WARNING: nsfw material; blood; injury; torture; triggered flashbacks
Disclaimer: Not yet, not yet…
XXVIII
I was floating.
The sensation was…strange. Impossible.
I did not know why I couldn't be floating, only that it wouldn't make sense.
However, regardless of what my remerging processors insisted, I felt as though I was floating.
Warmth enveloped me. It soaked through my being. It was almost comfortable, but I knew, like an instinctual itch, that I was not supposed to enjoy it. I brushed the thought aside, and let out a soft ex-vent. Something moved around me. I frowned a little, and squirmed, trying to get away that firm weight.
It moved. A hand rubbed my wing joints. I jolted, vocalizer emitting a warbled keen. There was a low voice, rich and gentle in timbre. It was speaking to me, but before I could decipher its words, my neural network flashed online to full activation.
Excruciating agony crushed against my sensory system. I jerked awake, and my lips fell apart, a scream tearing through the calm. My frame trembled. The pain wrecked all sensible thought from my mind. I tried to piece together where I was, and what was going on. My processors ran an automatic diagnostic. My wings suffered the most injuries, though my helm and thigh also throbbed.
Vents spluttering, I tried to pull away from what was holding me down, only to find that it was firm, stronger than my efforts. Optics flickering on, I finally managed to stomp a damper on my turbulent panic, and looked around in attempts to understand my surroundings. I was in a cave, and two pairs of optics peered at me from the opposite side.
They were not my immediate concern.
Someone was holding me. And that someone had a gaze of blue, along with a red emblem that stated his faction.
Autobot.
Enemy.
Kill.
The three words seared across my mind like spears of fire. I startled, optics widening. My weapons system whirred on. Charge surged through my arms. I clenched my hands, ready to shoot, only to find that my null rays were—
…not…on me.
Alarm hitched my intakes. I started to thrash, shouting insults, wings shuddering in dismay, which only worsened the pain. Energon splattered in droplets. I gritted my dentae against the burn digging into my appendages. Despite my valiant struggles, the Autobot did not relent, only tightening his hold around me.
I let out a screech of indignation, to mask the sinking cold of fear. Just as I clawed for the enemy's optics, he pinned me with a stare, and the same low voice returned, freezing me mid-attempt.
"Starscream, calm down."
I froze, gaping at him.
Like a ruptured fuel sac, I deflated, tension bleeding from my joints as my wings sagged on my back.
I stared at the Autobot, who appeared relieved that I'd stopped screaming. I felt thoroughly flabbergasted. We were enemies. What was he doing telling me to calm down when he had all of his weapons and I did not? He didn't seem keen in shooting me with his weapons either. How strange.
"…Wh…What?" I asked, bewildered and dumb. My processors were stuttering.
The Autobot tilted his helm as though he did not understand what I was asking, but he answered, after a small pause.
"We are currently stuck in a cave-in." He didn't sound all that bothered about being buried under Primus-knew how much rubble. "You have my word that you will not be harmed, but, as a safety precaution, you have been relieved of your weapons. They will be returned to you once all of us escape."
I continued to stare, while the information sank in. His words were not the only thing starting to dawn on my mind. We were stuck in a mine, in a cave-in. It was Worst Case Scenario any flier, and, to make matters worse, I was stuck underground with Autobots.
My wings started to shake. Even the pain could not stop them. I was stuck underground, in a cave-in, in a small space, in the dark, with the enemy, in a tiny hole, without moving air, without light, without—
My comm.-system!
I could reach Megatron! And he could dig me out!
He was a miner once. If any mech knew how to dig, it would be him.
I hurried to activate my communications system, hope a spread of warmth in my spark.
All I heard was static.
I froze, optics wide, unseeing.
I tried my trine link, as I could sense my trine mates, but I could not hear their voices, though I knew they were attempting to establish contact with me.
Primus…
Just how long was I going to be stuck down here for?
The cave was not small, but it was not roomy enough to allow ease of movement. The air was dead. Hot, and still. It was humid. Moisture misted my plating. Everything felt uncomfortable, and my wings hurt. They hurt like slag, and I felt so bare without my null rays, stuck in a cave with the enemy.
Why did I always end up in situations like this?
A tentative touch on my wing joints jolted me out of my thoughts. I hissed a sharp gasp, and abruptly realized, to no small astonishment, that I was still being held by the Autobot.
Why the slag was he holding me in the first place?
I shook my helm clear, and sneered at the ground pounder. Something about him felt familiar, and my sneer fell into a confused grimace.
Where had I seen him before…?
Blue helm, blue optics, facemask, red torso, white thighs…
Recognition lit up my cortex.
Optimus Prime.
My optics widened. My canopy heaved with a wheezing intake.
I gaped down at the leader of the Autobots, and started to struggle once more, fervor renewed.
My thrashing was so sudden that the Prime startled, but he was quick to recover. His hands grabbed me by the wrists. He was trying to restrain me.
"What in the pits are you doing?!" I cried out, yanking at my arms to free my captured limbs. "Don't touch me!"
"I am trying to help you!" He tugged me back down.
I fell onto his lap, and the indignation of a supernova erupted inside me. A shriek of fury ripped from my vocalizer, and I bucked against him with greater force, kicking him when I couldn't punch.
"Let me go!" I yelled, curling my knees so I could brace my peds against his torso and launch myself away.
"You'll only end up hurting yourself!" He argued, optics flashing into piercing brightness.
"And why is that any of your concern?!" I glared, dentae gritting.
"You are in the same situation as all of us, which makes you my responsibility." He refused to relent, determination unwavering despite my most violent of efforts scraping paint off his derma.
"I'm not your Primus-damned anything, Autobot! Let go of me before I stick my thrusters in your face!" Threats blurted past my lips. They were always convenient and effective in getting me what I wanted.
"I am offering you protection, Starscream, but I will not hesitate in using necessary force to subdue you should you endanger yourself or my comrades." He never stopped using that infuriating, pacifying tone, which only stoked my anger.
"I'd like to see you try!" I snapped in a shout, optics narrowing.
"You are already injured. Please, I don't wish to hurt you further!" He did not budge, stubborn and resolute.
"Then let go of my arms, you brute!" I thrashed with greater strength, hissing and shrieking insults. "I don't care if you're Prime or the Holy Creator incarnate himself. I am Crown Prince Starscream, second-in-command and air commander of the Decepticons. I will not allow you to handle me as you like. I will not bend to your will. And I most certainly will not allow you to hug me like some overgrown, needy sparkling!"
"Oh for frag's sakes, shut up!" A new voice barked out, snarling in annoyance. "D'ya want the slaggin' ceiling to fall on us again?!"
My fight with Prime hit a pause.
I snapped toward the direction of the new voice, and met one of the two pairs of optics I'd previously caught sight of. A red ground pounder was sitting against a wall of rock, posture a sprawl, though his expression sported a scowl for my shrill voice. Under normal circumstances, I would have shouted back at a higher pitch just to spite him. However, the content of his words made me swallow my retort.
Wings flicking in nervousness, I gave the ceiling a few tentative glances, and my drive at separating from the Prime dissipated.
"…It…might fall again?" I whispered, curling slightly into myself as my spark shriveled in apprehension. It got worse when the red mech only pressed his lips together. He did not answer.
"Nothing is certain," Optimus replied instead, prompting me to turn my gaze back to him. "However, the quakes seemed to have settled for now, so we are safe, albeit temporarily."
I stared at him, wondering how he could be so calm and collected during a situation like this. He still held my wrists, though his grip never crushed. I forced back a churn of revulsion toward his touch, and decided to take a fuller grasp of my surroundings.
We appeared to be in a hallway, each end blocked by rubble. The walls bore cracks, and the ceiling looked like it was about to buckle at any klik. Not counting the artificial currents of cooling fans, the stillness in the air indicated that we were sealed tight in this tiny, makeshift cave. The lighting system, just as before I got stuck in this mess, was still deactivated.
The red mech who'd snapped at me was glowering at the wall in front of him. From his sour expression, I could only guess he hated this situation almost as much as I did. That would not be surprising, considering how thick his armour was. We were stuck in a bubble of heat, and his build definitely did not help maintaining his internal temperature any easier. He looked like a front liner, but I knew too little about ground pounder military frame types to be sure. He caught me staring, and sent me a flash of a glare. I narrowed my optics back before jerking away with a huff. He did not deserve my attention.
