Disclaimer: It hasn't changed, unfortunately.
XXI
I despised Shockwave.
I glared at the mono-optic, arms crossed, and kept my shoulder pointed toward him. He only stared back, holding a data pad close to his chassis, helm in a slight tilt. The single orb of light on his lack of a faceplate glowed with seeming innocence. It did not shutter even once since I'd arrived, following my entrance to my stance right in the middle of the chamber.
We were both waiting for Megatron in what was now dubbed as the "throne room" of the base. Wherever the pits that blasted gladiator was, he was late, no matter that I had never made an appointment with him. Shockwave's ped moved a wingtip. My optics narrowed. I mustered all the hostility I could onto my faceplate, in great hopes that my disdainful expression would disturb him enough to scurry back to his labs, where he should stay for the rest of eternity and never again come out.
My strong aversion toward this deformed ground pounder was completely irrational. Shockwave has never done anything to me in particular to deserve my scorn. However, there was simply absolutely nothing I did not loathe about him.
His entire appearance gave me the itch to purge. From the horn-like appendages on the sides of his boxy helm to the flat bottoms of his peds, everything inspired disgust in me. His plating was covered with imperfections, scratches and minor dents, even old chemical stains. For Primus's sakes, he was more unkempt than the drones.
And what was he thinking with his paintjob anyways? He was practically all the same shade of purple. He could have at least made an effort at looking a little less boring than his dull, nonexistent personality.
Then there was the whole kiss-aft suck-up attitude he exuded, like wafts of putrid rust. I could not stand it. Though he remained still, I could tell from the way he positioned himself that he was anxious for Megatron's company, ever eager to report what little progress he has made in his experiments, followed by garish flatteries that peeled paint from even the most narcissistic. I would not be surprised if he coveted for Megatron's attention like a swooning whore. He'd probably lick our mighty leader's big aft if he had a glossa to lick with.
Soundwave froze at the console. His hands hung in the air, digits hovering above the keys. I stopped my glaring at a certain purple obstruction to glance at the blue mech. The dim visor glinted, and I frowned, shuffling a few steps back and wrapping my arms tighter around myself.
The fragger had better not been reading my thoughts, or else there would be two very lovely scorch marks adorning his chassis within the next few kliks courtesy of my null rays.
Soundwave proved to be lucky indeed. He was silent for a moment, then he turned, helm in a respectable dip in my direction.
"Lord Megatron: Arrival imminent." He intoned, monotonous as always.
"How imminent?" I asked, shifting on my thrusters.
"Arrival to command center: approximation – one breem and twenty-three kliks." Soundwave answered.
"Very well." I nodded once in reply, and unwound my arms to let them dangle by my sides. I did not want to look like I was looking forward to seeing Megatron. After all, I was not Shockwave, who definitely perked up upon hearing Soundwave's announcement.
My lips pressed together. What an insufferable slag-kisser.
Soundwave returned to his typing. The taps of his fingers against the terminal were the only noises breaking the silence. I resumed my glaring at Shockwave. The purple scrap-helm looked back, and he seemed to have gained a demeanor of question.
"Would you like to speak to Lord Megatron first, Prince Starscream?" He asked, voice fluctuating in lilts of pretentious sophistication. I scowled.
"Are you trying to give me permission to speak first, Shockwave?" I hissed, and bared my dentae in stretch of a grin, wings flaring higher on my back.
"Oh no, please forgive me. I have no intention whatsoever of doing so." He bowed a little, and I had the sudden instinct that he was mocking me. "I was simply acknowledging the fact that you outrank me, your Highness," He said, and straightened to catch my gaze in a stare, "in more ways than mere Decepticon hierarchical status, of course."
There it was: that suck-up attitude. Anger was bitter when fueled by spark-deep distaste. I sneered, and narrowed my optics.
"Good that you do," I enunciated every syllable, tone quiet and chilled by a sweet jibe. "Remember it well, grounder-pounder," My voice lowered to a soft purr, and a derma-deep smile etched into my faceplate, "Because that will never change, unlike the mere temporary labeling upon my wings."
Shockwave did not respond. The only indication that he understood what underlined my words was a brief, bright flash of his optic. After a motionless moment of silence, he nodded, and inclined his torso forward in an impeccable gesture of submission. I gave him a once-over, and scoffed a huff through my vents. Skywarp thought this was my competition? What a joke.
Soundwave stopped his typing, and stood up from his seat. He turned, facing the door, and barely a klik later, thudding ped-falls could be heard. My spark did a happy little skip, anticipation mixed with a dash of joy. I crushed it down, as delight had no place in my visit. I had to remember that I was not pleased to see him. I was definitely not looking forward to seeing him again, not since the events of the previous cycle, when Blitzwing failed to learn the wings Nightfire and I had gifted him with.
With a gentle "whoosh", the doors slid open. Megatron strode into view. His helm lifted, and his optics met mine without a single moment's pause, glowing as though flames beneath embers. My spark seized. Heat combusted within its chamber. My intakes hitched and stopped, and, lips falling apart, I gaped at him, cheek-plates flushed and optics widening. I must have looked incredibly stupid, staring at him like a swooning idiot. I tried to stop, but as long as his gaze held mine, I could not move, breath taken from me as the air grew warm, the rush of coolant barely prickling over my flustered systems.
Our contact lasted only a split of a klik. He glanced at me, then turned away, the curt tug of his neck-cables almost hasty. This was odd, very odd. Megatron did not do hasty, because it suggested uncertainty, perhaps even weakness, unable to hold the gaze of another. My lord was never unsure. He was the immovable, leading the Decepticon Armada with blunt force and meticulous control. His spark did not hesitate. His position could not afford it. Besides, a confused, disheveled Megatron? I bit back my snickering. Now that was a sight I would pay handsomely to see.
Megatron turned, and his optics fell on Shockwave, who immediately snapped his heels in attention and belted out an "All hail Lord Megatron!", like a fresh cadet infatuated with his commander. To my great perplexity and surprise, Megatron actually looked amused, the firm line of his lips easing into a minute tilt, almost a smile. My fingers curled. They dug into my palms. My fists clenched, and my arms began to tremble, as did my wings hiking on my back.
"I hope you aren't expecting me to hail your designation, Megatron." I spoke before anyone else did, the bite of my voice cynical and bitter. "I say with no exaggeration whatsoever that there is very little to hail about, oh magnificent and illustrious leader." I twisted the words, which easily slid from my glossa like a delicate sip of sweetened energon. His optics returned to mine with a brisk turn, and my canopy heaved in an intake, reveling the moment I once again had his undivided attention.
Basking under his notice, my spark sang. Pleasure tingled like cascading water droplets, and my flight sensors itched with the need for touch, charge gathering at the tips. My wings flicked in invitation. I cocked my hips, and plastered on the most enticing smirk I could allow. Fingertips trailing along the length my thighs, I rested my hands against the sides of my hips, and parted my peds with a slight sway. The same dirty trick worked wonders every single time. In one move, I was the only mech in the chamber that the ex-gladiator knew, whose faceplate lost all hints of distaste toward my unflattering words, optics flashing in a burst like stars sweltering into supernovas.
My smirk grew bolder. My chin lifted. I looked back at him, triumph a steady strum along the quickening swirl of my spark.
I loved being beautiful.
