WOW this kink got a little huge. Sorry. Anyway, here's the last part. Whew! I wondered why it seemed like it was taking me forever to write! The whole document is 12K words!!

*****

Shockwave checked his chrono. Where the pit was Megatron? He'd missed all dutycycle. And he'd blown off the briefing for tonight, leaving Shockwave on his own to decide whom of the remaining two to send next.

Then again, maybe Megatron's absence was a good thing. If things had gone horribly awry, Megatron would have been prompt in executing a swift and creatively painful vengeance.

Still, he tapped gently on the door to Megatron's recharge, Ramjet in tow, at the previously appointed hour, with some apprehension. Apprehension that ratcheted higher when he heard a desolate sounding moan from within. Had…Megatron been assaulted? Those devious femmes! Shockwave berated himself for not checking earlier—perhaps that perfidious femme had tried to assassinate Megatron, and had fled—now with an unbridgeable head start!

He overrode the door codes, readying a weapon just in case she was still there.

She was…ahem…still there. Right now she was sprawled on the berth, Megatron's head between her thighs, licking her valve. "Frag yeah, baby!" she breathed, writhing on the berth. "Give me another one!" Shockwave watched in (more than slightly aroused) horror as Megatron shifted to push now, apparently three of his fingers into the valve, while his mouth teased one of the rim nodes.

"Oh!" Slipstream cried out. "Oh frag baby!" The rest of what she said dissolved into meaningless syllables as her body thrashed on the berth. Eventually, she came back under some sense of self control, sighing, "Gonna look you up when I come into heat, Meggers."

MEGGERS!? Shockwave was appalled. "MY LORD!" he said, Megatron whirled, the light glossing off his fluid-wet face. "I am…glad to see you have kept yourself so…pleasantly entertained. But duty calls." He gestured at Ramjet, who was watching the whole scene with a cunning fascination.

"Ah, yes," Megatron said, somehow, entirely composed. Baffling, Shockwave thought. Completely baffling. "Thank you, Shockwave." He turned to Slipstream, who was eyeballing Ramjet unpleasantly. "My dear. We shall have to continue this at a later time."

Slipstream huffed, but rolled off the berth, probably, Shockwave figured, realizing that if she acted up now, 'Meggers' wouldn't go for a reprise. Wise decision. It was good to see these femmes had some common sense. At the same time it was bad to see this femme so intent on Megatron. Shockwave seethed at her as she flounced by him, shooting him a disdainful look.

Ramjet was staring at the table still set up from last night—the empty decanter of energon next to some wilted flowers, a lacy cloth underneath smeared with silvery transfluid. A tin (untouched) of candied cyberberries.

"Well," Megatron said, trying, and failing, and realizing he was failing, to look authoritative covered in lubricant and transfluid. "What's this one's malfunction?"

"I have no malfunction!" Ramjet exclaimed. "I function perfectly. At all times!"

"He lies," Shockwave said, attempting to drown out the clone.

"What a surprise to find that to be one-sixth of Starscream," Megatron mused. "I would have rated him at a higher fraction."

"I don't lie! This mech is the liar. He's prone to emotional outbursts! Emotionally unstable!"

Megatron rubbed a hand across his nose and cheek in frustration. It had been a looooooong, ummm, time, with Slipstream, and it looked to be an even longer night. He wasn't sure he had that much left in him. Wait, no, he was the leader of the Decepticons. He was virile and rugged and robust and dammit he needed Sunstorm right about now to boost his vocabulary.

Frag. A shower would have to do to restore his ego and his…potency. "You, there," he directed Ramjet. "Can I trust him to stay here and not…break anything?"

"No!" Ramjet asserted, boldly.

"Yes," Shockwave said. "Remember, my lord, everything he says is a lie. Whatever he says, he means precisely the opposite."

Oh, this should prove interesting….

****

Megatron felt considerably refreshed after his cleanse. When he finally pulled himself away from wiping down the walls of the stall (damn Skywarp and his germ phobia), he found Ramjet seated exactly where he'd directed, staring longingly at the wreck of items on the table. What, Megatron thought, would a liar want?

"Do you want some?" he offered, tapping at the drained energon decanter.

"I hate the fizzy kind!" Ramjet blurted.