There was another mech sitting beside the red one, about a wingspan away. He was very small. Even smaller than I was, oddly enough. He was mostly yellow with chunks of black. He peered at me, round, blue optics bright and curious. He looked way too young to be fighting a war, and his little frame suffered many dents and burns. Not that I cared about the enemy, but sending younglings into battle was taboo even amongst the Decepticons, and that rotten bunch hardly had any reservations.
"You Autobots employ younglings into your army?" I turned back to Optimus, and sneered right in his faceplate.
At first, the Prime did not seem to know what I was asking about, a slight frown between his brows. Then, with a flash of his optics, he perked in understanding.
"Bumblebee is not a youngling." He replied.
A snicker followed his answer. I turned in its direction.
The red mech burst into laughter at my look. His helm tilted to the side, and he glimmered down at the yellow Autobot, who started to make a ruckus despite his small size.
"Shut up, Sideswipe! That joke is so old!" The little mech, who was apparently designated Bumblebee, puffed in frustration toward his bigger companion. If he was trying to intimidate, he was failing with more spectacle than a Vosian banquet. The expression, placed on his round faceplate, was humourous at best, ridiculous at worst. Sideswipe obviously thought it hilarious. He threw back his helm, and laughed even harder, an arm clutching around his abdomen.
Bumblebee made a face that ended more like a pout than a scowl, and swirled away from his giggling comrade. He met my optics instead, and stuck out his chassis as though the gesture would make him appear more respectable.
"I'm not a youngling." He announced, determined to regain his pride. "I'm a minibot!"
Minibot.
I'd heard of that frame type before, but I could not quite recall where. I frowned, and searched through my memory banks.
Ahh.
Soundwave's runts were minibots before they went through modifications to become compatible with the blue mech.
With a quiet hum, I gave Bumblebee a once-over, and ignored how he deflated upon seeing my unimpressed purse of lips.
"…You don't remember me, do you?" A small murmur from the little Autobot roused a frown from my brow ridges.
"What in the pits are you talking about?" I snapped, and narrowed my optics in suspicion. Despite his youthful features, Bumblebee was still an Autobot, an enemy.
"Well…We've met before." The yellow mech gazed up at me, hopeful that I would remember.
I did not, nor did I feel like making a scan through my memory archive to do so.
Bumblebee did not give up.
"You look…a lot different from the last time I saw you, though. A different paintjob, I mean." He kept looking at me, optics expectant. "But your faceplate's still the same, and I recognize your designation." He kept talking. "You told me who you were when we met."
I sucked in a hiss of annoyance, dentae gritted.
"Regardless of what your obviously deficient processors choose to believe, I fail to see how we could have possibly ever met." My lips curled. "Even if, by a miniscule chance of coincidence, we'd run into each other prior to this meeting, I can't imagine how it could've held any worthy significance for me to grace you with my designation." I bit out, voice cold and curt.
The little yellow mech cringed, and dropped his gaze.
A growl rose from beside him. Sideswipe was glaring at me, blue optics burning with icy loathing.
"You should be more thankful towards Bee, Deceptiscum." He spat out, fingers tightening around the blaster by his side. "If it weren't for him, I would'a slagged you good by now."
"And yet here you are, cowering in the farthest corner away from the harmless, trapped 'Deceptiscum' to whom you'd disabled the weapon systems of, while said Deceptiscum was unconscious." I scoffed. "What valor and viciousness you Autobots boast of. I am quivering with terror." I purred, grin sickeningly sweet as I taunted him, daring him to attack. "Big words from a weak, soft-sparked coward." I lilted, voice coy and raspy.
His reaction was immediate.
"You little glitch!" He sprung up onto his peds, and grabbed his blaster. "I oughta—"
"Sideswipe!" Optimus's digits tightened around my wrists. His voice echoed an edge I did not anticipate him to have. "Desist at once!" He commanded, but Sideswipe remained standing, refused to back down.
Silence stretched thin between us. It tingled my flight sensors to an uncomfortable itch.
The Prime, at last, was the one to break it, a soft sigh trickling through his vents as his posture sagged.
"Do not rise to his taunts." He placated, tone soothing and gentle. "You will only give him what he wants in acting this way." He seemed tolerant of Sideswipe's enduring insubordination, and actually waited for the red mech to concede instead of enforcing his underling to follow.
Eventually, Sideswipe did as asked, flopping down to his previous sitting position. He tossed his blaster aside, and continued to glare at me, the heated glower not easing in the slightest until he turned to address his leader.
"With all due respect, sir," The red Autobot snarled deep in his throat, "Sometimes you're just too soft." The fuming grounder stared at the Prime, then jerked his optics away. "…Sometimes you gotta beat it into 'em."
Optimus took a ventilation.
"All Cybertronians, no matter what they have done," He answered, "deserve a chance for redemption, Sideswipe." He sent me a glance, as though his words were addressed to me as well. "Reacting to their jibes with violence will only worsen the situation, hence diminishing our chances of reaching out to them."
"Some don't deserve reaching out to." The red mech muttered, staring forward in a simmer of murderous rage. "Some deserve what they have comin' to 'em."
The Prime did not reply for a while. His vision dimmed.
"I am very sorry you think so." He spoke as though he genuinely meant it. "However, I understand why you would, though I hope that, with time, you will come to understand me as well." He looked at his soldier, gaze consoling, warm.
"Revenge will not bring you peace." He said.
Sideswipe was still, frame pulling rigid. His jaws tensed, and he glanced away, ending the conversation with a spitting of last words.
"For Sunny an' I, it will." He gritted, and crossed his arms over his folded knees.
For nearly a breem, no one spoke. The Prime's words hung in the silence, and no one seemed keen in breaking the air. However, the moment of peace only lasted until I noticed that Optimus Prime was still holding my wrists.
My lips curled.
"Have I not explicitly told you to let go of me?" I growled out, and tugged at my wrists to dislodge his hands. "Why are you so insistent on pulling me into your lap, you perverse degenerate?"
We battled some more, neither of us giving in. The Prime finally became fed up with my attempts at escape, and heaved a deep, exasperated sigh. He yanked me forward, jolting a hitch in my vents, until our faceplates were a mere wingtip apart.
"We are stuck in a cave-in without a method of communication to reach the surface." He began, a glint of authority flashing in his optics. "The battle was ongoing when the mine buried us, so the possibility of either faction locating us soon is practically nonexistent. You are a Seeker, trapped underground with a limited amount of space. The air does not move. Everything about the current conditions indicates disaster for you."
I gaped at the Prime, lips slightly parted, ventilation held.
"However," He continued, gaze easing to a softer glow, "if you will only allow me, I can help you." He leaned back, to a respectful distance. "Regardless of our loyalties, I am in no desire of seeing you hurt from claustrophobia-induced craze."
The weight of his words made me shiver, but I was tenacious, clutching onto the last shred of anger I felt. This could be a trick. I'd make the perfect hostage for the Autobots. How was I to know that the enemy wasn't digging as we spoke?
Not willing to let the Prime convince me with such ease, I scowled, and narrowed my optics.
"What would you know about Seekers?" I hissed, skeptical that a ground pounder would be familiar with anything Vos related.
"Enough to know the consequences if I were to leave you alone," He answered, which did not satisfy me in the slightest.
"I've been faring fine thus far, without your meddling." I ground through my dentae, defiance swelling my energy field.
"Only because you've been distracted," Optimus was equally stubborn, "and it hasn't even been ten breems since you regained consciousness," He was determined to make me concede.
I pursed my lips, and refused to respond.
He ran another cycle of air.
"There is no way of knowing how long we will be stuck here for." He explained, "It's been a joor since the quakes stopped, and none of us has detected any noise that would suggest rescue." His fingers tightened around my wrists, though not enough to hurt. "Is your pride not worth your life, Starscream?" His brow ridges knitted. "Let me help you." He implored. "I don't want to see you overcome by hysteria and harm yourself in the process."
