Disclaimer: I don't own Starscream or Megatron or any of the characters. Why…? :'(
Oh, before you move on to the chapter, PLEASE READ THE FOLLOWING:
I was going to put this note after the chapter, but I realized that doing so would effectively kill the mood (XD), so I decided to place this here, at the beginning. Sorry for the interruption. Please bear with me for a few minutes. I just would like to take a little time to address the topic discussed in an anonymous review I'd received the last chapter. While I do believe everyone is entitled to their own opinions, I think some opinions require responding to rather than simply letting slide.
I apologize for going all Prowl on you, but please read on, as I think this topic needs to be addressed. I am not here to justify the decisions I have made for this story. I disagree with the analysis given in the review, but I think the evident misconceptions on the topic of "abuse" are much more important.
No abuse can be categorized as "humorous". It's hard discussing this in terms of giant alien robots from outer-space, and sociology is not my area of expertise. However, hearing abuse described as "humorous and non-consequential" made me very uncomfortable.
Abuse is not okay. Period. Which leads me to my next point.
Calling Starscream an abuse victim and a "helpless", "submissive bitch" at the same time is not only tactless, but also extremely wrong. This makes the grave implication that abuse victims are "helpless" and "submissive bitch[es]". The reason this is not a belief anyone should uphold is pretty straightforward.
These are the two points, and the only two points I will discuss. I don't feel like I need to explain my story, which, in my opinion and that of a fellow writer who I've consulted with, does not exemplify spousal abuse. Starscream was not "gear[ed] up" as an abuse victim. He has been one since the beginning of this story. He was sexually abused as a child in the Prologue. However, my intention is far from writing him as a "helpless" and "submissive bitch".
This will be the only time I'm addressing this issue. I believe I've said enough. I am not sorry for what I've written. There is a very important message, one that is very close to my heart, that is driving this story forward. It will not be apparent until later, but I know, with absolute certainty, that it is not "senseless and vile domestic abuse disguised as 'love'".
There is also nothing wrong with writing a story for therapeutic purposes.
If you've read this far, thank you, truly, for taking the time to do so. If you ever see an aspect of my story that can be improved, please let me know. I take all feedback into consideration. If this isn't your cup of tea, I'm sorry I couldn't be more obliging. However, please don't leave comments like the ones I've discussed above. XD
Anyways, that's enough serious talk for the day. Now that that's addressed and done with, let us move on, shall we? :)
Please enjoy the chapter.
Happy reading!
XVIII
The cycle of my humiliation came much sooner than I would have preferred. No matter how much I tried to ignore the dread and nervousness in my spark, they stayed, determined to let themselves known. I'd taken the longest wash cycle in the history of Cybertron, and had already applied two layers of polish. However, I still did not feel ready to embark on my enslavement to Lord Megatron and his cause.
Aside from Pristinus, Nightfire, and my trine mates, no other flier knew of the recent development. To everyone else, I was simply holding a public address regarding the recent battle. They expected me to say a few words to commemorate the dead, to offer condolences to their family units. I'd then encourage the wounded on their recovery, and perhaps pass a medal or two to brave soldiers and their generals. Other than a selected few, none of my citizens suspected anything out of the ordinary. They hadn't the faintest clue of the announcement I was going to make.
I was to make the address in the Grand Hall, which, as I had been informed, was going to house a total of four hundred attendees. Live video-feed would be broadcasted to every monitor available, and this was great, really, because only then could every pair of optics in my city witness my submission to a ground pounder. Just thinking about it made my spark flip and churn. My wings kept twitching, but there was nothing I could do about an inborn reflex. I scrutinized my reflection in the mirror, and readjusted the position of my crown. It finally sat straight, and I sighed, a deep weight tugging my spark chamber when I realized just how beautiful I looked.
Why was I even bothering to perfect my appearance? I was going to publically acknowledge being second to a grounder, who used to be a gladiator in Kaon, who used to be a miner in a smelting pit of a mine. By Primus, what had Cybertron come to?
There was a pop behind me, and my trine mates' reflections joined mine. Seeing my sulky expression, Thundercracker offered a comforting, but helpless little smile, which only made me feel worse about the whole thing. Skywarp, on the other hand, was irritatingly giddy.
"Whoa, Screamer!" He laughed and hopped over, clapping me hard on the shoulder, "You look even prettier than usual! Unicron-slag-me, your aft is even shinier than the last time I saw it!"
I glared at him through the mirror, and scowled.
"Say anything about my aft one more time, Skywarp, and you won't have one of your own to speak of."
"Awww c'mon, don't be like that," The purple slagger laughed again, grinning at me with sparkling optics. "In all seriousness though, you're practically glowing!"
That much was correct. I took another look at myself. I was, quite frankly put, the embodiment of my glorious city, of all its brilliance, splendor, and magnificence. Feeling a little more confident, I perked up my wings, and straightened my posture. I was even more majestic and stunning than usual, which was a hard feat since I was always at the pinnacle of beauty. Not a single speckle of imperfection marred my appearance. The polish had truly brought out the most dazzling vibrancy of my paintjob, enhancing the natural shimmer of my plating to an alluring, captivating shine.
"It's true, Star," Thundercracker wrapped his hand over my right wing, giving it a soft rub. "You look beautiful." His smile grew warm, and his optics shimmered.
"…Why do I get the feeling you're sending me off to get bonded?" I shook both of them off and huffed, walking away to my berth. There was a spot on my left ped that could use a little more polishing.
"We're just trying to make you feel better." Skywarp shrugged, following and flopping down beside me. "Personally, I don't get what the big deal is. It was bound to happen sooner or later."
"I can trial you for treason for that." I tossed him an annoyed look.
"But you love me too much, don't you, Screamer?" To my utter horror, he bounced closer, and started to nuzzle against me, wrapping his arms around my waist.
"Stop that!" I pushed his helm and swatted at his arms, "You'll ruin the polish!"
"Oh, sorry, didn't mean to do that." He grinned sheepishly as he relinquished his hold. "Wouldn't do to ruin your efforts at impressing Megatron, after all."
Had I not been so busy polishing my left ped, I would have punched him in the faceplate. My chronometer was beeping alerts, notifying me that, within the next fifteen kliks, I had to start making my way to the Grand Hall or risk being late. I rubbed the "extra-shine" in hasty strokes, spreading the wax. My fingers became shaky, and the cloth fell, slipping from my digits.
I cursed, and bent over to retrieve it, a frustrated sneer on my faceplate. Thundercracker stopped me with a gentle nudge. He knelt down in front of me, picked up the cloth, and reached for my left ped.
"Allow me, Star." He smiled in reassurance, and began to gently massage the wax into my plating. Usually, the calm air around my blue trine mate did wonders to my turbulent spark. However, at the moment, the last thing I wanted was his slow and steady demeanor while my wings flicked in agitation.
"We're going to be late." I tried to hurry him, optics darting to the door.
"We aren't." Thundercracker murmured, and did not even look up. "You seem to have forgotten about something that makes our trine very unique, your Majesty." His voice was deep and soothing, mirroring the tiny tilt of a smile on his lips.
