Archive of Our Own

No, Starscream is not in heat.

He's not due for his heat yet. He knows. Not only does he have it memorized, but he regularly checks his calendar. Too regularly, according to Thundercracker. Obsessively, according to Skywarp. Twice a cycle is perfectly reasonable. They don't know what they're talking about.

Starscream focuses on his current project, experimenting with different chemicals and ignoring the discomfort settled in his frame.

He's fine. He might need to turn on the air conditioning in his lab, though, because it's a little warm and muggy in here.

Starscream leans over his desk a bit, squinting at the beakers in his servos.

His plating feels too tight. His vents are cycling harder than usual, and his wings keep twitching without his permission, but that’s perfectly normal. Probably. It’s not as though his trine hasn’t seen him overworked before.

The chemicals fizz in the container, producing a thin wisp of vapor, and Starscream leans closer, optics narrowing further. His servos tremble slightly, and he tightens his grip to avoid dropping the beakers.

He is fine. This is fine. A little fatigue, a little warmth; he’s gone longer on less rest.

Starscream carefully sets the beaker down, only to sway a bit when he straightens. The floor isn’t as steady as it should be, and his wings flare to keep his balance.

His vision blurs slightly. He blinks hard until it fixes itself.

Not in heat. Not early. That never happens to him.

He itches beneath his plating, uncomfortable and slightly too hot.

Starscream growls under his breath and forces his attention back to his notes, typing with more force than necessary.

He hears the doors slide open. He doesn't look up.

“Thundercracker, you can't be in here right now, I'm doing an experiment.”

“I suppose it's good, then, that I am not Thundercracker, and I can go where I please.” Megatron says from where he looms the doorway, not having stepped in yet. “It's my ship, after all.”

Starscream freezes momentarily, processor a little too sluggish to make sense of the situation quickly, then snaps his helm up to glare at the mech.

The… Large mech. Very large. Strong, too. And, admittedly, fairly capable, especially in combat-

“What are you doing here?” He sneers loudly over his unwelcome thoughts. “What do you want now? I'm busy. ”

Megatron doesn't move, expression impassive. The line of his jaw is strong and sharp. His optics are striking.

Starscream is distracted.

“You're in heat.” Megatron remarks simply.

Starscream bristles.

“I am not!” He denies furiously. Those red optics drag slowly down his frame, almost like he's being inspected, and Starscream swears he can feel it like a physical touch.

He also swears he might be going insane.

Megatron still doesn't move, massive frame darkening the doorway, expression unchanged.

“You're in heat,” he corrects himself, “ and denial.”

Starscream tries to glare, but he feels a little lightheaded, wings twitching restlessly.

“What would you know? I think I know my own cycle schedule, Megatron.” He hisses.

“We went through that wormhole a bit ago.” Megatron reminds. “It messed time up a little. It felt like astroseconds, but it was almost an entire cyberweek.”

Starscream's processor stalls.

Right. He'd forgotten about that, because they'd had to deal with annoying autobots immediately after exiting the wormhole.

…An entire cyberweek? His calendar is behind, then. If he factors that in, that would mean today is actually the-

Starscream pictures his heat calendar mentally, lines up the dates, and wants to throttle Shockwave for advising them to go through that slagging wormhole in the first place.

“...I knew that.” He says defensively.

“Your fans are going.” Megatron notes.

Starscream abruptly becomes aware of the sound of cooling fans, his cooling fans, whirring loudly in the quiet lab. He immediately halts them.

“Shut up.”

“You're going to overheat.”

“I am aware of how heats work.” Starscream snaps. Megatron takes a step closer and Starscream's wings flatten against his back strut, processor going blank for a moment. He has the strangest urge to get down on all fours and-

“A lab is no place to have a heat.” Megatron rumbles.

Then take me to your berth-

… What.

There's no way he actually just thought that.

…About Megatron no less.

“Go away.” He orders, baring his denta.

Megatron takes another step closer and Starscream stops immediately, wings angling downwards.

“Skywarp informs me that you've been taking heat suppressants for vorns, now.” Megatron says, almost casually. “I know that isn't healthy for grounders. I doubt it's healthy for seekers.”

“You don't know how seekers work.” Starscream retorts.

“Shall I ask Thundercracker, then, if it's healthy?” Megatron answers without missing a beat. Starscream glares. “Thought so. You're supposed to let yourself have a natural heat every now and then, you know. Even I do.”

“I am above such base instincts.” Starscream hisses. “Just another reason why I should be leader. I'm above you in every way.”

“Funny, I've always thought you looked best beneath me.” Megatron muses.

Starscream's wings hitch up high. His cooling fans, embarrassingly, kick on again. His frame is too hot to turn them off.

A flood of very not-above-base-instincts images force their way into his processor, prompted by Megatron's words, and his vents stutter.

“You should go to your quarters.” Megatron tells him, not quite an order or demand but certainly not a request or suggestion. “It will be more comfortable for you, and you can… Take care of yourself there. It is also soundproofed, which means you won't be nearly as disruptive to the order of this army.”