Megatron blinked. Oh. Right. The opposite. That meant he wanted the fizzy kind? One way to find out. Megatron went to his personal (rank does, of course, have its privileges) stores and took out a new decanter of the pink fizzier kind of energon, blowing the dust of neglect off it. Syrupy sweet to his own tastes, but, well, if Ramjet wanted it…. And Primus knew that a little energon had kicked things off right with Slipstream.

He poured the clone a cube of the stuff, pushing it at him with one knuckle, settling himself down in his chair again.

"I love drinking alone," Ramjet burbled. His eyes were on Megatron's face, wide and round and eager.

Another pause at the seeming randomness, before Megatron decoded this one. He didn't really care for the fizzy, but it might help smooth things over, and perhaps a boost to his own energon levels might not be amiss. He poured himself some and raised it in a toast. Ramjet ducked his head, embarrassed, and took a shy sip after tentatively clinking his cube against Megatron's.

"So," Megatron said, after a moment, as Ramjet continued to stare at him. It was a little unsettling. Not quite insubordinate, the way Starscream himself would do it. "What would you like to do?"

"I hate cyberberries. Especially the candied ones!" Ramjet blurted.

Ah, Megatron thought, as he reached for the tin from last night. I'm getting the hang of this already. He offered them to the buff-colored clone. Ramjet shook his head. Megatron's confidence faltered. What?

Ramjet pointed at the tin, then at his mouth, in some kind of pantomime.

"You want me to…," Megatron guessed, "feed you some?"

Ramjet nodded eagerly at the same instant his voice said, "No! That's stupid!" Well, that was a little confusing. Body or voice, body or voice, which to listen to? Only one way to find this out. Megatron plucked one of the sugary treats out of the tin and held it out. Ramjet leaned forward and daintily nibbled it into his mouth. Right. Body tells the truth, vocalizer lies. Simple enough. Megatron held up another candy, dangling it in front of the jet's face. Ramjet inched forward, this time lipping Megatron's fingers shyly.

Well, this was going to be easy. Too easy. Megatron felt…depleted. It would not do for the virile and puissant leader of the Decepticons to be unable to perform. He would have to find a way to delay events until his systems had recovered from Slipstream.

As he reached for another berry, Ramjet bounced off his own chair and into Megatron's lap, planting a kiss on Megatron's cheek. "I find you utterly loathsome," Ramjet murmured in his audio. Megatron stiffened, before he reminded himself of Ramjet's little quirk. Did none of Starscream's clones come without a massive glitch?!

"Yes, well, I find you pretty horrendous myself," Megatron replied.

Ramjet stiffened. Slag. Megatron supposed it didn't work both ways. "I mean," he corrected, hastily, "that you are an exceedingly handsome little mech." Ramjet glowed, bouncing on Megatron's lap. He threw an arm around Megatron's shoulders, pulling him into another cheek kiss. This was, Megatron decided, decidedly weird. He'd had the suck up, the egomaniac, the…Skywarp, and apparently the nympho. But this one was decidedly…unusual. Who knew that devious wretch Starscream had this much variety of idiocy in him?

Megatron pet one wing awkwardly. Ramjet squeaked, wriggling against him. Megatron reached for another of the berries, letting the clone lick the sugary coating off his fingers.

He pushed at one of Ramjet's thighs. His own spike was nowhere near pressurizing to do the job, but he could do something with his hands. Those hands which Slipstream had labeled as 'talented' last night. He mentally preened at the memory.

Ramjet squeaked again, pushing upright. He shook his head frantically, all while blurting, "I'm such a slut!"

Oh this was a trip into cognitive dissonance land. Megatron's mighty processor was beginning to ache. Megatron grabbed Ramjet's face in one hand. "You," he said. "Do not want to interface? Say nothing, just move your head."

The head shook, no.

Megatron felt vaguely insulted, but, then again, he still wasn't sure he was up to the task if needed. "Well, what do you want to do?" he asked, before he realized he was asking a question sure to get a lie. Ramjet, his cheeks still smushed by Megatron's hand, shook his head again, and wriggled off the Decepticon leader's lap.

As Megatron watched, the seeker bounced over to the berth and sat down, patting a spot next to him, brightly. But…Megatron wiped his hand over his face. Did the slaggin' thing want to interface or not? Mixed signals now, even without the lying voice. Who knew Starscream could be so maddeningly confusing? Oh, wait, he knew that already, actually. This was just the super-concentrated formula.