Gaze narrowing onto mine, Megatron took one step toward me. My intakes gasped, and I almost called out his name, but he suddenly stopped, next step already in motion when he yanked himself from completing it. His massive frame leaned, prompted by momentum, by his utter urge to approach me. However, with an abrupt stiffening of his joints, he halted, peds planted and gripping the floor. For a moment, he simply stared, lips pressing tighter. Then, slowly, he released a deep blast of air, and took back his step, optics dimming to their usual glow. What little glimpse I had of his inner workings disappeared as his faceplate resumed its familiar mask of indifference. The only reply he gave me, in the end, was merely a low grunt before he turned to Soundwave, ignoring my presence altogether.
My smirk fell. My brow ridges knitted. My wings sagged little by little as disappointment sank its icy claws into my spark, seeping a chill that throbbed with the beat of my fuel pump. My fingers tightened around my plating. I bit my jaw hinges. How dare he? He did not even greet me properly!
My hands slipped from my hips. They returned to my sides, curling back into fists.
"Megatron!" I shouted, the shrill timbre of my voice echoing in the room. Megatron did not respond right away, but Soundwave paused in his report, helm inclining toward me in a blank gaze. His visor flashed, and I jolted, wings making a violent shiver. However, he did not protest or exhibit any reaction to my interruption, only moving to bow as Megatron turned in leisure, and pinned me with a hard stare.
"Soundwave has much more important matters to report than you, Starscream." He said, the growl of his engine impatient and aggressive, "I will speak to you after immediate matters are dealt with." And just like that, he dismissed me once again, giving me a back view of his helm. "Wait and stay silent." He added as though an afterthought, a careless toss of a command, "If Shockwave can do it, so can you." Upon his words, I bristled, even more offended than before.
"You haven't even greeted me yet, Megatron!" I cut in just as Soundwave began to speak, and the self-appointed Decepticon leader tensed, frame visibly rigid. However, he paid me no further attention, only instructing Soundwave to continue with his report.
"I'm warning you," I snarled before Soundwave could start, "I don't take blatant disrespect lightly!" My optics narrowed, and I glared holes into his helmet. I willed him to turn, to face me, to engage me in a spat that only he could reciprocate in equal force that would rouse a passion long dormant in my spark.
Megatron's fingers jerked, as though to form fists. "You will wait as you are told, air commander." His voice sounded strained, tension waiting to snap, and I instantly perked up, knowing what it meant.
This was familiar.
This I could turn in my favour.
"I will only do so when you give me proper greetings, as I deserve!" I took a step forward, and swung up an arm to point at his back.
"You deserve what I give, Seeker." He has yet moved one cable, but his words held an edge. My logic circuits recognized its threat, and I was very aware that I should shut up right about now if I wanted to return to Vos without a crushed wing embedded with grooves from his digits. However, the thought only thrilled me, urging me to taunt him further. My spark quivered with absolute delight, and I tried to sneer, but ended with a haughty smirk instead when I realized that I had him exactly where I wanted him, focused on me, only on me.
"If you haven't noticed, oh wise commander, you have yet given me anything of value to speak of!" I huffed through my vents, and stuck out my chassis. "I have feigned ignorance on your obvious favouring of your subordinates. I have held my glossa toward your continuous disregard of my hard work, which, just so you remember, has yet yielded proper reward and acknowledgement. I had naively assumed that you are simply inept as a leader due to your less than admirable roots, but I have since found that I am wrong." I paused, and bared my dentae in a grin, gaze pointed. "Your incompetence comes strictly from your utter lack of realization where true talent lies!" My wings flared, and stretched to flank my sides. It was a blatant gesture, one he would not recognize even if he were to see it, but the fact that I had dared to tempt him in such a vulgar manner alone stroked the heat in my core, one that laboured my ventilation and tickled my sensors.
"It would do you well to silence yourself, Starscream." His voice had grown rough, low and coarse, but I knew he could not catch me if he tried, not from such a distance. He would not attack me, as any harm done to my person would leave a mark on the already strenuous allegiance of Vos to Kaon. Even if he were impulsive enough to lash out, I was too quick, too agile. I could easily avoid his reach.
If he were to wring me under his hold, well…
He would have to goad me closer first.
"Resorting to petty threats, mighty Megatron?" I hummed, demeanor transparently coy as I quirked my helm to the side. "Would this be the pit fighter talking now?"
There was a pause, during which silence thinned under the murmur of cooling fans. Megatron did not reply. Instead, he turned, and cast me a steady, penetrating gaze. He studied me, as though to strip me bare to my spark. The look usually excited me, but here, now, it suddenly made me nervous, alarmed my spark, until my self-assured smirk, as much as I tried to maintain it, fell from my lips. Despite my best efforts, my peds moved on their own. My thrusters clicked against the floor, and I scooted back, arms crossing over my canopy.
No, this look was different. It did not claim. It did not promise a plundering that would leave me grasping for more. There was nothing personal about this look, nothing that spoke of desire, of need. It was calculated, unfounded by base-most coding, intentions stemmed from the processors instead of the spark.
"I have no time for entertainment." Megatron spoke, tone cold but smooth. He kept himself subdued, held back, surprisingly controlled for a mech with no limit to fury. If it weren't for his optics, I would have thought he was as calm as an undisturbed pool of energon. As they were, burning like the smelting pits, however, I knew he was angry, but not in the manner I expected, not in the slightest.
"How dare you?!" I clutched onto that anger, and began to protest, "I am not entertain—" I prepared to shout, but he cut through my words before I could:
"Save your slippery glossa for those who concern themselves with your trivialities, Vosian, and tell me the purpose of your visit." He left no room for argument, voice carrying the full weight of his rank above mine. "If you have nothing of worth to say, get out of my sight. There is punishment for disobedience, and I can assure you: they will be carried out should you refuse to desist as I have explicitly instructed. I have no time for tantrums. Leave at once if you are merely bored." His lips curled. His optics narrowed. "You have proven more than enough that your presence here in my base is of little significance. There is protocol. You will follow them. My time is not to cater to your whim."
The prickly words, the antagonistic attitude – they were expected, anticipated, even. However, the stark professionalism, the complete lack of anything personalized…that was what struck, what rooted me to the floor, shocked and speechless. All of a sudden, I was his second-in-command, only his second-in-command. I was no longer his Seeker, and that left my processors reeling in confusion and my spark aching with loss.
I…could not be only a subordinate of his. I was not only a subordinate of his. I was Crown Prince to my people, to all aerial frame-types on the planet, who were loyal to me, not to him. He had the support of Vos because I had commanded it from my citizens. He has not attained it himself. I was much more important than just one mech he had recruited. My role was unique. My status held exceptional significance. I was special!
…But—
But then…
"…Why are you—…" A static-filled whisper slipped from my vocalizer. I startled, and hurried to bite it back, to swallow the remainder of the question that was plaguing my thoughts. Keeping his gaze was starting to sting. I couldn't do it. Averting my optics, I skidded back, and lowered my helm, wings flicking as I fought their urge to dip, to droop.
He…
Megatron.
…has hurt me yet again.
This was not the first time he has hurt me. This was not the first time I was feeling like a complete fool.
He has hurt me yet again…and I had let him.
…Why?
Why did I continue to allow him to hurt me?
What have I ever gained from this, from all of this, that was of use and advantage for me and my city?
Nothing, my processors told me. I have gained absolutely nothing.
My only notable accomplishment was getting entangled in a war that would leave many of my fliers maimed or worse, deactivated. For Primus's sakes, I was not even an ally anymore, but an alleging prince, sealing the fate of all under my rule for my own selfish desires. I have been enslaved to this ground pounder's cause, bound by my word to serve him. I was a possession, an object to be toyed with, and why was I surprised? What else could I possibly be?
