Chapter Text
Since their initial tryst, Megatron was struggling to figure out his next move. Obviously, it would not happen again, because it was a reckless, dangerous thing to do. Too many orn without a proper recharge, not enough energon to eat; his processor glitched. Now that it was out of his system, he would put whatever surface level attraction he had to his ridiculous second in command behind him. He was above such base matters as attraction and desire.
He was Megatron, he had an army to run. The army in question wasn’t exactly operating at peak efficiency before he came along, due in part to said second in command who though sitting his aft on a throne and interrupting the occasional supply transport was a good use of their time.
Idiot.
He looked over the most recent geographic scans that Soundwave’s cassettes brought him. They were useful little bots, and Megatron still felt embarrassed when he’d acted so shocked at meeting them initially. He’d never met a casseticon before, but Rumble laughing in his face would likely haunt him forever. He did think he liked them all, some more than others, but even his least favourite (Buzzsaw) was a massive upgrade to half of the command structure he inherited.
“Why are the Quintesson patrols so inconsistent?”
“We aren’t sure, my liege.”
He flicked his optics over to Shockwave, standing at parade rest nearby. Megatron kept offering him a chair to sit in, but so far it’s been to no avail.
“He likes to loom,” had been Starscream’s commentary on the matter when he asked. Sometimes it was hard to ignore that half of the mecha in his command have known each other for longer than he’s been online.
He ignored the liege comment, which also seemed to be another personality tick of the purple mech. It was better than whatever Starscream was calling him these days—and said with much more genuine respect.
“It’s like they’re increasing their patrols,” Skywarp said. He, at least, was sitting with his legs kicked up on the table Megatron had commandeered for his strategy room.
“Of course they are, but the patterns make no logical sense,” Deathsaurus said, optic ridge furrowed as he looked at one of the patrol notes Megatron pinned to the mountain range to the west where the scouting groups had a particularly hard time getting scans of without getting caught.
“They’re organics, when have they ever done something logical? We can tell they're looking for Cybertronians harder now. What for?” Motormaster grumbled, looking bored.
“Someone did kill their point of contact,” Starscream injected, sending Megatron a pointed look. Megatron glared back at him.
“Should I have left him alive, Starscream? Leave everything to the status quo forever like you did?”
“I’m not complaining,” Starscream said, definitely complaining, “I’m giving you feedback.”
“And what feedback would that be?”
“That you didn’t think anything through. Do you think Sentinel killed all the Primes on a whim? No!” He jabbed a digit in Megatron’s direction, “he had a plan with contingencies.”
“I’m sure it helped that all he had to do was oust you lot. Didn’t seem very hard.” He shot back uncharitably, paused, and grimaced. He wasn’t trying to make enemies here. “No offense,” he tagged on for Soundwave and Shockwave’s benefit.
Soundwave shrugged, as unbothered as ever.
“Don’t talk about things you don’t understand,” Starscream hissed at him, wings twitching in anger.
“Can we stay on topic please?” Novastorn asked, “you two always make these drag out so long. The best planning meeting we’ve ever had was the one neither of you bothered to show up for.”
Megatron fought down a blush, and very specifically didn’t think about the way arousal curled low in his tanks. Now was not the time.
He caught Starscream’s optic and glared at him imperiously. If Starscream told anyone, he would…he wasn’t sure but he’d do, but it would be something. Something unpleasant, obviously.
He hated that Starscream’s pleased I-know-something-you-don’t look that he shot at the rest of the table as he leaned back in his chair was so close to his I-dare-you-to-clang-me-harder look. Self satisfied glitch, it was like he only had 3 modes of being.
His valve twitched and he wanted to bang his forehelm against the table. He was above this, really.
“So the quintessons know something happened; their access to their energon supply has been cut off. They’ll be looking to reestablish contact, and barring that, will find another way to take it by force.”
“Most likely,” Shockwave confirmed.
“Which is bad,” Skywarp said, the end turning up like a question.
“Pretty bad, yeah,” Thundercracker confirmed, tapping the table.
Starscream heaved a sigh. “We’re going to need to establish contact with Iacon ourselves then.”
“Absolutely not.”
Starscream threw himself out of his chair, servo balled into a fist which he slammed in to table top. “We don’t have the resources to fight two wars right now!”
“So we should go back to Iacon begging for forgiveness so that they’ll, what, team up?”
“No one is asking for anything. We need to coordinate to push off the larger threat. Once the quintessons aren’t an immediate threat to the planet we can go back to squirmishes all we want.”
Thundercracker groaned and looked around at the rest of the table. Everyone else was busy averting their optics so that they might not get dragged into the argument by being forced to offer their opinion. Things never went well when the two of them drew a line in the dirt and demanded everyone else pick a side.
