Insatiable

by Acteon Carolsfeld

[Permanent Hiatus] AU. Vos: independent, isolated, and self-governed by absolute monarchy…until a miner turned gladiator caught the optics of its young Crown Prince. Not all is fair in love and war. Warning: MegaStar; sticky. Based on M:Origin & G1 while taking liberties.

23. XXIV

Disclaimer: Do not own TFs.

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WARNING: Explicit sexual content; if there are any spelling errors and/or awkward sentences…I can't even care anymore; this is how it is now, after days of fighting against procrastination. X'D

Sorry for the lateness, and please enjoy, darlings!

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XXIV

I onlined my optics.

For a very long time, all I could see were vague shapes in the dark – faint, bright spots swelling and fading.

It took me another very long time to realize that the vague shapes were shadows, and that the faint, bright spots were lights, from beeping monitors.

I stared at the ceiling, processors sluggish and confused.

I was on a berth.

There was someone beside me, on my right.

I tilted my helm, and saw a Seeker lounging in a chair, deep in recharge.

The chair did not look comfortable to recharge in, but the Seeker did not seem to care.

The Seeker was mostly blue and white, with a black helm and a white faceplate.

Thundercracker.

His intakes made soft, spluttering noises as he recharged, helm drooped forward.

The cycling of his ventilation was a slow, calming tempo. It made me drowsy.

Offlining my optics, I returned my helm to facing the ceiling, and fell back into recharge.

When my awareness returned for a second time, a difference Seeker was beside me.

He was in recharge as well, torso leaning forward, helm resting on loosely folded arms, sprawled on my berth. He snored a little, and muttered.

He was mostly purple, also with a black helm and a white faceplate.

Skywarp.

He suddenly jumped, intakes hitching, and squirmed. I thought he had jolted awake, but he only mumbled some more, wings flicking twice, and returned to snoring.

I sighed through my vents, and turned toward the ceiling.

I offlined my optics, and went back to recharge.

I felt as though I was missing someone by my berthside.

When I woke up for the third time, someone awake was with me.

A Stealth Jet was checking the monitors. He turned to face me upon hearing me move. He smiled when he caught my optics, and walked closer, placing a warm hand on my shoulder.

"Did I wake you?" He asked, voice a whisper. "I apologize."

I wanted to tell him he did not wake me, and that I was probably up because I undoubtedly had too much recharge. However, all I did was stare.

"Please rest, your Highness." His hand left my shoulder, and gave my wing a few light pats. "You need to catch up on all the recharge you've missed."

Pristinus, my medic, I recognized.

I took a deep cycle of air through my intakes, and sank into the berth.

Within a breem, I was in recharge again.

I woke up for the fourth time to a touch on my cockpit. Thinking it to have come from one of my trine mates, I did not online my optics at first, simply enjoying the soft strokes while my systems reactivated to full functionality for the first time in…

My chronometer aligned:

Three cycles, eight joors, and twelve breems.

However, as the rubs continued, confusion started to seep into my peaceful mood. The fingers tracing the seams of my canopy were too harsh to belong to Thundercracker, too careful to be Skywarp. Alarmed, I onlined my optics, just as the digits paused in their exploration.

A mostly white and black Seeker with red wings came into view. He had a pale cone for a helm, and his faceplate was the richest of ebony, on which stretched a wide, slag-eating grin.

Ramjet.

My optics flew into a gape. I glanced back and forth between his hand on my canopy and his faceplate, lips falling apart in an unspoken protest.

"Hello, my pretty," His grin grew even bigger, optics glittering with delighted mirth. "How about a waking present, hmm?" Placing both hands on either sides of my helm, he began to lean down, and his faceplate came closer and closer. To my horror, as the tip of his nose bridge neared mine, he puckered his lips.

With a loud, hitching gasp from my intakes, I opened my mouth, and screamed.

I scrambled to turn away, but only managed to move a fraction of a wingtip. His lips came in contact with the corner of my lips, and I shrieked even louder, fingers grappling to push his chassis and kicking my peds.

Running ped-falls came within auditory range, and the doors slid open with a "whoosh". Still bucking and thrashing on the berth, I peered over Ramjet's wings, and spotted Pristinus at the entrance with a team of my guards. To my utter dismay and sheer incredulous disbelief, they just stood there, staring, with no indication at all of hurrying to my rescue from the amorous Conehead. Ramjet snickered some more, and made another attempt at violating my mouth. I was certain I was about to blow a fuse.

"What in the blasted smelting pits are you just standing there for, you useless scrapheaps!" My screech was so loud that my vocalizer almost split to static, but I did not give a damn. "Arrest him!" I smacked Ramjet in the faceplate, and grabbed at his optics. However, before I could tear the slagging grin off his lips, he swung back from my reaching range, and laughed with a toss of his helm.

"You are truly a miracle worker, Pristinus!" The fragger exclaimed, looking at me with sparkling optics. "He's definitely fine now." He laughed some more, and indignation shot through my fuel lines with a rush of explosive burn. Shoving myself up from my berth, I was mere kliks from leaping at him with a shriek of rage. However, before I could, Pristinus got in the way, arms spread to prevent me from tackling the damned Conehead.

"Please settle down, Sire." The Stealth Jet placed his hands on my shoulders. "You have just recovered from a full emergency shutdown. Your systems are still delicate."

There was something about Pristinus in full medic mode that could make even a raging fireball of immeasurable wrath listen to him. Still fuming and scowling at a certain stupid aft, I pulled my legs back onto the berth, and lied down on my back.

Giving my right wing a comforting pat, Pristinus turned to Ramjet, and, to my great pleasure, fixed him with an icy glare.

"As much as I appreciate your concern for my patient, General Ramjet, I hardly think med bay visits warrant violation of personal space." The Head Medic stood over me in protection. "Your behaviour is unfitting for even a glitch-spawn."

"Come on, Pristinus, don't be like that." Ramjet held his hands before his chassis in pretense of surrender, and smiled, the upward tilt of lips crooked and cocky. "As his loyal general, I'm just happy our most beloved Crown Prince is finally wide awake."

"I highly doubt General Bladeflight or General Stormstrike, both of which are more than adequate examples of loyalty for you to live up to, would do the same under the given circumstances." Pristinus retorted with a bite in his words, and Ramjet winced.

"Ouch, medic." The Conehead seemed a little taken back, brow ridges in a frown. "That may be true, but Bladeflight and Stormstrike aren't trying to court him. I really am serious about wanting to become his Intended."

What followed could only be described as one of the most awkward silences in the history of all known worlds because Pristinus was a flier that rarely got awkward around anything.

"…Well," The Stealth Jet shifted on his peds, and let out a huff, "You can court him outside my med bay."

Ramjet's wings immediately perked, and the slag-eating grin returned with a vengeance.

"Does that mean I have your approval for my courtship?" He took a step forward, vision lighting up with a flash.

Pristinus narrowed his optics, and promptly pinched the general by a wing tip, dragging the Conehead out of the med bay despite his pained protests.

"You have nothing. Now get out of here, all of you, before I throw you out one by one, which will undoubtedly be damaging to your reputation and your pride." Shooing everyone out, the medic shut the door with a quick tap against the key-pad, and swirled around, a most triumphant expression on his faceplate.

He walked to my berthside, and offered me a smile.

"How do you feel, your Highness?" He asked, reverting back to professionalism.

"Aside from wanting to kick some Conehead aft, I'm chipper." I was still sneering at the door, but my anger had ebbed a little after seeing Ramjet whine like a scolded sparkling at the wing pinch. "I'm surprised I was in recharge for more than three cycles though. What happened?"

"In short, General Stormstrike retrieved you from the explosion site with a heat insulation blanket." Pristinus answered, and his smile wilted a little. "Your spark energy was strong, but that was the only reading to come back positive. My medical team and I spent the remainder of the night cycle replacing necessary parts and draining defective fluids. You were stabilized, placed on priority watch. We left the rest of your recovery to your self-repair system last cycle. You have been making impressive progress ever since."

I nodded, allowing time for the information to sink in.

"What about Stormstrike?" I frowned, worried. "What of his status?"

"General Stormstrike…has suffered many burns, despite the external mod." My medic replied. "Some left permanent scarring in his cable wirings, but he survived very well for a jet charging into an inferno." Pristinus's smile turned reassuring as he explained further, "He was released from the recovery ward about one cycle ago. He will be returning to full active duty starting the next. I tried very hard to dissuade him from working so hard, but he promised to not overexert himself."

"I'm glad he's alright." I nodded, and set up a reminder to award the Striker for his accomplishment.

"As am I, your Majesty." Pristinus dipped his helm, and returned to his duties. He ran several scans over my frame, and double-checked the results on the monitors. As he worked, another concern nagged at my processors, gnawing my spark with avid persistence.

"Good news, your Highness, you are all clear." The Stealth Jet congratulated me. "It will take a few more cycles for you to return to optimal functionality, but you won't have to stay on a medical berth anymore." Even still, I could not stop thinking about my resurfacing worry long enough to be glad.

"Thank you, Pristinus." I murmured, gaze downcast.

The Head Medic bowed his helm, and went about to detach the cables connected to my medical ports.

"While your systems are recalibrating, please do not participate in any strenuous activities, especially ones that will cause you to heat." Pristinus began to instruct, "Please refrain from flying too much, though I would encourage stretching your wings when you have the chance." His digits were swift as he wound up the cables. "Refuel frequently for the next two cycles. Your self-repair system is still active, so monitoring your tank level is very important." He clicked closed the last of my medical ports, and gave me another warm smile. "Do you have any further questions or concerns, Sire?" He asked as he helped me sit up, expression helpful and patient, as always, before discharging a patient.