Starscream grits his denta against the ‘come with me?’ that threatens to spill out of his intake without his permission. He says nothing for a long moment, vents cycling heavily and fans spinning at full speed.

Megatron lumbers closer. He blocks the light out a bit, casting a shadow over Starscream. His derma move, forming words and sounds that Starscream largely tunes out aside from the low, rasp of his voice, vision narrowing in on the shape of his intake.

“-arscream?”

Starscream blinks blearily, optics snapping up to meet Megatron's gaze again.

“You're leaning against your desk. Heavily.” Megatron tells him.

Starscream glances down.

So he is.

His knee joints feel weak.

“You look like you're going to fall over.” Megatron adds. He sounds more mildly annoyed than anything, like it's some big inconvenience that a beautiful seeker at his peak is in heat in front of him.

Starscream stares at him.

…Frag it.

He'll show him inconvenience .

He pushes off the desk, stumbling forward enough to catch himself against Megatron's (broad, warm, yes, perfect-) chassis, servos first.

The warlord makes a startled sound and his (large, hot, strong, yes exactly- ) servos steady him by the shoulders.

“You-”

Starscream cuts him off by reaching up, hooking his digits beneath the uppermost edge of Megatron's chestplate, and using it to haul himself upwards.

“ You- Starscream,” Megatron says, baffled, as he gets a leg up over a hip, “do not climb me. What are you doing?”

“I am in heat,” Starscream says irritably, pulling himself up more, “and there's, presumably, a perfectly acceptable spike somewhere beneath that thick armor of yours.”

Megatron finally slots an arm beneath Starscream’s aft to help hold him up and Starscream immediately wraps his legs around his waist, crossed at the ankle joints.

“Don't be ridiculous-”

“I'm in heat,” Starscream snaps, “I'm going to be ridiculous. Frag me. ”

“...In your lab? ” Megatron says with a note of disdain. Starscream buries his faceplate in his neck, vents in deeply, and moans at the (perfect, amazing, yes, yes, yes-) scent of him.

“I don't have the patience to make it to either of our quarters.” He mumbles, mouthing at neck cables. Megatron grunts in disapproval, so he bites down hard enough to noticeably crumple one.

Megatron hisses at the sting, adjusting his grip to dig his claws into Starscream's thighs.

“You insubordinate little-”

Starscream cuts him off with another sharp bite, rocking his hips against Megatron’s chassis with frantic, impatient motions, panels grinding against each other. His vents stutter, his frame trembling like a live wire, and his wings flare.

“You talk too much,” Starscream he hisses out, licking up to Megatron's jaw. “I need-” His voice cuts off with a glitchy, half-whining noise, wings twitching.

Megatron mutters under his breath and turns, slamming Starscream’s back strut against the nearest wall. The impact rattles nearby lab equipment, something glass shattering somewhere on the desk, and his wing knocks over some standing, half-finished machinery with a crash. He doesn't care, tightening his legs around Megatron and scrabbling at his armor in a vain attempt to drag him closer.

“You are out of your mind,” Megatron growls, low and dangerous, leaning in close enough that his vents puff out hot and humid against Starscream's faceplate. “I should leave you here to burn yourself out.”

“Then do it,” Starscream spits, though the edge of his voice trembles. “Leave me. Watch me overload on the floor, whatever, I don’t care, I just- I need. ”

Megatron bares his denta, optics narrowing.

“Careful.”

“I don't care,” Starscream snarls, but the sound dissolves into a shaky gasp when Megatron grinds his weight forward, pinning him more securely. His wings scrape against the wall with an unpleasant screeching sound.

“You’ll regret this in the morning,” Megatron warns, rocking against him slowly but heavily. Starscream's helm lolls back, optics fluttering

“Then I’ll regret it.” He all but whines, vents cycling quick and shallow. “But I’m not waiting. Come on, Megatron.”

Megatron's engine rumbles, vibrating through his chassis.

“Pathetic,” Megatron growls, and the servo at Starscream’s hip drags lower, claws tracing transformation seams. He shivers violently, sensitive all over. “All your stubborn pride, and this is what undoes you?”

Starscream bites back a whimper, arching impatiently against him.

“Shut up! Shut up- and- and frag me!” He snaps. His panel slides open and he shamelessly rocks against Megatron's codpiece, shuddering at the friction. He chokes on a moan, frame thrumming with relief and frustration in equal measure. So close to what he wants but not quite.

“Look at you,” Megatron rumbles, voice rough with disdain and hunger. Lubricant smears messily over his armor as Starscream slides his valve against him. “You look desperate, Commander. No better than a piece of shareware, really.”

“Megatron,” Starscream seethes, digging his talons into hard armor, “open your panel. Now.”

Megatron grunts.

“You are in no position to order me.” He mutters, opening his panel anyway and letting his spike pressurize against the slick folds of his valve. Big. Proportionate, really, but big. A part of Starscream purrs at this.

“I’m in heat.” Starscream hisses back, breathless. “That’s my position. Either spike me or get out of the way and find me someone who will.”

“Greedy little seeker.” Megatron rasps, grinding against him in a way that makes Starscream squirm and curse. “Let’s see if you can take me without breaking.”

