Desiderata 3/?

[stainless]

Title: Desiderata
Characters: Megatron/Starscream
Verse: IDW? G1? I don't even know.
Wordcount: 4,000ish
Rating: MA
Warnings: Sticky, violence both sexual and non, D/s, BDSM. Don't sip the delicious, sexy Haterade if it doesn't agree with you.
Summary: Megatron has come to Starscream in Vos, seeking allies in the coming war. Starscream isn't impressed - but can't get a remark his visitor made out of his mind. Starscream once again visits Kaon; Megatron has provided him with palatial quarters. Starscream is both amused and disgusted to be "bought" with such extravagance, and violence of all sorts ensues.

Also on FFN : http://www.fanfiction.net/s/7648576/3/

Thanks to the ever-awesome dogstar for betaing this monster.

Part 1 - Part 2

Starscream smirked as he looked around the room. Megatron had really outdone himself this time.

Most rooms in Kaon had low ceilings. Few fliers lived in the city, and high ceilings were the kind of luxury most grounded mechs wouldn't bother with. But Starscream came from Vos, where everyone had wings. He hated the lower ceilings in grounder cities. They stifled him.

This room's ceilings rose nowhere near as high as a proper Vosian ceiling. But only the ruins of the ancient towers that had once ringed the outskirts of Kaon had ceilings as high as this room.

The high ceiling gave the room another perk Starscream appreciated. An entire wall had been built of reflective metal. Even when Starscream wasn't looking at it, his reflection followed him, the bright red of his body, the white sweep of his wings.

But another feature impressed Starscream more than the mirror and the ceiling: the cloths laid over the berth. Walking over to it, his optics bright in surprise, he reached out a hand. His processor analyzed its materials even as his fingertips felt its softness. Yes, apparently it was real organic cloth.

Cybertron was an inorganic world, supporting only mechanical life. Its best craftsmen could mimic it well enough, weaving fine links of metallic thread together well enough to make it soft and non-abrasive. But cloth made of organic matter was still far softer and warmer, and most of the Cybertronian elite imported polishing cloths for themselves when they could.

But enough cloth to cover a berth big enough for a Cybertronian? That was a luxury even Starscream didn't encounter often. And he certainly never expected to see it in Kaon. The sybarites of the higher castes would have something like this. Or the more ostentatiously wealthy members of the Senate. Mechs here in Kaon built things simple, efficient, and sturdy.

And the smoke of the factories clouded everything, covering buildings and mechs alike in thick black soot that even long soaks in the washracks couldn't completely remove. The stuff would sully cloth like this after one night of recharging under it.

Starscream twitched his wings and ran his fingers idly over the soft covering. You certainly aren't subtle about your intentions, Megatron.

Or is this how you apologize? he thought, remembering the burn in his valve as Megatron tore its cover away and forced his way inside.

His valve throbbed at the memory, clenching over nothing, and he suddenly wished Megatron had been crude enough to leave him something to shove inside it. He could use his fingers, but somehow that wasn't enough. He could never hurt himself like that...

He snickered. No doubt his host knew that. He wondered just how long Megatron wanted him to spend getting used to this polished little prison, and whether he would come to see him tonight.

To occupy his time, he wandered into the washrack off the main room. It was small, and nowhere near as opulent as the bedroom. But it, too, was more ornate than the usual washracks here, with simple but elegant designs etched into the walls and lit faintly from within.

So the artisans of Kaon can make pretty things, when they bother with it, Starscream thought.

The design surprised him as well. He'd seen one symbol over and over in this building, etched into the walls, sculpted into the tables, branded on the plating of the guards. The symbol Megatron had showed him last time. The one he'd said he'd brand on Starscream himself, just like on these others.

He'd thought for certain he would see that here, a reminder of Starscream's eventual destiny. But nothing in the washrack or the room bore Megatron's device.

It won't until I do, Starscream thought, suddenly, his spark stilling in his chest as a chill spread through his systems.

He shook his head to clear it, resolutely focusing on the details of his surroundings. It doesn't matter. Not really. The arrogant fool can believe whatever he wants to.