Megatron was a mech who had lived through unimaginable horrors. He would not hesitate to seize a weakness and delve deep into its crevice, no matter how despicable or vile such exploitations made him. I understood that. I could even appreciate it. So why? Why was I continuously taken off-guard when he does the same with me, a fool of a Seeker who could never refuse the allure of rough digits against fluttering wings?
I took a shuddering intake, and offlined my optics. I could feel him watching me, the tangible press of weight against my shoulders. That was all he ever did, chaining me, keeping me grounded, beneath his control. A tyrant was not going to leave Vos alone as an independent state. By the pits, I had told Skywarp so myself, and look what I ended up getting myself into.
The Decepticon insignias on my wings started to throb. They scorched worse than even the most cutting of laserfire. Everyone in the throne room was looking at me, but I could only shrink into myself, tracing patterns in the small cracks on the floor when I reactivated my visual sensors. What an idiot Megatron must see me as…displaying myself like a cheap prostitute at a street corner in hopes to captivate his attention. Why was I was trying so hard, working so diligently, when I come out of it with nothing at all, not even recognition from the one ground pounder whom I should never have to impress in the first place?
Disheartened, I gave in, and allowed my wings hang low, tips pointed to the floor. I wanted to storm out of the chamber in a fashion only those with my lineage would know how, but I had nowhere to go once I pass through the door, unfamiliar as I was with the Decepticon base of operations. I couldn't even fly home, cut off from the sky. Without Skywarp, I was stranded, lost in a foreign city without any authority, not when the one mech who could give me such preferred to refuse it. I felt small, pathetic, facing the perpetrator whom I had allowed to hurt me. I did not know what to do, and Megatron was still waiting for a response, stare blistering against my plating.
I wanted to return to my tower, where I was safe, away from his optics. His optics, which had so completely enthralled me before, now terrified me, as they were the cause of my imprisonment to this desire I wanted no longer a part of. This game has cost me, and I did not know how to get out.
However…
My right wing flicked.
…I knew he desired me as well. At least that much was true.
My wing joints tensed. My optics widened.
If that much was true, then…why?
Why was it so difficult for me to charm him when I knew, for a fact, that he wanted me, and have yet to have me?
…Of course.
My intakes cut to a stop.
I've been losing only because I had allowed myself to become attached, because I had mistakenly believed that his desire equated care, if only to a limited extent. I had forgotten that a mech did not need to be involved with another to be intimate. A frag was a frag, nothing more. If I were simply a bit more agreeable, even corporal yearning could be utilized to my advantage. It had the potential of being molded into something more, something that anchored deeper, which would inevitably firm my footing over this ground pounder. Megatron might have experience in his favour, but there was one thing he has never had, and that was me: a Seeker, a luxury worshipped by many and much coveted for.
I straightened, and hid my intentions, burying it along with the hurt in my spark.
I could be very agreeable indeed if I wished it. Megatron had no idea who he was tampering with.
"I am glad I finally have your attention, my lord." For the first time, I spoke his title without any hint of sarcasm or bite. Hips in a slight sway, I approached him, and presented him my most disarming of smiles. "I had to work very hard to get it. After all, I had to compete with capable adversaries." I walked closer, steps at leisure even as I passed respectable distance. Our energy fields touched, and his optics flashed, but I was not deterred in the slightest, looked up and tilting my helm to give him a glimpse of the gentle arc of my neck.
"I heard from Skywarp that your scientist is experimenting with Blitzwing. Is that correct?" I lifted a hand, and, keeping our optics locked, wrap it around the barrel of the fusion cannon. "I am only curious, my lord, as to why I have not been informed." I fluttered my wings, waving my wing tips well within his reach. To tantalize was bold. I knew he liked to touch them, pinching them between his fingers just to see me squeal and beg.
"That is correct." He answered, not yet giving in, though a visible wave of tension swept across his frame. I knew he would not back away, because that would concede weakness, something he would never allow. Perfect. I hailed my victory in silence. This would prove to be easier than I'd anticipated. He continued to speak, as though the gliding motion of my fingertips against the weapon I had gifted him with was something to be ignored. However, his expression had grown rigid, a minute tightening in his jaws that exposed much more than the even glow of his optics. "I had indeed asked Shockwave to study the anti-gravitational devices you had installed into Blitzwing's systems." He explained. "I wanted him to look into the possibility of ground pounders obtaining, at the very least, the ability to hover."
My hand stopped. My fingers paused to a wisp of a touch against the fusion cannon. I was genuinely surprised, optics widening a little. Megatron wanted to fly? I almost burst into laughter. Despite the spectacle of a failure that was Blitzwing, he wanted to bring more ground pounders, whom did not even have wings, into the sky?
Just to humour him, I made a thoughtful, lilting hum, and puckered my lips in a slight pout.
"Shockwave cannot possibly unravel the inner-workings of flight-frame anti-gravs, Lord Megatron." I resumed my teasing strokes, and gave him a glance over the ridges of my brows. "Why didn't you ask me about the project?"
"I wanted to ensure its possibility first," His voice lowered, its texture softening. His guard was slipping. His demeanor had changed, the mask shielding his thoughts cracking on the edges as he became progressively more distracted by my touch. "I had every intention of contacting you should the results return positive." His helm lowered, tilting a split of a wingtip as though to swoop down for a kiss. In that moment, my spark burst in heat. I had him – I knew. I smiled, and leaned closer, pushing back when his energy field flared against mine.
"Of course you did." I murmured. He looked back, a whisper of charge buzzing against my digits from the dormant fusion cannon.
Encouraged by his allowance to my caresses, I lifted both hands, and rested them on top of his chassis. I traced the Decepticon symbol with the tips of my fingers, and pressed ever closer, optics never once leaving his in a silent query for permission as I trailed my palms down. They slid past harsh angles, felt across deep scratches on his frame. Dipping my digits into the seams, I made my wings quiver, and parted my lips while my intakes took in a quiet gasp only he, being this close, could hear. His plating was warm, much more so than what was normal for even a heavy system such as that of a miner's. His cooling fans were a constant hum in the silence of the chamber, and his optics had narrowed, but he never commanded me to stop, hands hanging down by his sides, unmoving, clenched.
"Soundwave, Shockwave, dismissed." He stated, voice a rumbling echo deep inside his chassis. Two "affirmative"s answered, and two sets of ped-falls left the chamber, fading as the doors slid closed.
A smirk stretched over my lips before I stop it. However, the slip in my act mattered little, not when my hands lingered at his hips, yet still, he has not rejected me. My fingers kept just out of range of his spike housing, kneading the hard, thick plating just around the hidden panel. Their tips met heat, which progressively burned hotter the closer they trailed toward the cover concealing the impressive spike I had only once seen. His frame tensed until it trembled, a tiny shiver that belied volumes on his fraying control. Smirk growing bigger, I flashed him a playful, flirtatious wink, and pressed my digits hard on his interface panel.
The reaction was immediate. With an abrupt swing of his arm, Megatron grasped my left wing, once again surprising me with how swift he could be. He clutched the light, thin metal, pulling me forward, and squeezed, fingers crushing around the sensitive tip of my appendage. Such beautiful, raw pain shot through my neural pathways that I was rendered rigid and speechless, piercing, hot agony shredding the sensitivity of my flight system like surging volts of cackling electricity.