Optimus Prime reminded me of Thundercracker, with his patience and reason. Pursing my lips, I averted my optics, and grumbled a curse. He was right. I knew he was right. However, he was the enemy, the leader of the enemy, and to submit to the likes of him churned my tank to great discomfort.
I could continue to refuse compliance, but, as the Prime had so blatantly put it, the resulting experience would not be pleasant for me. I've been doing well at keeping my terror at bay, but that did not mean it wouldn't get worse. It was only a matter of time before it got worse, and there was nothing I could do about it other than waiting it out.
"How do you plan on helping me then, O-noble-and-benevolent-Prime?" I drawled, opting for sarcasm to ease the sting on my pride. "I didn't know you made a hobby out of treating fliers and their phobia."
"I don't know much, only what I've read." He ignored my snide titles. "I know continuous stimulation to the wings will help anchor the Seeker, and I will keep my cooling fans at maximum turn to create artificial currents. Those are the only ways I am aware of. If you have any suggestions, I'd be happy to hear them."
"Where in the pits did you learn such old-fashioned methods?" I mumbled just to steer my processors away from the thought that I was going to have to straddle the Prime and plaster myself against him like a parasitic drone. Optimus paused, as though contemplating whether to answer me or not. Eventually, he did:
"I learned about them from the scientist Skyfire's essays."
That designation froze me.
My joints stiffened, spark tensing inside its chamber.
I was so distracted by what the Prime had said that I did not react even when he took advantage of my silence, and pulled me closer. He draped me over his chassis, and placed one of his hands on my back, between my wing joints. When I gave no indication of protest, he started to rub circles, tingling pleasant sensations down my sensory network even against the pain I still had to endure.
I was not merely startled by the mention of Skyfire. It made sense for the Prime to research my background for battle-related stats, and Skyfire's essays were the only trustworthy source of information the ground pounders had toward flier frame types.
However, something still nagged at me.
There was another mech who'd once told me the same thing.
A dock worker, who was also coincidentally blue, red, and white. The one who'd admired my form as though I was the most beautiful being he had ever seen.
Orion Pax.
I had lost contact with him ever since Tarn. I'd attempted comm. contact with him a few times, post battle, but his frequency could not be accessed. He must've either deactivated, or blocked my frequency. I suspected the latter, for I hoped it was not the former. I worked too hard to get him out of the outskirts for him to die, not to mention how much I paid for my supposed indiscretion from Megatron. I would not be surprised if he did not want to have anything to do with me ever again. However, as much as I hated to admit, I did feel a little hurt that he hadn't at least thought to thank me. Meeting me and being spared by my will was much more than a simple privilege. It was a great honour. The least he could do was tell me off before ignoring me altogether.
Optimus Prime grew bold during my moment of internal reflection. He put both of his hands on my wings, and massaged the plating, fingers rubbing along the edges of my wings, stroking my flight sensors. He even had the gall to squeeze my wing tips. He was having too much fun pawing at my most prided appendages. I started flicking my wings away at uneven intervals just to make things difficult. It was incredibly satisfying to see the Prime reach for my wings only to end up grasping air.
Though old-fashioned, the method was effective. While the threat of being overwhelmed by fear remained daunting, I was as comfortable as I could be, despite the fact that the cave was too small for any flier to be in. One of the reasons stimulating the wings helped was that it relaxed. Troublesome sparklings often got their wings rubbed just to prompt them into recharge.
Be it the actions themselves or a long-ago conditioned response, I started feeling drowsy. The Prime's cooling fans made a constant hum in the dark, its steady pitch making me lethargic and dazed. Even the pain was now ebbing into a potent throb, bothersome, but no longer excruciating.
Kliks dragged into breems, and breems into a joor. The quiet remained undisturbed for the most part. Bumblebee made a few attempts at starting a conversation, but Sideswipe rebuked them. Prime did not speak. He only tilted his helm, and cast his gaze toward his subordinates to make sure the front-liner did not go over the line with his rebuttals. For enemy factions trapped in close quarters, the mood was almost peaceful. Before I could make an effort at stopping myself, I fell into recharge, limp against the Prime.
I was jolted awake when someone grabbed me by the arm, and yanked me back onto my peds. Disoriented and confused, I wobbled. The hard frame I was pressed against became the only support I had at keeping me upright. A thick arm wrapped around my waist, and a loud, booming voice started to shout.
My processors were foggy. I couldn't make sense of what was going on.
I leaned against the warm frame, and murmured a blur of syllables as my mind tried its best to shake off the drowsy haze.
The plating felt familiar. Its paint was coarse, laced with crisscrossing scratches that cut into derma. The hand around me, clenching just a little too tight, was familiar as well. So was the voice, gruff and growling deep.
I squirmed, and onlined my optics. At first, all I saw was a broad chassis, one of peeling paint and injuries that still gleamed. I wiggled, and tried to back away so I could better see. However, the arm around my waist squeezed tighter, rousing a pained whine from my vocalizer. The mech holding was filthy, armor caked in drying energon and dirt. The sight repulsed me, so I craned my neck cables to lean away, and finally caught sight of a wider visual field.
The first thing I noticed was the purple Decepticon insignia, barely visible under a moist smear of gut. As I lifted my helm, I saw a faceplate, twisted in the fiercest scowl I have ever seen. Flaming red optics shone from the splash of shadow, piercing the dark like burning beacons. They speared over my helm, at someone behind me, someone the scarred pair of lips were roaring bellows toward.
Megatron.
I gasped, gaze widening, wings jolting higher.
The haze cleared.
Megatron was holding me, grip relentless. He wasn't wearing his helmet, mining panels stretched outwards, flanking his faceplate. This battle had not been kind to him. There was a gash on his side that continued to trickle streams, and not a single spot of silver peeked from beneath the splotches of fuel and grime. Acid burns littered his frame, the most prominent one being the discoloration on his cheek plate. However, none of it could match the most striking of his appearance, one that overtook all:
Megatron, plainly put, more furious than I had ever seen.
"What have you done to him?!" He bellowed, voice booming in echoes inside the small chamber. His right arm was hefted in the air, aiming the fusion cannon at someone behind me. I turned, as well as I could, and found Optimus Prime facing the end of the charging, humming barrel.
The Autobot was silent, posture straight but cautious.
Other Decepticons were present as well. They had Sideswipe and Bumblebee pinned, and the red front-liner was cursing up a storm, spitting and thrashing against the hands shoving him down.
The minibot glanced back and forth between the Prime and my lord, optics wide and round with terror.
Optimus dipped his helm.
"I have done nothing of the sort you suspect, Megatron. I only did what was necessary to keep him safe." He said, optics glued to the pair of red, raging infernos glaring at him from a seething ex-gladiator.
The Prime was smart to keep his voice soft and meek. Megatron appeared mad enough to do anything at the smallest provocation.
"His trine mates informed me to expect severe damages on his person, but there isn't any to be seen." Megatron bit out, baring his dentae through his sneer. "Explain, Prime. And make it quick." He spat out the title as though it tasted putrid, and narrowed his glare at the Autobot commander.
"I would never stand by and watch while another brings harm to himself. There are ways to calm a flier trapped in small space." Optimus answered, frame slightly crouched for the effect of docility. "I did not mean to touch your Seeker." He added on as a careful afterthought, and I frowned, lips curling.
What the frag?
"I'm not his." I blurted, scrunching my nose bridge. "I'm not anyone's."
All optics zoomed on me. I perked up in response, more than happy to be at the center of all their attention.
"And why are you holding me?" I lifted my helm, and gave Megatron a revolted grimace. "Let go, for Primus's sakes. You're filthy." I pushed at his arm, and made a face at the various stains and burn marks on his frame.
Megatron's optics narrowed. His fingers curled harder into my side, and I yelped, shoving at his hand as shallow dents blossomed over my plating.
"Ow! You're hurting me, you brutish imbecile!" I shoved his chassis, and started to struggle. "Let go!" I tried to pry his digits off from my waist, but they refused to budge.
Aggravation, fueled by the pain from my injuries, erupted from my spark. Without a second thought, I lashed out at him, a sharp shout snapping from my vocalizer as I raised a hand:
"I said: let go!"