The washrack boasted not only the usual nozzle on the wall, but a small tub on the floor as well. Its occupant could soak in cleansers - the sort of thing a Winglord would do, not a laborer or fighter. Curious, he turned the nozzle on lightly, holding out a hand to feel the cleanser-laced solvents coming out of it. That done, he hastily turned it back off again.

He chuckled, holding up his hand and looking at the drops on it. Strong enough to sting a little, and anyone who used this would come out smelling a bit like solvent. But given the thick soot clouding the air here, weaker cleansers would leave a mech almost as dirty as when he came in.

He shook his fingers, moving to dry them off, when he heard the sound. The click of his door irising open, with no hint that his lock had been opened. No scream of alarms announcing that his new haven had been breached.

Starscream froze, beads of cleanser still glinting on his fingertips and wrist. He must have overriden it.

He walked back into the room, his systems suddenly on full alert. Energy sparked through his circuits, an eerily pleasant cousin to panic.

By the time he reached the door, his wings barely fluttered. He grinned, pleased with himself, and his optics flared. "Megatron. I must say I wasn't expecting you so soon."

The big mech stood just a step from the doorway. He'd polished the worst of the grime off of his silver frame, and he gleamed in the light. Still, it lingered in the many scratches and dents pitting his frame.

Starscream fought not to snicker. Maybe he needs a trip to my washrack. But somehow, the black of the dents flattered him, dark against his silver. It was as if, rather than soiling his plating, it belonged there. As if he carried it with him wherever he went, and the smoke blanketing his city came from him, wreathing the places where he passed in his own darkness.

"I came to see what you thought of the room," Megatron said. His optics flared, the bright red-orange of molten metal. Starscream felt a shiver run up his frame, and the lightning-crackle of the nervous energy racing through his circuits again.

"It's lovely," he answered, a smirk spreading over his dark faceplates. "If I don't look too closely, I might just believe I was home."

Megatron's frame rumbled, a deep ominous sound that made the floor vibrate. Or had Starscream simply imagined that? He didn't know, but his spark whirled. His cooling fans roared, and he was glad that Megatron's murmur swallowed the sound of it.

Then Megatron advanced, stepping into the room as though advancing on an adversary in the pits. Wary, Starscream stepped back. He kept his head high as he did it, staring directly into those burning optics.

Megatron frowned and raised a dark fist. Starscream's spark pulsed and his own arm came up in response.

Chuckling, Megatron advanced, his fist still raised. It looked almost ceremonial now, a frozen threat. "You defy me, here in the heart of my own city, in quarters I gave you as a gift?"

Pain thudded through Starscream's legs as he backed hard into the edge of the berth. He cursed, feeling the softness of the cloth against the ache, preposterous and soothing. "Defy you? What do you expect, pit fighter?"

He ground his dental plates together, spitting sparks into Megatron's face. Then he smiled. "Do you think it isn't obvious what you came here looking for?"

It's you who need me, Megatron. Not the other way around.

Starscream shuddered, arching his back, leaning against the side of the berth, his faceplates twisting into a dark and eager grin. He felt his valve throb with all the heat of his heightened awareness as Megatron stepped closer.

He thought again of what Megatron had done that first time, the dark fingers curling around his valve cover and then tearing it free. He remembered the bright sting as his entrance bled energon. Then the pain as Megatron entered him, pushing past the raw wound and filling him.

Starscream forced himself to stillness. He would not open himself. Not even halfway, like he had that first time.

Megatron laughed, looking him over, his optics glowing with the unashamed lasciviousness of a fighter from the worst place on Cybertron. Starscream giggled back, high and wild.

Always so self-controlled, Lord of Kaon. Making plans to bring our very world to its knees in flames before you. But tonight you come like any brute, sniffing for a whore.

As if in confirmation, Megatron stared directly at Starscream's still-covered valve. The Seeker shifted, canting his hips and snickering.

"That is in the way," Megatron said. "Move it aside."

You don't want to do it yourself again? Maybe this really is how you apologize.

He reached up to wrap his arms around Megatron's back. He traced the pits and scars in the plating there, feeling every sharp groove. His turbines whirled in eager satisfaction as he saw the gladiator's optics flicker.