I did have a concern, but it had nothing to do with anything medical.

"Well…" I started, but hesitated when I met my medic's optics, "I—…um…"

Oh for the love of Primus. I made a face, embarrassed at my stuttering speech. Who knew a Crown Prince to be nervous asking his subordinate a simple question? Pristinus was one of very few fliers who would answer me without making inquiries in return. Taking a deep cycle of air through my intakes, I mustered my nerve, and blurted it out:

"H-How was—…Megatron retrieved?"

Pristinus did not flick even a wing. "Decepticon Commander Megatron was teleported back to Kaon along with his communications officer by way of Skywarp." The Stealth replied without any particular reaction, a trait I've always appreciated. "They had to travel though the fire to meet up with Skywarp at a place where fliers were safe to land. However, I believe they returned to base without considerable damage."

Lucky slaggers and their thick, durable plating.

"Oh, and speaking of Megatron, I have something for you."

This instantly piqued my interest. I watched as Pristinus turned around, and walked to the other side of the med bay, where the cabinets were. Typing in a code, he opened one of the drawers, and took out a box. He slid the drawer closed, and came back to my side, smile perfectly professional and friendly while he handed me the box.

However, the more I studied his optics, the more I felt like they were twinkling a little too much.

"This came from Megatron?" I asked.

"Oh no! Primus, no!" Pristinus actually laughed, and shook his helm. "Please, your Highness, open it. I hope its content is to your liking."

A little wary from his behaviour, I lifted the cover of the box, and peeked in. Inside was a cylindrical metal rod with a rounded tip and a few buttons at its base. I frowned, and picked it up with a hand, looking over the object with no small amount of confusion.

"…What do you want me to do with this?" I waved it in the air, bewildered.

"Press the red, circular button, your Majesty." Pristinus gave me an expectant nod. His optics were definitely twinkling now.

A little unnerved, I pressed the button, and let out a most graceless yelp when the rod jumped in my fingers, and started to shake. I was so startled that I dropped it back into the box, optics wide as I gaped between the object and my medic, until finally, my processors could form a question through the utter disbelief stuttering my thoughts.

"You…gave me a metal stick…that vibrates…" I stated, unsure how to interpret this turn of events. Was this a joke? Was it supposed to offer me entertainment somehow? I looked up at the white Stealth, a frown once again knitting my brow-ridges. "What am I supposed to do with this?"

Pristinus's smile froze. He stared at me, and surprise slowly dawned on his features.

"You…do not know?" He asked, and I suddenly got the distinct impression that I was being exceptionally dull.

"Should I know?" I glanced at the object with much suspicion, and tried in vain to figure out its purpose.

What the frag was I supposed to do with a metal stick that vibrates? It had no logical function whatsoever! All it did was take up space and make noise.

Fortunately, before I'd have to reflect on my incompetence any longer, Pristinus took pity on me, and decided to explain:

"Well, your Highness, you are a fully matured Seeker with a lot of needs to address." He spoke as though he was teaching a medical class, patient and causal hand gestures aplenty. "Due to the current status of your Crown, there are restrictions which prohibit you from satisfying some of those aforementioned needs."

I did not understand how my needs as a Seeker had anything to do with a metal, vibrating rod.

"However," Pristinus continued in his lecture tone, "Being unable to satisfy those needs does not make them go away. From my professional experience, I've come to realize that the more a flier is prevented from doing something, the more inclined they are to pursue it. In response to such a problem, I have found a solution," He motioned at the still vibrating object, "this apparatus right here."

I stared some more.

Had my medic glitched?

Before I could utter my very well-founded inquiry, Pristinus reached into the box, and picked up the rod before holding it up like a prized creation of science.

"This, Prince Starscream, is a receptive interface hardware stimulator, custom-made precisely to fit your current dimensions." My Head Medic of Vos announced. "I purchased it from the most prestigious interface-toy maker stationed in Kaon, so I can assure you: it is very safe, and very satisfying."

My optics grew round. My joints froze up. I gaped at the Stealth Jet, voice stolen and processors stalled from shock.

Pristinus waited for a response, but I just stared.

He waited some more. I stared some more.

"…If…you are concerned about anyone finding out, please, no need to fret." He dipped his helm, smile still warm and inviting. "Every purchase is completely confidential, and I had written down my own address for its delivery. Just to ensure no one thought to be curious, I had personally retrieved it from the border, and General Stormstrike hadn't asked at all."

Well, that was reassuring.

I rebooted my optics.

At least no one found out.

I shook my helm, and gave the still vibrating thing another glance.

…Wait a klik.

Something Pristinus had said jumped out at me.

My optics stretched even wider.

"You—…Youknowmy valve dimensions?!" I screeched, cheek plates flaming with hot energon as my vents roared to life.

"Affirmative." Pristinus replied, very much calm and collected and nonchalant about the fact that he had just given his Crown Prince a Primus-damned interface port stimilator.

"B-But…How?!" I bristled, voice shrill and choked, fuel pump thudding inside my chassis.

"I am your medic, your Highness." The Stealth Jet spoke as though being my medic answered every question in the universe. When I continued to gape, he elaborated: "I perform maintenance regularly on your frame, so, naturally, I know every little detail about you."

"You never measured my valve when we had our maintenance sessions!" I yelled, unable to stop my voice from gaining in pitch and volume.

"Of course not. That would be uncomfortable and awkward." He quirked his helm. "I had to manually clean your valve on numerous occasions, twice most recently. That was when I recorded the measurements."

"M-Manually—…clean my valve?!" I spluttered, gawking at my medic like he had lost his mind. "Since when did valves need manual cleaning?"

"Well, they don't always require cleaning," Pristinus explained patiently. "However, if the valve is aroused and overflowing with lubricant, cleaning is highly recommended to properly drain out the fluids. While a mech's system will take care of the excess, having it sloshing around will result in great discomfort. That is why I deemed it necessary to clean yours when I saw the need."

If I could feel any more embarrassed, I was certain I was going to burst into flames and burn into a nice little pile of ash.

Oh Primus…

I knew exactly when those two recent times were too. Both of which my co-culprit was Megatron.

I could no longer look at Pristinus in the optics, so I averted my gaze to my lap, where the medic had replaced the still enthusiastically buzzing—…object into its box. Offlining my optics, I squeezed my thighs together, and let out a groan. Pristinus was silent for a moment. When he spoke up again, he had, once again, interpreted my reaction wrong.

"You needn't worry, your Majesty." He placed a hand on my shoulder. "The stimulation rod will be a snug fit, but its girth will not rupture your seal ring." He smiled in reassurance. "It will be able to reach all the sensors, even the ceiling node, and bring you much relief, especially during this time of high stress."

I wanted to bolt out of the med bay, but I did not know what to do with the box. I had no idea what expression I wore, only that it probably reflected how humiliating this entire situation was. If anything, this stimulation rod would only increase my stress levels. I now had to find a place to hide it, where even the cleaning staff would not stumble into.

Putting it inside my personal laboratory was out of the question. Not only would that be downright shaming to my pride as a scientist, Skywarp had visited the lab before. Primus-forbid if he ever found out about this thing. He would never stop making lewd jokes about it.

"…Would you like a manual demonstration, Sire?" Pristinus asked, breaking the silence.

My processors almost crashed.

"-No!" I cried out, optics flashing online as I jumped on the berth. "…Wh—What?!" I squeaked like a sparkling, and violently shook my helm. "No! No!"

"Alright, your Highness." Pristinus nodded, and bowed. I stared at him, vents in a trickling sputter.

Only Pristinus could ask something so downright absurd and not look demented.

The next several kliks were filled with insistent buzzing from the still vibrating stimulator.

"Um…How do I—…" I waved awkwardly at the thing, faceplate in a grimace. "How do I…turn it off?"

"Just press the red, circular button again, your Majesty." Pristinus instructed, and I immediately did as he said, letting out a sigh of relief when it finally stopped shaking.

"Well," I reset my vocalizer, and replaced the lid of the box. "Thank you for your…most thoughtful gift, Pristinus." I scrunched my nose bridge, and sent him a fleeting glance, still too embarrassed to look at him in the optics for too long at a time. "I will keep it close to me."

…Where no one would be able to ever find it.

My medic nodded, gaze compassionate. "You are very lonely, your Highness." He said, voice gentle. "I worry that loneliness will result in irreversible consequences, so this will be an adequate substitute for now."

"Um…Yes, I suppose." I fidgeted, and fought hard to not simply rush out of the med bay. I understood his concerns. Pristinus was worried I would taint my lineage by accident, which, after some thought, was logical for him to assume, based on all that's happened between me and Megatron. However, knowing the Stealth Jet meant well did not quell my embarrassment or humiliation.

After an awkward farewell, I hurried out of the med bay, optics darting in full alert to avoid bumping into any of my trine mates or advisors. I managed to sneak around my tower without interruption, and, eventually, my guard dropped, especially when I began to near my recharge chambers. Once inside the privacy of my personal quarters, I could find a place to hide this thing, and forget it has ever existed.

I turned the corner. The doors to my room came into view. Wings flicking, I hastened my speed. The keypad was almost within reach. I held up one of my hands, and reached to enter my passcode. Arm extended, I was merely two steps from the entrance when a shoulder abruptly popped into existence with a puff of purple smoke.

