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Starscream's Least-Favorite Battle	By : swordqueen Category: Transformers > Transformers: Animated > Threesomes/Moresomes Views: 2500 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Hasbro nor Transformers. I make no money writing or posting this fic.

Chapter List
- 1-Starscream's Least-Favorite Battle
- 1
A/N Possibly the wrongest thing I have ever written. I am so going to hell for this one. :(

tfanonkink request--blame them!

Starscream growled at the noise of pursuit behind him. Did these filthy humans never learn? He was all-powerful, immortal Starscream! They were no match with their puny weapons and their frail aircraft. A powerful mech such as himself had every right to treat himself with luxuries, such as this pallet of energon he'd liberated from one of Sumdac's warehouses. A powerful mech like himself needed sustenance. Quality sustenance. And what better than the energon being stored for the Elite Guard ship?

He veered into a series of maneuvers, trying to shake his pursuit, grumbling as the need to hold the energon pallet hampered his maneuverability. He'd try this one: cutting over a swath of forest, he dove to the floor of a valley below, veering wildly around the trunks of the sparse trees.

He cursed as the first flash of fire shot over his shoulder. Shooting at him? At the immortal Starscream? And the blue flash was definitely Cybertronian. That was it! Starscream tossed the pallet to the ground—he could retrieve it later—and swung in midair to face his attacker.

Who was tiny.

And blue.

And cocky.

"Ha!" Jetstorm gloated. "Having the battle now, we are!" He fired two more shots at Starscream's head.

This was outrageous! Starscream would show this insolent jumped-up toaster a thing or two about respect. Thing one: don't pick a fight with anything faster than you. Starscream rocketed toward the blue Autobot, barrel-rolling fast enough that Jetstorm's shots sailed harmlessly past. He plowed into the smaller mech, sending him crashing through the trees.

Starscream landed lightly on his feet, aiming his null rays, both of them, at Jetstorm's head. Thing two: don't pick a fight with someone better armed. "I hope this has been a good day for you, Autobot," Starscream sneered, "Since it will be your last. At least you shall have the honor of having been offlined by the omnipotent Starscream, rightful leader of the Decepticons (currently in exile)."

"I am thinking not," Jetstorm said grinning under his visor, and then…something happened and Starscream found himself hurled bodily through the air, away from the blue Autobot.

When he finally got his thrusters stabilized, and the fluid in his tanks stopped spinning nauseatingly, the blue mech had launched himself in the air again, straight at him.

"I am showing you who is having good day, yes?" Jetstorm said, firing another salvo at Starscream's head. Starscream dodged—barely—and dashed in, backhanding the smaller mech, grinning at the satisfying crunch of metal against metal. The blue mech's engines sputtered, and he clawed wildly, catching one of the Decepticon's legs by the knee-plate to stop his fall.

Starscream sneered, lifting his other foot, preparing to blast the Autobot off him with his engine blast, when something struck him from behind with force enough to bend him over.

"You are getting off my brother!" a voice blasted in his ear.

"He should be getting off me!" Starscream said, kicking his leg, trying to dislodge the blue Autobot. The newcomer wrapped his arms around Starscream's face, blinding him, kicking him in the (very sensitive) wingflaps. Starscream howled, shaking his attacker off him with a violent toss of the head. The blue mech took the opportunity to clamber further up Starscream's body, his own engines still fritzy. Starscream snatched the blue mech off him, holding it at arm's length, preparing to fire a round right through the pest's spark chamber.

His whole body went rigid. SOMETHING was touching his interface panel. A small beige hand, against the red, creeping between Starscream's thighs. "Stop!" he yowled. "Get off! Stop that!"

"Is what you want, no?" The blue mech dangling from his hand grinned cheekily. "Getting you offs?"

"NO! What is WRONG with you?!" He tried to grab at the hand between his legs, but he was too late—his panel clicked open, and the fingers scrabbled at his valve cover. Starscream squirmed, trying to push his thighs closed, but his pelvic frame wasn't designed for that.

He shook the blue mech at the end of his arm like a naughty puppy. The Autobot sparked from his injured shoulder, but swung his legs, wrapping them around the jet's narrow waist, reaching behind him to manually release Starscream's spike.

"No! No! Stop!!!" Starscream pushed frantically at the blue mech, bicycling his legs, trying to get the beige hand away from his valve as well. He howled as the blue one planted his valve squarely on Starscream's spike, legs locked at the ankles behind the Decepticon. He grinned up at Starscream. "Is what you wanting, yes?"

