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Megatron was a vile, disgusting mech.
Pumped full of his own ego. He strode through the halls of the Nemesis as if Primus had ordained him to grace it.
Admittedly, for such a heavy frame Megatron walked with a calibrated lightness. He knew the power of his unbalanced mass all too well. A control only honed through eons of combat and throwing his uncouth weight around.
But Megatron was not beyond aging, and like this war he was slowing down.
Starscream huffed, pausing to roll his sharp crimson optics as the hulking grey oaf of a mech entered the Bridge.
He’d already begun producing that vile noise he called ‘communicating’. Ranting about some raid on a power station to the north of this wretched dirty planet.
The seeker attempted to pay him no mind but something about his booming, hoarse voice made that exceedingly hard.
Tiresome. Every day the same shift, maybe a flight with his trine if he was lucky. To his own shame though he’d never admit it- even his schemes and plots to usurp the oversized brute had ground to halt due to the lack of resources. There was simply nothing happening.
After the last fight with the Autobots things had dried up. No fights, no sightings of yellow cars or suspicious semi trucks.
Starscream could sense it in Megatron too. The ex-gladiator had actually gone back to ‘training’ in the practice rooms, silicing drones and leaving the smell of fusion drifting up from the lower decks. Starscream knew he was just bored. They all were.
His days had been reduced to the dull mire of someone ranking far below him. Morning refuel, actual work, taking control of the bridge while Megatron enjoyed his midday jaunt - which everyone knew was a nap and and stroking his own disgusting spike - then being freed from that duty as the lumbering idiot returned.
In fact Starscream had begun to walk wordlessly to the bridge doors hoping he could slip out while Megatron was bellowing nonsense.
“STARSCREAM-“
If only he’d been so lucky.
Turning on heeled thruster, Starscream looked up at Megatron’s over charged, dirty and obnoxiously large frame.
He made sure boredom painted his faceplates, not wanting Megatron to get any wrong ideas.
“Yes, My Lord?” He dragged out the sllyables of his stupid self appointed title in a way that could be seen as flirty or sarcastic.
Megatron made a displeased noise somewhere between a grunt and a hum that indicated he didn’t like his second’s tone but wasn’t going to do anything about it.
Without ceremony the wretch pressed a datapad into his servos and tapped it three times as if to impress on him the importance.
Somehow each tap made Starscream want to rip out his commanders optics more than the last. Every mech in the room was looking at them.
“Pray tell, Starscream how you managed to miss this large energon signal?” He asked lowly, staring down at the seeker over his big hooked nose. Megatron’s armour was covered in dirt and scratches. Disgusting.
Starscream stared at the datapad in disbelief before furrowing his brow and feeling a rage rise from deep in his tanks. He shoved the datapad against Megatron’s chasis.
“That isn’t an energon surge you buffoon! That’s not even a map, it’s artificial terrain for a game Frenzy likes to play!” He screeched, wings rearing up and out. Megatron stared down at him, optics wide and dumb as he glanced down at the pad again.
So it was.
——
“And then he tried to accuse ME of being oblivious!” Starscream bit out over the comm-link with his trine. He was flying, cutting through clouds and showing off manoeuvres. Behind him, Skywarp was teleporting around without foresight and Thundercracker was flying in a completely straight line.
“He’d probably just woken up and decided he needed someone to shout at.” Skywarp responded. “You said yourself he’s probably just bored.”
Starscream looped twice, speeding up. As if his anger at the slimey old codger was fuelling him rather than his depleted energon reserves. The ships fuel was low. The morale was low. But the red seekers mood was far lower.
“I don’t care!” He snapped. “He’s such an idiot he can’t tell an important piece of military topography from a game featuring gnomes!”
In honesty he didn’t fully understand what a gnome was. Only that Frenzy had mentioned how they were a noble enemy in his game.
He flew in huffed silence, twisting and twirling through the air. There was a comfortable quiet between the three of them that can only be forged through trineship and years of coping with each others terrible flaws.
The comm-link crackled back to life. Thundercracker.
“Have you… you know, spoken to him about - you know,”
Starscream almost stopped midair.
“No!” He spat, hardly believing his trine mate was bringing it up.
“It was one night! One regrettable, awful night!”
Skywarp could be heard laughing down the line.
