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Starscream watched from the foot of his throne steps as the bot that bested him was swept up in the growing crowd. His supporters—Starscream’s supporters—cheered and reached out to him like he was a Prime himself as he pushed through the swarm and out into the open wilderness. They chanted his designation and roared in adulation as the young bot brandished his weapon and shot a blast into the darkening sky.
Starscream clutched at his injured intake as the firebrand began to speak, about crimes and justice and Sentinel Prime, his words muffled and far away but the anger tainting them clear as crystal. He watched as his most loyal disciples clung to every word.
Of course, not all of his followers were so easily swayed. A few of them were rooted in their spots in the shadows, watching their leader cower on the ground with horrified, pained expressions as their comrades disappeared over the horizon. Their optics were round and flickering with sympathy in a way that made Starscream feel ill with shame. He didn’t want their pity.
Then a servo appeared in his periphery. He turned his helm and looked up to see one of the other captured bots, the red and blue one with the naive dreams of peace and unity, reaching out to help him up.
Starscream’s optics flashed with indignation. He grit his dentae and, pointedly rejecting the offering, pushed himself up onto unsteady pedes without the other bot’s help. His balance faltered for just a klik, but he stayed standing, and when he knew his legs would not give out from under him, he limped off to one of the many secluded corners of the scrapyard base to brood.
And to plan. Because Starscream had not survived as a hunted fugitive for so long due to sheer luck alone.
⸻⸻⸻
It was well into the off-rotation when D-16 returned with his horde. Starscream was surprised he came back at all, half-expecting him to hijack an energon train bound for Iacon and march on Sentinel that very night. But Starscream had come to an insightful conclusion during the hours he spent alone welding his wounds: D-16 had absolutely no idea what he was doing.
Oh, he had notions, concepts, but he didn’t know war. He’d never seen friends die or watched others lose themselves to their own parasitic rage that ate at their soft insides until there was nothing left. He didn’t know pain, sacrifice, suffering, more intimately than a conjunx. All he had was a bruised ego and some chipped paint on his frame.
But he was young, vibrant, and surprisingly eloquent. His energy was addicting. His presence was so effortlessly commanding that despite his short stature, bots felt as if they were looking up at him.
Or perhaps that was all Starscream’s opinion, who only got a good look at D-16 after he was ground into the dirt.
The fact of the matter was that D-16 had garnered more respect in the few hours since his arrival than Starscream had during his entire time on the surface of this Primus-forsaken planet. He was a natural leader and, though Starscream was loath to admit, he was their best shot at ridding the world of that false Prime.
He just needed a stable guiding hand.
D-16 stalked through the base, helm held high but shoulders sagging with exhaustion. His gaze scanned the compound, passing flatly over the mechs who watched him, who were all ready to spring forward if he signaled to them. His optics locked onto the decrepit ship that constituted the far side of the base. He made his way over and disappeared into one of the more intact corridors, pedesteps heavy, measured, and simmering.
Starscream caught sight of the red and blue bot off to the side. He sat with the two other prisoners—though to call them prisoners seemed quite silly, given that they were never bound and apparently had no intention of leaving—and his gaze lingered on D-16’s retreating shadow. The femme placed a soothing servo on his pauldron, but he paid it no mind. His optics were glossy and glinting, pathetically rueful, and oh. That’s how it was.
Starscream suppressed a smirk.
D-16 would make a fine figurehead, but Starscream would make a finer regent. D-16 had strength and vitality, but Starscream had wit. Starscream had cunning. Starscream had schemes and plots and ploys and a talent for identifying weaknesses that he could exploit.
Starscream emerged from the overhang he was sheltering under and made for the grounded ship. The bots still outside watched him with half-feigned interest, and none got up to follow him.
The hulking carcass yawned above him, and he took a few steps inside. His pedesteps echoed off the rusted, curved walls as he slowly traversed the corridor. The ship creaked and groaned, alert to his intrusion, and Starscream hissed. His wings rippled uncomfortably once his optics adjusted to the darkness and his processor made note of the height of the ceilings. They were too short, the corridor too skinny, and they only seemed to narrow and converge as he made his way closer to an interior door that had long since eroded away.
