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"Slow. Down." Starscream snarled, his thick claws sinking into Megatron's shoulders, clinging to him but flinching away.
His valve was soft and wet and tight around Megatron, and though he loathed to admit it, he had missed it's warm embrace, and Starscream's supple responsive frame.
"You've made it too big," Starscream complained beneath him, loud and irritable. "Why did you choose such a bulky alt mode?"
"Why did you choose such a flimsy one?" Megatron countered, but slowed regardless, easing his thick spike in and out of Starscream. He could hear the shift of parting silicone, the slickness of lubricant.
But the tightness wasn't the fault of his or Starscream's alt-mode. It was the months they had spent apart that was to blame. Megatron had always been big. Starscream was simply ...out of practice.
Starscream's optics fluttered at the new pace. He quietened down, now sighing softly with every stroke of Megatron's spike. Much better.
Megatron knew the others disagreed with his decision allowing Starscream back, but the seeker had his uses and had shown eagerness to prove his loyalty to the cause, and to Megatron.
Contrary to what his followers doubtlessly believed, fragging him was not a requirement of that. Starscream had offered, and Megatron was hardly going to turn him down. He had fragged Starscream before his betrayal. He would continue to do so now.
Starscream overloaded for him easily, stretching his long frame and arching his back. Megatron held his narrow waist and followed, finishing with a satisfied grunt as his spike expelled pulses charged transfluid deep into Starscream's frame.
Strong claws played with the edges of Megatron's chest plate in the aftermath. Starscream was soft and warm, purring beneath him, letting Megatron lie in the cradle of thighs.
"Am I forgiven?" He asked, low and sultry.
Starscream had a long way to go before forgiveness.
"You're on thin ice." Megatron warned.
"If you say so." Starscream cooed, cupping Megatron's face to press fluttering kisses along the edge of his helmet. Megatron leaned away with a scowl, but made no attempt to stop him.
"So am I to be granted quarters in this... fine establishment you've made our home?" Starscream studied the cave they inhabited.
Megatron grunted. "I will have the Constructicons put something together. Until then ...I am willing to share my quarters."
"Of course you are." Starscream whispered. "Who or what is a Constructicon?"
"Nothing for you to concern yourself with." Megatron stroked the seeker's lubricant damp thighs. He shifted deeper into Starscream, keen to have his fill of him. Starscream shuddered and pushed his hips up, receptive as ever.
By the Allspark, he had missed this.
Starscream soon learned what a Constructicon was.
It took some time for Megatron to let him out of his sight and allow him to wander the base at will. Not necessarily because the old fool didn’t trust him, but simply because he had better uses for Starscream over those first few cycles, namely those performed in a berth.
Or the slab of rock Megatron was presently using as one.
Back and hips aching from the incorrigible brute’s attentions, Starscream went in search of some stronger fuel to take the edge off, and found himself in the company of two crude, unpolished labour framed mechs. Both of whom stared at him, opened mouthed, their fuel cans suspended mid-air.
Starscream paused in the rocky archway of the fuel store, glaring.
“By the Allspark…” the tall, lanky one breathed in awe.
“What are you two staring at?” Starscream demanded, folding his arms across his chest.
Two pairs of yellow optics brightened and expanded. They darted up and down his frame, ogling it. Starscream grimaced in disgust.
“Well?” He prompted.
They blinked themselves out of their stupor, glanced at one another, then scrambled to their pedes in a rush.
“Hey, baby, names Scrapper-“
“I’m Mixmaster, but a sweet jet like you can call me Mix-“
Starscream leaned away as they entered his personal space. They were very obviously Earth borne mechanisms that Megatron had dragged in off the streets to do his bidding. Which meant they were quite beneath him.
“Get out of my way!” Starscream snapped at them, waving a clawed servo in disgust. “I’m here for fuel-“
“I can get ya fuel, Sweetspark,” the tall one exclaimed eagerly, rushing back to select a can for him. He offered it up to Starscream, like a willing little servant. “Here ya go.”
Starscream took it thoughtfully.
“Anything I can get for ya, baby?” The short one offered, trying to nudge his friend aside, obviously annoyed he hadn’t thought to fetch the oil. “I’m pretty good at, uh, acquiring stuff, if you know what I mean-“
“Well i’m pretty good at making stuff,” the other jumped back in. “Good with my servos. Real good.”
Starscream cringed. For the love of Cybertron…
“Same here, beautiful.” The short one again nudged his companion out of the way, irritated. “We’re Constructicons, see. Chosen personally by Megatron to build his space-bridge. Indispensable, we is.”
“Yes,” Starscream purred softly, considering. “I can see.”
“So, er, what’s a tall drink of oil like you doing working for Megatron, huh?” The shorter mech leaned a shoulder against the cave wall, trying to look casual.
“I don’t work for Megatron.” Starscream spat, annoyed that they would group him in with them, as minions of Megatron. “We’re merely… acquaintances.”
“So you, you’re gonna be around, huh?” The taller one pressed, wringing his servos together. “You gonna be staying here?”
