Archive of Our Own

Megatron heard him before he saw him. 

He had a copy of flight patrols for the next decacycle that required Starscream's attention clutched in his servo as he stood outside the Seeker's office, listening to the slick sounds from inside. They were faint, likely unnoticeable to any passing mech. But Megatron knew those soft squelches and muffled whimpers intimately—after all, they were common in his berth. 

His rage simmered. Starscream had come to him barely a breem ago, eager to shirk his duties and retire to their quarters early. Megatron had rebuffed him. He'd teased and kissed him against his desk and promised he'd satisfy his Seeker in a little bit, after he finished reading their recent raid reports. Starscream, predictably, had complained but said he'd be waiting.

So much for patience. 

He keyed in the code for the door and watched it slide open, revealing his errant Air Commander sprawled across his desk, his servo buried in his valve. He was four digits deep, hips bucking into his own rhythm and biting his derma to keep himself quiet. His other servo was grinding against his anterior node. It was truly a sight to behold. 

Megatron hated it. 

“Just what do you think you're doing?” he growled as the door closed behind him. Starscream startled, his pace faltering. His optics snapped towards Megatron, already filled with apprehension and fear. And, a hint of disappointment.

“My– my Lord,” he stammered out, “I was merely– um, preparing! Yes, preparing myself. For you, of course.”

His digits slipped out, spreading the swollen folds of his valve to show himself off. It was a tempting offer, with pinkish lubricant still clinging to his fluttering hole. Under normal circumstances, it was the kind of scene Megatron would drop everything to join, pinning his Seeker to his own desk and fragging him within an inch of his life. Unfortunately for Starscream, his manipulation was far less effective when Megatron was already mad at him. 

“I said I'd get to you soon enough. You promised to wait,” Megatron replied stonily.

“Megatron,” he whined, “you know I run hot. I had to.”

‘Run hot’ was an understatement. In the time Megatron had been involved with Starscream, he had never gone more than a cycle without an overload. The high-performance engine of a Seeker produced inordinate amounts of energy—perfect for constant flying or extensive combat, but in periods of low energy, all that charge had to go somewhere. Over-active interface drives seemed to be the most prolific symptom, and one Megatron enjoyed indulging. After all, Starscream was his in every way, but in none more obvious than the berthroom. 

Except here Starscream was, disregarding that. Touching what wasn't his, reaching for an overload that was Megatron's to give. His rage tipped over into a boil. 

He took a few steps closer, coming right up to the edge of the desk. “You didn't have to do anything,” he said, grabbing Starscream by the wrist joint and yanking his hand away from his anterior node. “You're too selfish for your own good, Starscream. I think you need to be taught a lesson.”

Starscream's wings perked up in interest, though his optics were still wary. “What kind of lesson?” he asked, hips inching forward. “Are you going to spank me again?”

Megatron couldn't resist the sight of those glistening folds, despite the rage. He swooped down to lick a long, broad stripe up Starscream's array. The taste of his lubricant was thick and sweet on his glossa. 

Starscream moaned. “Oh, frag, Megatron. I'm so close, please–”

Megatron pulled away, straightening. “Close your panels.”

“What? But I'm right there!”

“I said, close them.”

With a frustrated hiss, Starscream's servo lurched towards his node again. Megatron smacked it away and leaned in closer. “You've forgotten your overloads are a gift, not a requirement.”

“They are a requirement! I need them to focus! It's something a stupid grounder like you could never understand!” Starscream wailed. 

Megatron scoffed, pinning Starscream's wiggling hips with a servo. “What a shame, then, that you won't be having one for a while. Close your panels before I rip your anterior node off myself.” 

Starscream squirmed a little further before he seemingly realized it was futile. His panels snapped closed with a wounded noise. “Fine, no overload tonight. You'd better make up for it tomorrow!”

“You won't be having an overload tomorrow, either,” Megatron replied. “Or the cycle after that. How many cycles' worth of denial do you think this little spout of disobedience is worth? Five? Six?”

“Six cycles without an overload?” Starscream screeched, disbelieving. His optics flicked down towards his sealed array again, like he was considering sticking his servo back down there. “Anything more than three is cruel! Do you understand how much charge builds in my systems in a single joor alone? I'll lose my mind!”

“Perhaps you should've thought of that before getting impatient,” Megatron said. “Seven seems appropriate.”

Starscream's griping trailed off into shocked, horrified silence. Megatron let it linger, glancing down at him expectantly, optical ridges raised. If there was going to be a moment Starscream used his safeword, it would be now. He rarely quit in the middle of their little games. But when Megatron stared at him, all he saw on those faceplates, underneath the apprehension, was burning spite. He was taking the challenge. 

“You're not good enough at interfacing to make up for half a deca-cycle without it,” he grumbled, finally, his mouth already twisting into a sulky scowl. 

Megatron chuckled, placing the patrol plans he'd originally come here for beside Starscream on the desk. He used his now-free hand to tilt Starscream's helm up, brushing their derma together. “I never said we wouldn't be interfacing,” he said, “only that you wouldn't be overloading.”

He should've known that would set Starscream off on another tirade.

[ = ]

Starscream truly did not deserve this. 

He could feel the leftover charge tingling under his plating as he walked to Megatron's quarters, where he spent most of his nights now. He'd been twitchy and uncomfortable all cycle because of this new, stupid game they were playing. All over a little self-servicing. He knew Megatron could be possessive—sometimes he even liked it—but was it so wrong for a mech to get off on their own every once in a while? He really should've remembered to lock that door.

Maybe he'd get lucky, and Megatron would forget tonight. He was an old bot, after all; he forgot things all the time. Besides, Starscream considered himself good enough at interfacing to make even the smartest mechs forget their names when they were buried in his valve. 

The door to their quarters opened before he could even input the code. Megatron was already there, lying across the berth with that infuriating smirk across his face. Starscream felt the sudden urge to storm away, but his traitorous array was already buzzing at the mere suggestion of climbing into berth with Megatron. He tamped down his pride and strutted in. 

“Starscream,” Megatron rumbled, sitting up. “You're earlier than I expected. Over-eager, are we?”

He hadn't forgotten. Starscream's spark sank, though he refused to let it show, crossing his arms. “For the pathetic scramble you call interfacing? Never.”

Megatron smirked indulgently, reaching out to lay a servo on Starscream's waist and tugging him forward until he was on the berth, too. His touch trailed down until he could cup Starscream's modesty panels. Without even thinking, they flicked open. Starscream glanced away, his fans already at a low, embarrassing hum. “Your frame says otherwise,” Megatron teased. 

“Shut up.”

“Oh, don't be that way,” Megatron said. His digits teased along Starscream's spike housing, ghosting over his folds with his thumb. He had to consciously hold back a groan. “If you're too mouthy, maybe I won't frag you at all.”

Starscream didn't know if that'd be better or worse. “I'm way too hot for you to resist,” he replied.

Megatron paused for a moment, as if considering. His gaze slid appreciatively down Starscream's frame, settling heavy and predatory on his array. “I suppose so,” he conceded, his servos coming up to grip Starscream's chassis and pull him down underneath him. A stabilizer slotted between Starscream's own. “You're too pretty to pass up, aren't you?”

The praise and the heat of being pinned were a deadly combination. Starscream's spike never pressurized faster in his life. Megatron snorted a soft laugh—which, horrifyingly, only made his array warm further—and dug his knee joint directly into Starscream's anterior node. “Frag,” Starscream gasped, his servos clutching at Megatron's shoulders. 