He stepped through the doorway into what was once a command room of some kind. He no longer remembered the layout of his long dead ship, and most of it was rotted to the point of obscurity anyway, but in this room, he could still make out the base of what was once a speaker’s podium in the center and cracked counters that ran along the walls.
Against the counter near one of the corners of the room stood D-16—or slouched, to put it more aptly. The young bot looked decacycles older than he was, helm falling between rounded shoulders and frame curling in on itself as if his sturdy legs weren’t strong enough to support his weight. The soft, ambient glow of his yellow optics illuminated his face. They reflected an unbefitting weariness, but the cant of his optic ridge indicated, if Starscream could believe his own conclusions, a peacefulness as well. Somehow, D-16 found comfort in this gloomy, stifling room.
Starscream almost felt bad about shattering it.
Starscream cleared his intake and watched as D-16 startled. He pushed himself away from the wall and straightened his posture in a manner reminiscent of a soldier caught shirking their duties.
He started to say something, a designation perhaps, but cut himself off when his optics met Starscream’s own.
He reset his vocalizer with an audible click.
“What are you doing here?”
His tone was terse and hostile. Starscream chuckled at the way his voice wavered in his attempt to deepen it.
“This is my ship. I should think I can go wherever I please.” Starscream cursed his own fried vocals, his taunt coming out as nothing more than a string of staticky screeches. He cleared his intake again, this time not for theatrics. “Anyway. I’ve come to congratulate you. You fought well, for a grounder.”
D-16 raised his optic ridge. He stared at Starscream, optics darting to and fro, studying him.
Whatever he found in the shadows that shrouded his faceplate, he did not like.
“I don’t need your commendation.”
“No, you don’t.” Starscream conceded with only a hint of aggravation. He took a few steps forward, and when D-16 didn’t start spitting like a cornered turbofox, he continued. “But isn’t it nice to have it?”
D-16’s optics narrowed.
“That awaits to be seen.”
Despite the chill that still laced his tone, Starscream knew that D-16 was preening at the crumbs of praise. Sentinel must truly be stealing away every last scrap of energon because the young bot before him was starving. He was at war with himself, the poor thing. He held his helm high and his chassis out, but his servos flexed as he balled his fists, glancing guiltily between Starscream and the fractured floor between them. The disdain that the little upstart had for Starscream practically radiated off his frame, but it was wariness that was causing him to hesitate now.
He needed another push.
“Is that how you treat a friend?” Starscream asked.
The reaction was instantaneous.
“You are not my friend,” D-16 snapped. His optics flared, their warm gold darkening to a smoldering amber.
“Yet I’m the only one here. What does that tell you about your so-called comrades?”
D-16 roared and flung himself at Starscream, but this time, Starscream was ready. He sidestepped as the smaller, stockier mech threw a punch that would have collided with his dentae.
D-16 swore and ran at him again. Starscream dodged and weaved between ruthless, imprecise strikes. D-16 fought with the same unwavering ferocity in which he spoke, vowed, and pledged, but just as with his words, he lacked the polished finesse that could only come with age and experience. The energon in Starscream’s veins flowed hot as molten metal.
Another missed punch, and Starscream veered and skirted behind him. In the few kliks it took for D-16 to regain his bearings, Starscream landed a blow of his own to D-16’s exposed side. The young bot let out a choked shout of pain.
“What’s the matter? Where’s your fighting spirit?” Starscream goaded. His damaged voice grated against his audials. “Not so tough without your sweetspark watching from the sidelines, are you?”
Starscream ducked to evade a crudely telegraphed swing. He barked out a laugh, but before he could throw another insult at the mech to rile him up further, a knee smashed into the fragile armor protecting his waist. A diversion. If Starscream were able to process anything beyond white-hot flashes of agony, he would’ve been proud.
Starscream buckled. Before he could recover, D-16 kicked him again. His pede collided perfectly with the center of Starscream’s chassis, and the force of the blow sent Starscream smashing into the wall behind him. The room shook from the impact.
D-16 was on him within nanokliks, pummeling his side plating with fury-blind hits. Sparks burst where his fists made impact, and Starscream felt each ridge of his servo plating as it dented and warped his frame. He clawed uselessly at D-16’s pauldron. He bit down on his glossa to keep from crying out, his crushed vocalizer producing a broken string of whines that only seemed to impel the younger mech further.