"So that really is all you want, then." Starscream's mouthplates twisted into a moue of distaste. "Without even kissing me hello." His hands moved to the back of Megatron's helmet, pulling the bigger mech's mouth to his.

Megatron tossed his head, hard. "Is that what you think I meant, Seeker?" he rasped, his silver mouth almost close enough to touch Starscream's. "To walk in here and use you and nothing else?"

Starscream stared, pouting again without even intending it, wanting to close the distance between Megatron's lip plates and his own. "Use me? I agree to an alliance, and now you talk to me like that?"

He dug his fingers hard into the plating of Megatron's back, his clenched fingers hunting for old scars and transformation seams and digging in, scoring and widening them, drawing energon, feeling it on his fingers.

He gasped, his engines roaring, and a remembered voice whispered Surely you realize by now that everything in Kaon is mine. Was he hearing it now? He couldn't be sure. He pressed his fingers into the wet warmth of the energon dripping from Megatron's wounds and felt his own valve drip lubricant in answer.

He made me bleed before.

"You'll get what you want," Megatron whispered, in that voice Starscream remembered, the voice that had said I have everything you want, back in Vos when all of this began.

"But why -?" Starscream couldn't finish. Couldn't ask for what he remembered and dreaded.

"Because I want you open. Whether I am using you or not. Whenever we are alone together, hidden from the others."

Starscream sputtered, raking his hands over Megatron's back harder. "I don't wear your mark yet, Lord of Kaon."

Hands wrapped around Starscream's wings, grabbing and tightening. Starscream thrashed, wailing as Megatron lifted him by the most sensitive parts of his frame. Dizzy with it, he let go, his hands against Megatron's back opening helplessly.

The awful heat tore through him, pooling in his valve. Its cover slid aside, no will of his own moving it, and the feeling of air against his entrance made him gasp in dismay and relief all at once.

But he too was a warrior, Winglord of the rulers of the air, and he didn't have to make this easy. Willing himself to ignore the pain, he brought his knees up, pushing hard against Megatron's chest, struggling to push the other away.

The grip on his wings tightened and Starscream howled, static flickering through his vision until all he could see were the twin red lights of Megatron's optics, gleaming with hunger and indignation, one feeding the other.

Half-blind as he was, he felt the gap between Megatron's chest and his knees widen. He laughed, wild and desperate, tilting his legs as best he could and firing the thrusters in his feet. "Let - go -!"

Megatron didn't, but his grip loosened enough that Starscream could kick. He did, hard in the spot he had burnt, feeling the heat of the scorched plating against his foot. As the big mech staggered back he twisted away in blind haste.

Every part of him aching, he glanced up at the high ceiling, the homage to Vos a mockery now. There was no way he could take off in here. He barely had room to hover, much less space to stay out of Megatron's reach.

"So this is how it's going to be," the gladiator growled, his voice cold.

Starscream heard the thuds and clicks of a partial transformation, saw Megatron's dark hand retract and shift. A flare of lavender light filled the room, the crackling sound of lightning following it. Starscream stumbled, blinded by it and by its twin in the mirror-wall, a spiked lavender sun on the end of a chain, its links bright with heat and energy.

An energon flail, Starscream realized, shaking his head to clear his vision. His weapon in the arena. He'd never seen one of Megatron's matches in person, and Megatron had never had cause to transform for battle with him.

The thought dazed him. Was that thing, that sphere of light and pain, really coming for him? He dodged with all the nimbleness of his frame and his training as Megatron whirled it over his head and sent it crashing toward him.

It hit the mirror-wall, sending reflective shards flying. Starscream ducked out of the way as they fell glittering around him.

Compelled by morbid curiosity, he turned his head toward the smashed wall and stared. His splintered image stared back. He felt a shriek build inside him, indignation and fear and desperation, and beneath it something else, something he refused to name. He tamped it down, twisting the emotion into words as best he could.

"Do you really mean to do this, pit fighter?" he cried, laughing wildly. "To attack your ally for refusing you? To destroy -" he wrested his gaze from the shattered mirror "- to destroy everything you've built here, just to punish me?"