“That's what I intend to do, yes,” Megatron muttered. His derma trailed down the side of Starscream's neck plating as he shifted lower, lining their arrays up. With a soft click, Megatron's panel retracted, and Starscream felt his fat spike pressurize against his own. He bucked involuntarily. It felt like every atom in his body was screaming for more friction, more heat, more of anything Megatron would give him. Humiliating, but hard to be embarrassed with Megatron's spike sliding against his entrance promisingly. 

Slowly, agonizingly, Megatron pushed forward into Starscream's valve. 

It was exquisite. A steady, mounting pleasure complemented by a tinge of pain from the stretch. Starscream let out a low keen, talons curling into Megatron's back and wings flattening against the berth. It was moments like these where he remembered why he kept ending up in this berth—that spike was thick and long enough to hit every node, and the massive servo holding his chassis steady sent an extra little thrill up his energon lines. 

Megatron grunted as he bottomed out, nestled so far inside Starscream could feel him against his forge seal. “My pretty Seeker,” he muttered as he pulled back, starting up a pace. Starscream would never admit it, but the raw possessiveness made his spinal strut arch with a hitch. 

The rhythm was even better than the initial breach. Deep strokes with enough force behind them to rattle Starscream's plating. Heat spiked through his chassis, fans working overtime to keep him cool as every node in his frame sang. He bucked hard into every thrust, chasing that peak, his overcharged systems purring with need. And when Megatron wasn't fast enough, Starscream plunged his claws into his seams until he was exactly the speed he wanted him at.

“Quiet tonight?” Megatron said, smirking as he stared down at Starscream.

“I'll, oh– I'll show you– oh, Primus, frag.” His snappy reply dissolved into a moan as Megatron ground the tip of his spike against his ceiling node. A pure wave of bliss rolled through his processor. He had to shutter his optics to deal with the perfect way Megatron dragged against his insides. His servos pushed uselessly against Megatron's back, demanding more, faster, harder, anything. He was close, he was so close–

Megatron pulled out. 

His moan petered out into a whine, hips twitching at the loss. He onlined his optics just as Megatron wrapped a servo around himself, giving a couple strokes before he was overloading. Transfluid splattered against Starscream's own neglected spike and across his abdomen. 

“Even prettier like this,” Megatron said, running a digit through the mess. Starscream felt his fans spin even faster, a jolt of arousal piercing him at the sight. Yet his own overload stayed just out of reach, already receding into the low, annoying hum of extra charge. 

He groaned, burying his face in his servos. These next few cycles were going to be awful. 

[ = ]

By cycle three, Starscream was becoming twitchy. He’d spent the entirety of a High Command meeting tapping his pede under the table, wings giving a subtle flick every couple of kliks. His optics had never strayed from Megatron. It was probably the most attentive he’d ever been. When Megatron asked if he had anything to add, he’d simply snarled back a particularly scathing remark about inefficient patrol routes and continued his glaring for another joor before he, along with the other Commanders, was dismissed. 

It pleased Megatron to no end, watching Starscream squirm. He was still doing it now, shifting from side to side as he sat at the bridge’s monitor, as if unable to settle. Megatron watched him from his command throne, a private smile playing along his derma. 

“Skywarp, you’re dismissed,” Megatron called. He didn’t turn away from where Starscream was seated as Skywarp tore out of the bridge, visibly overjoyed to be relieved of his duties. If Megatron wasn’t so busy trying to stare a hole in the back of Starscream’s helm, he might’ve scolded the seeker. But now they were alone, with Starscream right where Megatron wanted him. Nothing else mattered. 

“Starscream,” he said, letting his voice fall to a low hum. “Come here.”

Starscream turned over his shoulder to give him a withering look. “I’m working,” he replied shortly. 

“I’m your Commander. If I say you’re done, you’re done,” Megatron said. Starscream didn’t glance away, but he didn’t move either. “When did the Starscream I know become such a diligent worker?”

Starscream grimaced, wings pulling back in offense. The jab did the trick, however. He finally stood up, stalking closer to Megatron with a lack of his usual innate grace. “For your information, I’m a brilliant worker when I don't have to follow your idiotic, inelegant–”

Megatron reached forward to snag Starscream by the wing and pulled him into a kiss, effectively cutting off his SIC's retort. Although the bite to his derma probably made up for whatever insult Megatron had cut off. Still, despite the sharp denta of Starscream's resistance, he tipped his Seeker's helm back and savored the taste of him, glossa flitting along faint traces of the titanium additives Starscream always put in his morning energon ration. Under his touch, he felt the Seeker's engine kick up a notch. Success. 

It was easy to maneuver Starscream into his lap while he was licking halfway down his intake. Even easier for Megatron to press his panel against Starscream's smaller one and begin a slow, hard grind. Starscream groaned into the kiss. 

Apparently, though, he hadn't done enough to quell Starscream's annoyance. The moment they pulled apart, a strand of intake fluid still connecting them, Starscream hissed. “If someone walks in while we're doing this, I'll fragging kill you.”

Well, one did not regularly interface with Starscream without knowing how to handle a few death threats. He pressed a control on the arm of his throne, the door to the bridge's heavy lock settling into place with a satisfying clunk. They had about twenty kliks before Soundwave noticed the locked door and came looking for answers. “Satisfied?” Megatron asked. 

“Not in the slightest,” he snarled in return as Megatron leaned in to bite at his neck plating. Servos attempted to push him away. “Do not leave any dents! They're a pain to buff out!”

“Mighty feisty today, Commander. Something got your cables in a twist?” Megatron asked. 

Starscream scowled, jabbing his chest with a claw. “Don't smirk at me like that, this is your fault! All because you're too old and pathetic to satisfy me properly!”

“I think you and I have different notions on what this punishment is about–”

“I don't care!”

“Although,” Megatron continued, as if Starscream had never interjected. “If you're so determined, then you can satisfy yourself.”

He let his panel spring open where it was squeezed against Starscream's. His spike pressurized immediately. It was always a nice sight—the black protometal of his spike contrasted perfectly with Starscream's cherry red hips and off-white waist, big enough that the gray tip kissed the transparisteel of his cockpit. It was the kind of view that got his engines revving to grab his Seeker by the aft and put him where he wanted him. Instead, he settled back in his throne, letting his legs spread a little. 

“Go on,” he prompted. 

He watched the internal debate happen on Starscream's face. A snarl of disobedience curled his derma, offended that Megatron would dangle this in front of him. Then a tiny glimmer of hope, and a spark of overwhelming, pure desire, ignited in his optics. He stared down at Megatron's spike, looking simultaneously like it disgusted him, yet was a drop of perfectly refined energon to a starving mech. Megatron knew which one won out when there was the snick of Starscream's panels opening. 

“I hate you,” Starscream grumbled, even as he grabbed Megatron's shoulders so he could lift himself and slot the tip of his spike against his valve. 

Wet, throbbing heat enveloped Megatron before he could form a reply. Starscream sank down in one steady roll of his hips, a long gasp escaping him. He fragged the Seeker often enough that he was rarely as tight as he once was when they first started this mutually beneficial relationship. Back then, it'd been such a snug fit that Megatron feared he would rupture something in Starscream. Now, he fit around Megatron as if he were made for him. But Starscream was no slouch—he kept his calipers well-maintained, so even with the near-daily pounding they took, they still rippled and clutched at Megatron's spike like they never wanted to let go. Sometimes, Megatron thought about giving them what they clearly wanted. 

It took Starscream a moment to re-steady his stabilizers before he could start to move. He lifted his pelvis in short bursts, getting about halfway up Megatron's spike before he slammed back down. His claws dug into Megatron's shoulder armor for more leverage as he moaned, the fog of pleasure already taking over.

“Good?” Megatron asked smugly. 

