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Odd Moments	By : DeeDaday Category: Transformers > Transformers: Animated > AU/AR Views: 9045 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers Animated and I make no money from these writings.

Chapter List
- 5
- 6
Characters: Megatron, Starscream
Pairing: MegatronxStarscream
Warnings: language, hyper-violent yet entirely consensual sexual content, anal, mutilation, mental break-downs, mind-fuckery and just desserts.
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Crescendo
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The door to Megatron's office swung open and hit the wall, cracking against the concrete.
"You."
He was breathing hard. Too hard to think, only to feel.
Starscream only remembered staring at the door, throat closing around that phrase no one will believe you and something else closing against that look on Skyfire's face, until his fingers were white on the handle and he was running down the hall. He sped down the street, dry eyes locked on the insidious gun-metal sheen of the purple high-rise. The crack of his heels carried him into its depths and then its heights. The elevator had drifted to a halt and bounced, sticky-slow, on the forty-first floor. The instant the doors halved, Starscream bolted out and clipped a faceless suit's shoulder, sending papers pluming everywhere as he sprinted for the stairs.
He didn't exist – couldn't confront what he was doing – until his hand wrenched at the handles to Megatron's office and suddenly the full-length windows were bleaching the carpet into squares and, at the other end of the silent room, a grey-suited silhouette was waiting for him.
"Starscream."
His voice was strong and deep and final, the only sound in the room. It filled the office and made it into a sun-streaked cathedral, the thorny purple mark of the company gleaming behind the master and his mahogany pulpit. Megatron turned around, hands clasped at his back. The grey eyes that found Starscream's dark, wide ones were lidded, possessed of a surety and a veiled glee that was subtly horrifying, as threatening as the heft of Megatron's muscles beneath his grey silk.
And for the first time ever, Starscream felt no fear.
"How dare you," he whispered. He craved to scream it, wanted to gouge it into the skin of the man's neck and belly, but his voice was shaking too badly and his slight body was consumed with the pendulous vibration of not falling apart. Megatron only looked at him, waiting, and his motionlessness made his Second jerk forward, hands balled into fists. "You set me up. You planted those files – the real files – for Skyfire to find. Promoted me to make it look like I planned the whole thing."
Head pounding, Starscream was expecting him to deny it and make him a child fighting for the truth of a night fright, but Megatron's slithery smile was locked in place, eyes forward.
"It was actually Shockwave who did the paperwork, but it was under my orders," the President allowed. He reached up and removed his glasses, folding them in his monstrously huge palm with pensive motion. He turned towards the full-length windows and the cubist abstract of Detroit encased below them. "And I felt it proper to promote you to head of the project due to your great personal stake in it. In all honesty, I am surprised to hear of your own surprise. Your demands for more authority are, after all, nothing if not constant. Just this once, I suppose you underestimated your importance in things."
Starscream opened his mouth to speak but Megatron's powerful form pivoted and his broad hands slammed down on his desk, entire torso suddenly vibrating with locked-up power.
"Yes, Starscream," he said low and clear, grey eyes lighting fiendishly. "I pre-meditated and executed every whining accusation on your tongue. You would say every detail of your gaudy misery is due to my actions, but I did no more than the barest of what you suspect. You did the majority of the work for me. The true question is, are you going to fight me one last time, or will you accept your lesson quietly?"
"Lesson," Starscream barked, disbelieving heat rising in his neck.
His hands clawed, whiter. He could barely look at Megatron: the urge to leap forward and tear into his face was too strong. The remnants of his world pressed in from all sides, fragments unbearably heavy and serrated. When he spoke, his voice came rough and rasping from the middle of his empty chest.
"You madman. You insufferable fool, you arrogant, controlling bastard. You dare call this a lesson when you have clearly sabotaged a portion of my personal life through nothing but your uncontrollable jealousy and desire to own —"
"Do not wax poetic to me of cruelty, of rights or wrongs or basic human rights!" Megatron nearly roared, voice rocketing to the ceiling as his hand slammed down on the desk again. "Is it too late for that, for any of that!"
