Expedient

[stainless]

Title: Expedient
Characters/Pairings: Starscream/Motormaster
Verse: G1
Wordcount: 3.470+
Rating: M for rough spark-sex, sadomasochism, some violence.
Warnings: Spark-sex, SM, violence
Summary: The second of two prequels to Craving. Megatron is on Cybertron with Shockwave, rewarding the Guardian for capturing an Autobot who raids the Decepticon energon stores. Starscream can easily guess at what such rewards entail and is jealous and angry... and bored. When he chances to come across Motormaster, he decides the big Stunticon will do as a temporary replacement. Unfortunately for him, Motormaster is... rather bad at taking hints.

Thanks to meaisin_caoin for beta.

Starscream was bored.

He twitched his wings in agitation. Not only was he bored, but there were few ways to ease his boredom right now. Megatron was off on Cybertron, having taken the space bridge to visit Shockwave. Something about Shockwave capturing one of those Autobots that kept raiding the energon stores.

And of course, since the ugly purple fool had finally done something right for once, it meant Megatron had to drop everything and vanish off to Cybertron to give his faithful little guardian a few pats on the helm.

Or more, considering how long the Decepticons' illustrious leader had been gone by now. Starscream's lip plates curled in intense distaste.

He was at a loss for how to amuse himself. Skywarp and Thundercracker were enjoying some much-needed time off. Although he could technically barge in and order them to entertain him, Thundercracker had been moody this week, and Starscream knew from long experience that his brooding would ruin any pleasure he might otherwise derive from their attentions.

And he'd already spent the prior half of the evening tormenting the rest of the Nemesis, frightening the peons with sudden, unexpected orders and irritating the elite nitpicking on purpose. Even that had quickly grown dull without Megatron to catch him at it and make an example of him.

His wings twitched again, thinking of Megatron's broad hands on him, grabbing and pulling and twisting. He squirmed, running his own hands over his cockpit and chest, sliding his fingertips over transformation seams.

Stupid slagger, he thought, snarling. Off fawning over some ugly little fool with less personality than a drone when you could be here, with me -

He dug his fingertips into a seam, hard as he dared, his turbines whirling in response to the spike of pain that lanced through his systems.

But it was no use. His own fingers were small and delicate, his plating light. He could never mimic the heaviness of his lord, the sheer bulk of a large grounder mech whose plating was thicker than his in the first place and reinforced on top of that, formidable, untouchable, indestructible.

He wanted more, wanted to be shoved to his knees and wrenched and dented and taken, and that wasn't anything he could do to himself.

What does he see in that worthless, insipid - ?

Hearing footsteps, the deep ringing tread of one of the largest Decepticons, he pressed his back hard against the wall and lowered his hands. No one would respect his authority if they saw him doing things to himself right in the middle of the hall, least of all one of the - big mechs -

His dark faceplates shifted into a grin as the other turned the corner and walked toward him, the broad gray chest filling his vision, the thudding footfalls making the floor vibrate beneath their feet. Starscream could barely see the enormous feet, wreathed as they were with smoke from twin pipes on the big mech's ankles.

This could be promising.

"Why, hello there, Motormaster," Starscream called, twitching his wings invitingly.

The other turned, his optics narrowing. "What d'you want, Seeker?"

Starscream hissed. He might have known. Motormaster's team had been built by Megatron himself, created from human-made cars. Motormaster himself had been made from a truck, which meant he had the same vehicle mode as the leader of the Decepticons' enemies.

A fact that everyone else never tired of reminding him about. And that put him and the Stunticons he led at odds with everyone else.

Especially with Decepticons who had wings.

Starscream twisted his faceplates back into a mask of calm. "Now, now. Is that any way to address your superior?"

The big Decepticon's engines revved, setting Starscream's spark whirling in its housing. His silver fist clenched, glinting under the overhead lights. "You got somethin' for me to do, you just tell me."

"I just might have something," Starscream purred, his engines revving as he licked his lips.

Motormaster, for his part, gave Starscream a blank look, half-disgusted and half-confused. Then he growled. "Tell me what's going through your processor, Seeker, before I decide I don't give a damn about your rank."

Starscream snorted. Apparently subtlety was lost on this mech, newly-built as he was. Irritating... but that, too, could be fun, considering the itch for pain that Starscream was feeling.

"Oh, nothing. At least, not anything that a dirt-kisser can do for me. I need someone who can fly." He smiled sweetly.