Starscream gritted his denta and clenched down hard, sending a cascade of thick ecstasy rolling down Megatron's spinal strut. “No thanks to you,” he snapped. 

“Whose spike is it you're riding, again?” 

“Some awful, sadistic, failure of a warlord who– oh, frag.” Starscream took a nano-klik to interrupt the rhythm so he could grind Megatron's tip against the puckered aperture of his forge seal. Must've felt glorious, because he had to wait until Starscream's optics refocused for him to remember what he was saying. “Who– who's such a freak he won't let his Second self-service for legitimate medical reasons without inflict– ah, hah– inflicting torture–” 

Megatron had to tighten his digits around the arm of his throne to resist the urge to stick them down Starscream's intake for his insolence. “Are you quite finished?”

“Almost,” Starscream blurted, his processor obviously focused on a different kind of finishing. He was dripping lubricant now, his little spike bouncing between them with fluid beading at its tip. “Primus, you worthless, inept simpleton, I wish– oh, oh.”

Winglets flexed and fluttered as Starscream's valve shuddered. His mouth was slack, open, but it produced nothing except a thin, wordless noise. He slumped forward slightly so he could rest his cheek against Megatron's chest, searching for a perfect angle.

“Wish what?” Megatron asked. He could feel his own overload building, a pressure in his tanks that was making it harder and harder to keep his hips still. 

“Wish I could rip off your spike before I stabbed you in the fuel pump,” Starscream panted. His pace was faltering, his pelvis jerking unsteadily up and down. “Wanna keep it even when you're gone, ‘s so good.”

Megatron moved. His servos clamped down on Starscream's hips, forcing him to halt in his tracks. Starscream shrieked and thrashed, his claws scrabbling against Megatron's chestplate uselessly. “No, no, no, let me overload you stupid glitch!”

“After all those insults?” Megatron ‘tsk'ed. “I don't think so.”

He used one servo to keep Starscream still and wrapped the other around the base of his spike, sticking out from its velvety sheath. It didn't take much. He was close, and with Starscream's folds continuing to wring his tip—probably attempting to push himself over the edge—it was even easier. Three strokes and he was spilling inside Starscream with a groan. He waited until his spike stopped twitching to shove Starscream up off it, watching the transfluid slide out slowly and trickle down Starscream's thighs. By then, Starscream had realized strength was a losing battle and was merely lying loose and exhausted in his lap, muttering weak, incoherent threats. 

“Four more cycles,” Megatron said. He patted Starscream's aft. “Maybe try less fantasies about killing me, next time.”

[ = ]

Starscream was not getting desperate. This was merely a tactical acquiescence. He hadn't refrained from overloads for this long since—well, since before he'd started ending up in Megatron's berth, which was almost a hundred vorns ago now. Hm. He should think about that a little when he wasn't so damn charged up. His plating felt too tight, and his cabling was hot to the touch, and it was getting hard to think of anything other than sticking a servo between his thighs.

He didn't, of course. That would ruin the game. 

But Megatron had… proclivities. Kinks that he could exploit in his favor. They were humiliating, indulgences Starscream usually never allowed, but desperate times and all that. It'd be worth it if he could just overload.

He waited until Megatron called on him, even if it made him want to peel his own paint off. He pinged politely instead of smacking at the door. And when he stepped into the room, he forced his optics down, murmuring, “My lord?”

Megatron paused where he was sipping his energon, his gaze burning where it raked over his frame. “Starscream. You seem very subdued this evening.”

A snarl burned in the back of his intake. He swallowed it and said nothing. 

Megatron tilted his helm and set his empty cube down. The thunk of his heavy pedes approaching made Starscream want to flinch, but he held steady. Thick digits tilted his chin up so he was looking directly at Megatron's face, twisted in dawning glee. “And quiet. What a nice change. Has that extra charge finally short-circuited your processor?”

Starscream's claws dug into his own thigh to keep from punching Megatron in his stupid face. “No, my lord.”

“No, indeed. It seems your needs have finally outweighed your pride, haven't they?” Megatron purred. His servo slid down to rest against Starscream's throat. “I distinctly remember bringing up this idea of you being an obedient little servant for once, and you calling me a, what was it? ‘Dirty old pervert?’ Seems you don't feel that way anymore.”

Steam hissed from between his seams as a tidal wave of anger and offense rolled over him. He had to lock his knee joints to keep from storming out of there, reminding himself over and over that once the burning heat in his lines was washed away with an overload, it'd all be worth it. “No, my lord," he croaked.  

“Mm, yes, I think I quite enjoy this attempt,” Megatron said, derma curling up into a sadistic smile. “Are you going to stay this pleasant, hm? Do whatever I ask and call me by my proper title the entire time?”

A sting of arousal shot through his array. He tried to tell himself it was just because he hadn't gotten release in cycles, and even the mere suggestion of interface was setting him off. “Yes, my lord.”

“How polite.” Megatron stepped away, backing toward the berth. “Come,” he commanded. 

It took Starscream a moment to remember how his stabilizers worked. He wobbled forward the first couple steps, his pelvic joints stiff and already weirdly damp. Megatron watched him with a pleased expression on his faceplates. “On the berth, on your back,” he continued, as Starscream obeyed with gritted denta. He was far too used to Megatron simply throwing him where he wanted him. 

“Good little Seeker, aren't you?” Megatron crooned, an edge to his voice that sent another burst of shame through Starscream's spark. He settled himself over Starscream, leaning down to kiss him. Starscream considered it a startling feat of restraint that he didn't nip when Megatron's glossa plunged past his derma, sliding through Starscream's mouth like he owned it. For tonight, Starscream could pretend he did, as long as it got Megatron so lost in his disgusting fantasies that he forgot about Starscream's punishment. 

“Open these panels for me,” Megatron said, sliding a servo across Starscream's codpiece teasingly. Finally, a request he didn't mind. Big digits slid between his valve lips as soon as his panels retracted, circling his anterior node. The pleasure that zipped up his frame felt like being struck by lightning, so good his hips bucked up subtly. 

“I didn't say you could move, did I?” Megatron's grip held his hips down until Starscream was able to wrestle back control of them through the fog of bliss. 

“Apologies, my lord,” he remembered to murmur. 

Megatron's engine rumbled. “I'll forgive it, since this is so new for you,” he replied smoothly. His touch trailed higher, tracing the base of Starscream's spike. He managed to keep his hips flat this time. “There we go, well done. Think you can stay nice and still for me?”

Starscream nodded, lying straight through his denta. “Yes, my lord, yes, yes.”

The servo moved, and he stifled a whine at the loss. But then there were hips slotting against his and the warm, damp mesh of a valve against his spike and– oh, that wasn't what he was expecting, but an overload was an overload either way, if Megatron would just put it in–

“Beg for it.”

Starscream bit his derma and squeezed every strut in his body to keep from shrieking out the nastiest words he could think of. Charge crackled along his circuits, so heady it was nearly unbearable, and he could've sworn his wiring was glowing from the heat. “My lord,” he finally gasped. “Please, please, my lord.”

“Mm.” Megatron stared down at him, smirking. “Try master.”

“Master,” he wailed, “please, master, master, I need–”

He didn't have to finish—thank Primus—because Megatron was already sinking down on his spike, and the rippling grip of his valve was perfect. Starscream's hydraulics groaned with the effort of keeping his hips motionless. Megatron didn't wait, either, already lifting himself up so he could sit back down on Starscream's spike, fragging himself like Starscream was nothing but a toy to get off on. He didn't want to think too hard about how that thought made his sensory net buzz with anticipation. 

“Tell me how it feels, Starscream,” Megatron prompted. He already had two digits on his node, rubbing as he gazed down at the Seeker. Humiliation burned in Starscream's lines, but it was so outclassed by the inferno of pleasure ravaging his systems that it barely registered. 