"Yeah!" Skywarp piped up my berth, limbs spread and helm quirking up. "I can get us there in less than a klik, 'cause I warp!" His optics suddenly flashed, and I inwardly groaned when I recognized that look. "'Warp warps! 'Warp warps! See? 'Warp warps!" He began to snicker, rolling on my berth, and I felt a pained expression form on my faceplate.
"What's wrong with him?" I asked as Thundercracker rose from his knees, having deemed my ped befitting the rest of my frame.
"He's had a bit of highgrade," My blue trine mate gave me a look of apology. "I tried really hard to stop him."
I huffed out a sigh. "Just make sure he doesn't do anything stupid during the ceremony." The last thing I needed was a drunken trine mate on top of everything else.
I stood up, and gave my appearance one last look. From the tips of my wings to the bottom of my thruster heels, nothing sparkled more than any other. I was equally shiny all around. Thundercracker pulled Skywarp from my berth, and, to my hidden relief, Skywarp did not stumble. My purple trine mate wrapped one of his arms around my blue trine mate, and his optics shimmered as he grinned at me, offering his other arm.
"C'mon, Star, perk up." He said, tone warm. "If you're not happy about becoming a Decepticon, how can everyone else be?"
I wanted to tell him that I was not happy about becoming a Decepticon, which would undoubtedly break his tiny, fragile spark. However, I only grumbled, and lowered my gaze to the floor. While Skywarp's lack of compassion irked me to no end, he was right on one account. Despite how I actually felt, I had to look proud. I must put up a front for my fliers, who definitely would not take well to the news of their sovereign submitting to the command of a ground pounder.
"This whole thing is ridiculous." I mumbled as I shuffled toward my trine mates.
"Yeah, well, fliers need something to do during a time like this." Skywarp shrugged before pulling me close. Without another word, he activated his teleportation sequence, and the next time our peds touched the floor, we were in the Grand Hall.
One look, that was all it took for a grimace to curl my lips. My spark did a nauseating flip. There was so much merriment floating in the air.
What was there to be so cheerful about? We were commemorating the dead, for Primus's sakes. Skywarp really was not kidding when he said everyone needed a distraction from the recent tragedy.
My Grand Hall was bustling with activity. Fliers rushed back and forth from floor level to air, adding last touches to decorate and polish everything in sight. The floor gleamed. The pillars wore a fresh layer of wax. The ceiling glowed, its embedded crystals glittering under the light. I squinted, and dialed down the sensitivity level of my optical sensors. This was almost overwhelming.
All windows had been opened, allowing a soothing current of cool air to circulate within the large chamber. Long rows of chairs, newly made, created a winged shape that fanned out from the central aisle to the pillars. One for every attendee, vines of gold intertwined into an elegant seat, armrests lined with gemstones. Their colours complimented my throne, which shined on a raised platform led to by stairs of marble.
Speaking of my throne…I peered at it. It seemed to have been freshly shined, but that was hard to tell, since the same was done every cycle before morning court. There were new cushions, and a crowd of pillows, one for every monarch who has ruled before me. The tapestry behind my throne had been changed as well, from an aerial view of Vos to an embroidered drapery of the Royal Seal, which covered the entire length of the back wall. Upon closer inspection, it depicted the life of every Vosian ruler, ending with a portrait of my wings and my crown at the center.
To my utter annoyance, there was another chair, placed right at the foot of the stairs I was to ascend. Instead of facing my throne, it was looking across the hall, perpendicular to the platform. The said chair looked like a plank of scrap-metal compared to the splendor around it. It was built wide to accommodate a certain Decepticon Lord's size. What an optic-sore, I huffed, and jerked my sight away.
I could see Nightfire conversing with Bladeflight, who was pointing at one of the pillars. Two Fighter Jets were trying to make even a massive banner, one that hung from one side of the Grand Hall to the other, under the instructions of the general. On the boldly coloured fabric, it read, in fancy strokes of Cybertronian calligraphy, "All hail our city. All hail aerial supremacy. All hail Vos."
"Did I ever give permission for everything to be so…extraneously extravagant?" I tilted my hem toward Thundercracker, and nodded at the fliers that bowed upon my arrival.
"Well…you never objected, Star," Thundercracker frowned as he explained. "I'd talked to the other advisors, and we collectively decided that, due to the amount of damage and lives lost, we should try to bring a new perspective to the commemoration, one that is less depressing. We thought it'd be better to honour those who had sacrificed their sparks by celebrating their accomplishments and their bravery, and what they'd given their lives to protect." His frown deepened when I sent him a skeptical glance. "I gave you a report to review our ideas, and you'd expressed consent."
I did?
I looked away to hide my surprise.
I had no immediate recollection of ever doing so. However, as I ran a deeper scan through my memory banks, I found that I had, indeed, agreed to this ridiculous hassle.
"Why in the pits would I care what that ceremony ends up looking like?!" I had yelled and flared my wings. "I'd rather not have that bucket-helm slag-eater brand me at all! Do whatever the frag you want!" I had thrown the data pad back at Thundercracker's faceplate, and then stomped away.
I winced. What an embarrassing spectacle I'd made of myself, though, in hindsight, it was completely justifiable. I was already bristling with anger by the time my trine mate had found me. The aforementioned bucket-helm slag-eater had just demanded that I let Soundwave broadcast my humiliation, my branding ceremony, to all monitors in Kaon as well. He'd said some slag about informing the troops of my coronation as the Decepticon second-in-command and air commander, but I knew what he really wanted was to brag that he's made a meek little Seekerling out of the Crown Prince of Vos.
Frag. I'd wanted to forget about it, and was doing a pretty good job until I got a reminder.
"…Are you…unhappy about the arrangements, Sire?" Thundercracker's sudden formal address jolted me out of my thoughts. I was not aware I had scrunched my nose bridge and furrowed my brow ridges until both Nightfire and Bladeflight, noticing our approach, bowed their helms. They exchanged worried looks, Nightfire's guilty and Bladeflight's uncertain. Their wings were starting to sag, and I sighed through my vents, waving their concern aside.
"No," I made half a face. "Everything is just…different than I expected." I finished with an awkward shift on my peds, and pardoned the fliers who'd paused in their work to bow.
"It is a rather bold move, your Highness," Bladeflight straightened alongside Nightfire, "but I'm sure the public will appreciate it. After all, more time should be spent on the celebration of our victory. For our city, your Vos, Sire," The general dipped his helm, "every one of my Fighter Jets would gladly meet glorious ends." Military medals, stating his status as an accomplished general, hung on his chassis. Most of them predated my creation, and I suddenly felt a desire to touch them.
"This is certainly different from the last occasion during which we had to publically address an event of this caliber." Nightfire was wise to not mention what that occasion actually was, since I had been nothing short of a mess of a youngling back then. "I did extensive research on similar ceremonies preceding the Golden Age, those dedicated to celebrating victories, commemorating lost soldiers, and the formation of alliances and so forth. This barely holds more grandiose, but I thought we should be modest, lest our citizens have forgotten how we used to run these things."
"I wouldn't be surprised if they have," I looked up at the banner, gaze pensive. "It's been a very long time since Vos had last seen war." The crown on my helm slid back, and I startled, hands shooting up to hold it still.