"Are you insane?" Starscream managed to demand, voice edging higher. His very muscles were shocked by the monstrous bass in the other man's words, the exultant strength. Still there was no fear, only a deep mental tightening. A preparation for battle. "If I signed away my rights as a human being upon entering this company, you neglected to mention that in the contract!"
"Your mother signed it all for you with slips of her hand," the older man grit out, mouth warped in a ghastly grin around the wall of his teeth and twitching steadily wider. Manic, he pushed himself away from his desk and stalked around it with heavy panther strides, causing the thinner man to draw back instinctively.
"No," he breathed, eyes locked on his Second's face. His hand was up, trembling in the air, and Starscream sensed the distance between them could be halved by a slap but he did not move, breathing harshly through his teeth, neck strung tight. Instead, the older man leveled a finger at him, but still the weight of his fist remained. "You, my dear and treacherous Second, are exactly where you have bargained to be. Every step taken with care."
"How can you – "
"A person with an ounce of self-respect would have resigned the moment I struck them. A good person would have reported me, and a yet better person would have been aghast at the idea of remaining silent. You have accepted injustice, Starscream. You have accepted might over right, and would use it to get what you want – what I have – in a moment if you could. We are not to be held to inspection boards or reports. We are not to be held to the human condition, and you have accepted that. You would seek to rule that, and have selected treachery as your pet weapon to get what you desire. I know you, I learn yet more from the ways you attempt to hide from me, and I know you are more intelligent than to expect protection from the same rules you flout daily."
The glass between them and the brightness of the city suddenly seemed horrifically thick, walling them off from all air and warmth even as the blinding white of the sun-bars bleached the floor. Suddenly, Starscream could feel every floor between them and the ground: the Seeker stood in the middle of his superior's office, separated from the earth by a mile of concrete and steel, and felt an isolating chill unlike any other. Megatron had indeed created a separate world. Far away in a safe place, Starscream heard himself speaking to Skyfire over the bubble of water bath and a hastily-covered bruise: think of him as a gladiator sending his underlings to be whipped and it becomes a bit less preposterous.
The words had been his and he had felt only mild annoyance attempting to explain something Skyfire would never understand – something, perhaps, no one should ever have to. It was his reality, and perhaps the most terrifying thing was his stationary state. He only attempted to scramble up to escape Megatron himself, but never the world. Never the laws or lack thereof. The place he had not only learned to survive but been taught to, formed to, from the very beginning.
"Your double-standards are blinding, my Seeker, but it is time you feel their weight and the responsibility that comes with them."
Megatron's deep voice made his skin tighten. He looked up; the President was inches away from him. Stepping close, the older man ran his hand down his Second's arm with a forwardness that made Starscream sick to his stomach. The feeling doubled as the words and their insinuations found slits in his quivering muscles, worming in.
He showed his weakness by recoiling, but it was all he could do. The small, dumb sound that jerked out of him was equally involuntary when Megatron's hand turned hard and clamped around his wrist, keeping him there within the red aura that prickled so tangibly around his barbaric form.
"Why do you hold so strongly to this one token decency? It is pathetic," Megatron hissed in his ear. His fingers squeezed sharply then his grip changed abruptly, impossibly, fluidly curling around the younger man's limb as if to showcase and admire the thinness and whiteness of his wrist. Doting. Indulgent. "I expect more of you, and yet you are such a perfectionist. Crafting your own weakness as attentively and obsessively as you build all your strengths."
"You think I am incapable of objecting to you on principle?" Starscream snapped, staggering backwards and barely breaking free of the ownership in his superior's grip and voice. Staring at the man's indomitable silhouette, the Seeker felt his own pupils spiral into pinpricks, every defense following suit. The sense of a plan laid out underneath his feet, growing slowly, made him feel overwhelmingly trapped: trapped in the office, trapped in his suit, trapped in his head. "Why on earth would you think this falls under the same guidelines as everything else?"