Without warning, I smacked faceplate first into the shoulder. I let out a yelp, and fell back, stumbling on my thruster heels. Trying to stop myself from falling on my aft, I flailed, and, for a split moment, forgot about my previous cargo. By the time I finally managed to restore my balance, to my utter alarm, the box…was no longer tucked under my arm.

Frantic, I swirled around in search, and spotted the box a few steps away, toppled right beside purple peds. The stimulation rod had rolled out, lying on the floor, and never before had horror struck me with such a blunt fist than when I realized just who I had bumped into.

I did not dare lift my faceplate to look at Skywarp in the optics, too terrified of the shame and humiliation awaiting me. I almost whimpered when he slowly bent down, and retrieved the box with the cylindrical apparatus between his digits. Nibbling on my downer lip component, I stared at the object in his hand, and fidgeted on my peds. I knew what was about to happen. I just wished I could teleport like my purple trine mate so I could escape it.

"…Is this what I think it is?" Skywarp had the audacity to ask.

I was one command away from leaping into jet-mode and fleeing in the opposite direction at top speed.

I did not say a word or make a single noise, and that seemed to have answered his question for him.

"…Primus, Screamer," I could hear the grin stretching his lips. "I had no idea you were this kinky!" He had the nerve-circuits to dangle the rod right in front of my faceplate, and give it a wiggle. Embarrassment punched me in the cockpit. I spluttered, vocalizer stuttering half-formed words, and my wings jerked spastically on my back.

"S-Stop that!" I finally managed to hiss out, lashing forward in a desperate attempt at grabbing the thing. "And give it back!" I shouted, scrambling to take the object from his hand just so I could retreat into my berth room and wail about how unfair Primus was, to laden my cycle with so much misery.

"Why, Screamer?" The glitch flashed me one of his infuriating grins, and lifted the interface stimulator out of my reach. "Are you that eager to put it to good use?" He purred, optics glimmering in delight, and I knew he was just soaking this up, the slagger.

"Wh-What—No!" I let out a static-filled burst of a protest, and swiped at the rod. "You—You sadistic fragger—…I swear to Primus—Aaaargh! Stop that!"

My cheek plates burned. My temperature rose. As I struggled to snatch the stimulator out of the purple aft's fingers, I wondered if this was considered a strenuous activity. But why would that matter. I would far rather deactivate than have this glitch of a trine mate give that damned thing one more wiggle.

He gave it one more wiggle.

I saw rage.

"Skywarp!" I screamed, and pranced forward, charging into him with a full lunge. He barely had the time to yelp before we fell to the floor, him landing on his wings while I slammed down on top. His vents wheezed, and he groaned, faceplate a grimace. Not that I gave a slag. I yanked the stimulation rod out of his fingers, took the box, and hurried into my room.

Not that hiding in my room did any good. Barely two kliks later, he popped into existence right beside my berth, and flashed me a lecherous smirk. I glared as I threw the rod back into the box, and replaced the lid, hugging it tightly against my canopy just in case he tried stealing it again.

"If you speak a single syllable about this to anyone, Skywarp," I narrowed my optics, "I swear to our Holy Creator I'm going to—"

"-Yeah, yeah, you'll throw me in confinement for some lame-aft excuse and then bail me out when you have use for me again." He dismissed my threat with a flippant wave, and hopped onto my berth on his aft. I scowled at him, but he only grinned wider, and sent me a shameless wink. "Don't worry. I'm not gonna tell anyone." He snickered. "I mean, what's everyone gonna think if they knew my supposedly virginal trine leader's actually a horny little glitch?"

My wings twitched in unison on my back. My fingers clenched the box. Optics pinching to slits, the urge to throttle overtook my spark with a single sweep, scalding with the need to inflict unimaginable pain.

I wanted to shove the stick down his slagging throat.

"But seriously though, at least you got good taste." Oblivious of the danger he was in, Skywarp jerked his chin toward my box, and jolted me out of my indulging thoughts of violence. Once again feeling uncomfortable, I felt my lips curl, and tried not to squirm as my purple trine mate spoke on.

"That thing's one of the most expensive interface toys out on the market." He gave the box another glance. "Not that a flier like you would ever need to worry about credits, but still, that thing ain't dubbed the 'overload stick' for nothing."

I started to shuffle on my thrusters. Our conversation was becoming progressively more awkward. I had absolutely no interest whatsoever of learning about this object which shall be forgotten, but Skywarp had no tact to speak of.

"Hey!" He perked up, optics flashing – a sure sign that this situation was about to nose-dive in the upcoming klik. "You hafta tell me how it is after you try! If it's real good I might blow some credits on getting one too."

Looking at his hopeful expression, I couldn't formulate even one word. I could only gape with my lips hanging open, thoroughly stunned into a stupor.

"…I-I—…I'm not going to—…use it!" I choked out, rattling my processors clear of unwanted images. "I'm going to hide it and forget that I'd ever seen such a thing!"

"Really?" Skywarp actually frowned. "You're not gonna even try it?"

"No!" I shouted, making a face as though he had lost what was left of his processors.

"Wow…You sure?" My purple trine mate continued to frown, peering at me while he paused and studied my expression. "I mean, so many mechs want it and can't afford it and you're just gonna stash it somewhere and forget about it?"

I pursed my lips, and refused to regale him with a response.

He let out a snort of a laugh. "Seriously though, even glitchy little pit-spawn Swiftglide wanted one. He practically begged me to get one for 'im, and the slagger's been grinning like an idiot ever since."

Skywarp waited for a reply. I gave none. The purple Seeker shrugged, and leaned back on his hands.

"Well, if you ain't gonna use it," He tilted his helm, "can I have it?"

My optics stretched to their limits.

My jaw-joints fell loose.

I must have developed a glitch over the past joor that caused me mental lapses and speech deficiencies.

The box was suddenly much heavier than it used to be, and I wanted nothing more than to toss it into a smelter. However, I could not, because a certain Primus-damned slagger of a trine mate was probably going to snatch it and run off, which could only result in even greater disaster.

"For the sake of the Unmaker, Skywarp," I scrunched my faceplate. "Just shut up. I don't want to hear anything more about this stimulation rod."

Skywarp shrugged again, though he continued to glance at the box with interest. "Your call, Screamer." He murmured, and, thankfully, did as he was told for once.

"Stop calling me that!" I snapped at him as I put the box into one of my drawers. Snapping it closed, I sent my trine mate a look of irritation, and crossed my arms over my chassis. "So what did you actually want, teleporting right in front of my recharge chamber doors?"

Skywarp lingered on the drawer before turning his optics back to me. "Well," He answered, "Pristinus sent me a comm. telling me you're out of the med bay, so I told Megatron. Now he wants me to bring you over, to Kaon."

I turned up my nose bridge.

"Why in the pits did you tell Megatron about my leave from the med bay?" I huffed, and sneered. Sometimes this purple idiot was too much of a nuisance.

"'Cause I was happy!" He replied as though it was obvious, "So I wanted to tell someone. And Megatron was right there, so I told 'im."

I wanted to smack him on the helm, but I was still too embarrassed about the interface stimulator incident to get too close to him, so I only pursed my lips.

Taking my silence as a cue he should continue, Skywarp blabbered on.

"Anyways, after he told me to get you, I teleported to the med bay, but you were already gone. I asked Pristinus where you went, and he said probably to your recharge chambers. I was just gonna warp away, but he stopped me before I could, to tell me not to barge straight in. I didn't know why at the time, but I guess now it's pretty obvious." The infuriating grin was back, and then came the snickers.

I growled in warning, but there was no fix for idiocy, so I decided to overlook his transgressions for now. There were more curious matters to tend to.

"What does Megatron want with me? Can't it wait?" I was not keen on leaving my city until my health was back in full. "Why didn't he contact me directly? I don't have the patience for his stupid little games right now."

"How am I supposed to know? I was just sent here to get you." Skywarp made a sloppy shrug, and offered me one of his hands. "Well? You comin'?"

I really did want to decline as I stared at his outstretched hand, displeasure oozing from my seams. However, I had nothing scheduled for the cycle, and Megatron played a part in keeping me alive until my Striker general saved me. Sighing, I strolled up to Skywarp, and placed my hand in his.

I might as well visit Lord Slagger before he could extort another request out of me.

My chamber morphed away, and, barely a klik later, I found myself in Kaon, inside the throne room of the Decepticon base.

Megatron was standing in front of the big monitors on the side wall, Shockwave beside him. Soundwave was seated before the console, intoning one thing or another while he typed in codes. The Decepticon lord had his hands clasped behind his back. He stared intently at the bright screen before him, a thoughtful, hard look in his optics. His brow ridges slightly furrowed, and he nodded every once in a while, though he remained still otherwise, listening to his communications officer.

I gave him a brief once-over, lips curling in distaste. There was a new coat of dull gray on his plating, application clearly having been done in haste. A few darkened spots peeked through, indicating that he has not treated the burn marks, merely hiding them under messy paint plastered on without care. His derma did not gleam at all. Out of everyone in the throne room, he appeared the most ragged, which churned my tank, as he was supposed to be our leader.

I waited for Megatron to acknowledge my arrival, arms crossed and hips jutting to one side. I tapped a ped against the floor, its brisk repetition marking the tempo of my annoyance toward his lack of proper address. My action seemed to work in gaining his attention. A moment later, Megatron let out a low, conclusive hum, and turned to face me. His optics held mine for a few kliks. They roamed over my frame, studying its condition, before catching my gaze once more with a hard, inquisitive stare.