“Good, master, so so good,” he babbled. Megatron's walls tightened around him at the word ‘master,’ eliciting a strangled moan. “Master, master, good, please!”

“Pretty thing, aren't you? Touch your turbines, show yourself off for me.”

Starscream's servos flew up to grab at his chassis, groping until they found his own turbines. His claws scrabbled along the points and dipped between the sharp blades. He forced his optics up to look at Megatron, mouth half-open as he groaned and stroked along the sensitive metal and wiring there. “Master,” he breathed. 

“See how nice it is when you comply?” Megatron asked. His channel tensed and dripped, lubricant slicking across Starscream's superheated array. Need sizzled along Starscream's plating. 

“Yes, master.”

“We should do this again, shouldn't we?” Megatron sighed, leaning back as his bounces became a little slower, deeper. “I've always wanted to bend you over a console on the bridge. You calling me master and sir while I spank you for your latest insolence, begging for my spike like a good pet should. Could frag you there for hours, during the night shift, no one would even hear you scream. Doesn't that sound wonderful?”

Starscream nodded mindlessly. A stinging slap landed across the side of his thigh, and he yelped, spasming. “What do we say?” Megatron asked mockingly. 

Right, words. “Yes– yes, my lord. Master.”

Megatron chuffed, his red optics dimmed with pleasure. “Tell me a fantasy you have, Starscream.”

He didn't have enough processor left for this. He was pretty sure he'd already blown a couple fuses, and the charge was doing an excellent job of blotting out his thoughts. He struggled for a moment to rein in any sort of response. “Aft!” he finally gasped. “You fragging my aft with– with a servo in my– hah, oh– my valve, master, master.”

“Yes, that's a good one.” Megatron's optics offlined, as if imagining it. “Say it one more time. Say who you belong to.”

Primus, Starscream was so close that the world was narrowing down to a point. His fans roared in his audials so loud that he could barely hear himself as he cried, “Master, master, my lord, master–”

Megatron pulled off him. His turbines pulsed from between his digits as he shivered violently, and fluid spattered across his painfully engorged spike. Starscream arched his spinal strut, reaching desperately for that heat, for the overload that he could see just within reach. Megatron shoved him back down. 

“I didn't say you could move,” he said, voice rough. “I guess being obedient doesn't come naturally to you, does it?”

Starscream whined wordlessly. Another smack to the flank. “No, my lord,” he grumbled, the glyphs like ash on his glossa. 

“We can work on it, can't we?” Megatron grinned at him, although it looked more like a predator showing their denta. “Three more days, pet.”

[ = ]

Megatron had a long cycle. A fight in the mess hall meant he started the morning in a sour mood, and it only got worse as Soundwave reported structural decay in the Nemesis’ lower decks that they didn't have the resources to fix, and the estimates from their latest energon raid came up short. They'd have to dip into their reserves to make rations last until the next one. That news only soured him further. Pile on a few hours of listening to Shockwave's never-ending stream of disasters on Cybertron, and he was officially grumpy. Or, more grumpy than usual, anyway.

All that to say, when he opened his quarters to find Starscream already in there, looking like he was ready to start chattering, Megatron nearly walked back out. But then again, this was the kind of cycle where he needed some stress relief. If Starscream was good for anything, it was washing his worries away in that tight Seeker valve. 

“Megatron,” he began, claws coming up to hook themselves in Megatron's chassis. “Please, you have to let me overload, please, please.”

Megatron glowered down at him, and the Seeker flinched backwards a little, but didn't let go. “I'm not patient enough for this back and forth today, Starscream,” he said. “The answer is final.”

“You have to reconsider, please! I– I can't think anymore! I've been zoning out of conversations, and messing up my reports, and– and flying wrong. I nearly dipped into range of those fleshbag air weapons on patrol because I can't get my processor off of my array! It hurts. Do you understand? The charge keeps building, and it's starting to ache all the time, and I just– I need to take the edge off so bad. I need it, Megatron, I–”

“Enough,” Megatron hissed. Starscream's pleas petered out into silence, yet he pressed his frame up against Megatron's, optics wide and bright. He was warm to the touch, his fans humming quietly. With nowhere else to expel, that overcharge was probably running Starscream's systems ragged as it looped through him over and over, pinging every sensor and pushing all his energy towards a solution he'd been denied. He wasn't lying. It likely did hurt. 

However, in all that whining, Megatron hadn't heard their safeword. 

“I said seven cycles,” he said firmly. “A little groveling isn't going to change that, Starscream. This is a punishment. It should hurt.”

Starscream twitched, his talons digging in harder. The desperation was written so clearly across his faceplates that it was almost startling. “I can't take it anymore! I can't do seven, I'll– I'll combust! It'll kill me! Please, please, please, let me have one. Then I can finish out the rest of the cycles, and I won't– I wouldn't ask again!”

“I'm not bargaining with you, Starscream. Either get out or get on the berth and offline your vocalizer.”

“No! You have to!” he wailed. “This is cruel and unusual punishment, and you can't do this to me! You stupid, old glitch, do you know what this kind of extended overcharge does to my gyros? It's awful. You're ruining my life, and you just sit there all smug and ugly and–”

His voice was starting to worsen the helmache blooming at the back of Megatron's processor. He clamped a servo down on Starscream's wing, hard enough to dent the metal, and shoved down. Starscream tumbled to the floor, landing on his aft with a thunk. “I don't have to do anything for you, you pathetic whelp,” Megatron snarled. Starscream stared up at him, frozen for a nano-klik. Then, there was a snk and his panel slid away—apparently not of his own accord, since he pressed his thighs together like he was attempting to hide it. 

That set off a spark in Megatron's systems. His interface protocols chimed insistently in his HUD, primed at the sight of his Seeker sprawled and eager. He came to a decision, then. He needed to relax, and he needed to shut Starscream up for that. There was a simple solution to both of these problems. 

He reached down to cup Starscream's helm, his codpiece sliding open so his spike could unfurl. He coaxed Starscream forward with a bit of pressure to the back of his head. “Come on,” Megatron said, “You know what I want.”

Starscream shuddered. He slipped onto his knee joints easily, servos gripping at Megatron's pelvic armor like it was his only lifeline. “If I do this, will you let me overload?” he croaked. 

“No. You'll do it anyway.”

He waited for Starscream to tap out, for this to tip too far for him. That moment never came. Starscream wavered, cycling his hazy optics up at Megatron. Then, he leaned forward and wrapped his derma around the tip of Megatron's spike. With a deep growl, Megatron leaned his helm back against the closed door and let the Seeker go to work. 

As one would expect from a mech who never stopped talking, Starscream was fantastic with his mouth. His glossa swirled against the ridges on the underside, wiggling into them like he could worm his way between the protometal. He bobbed his way down, taking his time to lavish each inch. Denta ghosted over nodes just hard enough to set them off without nicking anything. Megatron moaned his approval and let his hips jerk into Starscream's mouth a little, rubbing nicely over the textured roof of his mouth. The stress of the cycle was already an afterimage in his mind. 

Megatron adjusted his grip, digits trailing to Starscream's helm vents and curling into them. They were scalding hot, blasting air like Starscream couldn't cool himself fast enough. He used his grasp on those vents to haul Starscream forward, driving more of his spike into the Seeker's wet mouth. He felt the head jab against the narrow tube where Starscream's intake met his mouth. The Seeker jolted under his touch, the soft mesh of his mouth clamping down as his purge protocols tried to keep the foreign object from entering. 