The thought of whether D-16 might fully succumb to his rage and kill him had crossed Starscream’s processor before following him onto the ship alone, and he couldn’t help but feel a growing, icy fear, clotting thickly in his fuel lines. He winced as another punch made contact with his battered chassis. D-16’s optics were dark and unrelenting, his faceplate steeled with a deep-set purpose that brought Starscream back to the horrors of the war-torn surface plains and the image of his trinemates, drawn and quartered by massive Quintesson bodies.
Then just as quickly as it began, the pain ceased. Unaware of when he’d closed them, Starscream opened his optics, blinking away the coolant that pricked at the corners. The images receded as Starscream came back to himself, the wall behind him grounding him and forcing him to focus on the mech in front of him. Though he hadn’t retreated, D-16 had pulled his servos back to his sides. Close as they were, barely half an arm’s length apart, Starscream could see his frame vibrating with a mix of shame and seething rage.
Starscream put on a grin.
“Why did you stop?” he asked, the whirring of his fans punctuating his words. “I was just starting to have fun.”
“You’re sick,” D-16 spat. The sanctimonious reprove was contradicted by the sound of his own heavy fans. “All this time spent playing deranged hierophant has rusted your processor.”
“Oh? Then why don’t you put me out of my misery?” He leaned forward until he felt the heat of D-16’s ex-vents against his faceplate. “Or would that be ‘showing mercy?’”
Starscream had felt it the first time they fought. Beneath the choler and the righteous fury, there had been a churning current of arousal in the way the younger bot held him down and molded his soft intake pipe to the shape of his servo. He could feel it in the pressure on the insides of his thighs as D-16’s shiny silver knee plates pushed them apart, in the hum of the fusion cannon pressed invitingly into his cheek. He knew D-16 felt it too. Starscream gazed at him through pain-hooded optics.
D-16 met his stare, but he said nothing.
“I know your servos are itching to wrap around my intake again.”
“You don’t know anything about me.”
Starscream laughed, gritty and strained. He traced his servo up D-16’s arm that was still glued tightly to his side. “I know you’re angry,” he said. “I know you want revenge on this Pit-hole world and that your best friend is appalled at you for it. And I know that I can—”
The rest of his words were swiftly cut off as D-16 captured his mouth with his own. Starscream groaned as the force of the contact sent his helm back against the wall, and D-16 used the opportunity to push further into his space. Though he was shorter than Starscream, he used his considerable width to pin him between the wall and his pent up frame.
The heat was overwhelming. The rough, clumsy slide of their dermas caused tingles of need to shoot through Starscream’s frame, and it took his addled processor a moment to recall that he’d planned this.
D-16 pulled back until their dermas were barely brushing. Electric charge and intake fluid still connected them.
“You sound like a frayed wire with all your glitching,” he growled into the space between them.
“Why don’t you shut me up then?”
The younger mech let out a low, rumbling sound from deep in his intake and kissed him again. D-16 kissed with the same unbridled intensity with which he fought, inexorable and wholly demanding. He bit down roughly on Starscream’s derma and bullied his glossa into Starscream’s mouth with the tact of a sealed virgin—
Holy Primus.
D-16 licked over the soft curve of his glossa and the ridges of his dentae like he was trying to commit the inside of his intake to memory. He groaned, deep and shaky. He was impatient. Arrogant, brash, and foolish.
One of D-16’s servos found its way up to his helm, holding him in place as he laved over his lips, teeth, and tongue. Starscream reciprocated with a servo on his chassis, and even through the fog clouding his processor, he noted the way his whole frame shivered under the contact.
The momentary lapse in control allowed Starscream to deepen the kiss. He pushed back against D-16’s hold until their kiss was more of a parley than a pillaging. D-16 moaned into his intake when their glossas entwined.
He tasted like oil-smoke and low-low grade—the kind that Pit fighters were forced to drink. The kind of fuel that was more additives than energon, that clung to your intake tube and burned away at your protoform like caustic brine. Just the smell was enough to singe his olfactory sensors.
