Ever since last summer when I watched Thunderblast (Chromia) spazz over Megatron in the Cybertron series, I've been wanting to write an 'encounter' with them. I hope you enjoy this at least a fraction as much as I enjoyed writing it. [warning: may contain unusually high quantities of fangirliness ^.^]

I reference an scene in Antepathy's Seeker Silliness (oh look, still the same acronym XP), so check that out if you haven't already.

Thank you Optimus Bob for the wonderful Prowl/Lockdown fluff in the previous chapters. I couldn't help teasing Prowl about that. =D

The Merciless Megatron by ToyzInTheAttic

(mer-sil-es meg-a-tron) n.:

An interfacing act in which the spiker plays the role of the infamous Decepticon leader and the spikee plays either a defeated Autobot or Starscream. The spiker, in honor of Megatron's time-old tradition of establishing authority with a Fusion Cannon Blast to the Face, aggressively face frags the spikee then pulls out at overload so the spikee takes it in the face. This act has also been referred to, usually by pleasure house employees, as the 20-credit-Megatron or 20-C-Meggers. At Cybertron's newest pleasure house, Inamorato, the asking price for this act is considerably higher than 20 credits.

Usage:
Sunstorm: Hey Ramjet, what is that lovely glistening fluid in your optic?
Ramjet: It's nothing at all. My last client did NOT just make me a recipient to the 20-C-Meggers.

***

Inamorato was not a place for those easily offended by the perversions of exotic leisure, but the employee breakroom of Inamorato took this to a whole new level. One wouldn't suspect this at first glance. It wasn't anything special to look at, in fact it was nothing like the main interior of the house, but rather grey and stale. It was furnished with the bare necessities such as energon storage bins, office equipment, a basic table with a few mismatch chairs and the writing board. The board was the culprit of these perversions and therefore it was the escorts' favorite feature of the room. Originally intended to list employee chores and shift duties, the board had evolved into the resource of slang names and definitions for popular interfacing acts.

Sunstorm, Ramjet and Chromia knew most of the popular acts by spark, but they needed to stay on the cutting edge of the terms which seemed to roll in off the streets on a regular basis and were therefore always updating the board with newfound knowledge. The Grumpy Space Pirate, The Jiffy Lube, The Crankshaft and The Beached Sharkticon were among many of the classics listed on the board. The newer additions were appropriately named after recent events and incorporated specific bots' names. One was The Wheeljacking which focused heavily of the art of foot perving. There was The Shockwave, which, when not referring to unusually extended spikes, typically meant pulling an all-nighter. Any client who claimed to be a good 'facer but ultimately bumbled through it pathetically was nicknamed The Not-So Hot Rod and any client who just flat out failed to bring the escorts any glint of pleasure was labeled A Coitus Magnus. The most recent name added was that of the infamous Decepticon leader, now Arena Boss, and the meaning to his name was the current topic of discussion among Inamorato's employees.

"I think its current definition is brilliant" sang Sunstorm as he leaned back casually and crossed a jetted foot over his knee. "It doesn't need to be changed. It suits that maniacal marvel beautifully."

Ramjet leaned into the table, talons strumming gracefully on his energon cube. "I agree. I don't think it should be revised at all for the sake of reflecting his current standing in Cybertronian society."

"Ramjet's right… I think" remarked Chromia. She sat upon the counter, legs dangling and heels rapping against the cabinet as she sipped her energon. "Megatron has a respectable reputation now among the masses and is deserving of a respectable 'facing act."

"But all that will change when our esteemed original returns" praised the golden jet. "The Superb Starscream will bring out the boorish bully in Megatron again in no time, therefore restoring the true meaning of The 20-C-Meggers."

Chromia choked on her energon at the mention of her competition. "Starscream isn't coming back" she protested. "If he knows what's good for him, he'll never ever come back. Hopefully the powers that be have finally smiled on us he's been permanently deactivated."

"I don't think he'll ever come back, and I especially don't think Megatron will allow him back into his ranks" said the lying jet.

"He reminds me of that catchy human song" offered Sunstorm with a nudge to his fellow clone's arm "about the tenacious tabby who wouldn't stay away" Ramjet nodded in agreement. Body language was the only genuine form of communication the cone-headed jet had.