“Take it,” he muttered steadily, holding Starscream there. His wings fluttered as he choked against the intrusion for a few nano-kliks, slick sounds echoing in the room. Swallowing, he managed to regain control, his mouth going slack with a whine.

“There we go,” Megatron said. He thrust a couple more times until the tip slotted into Starscream's intake and slid down with no resistance. Starscream made a weak noise, the vibrations from his vocalizer trembling through his tubing and straight into Megatron's spike. He grunted, digits clenching hard as his sensory net hummed with static. “Do that again.”

Starscream moaned obediently. Tilting his helm down to get a good look, Megatron noticed Starscream's hand had let go of him and wandered down to his own array. He was grinding the palm of his servo frantically against his anterior node, the red biolight glowing as strong as Megatron had ever seen it. Lubricant gushed from his valve and pooled beneath him with the oral coolant that he was drooling, creating a multicolored puddle of need. 

Megatron kicked away his servo. “No, none of that,” he admonished, though his voice had lost some of its edge. “This isn't for you.”

Optical fluid beaded and tracked down Starscream's face as he whimpered, but his servo remained by his side. His gaze never left Megatron's, pleading silently. It was a strange contrast to the way he sucked and slurped noisily, yet not an unwelcome one. Starscream crying was a rare sight. Megatron wasn't quite sure how to feel about it in this context, especially with the thick knot of arousal tangling together in his tanks. He kept expecting to feel the taps of Starscream's nonverbal safeword against his thigh.

Starscream struggled the last bit down to the root, his frame fighting him the whole way. Megatron tugged him forward encouragingly. The sight of Starscream's neck cabling bulging with his spike was always a pleasant one. By the time the Seeker pressed his olfactory ridge against Megatron's spike housing and swallowed hard, he was close enough to fall into overload with a strangled groan. Starscream took it, like he always did, even though he complained constantly that Megatron tasted like synthetic oil and dirt. He let him, riding out the cascade of euphoria with tiny rolls of his hips. 

He waited until his spike softened to push the Seeker off him. Transfluid and coolant dribbled past his derma messily. He was a wreck, honestly, between all the fluid streaking his face and collecting under him. Megatron allowed him to squish his faceplate against his pelvic armor anyway.

“Please, can I overload?” Starscream asked. Not even dramatically, or with the tinge of shame he had in the occasional moments he lowered himself to beg. 

Megatron grimaced. “No. Stop asking.”

Starscream's fragile, hopeful expression crumbled. “It's not fair,” he sniffled. “I was good. I was so good. And now I'm hot and my valve hurts and–” His voice hitched. “I'm gonna die.”

“You're overreacting.”

“I can't even recharge like this. It's gonna take me joors just to cool off enough to walk back to my quarters,” Starscream sobbed. More optical fluid trickled down his face. 

Megatron heaved a sigh. He dragged the Seeker up so he could throw him over his shoulder, ignoring his yelps as he stomped across the room. He tossed Starscream on the berth and flopped down after him. The curve of Starscream's cockpit fit quite well under his arm as he lopped it across him. 

“This isn't helping,” Starscream snarked, but it came out wet and shaky. His engine was stuttering under Megatron's touch, vents straining unevenly as more tears ran down his cheeks. 

“Shut up before I throw you out with your panels still retracted,” Megatron said. “Your systems will regulate soon enough, as long as you don't exacerbate it with all your worrying and whining. Offline your optics and reset your ventilation. You'll be in recharge before the joor is up.”

Starscream didn't respond for a couple kliks, too busy stewing in his own misery as he sniveled. His fans did slowly kick down a few notches, though, sounding marginally calmer. The frantic sputtering of his systems evened out into something far less distressed. Megatron told himself he was only relieved because it meant he could rest without the buzz of an overtaxed, crying Seeker next to him. Or perhaps he just wanted Starscream to recharge easier because he needed his Second well-rested. Whatever the reason, it soothed his own stretched-thin systems enough to let him cycle down into low power. 

“I don't want to recharge in your stupid berth,” Starscream muttered after a long pause. His tone was back to its usual sharpness, if slightly brittle. 

It occurred to Megatron, then, that Starscream seldom stayed after their sessions. He always slunk back to his own hab-suite. There had been a handful of evenings where Starscream crashed shortly after—or, on one memorable occasion, during—their trysts. But he inevitably surfaced within a couple joors and scrambled away to privately lick his wounds. Megatron had certainly never invited him, implicitly or otherwise. He supposed this was a weird, unintentional first. 

He dismissed that thought. “Recharge,” he reminded. Starscream didn't say anything else. When Megatron rolled over halfway through his recharge cycle, though, Starscream was still there, a warm beacon pressed against his side. 

[ = ]

The first thing Starscream felt when he woke up was sticky. At some point in the night, his panels had shut, and now there was a mess of half-dried lubricant clinging to the mesh underneath. It was thoroughly disgusting. Before he'd fully come online, he was already squirming at the sensation. 

The second thing he felt, of course, was Megatron. The massive lug's arm hadn't moved at all, draped across his chassis and clutching loosely at the edge of his wing. With a heave, he managed to shove it off and wiggle out of the berth. Megatron didn't even stir. Starscream filed the notion that Megatron was a heavy recharger away for future assassination plot material. 

He stumbled his way to the private washrack, a perk of the captain's quarters that he desperately wanted for himself. Truly unfair that only Megatron and Soundwave, of all mechs, got connecting washracks. He didn't wait for the solvent to warm, ducking under the chill stream and letting it soothe the heat bleeding through his seams. His plating relaxed, allowing the solvent to slip between the cracks in his armor and sizzle against the cabling and protoform beneath. It was luxurious. He stood there for probably ten kliks, just salivating over the feeling. 

Unfortunately, he did have a shift in a joor, however, and he needed enough time to make a pit stop by his own hab-suite so he could polish. So with a begrudging grunt, he reached up and unhooked the showerhead from the wall. It was a nice touch that the private washracks had handheld showerheads, one he wished he could enjoy more often. It was much easier to clean all his narrow nooks and crevices—or in this case, the folds of his valve—this way. His valve cover snapped open, and he directed the flow towards his entrance, sliding digits down to dislodge some of the crusted-on lubricant. 

The spray was good. It pulsed against his sensitive, overwrought mesh gently, drumming nodes that crackled with charge. He bit his derma to keep from moaning and angled it up a little. The droplets smacked against his anterior node and shot a tingle of pleasure straight up his spinal strut. He forcibly shut off his vocalizer to keep quiet. Digits kept working against his array, massaging the places the showerhead couldn't reach and inching him closer to his impending overload. He staggered back against the tile of the washrack, jerking into the touch.

Vaguely, in the fog coating his processor, he knew Megatron would kill him if he found out. And really, a part of him was angry at himself. He was breaking the rules. It wasn't a victory to get off this way. He only won if Megatron broke his own rules—it was Starscream's job to convince him to cave. A job he hadn't been successful in, so far. 

But it was just so wonderful. The lukewarm splatter of solvent coating his slick array, beating a constant, overwhelming rhythm against his delicate components. After days of rough treatment and denied overloads, literally nothing could feel better. He flattened the showerhead to his slit and felt his entire frame seize as the metal throbbed, its stream never slowing. Energon beaded on his derma from where his denta sunk in.

The door to the washracks skid open, Megatron's bulk stepping through. Crimson optics centered on him immediately. 

He gasped silently before he remembered to online his vocalizer. “Wait! Wait, wait, don't–”

Megatron didn't wait for an explanation. He slammed Starscream against the wall, yanking his arm up to pin it. The showerhead clattered to the ground alongside his chance of ever getting some relief. Starscream's threatening hiss crested into a whine of frustration as he tried to kick at Megatron and only succeeded in getting himself pushed into the tile harder. 

