Chapter Text
Starscream never felt guilty.
The convoy’s moans filled the berthroom, hitching on every vent as he dug his heels in and thrust upwards to meet the teasing, tantalizing Seeker. Starscream bounced over him, up and down, grinding and twisting his hips to meet the Prime. Everything about the Convoy was a challenge. He had to be coaxed along, touched, licked, and teased. But when Starscream had him, Optimus gave him everything. Everything he could possibly wish for.
Megatron was the opposite. It didn’t take much to make him give everything, but the problem was that he had no regard for those he regaled his “gifts” upon. And Starscream was not something that could be poured into with nothing to hold it back. He could not be controlled or abused or “made perfect” he could only be himself. And sometimes the dissonance between them was a high that demanded to be ridden until it spent itself out.
But the rest of the time, it was angry and hateful, and nothing could keep them together or even on good terms with each other. Starscream couldn’t live like that forever, so he laid traps and set out tricks. He teased and toyed, looking for a slip, a chink, a crack, anything to sink a dagger into.
It was different with Optimus. With Optimus, his squeezing, poisonous talons were already clutched around the Convoy’s spark. Catching the Convoy had been difficult, but now that he had him… it was child’s play to keep him, because something inside of Optimus genuinely loved and admired Starscream.
No, Starscream never felt guilty. This was a war for survival, after all, and it was well-matched and even. For the Seeker, he was a survivor and a profiteer. He could live with himself after using both leaders. Could live with himself even if he had to kill them in the end. Conscience didn’t really factor into this. It just was, and he was, and that was all. At any moment, he had a thousand contingency plans going. At any moment, he had a hundred exits from any situation. He was prepared for damage control in almost every way.
When the war had started, he had gathered his credits – and any he got afterwards – and he had had them scattered to the four winds, in anonymous accounts on multiple worlds. If he gathered them all up again, they would make quite a nice stack. He had built himself multiple safe houses on as many worlds and there were ships at each one. Contingencies within contingencies. He would be able to run and to hide, to move freely among the worlds, even if the Cybertronian war went against him.
All of his rock-solid contingencies were balanced on one delicate link: He would have to be able to get off of Cybertron.
For all of the credits, the wealth, the storehouses, and the planning, Starscream had to get off of Cybertron to enjoy and use them. Once off, no one would find him, and to that end, he had had three long-range shuttles stored away, tucked into corners of the planet. Two of them had been discovered. The third was a jealously guarded secret on the war-torn planet.
If push came to shove, he had taken care to gain the codes for all Decepticon shuttles and traveling craft, just in case.
As he gripped hard on Optimus’s shoulders and pushed their sparks together, melding their emotions and overlapping their surface thoughts, he had driven all thought of Megatron or contingencies from his mind. The Prime hadn’t been easy to capture into this act, wanting to wait until they could be proclaimed as Bonded, but Starscream had been insistent. He had a cervix cap installed and Megatron had insisted he share sparks with the Seeker, so why shouldn’t Optimus have the same? Fairness aside, spark merging developed strong attachments between the mergers, and it further ensured his future. Optimus would never harm him. Megatron could never bear to kill him. He would survive, live, and the price was a little shared pleasure and intimacy.
He lay gasping across the Convoy’s chassis as his valve cycled and twitched in overload. Sheer heaven, that was what this was. He loved every moment of it.
Optimus patted his back tiredly. “…Will you stay the nightcycle?”
“I can’t.” Starscream replied, entirely truthfully. “Megatron will notice I’m gone if I’m away for much longer.”
“…Someday, I will make sure you never have to return at his call.” Optimus pressed a chaste kiss to his helm.
“I’d like that.” Starscream rolled off to lie beside him and then sat up. “I’ll just clean myself up.” Optimus’s transfluids were leaking slowly out of his valve. With the cervix cap in place, they couldn’t be pumped up into his gestation tank. A shame, if it weren’t for the spark merging. Transfluid could be an excellent source of metals and minerals for even an adult mech.
“I’ll help you.” Optimus rolled to his pedes and followed after Starscream.
Starscream smirked at how easily led his Prime was and let a washcloth hang appealingly over his shoulder. “Thanks. You can wash my back.”
Optimus took the rag and made a point of dropping it into a puddle where it made a splash against Starscream’s pedes.
Starscream purred as he was pinned against the cool tile. “Want something, Optimus?”
“I think you know exactly what I want.” Optimus revved his engine against Starscream’s wings.
“So soon? But I’m tired…” Starscream whined, wiggling his aft against Optimus’s crotchplate.
Optimus began kissing at his neck and shoulders. “Then I’ll just have to do the work this time.” He slid his servos to Starscream’s thighs and encompassed each one with his servos, lifting the delicate Seeker.
Convoys didn’t have the same stamina that tanks did, but Optimus seemed to be in a class by himself. Starscream easily let his legs split apart as he braced himself against the wall for support.
The Prime sank home for the second time that evening, almost obscenely gentle in his onslaught and unstoppable at the same time. Starscream keened softly, keeping his voice low. In the Autobot’s base, there was always the danger of being caught.