“It didn’t look like you regretted it - you spent two whole days buffing out the finger dents in your thigh armour-!”
Starscream felt his spark was about to burst.
“I had a lot to drink!” He pivoted, heading back to the warship and away from his two horrid trinemates.
——
The Mess Hall was always busy. Any communal space was. Megatron had to limit the on-board bar ‘The Prime’s Head’ from only being opened in the evenings otherwise unruly, underworked and over charged decepticons would spend entire day drinking and wrestling there.
The showers always full, the training rooms booked and the mess hall buzzing at all hours. Decepticons were social creatures and downtime was highly valued and enjoyed. Groups of combiners, insecticons, vehicons, seekers, artillery bots, stunticons and grounders gathered in their social groups or warbands.
It was loud. So, very loud. Starscream found it regrettable that his faction was 90% of Cybertron’s underclass. In all the years of war not one of them had trained in social decorum. Shouting, jesting and arm wrestling was common. Mechs would get in fights occasionally that meant Soundwave had to come and stand menacingly in the doorway until things calmed down.
The morale for war may have been low, however the majority of the Nemesis’ crew was glad to have some time with their close companions without fear of them dying tomorrow.
Starscream held his helm high as he grabbed a cube out of the cabinet for seekers. A more highly filtered, high performance fuel that a grounder would likely find hard to digest. He took a seat at the end of one long benches and pulled out a datapad. A group of genericons stared at him for a moment before going back to their rabid conversation on which one of them could ping a rock off of Prowl’s helm with the most accuracy.
Part of being a commander of an army meant the wholesale separation from it. Starscream did not truly mind, considering most of them utterly beneath him. Soundwave was so unreadable the seeker often wondered if after so much war the blue mech was still sentient - and Megatron was his own problem.
It has been all too clear that once the war began Megatron had recognised the need to disconnect socially with his underlings. However, having been a miner and gladiator with tight social circles who were reliant upon one another to survive, this had been an initial loss. Megatron did not have a trine, and while Soundwave was a confidant he was not a friend.
And likely that was why the unwanted mass of crude armour, bad smells and poor judgement had come to sit across from him.
“Starscream,” He ground out, popping open one of the three cubes of energon he’d loudly dropped on the table. He’s was big, but the seeker had to wonder if three cubes was just plain greed.
“I am trying to work.” Starscream told him, not bothering to glance up from his datapad. Megatron grunted and focussed on slurping down his energon.
Starscream found it difficult to concentrate.
The genericons at the end of the table had once again picked up their raucous chatter after Megatron’s initial sighting.
Megatron’s presence was highly aggravating. Sometimes he took his energon in his quarters, sometimes in the mess hall. Always messily and without etiquette.
His large servo he easily cupped the the cube where most mechs had to use both servos to balance it. His broad shoulders blocked the seekers view of the rest of the canteen. He had leant back with ease in his frame, spreading his legs so far underneath the table that Starscream had to move his thrusters back to stop them from touching. He doubted the grey mech had taken notice.
Megatron exuded power without trying. Starscream had wondered how much careful effort he must put into small tasks like handling energon cubes so the glass doesn’t smash or opening drawers without ripping the handles off. A lifetime of cultivated skill - that got sloppy after a few cubes of engex. The seeker winced thinking about the many, many dents and groves left over his armour and wings.
He realised he had been staring blankly at the datapad for some time. And Megatron was staring at him, heavy brow furrowed and judgemental.
“If this is what you call work no wonder the logs around here are so poorly completed.” Megatron said gruffly, opening his second cube. His tone was quieter, not berating but more of a fed-up commentary.
Starscream bit the inside of his cheek. Megatron stretched out his legs further.
“I wouldn’t worry about my work and instead focus on cleaning your frame.” He sneered.
“Everywhere you walk you leave a trail of dirt.”
Megatron lifted his shoulders slightly in what could have been a small shrug. His optics bore into Starscream, staring directly at his chasis.
“We are low on solvent and I am not full of vanity like some.”
A poor excuse for laziness.
Starscream looked up and pointedly rolled his optics.
“Well some have to deal with your pit-damned stench!” The seeker pointed at him with a long, sharp digit.
“Maybe mechs would talk to you if you were not covered helm-to-pede in filth!”