I frowned, an automatic sneer curling my lips. He did not look as eager or pleased to see me as I had expected. Not that I thought he was going to embrace me and hail my recovery with poetry, but he could have at least given an indication that he was glad I had not suffered lingering damage from being stuck in the smelting pit for too long.

"Well?" I snapped, voice sharp and ringing inside the large, dimly-lit chamber. "Are you going to greet me or stare?"

"Starscream." He spoke my name, voice deep and coarse.

"…That's it?" My sneer grew more pronounced, and I glared at him. "A true leader would know how to properly treat his second-in-command and give him the respect that he deserves."

Megatron did not reply. He kept staring, expression shadowed and difficult to read. He was acting odd, only watching after I took a jab at his lack of leadership skills. Just as I was half a processor from lashing out at his persistent scrutiny, he addressed the others, optics not leaving mine for even one moment:

"Everyone but Starscream, out."

His tone left no room for discussion. His loyal lapdogs bowed, and walked toward the door. I felt Skywarp linger by my left wing, probably worried about me. However, after a while, he left too, with a quiet, distinct "pop".

I was alone, with a possibly volatile ex-gladiator whose lust for violence knew no boundaries. That made me nervous, vulnerable and small, but luckily, I was out of grabbing range of his arms. However, if I'd learned anything from our previous interactions within this very chamber, it was that I was not exempt from the glinting fusion canon on his right arm.

Well, at least he'd remembered to polish that.

I pursed my lips, and swallowed down the urge to send out a spluttering huff through my vents.

The silence became suffocating. With a loud intake, I flicked my wings, and started to pace, steps brisk and spark jittery. His optics traced my every movement, the same way mine was keen on his. We remained in this stance for almost three full breems, while the silence weighed heavier by every passing klik. This was ridiculous. My schedule might be clear, but that did not mean I was available for loitering around.

I stopped before him, and curled my lips in an attempt to mask my nerves.

"Well? What's the matter with you?" I huffed as though peevish, narrowing my optics at him in suspicion. "Is this all you wanted me to come here for, to have you stare?"

Megatron remained silent, watching me still.

Not deterred in the slightest, I decided to try a different approach. Perking my wings and stretching them to their full span, I placed my hands on my lips, and tilted up my chin, a smirk plastered over my lips.

"If you wanted to admire me, Megatron, you could've simply said so." I cooed, voice sickeningly sweet and gaze flirtatious. "I would've gladly sent you image files for you to gawk over."

That finally stirred a reaction. One of his brow ridges jerked, and he made a low hum, expression morphing from impassive to unimpressed. Not exactly how I'd imagined him to respond toward the prospect of getting my pictures, but at least the silence had broken.

"Our troops suffer great losses from the battle at Tarn." He began. "Casualty counts are high, even higher than the number of injured. This is a setback to our progress and future plans, which has undoubtedly given the Autobots a boost in morale." His optics brightened to a full shine, despite the flat note of his voice. "However, what I am most displeased with is not what I've just mentioned, but that our main objective had failed."

"And what, you think it was my fault?" I scowled at the implicative nature of his words, and glared harder at his faceplate. "As far as Vosian forces are concerned, we did everything perfectly. If you grounders were only faster, we would've been able to salvage much more energon crystals than what we came back with."

To my surprise, Megatron did not become angry. He continued to study me with the same intensity, and spoke on as though I had not yelled and blamed him at all.

"In review of our failure, I had Soundwave pinpoint exactly when the Autobots installed explosives in the warehouses." He gestured to the monitors with a wave, and turned to face them. "I was not convinced they had always been there. It would be foolish to keep explosives in proximity to raw materials for a prolonged period of time. Any accident could trigger devastation beyond measure, which I doubt the Autobots were willing to risk before the time is right."

"Who cares if the Autobots have glitched from desperation?" I groused. That earned me a pointed glance from Megatron over his shoulder, but he did not comment on my input.

"After careful study of all available surveillance data," The ex-gladiator turned back to the monitors, "Soundwave reported that the explosives had been placed inside the warehouses one cycle before our attack, hidden in standard storage crates." He tapped a key on the console, and an image of drones carrying the crates appeared on the screen. "Every cycle, energon crystals arrived at the same time, and the drones would stock them. Soundwave had deduced the crates to contain the same thing. However, upon review, he found that the crates arriving the cycle prior to battle were one micrometer closer to the ground, which would suggest a greater weight."

"So the whole mission failed because Soundwave was careless," I cut in, sauntering closer to the screen. "What does this have anything to do with me?" I waved at the monitors, brow ridges in a small frown.

"Soundwave will receive appropriate punishment. However, for the time being, curiosity outweighed my anger." Megatron kept his gaze on the screen, expression stern and guarded. "I don't believe in coincidences. What I then wanted to know was how the Autobots had found out when we'd planned to attack."

I still failed to see how any of what he was saying had any relevance to me, but, to humour him, I listened, vaguely attentive and mostly bored.

"By my instruction, Soundwave reassessed every footage we have of the outskirts prior to and during our battle. He stumbled upon something that will be of great interest to you." Megatron tapped once more on the console, and a video file opened.

My frown deepened, and I leaned closer, peering at the screen. It was difficult to tell what the video was about at first. Eventually, however, I recognized smoke, blocking the view of the camera. I was just about to blurt out a sarcastic comment when it cleared, and warehouses appeared, blurry for a few kliks. I did not know what I was supposed to see. There was no one in sight, only a vacant street and flickering shadows on the walls of the storage houses.

My lips parted, an inquiry already formed on my glossa. However, just as it was about to depart from my vocalizer, I spotted someone, a tiny smear of a shape familiar to my processors.

Orion was huddling in a corner, hugging his knees and hiding in the shadows at the bottom right edge of the screen.

I froze, question choked back. I stared, optics widened, and I could not think, watching the monitor, too stunned to move or speak. In a moment of frenzy, my processors yanked out the memory file from that night cycle, and I instantly recognized the place as where I had first found Orion and saved him.

My wing joints stiffened. My limbs grew rigid. My intakes stuttered to a stop, and my fuel pump began to race, its quickening beat an audible thud inside my chassis. I could see Megatron looking at me from my peripheral vision, but I did not dare turn to check what expression he wore. Energon chilled in my fuel lines, the tickling slide of claws throughout my neural network.

I knew exactly what was going to happen next. However, seeing it blatantly displayed on the screen under the optics of my commander, I was horrified. Shock and fear stung. I watched, spark clenched and icy cold, as I appeared in the video, and sent away the group of Decepticons to save my dock worker friend.

On the screen, I landed, and approached the huddled grounder.

I struggled with Orion, trying to pull him onto his peds.

After much effort, he finally relented, and followed me like a lost, frightened youngling. I pulled at his arm, insistent to bring him to safety.

There was another curt tap, and another video came on the screen.

I was leading Orion down a passageway, and promptly shoved him into the shadows as we encountered another group of Decepticon patrols. After much violent gesturing with me aiming my null rays, I sent them scurrying, before tugging Orion after me once again.

Another tap. Another video.

I shot down a group of Autobots, and yanked Orion out of a corner when all enemy soldiers have been deactivated. Orion looked extremely reluctant to get near the bodies, but I tugged him along regardless. Bending down, I retrieved a blaster, and handed it to the dock worker, lips moving in silent words.

My frame rattled in a shiver. I could no longer watch, jerking my helm away and offlining my optics.

There were no more taps. Silence filled the air of the throne room.

"There are more, but I believe these will suffice." Megatron spoke. His voice was quiet, calm, deceptively so, and it frightened me much more than if he were to bellow. I shook harder, and wrapped my arms around myself. We were close enough for me to feel every shift of his energy field, and it burned, scorching like the flames at Tarn, overpowering like blasts of surging winds against flight sensors. He was too overcome by rage to even roar at me. That terrified me to the core, because it indicated that his mind was clear. Fury combined with calculating processors meant immeasurable danger. It also made him unpredictable, so I had no idea how to escape his wrath. I could not anticipate his moves, or what he might have wanted to hear. I could only hope he would allow me to explain myself before tearing me apart. This time, even I knew he had every reason to.

"Nothing to say for once, Starscream?" His voice rasped. A spasm jolted through my frame. Quivering on my thrusters, I slowly turned toward him, and, optics wide and imploring, I whimpered:

"M-My lord, I—…" My vocalizer cut to static under the strain of my brimming terror. I hugged myself tighter, and began to scoot backwards. "Please, I—I can explain! It's not—It's not what it looks like…! I didn't—"

His hand came down before I could even yelp. With a loud smack, he struck me, and I fell, sensory receptors in my cheek plate searing with pain. I landed on my arms and my knees, processors momentarily stunned. However, I forced myself back onto my peds as fast as I could, and shook my helm to clear the buzzing haze. I backed away, stumbling on my thruster heels. Megatron had no moved. He's only turned to look at me. His arms hung limp at his sides as though he had not backhanded me at all, and his expression was blank as a mirror, optics flickering through the shadows hooding his faceplate.

"Despite what my demeanor may suggest, the little patience and reservation I have for you have run its course." He articulated, syllables clear and sharp, voice a low growl. "Explain, Starscream. Quickly. You won't appreciate the resulting consequences otherwise."

"H-He's—" I spluttered, "I-I mean—"

He snarled in warning, and I let out a wavering cry of alarm, arms shooting up to block my helm. I cowered away, and almost collapsed to my knees, a plea for him to not hit me again squealing past my lips. It was clearly not what my Lord wanted to hear. His optics narrowed, and he strode forward, hands clenched into tight fists.