"Because even in the most perverted abstraction of morality, there is nothing good in you!" Megatron boomed, arms out. He devoured the young man's drawn face with a manic expression that bordered on insane, hands frozen in grabbing for Starscream's thin arms yet somehow beseeching. "Why resist? Why lie?"
Starscream drew back, mouth open, but Megatron stepped in and cut him off, deep voice feverish.
"Your precious scientist was a pet in that terrarium of a lab. A curiosity. You cannot comprehend his morality. You feel no twinge, no righteous pain, even when brought face to face with our illegal activities, the way you are treated, the way you treat your underlings – nothing. Possibly the only comment you can make is practical management. A restructuring of your never-ending stairway upwards."
Do not pretend you know what I think was hot on Starscream's tongue, but he couldn't get it out. It wasn't just the tyrant's skill at speaking that held him fast. The way Megatron was looking at him was almost proud. No.
Adoring.
"I watched you, as I have always watched you. With your scientist, I saw your expression – or lack thereof. You had no consuming fervor at the mention of what would be done with the gas; your initial passivity about working on the gas under deception persisted. You didn't think for a moment of actually joining forces with your knight and flouting me, even for a hero's welcome at Detroit city hall."
"You heard that," Starscream breathed out, skin prickling madly to realize just how endless the man's reach and resources were. Megatron's smug expression was all the answer he needed and abruptly the Seeker felt the most violated he ever had, in a way that was different from being slammed into a shelf.
The cameras had never stopped rolling. The man had seen every moment with Skyfire, every single thing he thought had been hidden. His retreat, his blessed safe space, was now nothing but a closed environment for an experiment.
A stage.
"You see, I do believe in what they call redemption Starscream, in so far as I acknowledge the possibility of a vital change in a single person," Megatron was saying, his tone maddeningly pedantic. He watched his inferior with a suspended pleasure and a seriousness that Starscream could barely comprehend, too caught up in the unraveling of all he thought real. "I believe in it, because what my years have taught me is that nothing can stay preserved perfectly. It is never too late for change – and yet, the fact that you were offered, gift-wrapped, a chance to redeem yourself in the classic scope of morality and you didn't take it? Telling, little Seeker. Very telling."
"Going against you is suicide and you know it," Starscream grit out softly, chest locking up. He felt the truth of it all over again, overwhelmed by the lost sensation that flooded his brittle body as he stood in front of Skyfire. True hopelessness.
"But you could have made it!"
A sudden, harsh laugh burst out of Megatron, too close and too loud.
"If you had worked quickly enough, with enough heart – " he crowed, slamming his hand against his wide chest. "— you could have immediately entered a witness protection program and you know the fools at the D.P.D. would have committed murder for a confession from my Second. Your talent for exaggeration persists in all things: I have only a parcel of the government under my control, and that excludes the part that would have protected you, had you chosen correctly. It would have been difficult, twice as wrenching to sweep all of your siblings under the carpet and out of my reach, but you could have done it and you didn't. Not even for the promise of redemption. Not even for your scientist. Why?"
The ringing silence in the office dragged on. Megatron's faintly amazed smile curled at the edges as if burning inwards and abruptly his face was twisted in impatience, in fury.
"Why?" he roared, neck narrowing down to brutal tendons.
"Because I wasn't thinking! Because I was terrified!" Starscream burst out, flinging his arm in front of his chest.
"Because you still want this," Megatron corrected him, deep voice smooth and unnervingly calm. The floods and droughts of loud and soft were shaking his Second down to nothing and, gratified, he waited until Starscream was looking at him, truly seeing him, before continuing. "You weren't willing to suffer for the destruction of the very company you want to rule. ‘Goodness', or righteous action, holds no lure for you, and indeed it is thankless. That is the lesson I wish for you to learn, my Second. What you are not, and what you are willing to do for what you want."