"Oh! Looking like good idea!" said the voice behind him. Starscream gasped as something—a spike—pushed into his valve from behind, and orange forearms reached around his torso for his friend. The two gripped closely—pawing at each other around Starscream's torso, moving against him, on him, inside him. He writhed with discomfort. This was not how battles ended for the ever-victorious Starscream.

Then again, maybe they were simply…appreciating his skills. Maybe, even, they were so overcome by his magnetic personality that, well, really, the poor things had no choice. They were simply…overwhelmed by lust. And…it felt…really good, the both of them moving against him, hot ex-vents along his torso, his cockpit, the air intakes on his back…. He shuddered, midair, his own stabilizers cutting out for a klik, as his systems forced him into an overload, body quivering at the double stimulation. And he was suspended between the two of them, until their own overloads—the orange one's hot in his valve, almost scalding—cut their jets as well.

Not even really aware what he was doing, he wrapped a protective arm around the blue Autobot as they crashed through the trees.

They lay in a quivering mass of limbs for a long moment. "That," Starscream said, dizzily, "is enough worship for the moment." He flopped onto his back.

"Is not, I am thinking." The orange one clawed his way out from under the jet. He pulled the blue one into a kiss, running a gentle hand down the blue one's injured shoulder. "You are being okay, Jetstorm?"

"Fine," the blue one replied. "Jetfire. We are having…I think they say, unique opportunity?" He shot a glance down at Starscream, who lay still panting under the aftereffects of the double-overload.

"No!" Starscream protested. "I am not an opportunity! I am the rightful leader of the Decepticons! Get your filthy little hands off my—oohhhhhhhhhhh," His optics blanked as the orange one—Jetfire—closed his strangely warm hands around his spike

"Nice, yes?"

"Not as nice as yours, Jetstorm."

"Of course not! But you are remembering the medical bot. We are not to spike each other anymore."

"Yo—you're not?" Starscream gasped. He was pretty sure he didn't want to know, but he was trying anything to distract his mind from the uncomfortably intimate touches on his spike.

Jetstorm nodded. "Yes. Something about the sparklings? Or being nearness together?"

"I am thinking they were just jealous. And tired of catching us doing it when they were having nones."

Ohhhhh that was not an image that the true leader of the Decepticons (in exile) needed in his processor. And it was not helped when the two mechs began kissing over his body. "Now, look here, young bots," he struggled to sit up.

"Is better, I am thinking, when not talking," Jetfire said, and the orange mech crawled his way up Starscream's body, forcing Starscream's top-heavy shoulders back onto the ground, licking teasingly at Starscream's mouth. All the while, his twin's hands—both of them now, and this pair cool to the touch, twisting and pulling in opposition—were driving his spike to the point of madness.

"Stop!" he gasped around Jetfire's insistent mouth.

"Okey-dokey," Jetstorm said, and jerked his hands away. Starscream's body relaxed—he hadn't realized how tense he'd gotten. Now, a few vent cycles to regain a little composure, and he'd show these little perverts how to show some proper respect to their enemy.

"Nooooo!!!" he howled, feeling a soft cool glossa probe his valve. The orange mech shifted, straddling his neck, grinning down at him.

"Is good at this, is not?" Jetfire lazily unhoused his own spike, stroking it openly, inches from Starscream's face. Starscream writhed, trying to move his valve from the cool intrusion.

"MMMmm, brother," Jetstorm murmured, "You are tasting good with this one."

Starscream reached down with one hand to cover his valve, but somehow, and he wasn't quite sure how himself, his hand ended up behind Jetstorm's head, holding the Autobot's mouth to his valve, quivering with every contact. Almost as if the smaller mech sent electrical charges through the transfluid and lubricant. He groaned. This wasn't at all right.

His conscience, or his dignity, made one last half-hearted attempt to dislodge Jetstorm from his valve, bucking his hips to one side. But the Autobot clamped his hands around the jet's thighs, his glossa probing faster, lighter, sending quivering electrical shocks to his sensor nodes, almost like sending St Elmo's fire through his valve.

Starscream howled as another overload caught him. By the time he came to himself again, the blue mech had crawled up his body and had turned Jetfire's shoulders around, pulling his brother into a kiss that smeared silvery transfluid over their faces. Starscream shut his eyes. No. He was bigger, faster, stronger. Smarter. The only tactical advantage they had on him was perviness. Which they were definitely winning on. He cracked his eyes open. Over the spectacle of Jetfire's still-stroked spike, the two were still kissing. He groaned aloud. He was not going to win his way. He would have to fight by their methods. Fine. The ever victorious (and devastatingly handsome) Starscream would prevail. In the end.