A digit tapped at his wrist. “Port. Now.”

The sheath flicked aside, exposing his medical port. “I didn't mean to!” he babbled uselessly. “I was cleaning it! There was all this gross slag drying in my valve and– Megatron, please–”

“Always an excuse with you,” Megatron growled, his own wrist cable connecting into Starscream's port. A flood of data forced a disgraceful squeak from him as his firewalls were easily bypassed. The heavy, wrong feeling of someone else inhabiting his processor and hijacking his systems sent a wave of nausea through his tanks. 

He'd mustered up the courage to start yelling about the dangers of messing with another bot’s programming when Megatron disconnected, stepping back. Starscream didn't move for a nano-klik. He initiated a cursory sweep of his systems, but the readings all came back fine. Normal, save for the excess charge buildup. He fluttered his wings for good measure, shooting a glare at Megatron. “What was that for?”

“Touch yourself.”

“Excuse me?” Starscream asked, recoiling. Megatron had nearly beaten his aft thirty nano-kliks ago for doing just that. Did the old mech's processor finally fail or something?

“I said, touch yourself. Go on, you seemed to like it so much before.”

Shakily, Starscream let his servo drift down towards his array again. Megatron's gaze burned holes in his plating as he rubbed his digits over the nub of his anterior node, thighs shivering involuntarily. He waited for Megatron to slap him away or start berating him again. Nothing came. He simply stared, hovering over Starscream menacingly as he worked himself up.

Then, his valve cover snapped shut. 

Starscream shrieked and snatched his servo away before a claw could get stuck. He glanced up at Megatron, horror dawning over his scrambled processor. He hadn't sent that command. But Megatron was looking a little more pleased with himself than usual. 

“Since you can't control yourself,” he said, looming. His blunt digit jabbed against Starscream's panels. “I will control you. These are keyed to my signal, now, and will only open when I permit it until your punishment is over. Understand?”

“That's…” Starscream didn't have words. Megatron paused, probably giving Starscream a chance to say his safeword. Starscream wouldn't give him the satisfaction. 

Megatron patted him on the shoulder, pushing him towards the door. “Go on. I believe you have a shift.”

Oh, Starscream was going to kill him. After he got his overload, of course. 

[ = ]

Megatron didn't see his Seeker for a full cycle after that. The logs showed Starscream supposedly went on patrol with his trine, something Thundercracker and Skywarp nervously corroborated, but he didn't appear for his shift the next cycle. He was almost starting to get worried when he arrived back at his own quarters and found Starscream there already. 

The reason he didn't show for his shift was immediately obvious—sometime since they'd last seen each other, the tentative hold Starscream had on his sanity had slipped. He was tangled in Megatron's insulation cover on the berth, looking every bit like a mech deranged. His plating was dull, his optics dim like he hadn't recharged well, or perhaps at all. Heat radiated off of him so strongly that Megatron could see the air distorting around his vents. 

“How long, exactly, have you been slacking off in my berth?” he asked, crossing his arms. 

Starscream eyed him blearily from beneath a pillow he'd nestled his helm under, for some reason. Likely in a fit of delirium. “I've been pressurized beneath my codpiece since this afternoon. My spike hurts. I might as well make it your problem.”

“Should I preemptively tell Soundwave you're going to skip your early shift tomorrow as well?” 

“What do you think?”

“Don't take that tone with me. I can always extend this a few more cycles, so the lesson really sets in.”

Starscream keened like the mere suggestion was gravely distressing, planting his face in the berth and fluttering his wings. The hinges creaked like they'd been pulled tight for too long. Sighing, Megatron stalked closer once it became clear Starscream had transitioned from talking to wallowing. The heady, rich scent of ozone and a strong current wafted from him, alongside the faint sweetness of lubricant. 

“Flip over,” Megatron said. The Seeker didn't move, so he hoisted him up by the ailerons and flipped him onto his back. Starscream made an annoyed noise, clutching at the insulation cover as if it could save him. 

He stopped dead when Megatron sent the signal to open his panels, and they snapped to attention. A gush of lubricant spilled out of his valve, soaking the berth and staining his thighs immediately. His spike was weeping fluid pathetically. Megatron brought a digit up to brush over Starscream's folds, and he quivered, a thin, reedy moan leaking from his vocalizer. His legs spread wider, inviting—something Megatron hadn't witnessed in all these vorns of fragging the daylights out of Starscream. He never wanted to seem like he wanted it too much, even at his most playfully obedient. A wicked smile flickered over Megatron's face. 

“Desperate, aren't we?” he murmured. “You're so worked up, I think you'd overload before I even got all the way in.”

“I can– I can hold it!” Starscream promised frantically. A blatant lie, one they both knew, but it was entertaining to watch Starscream debase himself for the possibility of an overload anyway.

Megatron leveled him with an unimpressed look. “You're so close to the finish line, it would be a shame to make a mistake and have to start over now.”

Another round of keening and writhing. Starscream was so pretty when he was frustrated, his simmering cabling visible beneath flared plating and sharp features all scrunched up. Art in motion, really. Megatron watched him, amused, for a moment before climbing on the berth. It took a bit of careful maneuvering, especially with Starscream's wings in the way—they'd established long ago that anything that hurt the wings was off the table—but he managed to kneel over the Seeker's upper chassis, hovering. His valve cover flicked open. 

“Go on,” Megatron coaxed, slithering a servo under Starscream’s helm. He could feel the hot blast of air from Starscream’s vents against his thighs. “Use your glossa. There we go.”

He lowered just enough so Starscream's mouth could connect with his slit. Soft derma moved against his folds, parting them with open-mouthed kisses. Starscream's glossa licked a broad strip over Megatron's entrance. He shivered and sank down a little further. 

This wasn't nearly as skilled as Starscream's blowjobs. To be fair, some of that was likely Megatron's fault. Starscream had incredibly sharp Seeker teeth—made for tearing through plating in midair battles—and a propensity for biting when he felt trapped, so Megatron was particularly wary of letting him near his valve. He didn't have much practice. But even for Starscream's valve oral standards, this was sloppy. His mouth was slack and slow where it worked against Megatron, and his glossa clumsy as it fumbled against the shallow nodes just inside his channel. Judging by the way Starscream's fuzzy gaze struggled to lock on Megatron's, it was a problem with his processor, not his enthusiasm. 

Still, it was good nonetheless. With a sigh, Megatron allowed his knee joints to slide apart more, settling fully on Starscream's face. He clenched down on the exploring glossa inside him. Starscream whimpered, his fans humming impossibly louder and optics flickering with the strain of keeping them online. 

“Pretty thing,” Megatron purred. He wiped away a stray drop of optical fluid from where it leaked. “You're not touching yourself, are you? Keeping those servos off?”

Starscream wiggled again, as if trying to shake the idea from his processor so it'd stop tormenting him. Megatron took pity. He reached back to find Starscream's arms and gently pulled them forward until he could hold them by the wrists in one servo and pin them on the berth above his head. It provided a nice bit of leverage so he could shift forward and grind his anterior node down against Starscream's olfactory ridge. 

“Mmph, good,” he moaned. Starscream didn't try to fight the way Megatron rubbed himself on his face, simply continuing to lave his glossa against the mesh clumsily. Megatron stroked his cheek approvingly. 

“That's it, take it. I'd have you like this all cycle, if I could. Put you on your knees in front of my throne and let you bury your face in my valve for joors– ugh, yes, there.” He gave a hard thrust as Starscream's probing found a cluster of nodes that made his struts tingle brilliantly. Starscream slurped as lubricant dripped steadily from him. His optics had finally gone offline, but Megatron tapped until they flared back to life. 