Megatron grunted, slamming his emptied second cube of energon down on the table and picking up the third to have in his quarters.
Starscream watched him leave. There was a small pile of rust and dirt where he had been sitting.
— —
Starscream sat with his trine in The Prime’s Head.
A small table in the darkest corner. Perfect for views of the entire room and muttered gossip. The music was harsh and fast, kaonite. The lighting was low and colourful. Mechs took to the centre of the space and danced together in front of the bar, swinging each other round in rash, sexual moves.
From Kaon, Tarn, Helex or Althiex these places had a culture of quick, strong and sensual dances.
Very different from the light, dramatic dances of Vos. Vosian dance meant to display flexibility and prowess. Alluring and powerful at times but ultimately beautiful. Starscream had been good at it.
The evening was well-earned. A raid on the Autobot base had gone well after weeks of quiet. Caught unprepared, the bots had fled and left much of their energon supply and some equipment behind. No losses on either side - just some upset Autobots and Decepticon gain. Celebrations had been held for less. Megatron had allowed the bar to open later than usual and the Nemesis rejoiced.
“I need some spike tonight,” Skywarp groaned, chin balanced on his servo. He looked bored.
“Go and dance then.” Thundercracker gestured to the dance floor of mechs touching each other and laughing. “I’m tired of hearing you talk about how charged you are and then not doing anything about it.”
“Just because you’re happy filling your valve with a camera or whatever you do,”
Skywarp drawled, tipping the last of his engex cocktail down his throat.
“Shall we dance, Star? It’s late enough - everyone is so over-charged they won’t remember.”
Starscream was not paying attention.
Megatron had entered and was leaning idly against the bar ordering drinks.
Starscream tipped his helm to the left to make sure he was seeing Megatron right or if it was just the complimentary lighting.
His armour shone. The usual dull mud-caked grey was almost silver. His plating seams visable. His midsection detailing clearly re-done. Great shoulders having a waxy finish that reflected the purplish light. Helmet buffed and polished, his faceplates clean and broad and handsome. Sadly no amount of clean up could change a mech’s terrible personality but after a bit of engex…
“I’ll be right back.” The seeker muttered to his trine. Thundercracker sighed.
Megatron glanced over as his second leaned next to him at the bar. Hip out, his sharp features sultry and optics glazed with engex. Megatron adored this game.
The newly cleaned mech’s drink appeared in front of him. And one small, red cocktail. He turned to Starscream and looked down at him. Waiting.
“Lord Megatron,” The seeker purred, sliding the cocktail toward himself.
“Starscream.” He responded, tearing his optics off the vosian’s frame and towards his own drink.
“You’re looking… better.”
Megatron frowned. “Better?”
The nasty seeker grinned, knowing already he was playing the oaf into his palm.
Rule one of having an idiom of control over the brute they call Megatron, never give him exactly what he wants straight away. Instead tease him with it. In this case it was approval and compliments.
The strong scent of musky polish drifted down to him. Oil and smoke, heavy and masculine. The tank really had gone the full mile.
Starscream lifted a brow, swirling his drink.
“This look is much more suited to a leader. It’s nice, though I doubt you will maintain it.”
“I might.” Megatron responded tightly.
They both knew he wouldn’t.
Starscream drew in closer to him, grabbing at the larger mech’s thick wrist and pulling it down. He inspected the large servo like a piece of finery.
Megatron swallowed great gulps of his drink.
The seeker flipped the warlord’s black servo over in his own. It was still dented and rough, but clean with a new layer of matte black paint. His digits were rounded and brutish, meant for locking around heavy pick-axe and hauling arduous loads.
“My, you really have tried haven’t you?”
— —
Starscream landed on his own berth with a clang. His frame splayed out in an unsophisticated sprawl of long limbs and deadly claws. Somewhere between the bar, a table and distasteful mentions of ‘I’ll walk you to your hab’ Megatron had laid his great unruly paws on him. Leaving his lips bruised and puffy and his frame annoyingly charged.
Megatron stood at the foot of the berth, unclamping his fusion cannon from his arm. There was a snap of metal links and a dull thud as he leant the weapon against the far wall. Starscream scrambled to pose himself up nicely on his mountain of pillows, body twisted at the hip and thighs teasingly open.