Megatron knew this and could appreciate their perspective seeing as he never enjoyed the handful of times his cogged overseers had an argument spill into the mines. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t prefer that everyone agree with him on everything. Unfortunately, he’d made the decision early on to make Starscream his second for this reason—an easy vocalizer for his dissenters. They were less likely to actually split into warring factions within themselves when Starscream and he were still closely aligned and working together. An argument with Starscream meant no one else had to voice their concerns to or about him. He could understand the pros and cons to this entire endeavour, and unfortunately what worked on paper was still aggressively aggravating in actuality. Maybe setting up a suggestion box as Soundwave recommended would have been the better option.
“Everyone is dismissed. I expect full scout reports and recommended procedure reports from everyone here by first light. Starscream, stay behind.”
Starscream relaxed his frame and slipped back into his chair, looking unbothered even as everyone else looked back at him hesitantly before leaving.
“We aren’t going to kill each other,” Megatron added after another long look from Soundwave.
“Better him see than us,” Motormaster muttered quietly to Deadlock as they slipped out the door.
“Have I offended you?” Starscream asked, coyly, once they were alone and the doors automatic locking mechanism clicked into place.
“You can’t genuinely believe teaming up with Optimus is our best option,” he spat the name out in disgust and felt proud that he didn’t stumble over the syllables.
He’d practiced to himself, over and over again in his room where no one could see him: Optimus Optimus Optimus. He refused to let himself slip back into using a different name for a different mech. For all intents and purposes, Orion, his friend, was dead. And he had no plans to grovel at the pedes of whatever was living in Iacon wearing his faceplate.
“You’d denounce our actions so that they might forgive us, Starscream? Is that what you want?” He growled the words, stalking across the room toward him.
Starscream uncrossed his legs and let them fall open. Megatron hesitated, unsure if this was a sign Starscream was about to get up and physically assault him (again) or…
Focus, he scolded himself. He didn’t send everyone away for no reason. This was important, this was a make it or break it decision for the entire faction and he needed Starscream and himself to be on the same page. Somehow.
“I’m not saying we apologize,” Starscream told him flatly. “And despite how you took my words earlier, I don’t think you did anything wrong with your handling of Sentinel; I wanted him dead too. There are factors at play and you handled them under the circumstances with decisive action, a feat I can begrudgingly respect. This entire planet is rotten,” he tilted his helm, not unlike Lazerbeak (perhaps a flight frame thing?), “but those factors haven’t gone away just because Sentinel was…disposed of. The cards are already served out.”
Megatron grunted, unwilling to concede the point even if Starscream was being outwardly reasonable.
The seeker rolled his chair closer, somehow not making it look embarrassing or lacking in grace. Megatron wondered if that was what he practiced in his habsuite when no one was looking. His sauntering steps and gliding movements were surely not natural.
Megatron glared at him when they were within touching distance of each other so Starscream stopped moving. In their brief one-on-one conversation, they’d ended up meeting each other in the middle of the room despite their respective seats at the table being on opposite ends.
“How do you expect us to handle the Quintessons and the Autobots at the same time? If you haven’t noticed, we’re the ones on the surface. The quintessons will find us before they get their slimy little tentacles anywhere near your friends.”
“They’re not my friends,” Megatron barked out, his anger flaring again. “And we’ll handle them through tactics and discipline…something you’ve allowed to fall to the wayside. You can complain about my messing things up all you want, but I have to deal with what you left behind. Which isn’t much.”
“You know nothing of my leadership abilities!”
“I know they don’t exist!”
“I lead them for hundreds of cycles!”
“In a circle maybe,” Megatron muttered. “There’s a reason they picked me over you the second I came along.”
The words landed, as he knew they would, getting a flaring of wings and Starscream’s digits twitching.
Rather than react abrasively as Megatron expected he would, he got to his pedes and jabbed at Megatron’s chassis, directly over his Decepticon brand. He could feel the pinprick of a sharp claw press a minuscule indent into the plating.
“Admit that you’re the one being unreasonable. We need to pick our battles.”
“What if I want to pick all of them?” Megatron asked, optics dropping down to Starscream’s intake. He looked up as soon as he realized what he was doing, although it was too late. Starscream’s optics were alight with mischief.
“Restraint, fearless leader. You have heard of it haven’t you?” He sounded like he found this entire situation funny.
Megatron grunted and stepped back, deeply aware of the irony of Starscream saying such a thing. Megatron was good at self restraint, he was great at it actually and had a stellar service record to show for it. But what had that gotten him?
“I’m not in the business of denying myself,” he said instead. It took him a long time to learn the truth, but he did learn it: the world belonged to those who took it. Waiting and playing by the rules and being good and nice don’t get you scrap, it got you was used.
Starscream fluttered his digits along Megatron’s waist vents. “Is that right?”