“I’m- more durable than you think- oh-” Starscream's helm thunks back against the wall as the head of Megatron's spike presses against his valve; pressure, the burn of being stretched, and then the deeply satisfying feeling of being filled . Megatron grunts, servo tightening on Starscream’s waist to steady him.

“Tight,” he mutters, half to himself. Starscream claws at him, venting raggedly, processor blissfully blank other than the ache of the thick spike pressing deep into his internals. Calipers cycle and clench.

“Don’t stop- don’t you dare stop!” He hisses, chassis rising and falling in rapid succession.

Megatron shoves him harder into the wall, spike sinking in to the hilt and pelvic plating pressing against his anterior node. Starscream keens, optics shuttering closed.

Megatron sets a brutal pace, each thrust grinding Starscream's back strut against the wall hard enough to rattle the shelving nearby. He clings to him, talons scratching lines down gunmetal gray armor, wings twitching and trembling as that itch is finally scratched. His sensors are in disarray, struggling to keep up.

“Yes- yes-” Starscream babbles, intake open and gasping for air. “H- Harder, you useless, overbuilt-” The insult is cut off by his own staticky moan when Megatron slams home again, spike bullying its way along oversensitive nodes to bump against the seal of his forge. His optics flicker and coolant drips down from the corner of his intake. “Ah- oh, Primus-”

“You truly are incapable of being quiet.” Megatron mumbles in his audial, claws clenching tighter on Starscream's hips, denting the plating.

Starscream arches, wings knocking against the wall, whining helplessly. Lubricant drips hot and heavy down his thighs, his frame shuddering. Primus, he can hear a little squelch to accompany every harsh buck into him, under the sound of his fans going. It should be humiliating. He's too hot to care, burning up from the inside out.

 “Fragging- unh- h- hate- you- hate you-”

“Liar.” Megatron’s servo slides between them, pressing the pad of his thumb roughly to his anterior node, rubbing in a few tight circles. Starscream jerks violently and sobs , overload hitting him so hard that it hurts. His optics cross and there's the screech of metal on metal as his talons rake down Megatron's chestplate, leaving deep gouges.

“More,” he gasps, rough with static, wings shuddering, frame overworked but still desperate. He needs it. Needs it. “Don’t stop- please, Megatron-”

Megatron obliges with a guttural sound and a savage thrust that rattles the wall, the seal of his forge irising open enough that the thick head of his spike slides right in.

“ Oh- yes, yes, yes- ” Starscream convulses slightly, coolant pooling in his optics. “By the Allspark- frag , that's good,”

Megatron snarls, spike twitching, and then he empties into him in hot, steady pulses. A low moan leaves him, right in Starscream's audial, and he whimpers in response.

The lab is filled with the sound of harsh vents and the faint hiss of cooling metal as they come down from their respective highs. Starscream slumps heavily against the wall, wings twitching, derma parted as he drags in air, systems working to help him regain his bearings.

Megatron draws his hips back slowly, and Starscream grimaces as his wet spike slips free with the splatter of transfluid on his thighs and the floor. It oozes down his legs, which buckle as Megatron sets him down.

“A lab,” the warlord rumbles, “is no place to have a heat.”

Starscream glares weakly, wings twitching occasionally. His panel slides shut with a click. Megatron's follows suit.

“Then take me to your habsuite.” He grumbles.

“Mine? Not yours?”

“No, yours sm-” Starscream stops himself short of saying ‘ yours smells like you. ’

Megatron studies him. He tilts his helm, narrowing his optics as if he’s dissecting the words Starscream won’t say. The silence stretches long enough that Starscream shifts uncomfortably, leaned against the wall to steady himself.

“Mine.” Megatron repeats at last.

Starscream lifts his chin, defiant still.

“Yes. Yours.”

Megatron heaves a put upon sigh, then stoops to lift him up. Starscream scowls but doesn’t resist, crossing his arms petulantly over his cockpit.

They leave the lab, both of them still frowning for their own reasons.

“You could have prepared better,” Megatron says after a beat, optics focused ahead.

Starscream bristles, miffed.

“I didn’t plan for this! Do you think I enjoy being incapacitated in the middle of my work?”

“It is your own fault for forgetting the wormhole and then ignoring your symptoms.”

Starscream glowers and turns up his enstril at him.

When the doors to the warlord’s habsuite hiss open, Starscream’s vents stutter at the rush of warm, heavy air, scented unmistakably of Megatron to his sensitive olfactory. He presses his faceplate briefly against the warlord’s chest, shivering slightly as heat thrums faintly beneath his plating.

“Say it,” Megatron says, unbearably smug, stepping inside.

Starscream growls against his armor but doesn't lift his helm yet.

“...Yours smells better.”

Megatron's engine rumbles in a purr and he drops Starscream unceremoniously on the berth. He bounces once with an undignified squawk, but Megatron climbs over him and pins him with a servo on his chestplate to stop him from bouncing again.

“Then you will stay here for the duration of your heat.”

Starscream locks his legs around Megatron's waist.

“Fine,” he spits, “but I expect you to be able to keep up with me.”