Struck down to his core, Starscream could do nothing but stare. Megatron stared into his face and, finding what he needed, continued.
"We are what they call evil. Even if it is a label with unnecessary conviction and passion, it functions. Evil is an action, a human lacking that allows us to transcend certain roadblocks, and we are skilled men," he said slowly, deep voice bringing life and truth to his creed: ruling reality as he always had done, not through arrogance or money but through a damning, preternatural understanding of how the darkest of things worked. "You could never survive in a world that prizes selflessness. Pushed in the slightest, you cut all ties and revert. You are a calculated creature, Starscream, efficient and brutal, and that is what I cherish about you. With the brief exception of the scientist called Skyfire, it is impossible not to see what matters to you."
To hear Skyfire – a golden man, a smile, the smell of shampoo and cheap wine and a big hand on his back – labeled as an experiment brought him further away from the untouched white of the lab and all the time he spent there, widening the chasm in his memory. Then he realized Megatron was right.
He never would have gone with Skyfire – never would have gone with anyone – for simple sake of belief.
D-Con was his life. He had nothing besides the company; he had nothing left. He thought he was terrified at losing his life by going against Megatron, but the scenario that brought up greater uncomprehending terror was that of tearing down his life's work to do so. Something deep in him rebelled, screamed no, so loudly and so brainstem-strong that it drowned out all else.
It had been screaming since Skyfire looked at him with that expression that said there was still hope for him.
And though the concept burned coldly and stridently in his mind, Starscream couldn't even protest that he could leave the company and his life. Start over, perhaps in science. In the rip left by Skyfire's exit, the Seeker saw he didn't have the wherewithal to pursue something so thankless – and all their generation's scientists had already been chosen. He needed recognition, speedy elevation and political pull. If he truly abandoned D-Con and followed his intellectual leanings, he would become cagey at the dead-ends, the lack of power. Begin to lash out at those around him.
Already, even with Skyfire by his side, he had become irritated with the work he was doing in lab, wanting results faster than he could get them. In any other profession, including the one he professed to love, his ambition would eat him alive. The facts of his very nature hollowed him, leaving the Seeker staring into nothingness.
D-Con's Second was torn from his realization by the slithering sound of suit-fabric and a hand sliding around his waist, both felt separately and then painfully combined. Megatron.
His nerves sparked with something too bright to be felt, only reacted to. He jerked away but the huge man's iron palm caught him and yanked him to his side, crushing him there. Frozen, Starscream's wide eyes locked on the sharp line of Megatron's shaven jaw and the metallic streak of silver at his temple. The smell of him rushed his senses, the strength in his arm making his knees weaken as though some universal balance were being struck.
"You will see, now, why your little resistance ceased to seem genuine months ago," Megatron murmured into his prickling cheek, too close to bear. The President bent to his neck, fingers slowly knotting in the fabric of the younger man's suit jacket as he breathed in. "You are too ambitious for rules, no matter their origins."
Starscream's heart leapt, the surge of response in his tightly-strung body vacillating between lethal nausea and dogged, maddening arousal. His overwhelming desperation to bend and acquiesce and keep the hard hand on his waist from curling into a fist combined like lighter fluid with the attraction that always fumed between them, intoxicating and nauseating and wrong, an explosive concoction with a freak result that was all brainstem. He rallied every single fiber in his body to stare wildly, accusingly, desperately up at the man who had ruined not only his life but his self-image, white claws sunk into his grey armor.
"You want to fuck me, do it! Do it," Starscream nearly screamed, world fraying as the room – the temple and its god – stayed painfully still. "Is this all it comes down to for you?"
The words left him before he could think on them, saturated with poison, but they stung so true that they felt right. A burning, self-mutilating kind of right, if just to release the pressure welling beneath his skin by his rotting muscles, the cloying expectation and salty pressure layered there over so many months by the man he called his President. Above him, Megatron did not smile.