One way to find out, he thought, then realized he'd said the same thing about a half-dozen times already tonight. Affirmations of loyalty should not, he decided, require this much befuddlement and second-guessing on the leader's part. Then again, like Skywarp's teleportation, this one's sheer power of confusion might be handy in the future.

Like, as an Autobot captive. Oh, that was a most delicious thought. He felt a grin curve over his face at the image of the kind and gentle Autobots trying to deal with Ramjet's—confusing—behavior. He might have to arrange that at some point, in fact. Note to self: ask Shockwave about rigging Ramjet with a hidden A/V feed. Perhaps if the war effort ever got too strapped for cash, they could sell the videos.

But right now, he had to survive the night without falling headlong into the same insanity he was fantasizing about inflicting upon his Autobot enemies. In fact, it might be tolerable, wise, fun to test that. He moved to sit next to Ramjet.

The clone tilted his head at Megatron. "I hate having my cone touched," he said, almost hesitantly. Megatron brushed the top of the cone. Ramjet melted against him, pushing him down onto the berth, tangling his long limbs with Megatron's. Was he…purring? The jet snuggled against Megatron, nuzzling in his neck, hands almost trembling across his chassis.

Megatron continued to touch the jet's conical helm; Ramjet squirmed on top of him. This was getting…weird. Did all the damn thing want to do was cuddle? Megatron hated cuddling.

"So, Ramjet," he said, a malicious glint in his eye. "How would you like to be handed over to the Autobots as a prisoner?"

"I'd love it!" Ramjet blurted. His optics flew open; he shook his head frantically.

"Oh good," Megatron continued. "I hear they believe in sexual slavery for their Decepticon captives. Would you be a good sex slave for them?"

"The BEST! I love fucking!" Ramjet sat up, clapping his hands over his mouth.

"I imagine you do," Megatron said. He flipped open his interface hatch. "What do you think of this?" He was beginning to enjoy the clone's flustered behavior. Apparently he knew what he was saying and its impact.

Ramjet did not disappoint. "It's HIDEOUS!" he shrieked. And then burst into tears.

Megatron snickered. "Oh, come on, Ramjet," he coaxed. "I know about your…problem."

Ramjet flopped off him, curling in a ball. He shook his head, staunchly.

Megatron sighed, impatiently. "I know about the lying thing," he said. "I was just teasing you."

"Teasing's hilarious!" Ramjet blurted, turning further away. It almost sounded like sarcasm. Megatron wondered how much of Starscream's sarcasm was this sort of bitter backward attempt at lying his way to truth.

Slag. This wasn't getting him the clone's loyalty. Yes, yes, Megatron, he chided himself. You've had your fun. He stroked a hand down the jet's narrow thigh, determined to get this back on track. "You're right," he said, through gritted teeth. You can do this. You can make it through to this insane clone with his backwards relationship to reality. "It wasn't funny." Ramjet kept his back turned, swatting Megatron's hand away from his hip, petulantly.

Megatron looked at the door, keeping his voice down, just in case (as he often suspected) someone was lurking outside his door. "It was mean of me, and…," another look at the door, "I'm sorry." Think, he told himself, of what an asset he could be to the Decepticon forces. Not just his Powers of Mass Confusion (Note to self: do not put him in leadership, EVER), but as a solid fighter. Two things all of the clones had apparently inherited, according to Shockwave, were Starscream's flying and fighting abilities. Six of them under his control? Nothing could stop him. An entire wing of loyal fighters. Trustworthy, devoted, listening to his every whim and command. They were more than a match for Starscream. They were more than a match for any Autobot force. The idea itself was more than a match for Megatron's pride.

"I'm sorry," he repeated, and, wincing with distaste, stroked down one of Ramjet's wings. "Do you…want to just…kind of...," his mouth twisted, "cuddle?"

Ramjet flipped over, throwing his arms around Megatron, cooing. Eyes on the prize, Megatron told himself, as the clone snuggled against him. Eyes on the prize.

*****

"Yes, my lord," Shockwave lowered his optic to the floor, meekly. He wasn't even sure what he was getting yelled at for this time: Megatron was being disappointingly vague. If only he knew what he'd done wrong so he could formulate a proper apology…!