"Why, you arrogant little glitch!" Motormaster's engines roared again, the noise rattling Starscream's audio receptors. "You wouldn't talk to me like that if Megatron were here."

Starscream laughed and twitched his wings. "Oh, but Megatron isn't here. Too bad. I know how much you admire our leader."

Motormaster's fists clenched. He raised them in obvious threat. "You say that like it's an insult."

Starscream giggled. "Of course not." He clicked his wings again. "Megatron is strong - powerful - commanding -"

He pressed his hands into the wall behind him, forcing himself out of his reverie. "But it's really too bad the only thing you've learned from him is how to stand around looking imposing and accomplish absolutely nothing worthwhile."

The blow slammed into Starscream's sensitive wing, driving it into the wall. The shock of it rattled his frame, and pain exploded through his sensor net, as though his wing had suddenly caught flame.

"You think you're better than me just because you've got wings?" the Stunticon growled. "I could rip you apart right here and be done before anyone even knew I was gone."

Starscream only gasped, writhing, even as his spark pulsed hard, already softening the pain to a sweet burn. Megatron had hit him there before, and he'd certainly hit that hard.

But Megatron was slow, careful, deliberate. He wouldn't hit like that from the beginning - or if he did, he'd have a reason. A lesson he hoped to impart by startling Starscream into paying close attention. Motormaster didn't seem to have any such subtlety.

Starscream shivered in anticipation. "You think you're better than me because you're strong."

"Maybe I do. Maybe I think Seekers ain't all they're cracked up to be. Maybe I think you love the air so much because you're all worthless cowards and you're too afraid to fight real mechs." The Stunticon grinned. "What are you gonna do about it?"

Starscream frowned. There was no way he was going to back down now. Motormaster was an overgrown idiot, not a warrior whose physical prowess demanded respect.

Besides, the little pinpricks of sensation lancing through his injured wing were starting to feel good, as much as the dent Motormaster had left in it hurt. His other wing felt dull and blank in comparison. It wouldn't do to talk his way out of this one just yet, not when his other wing didn't even match it.

He shook his head to clear his processor and grinned again. "You are very strong, yes. But I doubt that makes up for the unfortunate things about your build."

Motormaster's hands, still held in tight fists, trembled with rage. "You got more scrap to talk about me, even after that? You must be glitched."

That's the prevailing theory. If you believe the endless gossip on this ship, Starscream thought, his optics flaring with amusement.

"I'm not trying to insult you," he protested, twisting his faceplates into a mock-earnest expression. "I'm only expressing my condolences to you. It must be so unfortunate to have to go through your entire life on the ground, just like an Autobot -"

Anything else Starscream might have intended to say was cut short as Motormaster's other hand drove hard into Starscream's other wing. For a moment, the Seeker was aware of nothing but the pain, buckling the plating of his wing and filling his sensornet with a thousand pinpricks of agony. Under the growl of Motormaster's engines, he heard the whirr of turbines spinning and realized a moment later that they were his own.

"Motormaster -" he panted, feeling the weight of the other's huge hands, grabbing and tearing at his wings. His spark wheeled hard in his chest, crackling in something between panic and desire.

Pure sensation ripped through Starscream's circuitry, agony blasting him clean of any emotion. He forgot boredom, forgot Megatron, forgot Shockwave, forgot the tank-roiling disgust he felt thinking Megatron touching him. The only thing remaining in his awareness was this, here, now, a bracing clarity, a welcoming oblivion, as those fingers grabbed and twisted at his every fear. His thoughts caved in, unable to resist the assault, just as the thin metal of his wings did.

He cried out, a wordless, high-pitched syllable, a howl of dismay and need.

Motormaster stopped.

The Stunticon looked him over, mouthplates twisted into a nasty snarl. Hot air, choked with pollutants, blasted from his vents.

Ordinarily, Starscream would have been disgusted. But that gleam of pure rage in his attacker's optics only fueled the growing heat in his spark.

"Not - bad -" he wheezed, "for - someone who looks like -"

Motormaster froze. "Say it and I kill you," he rumbled. "Slowly."

Starscream's optics flared as his lip plates curled into a dark smile. He'd tempted fate thousands of times before with Megatron. If there was one thing he'd learned from it, it was that he could walk away from anything.