He raised an arm, energy singing through his weapons systems, all the hunger that had fueled him now directed to the destruction of his now-enemy. He watched Megatron move, his targeting computers calculating as he watched the gladiator lift his arm again. He smirked and fired.

That should put you out of commission. He'd aimed to stun, and not to kill. As angry as he was, he was in Megatron's city, deep in the gladiator's territory. You didn't just kill the boss and then try to -

Too late, Starscream saw the bright light as the flail swung for him again. He barely had time to wonder if he'd missed before he felt the energized links of the chain sear an already-sore wing.

He could have hit me. My wing could be scrap.

He didn't.

He heard Megatron grunt with effort, felt the inexorable pull as Megatron dragged him down by the wing he had caught. Frantic, the Seeker activated his thrusters again, trying to force his way out of the chain burning his plating as it held him fast.

It wasn't enough. With a mighty bellow worthy of the pits he'd come from, Megatron sent Starscream crashing to the ground.

The impact flared through Starscream's every sensor, blanking his processors white. He threw back his head and howled, a broken thing, unseeing and unhearing.

The chain pulled free. Starscream felt where its heat passed and hissed, struggling to clear his processor. He could feel something against his back - something soft. He couldn't have held himself up without it behind him, at least not right now. His legs lay splayed in front of him, twisted at impossible angles. Something was scattered on the floor underneath them, shards digging into the plating of his thighs and shins and ankles. The shards weren't nearly sharp enough to pierce his plating, but they stung.

He saw a light, moving - retracting? - and someone coming toward him. The bright sphere retracted into his assailant's arm. Bolder seeing it vanish, Starscream lifted his head and snickered.

He heard a soft click in answer. He recognized the sound before anything else: his attacker's spike cover, sliding aside, as his valve cover had before.

I'm still open, he realized, chuckling at the absurdity even as he felt his lubricant seep out of him in answer.

He held up an arm, trembling as he aimed the weapon mounted on it. "So this is all that you are," he murmured. "You copy palaces to impress the mechs you want, and smash wonders to pieces when they refuse you.

"I should never have expected anything more from you than that," he finished, snarling.

"Say that again," Megatron answered, supremely unconcerned.

It made the Seeker want to scream.

He stared at Megatron's spike, pressurized and obscene, the light of the room glinting off of it. His valve throbbed, remembering the ache of it stretching and filling him. "Say what again?"

"That you refused me. Then or now."

Starscream shook his head, howling, his high, shrieking voice ringing in his own audio receptors.

Then he slumped, his vocalizer hitching, small staticky sounds coming from it.

"I wanted you," Starscream hissed, defeated. "Then and now, damn you."

The helmeted head nodded once. Then Megatron reached down to pick Starscream up, his touch oddly delicate after so much violence. Starscream felt like a possession, as if Megatron had come into the room to find a prized object twisted and broken, and held it carefully now in hopes of sparing it further damage.

But you're the one who did this to me in the first place! Starscream thought.

Then the echo of a remembered voice: So this is how it's going to be.

His legs hurt; his back ached. He shuttered his optics, pressing close to the warm metal of Megatron's frame. He heard a tinkling clatter and opened them again, watching a silver rain of shards fall as Megatron's hand swept over the berth, knocking them to the floor.

Then he felt blessed softness beneath him as Megatron laid him on the cloth-covered berth. He moaned, expectant, no will of his own driving him.

He heard an answering rumble from Megatron, and hastily moved to part his damaged legs. It had hurt when Megatron did it for him before, and now - he didn't even want to think about what had happened in that impact. He felt Megatron's hands grab at them and growled in protest, but Megatron was careful, moving the metal under his hands with deliberate, barely-controlled force.

He braced himself, expecting Megatron's spike to pierce him. Instead he stared into burning red optics as the bigger mech lowered his face to his.

I mocked him for not kissing me, Starscream remembered, wrapping his arms around Megatron and snickering. Megatron smirked against his lip plates.