“…It appears so.”
The two mechs seemed very pleased with this news, nodding approvingly.
“Well,” the short mech leaned in a little, optical ridges bouncing. “How’s about we make your stay a little more comfortable?”
“Yeah, you wanna tour?” The tall mech offered. “I can show you around. Show you my quarters, go someplace private-“
“Another time, perhaps.” Starscream declined carefully. “What was that you said about acquiring things?”
“Yeah, yeah!” The short mech straighten up. “I can get you stuff. Anything you want, Sweetspark. And anything else, I can make.”
“What about wax polish? Decent Cybertronian wax polish? The sludge they have on this planet isn’t good for my finish.” Starscream fanned his wings forward to show them just how dull he had become.
They stared at his wings with obvious awe.
Yes, he thought, watching them drool over him. These mechs he could certainly find use for.
“Well?” He pressed, as they continued to gawp.
“Yeah! Yeah, sure. I’ll get right on it… uh?”
“Starscream.”
“Starscream.” The taller mech repeated, a dopey smile drifting across his face.
“Good.” Starscream turned his back on them, well aware they’d be staring at the backs of his wings, at his thrusters as he walked, enthralled by him -as they should be.
“Don’t keep me waiting.” He called over his shoulder.
He heard them start to mutter excitedly to each other as he moved out of audial range, and smirked.
Mixmaster and Scrapper had not been informed of Starscream’s arrival; of who he was or what he’d be doing. Megatron must not have thought it important. He just turned up one cycle, all tall and slender and looking like a million cyber-bucks.
They weren’t strangers to beautiful machinery, but they’d only ever seen jets before way up in the sky, little specks gliding through the clouds. Never up close like this, all sharp edges and tiny waists. He put the little automobiles they would chase out on the streets to shame.
And Starscream let them hang around with him. He let them get him fuel and source his stuff. He was happy with the polish Mixmaster had made up for him, and even happier with the work Scrapper had done on his carved berth slab, smoothing and polishing it out to make it comfortable. He’d laid back on it and sighed in appreciation, and all Scrapper and Mixmaster could think about was getting down on top of him and giving him something even better to appreciate.
“You watch,” Scrapper murmured to Mixmaster later, after Starscream had again praised his work. “I’m gonna be on that berth with him in no time.”
“In your dreams,” Mixmaster sneered. “A mech like that wants someone tough and rough. You shoulda seen the look he gave me when he used my polish. I’m gonna be licking it off those wings a’ his in no time, you’ll see.”
Scrapper didn’t see why it had to be such a competition though. He and Mix’ shared everything, surely they could share Starscream.
“He looks like the kinda machine that really knows his way around an interface though.” He suggested. “Reckon he’d let us both take a ride.”
Mixmaster hummed in agreement, tipping his oil can back as he chugged.
Starscream didn’t do anything to dissuade the idea that he would be picking one of them over the other. He liked them both. He praised them both. He had them both off running his important errands.
He fluttered his wings when he saw them across a room, and winked at them promisingly when they pleased him with their work. Megatron’s space-bridge became something of an afterthought as they focused their attention on what really mattered; keeping Starscream happy. And getting under his tight little panels.
He had a pretty mouth too though. Mixmaster wondered what it would look like swallowing his spike.
“I bet he’d take all of it,” he mused to Scrapper as they worked. It had become one of their favourite subjects; all the things they wanted to do Starscream. “Right down into his intake. Gags on it.”
“I don’t wan’ nothing fancy,” Scrapper shook his helm. “Just a tight valve and a nice aft.”
Mixmaster laughed, “You take the bottom half then.”
“How’m I supposed to kiss him if you’re in his mouth?”
“He don’t want kissing.” Mixmaster scoffed. “He ain’t some pretty little four-wheeler that needs all that wooing and slag.”
“Maybe I wanna kiss him?”
“You’ll be tasting me then,” Mixmaster joked.
Scrapper shoulder-checked him with a laugh. “You really think he’ll let us?”
“We keep him happy,” Mixmaster agreed confidently. “He’d probably let us do whatever we want.”
They continued to work, blissfully unaware of the mech lingering in the shadows, listening to every word with narrowed optics.
“Stop distracting the Constructicons.” Megatron appeared out of nowhere to snarl in Starscream’s audials.
Starscream jumped, whipping around. “What?”
“The space-bridge has suffered further delays.” Megatron reminded him angrily.
“That has nothing to do with me.” Starscream argued. “If they’re not working hard enough, threaten to shoot them.”
Megatron expression was sour. “They are here voluntarily. Threatening them may cause them to leave, and their skills make them indispensable-“
“They won’t leave,” Starscream scoffed. “They like me too much-“
“Yes.” Megatron found himself speaking through gritted denta. “I’m aware of their growing ‘fondness’ for you.”
“Oh, don’t be jealous, they’re still loyal to you.” Starscream waved him off, completely missing the point. “Just offer them better incentives if you want your bridge completed.”
Megatron’s pressure gauge had begun to rise. “It’s not the bridge I’m concerned with, or their loyalty.”