This was why Starscream was dangerous, because Megatron knew they were similar. Orn after orn together and he still wasn’t sure who was using who—if it was even possible to keep track.
Megatron reminded himself that he promised himself to not do this again. Moreso, giving in at the very first suggestion is horribly embarrassing for him. None of his old coworkers would have let him live it down if they saw him now, getting hot and needy at the first mech genuinely showing interest in him, even if that interest was purely physical. He secretly worried that Starscream knew about his inexperience, that he caught whiff of his neediness to be close to someone and was using it for his own machinations.
His restraint to this end had been…not exactly up to his standards seeing as in the time since their first encounter he’d found himself on more than one occasion with his servo wrapped around his spike thinking about how the seeker felt around him. He still wasn’t able to tell what made him feel more shame: imaging Starscream’s face while he sought release or Orion Optimus’. Both, he figured, for different reasons. None of his overloads had been the most satisfying.
He raised a servo to stroke down Starscream’s chassis and watched the shorter mech’s smirk grow into a sharp grin, denta on display.
“Admit I’m right.”
“I’ll offline first.”
Starscream snorted, and allowed Megatron to pushed him back toward the table.
“Is this going to become a thing? Us and tables? Scorponok will be furious if he finds out.”
Megatron stroked his digits over Starscream’s thighs then cupped his entire array in his servo, Taking in how heated he felt.
And then he realized that there was another issue. If his worries were just worries, and Starscream didn’t know about his inexperience yet, then he couldn’t prep him. Or maybe he could and do it quickly? If he was overly rough and, well, bad at it, maybe Starscream would assume it was because he didn’t care about foreplay and wasn’t interested in anything other than achieving his own pleasure.
Some small part of his spark died at the concept of being seen as a selfish lover, because back when he carried a different designation, that wasn’t what he envisioned he would be if he…
It didn’t matter. What did he care what Starscream thought of his berth skills?
He realized he and Starscream were staring at each other not doing anything, Megatron’s servo still groping him. He scrambled to remember the last comment made and connected it to which part of the table they were at.
“We can clean up after, he doesn’t have to know.”
“You can clean up,” Starscream retorted instantly, “I’ll sit and watch.”
Megatron raised an optic ridge in consternation, “why’s that?”
“Because I had to clean up last time, so it’s your turn.”
He let out an embarrassed rumble of his engine at the reminder. He’d been so embarrassed at how he cuddled Starscream in the afterglow that he’d run off in a panic. Luckily, if pressed, he could pass the rumble of his engine off as that of arousal over the memory of last time.
“Fine,” he accepted.
Starscream let out a pleased hum and then opened his array under Megatron’s servo—his valve and spike this time.
Megatron fisted the spike, which perked up at the attention and he ran his thumb along the underside of it, moving his fist up and down once to watch the corners of Starscream’s intake relax. The angle was awkward, which was to be expected seeing as he’d never touched a spike that wasn’t attached to him before. Regardless, the movements were familiar enough, and he knew Starscream’s general preferences in life to know he should promptly tighten his grip to almost too tight. He wasn’t even worried about how much friction there was without any oil, figuring that would be a bonus to the mech infront of him rather than a problem.
Starscream’s intake fell open and he let out a soft hiccuped gasp.
Pain was good, the line between it and pleasure seemed to blurt for him and that was something Megatron could work with.
When he was first adjusting to his new frame and build, Shockwave and Hook forced him to start doing exercises to practice controlling his own strength. He hated them at the time because the exercises left him feeling awkward and clumsy, two things he didn’t like feeling. After their first time interfacing, he went back to practicing with vigour, although he refused to admit to himself why. Now, watching Starscream rock into his fist, and whine at each swipe of his thumb over the head to gather the droplets of transfluid forming, he was grateful he did.
The transfluid helped ease the movements a little, but he needed more than he was getting. He released his grip and moved to digits lower to slide between Starscream’s valve lips. He barely had to position his servo before Starscream was pushing down onto them, driving Megatron’s digits inside his valve.
“Come on,” Starscream panted, planting his servos on the table behind him and rolling his hips. “What are you waiting for?”
Megatron wasn’t sure why he’d been so worried—of course he didn’t need to concern himself with giving Starscream pleasure. Starscream would take what he wanted for himself. Under most other circumstances, he might have found this annoying, but for now it was useful.
He rubbed the pads of his digits along the soft inner metal mesh of his walls, exploratory and curious. Starscream gripped his wrist with one servo and held it still so he could rock himself onto it more firmly.
Megatron snorted.
“What was that about restraint?” He asked, goading.
“Not—aaah,” Megatron crooked his digits to press against that spot again and watched Starscream jackknife off the table, “frag your digits are long—now is not the time for restraint.”