"Are you sure you don't want the girth of the crown adjusted, your Highness?" Nightfire reached to help me right it.
"Yes," I answered as he leaned away. "I don't want any change."
Nightfire smiled in understanding, and nodded.
"Then, would you like me to magnetize it for you, Sire?" He asked instead.
"Yes, that would be great."
Leave it to my scientific advisor to always carry magnetizing chips. As he attached them to the crown and steadied it on my helm, my spark throbbed, an old memory file resurfacing.
I was still a youngling when this crown was made. It was a gift from my creators, for when I reach maturity. Its size had been determined by calculation, which was why it was not a perfect fit. The red gem that sat in the middle had come from an alien planet the Cybertronian Armada had freed from Quintesson rule, and my carrier had once told me that it reminded him of my optics.
"There," Nightfire's smile broadened, "Now it's much more secure."
"Thank you, Nightfire." I touched the crown with my finger tips, and felt the red jewel. I would never change anything about this crown, even if it was a bit large for my helm.
"I was with the late Majesties when they'd acquired the gem," Bladeflight suddenly blurted out, and everyone turned to stare. The aged Fighter was not of those old fliers who liked to tell stories, which was why it surprised us, and easily captured my attention.
"I know very little about precious stones from distant solar systems," He continued, "but there had been a lot of digging before this was retrieved, so I can only assume it's rare. The ground pounders found it, of course, during one of their mining expeditions to find raw materials for conversion to energon. They'd almost thrown it away when your Creators spotted it, your Highness." Bladeflight smiled, fondness and a tiny dash of confusion in his gaze. "I'm still not sure what had caught their attention, but your Carrier in particular took quite a strong liking toward it."
"Did he…not say?" I asked in a soft voice, and tried not to show how expectant I felt. However, I couldn't help but take a small step forward, optics wide and curious.
"Nothing specific," Bladeflight paused while he frowned in concentration, "But he did say he was surprised that something so exquisite could have come from so deep underground."
I instantly deflated, disappointment bitter on my spark.
"That's it?" I made a face, and crossed my arms over my canopy.
"I hope you don't mean you expected your Carrier to see your optics in a rock, Sire," Bladeflight chuckled a little. "The gem was hardly impressive in its primary state. It would be vorns before it was filed down and refined from its coarse form."
Aside from it being about my creators, I did not understand what significance the story held. However, I nodded thanks at Bladeflight regardless. It was not often he decided to share his age. A ping reached me then, over comm., from one of the general lines for matters within my tower. I dismissed Nightfire and Bladeflight to their previous task, and answered the request.
:Yes?:
:Your Highness!: A voice I did not recognize cried out, loud and hysterical, :This is—This is Solarflare, Striker Jet from border patrol team sector ten. All hail Prince Starscream!:
:What is it?: I asked. I would not be contacted unless something urgent happened.
:I-I'm one of the Strikers assigned to watch—…I-I mean, accompany Decepticon Commander Megatron while inside Vos, Sire. The service staff was tending him, to get him ready for the ceremony, but he's not happy about having his plating polished, your Highness! One of the serfs took off his helmet to reach the panels on his helm, and he punched the poor Seeker into the wall! Despite our best efforts, he just stormed out of the designated waiting room, and he's trying to find his way to the Grand Hall.:
I scowled. Megatron punched one of my Seekers? What the frag was his problem?! Having some work done on his awful frame was not going to deactivate him.
:I tried to dissuade him, your Majesty, but he's not listening to me!: The Striker sounded like he was kliks from a system meltdown, so I decided to take pity on the poor flier. After all, telling him to somehow get Megatron back to the waiting room would be nothing short of blatant sadism, and I was a merciful Crown Prince.
:Bring him to the Grand Hall.: I ordered. :There's no point in having him wander aimlessly in my tower and punch fliers for trying to do their jobs.:
:B-But, Sire, he's not nearly presentable enough to be in your company yet! He hasn't even been—:
:Trust me, Striker,: I huffed through my vents, gaining the curious looks of my trine mates. :No polish on Cybertron can cure the dullness of his plating.:
:Affirmative, your Majesty.:
I deactivated my comm., and waited for the arrival of an obviously fragged off Decepticon Lord.
Not even a few kliks later, he strode in through one of the side doors, a nasty snarl on his faceplate. Two Strikers rushed in after him, both looking nervous and jittery, but they were right away shoved into the background as Megatron's optics swept across the hall and met mine. They immediately narrowed, sparking in fury. An audible growl left his clenched dentae, and he stormed toward me, strides large and swift.
"You dare mock me, Starscream!" He bit out before he could even stand before me. His hands were curled into tight fists, and I glanced at them, wings in wary flicks as I skidded backward into the company of my trine mates. At the corners of my optics, Bladeflight halted his conversation with Nightfire. He watched us, optics alert and a frown on his brow ridges.
"I have no idea what you are talking about, Megatron," I replied, voice as even as I could muster, expression unimpressed. "I am certain my subordinates offered you the best hospitality my city can give."
"Don't lie to me, Seeker." His arms trembled as he tightened his fists, and I sent them a startled glance. "I expected you to act according to your rank, but I had clearly underestimated the extent of your pettiness." His voice was low, but the force behind it, coupled with the wild flares of his energy field, was quite alarming. My wings twitched, and I felt my optics widen in genuine confusion.
"What do you mean?" I crossed my arms closer around my canopy, and turned a shoulder toward him. "Do you not like the polish my service staff used? There are other options."
"Don't treat me a fool!" He hissed out, one step forward and making me jump back. "I've played ignorant to all insufferable suspicion from your security staff. I'd allowed them to search me and keep me under close watch like an unruly sparkling. I tolerated your fliers' aggravating fawning over my frame, and even allowed these two to order me around." He shot my Strikers a heated glare, and the two instantly cowed. "However, I will not overlook an obvious transgression meant to take a cheap stab at my origins!"
"…Oh…" I shuttered my optics, "Y-You mean your—your…" I stuttered as I gestured vaguely at my helm, and his scowl darkened.
"My mining panels are not for flighty fingers to grab!" He finally lost what little patience he had, and bellowed, silencing my Grand Hall in one angry roar. I flinched, looking away, and berated myself for overlooking a detail when instructing my fliers to take care of our guest. By Vosian court rules, all helmets must be removed in my presence. However, fliers hardly wore helmets, which was why I'd completely forgotten about such a thing.
"Don't be so melodramatic, Megatron." I sneered to mask the nervous shaking of my spark. "It was just a misunderstanding. Stop blowing things out of proportion."
"A misunderstanding? Perhaps." His voice gained a dangerous, gravelly texture as his optics narrowed. "However, I am not only addressing one, singular event." His glare was piercing, like a cold blaze, freezing my spark in its chamber. "Your subordinates would never slight me if their commander has distilled enough importance in their jobs. I have no doubt that, should an Autobot Senator be in my place, he would at least be treated with respect, even if only in pretense."