"These clones are all insane. You would not believe the horrors I have had to endure in the name of guaranteeing their loyalty!" Megatron fumed, pacing in front of his command chair. "They should all be terminated!" He stopped. "Perhaps not the femme, though."

Shockwave seethed. He had Slipstream at the top of a very short list for immediate termination. After Starscream himself. And possibly Lugnut. No, before Lugnut—Lugnut would never work up the nerve to approach Megatron with his hopeless infatuation. Lugnut couldn't even spell 'hopeless infatuation.' Quite possibly, Lugnut couldn't even spell 'Lugnut'.

"Yes, my lord," Shockwave repeated, numbly. He was beginning to despise these clones. Not just for their enviable opportunity, but for how they were sapping Megatron's strength and sanity. Shockwave fretted that if anything, he himself had been TOO loyal, and had never gotten this unique opportunity to be seduced into service.

"Well, only one left," Megatron sighed, throwing himself dramatically into his chair. "Give me the devastatingly bad news now, so I have the entire day to brace for it."

"We have very little information on this one, my lord," Shockwave said, apologetically. His antlers quivered at the dour look Megatron shot him. "We do know," he said, floundering, "that he has a penchant for material possessions."

Megatron waved his hand, irritated, "No big words unless they're praising me," he muttered.

"Yes, of course. What I mean is that Dirge, the last of the clones, seems to be a bit, well, greedy."

Megatron tapped his fingers against the arm of his chair. "Yes, well that makes sense. Again, I'm merely surprised that Starscream's composition is only one-sixth greedy."

"True, my lord."

"Well, I can't think of any true horrors I have yet to face on the berth. Unless he has a spanking fetish. I swear to you, Shockwave," Megatron said, darkly, "I will not stoop to being paddled. Even I have my limits." And his endurance had its limits. Megatron considered himself a mech of not inconsiderable prowess, but this was taxing to his systems.

Megatron was secretly longing for Sunstorm again. Or Slipstream. Then again, he still wasn't entirely recovered from last time with her. Then he caught himself thinking about Skywarp. That had been low-effort on his part…wait! What was he thinking!?

"No," Shockwave was saying, "No spanking." He hoped. The dossiers he had were woefully incomplete. But…what were the odds? There was nothing in Starscream's character that hinted at a spanking fetish. Well, maybe the desire TO be spanked, but…Shockwave didn't think Megatron would balk at that.

Megatron sighed. "This is the last one. We might think, Shockwave, of some new way of ensuring loyalty." Shockwave froze, outraged. Before he had his chance?!!?

"Yes, my lord," he whimpered.

*****

Dirge had eyes for EVERYTHING, it seemed. He commented on the pattern of the flooring of the corridor, the quality of metal of Megatron's recharge door, and the lock, the size of the room, the value of the trophies Megatron had displayed.

"Primus," Megatron muttered to Shockwave, under Dirge's continuing verbal inventory, "he's worse than that time we had that irksome Autobot—what was his name?"

"Bluestreak, my lord," Shockwave said, repressing a shudder. He'd actually had to deal with Bluestreak in his days as Longarm. It turned out that Bluestreak's favorite type of audience was the one that tried desperately to ignore him. Shockwave remembered megacycles of messages he'd erased, as Bluestreak did not understand why Shockwave did not return his after hours calls and blathered for entire cycles about various things/places he thought Shockwave might be doing and/or suggesting things they might do together (some of which made Shockwave lose his composure entirely in horrified laughter) and the worst of all was this pernicious way that his parataxis was entirely contagious!!

"Slag," Megatron breathed. "First priority, shutting him up." He waved a hand, dismissing Shockwave. Who left, a bit faster than he might, just to escape the continued avalanche of words pouring out of Dirge's vocalizer.

Megatron steeled himself as Dirge bent down to dig into one of his bins. "This is nice," the teal clone said, digging through the bin and pulling out an embroidered cleansing rag. "The monogram should be changed of course. M is such a terribly common and bourgeois letter."

Megatron seethed. "Ahem," he said, sharply. Dirge continued digging through the bin, yanking out the medallion Megatron had won—earned—so long ago in the arena. Megatron boiled over as the greedy mech tossed the chain around his own neck. Some things were just too much. He lunged forward , throttling the greedy beast with the chain, hauling Dirge to his feet. Loyalty be damned. This one would be loyal to nothing but his own appetites.

"Guuuucchhh! Hurting!"