"Ahhh—!" A cry was torn from my lips as he gave my wing another merciless squeeze, pinching the cluster of sensors without any regard. My instinct was to buck and thrash, but lecherous abandon overrode it without a moment's pause, drenching my spark in sheer, wanton need. I writhed against his frame, until he bore my entire weight with his body. A whimper sang from my vocalizer, while my intakes hitched in short, sharp gasps.
My fingers rubbed harder against the seams of his spike panel, and, at last, he relinquished a response. A strangled grunt accompanied by a hiss from his vents was all the warning I got before his left hand caught my other wing tip, treating it with an equally cruel, wrenching squeeze. I squealed, back arching and vents spluttering. The stabbing pressure around my brittle sensors was like liquid fire, searing every neural node in my system. It swept over my frame, a wave of heat that soaked every crevice, and collected into a throbbing inferno deep in my core, fueling my desire. My valve quivered. Its walls moistened. It clenched inside me – wet, hot, ready, and inspired a loud, guttural moan through my lips, shuttering the glow of my vision.
Oh yes.
I raised my wings, and pressed them harder into his hands.
This felt good.
I offlined my optics, and leaned ever closer, the glass of my canopy squeaking against the coarse surface of his plating. My cooling fans were loud, but they were drowned out, overwhelmed by the roar of his central engine system. His fingers gave my wing tips one last pinch, and hurried to move on, roaming over the expanses of my quivering appendages. His digits were harsh, digging into the thin metal of my wings, and it hurt, but the dull throbs dotting my sensory network only thrilled me further, pinpricks of sensation heightening the magnitude of my desire.
"Nnngh—…Ah-…-Ahhh!"
Noises of encouragement left my vocalizer. I stroked his interface panel, urging it to retract, to reveal the spike undoubtedly rigid with charge. One of his hands left my wing. It ventured down, and cupped around the perk of my aft. It gave a firm grope, and I let out a high-pitched keen, though the sound was barely allowed to sail before he swooped down from above, and crushed our lips together in a heated, fervent kiss.
He yanked me closer, in want of more contact. I pulled my hands from his spike cover, a mere klik before our crotch-plates collided. He shifted his hips, and friction blossomed, rattling my frame in bliss. I clutched his shoulders, lips and glossa entangled with his as I fought him for dominance, even though I knew it was futile, and that I was never inclined to win.
With a deep, rough growl, he bit my downer lip component. I cried out, optics flashing online for a split moment, but I was allowed no reprieve, no time to find my footing. He dove in, swallowing my cry, and overpowered me completely. Everything was no less than a violation. Our movements were graceless, desperate, crude, powered by the sheer greed for more, and it was—
It was everything I've ever wanted.
Driven by desire, Megatron did not touch. He conquered. I allowed him, but this time, it was not only because I loved his ruthless handling of my frame, but that I was in control, even if I had to give him free reign over my body. I was the one holding the ends of the chains, this time, binding him to me. There was nothing more he lusted for more than having me, and he shall, but only what I was willing to offer in trade for an advantage over my lord.
He tore his lips from mine, a curse snarled through gritted dentae. He looked down at me, optics flaring to their full shine, and I was instantly taken, drawn as I was to the passion crackling as light at the edges of his vision. I grabbed onto his shoulders, and ground our crotch-plates together. If he saw me as a whore, then so be it. I would whine and plead like one, pitiful, but arousing - the complete debasement of a ruling Crown Prince.
"P-Please—! I want—" I cut myself off with an urgent, sharp whimper, and squirmed in his arms, begging him with my opitcs as though I had been rendered incapable of coherent speech. Regardless, he understood what I was asking, and, with great reluctance, pushed my hips away. There was a small click, one barely audible over the humming of our heavy ex-vents. I looked down, and felt my breath catch, watching with avid fascination as his spike emerged, a moan of satisfaction echoing the anticipatory clench of my valve.
Oh yes…I licked my lips with my glossa.
What a view it was.
The spike pressurized, lusciously long, delectably thick. It throbbed with heat, and its tip glistened, coated with transfluid that beaded and slid down along its rigid length. It was definitely a spike to be proud of – by Primus was it delicious, and I was suddenly struck with the curiosity of how many has had their optics feast on such an obscene, stimulating sight. Not that it mattered. I smirked, and gave him a mischievous glance with a tilt of my helm. I would show him how exceptional I could be in anything I put my spark into, even if it were being a shameless expert of an alley whore.
Megatron did not utter a single sound as I pushed him back against the console. I was surprised he had allowed me to, but the glint in his optics told me he was simply testing how far I was willing to go. Leaning against the terminal with his thighs parted and spike exposed, he looked almost vulnerable. A sharp tingle of arousal shot through my needy valve, and I swallowed, legs trembling as I overrode the command to retract my panel.
I could grow to like this, seeing him open, bared, for me.
Without any stall, I pressed my hands flat on his thighs, and sank to my knees. At that, he tensed, undoubtedly a little surprised, but anything he might have wanted to say was cut off by a grunt as I extended my glossa, and gave his spike a long, indulgent stroke of a lick. His hands tightened around the edge of the terminal. His intakes hissed. Mighty Megatron must have been extremely charged to be so sensitive so soon, and that made me grin, sending him a coy little glance as my thumb rubbed the plating of his thighs. I swept my glossa over the ridges of his spike, tracing the sensor nodes with slow, precise caresses. I suckled the underside of his interface hardware, and lapped up the clear dribbles of transfluid, making my way toward the top.
The spike was humming with energy, fully drawn and stiff. I scooted closer, and spread my knees further apart as I wrapped my fingers around its base, and gave its tip a swirl of my glossa. The thick, strong thighs on either sides of my helm jerked, followed by a bitten back groan. Optics flickering up, I caught him staring at me, biting his dentae to fight off an expression of pleasure.
He was completely engrossed in my actions, fixated as I parted my lips, wet from his fluid. I leaned forward, and wrapped them around the head of his spike, taking my time to drag a lick over its head before sliding my glossa under the firm, strumming phallus. I took in more of him into my mouth, moaning as its ridges rubbed against the lining of my orifice. The sound vibrated around his equipment, and he let out a blast of boiling-hot air, a sigh bursting from his vents as his cooling fans roared, ever louder. The console squealed as his grip tightened, its edge denting. Encouraged, I wrapped my hands fully around the base of his spike, and started to gently suck.
His response was instant. With a snarl of a moan, his hips shuddered, and expletives left his vocalizer, hissing whispers. Spark giddy with accomplishment, I smiled around his spike, and eagerly sank down further, swallowing more of its length. I opened my jaws until their hinges ached, and tried to engulf as much of him as I could, stretching the fit. Lewd, little noises accompanied my suckles and licks. I flexed the supple lining of my mouth around him, and mimicked the clenching motions of my valve with my hands, massaging his spike.
The minute spasms of his hips spoke volumes on the slip of his self-control. He could barely keep himself from thrusting into my mouth, which, as thrilling as the thought was, would be far too much for my limited stretch. As reward for his efforts, I bobbed my helm up and down, increasing the speed little by little as I teased his throbbing spike. Fingertips rubbing against the sensor nodes embedded within the ridges, I serviced him, wings flicking in need while I had no hand to spare to appease the burn heavy in my core.
Megatron let out another deep groan, hips beginning to shift in tandem to my motion. Encouraged by his succumbing to my administrations, I sucked harder, and moved with renewed vigor. My hands tightened until firm around the girth of his spike, and pumped along the length I could not reach with my mouth. A moan spilled from his lips. I responded with one of my own. His intakes gasped, and he spat out a curse, thighs jerking as he lost his last bit of control, and thrust forward.