The femme threw her arms up in aggravation. "Can we please stop talking about that sleazy afterburner and get back to talking about Megatron?" She slid down from the counter and huffed up to the board, snatching a stylus from the wall next to it. "I personally, am not fond of the 'Merciless' part." She crossed out the last four letters of the rejected word then wrote "ful" above them. "There, now that's more appropriate."

"It's make perfect sense with the definition" chided Ramjet. "Megatron isn't merciful one bit, especially not when he cuddles." A nostalgic smile formed on the jet's face.

Chromia beheld the liar with a reverence she rarely feels for anyone besides Megatron (and maybe Shockwave). "You've…cuddled with Megatron!?"

"Absolutely not" grinned Ramjet, smugly.

The femme dashed onto Ramjet's lap, wrapping her arms around his body and resting her head on his cockpit. "I must cuddle with you if this is true" she said dreamily.

Ramjet drank his energon, indifferent to the desperate creature sprawled over him. "The new definition should have nothing to do with cuddling."

"The magnanimous Megatron typically does not lower himself to cuddling," Sunstorm snapped at the other clone. "You were just given special treatment. Our respectably ruthless leader deserves nothing less than an interfacing act that reflects his rancorous roughshod."

"Impressive vocabulary" complimented Prowl. He entered the room a moment earlier, catching only the last few words of Sunstorm's comment. "Although I'm not sure I want to know what today's discussion is about." He passed by the table, not bothering to acknowledge Chromia's shameless pose on the jet's lap.

"I'm sure Prowl would love to give his opinion on Megatron's signature interfacing technique" teased Ramjet as he tried to peel Chromia's arms from his sides.

"Why would you even think I had an opinion on such a ridiculous matter?" Prowl shook his head in annoyance as he pulled his satin apron off its hanger.

"I know what an insatiable siren such as yourself would have a valid opinion on." smirked Sunstorm as he swirled a talon in his energon. "I'm sure you could enlighten us on the juicy definition of a… "Booty Hunter."

The ninja froze, turning his face away and straining to suppress an oncoming blush. Sunstorm didn't miss a beat. He left the table and swayed up to Prowl, grabbing a hanger from the uniform closet and holding it so its hook stuck out from between his talons. With his make-shift appendage, the jet tugged Prowl by the chin to look him in the face then shifted his stance to cock his hips forward.

"Evenin' kid" spoke the taunting jet, drastically dropping the pitch of his voice. Prowl jerked away, his mouth so pinched it was barely distinguishable. Sunstorm pursued him, wrapping the hook around the skinny neck and pulling Prowl up against his cockpit. "Care to check out my…MODule?" The jet propped his foot on a chair so his crotch is in plain view to the offended ninja.

"Do you mind!?" Prowl shoved the jet off him and stormed across the room. He slammed his apron on the counter next to the sink, his back forcefully turned to his laughing coworkers.

Chromia slid off Ramjet's lap, doubling over onto the floor in laughter. "Ohhh, Prowl, don't be so serious. You know how many would kill to have a sublime dancer dote on them the way Lockdown does for you?"

Prowl froze thoughtfully as he held his apron under the streaming water. Chromia smiled at his predictable reaction. The ninja quickly shook off the femme's words and began vigorously scrubbing his regretfully lucrative uniform. "Why are you here, Chromia? Isn't it your night off?"

She pulled herself to her feet, allowing a final few sniggers to escape, then hopped onto the counter next to Prowl, her aft planted next to the sink. "Yes, it is, but arena shuttle won't be here for another half mega-cycle." She watched with amusement as the ninja futilely worked at a dark stain in the red satin.

"Which strapping mechs are fighting tonight?" questioned Sunstorm as he slid back into his chair.

"Spark if I know" shrugged the femme as she handed a cleaning stick to Prowl. "Probably Waspinator and some scrub. I'm not going there to watch the fight."

Prowl glanced questionably to her. "Then why bother going?" He took the cleaning stick and went back to work on the apron.

"Shockwave called me for some official business" she grinned as she panned a proud look across the seekers' half-interested stares. "He's going to give me my insignia tonight."

"Is that what they're calling it these days?" smirked the ninja, earning himself a kick in the leg from the femme.

"How important" said Ramjet, bitterly. "Our purple badges have so much meaning as of late."

