Chapter Text
Megatron offlines his optics and tries to ignore the throbbing in his processor. Starscream continues talking. The seeker is always talking, always prattling on about one thing or another until his screeching is all that fills Megatron's audials.
Primus, he's annoying.
“-going to commend me? I completed the mission with 100% success!” Starscream all but demands. Megatron's servos twitch, digits curling firmly into his throne until the metal armrest creaks in protest.
It's not anything worth commending. Doing his job is the bare minimum, and this particular mission was incredibly easy, not even especially important. Normally, Megatron would tell him as much, berate him for even asking, and dismiss him out of the room for some much needed peace and quiet. All that ever does is make Starscream argue and protest and get louder , though, and Megatron really, more than anything, wants him to shut up.
“Good job, Starscream.” He brings his optics back online, just in time to see Starscream falter. His wings droop slightly, puffed up chassis deflating as surprise hits him. Fascinatingly, the whir of his fans kicking on is picked up by Megatron's audials, and warmth the color of energon settles high on the cheeks of the seeker's faceplate.
“I-” He resets his vocals and puts his servos on his hips, wings flaring. “Exactly! I did- I did a fantastic job! A perfect job. Likely better than you ever have.” He sniffs disdainfully, then turns on his heel, frame tense. “I'm leaving. I need to… To go train, yes!”
Megatron's brow ridge furrows but he doesn't get the chance to even formally dismiss his second-in-command before he scurries out of the room on uncharacteristically clumsy pedes.
How… Odd.
It's so unlike Starscream to ever back down and retreat without being forced to.
…Perhaps it's worth a little investigation.
-
Megatron is surveying the training of his loyal decepticons when he gets his next opportunity. He walks unhurriedly through rows of bots training hard enough to get their fans spinning, and stops beside his least favorite seeker. He's doing… Alright. Mediocre, really. His combat leaves something to be desired, especially in comparison to his phenomenal flying, and he doesn't look like he's giving it his all. Still, Starscream always gets defensive when criticized, and Megatron recalls the way he'd reacted yesterday when told a simple ‘good job.’
“Starscream.” Megatron says evenly to get the seekers attention. He watches him tense in preparation for a fight. “Keep up the good work. Your stance is nearly flawless.”
Starscream pauses, optics flickering off, then back on. His fans pick up speed, whirring audibly, and he averts his gaze. His wings do a mesmerizing little shimmy.
“Of course it is.” He huffs, but he doesn't say anything else. He doesn't even tack on some sloppy insult to Megatron's leadership, he just goes right back to training.
No, that's not correct. He starts training harder. He puts his whole frame into it.
Intriguing .
-
Really, it was only a matter of time before Starscream failed him again. Megatron isn't really surprised. They do this song and dance every few days. Frankly, it was just a matter of which would come again first; Starscream failing a mission, or Starscream attempting to kill and usurp Megatron for the hundredth time.
Looking into red optics that glare at him defiantly, waiting for Megatron to verbalize his ire, he's not sure what compels him to do it, but he doesn't scold and insult him. Instead, he says something completely different.
“…You showed ingenuity. The ambush could have cost you your wings, but you adapted. That was… Clever.”
The words are strange, setting his denta on edge and leaving an uncomfortable taste in his intake. But the effect is immediate.
Starscream’s optics widen. His wings twitch, flaring, then lowering again with visible confusion. Megatron watches the way his entire frame stiffens, as if unsure whether this is some elaborate prelude to a verbal beatdown.
“I-” Starscream’s voice glitches, rasping with static. He enjoys the sound more than he'd like to admit. “You’re… Complimenting me?”
Megatron leans forward slowly, elbows resting on his knee joints, his massive frame looming but calm. His gaze is calculating, expression blank, giving away nothing. He wonders idly how odd it must look, given Starscream no doubt expected to see his faceplate contort in rage.
“You survived, and despite the loss, no major injuries were sustained to any decepticon. You salvaged the situation despite your own recklessness. If you were not so prone to theatrics, perhaps you'd achieve this level of success more often.”