The tip of his spike hit the back of my throat. I whined, the impact stressing my already sore jaw joints. However, the throbbing ache was hardly forefront in my processors. I hurried to match his thrusts, and eagerly took his aggression, flustering to catch his pace. More transfluid dribbled from the tip. I swallowed without a second thought. My hands pumped his spike, and oh it felt absolutely exquisite, its length so hard and its slide so slick. My thighs shook. My valve spasmmed. Lubricant rushed down in a wave of heat, and my panel flew open, the fluid spurting from a desperate squeeze of my interface port.
There was nothing more I wanted than to bury my fingers deep inside myself in one, smooth thrust. To feel the sweltering wetness envelope my digits. To stroke the nodes until they stung with bliss. My valve quivered, in such utter need of penetration that I almost relented, almost gave in. However, Megatron chose that exact moment to grab the sides of my helm, and plunge his spike into my mouth – enthusiastic, always willing. His snarls and grunts almost went unheard over the loud rumbling of his engines, and his spike, rigid, hot, stimulated the sensors inside my mouth much alike how it would for those untouched in my valve. I whimpered, and writhed on my knees. My port wept for attention, squeezing in attempts to elevate some of the burn, the rousing frustration.
There was nothing I could do to bring myself relieve. My hands were the only barrier keeping Megatron from shoving his entire spike down my throat, which would not be pleasant despite how much my lust-fueled spark excited for it. Instead, I matched his vicious onslaught with equal frantic abandon, and fantasized that he was fragging me hard into the floor. I offlined my optics, and imagined the same massive spike ravaging my mouth doing the same to my valve, friction tight and hot against the highly sensitized lining of my interface port. He would slam his entire length inside me, and bury its blunt tip deep inside my core, striking the cluster of sensors at the very top without any regard of how much the action made me wail and shriek in torturous ecstasy.
Oh yes…
My hips shifted.
Oh please—
My back arched.
Over and over again, he would plunge into me, hefting up my knees and spreading me wide. He would make me watch as he rammed into my overstuffed port, stripping me bare of all pride and worth while he forced my sight on the lubricant coating the swollen rim of my valve, stretched and oozing fluid. The imagery created phantom sensations that wrecked arousal all through my systems. It was frustrating. I keened. But oh it felt good. It felt so good.
Charge flared. The heat was unbearable. I let out a muffled cry, trembling violently as more lubricant leaked out of my exposed port, sliding down my thighs in tickling trails. The air was hot. It was agonizing. This was torture, and yet, I have never been more overwhelmed in pleasure and bliss. His movements became erratic. His thrusts grew uneven. He was dangling on the verge of overload – I knew, from the sputtering of his cooling fans that blasted spastic gusts of heated air against my wings. His intakes were hitching, panting. I have never heard him so undone. I wanted to online my optics, to catch the moment, that glorious split in time, when the ground pounder who has ensnared the only sovereignty on the planet under his authority shatter his control, his mask, completely unraveled, under the hands of his enslaved. However, I was too caught up in the whirlwind, to overcome by his passion to do anything aside from urging him on, to go over the edge. I begged him to fill me, to mark me, to show me how utterly vulnerable I was able to render him with just my touch alone.
In one gasp into silence, his frame completely stilled. His fingers dug into the sides of my helm, and his optics flashed, a bright burst of light before they shuttered. His lips parted. His torso leaned. His vocalizer uttered a soft, static-laden call of my designation, and transfluid gushed from his spike, filling my mouth before I could swallow.
His overload swept over his frame, rippling his energy field. It was blunt, unforgiving, and it flooded my oral cavity with sticky liquid that was almost hot enough to scald. I tried to screech, battering his thighs as I struggled to pull away, to free my lips from his equipment. However, he did not acknowledge me at all, keeping me exactly where I was while he reveled in his peak. A long moment passed, several grueling kliks of me thrashing in hysterics while I tried to swallow and talk at the same time. He finally noticed my discomfort, and let go, allowing me to pull away and fall back. Making one last swallow, I spat out the rest. The last bit of his release showered onto my faceplate, and made a big mess all over my torso, warm transfluid dripping down along the tinted glass of my heaving canopy.
For a while, neither of us spoke. The whirr of our cooling fans droned in the silence, filling his throne room with a gentle hum. He did not say a word, and I did not lift my helm to check if he was looking at me. All I could feel was the transfluid dripping down from my parted lips, and the soft trembling of my thighs as my valve continued to shiver, pleading to be penetrated as I sat a puddle of my arousal, which had begun to cool.
A brushing touch against the back of my helm.
I jumped, optics onlining in a flash. My vision was not clear. His release had splattered over my optic glass, slowly oozing down the side of my faceplate. I could see the blurred outline of his silhouette. I could tell he was looking at me, gaze bright but subdued. His hand caressed me, as though to a lover, possessive, yet not insistently so. He leaned against the console, relaxed, content, and his optics glowed, warm with an emotion I had only gotten glimpses of during his briefest lapses in character.
Basking in the afterglow of our one-sided coupling, he was spread out before me, exposed, open for plundering. His hand reached forward, and brushed away the cooling transfluid from my cheek plates, the contact a mere whisper compared to the crushing clench of his digits against my wings. The simple, light gesture stung, much more than any of his acts of violence. Of all the outcomes I had expected, this had not been one of them, and it struck me, hard, in a place that had not felt anything but ice since the death of my Intended.
…I did not know why Megatron had chosen that exact moment to show me, to bare to me, an admittance that did not need words to speak. This was to be a game, a perverse play of power, and I had made my decision to win, to overthrow him as the one who holds the chains. This was all the proof I needed that I had caught him, that I had him thoroughly fooled. I now had an edge over him, yet this—…this was too easy. Too easy for what I had been prepared to do.
I was going to win. That much I knew. This was only the first battle, the first step in a long, winding path of manipulative seductions.
So why?
Why…was he acting like this?
I could not understand, frozen on the spot as his thumb stroked my faceplate.
No, not acting.
This was no act, and that was what stunned me.
What advantages could he possibly gain from laying open like this?
The expression on his faceplate, it was so bare, so painful to witness. I had never seen such peace on his person before, and I had thought, had assumed, that the mere notion of someone like Megatron wearing such a sentiment was laughable at best. What use was peace to a tyrant? What purpose did it serve for the leader of a faction meant to reap and destroy the world? My wings began to shake. I did not know what to do. With one single gesture, he has lost me, driven me to the verge of panic in face of an emotion that both resuscitated and terrified me.
A tiny movement.
On the corners of his lips.
Megatron, my leader, my tormentor, my desire…
He looked down at me.
And he smiled.
I froze, and my spark, an instance before a flaring ball of fire, drenched in an icy chill.
He smiled, and coolant rose in a wave, threatening to blur my vision further as guilt pierced through the center of my being.
…Why?
The-The idiot—
Why was he smiling at me?
I was to exploit his weaknesses, in every manner, just like how he did mine. I was to make him pay for how much he had hurt me, so why? Why was he smiling at me, as though I'd meant something, as though I was of value, of worth, as though he was—
…th-that he was—…
Fear.
It stabbed, and my optics blanked from its impact, its realization – the excruciating realization – I had been pushing away since the cycle of my submission to this ground pounder.
Only one other mech I knew has ever smiled at me like this, and that was Skyfire.
Skyfire.
Oh Primus…I suppressed a tremour.
Skyfire.
…
Megatron was not aware of my thoughts. He continued to wipe me clean, the tips of his fingers careful. He was a completely different mech, compared to how I knew him. I could not imagine what, out of all that has happened since his arrival into the throne room, could have inspired such a change.