"No. This is all it comes down to for you," Megatron answered, too softly to be real. He looked into Starscream's bloodless face, expression radiating a seriousness and an incomprehensible reverence. "I am trying to perfect you, Starscream. I promised I would bring you relief if only you submitted to me. This is your deference. Do this, and you will free yourself."
"So this is an act of charity," Starscream rasped like he was spitting venom, lip curling back. All over his body, he could feel a mirroring action taking place: a raising of any fleshy curtain to reveal what was hard and sharp, a weapon. He calcified in Megatron's arms, eyes burning a crimson he felt stronger than anything.
It breathed fire into the rest of him, allowing no weakness. He was made of metal, with slicing wings across his back, a fusion of all he had ever wanted and all fear that had kept him from. His President's greatest weapon.
Then Megatron smiled, even if it was only to see the purity of anger in his Second.
"We have already proven that is impossible," he murmured, callused thumb coming to trace the curve of his flushed ear. "This is merely the next step. What you agreed to when you took my mark."
For that mad instant, the line between a golden tiepin and this moment, trapped against Megatron's chest and unable to breathe, made perfect sense. Starscream, body spasming, fought not to laugh at the inevitability of it all, the crushing downward slide that first began with a mother giving her son away at sunrise. Then he couldn't control it and it ripped out of him like a piecemeal cry of pain, and he laughed as he dug his nails into Megatron's arms, head tipping back.
Megatron, who held him almost tenderly until the shakes left him.
Drawn into the vortex, the older man pressed his face close to his Second's and stayed there as if scenting the fear and the fury on the younger man's uneven breath, inscribing every tremble into his metal bones. Chest burgeoning with promises unsaid and delivered upon, Megatron leaned down and kissed his Second's open mouth. Warmth sparked between the slide of their lips, nearly freezing the younger man's body – then Starscream bit down as hard as he could.
With the first patter of blood down his white dress shirt, Megatron knew he would live to regret the soldier he had molded, the hyena whose final chain he had himself snapped away, but the only thought in Starscream's tortured mind at that moment was that he would allow Megatron to terrorize him no more.
Jerking away with a stung growl, Megatron wrenched the Seeker to the side, pushing him up against the front of his mahogany desk with a sharp smack. The wood cut into Starscream's back in a way that should have sent him cringing, but at last the stale recycled fear was overwhelmed by a psychotically singular need for revenge. He was the first to reach for the man's grey suit-jacket, shucking it and quickly turning his narrow fingers Megatron's crimson tie, whipping it from his neck without pausing to choke or threaten.
His lip curled to feel his own orange tie slither free from his neck. He twisted away when Megatron's knuckles knocked at his chin, followed by a jarring ripping sensation that sent pearlized buttons scattering over the desk and floor. Starscream's caving chest was naked for no more than an instant before browned hands were scraping over it, stifling as the mouth sucking at his, slick and demanding and sharpened with teeth. Starscream pulled away with a snarl, pushing himself onto the edge of the desk and fumbling for the white collar in front of his face; the older man's answering push was halted in its tracks by the toe of a purple boot wedged against his groin as the Seeker destroyed his shirt with halting jerks, face twisted in rage.
The older man rumbled deep in his chest, the insane glow in his eyes stoked higher by less fabric and more skin. Exultant in the moment he had waited for.
Before, Starscream was wary of what the man's physique could be, how it could play on his weakness and bait his fears, but now he knew, the harder his chest, the deeper his nails could go. The farther the tearing sensation would travel up his arms to feed the burn at his center. Starscream barely registered the chiseled olive span of his enemy's pectorals and his muscle-corded arms as Megatron's dress shirt dropped to the floor: all his hard eyes saw was a canvas cut down the center by a grisly scar and half-covered by a criminally thin sleeveless undershirt. White.