Then again, this was Motormaster, not Megatron. And yes, Starscream could feel the heat radiating from the Stunticon's frame, including from the thick chest plates that protected the big mech's spark. And yes, all of that told Starscream without a doubt that his attacker was enjoying the hell out of this.

But that might not imply that Motormaster wanted what Starscream wanted out of it. Not when Motormaster had apparently missed Starscream's flirtations. Not when it made perfect sense to think he just wanted to rip the Seeker apart.

Megatron would never kill him. Motormaster might try.

Starscream was the fastest of all the Seekers, easily capable of outpacing a big, heavy truck in whatever form it took. But right now he was backed into a wall, his wings dented and twisted and torn. He'd never even manage to take off, and if he did, his damaged wings ensured that he wouldn't stay in the air anyway.

He was at the big Stunticon's mercy now. And he'd never seen any indication that Motormaster had any.

But if he did give in, everyone on the Nemesis would find out about it. Motormaster had no reason not to brag, and even if he chose not to, he was part of a combiner team. The Stunticons' systems were intimately connected; they had to be to enable their very frames to unite and form one enormous, hulking robot who moved to their united will.

Or their half-united will, anyway. Menasor was notoriously unstable, probably because the other Stunticons feared their young leader.

But whether they liked one another or not, they were still a combiner team. They uploaded and downloaded sensations, impressions, and snatches of memories to and from one another without even thinking about it. They wouldn't know exactly what happened here unless Motormaster told them directly, no, but they would know that something had. And something was enough for Dead End or Drag Strip to mock, for Breakdown to fear, for Wildrider to cackle madly about. He'd never live it down.

"I was saying -" he panted, his spark pulsing with dread and anticipation, "that you look like - Optimus Prime -"

He grinned, half-crazed, a wild laugh bubbling up from his vocalizer, his spark crackling with the mirth of those who freely chose to gamble with their lives.

Motormaster's whole frame rumbled. Starscream was never sure whether he actually heard the Stunticon growl in anger or whether his audios just vibrated with the rage pouring forth from his assailant, shaking everything around him.

Then a silver fist collided with his cockpit, shattering the glass there, and he felt his awareness splinter with it, cracking into a thousand shards, all of them singing with sensation. The pain raced through his spark, relentless, irresistible, undeniable, and he panted hard, pressing his chest into his attacker's hand.

If Motormaster noticed, he gave no sign. Starscream could feel the heat of the Stunticon's plating, the electrical tang of the forcefield surrounding it... the burn of the spark beneath as it pulsed with rage.

He wrapped his arms around Motormaster, only barely remembering to dig hard into anything he could find and at least put up a pretense of defending himself. He could feel the forcefield, an almost magnetic repulsion pushing back against his hands. He shrieked, half in pain and half in defiance, pressing harder, finally feeling the other's heavy plating against his hands.

Motormaster growled, almost as if he were enjoying Starscream's touch. Then his great hands twisted the frame of Starscream's cockpit and tossed it aside.

Agony blanked the Seeker's vision, filling his optics with static. His spark pulsed wildly, impossibly eager. It reminded the Seeker so much of Megatron that he sighed in some twisted contentment.

Motormaster had been silent all this time, but now he mumbled, snarling a steady stream of invective as his enormous hands reached to pull Starscream's chest plates apart.

Yes, Starscream thought, feeling the fingers bite deep into the metal as they grabbed at it. It buckled under Motormaster's hands.

Starscream's spark pulsed hard and he clutched tightly at Motormaster, pushing through the force field's repulsion and pressing the Stunticon into him.

It was easy, right now, to forget everything else. Megatron would rip him open, just like this, but he would expect something from Starscream as he did it. Starscream would beg, cajole, plead, confess his wrongdoing, swear his loyalty, vow that Megatron had always been and would ever be his lord.

This wasn't like that. This wasn't a game of submission or allegiance. This was simply power, tons of it, raw and pure and all-consuming, wrenching him and warping him, every circuit in his frame on fire with the things it did to him. He felt his chest plates finally wrenched apart and his spark flared, tasting its freedom.

Motormaster opened his hand. "Gonna tear your spark out right now and crush it in my fist," he roared as the metal began to part, the crimson light of his victim's half-exposed spark dancing over his faceplates.

He's going to do it, Starscream thought, and for a brief moment his spark whirled in mad eagerness, wondering what it would feel like for those impossibly strong fingers to tighten around it, inexorable and irresistible.