My optics stretched to saucers. "No! No! P-Please don't—!" I backed away, peds scraping against the floor. I had just left the med bay. I had no urgent desire to return to it so soon.

Megatron did not stop. He kept advancing closer, lips pulled in a downward arc. "His designation is Orion Pax!" I blurted out, "I met him when you sent my trine to scout the outskirts a-and we became friends!" My words rang inside the chamber, halting his steps. The ex-gladiator pit-bent on ripping me limb-to-limb has paused for me to continue, optics glowing slits and energy field filling the room, stirring the air.

My processors ran overdrive to spurt out what I could say. My cooling fans whirred, heaving my canopy as I slowly lowered my arms, and crossed them before my chassis.

"We were just friends, I swear!" I shuffled backwards, a tiny scoot at a time. "We chatted over comm. a few times, but we never talked about anything military, only mundane topics." I hurried to explain, "He—He didn't even know who I am, just that I'm a flier. He had no idea what my designation was, or that I'm the Decepticon second-in-command. W-We just—We just talked about his apartment, his potential mate, and that-that bar in Tarn he really likes. I swear, Megatron, I didn't betray you! That was all we talked about! S-So please! Don't hurt me!"

My back hit the wall, and my intakes hitched in startle. Tentatively lifting my chin, I looked up at his towering form, and pressed myself harder against the cold, rough surface behind me. He practically had me pinned, only a few strides away. I whimpered, and put on the most pitiful expression I could muster, knowing from experience that he reacted well to begging.

Just to appear even more harmless and pathetic, I lowered my wings, until their tips pointed to the floor.

While I was terrified out of my wits, I had every intention of staying functional. I was aware that mighty Megatron, despite his desire to build a godly image for himself, had very ordinary needs. The good thing about being a Seeker was that most mechs found wings and sleek lines aesthetically pleasing and irresistible. I was an exceptionally beautiful Seeker, attractive enough to enthrall optics and captivate sparks with a mere few of well-placed wing flicks and minute trembling of thighs.

I did exactly that, peering up at him with widened optics and quivering lips. I arched my back, the gesture perking my aft, and bit back an ex-vent of relief when his scowl dropped a little. Megatron became momentarily distracted, gaze flickering over my frame before returning to its previous glare into my optics.

"Orion must have been an Autobot spy." He stated.

"…Wh-What?" I frowned, and began to protest. "No! He is not a spy. He's just a dock worker who lives in Tarn."

"He is an Autobot spy disguised as a dock worker who lives in Tarn." The ex-gladiator's vents let out a growling blast of hot air, and his voice was firm and certain, which, somehow, offended me.

"No, he is not!" I straightened, and hiked up my wings. "He works at the docks and that's what he has always done!" I retorted.

"He obviously lied." Megatron narrowed his optics, and I got angry.

"No, he did not!" I shouted at him, sneering in defiance. "I can tell if a mech is lying to me, Megatron, and Orion was most definitely not. Don't you think I'd know the difference between a spy and a civilian?!"

My lord's expression told me all I needed to know about what he thought, and indignation erupted like a supernova inside me.

"Are you suggesting I am stupid?!" I bristled, and pointed at his faceplate with a swing of my arm. "I will graciously overlook your accusations that my friend is a spy, but I refuse to excuse you from making obvious implications that you think my processors are deficient!"

"I will withhold my opinion on your intelligence, but I will say this, Starscream: you are young and rash. Those qualities cloud your judgment." Megatron replied in equal fervor, words a heated bite, and I almost lashed out at him.

"How dare you insult me?" My voice raised a whole tone higher, and my heels almost left the floor as I stretched my frame to its full height. "Just because I'm not old and senile does not mean I cannot tell friend from foe!" I hissed, dentae gritted, "And need I remind you, oh illustrious, all-knowing leader, that it is your subordinate who'd failed to notice the Autobots transporting bombs into the warehouses. Not me or mine! If you cannot see where such blatant fault lies, then you are unfit to be my lord."

"Don't blame another to justify your own shortcomings, Starscream." Megatron snarled, jaw hinges clenched. "If you hadn't befriended a spy, the Autobots wouldn't have known when we'd planned to attack."

"I'm not trying to justify anything!" I yelled louder, fingers curling into my palms and sneer scrunching my nose bridge. "You think I am doing the blaming? You're worse!" I screamed into his faceplate, anger surging through my fuel lines like liquid heat. "You see justification in place of truth. I will not take responsibility for blunder I did not commit. If you are so concerned about coddling your pride by passing misplaced blame, you are clearly undeserving of my subservience!"

"You go too far, Seeker." His voice growled deep in his chassis, and he loomed over me, optics slits of fire that spat crackling sparks. However, I was too furious to care. No one got away from implying that I was stupid without being put in their proper place.

"Just so you know, Megatron," I needled, baring him a malicious smile, "even Orion would make a far better leader than you!" I bit out, chin tilted up. "Orion actually wanted to join the Decepticons, but luckily for you, he didn't." I took an offensive step forward. "If he did," I barked a laugh, "he would've uprooted you in a matter of joors!" I announced to the chamber as though we had an audience.

"For you see, unlike you, sub-citizen laborer," I smirked, quirking my helm with a coy sway of my hips, "Orion is well-spoken, well-learnt, and he actually understands the merit of appreciating brilliance where it's due. And," I glared up at the insolent ground-pounder, "What do you know?" I grinned, "He's so completely opposite of you.

"He's everything you'll never be." I gritted through the upward stretch of my lips. "He has my trust, and that is something you will never have!" I shrieked at the ex-gladiator, frame rattling with rage.

My words finally riled a response. Megatron roared, and lunged forward, the sound of combusting fury torn from his gut. He gripped me by the neck cables, and slammed me into the wall, clattering my wings against hard, dense metal. My sensors rang with alerts of protest, stabs of pain slicing through my neural grid like streaks of fire. I cried out, and bucked against his hold, thrashing against the relentless clench of his fingers.

"Let go of me, you brute!" I scratched at his hand, vocalizer straining under the pressure.

Megatron paid my struggles no mind.

"Let me make one thing clear to you, Starscream," He bit out, "I do not give one slag about your petty opinions about me." His optics were slits of raging smelting pits, vents growling bursts of hot air. "I have only one question for you, and you are going to answer. If you do not comply, Primus-smite-me I will rip you apart!" He bellowed right into my faceplate, and pressed close until our nose bridges almost touched. "Did you, or did you not tell Orion Pax about the time of our attack?"

I grappled onto his wrist, and glared back in equal force.

"Answer me!" He slammed me against the wall once again. My wings scraped against the grit, and a cry stuttered through my vocalizer, vision spotting with feedback as the back of my helm hit the hard surface.

"F-Frag you!" I dug my digits into the seams of his forearm, and aimed kicks at his torso. "How dare you attack me?!" I bared my dentae, ex-vents in spurts. "How dare you attack me, the Crown Prince of—"

The coarse rumbling of engine cut off my words. Ventilation system spitting a surge of scalding air, his fingers tightened around my neck cables, and I winced, yanking on them, vocalizer in loud squeaks of static.

"If you refuse to respond by your own volition, I will force it out of you." He hissed with a grating glottal at the back of his throat, and bore his weight against me, pinning my legs with his own. His cooling fans whirred at top speed, chassis hot enough to melt my polish. "One last time, Seeker," He gritted, snarling lips barely a wingtip from mine. "Answer."

I pursed my lips, optics shining against the scarred derma of his cheeks. He studied my expression, and, finding no weak point to crack, uttered a humourless chuckle, other hand rising to reach for my right wing. With mocking gentleness, he curled his digits around its tip, his field engulfing the cluster of sensors. My wing flicked by reflex. It bumped into his palm, and roused a sharp gasp from my intakes.

His optics flashed at my reaction. Lips stretching into a smirk, he pulled his fingers toward his palm, and, slowly, tightened his grip.

The pressure began as a throb, but the pain was quick to blossom. It did not stop, worsening with the increasing clench of his hand, until the burn became excruciating, stirring a tremble in my wings. I bit my lips, and swallowed all sound of agony fighting to burst. He squeezed harder. With one audible scrunch, he crushed my wing tip, and my sensors seared my vision white.

My joints stiffened. My lips fell apart. An audial-piercing screech shattered the silence. I screamed, optics stretched fully wide as my back arched from the wall.

I began to thrash anew, tugging on his hand around my neck and pulling away from his persistent grasp around my wing tip. However, everything I did was futile. His fingers stayed right where they are, even when energon started to weep from my wound. He had me trapped, barely able to move. Completely overpowered, I could only squirm against him, the glass of my canopy chafing against the scratched surface of his chassis.

And I—…

I—…

My spark shivered.

…I loved it.

My vents huffed, hips jolting as the forward grinding of his pelvis kept me pinned beneath him.

This sensation of helplessness, suspended without any control over what was to become of my frame…

It excited me.

No matter how much I wanted to deny it.

Desire, heat, arousal.

They crashed through my system, a rush that struck my core until my frame rattled between the hard wall and the unforgiving press of my tormentor.

I stopped my shrieks of pain. My lips remained parted, optics wide.

Coolant prickled the bottom edges of my vision. My joints stuck to rigidity, and an inferno erupted inside me, a wet writhe of heat that warmed and moistened the tight clench of my valve.

"Now, Starscream," He snarled, faceplate a twisted grimace of feral malice. "Ready to comply?"

To submit?

I could not respond.

I could not form words.

I stared at him, and let out a shaky groan.