I did not believe it was anything I did.
It could not have been anything I did.
I had only played him, acting based on what I knew to be my advantage over him, so—…so—
Why?
I did not understand. Nothing made sense anymore. He was finished with me, done. He'd taken what he wanted from his willing, little whore, so there was no reason for him to continue to touch me, especially not so gently as though I was made of brittle panes of glass. He was not glaring at me or kicking me away. He was not threatening me, or throttling my neck. He was not bellowing with rage, optics bright like the Un-Maker's smelting pits. He was composed, comfortable, satiated, and yet this side of his spark terrified me more than even the most furious of his physical attacks on my person.
…Megatron...
He looked younger…like this.
His smile had lessened. It would not last long, but its effect lingered, like a mist hazy over his energy field.
He had not worn a smile for vorns. That much was obvious, from the awkward lift of his derma. I watched the emergence of a mech long ago lost, buried, extinguished, for the sake of making a stand. This mech…had no place in modern day Cybertron, no place in war…or on the features of an ironfisted dictator pit-bent on rebuilding our world from its ashes.
The first bubble of laughter sounded like a choking splutter. The second that followed was clearer and more pronounced. My wings jerked. My shoulders shook. His hand paused, and his expression froze, what was left of his smile fading as the first peal of giggles fell through my lips.
All of a sudden, I could not stop, laughing as though it was my only function. Knelt down before him, thighs soaked in the mixture of our fluids, I cackled, the jagged string of noise echoing in the chamber like glinting tips of spears. My abdominal plating ached. I wrapped an arm around it. My frame rattled in hilarity, and I wiped the last bit of drying transfluid from my optics, flicking it aside with a brisk flip of my wrist.
"What's wrong, mighty leader?" I needled, glancing up at him with a stretch of a grin. "Does every overload make a sentimental, old fool out of you?"
His frame had seized. The smile was gone, replaced by a tight, rigid mask, one that barely contained the gathering storm behind his optics. My words had hit their target. The hard setting of his jaw-joints indicated so. However, despite my laughter, it gave me no satisfaction, only a damp, cool clench at the bottom of my spark chamber.
"Oh don't look at me like that, Megatron. I am flattered, really." I cooed, the turn of my glossa easy compared to the quivering knot in my spark. "What I suspected is true. You do have a weakness for a pretty pair of wings." I licked my lips, lapping up his cold, tangy transfluid, and swallowed regardless of its disgusting texture. His hand jerked from my frame as though I burned, and it curled, tightening into a trembling fist.
"What's the matter, my lord?" I peered up at him, optics wide, voice a mocking purr. "Does my simple observation displease you?" I leaned forward, and rested a dainty hand on his thigh. "I can stop," I smiled, helm in a flirtatious tilt, "if it would make you feel better."
The backhand came before I could even realize Megatron had moved. With a gritted roar, he swung his arm, and gave my faceplate a resounding slap. Pain lit up my sensor-net. It blistered like steam from the smelting pits. I yelped, falling back, but before I could end up on the floor, his other hand shot out, and yanked me forward by a wing. This time, he did not merely pinch. He crushed the thin metal completely, shattering the clusters of sensors.
With a loud, shrill cry, I reached back, and grappled at his fingers to free my wing. He paid no attention to my prying digits, and pulled me up, the same moment he pushed off from the console to stand. Scrambling onto my peds, I swore and bucked against him. He growled, rage darkening his features, and grabbed me by the neck cables before slamming me down against the terminal, optics narrowed slits of flaming red.
His hand tightened. His fingers dug into my neck. Warnings blared, flashing, red alerts on my HUD, and my vocalizer spat static, throbbing under the pressure. However, even with agony searing through my system, I was relieved. This was familiar. This was safe. Him glaring down at me from above, keeping me pinned against a hard surface, this was something I was used to. Therefore, no matter what punishment he had in mind, I was more than willing to take it. The injuries, the humiliation, they were a small price to pay if it meant I would not have to acknowledge the motivation behind his smile.
With a bitten snarl, he crumbled my wingtip. I screamed as the most acute of my flight sensors splintered, and started to thrash, stumbling through pleas for mercy. He bellowed, absolutely livid. However, though my pain-filled haze, his words lost their meaning, morphing into one roar of anger.
Megatron refused to let go of my shivering wing. He twisted on its injured tip, and I could barely gasp, intakes hitching in stutters. I made all sorts of promises I had no intention of keeping, all to stop him from ripping my wing off. I had no intention of reliving that experience, though I suspected that Megatron would not be so cruel, no matter how enraged, as to tear off what made me precious.
His hand left my neck cables, but I was allowed no relief. He pulled me by my wingtip, and flung me across the chamber, sending me hurtling through the air. I bounced hard on my back, and landed on my canopy. I slid against the floor, the glass of my cockpit screeching in protest, but I was simply thankful that my wing tip remained attached, despite the severed wires spitting sparks. Energon dripped, and splattered to the floor. I groaned, and shakily pushed myself onto my hands and knees, processors reeling to grasp sense of my surroundings through the void of hurt.
"I do not want to see or hear from you until notified otherwise, understood?" His voice was gruff, laced with loathing. "Leave, now, before I change my mind about letting you live."
I groaned, disorientation making me sluggish in following his order. He was not pleased with my lack of response. The only warning I got was the rising whirr of an activating weapons system right before a blast sailed over my helm, its heat singeing my derma. I yelped, wings jerking upright. The movement stung, and helped clear my processors as I scrambled onto my peds, limbs flailing in the process.
The slagger turned his fusion cannon on me!
"I would hate to repeat myself, Starscream." The statement was little more than a low hiss through clenched dentae. I hazarded a glance toward him, and instantly regretted the decision. Primus, I have never seen him so furious. His scowl was feral, creasing in shadow, while his frame strummed with violence, primed to kill.
When I still failed to move, gaping and frozen by fright, his fists gave a warning clench. The fusion cannon let out another hum, and, with a squeak, I immediately pushed myself onto my thrusters, and ran for the exit. Slapping at the keypad to open, I all but fell into the hall. Megatron's optics kept burning holes into my frame until the doors slid closed behind me, and I was left alone in the hallway, spark reeling in lingering fear.
I could not believe Megatron had fired at me. With my own creation.
Frame trembling and knees threatening to buckle, I hastily comm.-ed Skywarp, and closed the panel to my valve. I did not even know what I had said to him, only that I stuttered like an idiot, which caused him great confusion before he finally understood what I wanted him to do. A klik later, he appeared in front of me with a puff of purple smoke. His expectant grin instantly wilted as he caught sight of me, joints tensing to stillness and wings hiking rigid on his back.
His optics widened. Shock stole the glow of energon from his faceplate. "…S-Star—" He whispered, but his sentence trailed off before it could even begin. His hands rose from his sides. He looked like he wanted to touch me. However, he stopped himself mid-reach, and took them back, fingers curling into palms. He looked me over, entire frame in a tremour, lips hanging apart. "Oh Primus—…!" He shook his helm, and his optics flew back to mine, a bright flash as he jolted out of his shock.
"Star," He said, ventilation loud, "it's-…it's okay. I'll get you to Pristinus. I'll get you to Pristinus right away, okay? …Oh Primus on a—Frag! Your wing!" His expression fell, brow ridges knitting. "It's dangling—dangling on just—…A-Alright. Okay. It's gonna be fine. Okay. C'mon, Star. C'mon. Lemme—…Just lemme get you to the med bay, okay? Take my hand. Can you do that? Can you take my hand?"