I was struck speechless, gaping up at him with round optics. My lips parted, but I could not figure out what to say. While I did not explicitly tell my fliers to treat him poorly, I certainly did not insinuate that I'd be bothered if they did. I simply assumed that Megatron's title alone was clue enough for them to give him appropriate handling. However, I had forgotten about the inborn superiority every flier felt toward the ground-based frame type. It certainly did not help that most of my citizens, simply put, were hateful toward grounder pounders, a trait I had encouraged and cultivated myself after the closure of Vos.
Unlike the Autobot Senate, who, though despised, actually held ruling power, Megatron was a common mech, one who had no class to speak of. As far as my citizens were concerned, he came from Kaon, and who was ever important having come out of that pit hole? Yes, he was the Commander of the Decepticons, but who were the Decepticons? To the general public, they were little more than a bunch of dirty, spitting savages who came and left without much notice.
Everyone was staring at Megatron and I. Whispers had broken out, and I pressed my lips together, glancing toward Nightfire. He did not meet my gaze, optics downturned. He had a firm hand on one of Bladeflight's wings, to discourage the general from coming to my aid and giving Megatron a piece of his processors. Bladeflight did not know, just as practically everyone else in the Grand Hall, that this insolent ground pounder, in fact, now held commanding power over me.
There was a nudge on my right wing, and I jumped. Thundercracker was prodding me, gesturing me to step forward. Has he glitched? I was not about to go within grabbing range of an enraged, mistreated grounder. However, he kept on pushing me, and when I pointedly ignored him, actually gave me a shove. I stumbled forward, a high yelp falling through my lips. I barely caught myself before colliding into Megatron, and snapped my helm around, ready to give my blue trine mate the verbal lashing of his life. However, an urgent jerk of his chin stopped all words from leaving my vocalizer.
Thundercracker stared at me for a full klik before darting his optics in Megatron's direction. His lips were pursed, and he gave his chin another forward jerk. I did not understand right away what he was trying to do, then realization dawned in my processors. He was telling me to initiate, to be the one to start smoothing over matters.
I slowly turned back to Megatron, and glanced up. One look at the thunderstorm on his faceplate was enough to make me wince, wanting to scoot back. I gritted my dentae, very much put off by the idea of seeking forgiveness from another. I never had to apologize for anything, and I was not about to start with a ground pounder.
Everyone always apologized to me whenever something displeasing happened. If they were dissatisfied about an incident, they sought for my audience, asking me to either sort it out for them or give them permission to fix it themselves. I never had to apologize for anything that went wrong in my city. I was authority. I was above law. I was the absolute monarch, the Crown Prince. I was the—
My intakes stopped. My optics widened.
I finally understood Thundercracker's intention.
I was Megatron's second-in-command.
No one else in the hall knew aside from my trine mates and Nightfire, but I was breems from making the news known. I could not openly act out of my Decepticon rank right before pledging my loyalty to the Decepticon Commander. That would make me a hypocrite and a joke.
I nibbled on my lips, and shifted on my thrusters.
I had not the faintest clue on how to act like a subordinate.
Megatron had not spoken a word more since he'd stopped. I wondered if he was still seething, and gave him a discreet glance. He looked a little less angry without the snarl, but he was clearly far from being pleased. He'd opted to pin me down with a hard stare sometime during our silence, frame rigid as he stood tall and silent.
I looked up at him, and tried to figure out how to best approach the situation. I was gauging his mood when I noticed a small blob of polish on his plating, half-smeared on one of his shoulders. It hadn't been properly spread out. He'd probably pushed whoever responsible for his shoulder away before the job was finished. The little spot glared. It bothered me to such an extent that I lifted an arm, and, without thinking, pointed straight toward it.
"You have polish on your shoulder."
As soon as I blurted it out, I regretted it. Megatron tensed, and the snarl returned to his faceplate, even more pronounced than before. "Starscream…" He growled, optics narrowing to slits of fire. The harsh shadows that resulted were so startling that I visibly flinched, and I flustered, letting out another hasty blurt:
"I—I can rub it out for you!"
Megatron was not the only one surprised by my impulsive idea, but he hid it well. He stared at me for a while, studying my faceplate, before sending a curt huff through his vents and straightening further.
"I will not bow, Starscream." He spoke in a dry, flat voice, but he did not yell.
"You don't have to," I shook my helm, thruster heels making light clicks against the floor as I walked closer. "I can come to you." I said, and engaged my thrusters for a small burst. The force lifted me higher to reach his height, until we were optic to optic. I hovered, in front of him, but I did not know how to proceed, hesitation keeping back the reach of my arms.
He continued to stare, though a curious glint had eased the bite behind his optics. He was still very intimidating though. His energy field had yet lost its simmering anger. I floated closer, speed cautious, and kept a close watch on his expression. His vents were cycling currents of warm air. They tickled my flight sensors, making my wings flick, tiny gestures of the tips.
I was close, very close. With much care and wariness, I placed a hand on his other shoulder, and steadied myself against him. His plating scorched my fingertips, though his chassis burned hotter when my canopy pressed against it. I looked down as our faceplates neared, and focused on the polish instead of the smoldering fire-pits that watched my every move. My cheekplates warmed. My fuel pump quickened. Energon surged through my fuel lines in waves of heat, cooling fans stuttering into activation.
I reached for the glob of polish with a hand that shook, and sank into it the tips of my digits. I slowly rubbed, warming the wax, until its texture was thick and sticky on my derma. I was not doing as a good job. I'd do better if I had a polishing cloth. However, I was careful, kneading the clear, soft substance with gentle strokes. His energy field buzzed against mine, a firm pressure of tingling heat. From my peripheral, I could see him still staring at me. The anger had gone, replaced by an emotion equally passionate.
"My lord…" I whispered, the sound a mere breath against his audial. "Don't…ruin this moment."
He did not reply.
"…Please." My lips brushed against his plating, and I tilted back, optics flickering upward. "For me."
My gaze met his, and his held mine. We continued to look at each other, even when the polish disappeared into his plating, and there was no longer a reason for me to be so close. My fuel pump thumped. My spark shivered. I fought to keep his optics, ones that could unravel and penetrate my core, and I shook, a tremor most prominent in the arch of my wings.
He watched me, and finally, he made a small nod. My vents spluttered in a sigh, and I quickly leaned away, landing a few steps back. Volatile warlord appeased, I turned to my hall, and suddenly found every pair of optics in sight gaping at us, at me. My spark lurched in a startle. Shaking off the fluster, I plastered on a scowl, and jerked up my wings.
"Why is none of you attending to your duties?!" I yelled, energy field whipping out in a flare. "The ceremony is scheduled to begin in less than ten breems and all you can do is stand around like idiots and stare?!"
Wings jolted, and frames jumped. There was a loud commotion of fliers apologizing and rushing back to their previous task, none of them daring to cast a single look in my direction. Satisfied with their speedy response, I turned to Thundercracker.
"I don't like where Commander Megatron's seat is placed." I gave my hall a sweep. "Put it next to my throne." I ordered, waving at the raised platform.
Thundercracker bowed. Skywarp grinned. Nightfire averted his optics, and, next to him, Bladeflight stiffened.
"Sire!" The aged flier protested. "I must insist that you reconsider." His wings fanned out. His optics widened. "That platform is reserved for Vosian royalty. Never in the entire six Dynasties and all the Ages that followed has a ground pounder—"
"Enough!" I cut in. "Do as I say!" I snapped, distaste forming a grimace on my lips. To avoid the expression of shock on my general's faceplate, I sought for Nightfire, and flicked a wing to get his attention.