“Look at me. There's a good Seeker,” he rumbled. Starscream's engines revved hard and hitched under him, optical fluid welling up. “Shh, you're alright. Keep going. We're close, aren't we? You know, I never really expected you to last this long. Only one slip-up in seven cycles is good for you. You've almost earned that overload tomorrow, haven't you?”

Starscream's engines climbed to a painful-sounding whine. Megatron soothed a servo over his helm as he kept up his pace, riding the vibrations that shook his plating. He slid back slightly, kneading his anterior node against Starscream's derma until his mouth finally latched onto it, sucking. That was enough. Megatron huffed and shoved his hips against Starscream's face one last time before he tipped over the edge. Transfluid drizzled down his array and across Starscream's chin as he suckled mindlessly on Megatron's node, extending the pleasant roil of bliss crashing through his sensory net. The view only made Megatron want tomorrow to come even faster.

He eased himself off of Starscream's mouth and sat back, appreciating his masterpiece. Starscream was smeared with fluid, his optics glassy and derma still half-open. Megatron wiped through the mess with a smile. “Aren't you a sight?” 

Starscream's vocalizer popped, like it was having trouble resetting. “Please.”

“Not yet,” Megatron said, letting go of Starscream's servos so he could roll off him, onto his side. The Seeker automatically shimmied closer to him, seeking—what? Attention? Comfort? Probably a servo on his array, honestly. Megatron sent the signal to close Starscream's panel, prompting a distressed mewl. He shushed him and tugged the Seeker closer. “Tomorrow. Just one more night.”

“Can't– can't, Megatron, please–”

With a hum, Megatron stroked the broad expanse of the Seeker's wing, trailing up to fondle his winglets. They twitched under his touch, surprisingly reactive. Starscream's pleading sputtered and died as he curled into Megatron, panting and angling his wings for more. Starscream rarely allowed any sort of extensive petting when he was of sound mind, especially not his wings, always complaining about how rough Grounders were. But ultimately, he was a creature of instinct, and instinct was driving him towards reassurance, and there was nothing more reassuring for a Seeker than having their wings pampered. If Megatron hadn't thought it would disturb their fragile peace, he might've even retrieved some polish for a thorough indulgence. 

“You'll be fine,” Megatron soothed, skating along the sharp edges. “I've got you.”

Starscream shifted, looking up at him. The mixture of hope tinged with rage and overshadowed by the glow of pure, feral lust made Megatron's tanks clench. He sent a preemptive comm to Soundwave, letting him know neither he nor Starscream would be fit for duty tomorrow. He was going to tear his Seeker apart, and he was going to take his time doing it. 

[ = ]

Starscream was aware of the burning pain before anything else. A strut-deep ache bloomed throughout his hips and thighs and abdomen, insistent as it gnawed along his surfacing consciousness. With a high noise he couldn't hear through his still-offline audials, he pressed his pelvis against the plush berth beneath him. A bolt of pleasure ricocheted up from his array to briefly cut through the pain. He melted into it. 

His processor was still half-submerged in some flux about wrestling with Skywarp in the skies of Vos, his frame floaty and unresponsive as systems idled in low power mode. His hips rolled steadily into the berth, insulation covers providing a soft friction to his sensitive panels, keeping the mounting pressure of overcharge at bay. There was a solid presence against his side and slung across one wing. He smelled of smoke and rich oil, and the weight of his arm was good leverage for his grind. 

He floated like that for a while. The slip between recharge and wakefulness was barely even noticeable, except for the ache, but a little squirming helped. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been drifting when he felt servos grab him under the arms and lift. He whined.

“Silence,” Megatron rumbled. Starscream was deposited in his lap. “You’ve been rutting against the berth like a turbofox in heat for joors now. You might as well permit me a better view.”

Starscream, finally, onlined his optics, processor whirring to life. The dim, grayish lights of the morning shift illuminated Megaton’s quarters. The warlord was sitting upright, scrolling through a datapad with one hand, the other wrapped around Starscream’s waist, servo resting on his aft. The pressure made the stabbing sensation in his lower chassis only more agonizing as full-blown arousal jutted through his frame. He shuddered and fell forward against Megaton’s shoulder. His hips were already moving of their own accord, rubbing himself against Megatron’s thigh. 

“Insatiable, aren’t you?”

Starscream moaned. Everything felt hazy and syrupy, so thick and slow, distorted until it was barely recognizable. Except for the need—that’s where the pain was coming from, Starscream could now recognize. The charge buzzing through him like an endless cacophony had pooled into his array, which sent throbbing pings of torment through his sensory net and only dulled slightly with the friction against his panels. He needed to overload so bad that the thought itself felt overwhelming. 

It was ten, maybe twenty kliks of this before Starscream could get a hold of his own vocalizer. “Megatron…” he groaned. The rest of the words he wanted to say dissipated into thin air. 

“Do you need something, Starscream?”

He nodded frantically into the crook of Megatron's neck. He tried to say something about an overload, but instead, his vocalizer clicked and let out a warble. Frustration pierced through the fog. He nodded more and rocked his hips a little harder, trying to get his point across.

“A proper Air Commander should be able to state what he needs,” Megatron said. Then, he went back to ignoring Starscream, flicking through his datapad. 

The inferno inside Starscream raged harder. He wasn't sure how long he sat there on Megatron's lap, humping his thigh like a pet and attempting to pull his shattered processor together enough to manage coherence. Long enough for the lights to cycle from soft morning to brighter midday. Words kept slipping away from him in the never-ending tide of desperation licking along his insides. He was pretty sure internal heat warnings were flashing in his HUD, but he couldn't focus on them for more than a nano-klik before his array took his attention once again.

“Megatron,” he finally gasped. “Overload– please.”

“Hm, yes, I suppose you would want one of those, wouldn't you?” Megatron murmured, setting the datapad down. Starscream's whole frame shivered expectantly as Megatron's servos found his panels. There was the sticky wetness of lubricant leaking through his seams, which must've pleased Megatron because he grinned, and Starscream's panels retracted.

A new wave of bliss and oversensitivity rolled through Starscream as cool air hit his array. His spinal strut arched and tensed, wings trembling. His valve was swollen, the white mesh flushed, and his node pulsing crimson, glistening with its own fluids. His heavy spike bobbed between them, its biolights flickering angrily. Starscream mewled and ground down harder into Megatron's leg, the need sharpening into an all-consuming eagerness.

“My, soaked, aren't we?” Megatron asked, his digits sliding against Starscream's folds, carefully avoiding his node. That light caress was enough to send sparks skittering across Starscream's fuel lines. Primus, he wanted Megatron to stick his whole servo in his valve, anything to relieve the pressure. “You're exquisite like this. A pretty, mindless thing, so turned on you're rubbing against everything. You probably don't even know what I'm saying right now.”

Starscream did, sort of. Enough to know Megatron was calling him pretty, which made his engine hum pleasantly in his chassis. He was fairly sure a couple more compliments could work him up enough to purr himself over the edge, which would be terribly embarrassing if he had any ability left to feel shame. He didn't. The need burned away everything else. 

A single digit, slick with his lubricant, pressed into his entrance slowly. Starscream moaned, claws scrabbling at Megatron's chestplate for something to hold onto. His sensory net sang with bliss. Everything was right for a few, glorious nano-kliks as the digit pistoned back and forth. 

Then Megatron pulled out. 

Starscream hissed, writhing and clutching at him. Megatron stared down at him, a cruel sort of amusement in his eyes, before sliding in two digits to take its place. The world righted itself on its axis. With a shaky sigh, Starscream sank into the sensation. His calipers tightened, shifting so he could get those digits to brush the cluster of sensors near his puffy entrance that made his ailerons flutter. 