He reached for me once again, and this time, his fingers brushed the side of my arm. I jumped, skidding back. I could not let him take me to Pristinus. No one else could know. Skywarp only saw me like this because I had no choice, but I'd be damned before anyone else sees me in such a disgraceful state. However, he must have interpreted my reaction wrong. I did not know what exactly went through his processors, but he suddenly became angry, gritting his dentae and biting his jaws. He cursed, hands in fists. He could not seem to look at me in the optics, staring instead at my cockpit.
"I…I'm sorry, Star." He whispered, "Frag…What did I do…?!" He swirled on his peds, and started to pace. He rubbed his faceplate, and swore, brow ridges dipped in a frown, lips in a grimace. I only stared, confused. Why was he being so difficult? I only wanted him to take me back to Vos.
"Ok, I'm sorry." He let out a gust of air through his vents, and seemed to gather himself before approaching me once again. He reached for my hands this time, forcing a wavering smile onto his faceplate. "C'mon, Star, it's okay. I promise. Just—…Lemme take you to Pristinus about your wing."
"No." I held my hands away. "You are going to take me back to my recharge chambers."
He paused, gaping at me. I grew irritated.
"What part of that did you not understand? Take me back to my recharge chambers at once!" My voice gained in volume. It sounded shrill, strained. "Hurry up! I want to get clean!" The transfluid was drying. They felt gross and uncomfortable. I was anxious for a long shower session in the comfort and privacy of my tower, but my trine mate, my purple idiot of a trine mate, just would not let me.
Skywarp's gaze softened, and this time, he did not protest. He did not speak at all, simply stepping forward and taking my hands. His fingers tightened around mine as he pulled me closer toward him. He held me, an arm around my back, and the air rippled. He was activating his warp-drive.
Our surroundings blackened, replaced by familiar walls in a burst of light. However, as our peds touched new floor, I realized with a startle that we had not gone to my recharge chambers as I wanted. Instead, several helms turned upon our arrival. Pairs of optics widened as they caught sight of us. Skywarp had defied my direct order. He had teleported us to the med bay in my tower. There were fliers, medics, standing around, each and every one of them staring at me, frozen from shock. There were too many, way too many stares. There was not even time for anger at my trine mate when my spark shuddered in dread, and my knee grew weak, the shiver in my frame gaining as my intakes hitched.
Primus…They would not stop. I averted my optics, and felt my dangling wing tip rattle as my wings began to shake. "Skywarp…get me out." My fingers tightened around my trine mate's. "Get me out." My hissed words were barely loud enough to reach my own audials, but I knew he heard, because his digits jolted within my grasp.
What was he waiting for? I bit my lips. What in the pits was he waiting for?!
The optics of the medics burned into my plating. I knew exactly what they saw, and what they were all thinking as they processed it. They were not supposed to see. This was supposed to be a secret. I did not need a med bay, not until I've cleaned myself up, until all signs of my disgrace have been washed away. My wing hurt, and I'd lost energon, but my injury was not severe enough to be life-threatening. I could afford to wait at least a few breems.
Skywarp…good-willed, stupid Skywarp…
He had shattered my pride much more than any other has ever done.
"Get me out of here." My intakes began to stutter. "Get me out of here!" I tugged on his hand. When he still refused to answer or budge, I almost whimpered, and curled inward, knee joints buckling.
"Get me out of here!" I begged him to take me away, and fell in a trembling heap when he failed to respond. A pair of arms caught me, and yanked me away from Skywarp, pressing me cheek-plate first against a rounded canopy atop a white chassis. It was warm, polished to an impeccable shimmer. I struggled to see who it was, but the mech did not yield, keeping me still and shielding me from all optics in the med bay. A voice rang out, clear and commanding. I recognized it, but I have never heard it so cutting, so strong.
"Everyone, out!" Pristinus shouted, and a flurry of footsteps headed toward the exit. "No, Skywarp, you're staying." The doors to the med bay slid closed, and I was left in the company of my trine mate and my head medic. "What happened?" I heard Pristinus ask, still holding me against him.
"Can't you guess?" Skywarp answered, voice low and rough. I could feel my medic becoming aggravated, chassis heaving up in an intake.
"I am not here to guess, Wing-Left Skywarp." Pristinus did not yell, but his words were clipped. "If you do not know, then answer me accordingly."
"Oh for frag's sakes, Pristinus!" My trine mate was not as successful at keeping his voice down. "Just take a look at 'im! He's more scratched up and dented than a combat drone. He's got transfluid and Megatron's paintjob all over him. What else could have happened?! You fraggin' tell me!"
I flinched, and buried my faceplate against my medic's canopy.
"Stop shouting and answer the question." Pristinus was snappish, but he retained his cold professionalism despite the bite behind his words. "I see the implications, but I will not act based on them alone. Were you present when this happened?"
There was a pause.
"…Are you fragging serious?" Skywarp got even louder, tone heavy with incredulous rage. "Do you honestly think I'd slaggin' stand around while my own trine leader gets violated?!"
"Answer the question." Pristinus bit out. My trine mate hissed.
"No! I was not!" Skywarp bellowed. Explicit swearwords followed, accompanied by peevish pedfalls. Pristinus did not pay my furious trine mate further heed, turning to me instead. I felt his chin dip as one of his arms unraveled around my back, and he cupped his fingers around my faceplate, guiding my chin up.
My optics flickered upward. The familiar faceplate of my head medic came into view. He was worried, his kind demeanor marred by the smallest of frowns. "Prince Starscream," He spoke softly, just enough for me and my trine mate to hear. "Please tell me what happened." He asked, but did not probe, optics a gentle glow filled with concern.
Skywarp hit an abrupt stop in his pacing. I knew he was listening as well, waiting for my answer.
I gave none, staring at my medic.
Pristinus did not give up. He was patient, keeping his silence for a long moment before trying a different approach.
"You do not have to speak if you do not want to. You can simply nod or shake your helm. Would that be alright?" I looked at him, brow ridges knitting in a slight furrow.
His gaze softened, and he wrapped his other hand around my faceplate as well. "I apologize, your Highness, for being so pushy. But please, you must understand," He smiled, but it felt strained, different from the usual, easy tilt of his lips. "You are our Crown Prince." He said. "We must be sure if this meant going to war with another city."
My spark clenched. I did not want to go to war, not with Megatron. I gave a small nod, and he nodded back, before continuing in the same soothing voice:
"Did anyone deliberatively assault you?"
Behind me, Skywarp spluttered in expletives. However, Pristinus paid him no mind, optics kept to mine.
I nodded.
"Was it one mech?"
I nodded again.
"Did he attempt to interface with you?"
I hesitated.
I was the one who initiated, this time, but I knew Megatron had wanted me, so…
I gave another nod.
"Did the assault happen before the attempted interface?"
In other words, did Megatron force me? No. I shook my helm.
Silence met my answer.
"…Did you…consent, to his attempted interface?" Pristinus worded his inquiry carefully, holding my gaze. I knew he was trying to discern whether I was truthful, but there was no need for him to second-guess me. I just wanted to get clean, and lying would only stall.
It took much strength of will to answer in honesty, but eventually, I gave him a nod.
"Did he penetrate you?"
Pristinus was an old flier, but even he could not stop his wings from tensing as he asked. This was understandable, of course. The integrity of the Crown was at stake, and that was of utmost importance, above all else.
I shook my helm, and a light sigh tickled my flight sensors as my medic's expression eased minutely.