I slapped my lord hard on the faceplate.
A collective gasp of shock echoed in the small, makeshift cave. Megatron actually hissed in pain, helm jerking to the side from my hit. Only then did I realize I'd smacked him right on an acid burn. However, even still, the only thought that came to me was that I'd touched an acid burn, which could very well have enough residue left to corrode my finish.
"-Ack! Primus-forbid—" I spat a gurgle of disgust, and hurried to wipe my hand on the only clean part I could find on his frame. "Why is every part of you hazardous and repulsive?!" I rubbed my hand on his plating until I was sure my polish was not fading away. Pleased, I looked up from inspecting my hand, and finally noticed just how quiet the cave had become.
Megatron was completely still.
Not even his cooling fans hummed, despite the unbearable heat.
His right arm was still raised, pointing the fusion cannon at the Prime. However, it was no longer strumming with pending discharge. He had disabled it, and I frowned, confused as to why he would do such a thing when the enemy leader was right before him, waiting for deactivation.
The ex-gladiator stayed motionless, silent, as though my slap had somehow stalled his processors. Bewildered, I peered at his faceplate, and gave his chassis a tentative nudge.
"…Megatron?" I called, to no response. I leaned to the side, to catch more of his expression, and spotted something I did not expect to see.
Lying by Megatron's peds was a pick-axe, still activated, blades glowing in the darkness barely lifted by the small lanterns brought in by the Decepticons. Megatron had once made mentions about having a pick-axe, back when he was still a miner. I remembered that speech, but I did not think my lord sentimental enough for memorials, though I've obviously just been proven wrong.
Wait a breem…
My spark lurched inside my spark chamber.
Why was Megatron's pick-axe lying on the ground next to him? And, most importantly, why was it activated?
Everything clicked together in one split moment.
His lack of a helmet, the presence of his digging equipment…
My optics widened. I looked up, gaping at him in surprise.
He…couldn't have possibly…
…dug me out himself…?
I expected a rescue team, yes, but to actually lead the unit, to personally pry and break through the rubble, that was…a shock. A complete shock.
Warmth spread, fluttering inside my spark. I looked up at my commander, lips parting, and felt a trickle of intake catch, heat gathering in my cheekplates.
Megatron hasn't moved. His faceplate was overcast in shadow. Overcome by the desire to see his optics, I lifted a hand, fingertips brushing against his jaw.
His reaction was immediate.
He snapped toward me with a guttural snarl, and shoved me off from his frame.
I stumbled, tripping on the debris. He followed, a hand raised in the air.
He struck me down, the sound of impact ringing inside the small cave. My faceplate exploded in pain, and I cried out, landing sprawled on the ground.
"You ungrateful retch!" He bellowed, and one of his peds came hurtling toward my torso. With a sickening crack, his shattered my cockpit, rendering a shrill, piercing shriek from my lips.
I shielded my broken canopy with my arms, strangled whimpers of agony choking past my lips. I tried to curl up in case he decided to kick me again, but instead, he reached down, and clenched around my left wing tip. The searing burn was instant. He yanked me up by my wounded wing alone. I screeched, a hand springing back in attempts to clutch the ruthless grip crumbling my thin, light plating.
My entire frame rattled. I could barely stay on my peds. There was shouting. I recognized Optimus Prime yelling at someone to stop. However, I could not pay them any attention aside from a fleeting thought. All I knew was that Megatron was even more fragged off than when I first awoke, and that was all because of me
The ex-gladiator let go of my crushed wing tip as soon as I managed to stay upright on my peds.
"Repulsive, Starscream?" He grabbed my neck cables. "Brutish? Filthy?"
"No! No! P-Please, my lord! I—I didn't mean—" I tried to explain, but he wasn't interested in listening to me. He clutched the back of my helm, and slammed me into the wall, a livid roar tearing from his vocalizer. I screamed, more out of fear than actual pain as I was rammed against the rock face. There was a colliding crunch, and energon wash down the side of my faceplate, dripping from my chin.
Warm.
"Megatron! Stop this madness!" Optimus Prime cried out, voice laced with horror. "He's your second-in-command!"
Megatron paid him no mind, grinding my helm against the wall. I let out a shuddering moan, frame trembling as my lord stepped closer from behind, and pinned me down with his weight, chassis flush against the back of my wings.
"All you have said may be true, my dear Second," He snarled into my right audial, voice a harsh rasp, "But you are wrong on one account." He pressed closer, and I whimpered, spark stirring in a burst of heat.
His other hand trailed down along my frame. It tightened around my hip.
"You," He hissed, "Are," His dentae gritted, "Mine."
Megatron pulled away.
With an abrupt shove against the wall, he was gone. I almost let out a saddened moan at the loss of his heat, so close against me. He grabbed me by the back of my neck, and yanked me after him, pausing only to pick up his pick-axe. He deactivated its blades as he walked, and returned it to his subspace.
He strode toward the tunnel he'd dug into the cave, not sparing a single word to Optimus or the remaining Decepticons. I stumbled on my thruster heels, and grabbed onto the hand holding me captive. I begged, imploring for mercy that he did not possess. Pleas left my lips without filter. I could only whimper as he dragged me out of the collapsed mine.
"Star!" A familiar voice reached my audials.
I turned my helm as well as I could in its direction. Within kliks, I saw Thundercracker and Skywarp rushing toward me. Before they could reach my side, however, they startled to a stop, freezing mid-run as they cast frightened glances at Megatron.
"I will personally deliver your Crown Prince to the med bay." Megatron spoke above me, voice a flat, simmering growl. "You have patrol duties. Report all spotted Autobots to Soundwave."
My trine mates exchanged a look, and peeked at me with furrowed brow ridges. When they failed to respond to a direct order from our commander, Megatron became irritated, tone dropping to a snarling threat:
"That was not a request, Seekers."
"Uhh—…Right! I-I mean: Yes, Lord Megatron! Right away!" Skywarp jerked a stiff salute, and grabbed at Thundercracker's hand to tug him away. However, my blue trine mate was not as easily intimidated or fooled by Megatron's pretentious goodwill. He dodged Skywarp's attempts at catching his arm, and parted his lips to protest.
"Thundercracker," Megatron cut in before he could speak, optics narrowed, voice deepening to a dark, gravelly growl, "I would hate to have to repeat myself." The fusion cannon activated with a rising whirr. The barrel happened to be right over my helm, and I spluttered in fear, struggling against the ex-gladiator's grip.
Thundercracker stiffened. His faceplate grew pale as energon drained from his faceplate.
"Of-Of course, my lord. We are on our way." He stuttered, and allowed himself to be dragged away by Skywarp. I gazed longingly after them, wishing more than anything that I was flying away with them at the moment.
A warning clench around my neck broke me out of my thoughts. I let out a whine, the sound meek and soft, and hung down my helm in submission.
I could feel Megatron staring down at me, and my wings began to shake. My thighs trembled, and they almost caved under my weight, but I did not dare become any more of a nuisance to my captor, lest he actually did decide to blast my helm off.
A few moments passed. He huffed a grunt, and resumed his strides with a yank at my neck cables. I tried to follow as well as I could, bent over and tripping over the rubble. I fought to ignore how humiliating this was, being paraded around like this in front of the other Decepticons. As far as I was concerned, I was still Megatron's second-in-command, so to the pits with what anyone else thought.
To my surprise, Megatron did lead me to a med bay. It was already bustling with medics and patients, the screech of saws slicing through armor interrupting long moans of pain. As soon as the doors slid closed after Megatron and I, the noise died. I peeked up, and saw that every mech in the chamber froze, gaping at us with blatant shock.
"Open one of the private rooms." Megatron instructed. "If they are all full, kick someone out. I have business to tend to with my second-in-command." There was a scowl in his voice, and the onlookers glanced away, some dipping their helms.
A medic came forward. It was Hook.
"There is one room available, Lord Megatron." He bowed his helm as he answered. I could tell he was straining to keep our commander's gaze. "Please follow me." He gestured to the side, and started to guide the way.