He can't help the criticism that slips past his dermas, falling right off his glossa with practiced ease, but the phrasing, the fact that it's surrounded by praise, softens it enough that the proud bot doesn't bristle.
Rather, Starscream just stares at him. He doesn't respond with snide remarks, nor does he throw the compliment back with suspicion. Instead, he shifts on his pedes, awkward and uncertain. For a moment, he seems at a loss. It's an atypical look for the elegant bot, and Megatron's derma twitch with amusement.
Starscream crosses his arms and glares up at Megatron, speaking again just in time to drown out the sound of his fans starting up.
“I only did what any competent commander would do. Not that you’d know.”
But the jab lacks any denta. There’s no venom, no real intention to insult. Megatron watches, fascinated, as Starscream’s wings droop again—not in shame, but something else. Shyness? Bashfulness? Megatron doubted Starscream was capable of such feelings. Confusion then, maybe?
“…Right.” Megatron settles back, red optics tracking the seeker’s movements lazily. “Dismissed, Commander .”
Starscream hesitates. Not in defiance, for once. In uncertainty. As if unsure whether he wants to leave. As if he's tempted to stay. Perhaps hoping to hear more compliments? It's no surprise to Megatron that his second-in-command likes having his ego stroked.
Eventually, he nods, spins on a heel, and exits. Not with his usual arrogant strut, but with a focused stiffness that almost resembles… restraint. He looks more like the soldier he is that way. It's baffling.
-
Megatron doesn’t often think about how his words affect others. He leads by strength, an iron fist and an iron will.
Of course, this approach, using pure strength and fear to dominate and gain loyalty, it's never worked with Starscream. He may follow orders, but it's begrudging, and everyone knows he'll take any chance to betray or undermine Megatron. It's not true loyalty, not true submission, not like with Soundwave or Shockwave. Starscream is stubborn, prideful; Megatron had assumed this was the best he'd get.
And yet.
The shift is undeniable. A small string of praise. A handful of calm acknowledgments. Patience, and a better temper. And in return, that elusive behavior he'd been trying to get from Starscream for eons: obedience, effort, and silence.
No shrieking. No arguments. No treachery.
It's utterly baffling.
Megatron wonders if he’s found a secret code, a switch or button he hadn’t known existed. A tool far more effective than fear, at least when it came to Starscream in particular.
…Further testing is needed.
-
They're fighting autobots, and he isn't really thinking about Starscream right now. He's in battle mode, his processor going a megamile a klik as he considers various strategic opportunities.
“Starscream,” he orders, “take the energon cubes and go north.”
“We outnumber the autobots,” Starscream protests, “we should destroy them now!”
Megatron grits his denta. He wants to snap, to smack Starscream upside the helm, to shout at him to shut up and follow orders. Normally, he would. But brief flashes of the past week make him hold his glossa and vent in slowly.
“An admirable plan, Starscream,” he starts, watching the seeker immediately lose his aggressive posture, “but we both know that if these autobots are here, the others won't be far behind.”
“I… Well- yes, but-” Starscream stammers, sounding a bit less certain.
“As my capable second-in-command, I trust you and no one else with the transportation of these energon cubes.” Megatron cuts him off and Starscream's intake clamps shut.
“Of- of course I'm the most capable for the task,” Starscream scoffs, but his vocals wobble slightly, glitching. He picks up the energon cubes without further protest.
“I knew I could count on you.” Megatron says, and Starscream's wings flare before he transforms mutely and takes off. He's fairly certain he hears his engine briefly sputter, but he can't focus too much on that with autobots closing in.
-
They win the battle, as small a victory it is. Starscream's unusual obedience plays a large part in it, and Megatron is thoughtful the entire flight back.
He dismisses the others to go celebrate their victory however they like; Primus knows he doesn't care what Thundercracker or Skywarp do as long as it doesn't mess with his plans.
Starscream doesn't go anywhere as the other decepticons disperse, ruby optics trained on Megatron. There's something almost… expectant in his gaze? No —hopeful.