"Well it's better than" she tilted her chin up, pointing the blank spot on her collar "looking like some fraggin' undecided." She elbowed Prowl and gave him a sassy glance. "Not that there aren't a few endearing ones out there."

The stoic bartender ignored her comment and held his apron up for inspection. "Are you sure meeting with Decepticon high command doesn't violate your terms of house arrest?"

Chromia looked over the apron, nodding in approval of its condition. "It's not like I'm meeting with Megatron to start plotting a military coup." She grabbed the apron and signaled Prowl to spin around with a twirl of her finger. She sighed dreamily, a dopey smile spreading across her face. "Mmmmegatron." Prowl rolled his optics under his visor then turned his back to her. She shook some wrinkles from the soaked apron then held it up to the ninja's jet boosters. "I'd sell my soul to be branded by him." Her foot nudged Prowl's leg. "Fire 'em up."

"You cannot sell what you do not possess" lectured Prowl. His boosters blasted the apron with hot air, their noise drowning any potential retort from the femme. Chromia pinched her face at the gust and leaned as far away as possible but kept the quickly-drying silken garment in the air flow.

Blackout entered the room, learning tablet clutched in one claw and stylus in the other. His attention was locked on the small screen, his expression almost pained by the calculations romping through his processor. "I need help." he pleaded over the hum of the ninja's makeshift dryer. He lifted his gaze up to the seekers then shifted it to Prowl, the one member of the room he quickly deduced as the most educated. "Can you quiz me on this stuff?" Prowl reached obligingly for the tablet, simply responding with a curt nod.

"If I don't ace this quiz tonight" the bouncer continued, "Barricade won't let me teach him a new 'facin move." Blackout gazed pitifully to the ninja, refreshing his optics in a way that made Chromia jealous. It took her years of practice to master the 'begging for sympathy' look and here this copter could just do it naturally.

Chromia nudged the ninja again, signaling him to turn off his boosters. "Which move would you teach him?" she asked Blackout while examining the sheen red fabric.

"Chromia, please?" requested the ninja with a glance over his shoulder. "Blackout should focus on his scholastics for the moment." He returned his attention to the tablet but before he could deliver the first question, the femme interrupted.

"How about The Teacher's Pet?" she sniped, ignoring Prowl's irritated groan as she wrapped his uniform over his hips.

"Wha—What's that?" giggled the copter with a dopey half-smile.

"Well" continued the femme while she fussed with the apron ties. "It's rather hard to explain. We may need the" she tilted her head to the jets "winged wonders there to act it out."

Sunstorm and Ramjet exchanged scheming glances then smiled. "Who do you want to roleplay, Ramjet?"

Prowl pinched the bridge of his nose and released a long, frustrated sigh.

"The teacher" replied the liar.

Sunstorm leaned over, snatching the tablet from Prowl's grasp. "So…" he ran his 'Ramjet translator' function, "that makes me the teacher, which means you" he directed to the clone "need to get under the table."

"For the love of Primus" vented the ninja, his face now fully buried in his palm. Chromia finished dressing him than gave him an 'all done' pat to the aft. She scooted out from behind him to watch the jets' charade with an intrigued grin.

Ramjet assumed a humbled kneeling position as Sunstorm leaned back in his chair and spread his thighs apart. The sycophant looked over the tablet and tilted his head, a forced serious expression across his face. "Impressive grades, I must say. You are, by far, my star pupil."

Ramjet slid his talons up the golden thighs, triggering the clone's interface panel to retract. His hand found its way to a partially erected spike and his talons, one at a time, elegantly wrapped around it. "Shall I give you my oral report now?"

Normally a bad pun like that would cue the ninja's exit but he was taken off guard by the normal sentence uttered by the liar's mouth. "That's wasn't a lie" he pointed out.

"That's because he's acting." whispered the femme "now shush."

Prowl shook his head, casting a hopeless glance to Blackout as he made for the exit. "You're on your own with the quiz." He might as well have been talking to a tree because the copter was focused too intently on the jets to even notice the ninja leave the room.

"Now," continued Ramjet, "where was I?"

***

A mega-cycle later, the scene in Megatron's VIP booth at the gladiatorial arena was strikingly similar. The tyrant leaned back in his VIP chair, scoring tablet in hand, his VIP expression serious but relaxed. Shockwave sat awkwardly on his knees, his narrow, single-featured face hovering humbly over his leader's fully erected spike.