Megatron followed, with a curt tug at my neck. I swallowed, wings shivering as I followed with little more than a whimper. In my spark, I had a nagging itch that Megatron did not bring me here to get repaired. The closer we got to the door, the more dread I felt, until I was clutching the hand unrelentingly tight around my neck, digging my thrusters against the floor.
A warning shove dispelled all thought of squirming my way out. I shook harder, and bit my quivering lips, watching with rabid terror as Hook opened the door, and led us through.
The lights flashed on, filling the room with piercing brightness. It was a typical private chamber, furnished with a berth, various monitors, and a wide array of equipment. Megatron yanked me forward, and threw me toward the berth. I fell against it, abdominal plating hitting the edge of the furniture with a dull clang.
I did not make a sound even when the impact stung. I only glanced back at Megatron, and pleaded with my optics, wings stretched flat and low on my back.
"Get on the berth." He ordered, a sneer on his lips.
I trembled harder, and peered at him with wide optics.
"…You will not like me doing that for you, Starscream." His glare narrowed. His fists clenched.
I let out a tiny squeak, and scrambled onto the berth, kneeling with my hands spread to prop my torso.
"Lie down." He commanded. "On your front."
I complied, wincing as my broken canopy rubbed against the berth's surface. Despite my discomfort, however, I did not complain, adamant to insist on the small sliver of hope that, if I did as I was told, I would be spared from whatever punishment my lord was brewing in his processors.
Megatron only made a quiet grunt when he noticed my passive behaviour, and turned to Hook.
"Bring me Longhaul and Bonecrusher." He told the Constructicon. "And no matter what you may hear from this room, do not disturb me, understood?" The malice simmering in Megatron's voice jolted a whimper of fear from my lips. He definitely did not bring me here for repairs.
I tilted toward Hook, and implored him with my optics, a pathetic whine trickling from my lips in desperation to garner some pity so that the medic would dissuade the ex-gladiator. Unfortunately, I forgot that Hook had no wishes to die in the near future. He gave no indication that he'd heard me at all, and did not spare me even a single glance.
He only nodded, and bowed, before leaving the room.
The door slid closed. A few kliks later, it opened again, admitting two large ground pounders. To my utter dismay, they both wore visors, just like their medic Gestalt member. I wanted to bury my faceplate into my arms, but I was too horrified to look away.
Whatever Megatron had planned for me, I knew it wouldn't help my aversion toward visors.
The door closed once again, sealing my fate. My wings trembled worse. A wavering keen wobbled from my vocalizer, and I started plead, making my last effort at lessening my punishment.
"P-Please, my lord," I looked at Megatron, "…I—I'm really s-sorry…!" My entire frame was shaking, spark shrinking into a tiny speckle of shivering terror. "I—I didn't mean to—…I didn't mean to attack you! It was a mistake. A stupid mistake." I begged. "I am a fool, just like you said, s-so please—," My hand inched toward him, "…please don't—…d-don't hurt me…!" Coolant welled under my optics. "I learnt my lesson. I swear I'll never do something so foolish again, so p-please…Please! F-Forgive me—!"
Megatron ignored my words, and turned to address the two Constructicons.
"Activate the surgical lights. Turn off the rest." He said, optics dimming to a steely, determined glint as he gazed down at me, studying me as though a precious specimen. "Once you are done," His lips curled, "hold him down."
The general lighting system spluttered out. A ring of light washed down over me. It was too bright. Too cold. It reminded me of the cycle Pristinus hovered above me, nurses bustling in the shadows. He'd wrapped a gentle hand around the side of my faceplate, wings shivering beneath the penetrating glow of surgical lamps.
"It will be alright, your Highness." He'd whispered, a wavering smile below knitted brows. "You're safe now. You are still our Crown." His jaws clenched.
"No one can harm you here."
I clutched the berth.
My ventilation sped.
The room shrank around me, curtained in darkness.
Two visors floated out of the shadows. I gaped at them, intakes hitching in bursts. My wings plastered down against my back. They shook, clattering against my plating. The visors were coming closer. A thin wheeze ripped from my vocalizer.
"N—No…" I curled, optics stretching wide. "No…! Stay away!" Panic started to boil. My digits inched toward the only one who made me feel safe in the chamber.
Megatron stepped back. Shadow swallowed him from my vision.
Terror slammed a quake through my systems.
With a wailing screech, I shoved from the berth, scrambling on my limbs. Processors overtaken by terror, I tried to fly, but my only thruster did not splutter into activation fast enough.
"Hold him down!"
Megatron's voice bellowed through my haze of hysteria. Hands descended, clamping down around my wrists and ankles.
They pinned me to the berth.
I screamed, thrashing and kicking and bucking.
"Megatron! Megatron!" I shrieked, calling for him.
The hands did not give, but another came down from above, and pushed me against the berth.
My cracked cockpit ground against the surface. Pain sliced hot across my sensory grid, and I jerked, a whimper bleeding past bitten lips. I fought to keep back the prickling coolant on the edges of my vision, and tried to stop the trembling of my frame.
"Stay. Still." A whisper hissed into my left audial.
I offlined my optics, joints stiffening. To my surprise, the heavy fog of fear began to dissipate, little by little, clearing my mind. The hand on my back was strong, much stronger than the ones holding me down. It was warm, flush against the joints of my wings, and I spluttered a sigh, arching my back, trying to lean into the unforgiving, but comforting touch.
Megatron.
He was with me.
He would not allow anyone else to hurt me.
He would never stand another's touch to taint what was his.
His fingers were rough against my derma, growing hot. I let out a soft moan.
He stroked the seams of my wings, kneading the rigid cables, and I squirmed under his hold, uttering a weak, pleading ventilation.
"…M—My lord…" I whispered.
I did not understand what I was yearning for, but it did not matter, because he did not acknowledge me. He had no reason to follow any whim but his own.
His hand left my back, despite my whimpered protest. He spoke over me, addressing whichever Constructicon gripping down my wrists.
"Which one is a welding torch for precise repairs?" He asked.
My wings twitched.
"Third row down, second from the left," The Constructicon answered. I tilted my helm, and watched with wide, wary optics as Megatron took the medical tool down from its perch.
He looked over the small instrument, and pressed a button on its side. It activated with a sputter, a thin beam of blue flame erupting from its tip.
My intakes stalled. My lips fell apart.
I could not speak, staring at the torch with dawning dread.
I had no idea what my lord had planned, but it was apparent that it would be gruesome. Megatron moved it closer, and it vanished from my sight, blocked by my wings. I offlined my optics, joints yanking my limbs to curl into ball. His hand returned to my back, but this time, I whimpered, tendrils of terror as though the melting of ice inside my spark.
I could hear the torch, hissing from right above me.
I could not see it, and that made everything worse in spades.
"You always forget," Megatron stated, "what I have repeatedly made clear to you, Starscream." The way he snarled my name, twisting it with his glossa, roused a shiver down my spinal strut. The tips of his digits dipped into the seam of my right wing joint, and I whimpered, a surge of heat shooting through my sensory lines.
"You are mine." He told me, voice a low growl. "To ensure you will never overlook that fact again, I will give you a permanent reminder, my Second."
My brow ridges furrowed.
What did he mean by—
A cry burst through my thoughts.
Pain.
Scalding pain that melted my derma, carved into my plating.
The scorching blade of the torch bit into my left wing, boiling blisters, bursting sensors.
I saw static.
An audial-splitting scream tore through my vocalizer. It echoed in the room, filling the air with the screeching of words and engine.
Agony seared through my neural network. I shrieked louder, bucking to dart away. Hands held me down. I could not move. I could only endure the torture, the cruelty, of a thin beam of flame gouging into my limb.
The torch sliced through my plating, and burned straight through the intertwining cables. Thin fuel lines burst and sizzled. Neural clusters popped. Through the cascade of warnings and shrieking feedback, I could tell Megatron was tracing a pattern. It took me an eternity of excruciating torment to realize that he was welding the Decepticon insignia straight into my wing.
The metal of my appendage groaned and caved under the heat. Internal components stuck together, forming scorching hot scars. I bit down hard on my dentae, and screamed into the berth, vents blasting spurts of air. Coolant splattered from my optics. The agony was endless. Even when the torch moved on to the next line, the mess it left behind only stung worse, wound cooling and swelling in surges of blinding agony.