"I know," Megatron said, smoothly. "What? I thought nothing was ever enough for you, clone. Is it possible we've discovered something that is too much for you?" He jerked tighter, the top of the medallion digging into Dirge's sensitive underthroat plating. Dirge clawed at his throat, gasping, struggling to get his feet under him.

Megatron flung Dirge onto the berth, grunting in satisfaction at the painful contact of the metal rim of the berth on Dirge's knees. He threw himself on top of the clone, looming over him, hands on either side of Dirge's helm, thumbs linked in the chain. "Well," Megatron sneered, "What have you got to say for yourself, clone?"

Dirge looked up at him, his optics vibrating with fear. Oh, much better. This mech would learn some respect. He would learn fear, and he would follow Megatron based on that fear.

"I—uhhh, release me, please? I can make it worth your while?"

Megatron's energon was up. He would have no problems tonight as he'd feared he might have had last night. He could handle whatever this pitiful groveling thing had to offer. He knelt back, releasing the chain's grip across Dirge's throat. "And, how do you intend to do that, exactly?"

"Well, the old-fashioned way, of course," Dirge said. He slid a hand down one of Megatron's arms, seductively.

"I," Megatron said, "have a better idea." He reached to the headpost where he had (always—a leader must be prepared for any contingency, whether it be personal safety or personal…predilection), a pair of stasis cuffs. He felt all of the frustration of the last five days come back to him, all of the effort to be 'nice', to accommodate, to bend to their needs and wishes and desires, all in the name of achieving their loyalty. He was tired of acquiescing. Tired of the efforts to feel them out and give them what they wanted. It was time Megatron took what he wanted. He was, after all, the leader.

He twirled the cuffs on one finger. "This," he said, "is how we will do this."

Dirge nodded. "O-okay." He lay back, submissively. "Whatever you wish, leader."

Megatron smiled. Finally, someone would do it as HE wished. "Excellent. I'm glad to see we have achieved an…understanding." He leaned over to one side to snap the stasis cuff around one of Dirge's wrists.

Dirge moved, faster than Megatron could follow, and before the Decepticon leader could figure out what was going on, the stasis cuff snapped around his own wrist, and he was driven flat onto his back between the clone's legs, his thigh servos straining at the hip attachments. Megatron flailed his free hand as far away from Dirge as possible, refusing to let him attach the second cuff.

Dirge smirked down at him—that smirk Megatron recognized so very, very much from his Second—and coolly attached the second cuff to Megatron's ankle.

ZZZAP! The stasis cuffs snapped active, sending a jolt of electricity through the right half of Megatron's body. He arched off the berth at the shock.

"Who is the leader now?" Dirge said, coyly, as Megatron fell numbly to his side. Dirge adjusted the cuffs' power rheostat just enough that Megatron could move—a little. "And you did say that this is how we will do this, did you not, oh great Megatron?" Dirge raked a hand down Megatron's interface panel experimentally, then turned down the rheo once more. Another rake of the claws. Megatron hissed at the sudden pain.

"Better," Dirge muttered. "No fun if you can't feel anything." He snapped open the interface hatch, teasing the spike and valve covers with one hand while his other pressed Megatron's pelvic frame down.

"Get your filthy paws off me," Megatron bellowed, swinging with his free hand at Dirge's head.

Dirge tsked. "You want to play even rougher?" He caught the hand and slammed it against the berth, tangling it in a loop from Megatron's arena necklace and throwing the far end of the loop over the bedpost, pinning both of his arms out of the way, useless.

Which part of Starscream was this? He'd already had the nympho and he'd've thought Skywarp checked enough of the kinkyboxes for dom/sub…did Starscream have this much aggression in him?

Yes: tied to greed, yes. The unprincipled simpleton Starscream would stoop to anything to get what he wanted. And Dirge here wasn't about the sex. He was about the power. This, Megatron decided, was bad news.

"You," Dirge announced, "are going to overload for me."

"In your dreams," Megatron defied, kicking with his one free remaining leg.

"That would be an exceedingly boring dream, for me, honestly," Dirge said. "I aim a little higher." He tickled Megatron's valve cover. Megatron squirmed, trying to get his hips away from the clone's fingers, but the action just brought more pressure upon the valve cover, which released itself. "I mean," Dirge continued, "Look how easy you are. No challenge at all." He slipped two of his talons into Megatron's valve, grinning as Megatron roared in outrage and…lust. Dirge's talons skipped straight to the sensitive nodes, stroking against them, raising the charge in a way that was hard to resist.