He shoved up to siting, the two mechs tumbling into his lap. "You think you are a match for the magnificent Starscream?" He snatched Jetfire and threw him to the ground, shoving his legs apart with one hand. You can do this, Starscream. They are the enemy. You must defeat them. At their own devices. Yes. He dove down and took the warm spike in his mouth, delighted to hear the Autobot gasp in dismay. Ha! he thought. Who is winning in the perviness, now, Autobot scum?! No, wait, stop talking like them!

He ran his glossa down the spike, trilling along the sensor nodes. Jetfire moaned—a pleasant change, Starscream thought, from his previous smart mouth. All he could manage now was a random, "Yesss!" and "Is good!" Of course he was good. He was the multitalented Starscream! Did these Autobots know nothing?

He felt cool hands along his back, stroking the joins of his wings, pulling gently against the flap hinges. Oh that did feel good. So good, he almost didn't notice Jetstorm slide his spike into Starscream's valve. Oh, it was going to be like this, was it? Unfair odds? Starscream the victorious would overcome any odds. And…be…victoriuuuuu…. Eventually.

Jetstorm settled his hands on Starscream's hips, yanking the larger mech's aft back onto his spike, with his own contented noises. They were young and randy, which in this case worked to the illustrious Starscream's advantage, as their lust got the better of their self-control. With a yowl, the twins overloaded into the jet, quivered, and fell limp.

Starscream sat back on his heels, wiping his mouth. "Do you pathetic Autobots do everything together?" Really, this was taking teamwork a bit too far, if you asked him. His valve ached, unfulfilled, but it was merely one casualty in a very…weird battle.

"We are doing everything together," Jetstorm gasped.

"And everyone together, too," Jetfire added. "You are more fun than Sentinel Prime."

Starscream's energon boiled at that comment. More fun than Sentinel? A day in the slag mines was better than Sentinel Prime. "Of course I am!" he said, hotly.

"I am not convinced," Jetstorm said, his blue visor narrowing. "I am thinking Sentinel is a lot more, how they say, of the kinky?"

"Kinky?!" Starscream roared, outraged. "The only kink that blasted Autobot has in him is narcissism. He probably vids himself masturbating so he can watch it later!" Actually, wait. That wasn't a half-bad idea. Note to self: steal video equipment next run into Detroit.

"Really?" The twins had gotten onto their knees, and began crawling over to him. He was suddenly, just a little bit, afraid. But no. The splendiferous and munificent Starscream feared nothing! Not…even…two…pervy…whoooaaaa….

The twins pounced on him and it seemed that there weren't only two of them, but more like a dozen—hands and feet and hot mouths pawing him everywhere. "Wait!" he gasped. "Stop! The omnipotent Starscream commands you!"

Jetfire looked up from where he had settled to lick the Seeker's spike. "We are being Autobots. No commands from filthy Decepticons."

Jetstorm's head popped up around his brother's shoulder. "Nor were you asking the nicely." Starscream whimpered as the blue mech pushed two fingers into his valve.

"Nice," Jetfire said. "But I am wanting this now." He sat up, and settled himself across the larger jet's hips, taking his spike inside, pulling his brother's face up to kiss his. They fell backward, up Starscream's chassis, Jetstorm still working two fingers in the valve. Starscream squirmed. "Yes!" Jetfire broke the kiss to gasp. "More like that, yes!" Starscream stopped. He wasn't anyone's fool. He was in charge here and he took orders from none of them. Especially not undersized Autobots.

Jetstorm shook his head. "As I am telling you, brother, Not so much of the funs as Sentinel."

"FUNS!? I'll show you ‘funs'!" Starscream howled. He pinned them to his torso with his arms, and began thrusting fiercely into Jetfire's valve. The orange mech made a suitably wanton series of moans and yelps, writhing until he shuddered into an overload. Starscream kept thrusting—by that point simple biomechanics had taken over and his spike needed the overload. And what the spike of the radiant and versatile Starscream needed, it would get. Or Starscream wasn't the true leader of the Decepticons (though currently in exile awaiting his magnificent and opportunisti—TIMELY, erm, timely return).

Starscream reveled in another overload, an overload of pure victory over his pervy little enemies, though it left him panting and a little woozily.

"Enough ‘funs' for now," he said, blearily, dropping his arms by his side. "The tenacious Starscream needs a recharge."

