Silence (MxSS slashiness)

[stainless]

Title: Silence
Characters: Megatron and Starscream
Wordcount: 1,800+
Warnings: It's MxSS slash, which means BDSM, violence, extremely steamy Haterade, and (spark-)sex.

Comment, all of you!

The sight greeting Megatron as the door slid open did not surprise him. Anger him, yes. Amuse him, doubly so. But it was hardly surprising.

"Starscream," he said, his lip curling as he regarded the younger mech and the null ray pointed at him. He raised his own arm, unconcerned. He doubted highly that the other actually intended to attack right now. "How precisely did you get into my private quarters?"

The Air Commander smirked and lay back on the berth, keeping his weapon trained on the other. "Surely you don't think all of your commanders are as loyal as they pretend to be?"

Megatron paused just long enough to watch Starscream stretch. His stare would feed the other's ego, enabling him to catch the little schemer off guard. As he expected, the Air Commander smirked wider, writhing sensuously, supremely confident in his ability to hold Megatron's attention.

Then his squirming turned to thrashing in pain as the other grabbed his arm and twisted it, forcing it back down.

"You see yourself in everyone, Starscream," the warlord hissed, giving the other's arm a hard wrench for good measure.

The Seeker might have been telling the truth. Still, he hadn't ascended to second in command for nothing. He was resourceful, intelligent, and brazen enough to attempt things the others would not. Including hacking that lock.

If someone else had aided him, that matter needed tending to. Still, Megatron could afford to deal with his little subversives one at a time. Especially given an opportunity like this one. "Does it soothe you to imagine everyone else infected with your own treachery?"

The Seeker's dark face twisted with hatred, its red optics gleaming as it glowered up at Megatron. The Seeker thrashed, trying to twist away, his free hand pushing desperately against the bigger Decepticon's chest as the other stared down at him.

Megatron pushed the offending hand away, and then reached over and ran his fingers over the edge of Starscream's wing. The touch was light enough to be pleasant, and the Seeker gasped in surprise, trembling.

"You're making this too easy, Starscream," Megatron snarled, his hand clenching over the sensitive wing. Starscream whimpered, tossing his head back.

Then he moaned, recovering himself and meeting the other's gaze. He reached out again, wrapping his hands around the other mech's back, digging his fingers hard into the plating, hoping it hurt.

"More," he gasped.

Megatron chuckled. "More? I'll give you more." The hand on Starscream's arm moved up to seize the Seeker's other wing. Both wings clutched in his hands, Megatron slowly tightened his grip, the other's high cries and mocking expression goading him on.

Finished teasing, he snarled and gave the sensitive, thin metal of the other's wings a vicious twist. The Seeker threw back his head again and screeched. There was no pleasure in his cry. It rang in Megatron's audio receptors, a piercing shriek of distress and agony.

They would ring with its echoes for a while, the warlord knew. He smiled anyway. It didn't matter.

He ground his chestplate roughly against the other's. "Open," he hissed. "Unless you want me to do that again."

The Seeker panted, his red optics glowing as he glared back, weighing the consequences of defiance versus desire. Then, with another insolent movement, he slowly slid his chest plates open.

Megatron smiled coldly, his own chest plates shifting as he stared down at the other's spark. It whirled crazily, propelled by fear or desire or both.

The warlord arched back, his own spark crackling with heat at the sight of the other exposed below him. Narrowing his optics, his hands still clutching at the other's wings, he waited, letting the energy build inside his chest before hurling it into the other.

Starscream shuddered as the energy slammed into him, tearing another high cry from his vocalizer. The cry dissolved into a moan as the energy poured into him. Once more, his fingers curled hard against the warlord's back, this time from instinct, rather than defiance.

His spark overfull, pulsing with their combined heat, Starscream panted. With anyone else, it would be time to return the energy, to hurl it back into the one who had sent it, to feel the thrill of its heat tearing back out of him again. But this was Megatron, and Megatron never let him.

Still, the energy swirling through him only intensified his desire. This endless cycle had to end somewhere, and Megatron was occupied now anyway, husbanding his energy for another burst. His lips twisted into a smile as it crackled through him and he focused it, preparing to send it spinning --

"Oh, I don't think so."

The bright light burned Starscream's optics as the bolt of energy tore into him. He twitched, thrashing hard, and overloaded, his vision going white.

He shook his head, willing his systems to cool him down quickly. The last thing he needed was to slip into unconsciousness now, splayed under Megatron like a possession.

Panting, he grinned. "Is that all you've --?"

A hand at his neck silenced him, squeezing the cabling there. Starscream shook his head, trying to fight his way out of the bruising grip, but the dark hand only tightened.

"No," the other said, the hint of a laugh in his voice. "No, I am not finished with you. Yet."

What was Megatron doing? He'd seen the fleshbags offline when someone did this to them, but his kind weren't built like the organics. There was no reason behind this, no system he could cut off this way. Unless he was interested in ripping the Air Commander's head off.