The dissonance was enough to make his background processes ping. D-16’s frame was pristine, so different from the scuffed, dirty mechs of the arenas. The only scratches on his untarnished chassis—the only glossa in his unsullied intake—were from Starscream, yet he functioned on a diet only fit for the lowest of classes.
Even the energon paid as pathetic tribute to the Quintessons was standard-grade. Sentinel forced his own people to fight over dregs to bolster his gilded empire—not that Starscream had anything akin to a populistic streak, but the irony was not lost on him. It was those most vital for the continuance of his reign, the miners, the constructicons, the cogless, whom he fed the slag left over once their overlords’ supply was refined.
It forced him to wonder: who exactly was this bot?
D-16 let out a petulant scoff that pulled Starscream from his thoughts. He had let his mind wander, and his mouth had stilled. He continued his onslaught with renewed vigour, trailing his servos up the expanse of D-16’s wide frame, hooking onto his pauldrons to drag him closer until their chasses rubbed together.
He slotted his thigh between D-16’s legs, and the younger mech arched eagerly into the contact. The bluster he had acted with mere moments ago had combusted like hydrocarbon, and as he succumbed to his new overpowering desire, he let Starscream lead him. Guide him. Assume control in his stead.
“You’re burning up,” Starscream murmured. D-16’s fans immediately kicked on a step higher, and Starscream could not contain the shrill chuckle that escaped him.
Starscream fixed his attention on the soft cabling of D-16’s intake. He bit down, harder than necessary, and D-16 hissed at the unexpected pain, but what followed was an uncontrollable whine as Starscream sucked at the sensitive spot. He felt D-16 begin to grind his closed interface panel against the plating of his thigh.
“It’ll feel better if you open,” Starscream purred next to where his audial would’ve been. He ran an enticing digit along the top seam of his searing hot panel.
“Primus—”
“Why are you holding back?” he asked, tone dripping with insincerity. He knew how much the young mech wanted this, could feel it in the trembling of his plating and the rocking of his pelvis, but his false bravado had been replaced with an ill-fitting shyness that made the cruel part of Starscream’s spark swell in his chassis.
He then said it like the realization had only just occurred to him. “Don’t tell me you’ve never done this before?”
The vulnerability D-16 had allowed to slip through was quickly put under wraps again. A servo that had found its way to Starscream’s waist gripped him painfully, threatening to warp the thin plating. Starscream let him hear just how much the show of force amused him.
“Shut up,” he snapped, voice impressively steady.
“It’s nothing to be ashamed of. I can teach you.” He grinned into the crook of D-16’s intake as the mech rubbed himself along his teasing digits. “And it seems like you’re a quick study.”
“It’s not—I’ve done…” Either the words eluded him, or he was too embarrassed to speak them, and he trailed off.
“Oh? Tell me, then. What is it you’ve done?”
Starscream licked D-16’s helmet in a way that had the other mech vibrating under his touch.
“I’ve thought—”
Starscream cut him off with a bite to his exposed bit of jaw, right where his helmet met his chin. D-16 hissed.
“Thinking doesn’t count.” Starscream’s voice dropped down low, low enough that his vocalizer didn’t glitch, and his next words came out as hot and smooth as an oil bath. “Have you ever overloaded inside a pulsing wet valve?”
D-16’s moan echoed in his audials, and his legs gave out. The tight hold he had around Starscream’s waist meant that he took both of them down, D-16 kneeling on the floor in a lewd V-shape with Starscream straddling him at hips. His interface array, sweltering, with fluid beginning to pool behind his closed panels, hovered tantalizingly over D-16’s still-hidden spike.
D-16 gazed up at him with cloudy, blown optics, derma parted, intake bared. Starscream felt a feral hunger bloom in his core at the sight of the mech below him, the shine of Starscream’s optics bathing his faceplate in a crimson glow. He could see, in the hazy cycling of his pupils, the last fiber of D-16’s resolve fraying and chafing and straining, as he stopped his softly rutting hips from making contact with the valve plate above him.
Starscream held onto the younger mech’s pauldrons with both servos, steadying the both of them as he repositioned above him, lining up his valve with where he knew D-16’s spike would be. His servos mapped the shape of them, square and sturdy—built for manual labor, his ever-perceptive processor flashed—as he readied himself to open his panel and grind against scorching plating until D-16 relented and pressurized inside of him.