"Is the banner balanced now?" I asked, fighting to keep my optics focused on my science advisor.
"Affirmative, Sire," Nightfire answered, bowing his helm. Next to him, Bladeflight narrowed a glare at Megatron, the sharp glint of suspicion cold enough to carve grooves. However, Megatron did not acknowledge my general in the slightest. Instead, he tilted up his helm, and took look at the banner that hung above us.
"'All hail our city. All hail aerial supremacy. All hail Vos.'" He lifted one of his brow ridges. "Is this the Vosian motto?"
"Something like that," I answered, distracted by another thought. Turning to face Megatron, I frowned, somewhat surprised. "You…can read?"
Megatron leveled me a flat stare.
"Not all miners are illiterate, Starscream." He said. "I wrote when I wasn't plowing my way through Cybertron."
"You're a writer?" That instantly piqued my interest.
"I was."
"Do you have any works published?"
"No," He did not look disappointed or regretful. "I didn't have enough surface time to find a publisher."
"Oh."
I did not know what else to say, and silence became awkward.
Skywarp went up to his commander and gave him his proper salutes, to which Megatron nodded in appraisal. The ceremony preparations completed, and I was asked to take a final look at the results. Finding my hall adequately decorated and organized, I gave permission for the proceedings to begin. The service staff left. The guards and the broadcasting teams took their positions. Nightfire and Bladeflight, with a curt bow, left as well, joined by my trine mates.
"Follow me, Megatron," I gestured to one of the side passageways, "We'll make our appearances after everyone else has gotten seated."
"Your border patrol officer has informed me of the procedures, but he was rather vague." He spoke as I led him into the corridor, heading for the waiting chamber. "I am to enter ahead of you, correct?"
"Affirmative," I answered, walking through an arched door. "Attendees are grouped according to their rank and titles." I explained as we arrived at the waiting room. "First is a mass entrance, for the upper noble class. Advisors and militants follow, but they will enter individually. My trine mates will be next, and you are after them. I will be last. My arrival marks the official start of the ceremony."
Megatron nodded as we sat down on the lounging couches. There were large screens on the wall across the chamber, displaying the broadcast from the Grand Hall. They were currently showing the mass entries. Fliers of all frame types and builds filled the screens. There was a low buzz from the speakers, murmurs of my citizens trying to find their seats. It filled the silence that had settled between Megatron and I.
The servants brought out cubes of refined energon, ones that shimmered in fragile, clear cases. They poured it into two crystal glasses, and carefully leveled the glowing fuel before the Stealth Jet of the group brought the drinks on a silver tray. He stopped beside me, and stood with his heels pressed together, helm lowered in a deep bow. He did not move until I took my glass and dismissed him with a wave, steps without a sound as he walked to stand beside Megatron.
The Stealth presented the tray to the Decepticon Lord, chin only slightly dipped. Megatron's brow ridges furrowed slightly, but he said nothing as he wrapped his thick fingers around the stem of the delicate glass. He stared at it as though expecting it to explode just by being in his hand, and merely watched as I took a small sip. "Highgrade right before a royal address to your citizens?" He looked almost amused, optics flashing a little brighter.
"There's nothing wrong with loosening up before joors of sitting," I swirled the energon, and took another sip. "Are you not going to try it?"
His answer was to chuck down the whole thing in one swig. How vulgar. I pursed my lips. He didn't even hold the energon in his mouth to fully appreciate the aroma. He simply gulped it down, and held the glass in front of him. He seemed to be inspecting the glass, which looked downright tiny in his large hand.
"Its coloration and odor suggest that it's highgrade, but it doesn't taste like highgrade at all." He commented after examining the glass.
"Just because it doesn't taste like slag doesn't mean it's not highgrade, Megatron." I scrunched my nose bridge, and sent him a pointed look.
He only chuckled, and set the glass back onto the tray when the Stealth Jet returned to retrieve another serving for him.
"I now understand what you meant when you said you don't drink highgrade from a cube." He murmured, and tilted his helm. His gaze, as it met mine, was almost lazy. His lips quirked up into a barely noticeable smirk, and my wings twitched on my back.
My cheekplates grew warm, and I hastily turned away to sip on my highgrade. Luckily, the Stealth Jet returned, and Megatron was distracted from staring at me. He took his energon, and this time, he did not drink the whole thing at once, only small gulp. He leaned back, settling into the couch to watch the ceremony proceedings. His right knee bumped against my thigh, and my intakes hitched, frame tensing in snap.
My fingers were tight around the stem of the crystal glass. I bit my lips, optics staring wide at the screen, but my processors had frozen, not retaining any information. My mind was solely focused on the small contact on my thigh. The simple, ordinary gesture made my spark flutter, and I hastily drowned down the rest of my glass.
I slammed the glass down onto the tray when the Stealth Jet came to my side, and restrained myself from sneering in self disgust. The Stealth Jet jumped, and immediately apologized before scurrying away. I did not know why he had apologized. He did not either. However, I was too angry at myself to bother pardoning him for some nonexistent mistake.
Since when did such an insignificant brush of plating affect me to such degree? I was supposed to ensnare his affections with my charm so I could manipulate him to my gains, not allow him to surprise me with a bump from his knee. This was the ground pounder who had dared to refuse me an interface, who had taken advantage of honourable Vosian traditions to enslave me to his cause. For Primus's sakes, Megatron did not even have to do anything to make a ridiculously flustered, lovesick Seekerling out of me.
The thought startled. My wings shot up on my back. Lovesick? Where in the pits had that come from? I was plagued by a sickness, a desire that bordered on an unhealthy obsession, but I was definitely not lovesick. Besides, I hardly knew this mech. Despite how intimate we had become, I knew nothing about him, nothing about how his innards worked. I did not know what fueled his ambitions, what urged him to overthrow the Autobots. I knew nothing of his past, nor what had triggered him into calculated violence and unfathomable rage.
Not that I cared about such things. I waved aside the Stealth Jet with a huff when he presented me with another glass. I was just bored. After all, a Seeker needed something to think about while his subordinates took their seats.
Pristinus appeared on the screen, light on his steps as he walked gracefully across the floor. Many fliers stood up and bowed as he passed them, expressing their gratitude for his work in finding a cure that had saved Vos's sparklings and younglings. He smiled, slender, pale wings flicking, and nodded his helm before finding his seat. Silently, he sat down beside Stormstrike. The two shared a few quiet words as the next flier landed at the entrance of the Grand Hall.
Bladeflight strode in with his wings stretched to full span, posture purely military. The medals on his chassis shined, glittering under the light alongside his curved canopy. He made his way to the front-most row, and sat down beside Pristinus. The medic turned, and the two shared a smile, though Bladeflight's looked more strained.
Catching what appeared to be worry on the pursed lips, Pristinus reached over a hand. He gave the general's a gentle squeeze, and leaned forward to murmur in the Fighter's audial.
Ramjet then entered, flanked by his trine mates Thrust and Dirge. As they walked toward their designated seats, I turned to Megatron:
"My trine mates will be next. We should start making our way to the upper flight deck."