Starscream hissed furiously when Megatron gripped his lower back and pulled him off the desk and into a crushing kiss, something so urgent and hard that he responded instinctively. Pushing into the older man's hot mouth, he arched his hips into the hand tearing at the front of his slacks. All at once, he could sense the need and explosive arousal in his superior like a scientist watching thin needles tremble and rise up on a gauge. Distant, even as Megatron was crushing him.
His smirk was waxy and humorless as he twisted to allow his President to rip his clothing down his legs. A thick groan drifted up from the man's knotted body when his burning hands clapped onto Starscream's spread thighs and narrow ass, clenching. Absorbing, feeling, exulting, reveling.
Pinned against the desk, Starscream could feel him heaving in grotesque detail, but there was something hidden in the unevenness of the tyrant's breath against his neck. In contrast to the Seeker's sudden stillness and his wide, clear eyes, locked on the office door over the older man's wide shoulder, Megatron was trembling. With so much black passion in the man in front of him, Starscream could suddenly think.
Megatron needed him – or believed he did.
The burn of victory began small and incredulous but by the time his President shoved him back onto the desk, ripped his pants from his shoes and closed in with a stricken breath of air, Starscream was too consumed by the triumphant red to twist his mouth into a smile. Instead, he dug his nails in everywhere he could reach, barely pausing to feel anything else. The desk was chill against his ass and the older man's slacks scraped against the insides of his legs and Starscream, instead of pushing him away, gripped onto Megatron vengefully for the first time, reaching up and pressing his nails into his unprotected neck.
"I will rip you to shreds," he breathed, pushing his face into Megatron's and staring into the textureless grey that was his wild eyes. "I will make you regret ever looking at me."
"And I will wear your scars with pride," Megatron whispered against his mouth. He cooled Starscream's curled lips with a rough hiss as the Seeker dug in and downwards, striping the skin of his neck a grisly red. Mutilating the nakedness that he had been foolish to offer.
And so it began, that the gladiator removed his armor and now sought to lay with a lioness.
Megatron shoved the Seeker flat and jerked at his own belt, a hand to the young man's stomach keeping him prostrate until he could free himself. Starscream was flat on his back, naked save for his ripped shirt and suit jacket, legs spread and ending in narrow heels. The older man quickly undid his pants so that friction and the sheer sight of his conquest would not end his victory before it had begun in earnest. The brat flinched and twisted when Megatron took his thighs and pushed them up, almost to his chest.
The very first thing Starscream felt was fingers digging into his leg, hard enough to bruise, and then Megatron's cock shoving into him, swollen with a year of want and mad heat. Pain, brief and sharp, lanced up the small of his back. He cried out and arched against the sensation of invasion, but the pain was nothing in the face of what he could have imagined. It was no longer festering in his mind, but clean and bright in his body. Bearable, if just because it wasn't left to his practiced, sadistic imagination.
Cursing, Megatron strained against him and groaned, big hands on his hips. Gasping, body afire, Starscream forced himself up and clung to the man's monstrous shoulders, knees knocking against his sides as he shook madly. One of the President's thick arms came to cup his back; Megatron was panting in his ear, deep voice drawn tight with a pleasure too hysteric to be purely physical.
"My Seeker," he murmured thickly, hand shaking on his hip. "My Starscream."
He breathed in deeply, only to get the scent of sweat and Starscream and consume more of him, and pulled away only far enough to rock back into him again, mouth in his pale neck. He never wanted to be unlocked or unseated from him; the pulse of pleasure and satisfaction of being slick and tight inside Starscream nearly liquefied him. He pushed in slowly, claiming, savoring. He heard Starscream whimper underneath him and snarled exultantly, front of his chest prickling with pleasure. He tracked his Second's every movement and only grasped the boy's thin body closer as Starscream's hands groped up the span of his back, underneath his shirt. Then the Seeker stiffened under his chin and the older man felt a dangerous eight-point prickle between his quivering shoulder blades.