Megatron’s silhouette in the dark room was large and exciting. He beat down any thoughts that having the warlord in his private quarters may not be the best idea. His frame had needs, and Megatron was more than happy and capable.
The hulking mass appeared once again at the foot of the berth, climbing on with a knee and catching Starscream’s ankle, pulling the seeker down roughly. He gasped lightly and considered shooting fire out of his thrusters - if it wasn’t for that look.
Starscream’s optics met the grey mechs. He had that crazed, hungry gaze only found or in berth or the midst of satisfying battle that he knew he’d be the victor of. His was mouth open and venting heavily. Starscream couldn’t really blame the imbecile for looking as if he was going to devour him.
On Cybertron a grounder laying with a seeker like himself would have been an inconceivable scandal. However, Megatron had forged a new reality, and was here to reap one of the many benefits.
Starscream couldn’t help himself.
He flirted with Megatron as a force of habit, throwing the mech looks and making sure his hips had extra swing if he heard heavy pedefall nearby.
Megatron leant down and captured his lips, too quick to push into his mouth with tongue. Rough and domineering, but he tasted good. Like engex and expensive oil. Starscream snaked his arms around Megatron’s thick neck, tugging him close. Edging him on.
Starscream’s mind swam. The kissing was nice, but unusual. He tried to recall if they had kissed at all the last time
Megatron had moved on, placing soft nipping kisses on his chin and neck cabling.
In fact, the last time had been in the showers, so desperate and fast he hadn’t even had time to consider kissing or the lack thereof before the pain of his over fondled wings mixed with the throbbing ache of his abused valve wonderfully.
This was different. Megatron was kissing along his chasis and cockpit, delicate around his turbines. He was completely lost in the action, humming and muttering sweetnesses Starscream couldn’t make out.
It didn’t feel exactly unpleasant, especially not when paired with the strong black servos stroking down his sides- but it was odd.
Unexpected. He thought he would be brutally speared on the end of a spike by now.
“Megatron..?” He brought his own glossy white servo to rest atop the mech’s helmet, using his thumb to stroke the side soothingly. Fearing this was some form of break down.
Megatron did not lift his helm from his important work.
“Mm?” He grunted, his heavy frame going more lax and the weight being applied to Starscream’s lower half. His panels burnt.
The seeker grabbed Megatron’s pronounced chin, forcing him to look upwards.
“What are you doing?”
Megatron stared at him, dumbfounded for a moment with his servos falling still at Starscream’s sides. His wide optics quickly turned to furrowed brows and anger.
“I am attempting to please you.” He huffed.
“Without use of your spike, possibly the only good thing about you?”
Megatron frowned. He allowed the rest of his frame to go slack, becoming complete dead weight on top of Starscream. The seeker gasped and began whining.
“Are you really so impatient that you cannot tolerate foreplay?”
Starscream tried kicking his legs out to get the great oaf off him. But Megatron was an unrelenting wall at the best of times.
“Foreplay?” The seeker spat. He felt like sitting up and pressing his thumbs into Megatron’s optics.
“Since when are you capable of foreplay? I thought I came here for a frag not to be treated like a relic!”
Megatron sat back on his knees. In this position anyone else would look considerably less intimidating. But Megatron’s powerful thighs and darkened faceplates under the top lip of his helmet dictated differently. He looked like an animal about to pounce.
“I .. read about it.” Megatron offered, surprising honesty in his tone. “Vosians are .. fragile and prefer lighter treatment in berth.”
He looked almost sheepish.
Starscream burst into a mocking laughter.
“You read about it?” He cackled, optics glinting with incredulous joy.
“Having to do research on how to be good in the berth, at your age Megatron?”
The warlord grunted, grabbing Starscream by the throat.
“Anyone would need eons of education to even to begin fathom your wants and wiles, seeker.”
He was embarrassed.
Starscream maintained his smirk as he reached up to place a servo over the one on his throat, rubbing the back of it in small circles.
It was sort of sweet but mostly disgusting Megatron had taken time out of his day to read about how best to make love to flight frames. Clearly out of some deeply buried insecurity that Starscream had not come crawling back for more.
“Megatron..” Starscream’s vocaliser emitted small amounts of static with the name. The seeker allowed his thighs to fall open, exposing his array. Megatron’s shot down between his supple thighs without hesitation. He let go.