"Oh yes," Jetstorm whispered. "We are being very quiet for the nappings." He gestured to his brother, bracing his injured arm. They crept away into the forest, just far enough where the Decepticon wouldn't hear their takeoff. Or their laughter.

EPILOGUE

This was the last of the recording equipment, Starscream thought. And the mirrored disco ball would add a nice bit of ambiance to the cave. Turn it into a virile love nest, one truly worthy of Starscream the fantastic.

He was halfway home when a booming, strangely familiar voice stopped him. "Where are you having goings, evil Decepticon?" Oh, no.

"I am having goings away from you!" Without looking behind him, he kicked on his afterburners.

"Not so fast with the goings you are having," the voice said, and Starscream felt two hands grab at him from above.

"Not this time, you overgrown perverted slide rules!" He turned around, but instead of the two perkily irritating (and irritatingly perky) faces of the twins from before, he saw one face, bicolored, grinning cheekily down at him. Oh fantastic. The little freaks were a gestalt. Gestalts, he knew, normally got stupider when combined. He didn't know how far down that went. This one might be scraping the lower limit.

"Release me at once!" he ordered. "Cease molesting me, you filthy Autobot!"

"Molesting? We are not having molestings of you," Safeguard snickered. "Not yet." The hands crept down toward his thighs. "Maybe now."

"Not again!" The boxes tumbled from Starscream's hands. Drat, where would he get another disco ball!?

"Yes, again!" One hand clutched at the interface hatch, the other pulling his face in for a kiss.

Blaaaaa!!! Two glossas probed at his own, intruding in his mouth like hot little worms. He pushed against the mech's torso—at least combined they were closer to his size and not as easily able to dodge the fearsome strikes of the intrepid Starscream. "Get off me, you perverts," the immortal and adorable Starscream tried to yell, but the sound was muffled by these infernal twin glossas, and the hand pressing his helm hard against them.

The other hand seized his spike, coaxing it to pressurize. "Am wanting this," the gestalt said.

"No," it then said. "Am wanting the other again." Starscream felt one of the gestalt's legs pry his apart, rubbing the thigh armor against his valve cover, the friction causing it to retract.

"This!" The hand squeezed the spike hard enough to elicit a yelp from the valiant Starscream (who is a little bit of a wuss about pain).

"No! I am wanting THIS!" and with a hard thrust, a large spike planted itself in his valve. Starscream gasped. Even the indomitable Starscream had his limits, and the gestalt's oversized spike was apparently one of them. He cried out, the spike stretching his valve, hitting all of the sensory pickups at once.

"I think we are making hurtings of him." The hand still clutched at his spike. "This will be makings better." The hand stroked the impeccable Starscream's magnificent spike.

"No, brother. This is makings better." The spike slide in his valve, though slower this time, lubricant glossing down over the nodes. Starscream trembled, frozen, overwhelmed (it can happen! He was merely immortal and invincible, but not immune to lust!) by the rush of sensations from his overstretched valve. The hand coaxing at his spike added to the rise of lust. He forgot all about his broken recording equipment; all about how the magnificent Starscream would conquer all, and arched back, closing his eyes so as not to see the freaky little combined face grinning at him, flicking its double glossas at him lasciviously, and to quiver into the sensation. The spike seemed hot and cold by turns, sending his sensors into a confused shudder that wracked his body and his composure.

"See, better at makings better I am."

"No, I am the better!" The hand started working his spike more determinedly.

"Shut up," Starscream muttered, "More with the makings and less with the talkings."

"See, is as I am telling you!" Safeguard whispered to itself. "And he is much more fun than Sentinel."

That was the final push Starscream needed—his systems spilled an overload across his sensornet, transfluid spurting across all three of their chassis, his valve clutching at the huge spike inside him. The gestalt's entire frame shuddered, energon rippling in sparks across the seam of their joining, as it overloaded into the valve, hot and cold transfluid swirling a final shudder of lust through Starscream's system.

"We win," Safeguard smirked down at Starscream, releasing him. The spike withdrew. The gestalt sought to tease the jet with one last swipe with its hand across the valve. "Oh no, brother!" It held the hand up to its face, alarmed at a bluish fluid swirled among the clear lubricant and silver transfluid. "You have made with the breakings!"

Starscream smirked. Stupid Autobots. "No," he said, wrapping his legs around the gestalt. "I am merely going into heat. And how convenient," the lubricious Starscream whispered into the gestalt's audio, "That you are right here to help."
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Starscream's Least-Favorite Battle