Then one of his digits caught against something most peculiar.
“What is…”
On D-16’s left pauldron, there was something small, purple, and reflective. A sticker.
“It’s nothing,” D-16 tried to defend himself, but his voice had gained an airy quality that made his reprisal sound like a whine. When Starscream glanced at him, his optics had shifted downwards.
It was a sticker of Megatronus Prime. There was nothing special about it, but its bright, simple colors and thick-lined black and white border seemed out of place on an arm powerful enough to tear helm from chassis. It was so…juvenile.
The idea of D-16 having a sparkling-hood hero made something utterly foreign twist inside Starscream’s spark. It made his insides churn, and when he looked back at D-16, he finally noted the fearful uncertainty that colored his faceplate and cloaked his frame.
It was not for D-16’s sake that Starscream slowed down and traced a soothing digit around the edges of the sticker. It was not for his benefit that Starscream cupped his jaw with his servo and stroked his lower derma. He simply needed the young mech willing, and he ignored the sickly affection that blossomed in his chassis when D-16 leaned into the touch and sucked his digit into his mouth.
“It’s only natural he’d be your idol,” Starscream murmured softly. “He’s the greatest Prime that ever lived.”
The muffled keen D-16 let out in response was unexpected—but certainly not unwelcome. It meant that Starscream could lean down, dermas ghosting above his audials, and say with a perfect, practiced lilt, “He had the largest spike too.”
The servo still around Starscream’s waist squeezed until the metal began to creak. For a klik, Starscream wondered if he’d miscalculated until he saw the way D-16’s optics blazed with sheer, unadulterated want. He cringed through the discomfort. His thighs were shaking with effort, still hovering over the other bot. His own wetness urged him to sink down and feel the way D-16’s heat radiated up through his empty valve, aching to be filled, but he held firm. He needed D-16 to choose this. To choose him.
D-16 reset his vocalizer once and then again. His gaze roved down the edges and curves of Starscream’s frame, the whirring of his muddled processor visible in the purposeful way his optics stopped and assessed each smooth line, each scratch, each grabbable bit of metal.
The surface had not been kind to Starscream. Harsh weather, lack of resources, and the incessant threat of annihilation meant that the polished elegance of his once-beautiful frame had long since eroded away. His glossy paint had tarnished in uneven splotches. Fiber-line fractures spread out from his optics like aged wings, and along his cockpit were the scars of rust-rot, crudely cauterized, that would never fully fade.
But D-16 was not disgusted by these visible signs of neglect. His engine thrummed heavy in his chest. His glossa darted out and wet his dermas, and Starscream pushed out his chest enticingly in a way he hadn’t done in decacycles.
D-16 swallowed audibly.
“You’ve…had interface with Megatronus Prime?” he asked.
Merely saying the words out loud had D-16’s servos shaking. How cute.
“No, we didn’t have interface,” Starscream purred. “We fragged. He pounded my valve till I saw stars.”
A high, splintered noise escaped D-16’s intake. Starscream tilted his faceplate up with one digit until ruby met gold.
“What do you think, toughbot? Wanna see how you measure up?”
The immediate shink of D-16’s panels retracting was all the confirmation Starscream needed. When he glanced down, his spike was already fully pressurized, and Primus, what a spike it was. It was silver like the rest of his frame, roughly hewn and natural, and it was big. Rings of blinking biolights encircled it from base to tip like decorative bangles worn by patricians of Vos. Starscream knew he could barely fit a servo around it where it was thickest.
“Impressive,” he hummed, enjoying the way D-16’s spike throbbed at the drop of praise. It rested heavily against Starscream’s pelvis, staining his lower paneling with messy streaks of light blue transfluid. He was leaking from just one kiss and a few dirty words—Starscream had to take a moment to even out his own venting before popping his valve panel.
With one servo on D-16’s pauldron for support, Starscream shifted and lined up his valve with the tip of his spike. He was already slick with lubricant, but despite his own eagerness, he knew it would be a painful stretch. The thought had him biting his derma and parting his folds—he’d endured far worse for far less.