Clearly dissatisfied with my lack of a reply, his expression darkened, shadows creasing with his deepening scowl. "Answer my question, Seeker!" He shouted into my faceplate, and yanked on my injured wing tip, snapping damaged wires and tearing my plating. My sensor-net burned, HUD brimmed by an onslaught of red, flashing warnings. Optics flaring offline, I cried out, and gasped in horror as the spastic jerk of my hips loosened my interface panel.

A glob of lubricant dripped out, sliding along the inside of my thigh.

I did not think my joints could freeze any more rigid, but I somehow managed to accomplish such a feat. My optics onlined when my intakes could not hitch in any more breath, and I gaped at Megatron, mouth open with a silent exclamation of dismay. He demanded me again and again to answer his question, each time growing more frustrated and violent. However, I could not utter a single word, fearful that anything I did would somehow bring him to notice the liquid wetting my thighs.

After a while, he stopped, and became silent. He even appeared a little bewildered, and I would have laughed at his expression if I weren't so utterly horror-struck at the prospect of more lubricant oozing past my valve cover. I begged Primus for my lord to overlook the blistering heat swelling from my frame, and the hefty whirr of my cooling fans as they struggled to settle my internal temperature. However, Primus once again proved to be too much of a slagger to take pity on me. I was convinced he was somehow related to my aft of a trine mate when Megatron backed away, frowned, and looked down.

Against anatomical limits, my optics widened further. As though dunked into a tub of ice, I bristled, and instantly started to thrash, desperate little noises spluttering past my lips while I jerked in his grasp.

"No! No! Stop!" I squealed in protest, cheek plates flaming with gathering energon. "Stop it! Don't look! Don't look!" I fought valiantly, but everything I did was of no use. His hand left my wing tip, and reached for my leg. It hooked under my right knee, and I cried out in alarm, hands slapping over my crotch as he yanked up my leg and spread apart my thighs.

I was too overcome by the bombardment of shock and humiliation to remember offlining my optics would spare me from seeing his expression change from confusion to surprise. The situation might have been hilarious had I not been so intimately involved, as the sight of mighty Megatron stunned and speechless was not one that a Seeker often witnessed. The ex-gladiator took one look at my wet, glistening thighs, and froze still for several long kliks. To my great embarrassment, more lubricant seeped out of the seams. It spread into a tiny, warm puddle on my fingers, as though slicking them for—

I did not dare finish that thought, holding my intakes until my systems overrode my efforts to calm the heat emanating from my swirling spark.

A long silence passed, yet still, no word from Megatron. He seemed to have become entranced by the trails of fluid staining my thighs, optics glowing from the shadow cast by the edge of his helm. His gaze glinted, a sharp glimmer different from the one breems previous. Surprise dissipated altogether. Concentrated intent stood in its place.

Megatron studied me. His hand tightened around the underside of my knee.

"You are aroused." He stated, voice flat and emotionless.

I jerked, a grimace curling my lips. A small whine trickled through my vocalizer, and I tried to turn away, to no avail.

"You become aroused…when I hurt you." He stated again in the same impassive tone. I hissed as though his words burned, and pressed my hands firmer over my crotch.

"Sh-Shut up!" I snapped at him. "And—And stop-…stop staring!" I squirmed, turning my faceplate to avoid his optics when they flashed and flickered upwards.

"Is this why you begged me to not hurt you?" He could have been amused, but his mannerism was awfully dry, so I assumed he simply had no tact.

"What? No!" I made a face to mask my embarrassment in distaste. "I told you not to hurt me because I didn't want you to hurt me!"

"But you like me hurting you." He said.

I balked.

"No! Th—That's not—"

"Don't lie to me, Starscream." The tyrant pressed forward. His bulk kept my thighs apart, and he leaned into me, until his crotch plate hovered right above my fingers. "Your frame is more honest than your vocalizer." He growled into my audial, sending a shiver of delight down my back-strut.

I wanted to avert my optics, but I could not tear my gaze from his. He was close, so wonderfully close, and his plating was hot, strumming with desire. He was strong, effortlessly in keeping me still and immobile against the wall. His frame was littered with scars, rough and hard to the touch, and he had the most overpowering presence I had ever felt.

He was…so perfect.

Megatron's expression remained stern, jaws firm and lips tilted downward. His optics bore into mine, as though he could see the deepest yearnings of my spark, even the most hidden, and it captivated, yet frightened me at the same time. His thumb brushed against the underside of my knee joint, and my whole frame jerked, intakes hitching with a quiet stutter from my vocalizer.

"I will ask you one last time, Starscream," He murmured, the sound a low rumble from his chassis. "Did you inform Orion Pax of our attack on Tarn?"

His hand slid down a little, along the inner-side of my propped-up thigh. His light caress tickled, and I tensed with a shiver, the motor cables of my hip-joint tugging to squeeze my legs closed. My valve radiated a wet heat, begging to be touched. My resolve crumbled a little in face of its need, and the cover shifted aside, a tiny fraction. My fingers, pressed against my interface panel, stirred the surface sensors. Their proximity made my port convulse with lustful anticipation, eager and desperate to be filled.

"Tell me." Megatron leaned forward, until the tips of our nose bridges touched. His lips were a mere breath from mine, stalling the huffs of my vents, stealing the hitch of my intakes. My optics flickered downward. I bit my own lips as my spark fluttered and craved for him to kiss me. However, I could not move forward to seal our last distance. His grip around my neck cables kept me right where he'd wanted me, no longer constricting but firm.

His voice was soft, barely a whisper. However, it held the commanding might of my lord, wisps of syllables that could clip the flight from my wings if he so wished.

"Starscream," His optics were barely a glow, lips a coarse brush against mine, "Tell me the truth."

I could not deny him.

"…I…" My vision offlined, "I did…" I whispered back, brow ridges furrowed, cheek plates burning with energon. "…I told him the time of our attack, so he could escape." I admitted. There was no point in lying if he already knew what I did.

His hand clenched tighter, both around my neck cables and around my thigh. I choked back a most undignified, quiet squeal, and waited for the inevitable onslaught of agony to rain down upon me, but it never came. I could feel his scrutiny on my faceplate. However, he stayed completely still, and I became confused as kliks passed without any act of violence. He wouldn't let a betrayal go unpunished. That would go against his founding principles. I expected him to hurt me, but I could not designate the nature of my anticipation, as it was not entirely fear that quickened the pace of my fuel pump and shook the core of my spark.

I did not dare think on it further, so I stayed equally as still as the ex-gladiator grounding me with his hand around my neck. There would be time to analyze his behaviour later, when I was in no immediate danger of being sent to the med bay again.

The silence broke with a hiss of a deep sigh. The heavy blast of air beat against my flight sensors, and I jumped, optics flashing online when Megatron simply…left.

His hands loosened, and fell away. He pushed off, the press of his frame suddenly absent against my canopy. The heat I had begun to love faded the more the distance between us grew. He walked away, resolve clear in the set of his shoulders, and I watched, speechless while he strode further and further from me.

I gaped. My leg dropped without his support, thruster heel clanging against the floor. I was back on both of my peds, leaning against the wall, but I felt completely uprooted, like the world had stranded me as it turned on its axis. My right wing tip hurt. My systems were still heated. Cooling fans lurching to full activation, my spark scorched, and its churning burn continued to spread while the lubricant staining my thighs dripped along their inside seams.

My neural network was in havoc, sensors stinging from my injury and the lingering feedback of his touch. However, despite the overwhelming blockade of tactile input, one question prioritized over them all.

"What are you—…?!" I spluttered, and gave my helm a hurried shake in incredulous disbelief. "Where are you going?! A-Are you just going to—"

Then, all of a sudden, his behaviour made perfect sense.

Stunned, I watched him walk up to the console.

…The slagger…!

My hands curled into fists.

He played me!

My wings bristled as my chassis heaved.

He pretended to have been interested just so he could get me to do what he wanted! And now, he was—

He would dare to—

"I demand that you to come back here this instant, Megatron! And-And treat me as I deserve!" I shouted, and swung an arm to point at his back. However, my dramatics were lost in effect. He was not even looking at me.

In fact, he didn't seem to be paying attention to me at all, reaching to turn off the files displayed on the screen.

My frame began to tremble, for an entirely different reason than arousal. My lips curled into a furious sneer.

"Don't you dare leave me unsatisfied, you insignificant heap of pit-scrap! Come back here at once!" I used my Crown Prince voice, spitting out an order as if he was a common service attendant.

He made no indication that he heard.

"It would do you well to do as I say, Megatron," I narrowed my optics. "You have no idea what I'm capable of!" I tossed out threat, and tried to sound as convincing as possible, which was a difficult feat for a Seeker as charged as I was.

He continued doing whatever the frag he was doing, not even sparing me a glance.

Desire furled and squirmed deep in my core. My valve clenched, and I flinched, biting back a keen of frustration. Oh to the pits with this. If he wouldn't pay me the attention he should, I'd give him a reason to.

"I don't like to repeat myself, Megatron, and I do not appreciate being treated with such inadequate consideration!" I started to make a scene. "I am your second-in-command and I have needs! You are to see to those needs, you hear me? What kind of a leader are you if you can't even appease your subordinates?!" I yelled. "If you do not do as I say right now, I'm going to make your life a living pit-hole!" Hands on my hips, I took a deep intake, wings high on my back. "I will not be ignored!" I announced, words ringing inside the chamber.

Megatron did exactly what I told him not to, ignoring me as though I was not even in the same room. Vocalizer a snarl, I saw red, rage boiling inside my fuel lines.