Megatron did not speak. Neither did I.
I did not beg. All I could do was clenching my jaws as he worked. Coolant budded and fell from my optics. My intakes hitched in sharp, pain-filled gasps.
An eternity must have passed. My sensory network had plunged into an ocean of hurt by the time he finally finished with my left wing. He leaned away, as though to admire his work. When he hummed in approval, and moved to my right wing, I couldn't stand it anymore, a spasm convulsing through my frame.
I broke down, strangled sobs bursting from my vocalizer. My frame shook, and I buried my faceplate against the berth, muffling the shuddering of my breaths.
The torch hovered, just out of range of my right wing. Megatron paused. He did not move. I continued to cry, vents stuttering as my systems stalled from the onslaught of agony. The pain was taxing, and coughs choked my intakes, heaving my chassis while tears splattered onto the berth before my face.
I'd lost something then, though I couldn't make sense of what it was. My mind was devoid of coherency. All I knew was the clawing stab of lingering flame on my left wing, and the deep-rooted throb swelling from my spark chamber. Megatron shifted. His digits wrapped around the back of my neck, and gave it a gentle squeeze. That was the only reprieve of comfort he allowed. He moved to my right wing, digits clenching down on its leading edge, and a shrill whine blurted past my lips, as I knew exactly the magnitude of his incoming punishment.
The torch bit into my delicate appendage. I cried out, in a high-pitched wail. Bracing for contact as I was, nothing could have ever prepared me for such pain.
I wept harder, staining the berth with my tears.
Megatron worked, silent, focused. As with everything he did, he never even once gave more than what was necessary. He was not cruel. He never strayed from the Decepticon symbol out of sadistic delight. The burn was almost too much, straining against what I could take. I hovered at the peak, but I did not plunge into emergency stasis, did not spare myself the torment of undergoing the excruciating scald.
I cried. I sobbed. I wept. I wailed.
I screamed, and strained so hard against my restraints that dents formed on my limbs.
However, never once did I plead him to stop. Never once did I beg.
Because the pain.
The hurt.
Was him.
The torture.
The melt of fire into the most tender of my wirings, marking the summation of all I was.
My wings.
My Crown.
My Vos.
To beg would shatter the moment. Taint his intent. Belittle his purpose.
Claim all I was, and I would never plead that he stopped.
The welding torch lifted away. He'd finished. The work was complete. I collapsed onto the berth, breaths short and shaky, vocalizer scratched with static and sobs. He sent the Constructicons away with a few words, and the hands holding me down disappeared. Pedfalls retreated. The door slid open and closed. Even though I was no longer pinned down, I did not move. I remained where I was, faceplate down on the medical berth, swallowing whimpers as the blistering wash of pain continued to pulse.
Silence hung around us, disrupted only by my wavering cries. I knew Megatron was still inside the room, and that he was watching me, but I couldn't lift my helm to meet his gaze. At last, he strode closer, and placed a hand on my back. The touch burned worse than all of my injuries combined, and I crumbled, spark a shivering clench as I started to bawl.
Coolant streamed from my optics. I cupped my hands around my faceplate to hide them. I tried curling into a ball, tugging my knees toward my chassis, but he did not let me, scooping me up from the berth.
Strong arms wrapped around my torso. They lifted me upright.
I protested with a wail, and yanked my face away from his view.
I was ashamed. I did not want him to see me.
I did not deserve him. I knew.
He wanted to give me so much.
He wanted so much from me.
The throb in my spark trembled worse.
He was to never find out just how much of a wreck I was, how bare I'd become before him, how far I'd allowed him in, and how deeply I'd felt for him.
Megatron enveloped my frame with his arms. He held me close against his chassis, until his warmth bled through my armor. His lips brushed against the side of my helm, and he spoke to me, voice rasped and harsh still.
"You are mine, Starstream," He whispered, the dark timber soft for such domineering words. "You belong to me, and I intend to keep you." His fingertips brushed the seams on my back, and I shivered. "No one else in existence will ever lay their hands on you." He promised me, grip tightening. "I want you. The entire, you." His intakes heaved. "And I will never relinquish any sliver of my claim." He tilted his helm, touching his cheekplate against mine.
"You will suffer my touch alone, Starscream." His murmur trickled to a mere breath of syllables, lips brushing against my derma.
"Alone," He said, "you will have me."
Coolant spilled from the rim of my sockets.
Air trapped between our frames, and they tasted hot when my intakes hitched, broken canopy pressing against his chassis.
"Well, then…" My lips quivered into a smirk. "What are you waiting for, my lord?" I whispered through my tears, and leaned against him.
"Touch me…" I ex-vented, optics flickering offline, hands latching onto his shoulders. "…as you have always wanted…" I moaned into his audial, the liquid staining my cheeks smearing on his.
Megatron did not move at first, as though relishing the simmer of my words. Slowly, one of his hands trailed down. It slid past my hips, fingertips catching and digging into every seam and curve. He wrapped his grip around the perk of my aft, pausing for a split klik before venturing further. His digits dipped into the crevice between my thighs, and gave my valve panel a rub, jolting a gasp from my intakes as my back curved into a graceful arch.
I embraced him, and placed my helm down on his shoulder. Even the fiery agony of my injuries could not stop the tingling of pleasure from spreading through my frame, gathering deep in my core into a potent throb of arousal. Megatron's movement was slow, languid, a stark contrast to that of our previous coupling. I wondered what had changed, but with his fingers massaging the seams of my valve panel, my thoughts dissipated, a soft keen on my lips.
My port cover retracted with a small snap. Megatron paused, just to tease, and I squirmed, clutching him tighter with an impatient whine. He chuckled, and brushed his lips against my cheekplate. A digit slipped between the soft, yielding folds of my valve, and my intakes gasped, a tremor of delight quivering from my body.
He traced the outer nodes of my valve. I shivered, heat prickling across my sensory grid. My equipment grew moist, and lubricant began to gather, coating the slit between my folds. He dipped a finger inside me, just slightly, and swirled around, the motion slippery and hot. My thighs shook, and I let out a shuddering moan, urging him to penetrate deeper with a grind down of my hips.
He obliged, pushing his finger deeper into me. My joints tensed, and I whimpered, neck cables pulling my helm from his shoulder. Our cheek plates brushed against each other, and I whispered a plea into his audial. He hummed, and started to knead, pacing languid as he thrust his finger in and out of my valve.
A charge built inside my core, coiling thick, swelling strong. It was different than the usual, desperate desire, and it was refreshing, if not exquisite. I moved in time to his tempo, jolting with a moan when he added another finger. The two digits spread the tight lining of my port, and lubricant oozed out, staining the inner sides of my thighs.
The gesture was degrading, shameful, humiliating.
My smiled, with an eager groan.
I loved it.
Megatron rubbed the inside of my valve, pressing against the responsive sensors. My cooling fans hummed online, and my internal temperature climbed higher with every slid of wet friction. He added a third finger, and plunged them into my port in long, firm strokes. I met his pace with equal fervor, hands clasped around his shoulders as strangled noises of encouragement blurted past my vocalizer.
Oh yes…this felt good.
I bit my downer lip component, and buried my helm against his neck cables. The rising pleasure, interlaced with pinpricks of pain, made my neural clusters tingle with sensitivity. Before long, I was a writhing pool of bliss with a pair of shivering wings. I wondered, briefly, if he would claim my everything this cycle, and found that I did not mind. I never would have minded. The consequences no longer felt relevant to my person. In that moment, I wanted him to do it. I wanted to feel his spike inside me, sheathed to the hilt, pressed snug against the deepest node of my frame while I sing his designation to the stars.
I was too far gone, too overwhelmed, to care what I was admitting to myself.
Megatron sped up. His fingers were slick against the trembling wall of my port. I clenched and squeezed around his rough digits, trying to draw them in as much as possible, whimpering pleas. I did not know what words were leaving my lips, not that he seemed to care. The wild flares of my energy field and the fervent motions of my hips were enough to tell him exactly what I wanted, what I needed, and he complied in kind, quickening his thrusts.