“Starscream.” Megatron acknowledges. Starscream straightens like a soldier called to attention. Which, yeah, he technically is, but Megatron rarely sees him act like it. He tilts his helm slightly at the seeker. “...You were flawless out there. Your speed and exceptional flying skills carried us to victory over the autobots today.” He says. Exaggerating a bit, yes, but watching Starscream's wings twitch down, up, and down again makes it worth it. His fans are going fast; Megatron can hear it without straining his audials much at all.
How far can I take this?
“My lord-”
“Come here.” Megatron interrupts. Starscream hesitates, likely for a dozen different reasons. Megatron raises a servo and beckons him closer, curling a digit towards himself in a come-hither motion. Starscream approaches on reluctant pedes. Not reluctant; uncertain, and wary. Rightfully so, of course, but Megatron has no intentions of hurting the seeker. Today, at least.
When he's close enough, Megatron leans forward and cups his faceplate, brushing a digit over the increasingly warm metal of his cheek.
“My second-in-command,” he practically croons, “you do your job so well. Perfect at your duty.”
He can see servos and joints and plates lock up, relax, and lock up again, can see those sleek wings flare out and those scarlet optics go wide.
“I-I… Of course I am,” Starscream stutters, vocals a bit strained, “I'm-”
“Did you know,” Megatron interrupts, taking a gamble as Starscream leans into his servo slightly, “that you are my favorite?”
“Your… I'm…?”
Starscream looks so utterly lost. It's surprisingly endearing.
“Yes. My favorite.” Megatron slides his digit over the sharp, angular lines of Starscream's faceplate. Warmth radiates off the smooth metal and Starscream's intake opens slightly as if to speak, but no words come out. “The very best of my troops. My second-in-command. ”
His wings flare out and his servos ball into fists at his side. For a moment, Megatron wonders if the reminder that he’s beneath him has ruined whatever moment this is, but Starscream tilts his helm up slightly to give Megatron better access and leans into his servo just a little, like a big cybercat seeking pets.
“Lord Megatron…” He rasps, his vocals glitching on the T in his name.
How fascinating. Is this all it took to get Starscream to behave?
“What a wonderful decepticon you are, Starscream.” He all but purrs, bringing his other servo up to cup the other side of the seeker's faceplate. The hum of his fans grow louder and his venting is a bit unsteady, intake parted slightly and red optics stuck on Megatron's own. “I wonder…”
A digit presses against the pliable softness of Starscream's bottom derma, but Megatron hears footsteps approaching. Annoyed at the interruption, he frowns but lets go of Starscream, who whines quietly. The sound makes his frame feel hot beneath his armor and plating but he doesn't get the chance to focus on it, because the doors slide open and Shockwave enters.
“Lord Megatron.”
Great. Just when things were getting interesting.
Megatron turns to Shockwave, not quite able to keep the irritation of his faceplate or out of his voice.
“What is it?”
Starscream's wings twitch impatiently. It's distracting.
Shockwave, as expressionless as ever, pays no mind to the tension in the room or the red optics glaring at him with disdain from behind Megatron’s pauldron.
“There has been a breach in the outer perimeter,” he reports. “Minimal damage. It was swiftly handled by the vehicon patrols, but I deemed it prudent to notify you.”
Megatron grunts, annoyance flaring hotter. A breach ? The audacity of some bots.
“Then why are you here, instead of repairing the breach?”
Shockwave’s single optic pulses but doesn't leave Megatron, even as his words turn a bit pointed towards the bot behind him.
“Because Starscream was stationed at that section earlier this cycle. I wished to confirm whether the lapse in security was the result of miscalculation… or deliberate oversight.”
Starscream immediately bristles, wings jerking upright.
“How dare you! I fortified that sector myself! If there was a breach, it was because some incompetent vehicon couldn’t follow my specifications!” He shrieks, moving forward slightly towards Shockwave, indignant.