"Megatron!" I screeched, and stomped one of my thrusters. "You incompetent brute of a fragger—I'm going to overthrow you! You hear that? I'm going to overthrow you and become the new leader of the Decepticons!" I shrieked at his back. "As the Crown Prince of Vos, I am at the very least your equal. In fact, I have every right to outrank you! It's about time you acknowledged that! S-So—…Come back here and finish what you started! Now! That's an order!" I flung my fists down to my sides, and screamed at him, wings a peevish twitch despite the sharp jabs of pain their animated jerking caused.

Megatron snapped his helm around, expression a thunderstorm of rage. He turned from the console, and strode toward me, thudding pedfalls echoing the blunt force of his approach. His shoulders rolled as he walked, thick fingers digging into his palms. "Finish what I started, Starscream?" He snarled, optics twin suns crackling sparks around their edges. "Don't tempt me." He spat out, vents in a roar and dentae gritted.

I almost startled. However, before I could muster alarm, he came closer, and bent down.

I jolted in surprise.

Was he actually going to kneel—

His shoulder collided against my abdominal plating. His right arm grabbed my legs by the knee joints, and, with a heave, he swept me off the floor, draping me over his shoulder. I panicked, and frantically scrambled for balance, a yelp falling past my lips. He never paused for a klik. I could not see where he was going, stunned to silence as he carried me across the chamber.

Snapping out of my shock, I started to shriek, throwing punches and kicking my peds in hopes to clonk him on the helm.

"What in the pits do you think you're doing?!" I cried out, pushing at him in attempts to dislodge his arm around my knees. "Let go of me, you—you glitched waste of existence! Let me go!"

He did not respond, continuing his walk toward whatever destination he had in his obviously deranged mind. I kept struggling, and attempted to elbow him on the back of his helmet. He stopped only once, for a brief moment, and a small beep followed his temporary halt. There was a soft "whoosh", and an exclamation of "Slag!". Before I could wrap my processors around what was happening, we passed the threshold of the throne room, and entered the hall.

Wh—What the frag…?

I froze, optics stretching wide.

Was he planning on parading me through the entire base like this, aft up and thighs glistening for all to see?!

Horrified beyond all thought and reason, I started to struggle in earnest, thrashing and beating at his back with my fists. "Put me down, Megatron! Put me down!" I screamed, thrusters sputtering as I flung my limbs about.

Megatron let out a curt grunt, and stopped dead in his tracks. With a brisk shove of his shoulder, he threw me down, and sent me pummeling to the floor. A sharp cry on my vocalizer, I fell. Instead of cold, dense flooring, however, my back and wings hit another mech.

Careless of the one beneath me, I steadied myself, and pushed up into a sitting position. Lord Slagger stood over me, features saturated with distaste and contempt. I sneered back, and readied to give him a verbal lashing of his lifetime. However, before I could, he beat me to it, ridding me of even a sliver of satisfaction.

"You are ridiculous." He stated, and turned around, retreating into the throne room instead of facing my wrath like the cowardly fragger that he was. The doors slid closed behind him, and, for several kliks, I could only gape at the two flat panes of metal, incredulity and disbelief battling against the fury waiting to burst through my spark.

"…Aaaarrgh—!" With a wordless cry of sheer rage, I leapt onto my peds, and threw myself against the door. When it would not budge no matter how many times I entered my override, I punched and kicked at their surfaces as though Megatron himself could feel my inflicting attacks, screaming and screeching every profane vocabulary I could conjure from my data banks.

After a long tirade of angry shrieking and swearing revenge, I gave the doors one last kick, and turned around to see just whom Megatron had used as my cushion. Skywarp was still sitting on his aft, gawking at me with the perfect expression of idiocy that only an idiot of his caliber could manage.

"What are you looking at?!" I shouted down at him, scowl pronounced on my faceplate.

"Uhhhh—W-Well—" He answered like the intelligent individual that he was, and I scoffed, crossing my arms over my chassis in obvious superiority.

"Were you eavesdropping?" I snapped, and curled my lips in disdain when my trine mate squirmed under my glare, and rubbed the back of his helm.

"I was just worried." He grumbled, and tried to shrug it off as nonchalant, though his optics darted about in apparent nervousness. "Not that it made any difference. I couldn't hear a thing."

Good, I secretly heaved a sigh of relief.

"…What the slag are you still doing on the floor? Get up!" I grew annoyed with his shuffling, and sent out a huff as he scrambled to stand. "Teleport me back to my recharge chambers." I instructed, and grabbed his hand.

Skywarp looked at my optics, then our joined hands, and back to my optics again, jaw-hinges loose and lips hanging open like a drooling imbecile. My ventilation stalled. I could have combusted into flames with how quickly my anger flared.

"What?!" I yelled, and he winced at my piercing pitch, faceplate scrunching into a grimace.

"Star…" The purple idiot glanced at my right wing tip. "What about your wing? You need to see Pristinus to get it fixed! I mean, doesn't it hur—"

My optics narrowed, and my fingers squeezed around his until he yelped in pain.

"Skywarp…" I growled in warning, "Now!"

Skywarp jumped, and immediately activated his teleportation drive.

The klik after, we were back in my recharge chamber. I hissed an order for Skywarp to leave me alone, and, with an expression I was too impatient to read, he complied without fuss, disappearing with a puff of purple smoke. With only silence as my company, I stood in the middle of my quarters. My cooling fans ran overdrive. My vents sent out surges of heat. My intakes hitched in gulps of cold air, and my frame trembled, most prominently in my arms and wings.

My spark swelled, its swirling turbulent. My core burned, spreading pulsating waves of charge throughout my frame. Arousal has not left me, coiling deep in my gut, whiplashes of need against my sensory network. My valve squeezed, smoldering and slick with a thick layer of lubricant coating its soft, inner walls.

Almost reflexively, my thighs gave a spasm. The panel to my port snapped open with a loud "click", and the gathering lubricant washed down my thighs in thin trickles.

I whimpered, and almost buckled when cool air hit the sensitized rim of my valve. Walking on shaky peds, I dimmed the lighting of my chambers with a hasty comm., and climbed onto my berth. Drenched in darkness, I lied down on my back, and stared at the ceiling. Hands trailing down along my chassis, my abdomen, I parted my thighs, fingers shivering as I tentatively gave the rim of my valve a light, circling rub.

Pleasure seared through my system. My joints seized in tension, and I cried out, processors reeling from the rising charge bolting through my frame. I repeated the gesture, back arcing, and coated my fingers in my own fluid. I traced the outer sensor nodes. It felt so good. They almost stung, and my valve gave a responding clench, desperate to be satiated.

Enough play. With a soft moan, I spread my thighs wider apart, and pressed one of my digits against the yielding, smooth folds of my valve. It slid inside easily, aided by the sticky mess of lubricant. The motion stimulated a string of sensors along my inner wall. I let out a cry, helm thrown back as my wings clattered beneath me against my berth.

With one smooth stroke, I plunged my finger inside to the hilt. It wasn't enough. I added another, the tight heat of my interface port kneading the digits.

I sank them in as deep as they could go, and pulled them back out, stroking the sinewy inside of my valve. I started to thrust, the motion stirring the weighty heat in my groin. The pace quickened. It stuttered the panting of my vents. High whimpers shuddering past my vocalizer, I added a third finger, and watched them slide inside me, stretching the hot, wet lining.

The quiet, sticky squish of my fingers repeatedly plunging into my yearning port sounded loud in the room. The sight was so wanton, even more so than the roaring of my cooling fans and my cries. I bucked on my berth, wings rattling against its surface. The charge was building, speeding toward the peak, and I spat out swearwords, frame quavering and peds curling against my thighs.

Thrusting my fingers faster and deeper, I whined, and tossed my helm to the side, biting my downer lip component as I stroked my outer sensors with my other hand. The pleasure was mounting. My vents stalled. Just a little more. My frame grew rigid. Oh please just a little more and I would reach that unbearable height where senses toppled and sung with stinging, agonizing euphoria that filled my valve to the brim with utter bliss—

I could not reach my ceiling node.

I could not reach it, and it frustrated me like a punch in the faceplate from the Unmaker. I let out a wail, and pulled my thighs higher in attempts to allow my fingers more access. However, it was impossible. I knew it was impossible. This was hardly the first time I self-serviced.

Primus frag-it. This was why I did not like to self-service. Every single time, I had to settle with stroking my lower sensors until my systems became so taxed that they broke under the strain to overload. This was so unfair. I wanted to cry. I was the only Seeker in Vos who could not frag whoever he wanted to, and I was not even sparked with long enough fingers to give myself relief. Whimpering and whining and making a spectacle of myself on my berth, I gritted my dentae, and thrust my fingers at a rougher speed. Overload was one single brush away, yet I could not reach it.

Just as I was about to give up and resign to my fate, a thought flashed across my processors. It was the most brilliant idea I have ever come up with in my entire function:

The stimulation rod!

Primus bless Pristinus and all of his ancestor units. I scrambled off my berth and rushed to the drawer so quickly that I managed to retrieve the object in less than five kliks. Plunking myself back onto my berth, I parted my thighs, and slid it inside me with one smooth push of my fingers.

Slag.

I winced.

That kind of hurt.

The rod stretched my valve. Pristinus had not lied about it being a snug fit. Its girth was thicker than my three fingers, and it reached deeper, where my port had not been prepared for penetration. Regardless, the way its blunt tip sat right against my ceiling node made all the dull throb flutter to dissipation. As nervousness and anticipation battled within my swollen spark, I reached for the round button at its base, and pressed down with a shaky hand.