"My liege," pleaded the second-in-command "you know I live to serve you, but there are others in your ranks much better suited for these tasks."

The arena boss sneered, clearly unimpressed by his subordinate's excuses. "Do you consider this below you, Shockwave? Has the role of my second gone to your head?"

"No" defended the intel bot with a widening optic. "Of course not Lord Megatron, but you cannot expect me to perform the way Starscream used to."

Megatron slammed his fist down on his arm rest, shattering his empty energon cube. "DO NOT…say that name." Shockwave bowed his head regretfully, his optic shrinking as he anticipated a just punishment. "How many times must I remind you not to mention that name!?"

"Forgive me, sir. That was very tactless of me." He sighed shamefully then transformed into Longarm Prime, a mode equipped with a mouth and a set of hands much more adequate for attending to Megatron's needs. He wrapped his stubby fingers timidly around his leader and began pumping in slow, even strokes.

Megatron relaxed again, dimming his optics and resting his head back. "Now…" sighed the tyrant in a deep rumble "report."

"Agent Chromia will arrive shortly" stated the SIC flatly, straining to suppress his own arousal (an arousal he knew would not be addressed tonight) from distracting him. "Do you still intend for me to adorn her with our insignia?"

"That was the arrangement you made, was it not?"

"Yes, but I feel it may be more appropriate if you present it to her." The stroking pace slowed as Shockwave's processor stumbled onto a resourceful plan.

"Continue" ordered Megatron, making a slight, impatient gesture with one hand.

"Perhaps" ventured Shockwave as his attention shifted from the lubricant tipped spike to Megatron's bored expression, "you could utilize her for your personal needs. She is quite fond of you and a superb craftsbot with…matters such as…these."

Megatron's patience was quickly dwindling. "I meant continue your actions, not words." He ran his fingers across his brow, unable to mask his pent up frustration. "Why must you make this such a chore? I simply require you relieve my tension, not multiply it."

"I only mean to point out that Chromia is much better suited to satisfy you, what with her being an escort." Shockwave couldn't let the issue go, despite his leader's obvious irritation. He hated playing pleasure bot during business hours. He hated playing pleasure bot anytime when he couldn't satisfy his own desires and he certainly didn't want to meet with Chromia with an unattended erection. She would detect it in an instant and no doubt, in her vanity, assume it was her that summoned it, despite his past efforts to prove his capacity for self-control.

Megatron peeked through his fingers down at the pathetic attempts being made on his spike. "Fine" he relented, closing his interface panel and shoving Shockwave off him with a light kick. "Bring her here when she arrives."

Shockwave rose to his feet, transforming back into his Decepticon form. Had he remained in his Autobot form any longer, he would've risked displaying the smugness he felt from breaking through Megatron's stubbornness.

"Are you certain she won't react harshly when asked to interface on her night off?" the tyrant questioned, nearly eluding to concern, but most likely worried about the well-being of his spike.

"I assure you, she will be compliant." Shockwave opened a comm call. "Lugnut, come in. I have a request for you."

Megatron strummed his fingers disdainfully on his arm rest, occasionally flicking energon cube shards onto the floor.

"When Chromia arrives bring her to the VIP room" continued the intel bot. Megatron could hear his loyal soldier through the comm and smiled as Lugnut's indecipherable words were clearly ruffling his SIC. "It is none of your concern what Megatron wants with her, I simply ask you bring her here then return to your duties. Shockwave out."

"She is already here then?" inquired the tyrant.

"Apparently so" answered Shockwave as he positioned himself by the door, safely out of Megatron's reach.

"How is she is able to meet with us if she is serving a prison sentence?" The arena boss carelessly tossed his scoring tablet to the floor.

"She has a tracking device on her ankle. The Elite Guard allows them a weekly recess, provided they operate within curfew. If she doesn't return to Inamorato by a given time, then her tracker alerts the Autobots."

"Sounds like a typically flawed system" Megatron criticized.

"I assure you it is. We could probably use it to our advantage"

"How so?" questioned the tyrant with slight intrigue.