He means it, Starscream reminded himself, his spark finally remembering to freeze in fear.

Starscream did the only thing he could. He laughed, high and wild, and forced his torn chest plates apart, fully exposing his spark to his assailant.

Motormaster stopped, stunned, and stared at him. "The slag are you doing?" he growled.

Starscream smirked. He parted his lips, optics gleaming in an expression of hunger he doubted even this huge fool could miss. Then, just in case even that was too subtle for the Stunticon, he licked his lips.

"What the hell?" Motormaster's engine stalled in confusion.

Starscream didn't answer. Struggling against the forcefield, he traced his hand over Motormaster's shoulder and pressed it against the Stunticon's broad chest.

The Stunticon stared, his optics irising wider than Starscream would ever have thought possible. He almost laughed again; Motormaster looked far less imposing than usual with his optics as wide as they could go.

Then, with a loud clicking of gears, Motormaster's faceplates shifted into a broad and vicious smile.

"Well now," he chuckled, "looks like someone wants to play."

Now that Motormaster understood what Starscream wanted, he wasted no time. His chest plates thudded apart so suddenly and so forcefully Starscream barely managed to get his fingers out of the way.

Motormaster's spark was perfectly in proportion to the rest of him - which meant it was huge, huge and diffuse and pulsing steadily with energy. Apparently, even though he hadn't realized Starscream was looking for an interface, beating him had made the Stunticon more than ready for one anyway. Starscream grinned eagerly, savoring the anticipation -

- and shook from his helm to his thrusters when the first bolt of energy hit him, sooner than he ever would have expected it, speeding into the Seeker's smaller spark so hard and fast that Starscream could barely hold it.

With it came Motormaster's emotions: half hunger for completion, half the same hunger to destroy that had no doubt fueled him before. It sang through Starscream's systems, simple in its violence, perfect in its brutality. It asked nothing of him, no loyalty, no obedience. It demanded no vow of surrender, no promise of submission.

It wanted only for him to break.

And he did, feeling a new bolt of energy spear him, his whole frame twitching and shaking and completely beyond his control. He felt it, felt it all, just as he'd felt the Stunticon's hands on him before, rending and tearing and pulling him apart.

He clutched Motormaster tighter, knowing that the other could feel him as well: his need, his desperation, his willingness. The desire that fueled him, in this, as in everything else. The endless want that made him dare anything, risk anything, for the force he craved and the passion behind it.

Every part of Motormaster answered.

Even before the last blast of energy ripped through him, Starscream felt it coming. He felt the air, choked and heavy, blasting at him from Motormaster's vents, the polluted smoke ringing their feet, the electricity of the force field as their bodies pressed together.

It was awful and too intimate and more than Motormaster could ever deserve, and so perverse that Starscream only wanted more.

Then he got it, one last flare of searing heat, piercing his spark and tearing through his every circuit, illuminating and searing every part of him until he cried out in torment and gratitude, his frame shaking again as the overload built up in his systems and the combined energy finally burst from him in a ring of bright flame.

He heard Motormaster bellow as the energy burst through him as well, felt the echoes of the big mech's overload, rumbling aftershocks that set his already sensitized systems burning all over again. He twitched, unable to control his frame, again and again, until everything flared white and he knew nothing more.

He onlined again to movement, a powerful, thudding rocking. He felt something beneath him, holding him up, and looked up through static-fuzzed optics to see dark metal and a pale purple face above it.

Motormaster was carrying him. Into the medbay, he was sure, recognizing the doors opening in front of him and the cold lights in the room as Motormaster stepped inside.

Starscream grinned. So the mech who had just nearly killed him was taking care of him now? It was all entirely too amusing. Then again, there wasn't much else the Stunticon could do. He'd have his precious Megatron to answer to if it ever got out that he'd harmed Starscream, much less that he'd merged sparks with him.

Starscream looked up to see one of the Constructicons looking at him, his optics flickering in irritated surprise. "What exactly happened to him?"

Motormaster grunted, his vents expelling their polluted air. The Seeker frowned as the vile stuff entered his own intakes. He was injured, after all.

Motormaster gave no answer. He walked over to an empty berth and opened his arms, dumping Starscream unceremoniously onto it.

"Hey!" Starscream shrieked, the impact reverberating through his every damaged system. "Watch it, you overgrown fool!"

But Motormaster had already turned away, his mammoth black frame already walking back toward the medbay doors.