“Just frag me. You know I'm not fragile.”
The hulking grey mass grunted, rough servos reaching for every part of Starscream’s frame. Running down his wings, his sides. Pulling at the rotor fans on his chest. Starscream moaned into it. Megatron was a big mech, and it was best he put that to good use.
Megatron flipped him onto his front aft up, using one servo to press the seeker’s helm down into the berth and the other to manually unclip his chastity panels.
Somewhere, Starscream wondered if he couldn’t do it automatically and old mech was so outdated he did not have internal pings to open his interface - or if the nasty old sack of bolts just preferred doing it himself. Starscream let his knees slide apart as he felt pressurised spike slap heavily against his inner thigh.
Without ceremony Megatron licked his thumb and shoved it into betweeen Starscream’s petals. The seeker felt his engine stall before forcing his internals back to life with an an embarrassingly loud rev. Though he couldn’t see, he knew the tank was grinning.
“ I see being anything other than this is wasted on you, Starscream.” Megatron muttered, low and languid. His voice interlaced with gruffness from his powerful industrial engine. After pumping his thumb shortly he removed it and licked the digit again. Starscream hadn’t forgotten the larger mechs perversion for taste. Two digits replaced it, rough as he scissored them inside. Starscream groaned into the sheets.
It was a small curtesy to prep him. Megatron was a big mech with equipment to match. Starscream squirmed, pushing his hips back in attempt to gain more friction. Growing ever impatient, Megatron removed his digits and promptly cleaned them.
He smelt good. The feeling of his heavy weight ever pleasant. Starscream attempted to lose himself in it, processor swimming with thoughts of Megatron’s clean, power infused frame above him. The servo on the back of neck a present command that made his tanks want to sing.
Megatron came atop him like a turbobeast. Hilting himself in one forward thrust that shunted Starscream’s frame up the berth. He gasped, unable to grow accustomed to the thick intrusion before the warlord began an assault on his valve.
Servos moved to his wings, clasping his delicate appendages for more purchase. Megatron’s thick digits pressed dents into them, yanking him up and using his frame as leverage to more brutally push into him.
Megatron’s hips withdrew each time with a snap of force are precision, driving himself into the wet, tight heat with fervour. Starscream appreciated a vocal mech. The tank vented loudly, grunted and groaned with each push. Hitching verbalisations laced with rev and static that sound vaguely like Starscream’s designation.
Starscream balled the sheets beneath him to his servos. Megatron lifted a heavy leg onto the berth a hoisted Starscream’s aft up to drive himself even deeper. Held aloft with his wings manhandled to the point of twisting, the seeker let out a strained sob. Every rake of Megatron’s thick spike against his internal nodes was overstimulating. He seemed to be be making a continued effort to assure that Starscream’s exterior node was brushed by slick armour on each withdraw.
Megatron came too quickly with a crash of plated armour, thrusting deep and collapsing on top of his second. Starscream followed, bellowing out insults through his overload as he was crushed under the tanks almighty weight.
“You’re killing me!” He screeched, licking out his legs. His wings ached. His back ached. His valve.. he was unsure would ever return to its original state. The giant brute was going to flatten him.
Megatron grumbled something inaudible and rolled onto his back next to the seeker, his armour pinging with heat and loud heavy vents.
He lifted a servo to lazily pet Starscream’s thigh.
Starscream rolled his optics, feeling their mixed fluids drip out of him and down onto his berth. At least Megatron was clean. If the mech had entered his room as filthy as he previously was Starscream would have been forced to firebomb it and start again.
Gingerly, the seeker began to move to a slightly more dignified position. Closing his newly dented thighs covered in scratches and grey paint, and rollling onto his side. Away from Megatron.
The vile mech pulled him in anyway, using an arm to move Starscream’s frame against his overheated chest. It was warm. Starscream curled up against his own better knowledge.
“I bet you didn’t clean your undercarriage.” Starscream sneered weakly. Megatron let his heavy arm fall over him so they were both laying comfortably. The seeker was thankful he’d demanded the largest possible berth when the army had moved onto the Nemesis.
Megatron hummed something behind him. Starscream turned to look at him.The tank was licking his digits completely clean of both their fluids.
“You are disgusting!” He spat, optics darting down to the mechs’ already repressurised spike.