"For the sake of respecting her clients' privacy, the Elite Guard only tracks her whereabouts, not her interactions. Some of her regulars are Elite Guard Officers, high up on the chain of command and potentially guilty of questionable fetishes. Perhaps we could recruit her to gather intel on these matters."

"Blackmail material" Megatron smiled slyly, tapping his fingertips to his mouth.

"Exactly." Shockwave straightened his posture, proud of his own idea despite his leader's lack of praise for it. "She is still a valuable asset to us. I believe she would be willing to bend the rules of client confidentiality if you specifically request her to…provided your sexual frustrations do not hinder your charisma tonight and shatter every elevated fantasy she has fabricated about you."

Megatron's smile dropped and his optics blazed a deadly crimson. Shockwave tensed in regretful stupor, his processor hitching at the very Starscream-like accusation that just slipped from his vocalizer. Luckily the loud thudding at the door broke the tension and prevented the intel bot from being beaten to scrap metal.

"Excellent. Our guest has arrived." Shockwave opened the door then immediately, to Chromia's utter shock, tugged her into the room and quickly exited, closing the door behind him.

Chromia stood at the door, frozen, confused and awkward. Why did Shockwave just flee the scene like sparkling ready to wet himself? Why was she just abandoned to stare stupidly into the back of Megatron's chair? Was she to be branded by Megatron himself? Why didn't Shockwave forewarn of this? She did not prepare for this. How does one prepare for this? For starters, she would've lathered up in her finest of wax, laced her chassis in her most alluring oils and naturally, spent megacycles practicing her lines in front of the mirror. How dare that two-face, giant-spiked motherboardfucker do this to her!?

Megatron glanced over his shoulder, his furrowed brow lifting over one optic. "Did you come here to decorate my doorway or would you like to receive your insignia?" His voice was casual but hinted at irritation.

She took a deep inhalation and approached his chair, bringing herself into his peripheral. "Lord M-Megatron, I apologize…I didn't expect to—"

"You need not apologize, it is Shockwave who is to blame for the evening's altered plans." He rose from his chair and pulled a small purple badge from his cockpit. "Apparently he holds his time in higher priority than mine."

This comment made her want to shrink into oblivion. Her presence was merely a time sink to him. She was nothing but a chore, a nuisance, distracting him from…from whatever it is he does in his VIP room all day. He had more important issues to deal with than her branding. He probably dwelled on how to balance keeping the peace with the Autobots while upholding his revered reputation with the Decepticons. Maybe he worried about what kind of weapons should be allowed into the matches in order add spice to the show yet keep it true to the old form. Perhaps he cared for the minor details, such as what kind of refreshments the concession stand should serve or what color the advertising banners should be.

"But no matter," he continued with a sigh. "I had nothing in particular going on tonight."

Or maybe he just sat around all day, looking pretty and doing absolutely nothing.

"I am honored just to be considered worthy to wear your symbol, my Lord." Oh Primus, did she sound like Lugnut? Would it be bad if she sounded like Lugnut? He really liked Lugnut, after all. Perhaps the Lugnut approach is the right one to take. She would've thought Shockwave would be the ideal mech to mimic in gaining Megatron's favor, but obviously Shockwave wasn't in his good graces tonight.

Megatron approached the femme, oblivious to her inner turmoil as he looked over the badge in his grasp. He rubbed his thumb across it, grimacing slightly as the purple face wasn't as vivid as it should be. He looked her over carefully, searching her body for the proper place to attach the badge. His focus locked to her neck and with a single finger, he lifted her chin and studied the blank spot on her collar.

"Is this where you would like it?"

His voice alone could turn her servos into putty but his touch…ohhh his touch. Once she returned to Inamorato, she was going to coat her chin with layers of resin, forever cementing the traces of oil and specs of black paint that may be left behind.

"Y-yes." That's all she could say. Everything slowed down. The slight tilt he forced her head into, his other hand raising to her neck and placing the shining badge on her. It took only a gently pressing to secure it into place, but a gentle press from Megatron could've sent her chassis sprawling to the floor if she didn't counter it by leaning into his touch. He lifted her chin higher and tilted his head as he analyzed her.

"You will just have to trust that I put it on straight. I do not have a mirror in here."