Vibration crashed through my systems like a hurricane. I jumped, and shrieked, frame convulsing into overload as my ceiling node was stroked and rubbed. Coherency blown away by sensory input, I thrashed and choked on my cries while the rod assaulted every sensors inside me, buzzing and shaking and relentless and—

"-Oh frag! Oh frag!" I squealed, bucking from my berth, helm tossing side to side. "Oh frag—yes! Yes! Yes—!" My vocalizer strained, but I was too far gone to care. Coolant fell along the sides of my faceplate. I gasped for air, sensory receptors overwhelmed and screaming with bliss.

My overload ebbed, but I wanted more. Limbs trembling, I forced myself to flip over, and settled onto my knees. The rod continued to vibrate inside my valve, rousing a whimper from my vocalizer. Curling an arm before my helm, I buried my faceplate into my berth, and reached back with my other hand.

Aft high in the air, I wrapped my fingers around the base of the rod. I dragged it out of my clenching port, a violent shudder quaking through my frame. With no patience for teasing strokes, I plunged it back in, and set a fast, brutal pace. Its tip dug into my ceiling node, and I cried out, hips meeting the thrusts with equal fervor.

The girth of the rod had become comfortable. It left a loud buzz in the air. The noise was terrible, absolutely shaming and humiliating, but it only excited me, flares of heat and desire stoking my need. I bit my dentae, and sped up the thrusts. Cries muffled, I offlined my optics, vents huffing in bursts of scalding air that misted the glass of my canopy.

Heavy, large hands gripped my hips. Rough fingers clutched me so tightly that they left minor dents on my softer, pliable plating. Yes. That was what he would do. He would growl, grunts deep and harsh, right on par with the desperate motions of our coupling.

He would slam into me, the hard plating of his hips smacking against mine. His spike was hot and thick, strumming with energy inside my valve, friction made slick by lubricant that would coat his crotch-plate. Megatron would be a far tighter fit inside my valve than the stimulation rod, and I had no doubt in my processors that it would hurt like the pits should he thrust into me the same manner as how I was shoving the rod into myself. However, just the thought alone, of having him striking me deep in the core, excited me more than anything I have ever imagined. A guttural cry ground past my lips, and I sped up, fat drops of fluid splattering onto my thigh as the rod drove into my ceiling node.

I was close, very close. My wings hiked up completely on my back, almost perpendicular in angle. They trembled in the air, in time with every plunge of the buzzing stimulator. In my fantasy, Megatron clenched tighter around my hips. He raised a hand, and slapped me hard on the perk of my aft, tearing a loud yelp from my vocalizer as my intakes hissed in pain.

"Say my designation, Starscream." He would snarl his command, words a malicious grit through his dentae. "Say the designation of your lord!"

I would stubbornly refuse, and try to twist out of his hand clamped around my hip despite how futile I knew it was. His grip would not waver, and keep me exactly where he wanted me. He would hit me again, harder this time, and again and again until I was rendered nothing more than a sobbing mess beneath him, begging him to stop and pleading for more at the same time until my plating stung to even the gentlest of caresses. He would pinch my wing tips, and clutch the top edges of my fluttering appendages. He would slam me back into his thrusts, demand that I scream for him alone, and I could shudder, port weeping in pleasure against the blistering slide of his spike.

"Say my designation!" He would bellow, vents roaring with heat, the bucking of his hips feral and cruel. "Say my designation." The charge rose inside me. "And announce to the world who had claimed your wings and wrenched you from skies!"

"M-Megatron!" His name fell from my trembling lips. "Megatron!" I offlined my optics, hand scratching at my berth as coolant streamed down my cheekplates.

I wanted him.

Primus, I wanted him so much.

My spark swelled, brimming my spark chamber until the sweltering, writhing heat inside me began to spill. It lashed out in bursts, stiffening the arc of my back.

"Louder." Megatron growled. "Louder!" He pounded into me, never minding the shrieks ripped from my lips.

"Megatron!" My vocalizer spat static from my screams. "Megatron!" I took his blows with complete abandon. They felt so good. So damned good.

The charge was rising, building far beyond even the most overtaking of overloads I have ever experienced. I did not think my systems could take much more. I shook my helm, and let out a strained, high-pitched cry, clenching around the stimulation rod as it battered against my ceiling node.

"P-Please—! More! More!" I begged, movements frantic and spastic, trying to match his violent thrusts. He was close as well, fingers digging grooves into the thin plating of my wings as he pounded into me even faster, loud grunts abrasive against my auditory receptors.

"Overload, Starscream." He snarled. "Do it. For your lord!" The tip of his spike struck mercilessly into the very core of my valve. The wet slide of ridges. The thickness filling my port. My sensors stung, and I could only find the coherency to do as he demanded, because, at that moment, I belonged to him.

I was his.

Entirely.

Without a doubt—

The deepest, most bare of my utter, desperate yearning that had completely and thoroughly consumed me.

"M-Megatron!"

I could feel it, the spasms quavering through my core, ripples of energy trembling through every neural cluster of my sensory web.

"O-oooh yes—Megatron!"

My processors blared in warnings, but I could no longer recognize them, entire frame rattling from my fanatic movements.

I started to shake, eager and fearful and craving and terrified as the crackling, thrashing ball of heat finally tapped into its climax, and combusted with a single beat against the center of my core.

White erupted over my vision.

The tip of the stimulation rod struck my ceiling node, and my valve clenched, pleasure like a supernova blasting through my system.

My lips fell apart. I screamed, vocalizer glitching to spurts of static as it became overwhelmed by the peak of my passion. The overload smashed into me like a cyclone, spirals of unbearable heat and a force I was helpless to fight against. I thrashed, breaking out in violent spasms. Energy soared through my neural lines, and my systems reeled in over-stimulation, leaving me a wailing, flailing mess on my berth.

"Megatron! Megatron—!" I sobbed, coolant washing down my faceplate much like the lubricant squirting out of my valve, staining my thighs and my berth. It became too much to keep the rod pressed deep inside me, and I whimpered, trying to scoot away.

But Megatron would not spare me even the last kliks of this sweet, beautiful torture. He would remain sheathed inside me, the tip of his spike snug against my ceiling node, and force me to endure until the very last stream of energy from my overload released. His warm transfluid would flood my port, and ooze past its rim to slide down along my thighs, leaving tracks in the smear of my lubricant. I would endure all that, and shiver, soft, hitching cries of pleas leaving my lips as I reach behind to wrap a trembling hand around his, and give it a tight squeeze…

The stimulation rod slid out of my valve, and dropped onto the surface of my berth with a quiet, wet plop. My fingers shook as they rubbed my over-sensitized valve, and tried to soothe the excruciating burn left over from my overload. Completely spent and sated, it took all of my willpower to flip over to lay my back. Optics still offlined, I felt around for the interface toy, and grabbed it turn it off, ending its insistent buzz.

I soaked in the afterglow of my release, drowsy and exhausted. I onlined my optics, and stared at the ceiling, canopy heaving still as my ventilation system worked. I was lying in a mess of my own fluids, but I simply could not muster up enough strength to care. My processors were starting to slow. Perhaps I shouldn't have stressed my frame so soon after my recovery. I wondered, the thought a lazy loop in my mind, what Pristinus would say if he caught me not heeding his medical advice.

Oh well.

I spluttered out a sigh.

At least he would be pleased that I had used his gift to its full potential.

Not that he would ever find out, of course.

Too tired to clean up, I simply laid on my berth, and offlined my optics. My sensor grid took its time to recover from my overload. It did not even register the dull throb from my still injured wingtip. My thoughts slowed. My spark spun in satisfaction. Within kliks, I fell into recharge, for once blissfully free of any duty-bound pressure of being sovereign to a city in the midst of a raging war.

At peace, I rested. The last sliver of my fantasy lingered, of a warm frame next to mine, holding me close, pressing me against a scarred, thick-plated chassis beneath which pulsed a passionate spark.

I felt a smile tug at my lips, but I did not know if it formed.

I was happy.

For once, this despicable desire of mine did not bring me pain.

---

Notes: Ohhh goodness, this chapter. Phew! For an update that's mostly humorous and naughty, it took quite a long time to edit. XD

Pristinus means well. He's a good medic.

Hope you enjoyed this treat~ -wink-

Special thanks time once again to the loveliest bunch I've had the absolute pleasure of receiving feedback from: Patched-up Matryoshka, Random523, VyxenSkye, Cannonade, Sneer, ladyredvelvet, Sushi darling (smooch~), 6MissSparbklez9, Devlinn Reiko, Kira michi, Borath, Ashcola17, toby, tiedwithribbons, TammyCat, Eiswolf-Zero, extension-cord, prismadecepticons, MalevolentMask, Curious1here, Krazed Jetformer, The-writing-Mew, Guest 1, Xeta, Guest 2, avisshadow26939, Al, april, starscreamfancypants, crazylady, DeceptivelyGood, and Guest 3. You guys are the sweetest! And I wholeheartedly appreciate your support after all this time, especially when I've been unforgivably lazy with updates.

I think this is actually the first time Megatron turned Starscream's tricks against him. That Seeker isn't the only one who knows how to use his appeal in his favour, as it would appear, haha! Thanks once again for sticking with this story, and sorry for this chapter's lateness! Hopefully its content made the wait worth it. Sometimes it's such a gamble.

Please leave me a review if you have the time. I'd love to hear from you, as always. :)