Megatron raises a servo, silencing him with the barest gesture. It works, for once. His optics flick to Shockwave, unreadable.
“And your analysis?”
“Unclear,” Shockwave replies without inflection. “But I will investigate. I only found the timing… suspicious.”
That gets under Starscream’s plating, and Megatron knows it by the faint, angry tremble in his sleek frame.
He can't blame Shockwave for being suspicious. He knows the bot is just being loyal, and it isn't entirely out of character for Starscream to either deliberately let a breach happen in some kind of scheme to take Megatron's position, or to simply be careless and incompetent enough to allow one to happen without meaning to.
However, Starscream has been doing well. Megatron is keenly aware of that. His second-in-command had followed every order lately, had executed missions with a zeal that bordered on giddy . He was trying, genuinely, and Megatron wasn’t about to let that effort be crushed under suspicion, not when he finally had Starscream listening to his commands.
“I’ll see the security footage myself,” Megatron says coolly. “Starscream, dismissed.”
Starscream looks like he wants to argue, his faceplate twisted with offense and frustration, but the glint in Megatron’s optics keeps his glossa behind his denta. He hesitates a nanoklik longer than necessary, optics flicking between Shockwave and Megatron; measuring, calculating, processing. Then, he nods, backstrut straightening, and stalks out through the side door without another word.
Shockwave watches him go.
“He is behaving unusually.”
“I am aware.” Megatron replies.
He doesn’t elaborate, and Shockwave doesn’t ask.
-
Megatron watches the security footage later that cycle. He sees the breach, minor and sloppily executed, amateur in nature and not very exciting or flashy.
Definitely not Starscream’s fault, accident or otherwise.
He replays a different feed. One from the hallway. Starscream exiting his throne room after their earlier encounter, fans roaring and digits twitching like he didn’t know what to do with himself. He watches the seeker pause and vent in deeply, watches him lift his servos to his faceplate and touch where Megatron had touched him before shaking himself off and quickly strutting to his habitation suite.
So many vorns of disobedience. Of resistance, of treachery and betrayal. And all it took to unravel that was a few sweet words and he turned to putty in Megatron’s servos.
He leans forward, elbows on the desk, chin resting against interlaced digits.
He had underestimated Starscream. Or perhaps simply misunderstood him. Not the ambition—that had always been genuine, no denying it. But the why. He’d assumed it was pride, hunger, lust for power.
And maybe it was.
But maybe it was also some pathetic, desperate bid for attention .
A truly fascinating concept. Almost endearing. Almost.
Megatron sits back and wonders how far this could go. He should have explored this years ago. He still can.
He drums his digits against the desk. Considers calling Starscream in again.
Just to see how far his favorite will bend.
He doesn't. But he does send a ping to Shockwave that the breach wasn't Starscream's fault, and that he expects the bot to identify the vehicons who failed to meet his second-in-command's specifications.
He retires to his berth, offlines his optics, and replays the memory of Starscream twitching and warming under his touch.
-
It can't all be wins.
Starscream, even at his best, is overconfident and prone to creating flawed, short-sighted plans, so it's no shocker when the autobots beat him and force the decepticons to retreat.
Megatron dismisses the bots.
“Starscream, stay behind.” He orders, leaning forward slightly on his throne, studying him.
He's never seen the seeker look so genuinely nervous before. Afraid, yes, but not nervous .
“...You failed.” He remarks. It's not a question. Starscream flinches. Megatron waits for the indignation, the hissing and spitting and shoveling the blame onto someone else. It's never Starscream's fault when he messes up or outright fails. It's a habit that grates on Megatron's nerves like no other.
It doesn't come. Starscream's wings droop.
“My lord,” he starts.
Megatron grimaces. The begging and pleading, ‘please forgive me, I was wrong, Lord Megatron!’, are not less annoying. It's always a fifty-fifty chance of which behavior he'll get when he calls Starscream out.
But that doesn't happen, either.