He nodded, and placed his crystal glass on the tray.
"The Strikers assigned to accompany you should already be there," I explained as we stood from the couch, and headed out the door. "They'll fly you down to the deck leading into the Grand Hall, where you will enter."
We walked through the corridors, and up a flight of stairs.
"After you're seated, I will make my entrance. My speech comes first, then the procession, where every flier in the audience will come up and give me their regards. Once that's finished, I will make another speech, during which I will…make the announcement."
I paused, and sent him a sideways glance. He did not exhibit any outward reaction to my words. I did not know whether that was a good thing or not, so I averted my optics. We rounded a corner, and the flight deck came into view, where two Striker Jets were standing in attention.
"I will then give you a full Vosian bow, and you will ask me to rise, hence confirming the payment of my debt to be your second." I instructed, "You do not need to say anything, or even get up from your seat. I don't want to overwhelm my fliers by active participation from you." I released a gust of air through my vents. "Remember, Megatron, both our cities are watching." I stopped. "This is not the gladiatorial arena." I turned to face him, "You don't need to assert your dominance any more than asking me to rise."
Megatron stopped beside me, and tilted his helm down. Our optics met, and I was momentarily taken back by how brightly his shone.
"I…cannot stress enough just how important this ceremony is, not only to me, but to all of my fliers," I looked up at him, voice hushed and hands in tight fists by my sides. "Everything must go smoothly," I peered into his optics, "That means no improvisations, Megatron. No surprises." I emphasized, syllables heavy and curt.
Megatron looked back at me, silent for several kliks. "My intention is not to surprise you, Starscream." He said, tone oddly light, and, without another word, walked toward the Striker Jets. I watched him disappear from my sight as my Strikers took him to the Grand Hall. He was up to something. I knew he was, but what could I do when he had never done anything for anyone but himself? Scowling and cursing in my processors, I glared out at the horizon. There was nothing for me to do now but to wait for my cue.
I could hear the low murmur of my fliers as they conversed quietly with each other. It dropped to silence all of a sudden, and I could only assume that it was due to Megatron's appearance. A long moment passed. One could hear the ticking of internal chronometers. There was a sustained note of anticipation, and then came Thundercracker's voice, ringing loud and clear in the Grand Hall:
"All rise." He announced, and a unified sound of mechs standing from their seats followed. "Here be our Crown of State, heir to the Throne, monarch of Vos, and sovereign of the Golden Age:
"Crown Prince Starscream, Wing of our Sun, Tenth Spark of our Holy Creator."
I walked forward, wings stretching up, and stepped off the take-off deck.
Wind howled past my audials. I fell, ped-first. The flight deck of the Grand Hall rushed toward me, and I engaged my thrusters, a small burst that slowed my descent and allowed me to land without a sound. I strode down the central aisle, back straight and wings displayed in full span. All optics were on me as I made my way to my throne, but I paid them no acknowledgement, despite how my spark reveled in the attention. I did not spare anyone a single glance, not even Megatron, as I glided up the stairs to the platform. I turned, a swift pivot on my thrusters, and faced the assembly of my fliers before taking my seat.
"All hail Prince Starscream!" Thundercracker, from his spot in the front row beside Skywarp, called out. All fliers followed, and bowed low until their wings were in full view, the perfect expression of subservience.
"Rise," I ordered, "and be seated."
Silence reigned in the grand chamber after the attendees took their seats.
Every spark in Vos waited for my speech with rapt attention.
I took a cycle of air through my intakes system, allowing its cool touch to soothe my tingling sensors. With a beat of a pause, I tilted up my chin, and began my address:
"Citizens and friends of Vos," My voice echoed in the Grand Hall, "as your Crown Prince and your co-commander, I, Starscream, bid you greetings."
Attentive silence hung in the air as my words faded. From the corners of my optics, I could see the floating cameras, blinking as they broadcasted my image all over my city and Kaon.
"I bid you greetings," My optics roamed over the crowd, "with pride, happiness, and adoration," I paused briefly, "But also with sadness.
"Every cycle since the Autobot attack, I look out my tower. I see impressive progress, worthy of the efforts our scientific teams, medics, and construction teams have made in patching the wounds of our city and its proud inhabitants. I see brave fliers of all frame types, civilian and military, giving their best to stay strong during this time of tragedy.
"Vos has, as I'd promised, prevailed. Our victory is well-earned and deserved," I nodded at my generals. "However," I looked over the crowd, "our losses…" My helm dipped, "are also great."
I allowed the silence to brew.
"I send my deepest condolences to all of you, to all Cybertronians who have lost family unit members, friends, and comrades."
I gave my words time to sink in, waiting a few beats before lifting my helm back up.
"Every cycle begins anew – that much is true. However, our sparks remain heavy with grief." I made optic-contact with all fliers present. "On every faceplate, I see uncertainty, sorrow, and fear for what is to come. More battles loom on the horizon. The threat of losing more loved ones hover in our sight. The Autobot suppression of freedom and change is heavy on our wings, their fleets a hostile threat in our sky as acid rain clouds. So—
"How…do we move on?"
I kept my gaze firm, before lowering my optics.
"The same question plaguing your sparks troubles mine."
There was a tangible weight between the pillars. It pressed down on my flight sensors. The silence stretched longer. Not a single flier moved, though many pairs of wings had started to tremble. My fingers tightened around the armrests of my throne. I looked up, optics sweeping past the crowd as I continued my speech:
"The answer is, perhaps, cruel, but simple." My expression hardened. "We move on, with the knowledge that their deaths are not in vain. They have paved the beginning of a New Age for Cybertron with their energon and sparks. They have sacrificed their lives, to show us the direction our paths must take to seize our birthrights and victory.
"The riches of our planet are not for only a selected few. Why should we give up what we were sparked to deserve? The Autobot Senate's greed and abuse of power had led us to imprisonment within our own walls – a willing prison, but a prison nonetheless. And when we refuse to be victims of their festering incompetence, they try to annihilate us!" My hands clenched. My voice gained a heated timbre.
"Cybertron is our home, my citizens and friends, but Vos is our only haven. This is unforgivable!" My optics narrowed in determination. "As your Crown, your Leader of State, I refuse to let the Autobots rob your riches from you! I will no more submit to their tyranny. I will no longer permit leniency toward their actions. I will not allow them to anymore withhold your destiny of ruling the sky of Cybertron as you, my people, deserve!"
My words rang in the large chamber. Every pair of optics shined. Every pair of wings held straight. My spark swelled, and my cooling fans clicked on, quiet whirrs to soothe my heating system. I could see Megatron watching me from his seat, now by my side. I could not tell what emotions flickered across his faceplate, but his focus on my speech thrilled me, an indefinite exhilaration.
"The arrival of a New Age is inevitable." I took deep cycle of air. "Upon its arrival, Vos will stand united. We will stand united!
"With the help of our allied faction," I tilted my helm toward Megatron, giving him a small nod, "of mechs who have fought and died to protect us as one of our own," Our optics met, and I was taken, for a moment distracted, by how brightly they shone, "We will fight, for not only our city, but for our home, our planet, Cybertron!" I turned back to my fliers, my citizens loyal to my rule.