"I trust you" she breathed, barely audible. He continued to study her, forcing her into a mess of discomfort mixed with arousal. What the frag was going on? His hand shifted to touch the clamps on her wings, causing him to step closer to her. His height was belittling. Her optics only met his waist…well pelvic plating. Not a horrible view. Her senses picked up a familiar scent. Lubricant. Oh dear Primus, was that a spot of lube on his hip? But who's lube? Shockwave's? It didn't smell like Shockwave's. Could it be his? The thought of Megatron's fluids close enough for her to smell did things to her processor that she didn't think were possible.

"These restraints are pathetic," barked Megatron. "I could remove them without the slightest of effort." He ran his fingers along the metal, inadvertently brushing her wings in the process.

Please, remove them, she thought. If it meant he would touch her more, she'd gladly take the punishment from the EG.

"If you do, it'll send an alert to the Autobots." She's not sure how she managed those words, seeing how they were more than three.

"We do not want that," he reasoned. The monstrous hand drifted to her back and he guided her to walk with him. "Come" he spoke firm, but casually. They approached the broad window overlooking the ring where two mechs battled mercilessly and the weekday crowd cheered them on.

"I understand you used to work here during the war?" he inquired.

Small talk? Why? What was happening? The branding was finished, what more did he want from her? Did Shockwave set them up? Was she summoned here…as an escort?

"Yes." Aaaaand, back to single word answers. Some escort she was. The one mech she would pay with her soul to 'face and she couldn't manage the game of Byte Whore.

His hand slipped off her back and clasped with the other behind his own back. He looked down to her, brow furrowing in what? Confusion? Annoyance? Slaggit! She couldn't read his expression from her periphery alone and she sure in pit wasn't going to gawk like a fool.

"For a negotiations bot, you certainly are quiet," he pondered.

Was that a bad thing? She'd always imagined Megatron the long-winded type and therefore allowing him the floor of conversation was a good thing. What did he want her to say? She wasn't about to tell him any stories from her arena days, but she needed to say something, preferable something to steer away from dredging up memories of her employment with the Quintessons.

"I'm just tired…you know, from working a nocturnal schedule." Not bad. That sounded true enough. And it brought up her line of work, a subject she hoped he'd take an interest in.

Megatron turned from the window and eased back down into his throne. "Is it true the Autobot Magnus regularly visits your bawdy house?" He shifted to a comfortable crooked lean.

Frag Sentinel! She didn't want to talk about that imbecile. Ask about her clients, ask about the seekers, ask about the damned interior design, but for spark's sake, don't bring up her biggest turn-off of the millennium. She kept her gaze on the fighters and their aggressive moves must've been the motivating drive for her next comment.

"I don't like small talk," she blurted tactlessly.

The Decepticon leader perked up at this. Chromia could feel his optics burning holes into her back. Slag it all to the pit, he was going to take his insignia back then toss her through the window into the ring. And she would deserve it.

"Then what do you like?" emerged the gravelly voice, breaking the longest, tensest moment of her functioning. Straight to the point. She could work with that, seeing how she was still alive. She turned to face him, her posture straightening.

"You," she confessed blatantly.

A corner of the tyrant's mouth angled up into the makings of a smirk. "What is it you like about me?"

"Everything." She relented to abandon grace for the easy of just telling the truth. It was a surprisingly easy tactic, in a this-is-the-weirdest-conversation-I've-ever-had sort of way.

"Your limited but select words are flattering, assuming they're sincere. I've certainly had my fair share of panderers." He shifted his aft on the seat, a shift Chromia recognized as a reaction to an erected spike. She was instantly drawn into him, assuming the mental image of his spike begging for release was the driving force behind her legs carrying her in his direction.

"And I have done my fair share of pandering, but I assure you, my Lord, my adoration of you is for real."

Megatron's interface panel retracted as if she spoke the magic words to trigger it. And there it was. His spike. Its tip glistening with what could only be the sweetest-tasting fluid in the universe and its size; it was everything she imagined. Even after the Shockwave incident and the go around with the biggest spike of her life, she still believed Megatron's would be more impressive. And it was. She could honestly say it wasn't as long as Shockwave's, but it made up for that in girth. Oohhh, did it ever.

"Come here, Chromia."

