny fashion. Please remember to review---I love hearing what people think of my writing.

On to Chapter 2:

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Sometimes Megatron found himself looking forward to Starscream's mutinies.

Oh, getting shot in the back was never fun, and the Seeker's occasional success at, if not supplanting, then at least humiliating him were things better off avoided (not least of all for that tiny traitorous part of him that looked forward to that), and there was the never-quite-banished worry that one of these times his treacherous second would actually succeed at overthrowing him---but this---this was worth it.

This was Starscream's graceful form kneeling on the floor in the center of a brig cell, tightly bound in an array of chains that changed each time with Megatron's mood, holding the ever-proud Air Commander in some variation of delicious restricted movement that invariably left his wings free and vulnerable. Free so that the Seeker could twitch and writhe them to his spark's content; vulnerable so that Megatron could make them twitch and writhe, and make the mech they were attached to whimper and scream and plead for mercy. He wasn't sure what he loved more: the moment when pain overcame Starscream's pride and he started apologizing and begging forgiveness, or the feeling of the wings in his hands, trembling in anticipation of his punishment, shaking and jerking as he pierced them with his claws, shivering with the sensation of the energon flowing across the sensitive expanse of fragile sheet metal.

It was all beautiful---the sensation of metal parting easily ahead of his claws as he gently scratched them, the streams of bright energon flowing from tattered wounds, the more violent spasms and choked-off screams when he applied a shockstick or an energy whip to the wounded and sensitive appendages, the subtle shifts in posture as defiance gave way to supplication---all leading up to the last few astroseconds of their interaction, when Megatron undid the chains and Starscream knelt, as he'd been taught, of his own accord, and tolerated his leader's hands on him in whatever way Megatron pleased---a demonstration that he'd learned his lesson, for the moment.

This was exquisite, but bittersweet---a few drops of purest high-grade to one starving, delicious beyond description but nowhere near satisfying: a moment when Megatron's hands---finally!---rested on Starscream's wings in what might be termed a caress. Sometimes he remained harsh and angry, fingers pressing heavily on wounds that still seeped energon; mostly he was gentle, in this single moment when he could do whatever he wanted without letting it slip that he wanted it, could take those lovely wings in hand and caress them, and pass it off as an exertion of dominance. He petted his tamed Seeker, his for-the-moment docile second, offering uncharacteristic gentleness as a reward for the temporary obedience he got by rougher means, and loved it. He reveled in the moment, blissful, as Starscream shivered almost imperceptibly against his hands, optics aglow with the slightest hint of something that was neither hatred nor coerced submission, and then he turned and left the cell, leaving the door open for Starscream to leave in his own time, and wanted more.