Starscream doubted that. As cruel as Megatron was, the bastard had too much honor for that. If he ever intended to dismantle Starscream for his treachery, he wouldn't do it in the middle of spark-merging.

Then he felt Megatron's hand tighten around something, and suddenly understood.

"My -- my vocalizer?" he gasped, the other mech's tightening grip making his voice squeak loudly, then rasp, barely audible, then become a nearly incomprehensible squeal. "What are you --?"

"No more complaints, Starscream," the other laughed, the bright light from his spark making it difficult for Starscream to look at him. Whatever he intended, he was enjoying it. "No more retorts. Lest I tear this out and crush it in my hand."

Starscream's optics widened. The other's grip on his throat hurt. Still, what was the other doing. "Why?" he croaked, squirming, trying to calculate how to push the other off of him without risking damage to his neck cabling or to the vocalizer Megatron held. He'd had his overload, after all. This was just getting dangerous. "What good will -- that do you? I can always -- install another --"

The grip tightened, almost beyond endurance. Starscream quivered, waiting for the sudden blinding agony as the other pulled the vocalizer free.

The other mech's spark pulsed brightly as he watched the Seeker writhe, but the agony never came.

"Indeed. You could. But surely you realize your voice is unique." The grip loosened for a moment, the dark fingers caressing the Seeker's vocalizer as if it were some prized possession. Starscream mewled at the sudden gentle touch, the pleasure of being stroked rather than treated roughly, and hated himself for making the sound.

"If I did destroy this," the warlord murmured, running his fingers along it once more and then slowly tightening his grip, his spark swirling faster as Starscream whimpered in pain, "you would have to get a new one. One which would give you an entirely new voice. Everyone would know what had happened to you.

"Even if you won against me someday," Megatron chuckled, his voice rich with amusement, "that would remain, an eternal sign that I had bested you. Do you really think anyone would ever take 'the new leader' seriously... without his real voice?"

"Why -- you basta --!" Starscream's words became a howl as the dark hand tightened around his vocalizer again. Frantically, he willed himself to stop his keening.

"I told you before: quiet yourself. I am not going to say it again. I am going to finish this, and I do not want to hear a sound from you." He squeezed again. Starscream felt a shock of pain as something crumpled. "Do I make myself clear?"

The Seeker nodded as best he could, praying Primus that whatever damage Megatron had just done wouldn't be permanent.

Megatron growled once, a low, long sound as the energy of his spark twirled faster and faster, its light ever brightening. He gritted his dental plates, feeling the heat inside his chest build until he thought it might melt him from the inside.

Then, he cast a burst of energy into the mech below him. Not all of it. Not yet.

The Seeker thrashed wildly, small sounds he could not mute escaping the damaged vocalizer. Without his voice to gasp or moan or howl his need, how could he set this energy free again? He felt it filling him, kindling his already sensitive spark, and gritted his dental plates, forcing himself to be silent.

Then the light blazed through him again, its heat too much -- too much -- at least now, at least like this, here, now, his mouth closed and the other's hand at his neck, threatening him, hurting him, the heat filling his chest, the white light from the other's spark blinding his optics, and him with no way to let go, no way to howl out his passion, his need --

He could see only the other's optics now, red pinpricks in a sea of white, and feel only this heat it hurt so much to hold -- so much -- and the grip at his throat, harsh and immovable, and nothing, no way out of this, the bright light burning his optics as he watched it grow impossibly bright. This next would be the last -- but he would not withstand it. Not like this.

"Please," he heard himself rasp, no longer caring whether it was the wrong thing to do, the worst thing, and would only bring him more pain and, even when that pain was over, the humiliation of never being himself again.

"Please," he said again, his voice as soft as he could make it, buzzing static behind it from the damage Megatron had already done. "I was wrong -- to provoke you -- my lord. Just -- please -- let me --"

The grip at his throat relaxed. Some distant part of him gloated. The rest of him panted its relief, filling the silence of the room for a long moment.

Then the energy tore into him, flooding his overfull center, searing every part of him. He threw back his head and shrieked, the energy pouring out, blinding him with its light.

As his vision went white again and his own voice dinned in his audio receptors, he heard the faint hint of something else: a low growl, the hated sound of the other's triumph.

Comments

[stainless]

<3 Wow, thank you!

I'd been reading some M/SS at the time I wrote that and had read one too many where Screamer was a lovely well-rounded character and Megs was... well, not horrid or written badly exactly, but not all that much more than a big strong rage fountain. Classic abuser type.

And to me, that type of personality is someone who craves control because he fears losing it. That's a very insecure and therefore volatile type. And that's not Megatron to me. Yeah, losing control may, deep down, be his worst fear -- but personally, I don't think his ruthlessness comes from insecurity.

So I decided to write this and write him as someone who is, yes, disturbingly brutal, but whose confidence isn't an act.