One of the massive servos covered his mouth gently, a digit passing between his teeth as a makeshift gag. The other servo readjusted its grip and the Prime began a steady, pounding rhythm that soon had Starscream whining and moaning into the gagging servo.
It was a long, pleasurable time before he escaped the amorous Prime and by the time he did, it was far too late to return to the Decepticons without risking Megatron’s wrath. Might as well go all the way.
Or at least that was the excuse he used for snuggling up with the Prime and recharging instead of flying off into the chilly night.
“…I swear, you do this on purpose.” The Seeker muttered, tucking in his limbs to the warmest parts of Optimus’s chassis.
“What on purpose?” The convoy sleepily curled up around his small frame.
“Keep me here too late to possibly get back to the base on time. This is a sneaky way of trying to get me to stay permanently, I’ll give you that.” Starscream snuggled into his neckcables.
“Hmm… Is it working?”
The Seeker chuckled, curling closer. “Maybe… Maybe.”
Megatron tossed him into a wall, and down to the floor, and into his berth, and onto his spike, several times, in rapid succession. By the end of the onslaught, the Seeker was gasping and panting, transfluid coating his aft and his valve aching right up to his abused ceiling node. His optics were still rolling and trying desperately to reorient themselves within his helm and he was lying in a puddle of his own lubricants.
In short, Starscream was completely wrecked. What a way to start the day: First waking up to a Prime’s glossa on his valve, then being pounded through the berth by an angry warlord and bathed in a tank’s considerable transfluid reservoir. He felt like he could conquer the galaxy! …If only he could stand up.
“Will there be any more of these incidents?” Megatron’s engines rumbled next to his audials.
Primus, yes, there would be more of these incidents. Much as he hated the blows and angry words, the rough, passionate interfacing was worth the abuse. Frag, yes. It was one of the reasons he let Optimus convince him to stay the night so often. If he had to pick who he wanted to win this war, he wouldn’t be able to, that was how good both giants were.
Still, for form’s sake. “No, Lord Megatron… Not again.” Starscream told him, flopping down into the warlord’s pillow.
Megatron slapped his aft with an open servo, drawing a moan from Starscream as his sensitive insides were jostled anew. “Get yourself cleaned up and report for duty. We have work to do.”
Starscream dragged himself out of the berth and into the washracks, feeling every ache and stretch deep inside and purring a storm to himself.
Megatron had punched him, several times, in the area where his gestation tank was located and the area ached the worst. His plating was dented and misshapen, he would need to see Hook or Flatline, and his neck was bleeding slightly. Megatron had bit him. Hard.
Optimus made puppy-dog optics at him as he mentally pleaded with the Seeker to stay, but Starscream wasn’t in the mood to frag off Megatron. Not lately. “…I need to take a shower and go, Optimus.” Starscream pressed a kiss to his lipplates. “You’re doing really well, lately. He’s extremely fragged off and I don’t want to be on his bad side.”
Optimus’s optics dimmed. He had seen that truth in Starscream’s spark that evening, though the Seeker hadn’t shown him more than basic impressions. Early on, the Seeker had learned that Optimus tended to read between the lines perfectly well with just those flashes. “I hate seeing you go back to him, when you know he’s going to hurt you.”
Starscream pressed his lipplates together. “I have to look out for myself, Prime. I can’t just sit here, and pretend I’m on your side. You’re on a winning streak today, but tomorrow may bring plague for all I know. This… us…” Starscream sighed, resting his forehelm against Optimus’s shoulder. This was difficult territory to navigate.
“I know.” Optimus sighed, touching his shoulder. “I’m insurance.” His large, blue optics searched Starscream’s, looking for something. The Seeker couldn’t tell if he found it or not.
“You’re a little more than that.” The Seeker muttered, extracting himself and standing up. “…I’ll see you next time?”
Optimus didn’t answer beyond a slight bob of the helm, but Starscream could sense – in the tingling aftereffects of their merge – that he would be waiting for his next visit.
Megatron was waiting when Starscream landed on the hangar deck. The Seeker had run through some sand in the wind on his way back, so fortunately he didn’t look quite too pristine. “…Someday, I’m going to ask you where you go.” Megatron gripped the Seeker and pushed him into one of the abandoned hangar’s walls.
“Here and there where the wind takes me, Megatron.” Starscream batted his optics. “I’m a wandering mech. A Seeker.”
“A Seeker indeed.” Megatron pressed against his cockpit, urging it to open. “Show yourself, Seeker.”
Starscream purred and let his panels fall open to accept the tank’s ravaging.
Afterwards, it seemed like there was less mess than usual dribbling down his legs and he frowned slightly, before shrugging it off. It wasn’t beyond Megatron to empty off some of his overactive spike down a washrack’s drain or into Soundwave’s valve.
Starscream sighed, stretching out the tightness in his hips, and bounced slightly as he walked back to his quarters. Happiness was being well fragged by two well-endowed mechs on the same evening.