"I will lead you, as the beholder of your faith and your sworn allegiance," I let go of the armrests, and opened my arms, "to glory."
Silence held, moments after the last reverberation of my voice had dissolved into the air. It wasn't until I curled my digits and brought back my arms did my fliers respond, a minor bow of the helm and lowering of the wing tips. There was no verbal reaction needed. After all, this was not a rally, but a royal ceremony.
Speech finished, I sat back on my throne, and finally allowed the tension in my wing joints to ease. Despite the quiet, I could feel the energy fields from the crowd, pulsing as one and filling the hall. I had their support, which I was extremely grateful for. I needed it to remain strong as they were when I make my final speech, the official announcement of Vos falling under Decepticon rule.
I cast a fleeting glance down at Bladeflight, who seemed to have relaxed a little since the beginning of the ceremony. The old Fighter Jet general was not going to take the news lightly. After all, he had worn the Royal Seal of Vos on his wings for longer than I have existed.
Thundercracker stood up from his seat, and signaled the procession to begin. Flier after flier came up to me, stopping at the foot of the stairs, and bowed, speaking a few words or simply expressing their thanks. They all brought presents, which the guards cleared to the side of the hall. Most did not address Megatron, some giving him glances, some ignoring him altogether.
Only the top officers, for diplomatic reasons, acknowledged his presence. Skywarp was the most enthusiastic, saluting and giving Megatron a chipper hello. Thundercracker and Nightfire both bowed, but neither waited for clearance before rising. Bladeflight and Stormstrike nodded at the Decepticon Commander, the gesture curt and brief. Ramjet was the only one of all generals to speak, a lilting "not bad for a ground pounder" coupled with a small smirk. Pristinus only gave Megatron a once over, and pursed his lips. Whatever he saw, he was very displeased with, not that I could blame him. After all, there was much to be displeased about, and I was not a medic.
One joor went on to become two. My aft was getting sore from the sitting. My wings started to swing back and forth to quell my rising boredom, and I leaned on a hand, nodding and waving when appropriate. As great as watching my subordinates glorify me was, after a while, everything became the same. Flier after flier came up, and they all had the same giddiness, whether from excitement or nervousness. Eventually, I took to examining their paintjobs and guessing what they did for a living. Hardly something royalty should do, but a Seeker got to find ways to entertain himself somehow.
The last flier, a Cargo Shuttle, gave his regards. His present was carried away, and he left after a low bow. As he took his seat, my spark began to strum. My fuel tank made a silent, but nervous churn, and my fuel pump quickened to an audible trot. The time to address my newly gained servitude had come. Pushing down the need to squirm, I took several cycles of air to calm myself, and began the sealing of my fate:
"My fellow Vosians, I humbly thank you for your words of encouragement, your unconditional devotion, and your many valuable gifts. Without your courage and determination in face of danger, Vos would not be standing as a free, independent city-state to celebrate victory this cycle. Our soldiers had fought valiantly. No Autobots hovercrafts remained functional by the end of battle. However…"
I fought the urge to sigh.
"Our freedom, and independence…would not be here, if the Decepticon forces had not aided us during our time of need."
My optics swept across the audience. While my fliers were silent, many of them looked confused, not knowing how to take my words. Most civilians did not know the extent of Decepticon involvement. Even military officers, while aware of ground support, did not know how much my city owed to the Decepticons, or more specifically, to the ex-gladiator sitting beside me. I inwardly cursed, biting back my indignation and aching pride. Keeping my real thoughts hidden, I plastered on a smile, and continued to speak:
"Our Decepticon brethren arrived in the heat of battle. They kept the Autobots from soiling our sacred ground. Many towers had fallen, but many more would have met their ends had our comrades from Kaon not arrived when they did."
I had to be very careful to prevent bitterness from leaking into my voice. Sacred ground? What sacred ground? Autobot or not, grounders had crawled all over my city.
"Many lives were saved, thanks to their timely arrival, and for that, I am eternally grateful…" I fought to keep my optics onlined, "…to have had allies as dependable and formidable as they are."
More than a few fliers noticed my strange usage of tense. They shared bewildered looks, unsure of how to understand it. However, despite the flickering of optics, they did not speak. I did not meet their gazes for long, opting to stare out the hall instead.
"There is…one more matter I need to address, my citizens and—" I had to pause, my next words refusing to leave my vocalizer willingly, "…Decepticon comrades."
My hands clenched around the arm rests, fingers digging into the cushions.
"During our efforts at defeating the Autobots, efforts which were justly repaid, I had—…carelessly, allowed myself to become…" My lips curled, "grounded."
My gaze dropped, and I lowered my helm.
"…Stranded…" My brow ridges furrowed, "against Autobot assailants."
Not a single intakes system disturbed the silence, a still, frozen body of water that had chilled the air inside the Grand Hall. My wings twitched. My spark grew heavy. I felt the weight of every pair of optics, bearing into me in undoubtedly surprise and disappointment.
"I had rescued a Seeker sparkling from our enemy, but in the process…" I shifted, "I had lost my ability of flight." I stared into my lap, shame toward my failure a sore pinch in my spark. "By military protocol, no grounded flier is retrieved until the end of the battle." My voice rippled across the deadly silent chamber. It was weak, lonely and insignificant. "I would have deactivated…had it not been—…the mech you see sitting beside me."
I offlined my optics, and waited for an uproar. To my surprise, not a single flier uttered one word. They must've been too stunned, too overwhelmed, to say anything.
"The Decepticon Commander," I continued after much effort, "saved my spark from extinguishing at Autobot hands." I tried to straighten, having sagged under the weight of my humiliation and indignity. "As such," I dared to look up, optics fleeting, "I…am," My wings quivered, "indebted to him."
Silence. That was the worst.
I caught a brief glance of Bladeflight. His expression was so utterly blank that a deep chill soaked through my spark in an instance. The Fighter Jet's back and wings were so straight that I almost worried his joints would snap. I took a small, cautious cycle of air, and mustered all my determination to carry on with my speech.
"…I must repay that debt according our custom," I said, "one that binds you just as well as I."
With a push much harder than it looked, I stood up from my throne. In reflex, all fliers stood up as well, though most of them clearly did not register the movement. I walked forward, steps heavy and slow. It was nothing short of a miracle that my knee joints did not buckle, and carried me to the stairs.
My posture was proud. My movement was measured and clean. I did not fidget, disciplinary training from my youngling vorns taking pilot while my spark skidded inside my chassis. I descended the stairs, taking each step with care. I counted my paces until I was right at the midpoint between the stairs and the first roll of seats, optics peering down the central aisle.
I turned around, and kept my helm low. I took many cycles of air, and, finally, found the resolve to force up my chin.
My optics met Megatron's. My wings involuntarily twitched on my back. My knee joints grew weak, but I kept standing, surprising even myself with my strength of will.
The commanding presence, overwhelming charisma with an iron fist, slammed down against my frame. Megatron was watching my every move, attention pinning me down, and I shivered, a tingle not quite anxiousness ghosting over my neural network. My intakes made small, hitching sounds. My hands were by my sides, limp and shaky. He was studying every emotion that floated across my faceplate, and I was helpless to stop him, unable to escape. I was caught, bare and exposed. His optics grabbed me by the spark, stirring awake trickles of heat deep inside my core.