I started to squirm, spasms jerking through my frame. My fingers clenched around his plating, and I gritted my dentae, cries muffled against his shoulder. I pinched my optic shutters, and pressed my frame as close to his as I could. My intakes hitched. My vents sputtered. Coolant raced through my systems, but it made little difference to the soaring heat smoldering hotter as I raced toward the inevitable peak with utter abandon.
Nothing in the universe could stop that glorious moment of searing pleasure from bursting from my core. A choked scream blurted past my lips, and I dipped my helm, burying my faceplate tighter against his armor. Since his first intimate touch this cycle, I haven't made a single loud noise, despite my usual enthusiasm in straining my vocalizer during moments of passion. I tried my best to keep quiet this time, and Megatron did not seem to mind. He enjoyed my tiny, desperate mews just as much as my piercing shrieks, and his arm, around my waist, tightened still, fingers moving faster, plunging even deeper inside me.
It was coming, that perfect moment of ecstasy that would surge through my fuel lines, scorch my neural network, and shatter into armor-rattling heat inside my spark. My cooling fans whirred. My intakes stalled. I grabbed onto my lord's shoulders, lips parted as broken, fragmented pleas stuttered from my vocalizer.
Oh yes…
Yes!
This felt so good, so good, and I wanted more.
The coarse, hard derma of his fingers dug against the sensitized lining of my valve, stimulating all the sensors. I let out a high-pitched whine, clenching around his digits so that he could knead every node, touch every part of me. It was getting closer, that magnificent split in time of blinding light and colours. My frame began convulse. My optics onlined with a flash. Oh Primus…Oh Primus—!
My body seized. A bitten back wail sang from my vocalizer.
My valve squeezed, and lubricant spurted, washing over his fingers, splattering all over my thighs.
Some of it trickled down onto the berth, forming a small puddle. My cheek plates grew hot. I turned my faceplate to hide, and buried my helm against his neck cables.
He did not allow it.
His other hand rose, and pulled my helm out of its hiding place. My optics flickered on, but I couldn't look back at him, averting my gaze. He was studying my expression. I saw on my peripheral. His fingers continued to rub the inner wall of my valve, and I ground out a whine, clenching in a string of spasms.
He watched me.
Then, he leaned forward.
My fuel pump skipped a thud.
Megatron kissed me.
My breath caught. My spark pulsed.
His mouth was hot. His glossa kneaded against mine, the same moment his hand trailed down and wrapped around my neck, thumb brushing against my jaw. I moaned, tilting my helm, and offlined my optics. I could feel his ventilation, hot and dry against my broken canopy, stirring waves of prickling on the edge of my sensory field.
We remained like this, intertwined, with me kneeling on the medical berth, and him holding me against him. Our pace was slow. We had all the time we needed. For that one moment, there was no duty, no Crown, no Vos. I merely soaked in his presence, and allowed him to handle me however he liked, as long as it pleased him, because such would please me.
A selfish thought.
One ungoverned by responsibility to my people.
A long while ticked by.
Megatron held me, silent, still.
With a soft ex-vent, he drew back, and slid his fingers out of my valve. My hips trembled, and I whimpered at the loss, though I did not protest.
He set me back onto the berth. To my confusion, he laid me out on my front, and simply left me there. I allowed him to place me, but gave him a bewildered look, peering at his faceplate as I wondered about his motive.
"…What are you doing?" I asked when he did not explain. "Don't you…need to—…" I glanced at his crotch plate, and he actually grimaced.
"You are in no condition to service me, Starscream." He answered, and tried to feign indifference. However, the way his optics glowed and glided over my frame was more than enough to tell me that there was nothing more he wanted to do than to spread my thighs and ram his spike deep inside my valve.
I huffed, indignant.
"I'm not that incompetent, Megatron." I retorted, despite the ache in my joints and the fatigue hovering at the edge of my awareness. "I can handle an interface." To back up my claim, I parted my knees, and gave him an unhindered view of my bared valve and the sticky mess he'd left behind.
He froze, optics flashing into a piercing shine. He was faltering, fists clenching tighter as he bit his jaws. A smirk stretched over my features, and I leaned back, to put on an even naughtier display of myself. However, the movement jostled my wings, and a toppling wave of pain punched me straight in the gut.
I hissed, expression pinching into a frown.
Megatron paused. His gaze flickered, and he snapped out of his stupor, brow ridges furrowing.
"You need to see a medic." He stated.
Right away, I knew there was no chance talking him out of it.
"And, pray tell, whose fault is that, oh wise leader?" Ire flared, and I snapped, blasting an ex-vent as I sent him a glare. "Thanks to your spontaneous bout of artful creativity, I might not be able to fly for cycles!"
He stared at me, the knitted creases between his brows spreading flat.
Without another word, he turned around, and strode toward the door.
What in the—
I perked up a little, and gaped.
Was he just going to—
"Wh-Where are you going?!" I shouted after him, scrambling to push upright on the berth. "You can't just leave me here! What in the pits do you suppose I do? Walk out the door through the med bay looking like this?! Who knows how many mechs are out there? Someone will take pictures to blackmail me and Hook will just laugh!"
There was no response.
The slagger was ignoring me!
An intake puffed my chassis.
"Megatron!" I shrieked.
"I am contacting your trine mates." Megatron glanced over his shoulder, a scowl on his faceplate as he stopped before the door. "They will arrive to retrieve you shortly." He looked at me. His lips pursed with a roaring grind of intake.
"…Return to Vos, Starscream." He sighed, "Go straight to your Head Medic." He turned away, the curl of his lips the last glimpse I caught. "I want you back to full function as soon as possible." He reached for the keypad on the wall:
"There are matters to discuss between us."
With a tap, the door slid open. He walked through, and left me alone in the medical chamber, under the cold light of the surgical lamps.
Scrunching my nose-bridge, I muttered in curses, and wiggled on the berth. I lied down on my side, mindful of my broken canopy, and tucked up my knees. With Megatron gone, I no longer had to pretend I was alright. In truth, I was exhausted, so I offlined my optics, and decided to rest while I waited for my trine mates' arrival.
I did not have to wait for long. A few breems later, the door slid open. However, before I could online my optics and yell at my trine mates for running away instead of protecting me from Megatron's wrath, there was a loud, hitched gasp, and Thundercracker's voice rang out, an exclamation loud and uncharacteristically high.
"Oh Primus!" He cried out as though he was half way to deactivation from dismay. "Starscream! Oh Primus! Starscream!" He sounded like I'd been brutally slaughtered and he was here to pick up the pieces.
I frowned, vision flickering on, and peered toward the door. Skywarp and Thundercracker were standing at the threshold, optics agape. My blue trine mate looked like he was about to burst into tears, and my frown deepened.
What the frag?
"Are you planning on standing there like idiots and giving the whole med bay a view of my disgrace?" I sneered, and tried not to squirm under their staring. I was covered in all manners of filth, and I'd rather the grounders not see me so hideous.
For a long while, neither of them moved. My wings twitched on my back. Just as I riled to give them a verbal lashing, Skywarp snapped out of his stupor with a jerk of his helm, and shoved Thundercracker through. The door slid closed behind them, and I breathed a sigh of relief. I was in no desire to entertain an audience beyond my trine mates. After all, I was littered with injuries, and the sticky mess under me was starting to seep through my-
—Wait.
I froze.
The haze of exhaustion in my mind cleared to crystal.
My trine mates had walked through the door, and caught me sprawled on the berth, wounded with mangled wings. With the way I curled my legs, they would've had a perfect view of my thighs, stained with cooling lubricant. I still haven't closed my valve panel, a detail I'd overlooked due to my post-overload daze.
Primus…
Did they think that I was—
One look into Thundercracker's tearful optics told me that was exactly what they thought.
"Oh Star…I—I'm so sorry…!" My blue trine mate stuttered forward, shaky, as though he could break with every step he took. "I-It's okay. Everything's okay now. Don't worry. 'Warp and I are going to protect you. Nothing's going to hurt you anymore. I promise."
I set my gaze to Skywarp, wondering if he was any less assuming. Judging from the expression on his faceplate, however, he was obviously thinking the same.
"Megatron did not violate me." I blurted, and ignored the simultaneous flinching from my trine mates. "He punished me, yes, but he did not force me." I closed my valve panel, and pushed into a sitting position. "His punishment was adequate for what I did. It was my fault."