She was at his feet in a spark beat, but unfortunately, she was once again stunted for the appropriate thing to say. Perhaps there wasn't anything to say. Perhaps her mouth had only one purpose for the evening. If that were the case she could handle that. She lifted her hands to his thighs, hesitating before actually making contact. Once her fingers felt the seasoned but smooth metal, her core shuddered with a processor-numbing arousal, something she hadn't felt in a long, long time.

"I can't help wonder," spoke the tyrant with a slight and surprising concern, "if it is wrong of me to subject you to this on your night off."

She peered over the taunting spike, her gaze wandering up the broad chassis to finally meet his optics with a questioning gape.

"You look confused," he added. "Does it surprise you that I would bother with such a concern?

She could only nod stupidly.

"Believe it or not," his smile widened with the confession "I have a very small reserve of decency I draw upon once in a while."

She must be dead. And this must be The Well, but how she earned the right to be in The Well was beyond her. Frag it. She'd sort the details out later.

"I always suspected you did, my Lord" she praised.

"Then you don't find it improper of me to desire this from you?" Megatron clasped his fingers together, resting his hands across his broad chest.

She shuttered her optics at him, deciding to let her actions answer his question. She leaned over and closed her mouth around the delectably rounded tip, her glossa lapping up the euphorically sweet fluid. Her wings went limp, as did her shoulders and back. The weight of her entire upper body now rested on her elbows, which were wedged against Megatron's inner thighs. Her delicate fingers twined around the base of his spike. It took both her hands to fully wrap around it. She slid one hand up, her fingers collecting his wetness from her mouth and spreading it down the shaft.

Megatron leaned his head back and moaned gutturally, thoroughly impressed by her artful rhythm of squeezing, stroking and licking. Was this a standard technique she used on all her clients or was he being treated to something more? He was inclined to think the latter. She felt remarkably good, possibly better than Starscream. Sure, that insidious jet had an addicting touch, but with Chromia, the tyrant didn't have to wonder if his spike would be bitten off. This was quite nice. He could get use to this, perhaps finally have a reason to offer his regular patronage to General Strika's renowned place of business. Primus knows he wouldn't pay to interface with Starscream's cheap knock-offs.

Chromia slid her mouth off the gleaning spike, but her hands kept working their magic. She dared peek up to her muse's face, her wings perking up curiously. His optics were dimmed, his processor obviously drifting. What the frag was he thinking about? His tiny smile reassured her that he wasn't displeased, but he became mysteriously quiet. Should she say something? Would that spoil his moment? Was he even having a moment or was she putting him into stasis? The tensing of his body and eruption of fluid from his spike told her otherwise. She gasped as it sprayed across his chassis, regretting that it happened outside of her mouth. Would he be mad about this? Should she have taken it in, preventing the undignified mess on his beautiful plating? She cursed herself for not reading him properly, but then again how could she? He was quite unresponsive.

Megatron relaxed his body, his smirk spreading to a satisfied smile. "You should be proud, Agent Chromia," he purred, keeping his optics dimmed. "You are gifted in many ways." His hands unclasped and one drifted down to brush over her helmet, his fingers teasing her antennae.

Praise and petting…from Megatron. She was speechless. Her processor overwhelmed. Her spark swelled, her chassis warming romantically. She had fought to suppress this side of her emotion for him, but that was impossible now. He was behaving…like a gentleman. She was prepared to take use and abuse from him and lap up every instant of it with gratitude, but only in her most desperate fantasies could she imagine him treating her like this.

"I don't believe I ever properly thanked you for aiding in our escape from the Elite Guard," continued the unpredictable mech, his voice relaxed. His hand slid under her wings and without a shred of effort, he lifted her onto his lap. His optics relit and he looked into her disbelieving face. "I assure you, when the opportunity arises for us to do the same for you, we will act on it."

"Please sir," she breathed humbly "your gratitude is not necessary." Her thighs twitched at the feel of his transfluid underneath them. She was grateful for her flexibility in this moment given the sheer spread required for her legs to straddle his hips. His impressive hands cupped over her hips, engulfing her aft and lower back as well.

"Oh I think it is," he argued playfully, his thumbs trailing down to trigger the retraction of her interface panel. He lifted her up then gently lowered her down on his spike, surprised at how easily her tiny valve accepted him. "That is, if you'll accept my method of gratitude."

She gasped and threw her head back violently, her body arching and shamelessly displaying every elegant curve.