No. Megatron was the leader. He bucked his hips, his valve rim snapping against Dirge's hand. "Not that easy," he snarled.

"Oh, easy enough," Dirge said. "I barely have to think about this." He rose up, unlatching his own interface panel and in one smooth move, lodged his spike into Megatron's valve, pressing his entire weight on Megatron's pelvic arch, forcing it back against the berth. His hands clittered across to Megatron's spike cover. The spike released into his hand, already half pressurized from the cyberadrenaline kicking through Megatron's systems, and, he would admit (but barely) the arousal from the clone's fingers.

Dirge's hands closed eagerly around Megatron's spike, pulling it in a counterpoint to the rhythm he thrust into the valve with. "Now," he said, "tell me how badly you want me."

"Go frag yourself."

A little frown. "Oh, maybe later. Right now I'm a little too involved fragging YOU. And waiting for you to scream out my name."

"Ha! NEVER."

"Really? Strange thing, Megatron, I always get what I want."

Megatron wanted nothing more than to punch that self-congratulatory smirk off the clone's face. He struggled with his bonds, all while Dirge continued his attentions—the hands slicking through the lubricant on Megatron's spike, one circling the spike's tip while the other rose and fell against the shaft, while he kept a maddeningly slow pace of his spike in Megatron's valve, pausing at the end of every instroke to grind his spike against the upper node.

Megatron's fury grew in pace with the overload building across both of his interface systems. How dare he? More, how had Megatron let this happen?

Dirge worked himself into an overload, hissing as his spike shot transfluid into Megatron's valve, his hands still teasing the spike, the gush of hot fluid tingling against Megatron's sensor nodes.

Megatron cried out in pure rage, "Diiiiiiiiiiiirrrrrge!"as he thrashed against his bonds.

Dirge laughed down at him as the doubled overload ripped across his systems. Megatron's silver fluid shot into the air between them, landing with audible spattering sounds on his chassis, his valve gripping against Dirge's still quivering spike.

"Told you," Dirge said, smugly, "you'd cry out my name. I ALWAYS get what I want."

*****

In the end, Megatron had no choice. SOMEONE had to untie him. Dirge had left him in the wee hours, still bound, covered in lubricant and transfluid. Megatron needed someone with discretion. Someone whose trust was entire. Someone, above all, he could blame for all of this.

Shockwave entered the room and froze, his golden optic taking in the spectacle of his leader bound and spattered with sexual fluids in what Megatron presumed to be suitably abashed horror.

"Untie me," Megatron croaked. "Untie me so I can kill him."

"I believe," Shockwave said, quietly, "That may be unwise in the present moment."

"Unwise?! Unwise?" Megatron twisted on the berth, wincing as he put too much pressure on his shoulder gyro.

"Unwise," Shockwave repeated. "The clones are necessary. Such emotional outbursts would undo all of the…very hard work you have had to endure, my lord," he said, diplomatically, edging around the berth for a better view.

"This," Megatron said tightly, "is in no small part your fault as well. You should worry more about your own frame than those insane clones."

"Believe me, my lord," Shockwave said, "I do." His antlers quivered with intensity. "But as my lord is fond of saying," he knelt on the berth, unfastening his panel to reveal his erect spike, glossy with lubricant, "sometimes one must throw worry and caution to the winds and seize the moment." Megatron's eyes were glued to Shockwave's spike with a kind of fascination. Apparently not only did Shockwave have the unique frame of having one optic, he only had half the usual set of interface equipment. A spike. And a very, very large spike indeed.

He plunged his spike into Megatron's valve. "I am merely following the guidance of my wise leader," he said, apologetically. Megatron writhed as the huge spike stretched against his valve, his overworked nodes sparking back to life at the friction from the large spike's enormous nodes.

"Shockwave…," he gasped, trying to sound furious. Leaderly. Anything but impossibly aroused (again!) by the movement of the large spike.

"My lord," Shockwave said, his voice still its calm, usual, reasonable self, "you do believe in fairness, of course. This is simply you ensuring MY loyalty." His long hands seized at Megatron's thighs for leverage, thrusting into the valve, which was already spasming into an overload—what would be the first of many.