"Is that what he told you?" Skywarp hissed, dentae gritted and tight fists trembling. "That it's your fault and you deserve this?"
My brow ridges knitted. What in the pits was he going on about?
"I told you, he did not violate me." I sneered, annoyed that they would not believe me. "I don't know if your audials have glitched or some other malfunction, but I have clearly articulated that this was my fault, and while I am not particularly fond of Megatron's methods, I did deserve the punishment."
"Oh Primus—" Large droplets of coolant spilled over Thundercracker's optics. He covered his lips with a hand, and watched me with such an overabundance of pity that I grimaced in disgust.
I was not a victim.
The Crown Prince of Vos would never be victim to anyone.
However, before I could tell him so, Skywarp spoke up.
"Is that what he told you too?" The teleporter snarled. "Is that what he said as he shoved you down and had his way with you?"
Irritation swelled.
They were not listening to me!
"Oh, for Primus's sakes!" My wings bristled. "Are you hearing what I'm telling you?! I said—"
"-You don't have to justify his actions to hide your pain, Star." Thundercracker wiped his tears away, and gave me a wavering smile. "We're here for you, no matter what happens."
My lips fell open.
I stared.
"TC and I will never let him touch you again." Skywarp seconded. "We'll protect you, no matter what." He promised me, a rare glint of seriousness bright in his optics.
I could not decide whether to laugh or toss the nearest object at their helms.
In the end, I settled for a tightlipped sigh.
"I said—" I began.
"It's okay, Star." Thundercracker interrupted. "You don't have to say anything until you're ready." He reached toward me, optics wet still, expression warm. "But know that 'Warp and I will always be here to listen, okay? Just—Just let us take care of you."
"Yeah, we'll always have your back, Star." Skywarp walked forward, gaze hard and focused. "So don't you worry," His jaws clenched. "He'll never touch you again. I swear he'll never touch you again. The things I'm gonna slagging do to 'im—"
"-I slapped him." I cut in.
My trine mates froze. Several kliks ticked by, and they gaped at me, as though doubting their auditory receptors.
"I slapped him, right in the faceplate." I repeated. "In front of the Decepticons, and the Autobots." I paused. "And Optimus Prime." I added.
My trine mates were speechless.
They stared at me, and I could practically see their processors clicking to compute what I'd just said.
Skywarp was the first to shake himself out of his stupor, optics stretching even wide.
"What?! Are you fraggin' serious?!" He exclaimed, caught between incredulous laughter and splutters of shock. "…You slapped Megatron?!"
"Yes." I puffed up my chassis, and perked my wings, regardless of how much the gesture hurt. "Yes, I did."
Skywarp rebooted his optics, and gave his helm a shake. He let out a bark of a laugh, and gaped at me in amazement.
"Were you out of your fragging—" He started, but Thundercracker cut him off.
"That's still no reason for him to punish Star!" My blue trine mate shouted, swirling to glare at the teleporter. "Nothing justifies violation of such caliber!"
I heaved a sigh, and pinched between my optics.
"I told you, he did not violate me!" I yelled in return, accentuating my statement with a punch against the medical berth. "Yes, he did punish me, but he did not do it to torture me into submission so he can force his way with me." I peered into Thundercracker's optics. "Yes, he did touch me," My brows furrowed, "but I let him, alright? I let him!"
Thundercracker jolted back. His lips fell apart in shock. His silence grated my nerves, and words spewed out of my mouth, unfiltered and stuttering.
"I don't know why I keep doing stupid things to frag him off. I don't know why I keep letting him touch me. And I certainly don't know why I enjoy his attention so much, or what my motivations are. But for some sick, twisted reason unbeknownst to myself—…I-I like it when he hurts me. I like it when he handles me with the intention to tear and maim. Is that what you wanted to hear, Thundercracker? Is that the confession you wanted?!"
My voice rang inside the room.
Thundercracker stared at me, still and stunned.
Skywarp shuffled on his peds, and tossed him worried glances.
"…I…" My fuel pump pounded inside my audials, "…I don't know how you're—…how you're still unaware of this." My voice dropped. "I've never…told you because I…I didn't—…I just didn't want to acknowledge it." I bowed my helm, optics flickering down. "But looking back…it's pretty obvious, isn't it?" I bit my lips, fingers curling into my palms.
"…Megatron never spiked me though," I grumbled, "so if you're worrying about that…I'm still intact."
An awkward, tense silence weighed in the air after I finished, and I wallowed, picking at the seams of the berth.
Thundercracker kept watching me. He did not reply, and his gaze felt blazing hot against my plating, expression laden with hurt on my peripheral. He remained silent, and I was too much of a coward to look back at him. The air choked. Skywarp cleared his vocalizer, and stepped forward.
"C'mon, Star. Let's get you to Pri." He offered me an arm.
I stared before reaching toward it with an ex-vent, and allowed him to guide me down the berth. He turned to Thundercracker, and offered his other arm. We watched our blue trine mate, him expectant, I wary. Thundercracker seemed to be deep in thought, but, a few kliks later, he nodded, and grabbed onto Skywarp.
Our surroundings blackened. When light emerged once more, we were back in my tower, inside the med bay. Pristinus looked up from his datapad, and gave the three of us a lengthy study. His optics lingered on me, and he frowned, putting his datapad down before standing from his chair.
He watched me, but he did not ask any questions. He prompted me to sit on one of the medical berths, and I let go of Skywarp to follow my medic's instructions. The Stealth Jet glanced between the three of us, pursing his lips, but he did not utter a word. He started running scans over my frame. I answered when he inquired about my wounds. He never made any comments about the lubricant still staining my thighs, and only explained to me that the weld marks on my wings would take three cycles to heal, even with replacement parts.
My medic worried my wings would scar. I murmured that I did not care as long as it didn't interfere with my flying. He reassured me that I would be able to reach top speed without trouble, only expressing concern that the scars might be sensitive. I shrugged. I couldn't find enough care in my spark to give a scrap at the moment. Pristinus nodded, and patted me on the back before asking me to lie down on my chassis.
My trine mates stayed exactly where they were upon arrival in the med bay. Only Skywarp shifted on his peds, turning to peek at what Pristinus was doing. Thundercracker remained silent and motionless, helm slightly lowered. His expression was shrouded. He never once gave indication that he knew I was looking at him.
After a while, Skywarp sighed, and grabbed Thundercracker by the arm. He tossed me a worried look, and teleported both of them away. Silence settled after their departure, broken only by the tinkering of medical tools. Pristinus placed a hand on my back, and informed me that he would have to place me under stasis for the repairs.
With a soft ex-vent, I nodded, and relaxed into the berth.
Though I did not understand Thundercracker's behaviour, I would patch things up with him. Somehow. He was my Royal Wing Right. He was important to me, especially now that I no longer knew what was going to happen with Megatron.
Black began to seep from the edges of my consciousness.
I offlined my optics.
For now, I would rest, and hope that, by the time I woke up, things would be better.
Notes: At last. After three months.
I'm so sorry. X'D I honestly have no excuse. It's just been taking me longer and longer to edit these chapters. Hopefully, the length makes up for the wait.
Huge special thanks once again to my most beloved reviewers, who have been most kind in leaving me sweet messages and compliments, especially in regards to a sudden boost of review numbers in the past few months. Don't mind the silly~ You're all too awesome and your time too important to spare for the silly. ;)
To Guest, Ashcola17, Borath, Enlyien, prismadecepticons, tiedwithribbons, eadspud, Kerro-chan, TammyCat, starscream fan, Koluno1986, estella-clamatis, MalevolentMask, Zelach, nameanon, Rosedrop13, Odd Writer, silverflame, Eiswolf-Zero, ladyredvelvet, Guest 2, Guest 3, Jesus (LOL!), fox hunter, Lowkeyloki, Destiny Quill, Devlinn Reiko, Guest 4, Guest 5, Wooden-Horse, and everyone on tumblr, the sincerest of thanks and all my gratitude. I apologize for my lack of replies, but please know that I read every one of your reviews and appreciate them wholeheartedly.
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