Starscream pulled a face, “You just came over here to complain about the bridge-!”
“I came to complain about you.”
“Ugh, when aren’t you complaining about me?”
“Leave the Constructicons to their work.” Megatron growled in warning.
Starscream rolled his optics and started stamping away from him, “You and your precious space-bridge…”
Megatron frowned as he watched him leave. Again, it wasn’t the space-bridge he was concerned about.
Starscream appeared to be oblivious to the Constructicons true interest in him, or was perhaps so arrogant he hadn’t even considered that their desperate need to serve him might be from an intense, perverted desire to have him carnally. Did he think they just liked looking at him? That they would be content with looking forever?
Megatron could simply destroy them, as he had been growing increasingly eager to do so.
But then the space-bridge would remain unfinished. And he had not long since vowed to never again let his own desire for Starscream inhibit Decepticon progress.
He would need to deal with this more tactfully.
Or perhaps, he just needed to speak a language the Constructicons would better understand.
Mixmaster and Scrapper were heading to the fuel storage when they heard it; a loud clang, a breathy exhale, a moan.
They glanced at one another, then smirked. They changed direction, heading towards the source.
They were only a few Decepticons on Earth, but it stood to reason some of them would be fragging. Wouldn’t hurt to take a peak.
When the telling sounds grew loud enough, they kept close to the rock hewn walls and crept forward.
“Uh, Megatron~”
They paused. The voice sounded familiar.
They peaked out, Scrapper leaning over Mixmaster to spy on who Megatron had decided to frag out in the corridor for anyone to see. Megatron was so big and broad they almost couldn’t see the poor spark he had decided to pin with his frame - but the wings were distinctive.
Scrapper was caught between swooping disappointment and gut-curling arousal, because there was Starscream, all dark and slender and strong, crushed to the rough cave wall, being pounded within an inch of his life. And apparently loving it.
Megatron’s broad hips were slapping his tiny aft with each in-stroke, the force of it causing Starscream’s armour to jolt and rattle. Lubricant glistened on dark paint and Scrapper could hear the slick clapping of valve silicone as it was ruthlessly spiked. Megatron had his huge arms wrapped around the seeker possessively, one servo between Starscream and the wall, doubtlessly fingering his node with a blunt rough digit.
Scrapper’s panel felt tight. Next to him Mixmaster was shifting his footing, uncomfortably aroused.
Starscream’s optics were offline as his face rubbed against the rock. “Megatron~”
“Who does this belong to?” Megatron leaned in to huff against Starscream’s other cheek. “Whose valve is this to frag?”
“Yours,” Starscream whined. “It’s yours.”
“Mine,” Megatron agreed with a snarl. He drew his hips back, and his spike appeared, thick and long- long enough Scrapper was wondering where it had all fit. He understood better when Megatron he pushed it back in, and Starscream’s trim tiny waist seemed to bulge. Starscream moaned.
“You’re mine,” Megatron growled. “Aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Only mine.”
“Yes.” Starscream whined.
“There’s a good seeker,” Megatron purred, stroking down a wing and then squeezing. Starscream cried out, and Megatron renewed his pace. Starscream clung to the rock, open mouthed, optics streaming, moaning listlessly.
Primus, they had never stood a chance.
They stayed until Starscream overloaded with a high, keening sound, lubricant dribbling from his valve around Megatron’s spike as lubrication ducts squirted. Megatron leaned around his wing and kissed him fiercely. Starscream hummed and kissed back, optics hazy and expression dazed.
Mixmaster nudged him, drawing away.
Dejected, Scrapper followed after him.
He guessed Starscream was a bit more than just Megatron’s acquaintance.
Starscream sulked in the cycles afterwards.
“What is wrong with you?” Megatron demanded, since Starscream wasn’t showing anywhere near the usual levels of enthusiasm for Megatron’s spike.
Starscream let him fall from his mouth and sat up, wiping his face with the back of his servo. “Did you threaten those stupid little construction mechs?”
Megatron raised a brow, feigning ignorance, “Why would I threaten my allies?”
Starscream narrowed his optics. “…They stopped synthesising my polish.”
“Good.” Megatron took his spike and began to stroke it, maintaining it’s charge while they spoke. “They have more important duties than fulfilling your idle whims.”
“As if your stupid space-bridge isn’t an idle whim-“
“Our space-bridge.” Megatron reminded him, curling a servo around the back of his neck and drawing him closer. “A space-bridge that will have us see victory.”
“You’re a long way from victory,” Starscream muttered.
Megatron pulled him in for a kiss. Starscream responded mulishly, wrinkling his nose.
“Closer, now that I have you,” Megatron broke the kiss to murmur.
He saw a smirk twitch at the corner of Starscream’s mouth, before it was replaced by a petulant frown.
“Yes, well,” Starscream’s wings rose and fluttered. “You are quite helpless without me, aren’t you?”
Megatron used his grip on the back of Starscream’s neck to urge his helm down into his lap.
It was often better to keep Starscream’s mouth full, to prevent him from running it.