"…Decepticon Commander—…Lord Megatron…" My voice quivered. His optics flashed, and my wings jerked as though he had mercilessly pinched their sensitive tips. The thought sent a blazing wave of desire drenching every crevice of my frame. I tensed, freezing to stillness, and was horrified when the sensor nodes in my valve prickled with the first sign of arousal.
"Lord Megatron…" I repeated, voice starting to waver. My vents stuttered, cooling fans whirring as my temperature began to rise. Heat gathered in my cheekplates, until they were blistering to touch. My optics met his, and I knew, inherently, that they must have been every bit as bright as his were.
"As expression of gratitude and repayment of your timely aid…"
My words rippled across the silence, the silence that was no longer cold.
"I, Starscream, Crown Prince of Vos and Wing of Cybertron…
"…pledge my allegiance…
"…undying…"
My hands rose. My fingertips brushed my canopy, right over my spark. They gestured outward, in time with the sweeping back of my right ped. With minimum of flourish, I knelt down on one knee, and bowed my helm, optics lowered to the floor. My arms stretched out to my sides, in true Vosian tradition. They held parallel to the length of my wings, presenting them to the one who would claim them.
With one smooth movement, I had submitted myself, completely, to Megatron's leadership.
My wings were now his to rule. They belonged to him, as did every part of my frame. I was his to direct, his to send out to battle, and his to mark. I would fly for him, and allow him to etch his badge right into the plating of my wings should he wished it. I was his to command, and the thought, incomprehensively yet undeniably, left a burning thrill through my sensory lines.
There was no immediate reaction to my announcement, but my trine mates were quick to lead the way. I knew they were the firsts to kneel in a similar fashion. They did what their trine leader told them regardless of my lineage. As they lowered to the ground, all other citizen under my rule snapped out of their stupor. With a rumbling commotion of movements, every flier in my Grand Hall knelt down, bowing to a single ground pounder. Low and vulnerable on the ground, I wondered, briefly, how a miner like Megatron could have gotten so far.
He had yet asked me to straighten, so I did not. I would remain kneeling as long as he wished, for without clearance, he could keep me down for joors, and I would be bound by tradition to do so. However, he was not so sadistic. I heard him stand from his seat, and waited for his address.
To my surprise, he did not speak. He walked forward – I could hear him – and travelled down the stairs. I frowned, optics wide and hands trembling as I held them in position.
What in the pits was he doing?
Had I not told him that I would not tolerate any surprises?
His peds appeared, just on the upper edge of my vision. My intakes hitched to a stop, and I stared at them, trying to discern from their position what their owner was about to do. They remained still, and a prickling sensation told me that he was watching my bent-over form. I heard his joints as he moved, but I could not tell what he was doing until a firm pressure stroked right against my right wing, and sensation burst, an explosion of heat like the formation of a star.
I almost jumped. My wings startled, jerking violently. I bit down on my dentae, and said nothing as he rubbed my wing with his fingers. His digits caressed responsive neural nodes, and my sensor network fired in pleasure until it took all of my will power to prevent myself from leaning into his touch.
"I will hold you to your word, Starscream," His rough, growling voice was almost a purr. "I expect nothing less than your complete devotion and obedience to my command." He said, hand still pressed against my wing.
"A—Affirmative, my lord," I whispered. I was not brave enough to speak any louder, but he hummed in approval nonetheless.
"I have a present for you as well, Seeker," His hand lifted, and I bit my glossa to stop a whine of protest at the loss of contact. He took a step back, and, to my utter, disbelieving shock, knelt down right before me. I did not move, no matter the burning curiosity. I waited, patient wearing thinner by the klik as I heard him move, followed by the soft clink of something taken out of subspace.
A pendant dropped down into my view, dangling from a chain. My optics widened. It was the Decepticon badge, the one he had worn as a gladiator back in the arena. It glinted, reflecting the light inside my Grand Hall. Megatron unraveled the chain, and draped it over my neck in great care, the back of his hand brushing against my neck cables.
It was heavier than I had anticipated, a prominent weight hanging in the air.
Unable to stop myself, I lifted my helm, and stared at him, optics round and lips slightly parted. He looked back, and, despite his guarded expression, his gaze was almost soft, one that did not penetrate but held. He cupped his hands around my faceplate, and guided me to stand as he got up himself. "Now," His voice was quiet and deep, but it carried, easily:
"You are mine."
…
I…couldn't speak.
His optics glowed.
I was certain he had begun to smile before he remembered to smooth it into a mere tilt of his lips.
"Starscream, Crown Prince of Vos," He announced, hands still cradling my faceplate, "Decepticon air commander and second-in-command." His fingertips tickled as they brushed against my neck cables, and my cheekplates burned hotter, intakes a breath of a gasp.
"…My Seeker." He spoke so softly, voice so hushed that I had almost missed it, the gentlest whiff of sound against my auditory receptors.
My spark thumped inside my chassis. The pendant was cool and heavy against my canopy. I offlined my optics. His gaze had turned too deep, seeing too much of me, as I had forgotten how to keep my thoughts and sentiments from emerging to the surface.
My lips quivered.
I spoke, hushed, just like him.
"Yes…" I said, "My lord…"
It was then, that split moment in time, when an entirely foreign emotion blossomed like melting warmth inside my spark. It was stronger, more affecting than even the scorching heat of corporal longing.
I did not dare acknowledge it. I could only snuff it down before it could overtake my being.
It was the one emotion I could not afford to feel toward him.
…This ground pounder, my Lord, who had claimed me so completely.
Notes: And now, perhaps, the reason behind the title becomes a little more apparent. :')
Here's something to listen to if you want a gist of how things are going to go:
w w w ( d o t ) youtube ( d o t ) c o m / watch?v=hD38QAEZZqg
Don't know if anyone's noticed, but today is actually exactly one year since I'd started posting "Insatiable"! Yayy! :D To my lovely reviewers, the sincerest thanks. Your continuous support and kind words really mean a lot to me. I look forward to hearing from you every chapter, and I greatly appreciate your efforts at letting me know what you think.
To Suki-Angel91494, lildevchick, Devlinn Reiko, Random523, The-writing-Mew, Starcee138, Balrog Roike, Deathtomushrooms, doubleports, Ashcola17, alien90210, Cjade, Guest, heretherebemonsters, Skylark Starflower, Cloud Kitsune17, Mizz Arcee, loverofmythology, 6MissSparklez9, Guest (#2: Thank you for the concern for my well-being! I'm not going to let it discourage me. -salutes back-), Krazed Jetformer, Uurrusistabul, Anonymouse, remy, KrazyMusician, Shadowlover1222, and Miss Kayla Kaon, thank you so, so much for your encouragements, and also for sticking with this story until now and trusting me to know where I'm going. "Insatiable" is long, but I promise you: I'm going to give my utmost best to make sure it's a worthwhile read.
Please let me know of your feedback! I love reviews. Who doesn't, really? ;)
Much love to you all!