“Oh, so tight,” Megatron crooned. “And hot. You've been simmering in this all night, haven't you? Waiting for me?”

His digits crooked. Starscream panted and felt another rush of lubricant squish out around Megatron's servo. Charge spun through his frame so fast it was making him dizzy. He clenched down hard and met every little movement of Megatron's digits, inching so, so close to his climax. Just a little more and–

Megatron's servo withdrew. “No, no, don't– frag, please,” Starscream begged, trying to grab Megatron's wrist to keep him from leaving. He was swatted away easily. 

“You want it?” Megatron's touch trailed up to massage the mesh next to his anterior node. “First, I need to know you learned your lesson. Tell me what you are, Starscream.”

His processor struggled to obey, stuttering. “Air Command–”

“No.”

He wailed, shoving his hips forward in a desperate attempt to get something. It didn't work. Megatron's deft digits teased along the tops of his folds, just far enough away from both his node and his entrance to be torturous. His vocalizer crackled when he spoke. “Don't– don't,”

“Let's try again, make the question a little easier. This frame, who does it belong to?”

The answer clicked. “Yours!” he yelped, “yours, it's yours.”

“Good,” Megatron praised. His digits crept back down and pushed into Starscream's valve once more, stretching his tense calipers perfectly. They stroked slowly, curling, drawing a strained sound from Starscream. “And what did you do with my frame?”

“I-I touched…” he began, then lost it as another digit grazed his rim. The glyphs dissolved on his glossa and dribbled over his derma as he drooled on Megatron's shoulder. 

Thankfully, Megatron was feeling lenient. “That's right. Touched yourself without my permission, didn't you? Got too impatient. What do we say when we make a mistake?”

A tiny part of Starscream rebelled against this idea, too prideful, too independent to debase himself like this. He was nobody's mech. Much less Megatron's. But it was swallowed whole by the yawning abyss in Starscream's spark, so hungry for an overload that he worried it would kill him. He shuttered his optics, wrestling for control of his vocalizer so he'd stop making those stupid, punched-out noises and reply. 

“‘M sorry,” he babbled. “I'm sorry– sorry for touching yours, I… oh Primus, please.”

The digits pulled away, yet he didn't have the time to complain, because Megatron was already slamming him down on his back, spreading his stabilizers apart roughly and hiking up his aft. He didn't have the strength to fight it even if he wanted to. His entire frame seemed to fizz with excitement at the prospect that his overload was finally within his sights, after cycles of misery and denial. Megatron's codpiece released with a hiss, spurring his wings to flitter against the insulation cover in sheer anticipation as he let his head loll backwards.

“No, watch,” Megatron growled, a servo yanking Starscream's helm forward. 

Dazedly, forced his optics to focus as he looked between his legs. Megatron's spike, thick and dark, parted his folds and pressed against Starscream's opening. The image was so good, so striking. Starscream was pretty sure it'd stay imprinted on his processor for the rest of his life. 

“Watch me take what's mine,” Megatron said. 

He rammed forward, sheathing himself in Starscream's narrow valve in one long stroke. 

Starscream shrieked. Every node in his valve lit up at once, the slippery mesh of his channel catching on the ridges of Megatron's spike and throwing up sweet, blissful signals throughout his frame. His engine sputtered and his struts locked up. The tip struck his ceiling node dead center, and that was it. The overload hit. 

His spike got there first, spitting transfluid across his abdomen in wobbly ropes. Then his valve clamped down around the length inside him, and his anterior node throbbed so hard it made him nauseous. Fluid—transfluid, lubricant, both, he wasn't sure—jetted out of him at such a velocity that it was a spray. It splattered Megatron's pelvis and drenched his own array, trickling down their joined hips in globs and forming a pool on the berth. Starscream would be horrified by the squirting if he weren't busy squealing. All thoughts and emotions blotted out in a swell of white ecstasy, lighting up countless systems in its sweep until his HUD flashed a dangerous red and the current became nearly unbearable and–

Starscream crashed. 

His processor rebooted a few kliks later to darkness and the lovely sensation of getting pounded by ten tons of possessive warlord. He whimpered and leaned into it before his external sensory systems even got around to onlining his audials or optics. Those took another few nano-kliks to manage through the disorientation and residual charge tingling in his frame. 

“–Every strategy, every thought in that traitorous helm,” Megatron was muttering. “Mine. All mine. Mind and body.”

Starscream’s valve was so wet it squelched with each thrust. He quivered and flexed into Megatron’s rhythm, fans roaring back to life as a new wave of pleasure washed over him. The burning need in his frame was receding, but the hole it left behind still wanted to be filled. The jarring pace was doing just the trick. His reawakening systems were quickly overwhelmed by the feeling of his sensors getting chafed raw by the brutal force of Megatron’s hammering.

Megatron leaned forward to wrap a servo around Starscream’s neck, a digit landing on his cheek. It tapped twice, as if getting his attention. “Who does this belong to?” he snarled.

It took Starscream's scrambled processor a moment to remember how to use its language centers. “Yours!” he rasped, finally. “Yours, oh, frag–“

The servo dragged down to splay over his cockpit, right where his spark chamber was. “And this?” 

“Yours, Megatron, yours–”

Lower still, until it found the nub right above his entrance and tugged on it. Starscream keened, his vision turning to static around the edges. “And this one?”

“Yours, it's yours! Primus, oh please.”

“It is,” Megatron panted. His thrusts were becoming jerky, harsher, slamming into Starscream so violently that his denta rattled in his mouth. “Nobody else gets you. I own this. I can do whatever I want with you.”

As if to prove his point, Megatron pinched his anterior node between his digits and twisted. The pain rocketed alongside a blinding thrill. Starscream pitched into his second overload—much gentler, in comparison, flowing through his systems as he groaned. That set Megatron off, too, his transfluid spilling into Starscream, spike twitching as he stilled. Starscream's valve only tightened, milking him for all he was worth. He was pretty sure Megatron was leaving dents in his aft where he was holding Starscream, but the thought only served to send more unfairly sexy images crashing through him as they worked through their overloads together. 

Megatron recovered first. He grunted as he pulled out, spike already retracting into its housing. His grip tightened impossibly on Starscream's pelvic armor to haul him closer as he reclined back onto the berth. Starscream squirmed at the feeling of their damp plating scraping together. 

“Enough of that,” Megatron grumbled. “I'll take you to the washracks later. For now, I want to enjoy the mess.”

A servo ran through the slick on his thighs, making lazy circles and smudging it around. With a huff, Starscream allowed it. He settled in the curve of Megatron's chest, under his chin, his other servo clutching at Starscream's chassis. Exhaustion washed through him. Now that there was no extra charge keeping his frame awake and alert, he could physically feel the nights of spotty recharge catching up to him. 

“I should deny you more often,” Megatron said, lingering along a sensitive cable in Starscream's leg. “The squirting was a nice addition. I wonder if I could get it from you more than once in a night, hm?”

Starscream made a low noise of protest, shaking his helm. This game had nearly shattered him apart; he needed time before they dove headfirst into a new challenge. Megatron chuckled quietly. The deep thrum of his engines was lulling Starscream to shutter his optics, vents slowing. It occurred to him, suddenly, that he'd been spending a lot of time in Megatron's quarters, far more than usual. He had a nice berth, and not just for fragging. If Megatron was going to let him take advantage, he might as well. 

Megatron's servo smoothed up his stabilizer. “Once more. Who do you belong to?”

“Frag off.”

He could almost hear the smile in Megatron's voice when he purred, “That's my Seeker.”