“…I should have accounted for the possibility of a second ambush point.” Starscream’s voice is strained. He still sounds like he's ripping his denta out with every word, every admission of fault, but he also sounds… More subdued. His optics are on the floor, his wings twitching and his digits flexing uncomfortably. “It was my oversight. I was… overconfident.” He spits the word like a curse, no doubt sick of having it thrown at him time and time again even if it was true.
Megatron stills.
Starscream never admits to his plans being flawed. Not even under threat of execution. And yet here he is, willingly offering up responsibility without coaxing, without screaming or accusing Thundercracker or some nonexistent glitch in command transmission.
Megatron rises slowly, the hydraulics in his legs hissing softly as he steps down from his throne. He approaches the seeker with steady, heavy pedes. Starscream doesn’t move. Doesn’t run. He stands straight, but Megatron can see the tension in his frame, the tightness in his digits as they curl into fists at his sides.
He’s waiting for punishment.
Megatron doesn’t offer it.
He lifts a servo instead and grasps Starscream's chin tightly, tilting his faceplate up. The way the other mech jumps makes something pulse in Megatron’s spark, equal parts annoyance and fascination. He gentles his grip and slides his servo down to rest on the seeker's chassis, allows his thumb to brush the raised ridge of armor plating.
“...Why the change in behavior, Starscream?”
Starscream’s optics meet his own, venting in sharply. His wings twitch again, tilting up and then back down, like he doesn’t know what to do with them. With himself. It's mesmerizing.
“I-” He falters, vocalizer catching on static again. “You said I was your favorite.”
Megatron studies him a moment longer. He’s pliable like this. Less of a nuisance. Easier to command, and strangely… eager to please.
It’s addictive. Useful, entertaining.
“I did.” He agrees noncommittally, careful not to show any emotion about it.
Starscream straightens, optics watching Megatron closely.
“...That was not a promise, Starscream. I did not tell you that to coddle you.” He says flatly after a beat. Starscream flinches, then his wings flare.
“Of course, Lord Megatron,” he says hurriedly, averting his optics, almost flustered. “I just- I want to- I…”
He watches the seeker impatiently. He wants to snap at him to hurry up, to spit it out. But he reminds himself that Starscream, frustrating as he can be, responds better to patience, a gentle touch, sweet words.
“You want to…?” He goads, rubbing his thumb in a small circle, featherlight, over Starscream's chest plating.
Starscream shudders slightly.
This might just be the most productive behavior modification experiment he’s ever conducted.
“I want to earn it.” Starscream rasps.
Megatron's intake stretches into a smug grin.
“You want to earn being my favorite?” He croons, leaning in slightly. There's a soft whir; Starscream’s fans kicking on. “...You want to be good?”
His engine stalls, then starts back up with a notably loud rev. Starscream's faceplates heat up quickly, embarrassed by his obvious reaction.
“That's not what I-” He restarts his vocals and shifts his weight on his pedes. “...I- I mean… ah…”
Megatron chuckles, drawing his servo back.
“You're dismissed, Starscream.”
“...You're- there's no punishment?” He asks, startled.
“There is no reason to punish you when you've already learned from your failure.” Megatron waves a servo dismissively. Starscream stares at him for a moment, then nods stiffly, and leaves the throne room.
-
Later, alone in his hab, Megatron opens a file.
A log.
Starscream: Status: Responsive to positive stimuli.
He adds a new line beneath it.
Escalated praise = heightened obedience. Marked shift in tone and demeanor. Further experimentation recommended.
He taps his digits on the console. Adds another line.
Physical contact [minimal] yields maximum results. Increase gradually. Observe.
His optics narrow thoughtfully.
He isn’t sure yet what he intends to do with this version of Starscream. This strangely obedient, praise-hungry thing. But he knows one thing for certain:
He doesn’t want it to stop anytime soon.
Starscream has always been a weapon that turned in his grip, a razor snake trying to bite the hand that wields it. Unpredictable, unmanageable, unreliable. Useful, but dangerous and impossible to fully rely on.
In his current state, though, Megatron almost feels like he's got the seeker purring .