"Did he assault you because you did not allow him to penetrate you?"
I shook my helm once again, and relief spread across the Stealth Jet's features.
"Very well," Pristinus nodded, and helped me to stand. "Please take a seat on the medical berth, Sire." He motioned to the berth behind him. "I will begin on all necessary repairs."
Skywarp began to protest, but neither Pristinus nor me paid him much attention. Though I would much prefer to go through a thorough wash cycle in my own shower chamber first, there was no way Pristinus would allow me to leave without reattaching my wing tip. Besides, getting repairs meant I would be cleaned, so I eagerly took a step toward the berth. However, before I could reach it, another concern flashed across my processors.
I stumbled to a halt, and looked at my medic, optics widened.
Pristinus searched my gaze for a moment. "Everything seen or heard in the med bay is strictly confidential, your Highness." He smiled, dipping his helm in promise. "My medics were surprised, yes, but they will not talk."
As reassured as I could be, I nodded, and allowed Pristinus to seat me on the medical berth. I felt the light, cool sensation of a medical scan gliding over my wing, followed by careful fingers, but I winced regardless, intakes in a hiss. Despite how gentle Pristinus was, the wound was still painful. Thankfully, my medic was quick to disable local sensory networks, and the agonizing burn disappeared, leaving me with only a slight, numb throb.
Skywarp hovered in my peripheral. He had settled down from his bout of protest. However, the tight set of his jaws did not lessen in the slightest, expression darkened by shadow. He was clearly displeased that both Pristinus and I had decided to drop the matter, at least for now. After pacing some more, my purple trine mate finally walked toward me, and I looked up, starting a little from the serious intent in his optics.
:Starscream,: He sent me a comm. through our trine link. To my surprise, he had Thundercracker blocked out. :Do you honestly know what you're doing?: He asked, stare penetrating, and my back-strut prickled.
:…What are you talking about?: Growing defensive, I averted my optics. However, to my greater astonishment, he did not get frustrated at my lack of cooperation.
:It took me a while to understand, and I'm still not sure what in the pits exactly you're playing at, but I have a hunch my guess is not farfetched.: He sounded sure, too sure, and I had to bite back a flinch. :I don't judge interface tendencies, and I really don't mind if you like him, but…: I gave him a small glance, and grimaced when I saw him frown. :Seriously, Star,: His voice carried a note of imploration, :You scared the living spark out of me! Mind giving me a warning next time?:
This time, I did flinch. Pristinus gave my still responsive wing a small tap to remind me to keep still, and I wiggled, shifting in my perch on the berth.
:Actually, that's not what I wanted to say.: He sounded a bit sheepish, but I was too embarrassed to look at his faceplate to check. :I mean, I'm really glad that you're not…you know…hurt or anything. I'm just…wondering if you really know what you're doing.:
I took great care to not allow my thoughts to show.
:Things seem off somehow, with you.: He continued when I gave no indication of wanting to answer. :The way you were acting when I saw you outside the throne room – that just didn't feel right.: He paused.:Bots don't have that look right after they come out of a frag. I mean, you were—…Primus, you were a shaking wreck, Star. I might not be the smartest Seeker in Vos, but I've seen my share. I can tell something's up with you. You've…changed.: He stopped, waiting for me to respond.
:I don't like him.: I stated, voice flat. :Everything is entirely political. I have everything under control.:
I did not need to see his faceplate to know he was skeptical. His energy field radiated doubt, but, to his credit, he did not comment. He nodded. I could see him from the edges of my vision. Pristinus chose that moment to ask him to leave, seeing the gesture as a sign that our comm. conversation has ended.
Skywarp did not make his way to the door. He lingered, staring, but I kept my optics averted. After a while, he sighed, and turned around, taking a few steps away. He activated his warping sequence. However, kliks before his departure, he sent me one last comm.:
:I'm not gonna tell TC about this, and I don't think you should either: He said, not even bothering to face me. :I don't know if he'll understand.: His helm inclined toward me, but before I could respond, he cut our connection, and teleported away. I was left staring at the spot he had been standing on mere moments before, wondering what he was talking about. As usual, he was too ineloquent to explain his point, and frankly, my processors were too scrambled and tired to deal with a confusing trine mate. Sighing, I sagged in my seat on the medical berth, and waited for my medic to finish my repair.
Upon Skywarp's leave, Pristinus asked me to lie on my back. After a heated argument, he managed to convince me to cancel all appointments for the rest of the cycle, and remain in the med bay to rest. Squirming on the berth, I tried to recharge, but all I could see as I offlined my optics was Megatron's smile freezing rigid before fading to a grimace. I could not help but feel as though I was missing something in his expression, but it eluded me, something I could not quite grasp.
Pristinus started cleaning my frame. He wiped the transfluid off with a cloth, methodical strokes of a medic who has seen everything one could in a lifetime. His touch was not consoling like Thundercracker's had been, but it got the job done. The damp, sticky mess was gone, yet somehow, my spark did not lighten, a prominent weight tangible at the bottom of my spark chamber.
My processors slowed. My intakes evened. My joints eased, and my awareness began to slip as my optics shuttered. Pristinus lowered the light. Darkness crept from the corners of the medbay. The last sensation I knew was the Stealth Jet moving to clean the insides of my thighs, but I was too exhausted to be embarrassed about the lubricant still staining them.
Within kliks, I fell into recharge, images of Megatron holding my faceplate darkening to nothing along with the world.
Notes: I tried. I really did, but still, this update came late. Sorry about that. D: I hope the content of this chapter made up for its lateness. About time there are some naughty scenes, eh?
I'm still not really sure how I feel about certain parts of this chapter. Having Megatron exhibit such a side to his character makes me nervous, and I can't figure out whether it's the thought of being so vulnerable that makes me uncomfortable or any possible OOC-ness. I tried to make him do something else, but it just didn't feel right, so I decided to go with my gut instinct. Hopefully, it hasn't failed me.
Many massive thanks to my reviewers Guest, zantsu, Cjade, Ashcola17, Cannonade, A. Non, tiedwithribbons, Random523, VyxenSkye, loverofmythology, eadspud, alien90210, Kira michi, Koluno1986, Guest, theboombox, Cloud Kitsune17, ladyredvelvet, Devlinn Reiko, 6MissSparklez9, The-writing-Mew, Trixxybaby1995, Eiswolf-Zero, AMNShadow, heretherebemonsters, Starcee138, Wooden-Horse, and everyone who's supported me on Tumblr. Editing this chapter was difficult, as a lot of things happen, and hearing your words of encouragement has helped me tons, so thank you! :)
Now, I have an announcement to make:
Over the next two months or so, I will be going back to writing the first draft of "Insatiable". I really hope to finish it during this summer, so that all I'll have left to do for this story is editing, which means I can move on to writing other multi-chaptered works. Due to the fact that most of my time will be dedicated to writing, updates will be put on a temporary pause. If I find the time, I might put out a new chapter. However, I don't plan on posting anything until I am done with the first draft.
Everything is subject to change, of course. To keep tabs on what I'm up to, please visit my Tumblr, action-carolsfeld, and feel free to drop me any questions and/or concerns through an ask. Anon is enabled, so you don't have to sign-up to talk to me.
Thanks once again for giving this story a chance! If you have the time, a review would be lovely, as it never fails to bring a smile to my face.
Has this chapter changed any of your outlooks on Starscream? Did the naughty get you worked up? Hopefully? Haha! What did you think of the slight break in character for Megatron? Please let me know.
I would love to hear from you. :)