"Not yours. Never yours."
Starscream ripped downward with a merciless hiss, and his lower back and flanks erupted into agony, spine curving away from the burn. Megatron tensed and roared, blood blossoming in two sets of four straight streaks on his white undershirt. Muscles drawn whip-tight, he shoved the insolent brat onto his back with a mad grin and gripped Starscream's hips, yanking him flush to his front.
Megatron only caught a flash of Starscream's fury-hot eyes and twisted, red-stained mouth before he thrust in and the brat's head snapped back, white fingers scrabbling at the glossy finish of his desk. He made a sweet, high sound, and the speed at which the older man felt the cool sharpness of Starscream's heels, crossed at his bleeding lower back, spoke of a man well-accustomed to being fucked on top of things.
Bending over him, Megatron kept his inferior pinned to the desk and thrust into him slow and hard, bright eyes recording his every twitch. The flat plane of Starscream's belly trembled, his thighs twitching against his sides as he began to warm and respond. Again and again, Starscream's thighs slapped against his hard front and sent an answering shockwave through the Seeker's twitching body. When the older man began to lengthen his thrusts and fuck him into the desk, Starscream moaned and convulsively gripped the huge hands on his hips, prying between his tendons with his nails, all now slathered in blood.
The prickle was nothing in the face of the victory and sweet convulsion of being deep inside of his intended, but the trickles of blood joining the smears of sweat on the wood told Megatron by scent alone that Starscream would always make him pay dearly for his lust.
Underneath him, Starscream whined and gasped, transformed into a mad exhibitionist by the fact he was claiming the encounter. He was not being used. He was using, in his own way. Both men pushed and strained against each other, hissing and shaking. Locked in the most delayed and inevitable of battles, they fought for the title of user in the arena in which they had circled each other for too long, wearing grooves into the sand and their twisted minds.
Atop the desk, Starscream gasped and cursed as the rhythm became too much to bear, finally pulling his stomach tight with the fevered arch of his back and releasing over his own pale chest. Megatron pulled him up before the shivers and spilling ceased, pushing frantically into his tight body until he couldn't continue. Mad pleasure punching through his gut, he stiffened and emptied into Starscream, biting viciously into the curve of his neck until the brat's cry joined his, ragged and furious and hateful and, above all, victorious.
Slowly, they came to stillness, bodies tense and echoing. The desk was still beneath them. The office was still around them, Detroit sun-lit and small beneath the windows. An identical landscape, yet somehow changed beyond recognition by the raw scent in the air.
Deaf and blind, Starscream leaned against Megatron's pulsing chest. He hardly felt the hot breath against his aching, burning shoulder – hardly felt his own breath scraping out of him – but was absolutely emptied. Emptied of fear, emptied of thoughts or wants or needs or the barest prickle of self-preservation. What came to fill the gap was both the high tremble of victory and lower vibration of true dread.
Slowly, his hands drifted onto the muscled plane of his Lord and President's back and found the stripes of blood by touch alone. Carefully, almost gently, Starscream pressed his fingers into them. Megatron exhaled sharply into his neck, but did not move away.
Starscream, floating, was struck with the impression that complete dissolution of his world did not hurt nearly as much as he had thought it would.
But he knew: because he claimed it, met Megatron head-on with ire and arousal equal, he had turned this most feared of encounters into not a surrender but yet another battle. He had survived. He was Megatron's equal.
Against his neck, Megatron began to laugh. It was deep and unsteady, pushing slowly upwards into something rich and satisfied and mildly insane. Arms wrapped around his wide back, Starscream remained against his President, neither leaning on him nor pulling away from the hard planes of his sweat-slick body. The Seeker's eyes, wide and fading from reality, were locked on the thorny purple symbol above them as his enemy's blood dried on his nails.
It was over — and it had just begun.
- 5
- 6
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Odd Moments