It was pure bliss when the head of D-16’s spike finally breached his ring and sunk deeper, deeper, deeper into Starscream’s valve. Starscream used his weight to coax him all the way in, the ribs of his shaft catching on all the little nodes he wasn’t able to reach by himself. His callipers strained against the intrusion, but he forced himself down until his aft met D-16’s trembling thighs and his tip was pressing firmly against his ceiling node.
“Ha…ah—” D-16 mewled and hid his face in the crook of Starscream’s intake.
It would all be for naught if he overloaded already, so Starscream merely rolled his hips in slow circles as D-16 panted desperately against his damaged intake cables.
It gave Starscream a moment to reflect on how surprisingly well they fit together.
When the younger mech had at least partially regained composure, Starscream raised himself up and began to ride him, steady and controlled, clenching his valve on each slide in so that D-16’s spike was being fully sucked into that wet heat.
“That’s it,” he praised. “You feel so good—so deep inside me. I’m going to move faster now.”
Starscream’s breathy sighs and D-16’s punched out moans echoed throughout the derelict command room. He wondered idly how many alliances had been forged just like this and if the attachment that would follow from this one very late night would be strong enough to prevent D-16 from keeping his promise and killing him one day—before Starscream had the opportunity to do so first.
But he didn’t have time to ponder the thought because the base of D-16’s spike rubbed against his anterior node, sending a jolt of pleasure up through his frame and effectively shorting out any logical thought.
“Your spike is so thick,” Starscream rasped. “You’re filling me so well.”
D-16 nodded shakily.
“Here’s where you say something nice to me,” he cooed, once again using a servo to force D-16 to meet his gaze. His intake cables were wet with condensation, and when he looked into D-16’s optics, they were bleary and unfocused.
“You’re t-tight,” he managed to moan between labored vents, “a-and warm—”
He sought out Starscream’s mouth again, and the two met in a sloppy kiss that was hardly more than panting into each other’s intakes as Starscream continued to ride him. The cold metal floor dug into his knees, and the burn of exertion spread up through his thighs, but D-16 sobbed so sweetly into his intake with each glide of his valve down onto his spike that Starscream barely noticed.
A particularly rough bounce made D-16 cling with both servos to his outstretched wings. The sudden contact forced a very undignified yelp out of Starscream as D-16’s large digits swept over sensitive sensory plating. His surprise must have knocked something awake in D-16’s processor because soon, his touches became more deliberate. Though obviously unfamiliar with flight frame anatomy, D-16’s eagerness made up for his inexperience with the way he explored with clumsy hands, groping every bit of delicate, curved metal.
His servos eventually landed themselves on the underside of his wings, providing just enough stimulation to have Starscream leaning into the touch, softly squirming in an unvoiced plea for D-16 to continue stroking. The firm hold also allowed Starscream to lift himself higher, to drive himself down faster, and arch backwards in a way that had D-16’s spike dragging deliciously against his walls.
D-16 then took the chance to lift his own hips and match Starscream’s rhythm. Starscream hadn’t expected a show of initiative so soon, but he moaned in encouragement as the small, tentative thrusts buried his spike even further in his soaking valve. The sticky sounds of their fragging became louder as D-16’s confidence grew and Starscream’s lubricant coated the younger mech’s thighs. A familiar heat began to coil tightly in his core.
“Mmh, yes—just like that,” Starscream breathed. Something selfish curled inside him at the way D-16 shuddered every time he spoke.
“Look at how wide you stretch me,” he instructed.
And of course, D-16 could do nothing but follow such a well-given command. Starscream could tell when his optics finally focused because he felt the way his spike throbbed at the sight. Starscream leaned back, ever generous, to give him a better view.
His shaft was coated in transfluid and lubricant—so much that it was impossible to tell from who. It disappeared completely inside Starscream’s valve with each thrust, its thick base parting the folds of his valve in a way that even Starscream could only describe as obscene. Slick dribbled out from where they were connected, staining their laps and the floor with their own need.
“My node,” Starscream continued. It took all his effort to keep his voice steady. “Look how it’s blinking. That m-means I’m going to overload soon.”
“Yes, yes, Primus—” D-16 cried, his thrusts up becoming more erratic at the mere thought.
“You should—ha—rub it.”
“S-Star—” D-16 moaned brokenly as Starscream clenched around him “—please!”