He shuddered, feeling the gladiator's weight pressing down on him, and his empty valve quivered. He opened his mouth, wishing Megatron really had chosen to take him and damn the rest. His cooling fans roared and his turbines whirled, his hands balling into fists against Megatron's back.

Pitiless, Megatron murmured his approval into Starscream's mouth and slid a hand up the Seeker's frame, toward his wings. Starscream gasped, knowing what was coming, then trembled as Megatron's fingertips traced the scorched dents his energized chain had left in the plating of Starscream's wing.

Unable to bear more, Starscream twisted his head away. "Please," he panted, his once high voice a choked rasp.

Please. Please. I want this. I confess this. Just like you want me to, you vicious brute.

Megatron snickered, backing up, and Starscream shuttered his optics again, not wanting to see, not wanting to think, not wanting to know anything but the sensation.

A pause, filled with the low roar of Megatron's cooling fans and the broken, staticky gasps of his own waiting. Then the shock of the massive spike piercing him, the sensors in his valve lit one after the other as if by spreading flame.

His lost voice found, he keened, a wail that echoed through the room. He heard Megatron's answering roar, rocking his hips as the other began to move, slamming himself onto his invader, all self-preservation forgotten.

He felt Megatron's hands hold him fast as the spike drove into him again. The walls of his valve shifted, struggling to reshape themselves into something wider. Starscream gritted his dental plates and overrode them, wanting the burn.

"More," he cried, the word barely more than a whine.

I agreed to this. I want this. I want it all. Every tear and every dent.

He felt Megatron tremble against him, nearly undone, and he opened his optics again, staring and licking his lips.

Megatron wasn't looking at him. The warrior's red optics glowed, bright as the heat scorching Starscream's insides. His mouthplates were frozen in a frown of intense concentration. As Starscream watched, the silver lip plates twisted into a slight grin.

Subtle as it was, Starscream saw the triumph in it. He shuddered, thinking of what it would mean for that resolve to finally splinter inside him.

He thought of the shards of glass on the floor, the destruction that had already brought him low. He smirked once and twisted his hips, fighting not to laugh.

Megatron screamed, a deep sound torn from the depths of him. He pulled back for a long moment and shoved his spike in, so hard that Starscream could feel the walls of his valve dent around it.

And on the heels of the pain came Megatron's overload, flooding him, marking his deepest places, leaving no part of him untouched. The sensors in his valve flared, seared and anointed, and Starscream could do nothing but overload in response, his processor flaring white.

###

Every part of him ached. Something soft lay underneath him, but it gave him no comfort. It was littered with small, sharp particles that scratched his paint and dug into his transformation seams.

Despite it all his processor felt hazy and warm, and his valve twitched with unmistakable aftershocks. That hurt, but also felt good, sensation on top of sensation, floating through him. He grinned, moving, half trying to get comfortable, half pointedly trying not to.

A face smirked down at him, its optics red and gleaming. Starscream grinned back at it. Then he snarled. "My room. You trashed it."

"Everything will be repaired," Megatron answered. "That includes you. Stubborn little fool."

"Me? I wouldn't have had to do any of it if you hadn't waltzed in here like you own -" he stopped, closing his lip plates tight, not wanting the word to escape them.

"There is nothing here that I don't own. I told you that before."

"I don't wear your mark yet, you arrogant, overgrown pile of scrap."

Megatron stared down at Starscream's still-open valve, dripping with his transfluid and Starscream's lubricant and a bit of faintly glowing energon from where his spike had torn something inside.

Starscream cursed. I'm as big a fool as this barbarian says I am. Why didn't I let myself shift around it?

"You think I haven't set my mark on you already, Starscream?"

Starscream's closed mouthplates twisted into a grin. "Maybe you have." He waved at the devastation - the shattered wall, the shards on the floor, his own mangled frame. "But look what it's cost you."

Megatron looked, shaking his head.

"I'll wear your mark soon enough," Starscream said as Megatron turned to face him again. We both know that. Go ahead, Megatron. Lord of the Pits. Ruler of the new Cybertron, if you can get it."

He laughed, his optics gleaming with crimson light. "Go ahead and keep me. If you can."