“It could be,” Megatron purred, pulling his digits free.
“I’ll kill you,” Starscream hissed, then moaned when Megatron rubbed his slick digits over his anterior node.
“I’m sure,” Megatron agreed distractedly. He couldn’t look away from the trail of transfluid he was leaving, glistening alluringly under the horrible lighting of the meeting room. He wrapped his servo around the seeker’s spike again and found each stroke much smoother now. The transfluid dribbling out of the spike itself was coming faster.
He opened his valve covering and pressurized himself. He dragged Starscream’s body closer to the end of the table with his free servo and pressed himself closely into the v of his legs. He clumsily pressed his own spike against Starscream’s before wrapping his fist around them both. He groaned low, and his hips jerked forward.
“Frag,” he hissed.
Starscream curled forward, forehelm pressed to Megatron’s shoulder and turned down to look at them together.
“You should.”
“Huh?” Megatron asked inarticulately, focused as he was on the pressure of his servo and the movement of his hips and the way Starscream’s transfluid was leaving lines on him now.
“Frag me,” Starscream explained, and Megatron blinked his optics when Starscream’s servo patted his aft twice in a row. “Hop to it.”
Megatron wanted to be difficult, but also he really wanted to get inside Starscream again. Maybe this would get him out of his system: first time was a fluke, the second time was to get it out of his system, and there would be no third time.
“Okay,” he said, and then let go, grabbed Starscream by the hips, and flipped him onto his front.
He traced down his spinalstrut, lingering onto to run at the base of Starscream’s wings, and then rocked his hips against his aft.
Starscream bowed his back to lift his aft into the air, and Megatron hurriedly lined himself up to his valve.
Last time, he promised himself, gotta make it good.
Starscream dug his claws into the table when Megatron pushed into him. He’d worry about the cosmetic damage later, but for now he could only focus on how big Megatron felt inside of him. He was barely stretched, two digits inside of him earlier to collect transfluid did not make for good prep, and Megatron was big regardless. He’d been so lax last time that he hadn’t been able to appreciate it properly. Now, he practically wanted to purr. The stretch was tight, and he could feel his callipers clicking and whirring at the intrusion, trying to decide if it was supposed to be happening or not.
He tried to consciously relax himself into it, even as the big oaf behind him kept pushing in. His offlined his optics because additional stimuli was not necessary right now.
A high keening noise was crawling out of his throat that he couldn’t stop.
Megatron was still pushing in, able to go so much deeper now in this position. He worked his hips in small figure eights. He hasn’t felt this good in solar cycles.
Megatron stopped, and Starscream let out a soft whine in confusion, rocking himself backward trying to get him to keep going. Megatron matched his movements and the two fell into a lazy push and pull, the massive frame behind him draping itself over his back. It was only once he acclimated properly and was able to take in more data that he realized Megatron was pressed as far in as he could go.
His neglected spike twitched and he knew he was smearing transfluid onto the table under him.
“‘m ready,” he slurred out, and with a concentrated effort manually cycled all of his callipers in a pattern. It was a skill that was learned with time and practice, and he knew none of Megatron’s little friends would have learned yet.
“Oh,” Megatron said, awed and strangled all at once, proving Starscream’s assumption to be true.
He pulled out only to slam himself home hard enough to shove the table forward.
“Yes,” Starscream moaned and let himself fall limp as he was used.
He wasn’t sure how long they lasted after that, thrusts that tended to skirt off his internal nodes deliciously half the time and directly into his closed forge the other half. He wasn’t sure which was better, and the lack of consistency meant he could never quite brace himself either way.
He knew he was making obscene noises, far louder than the little grunts of exertion Megatron was letting out, but he didn’t mind. He liked being the centre of attention, and that meant knowing how to put on a show even when he wasn’t doing any of the real work.
It was one final thrust against his forge that did it, or rather the idea of him opening it just to see how much deeper Megatron could go, and then he was overloading onto Megatron’s spike and on the table simultaneously.
Megatron followed shortly after before he, once again, collapsed onto Starscream.
Starscream twisted his helm to the side to glare at the wall of the war room. How did this keep happening to him?
“Have you come around to seeing reason yet?” He asked, because if he was going to be trapped here, feeling each twitch and throb of the spike inside of him, he might as well get some work done.
“What reason?”
“Behind why we should talk to the Autobots.”
Megatron ex-vented loudly into Starscream’s audial.
“We can direct more scouting troops on finding out the details of what they’re up to, and then we can discuss approaching them.”
Starscream grinned victoriously.
Megatron huffed as if he could see the look on his face. “We have to consider carefully how we approach them, we can’t let them think we’re doing it because we need them.”
“I would sooner rip my own wings off and become a grounder than ever let them think that. If we approach first, we can control the negotiations.”
Megatron hummed in thought.