D-16 released one of the wings he was fondling, but his servo hovered uselessly in midair as he was transfixed by the flickering blue and orange of Starscream’s fat, pretty node. His patience finally spent, Starscream reached up and grabbed hold of his servo and guided it down exactly where he wanted it.
The first touch of his digits against his pulsing node was electrifying.
Starscream dragged two of D-16’s digits through the lubricant dripping from his valve and began to massage them in slow, agonizing circles over his anterior node. His vocalizer glitched and spasmed on each vent out as he neared closer and closer to his overload.
He continued to maneuver D-16’s servo when the younger mech decided to take his node between his digits and squeeze. Starscream let out a static-filled gasp, his spark hammering in his chassis so loudly he was sure D-16 could hear it, could feel it against his digits, around his spike. He forced D-16’s digits to rub him faster as he lost his rhythm, chasing his overload with each bounce, each grind—
“Am I doing it right?”
The earnesty of his words coupled with the fact that D-16 wasn’t even doing anything, that it was Starscream who had been manipulating his servo the entire time, had Starscream gushing transfluid around the spike inside him. He pulled his servo away from his node and screamed. His processor stalled as charge shot through him, wings twitching as the shockwaves slowly dissolved into a hazy blanket of pleasure.
His overload had D-16 begging mindlessly, pleas growing frantic as Starscream felt him grow stiff and his thrusts desperate and erratic. Starscream’s callipers pulsed around him as he rode out his overload, and D-16 howled, voice nothing more than static, as Starscream’s valve milked him.
“Please, Starscream, Starscream, it’s too much—I’m going to overload—”
D-16 tried to push him off, but Starscream clamped his thighs around him and buried his spike inside of him as deep as it would go. It hit against his ceiling node, forcing out another few ripples of aftershocks which caused D-16 to fall into his own overload, Starscream’s name spilling from his mouth like a mantra.
Hot transfluid filled him to the brim, leaking out where they were joined together. D-16 collapsed against the wall behind them, optics shut and frame motionless. If not for the twitching of his plating, Starscream would’ve thought he’d entered a forced reboot.
The roar of their fans was the only sound in the dark, empty room. Maybe there really was something calming about this place because, just for a moment, Starscream allowed himself to relax as well.
He rested his servos against D-16’s chassis and leaned against him. The young bot looked so different like this. Starscream followed the slope of his optic ridge down the deceivingly soft lines of his helm. He seemed almost…gentle. His dermas were pulled up into a quiet, contented smile, and at some point, his servo had found its way to the crease of Starscream’s hip and was kneading small, soothing shapes into the sore seams.
It would have been so easy to have simply let him continue.
“That was…” D-16 mumbled and trailed off.
Starscream removed his servo from his hip.
“You’ll have to be more expressive than that when you deliver your speech to Iacon.”
D-16 gave a confused grunt in response. He whined at the loss of his warm valve when Starscream got up off him.
Starscream frowned at the uncomfortable sensation of a glob of transfluid dripping out of him and running down his thigh. He collected it with his servo and wiped it on the floor before closing his panels and standing up on shaky pedes.
He heard D-16 shut his panels as well with a wordless complaint at the mess that painted his lower plating. Unlike Starscream, he stayed where he was, back against the wall, optics lazily following Starscream as he stretched his legs.
“There is an energon train scheduled to pass by just a few astro-units east from here at starrise,” Starscream said casually, as if what just transpired between them had never occurred. “I assume you will want to ready—” he paused, swallowing around the distaste in his intake, “—your troops before then?”
“That’s the idea.” D-16 had regained enough of his sense for the contempt to return in his tone, but his words lacked the hostility that they had held before.
“Hm.”
Starscream twisted until he felt the joints in his backstrut pop. He made his way over to the open door frame at the far side of the room that led back to the corridor. Despite his newfound docility, he doubted D-16 would appreciate him waiting for him to exit the ship together.
But on his way out, he peered over his wing, catching D-16’s lingering optics. He straightened up on his heelstruts and flashed a smile, all teeth and hunger, watching how the young bot shifted where he sat.
“When the time comes to choose a commander, remember to pick someone who knows how to handle you.”
He left before D-16 had a chance to reply.