By all laws of physics, his size should've caused her immense agony, but a force greater than science was at work here. Megatron was inside her. His spike impressively restored to another full erection, despite having just overloaded. Was this typical for Megatron or by some miracle was she an influence on it? Her every node greeting him reverently. He felt better than she could have ever fathomed. She was afraid to move. Luckily she didn't have to because he began thrusting, slowly and smoothly. Her body lifted and fell with his motion. She dropped her head down and slid her hands along his chassis, smearing the fluid over his waist.

His rhythm picked and so did his vocalizations. She could feel every vibration from his voice in every inch of her body. Her spark swelled painfully but her valve clenched wantonly. He squeezed her hips in time to his thrusts. His moans drown out her breathy whimpers. She kept her head hung, fearing her desperation would be put on display if he were allowed to see her face. Every lyric of every romantic song she ever daydreamed to swept through her cortex. She wanted to curse herself for this. This was not Decepticon behavior; melting like some sappy little schoolgirl. He didn't need to know how long she dreamt about this; how high a pedestal she put him on; how he unknowingly kept her spirits high during her darkest hours. A true Decepticon found strength in their own spark. He would take his symbol back without hesitation if he knew how dependent she was on him to maintain any semblance of normal functioning.

"Is something wrong?" he exhaled, drifting his hand to her shoulders, his broad finger tracing over the back of her neck while his body continued its motion. Her optics brightened and she lifted her head, putting on her most carefree of facades, straining to focus on his face as her optics lidded each time he pressed her into his steady wave of thrusting.

"No" she gasped, unconvincingly.

Megatron pressed two fingers to the back of her helm, pulling her into him. He leaned over and engulfed her entire mouth into a kiss. She moaned helplessly, shuddering at the taste of his glossa on hers. This was the final, deciding stimulus and her body ascended into delirious overload, sending her moans into lustful cries. Megatron followed her lead and released himself into her, smiling at the feel of her nodes accepting his fluid greedily. Her body bucked, her fingers digging into his chest. His warmth inside her was maddening and his smile against her cheeks was euphoric. She fell limp onto his lap, too overwhelmed to regret breaking the kiss.

She laid there, her cheek resting on his Decepticon symbol, her optics barely lit. She ventilated shallow enough to mimic a state of deep stasis. His spike lightly pulsed in her valve, still large enough to tease her nodes, causing her chassis to lightly twitch.

"When are you expected back at the pleasure house?" purred the former gladiator.

His voice snapped her back into reality…if she could call this reality. Was this pillow talk? Were they cuddling? His fingers teased over her wings and his other hand trailed up and down her leg. She called that a yes.

"Couple megacycles" she whispered through her daze. "But I'll probably go back early…once we're…finished." She cringed at her ineloquent words.

"Are you in a hurry?" pondered Megatron, tilting his head to look down at her.

"No" she replied quickly. Spark no. Someone stop the clock, extinguish her spark, club her in the head so these feelings were permanently locked on her sensor net, just please Primus, don't let this moment end.

"Good. I have an assignment for you." His tone was gentle but flat.

Her head shifted to peek curiously up at the gorgeous face. She would do anything he asked. Anything. As long it meant the cuddling wouldn't stop.

"How deeply do you value your Autobot clients' confidentiality?" Megatron met her optics with a commanding look. She shrunk a little but her spark welled with intrigue.

"How deep would you like me to value them?"

***

The following evening at Inamorato wasn't anything out of the ordinary. The employees ambled through their preparatory chores, the bouncer mopping the floor, the bartender stocking his shelves, the jets preening in the breakroom. Sunstorm halfheartedly inquired about where the third escort was and Ramjet could only shrug, saying he didn't suspect her shut up all day in the Exotic Room, posing in the front the mirror while listening to an endless playlist of romance. He also pointed out how she didn't barely make curfew last night and certainly didn't float into the breakroom and update the board. The lying jet said he had no idea how the definition of Megatron's 'facin act evolved from a perfectly legible written language to a colorful collage of puppy love, spelt out with sketches of hearts, butterflies and a sprinkling of glitter. Sunstorm looked the board over like it was an abstract painting. He concluded the new definition of 'facin with the illustrious Megatron could be safely labeled as the relished relief one felt from living to tell the tale.