Archive of Our Own ^beta

It was remarkably simple. I needed a job. They needed somebody with my field of expertise. I am good with machines. They are machines. Of sorts. I’m still working out the logistics. They're big, mean and annoying. Decepticons, they call themselves. They talk about their cause like I give a shit. All I need is their money. 

There's the leader, Megatron. Typical tyrant megalomaniac, twelve a dozen, nothing special. There's Soundwave, an oversized boombox. Worst taste in music ever. Dozens, hundreds of goons I don't care to remember. But the worst of all… Starscream. Every week he comes up with a genius plan to overthrow Megatron and every week he gets trashed to near death. The amount of times I had to fix him. Ridiculous. 

—

I was having a little break in the workshop. Post Soviet post punk blues on the radio, some local queer samizdat paper, and the cheapest, shittiest coffee I could buy. Just as I was about to get comfortable, the doors swings open. I sigh. So much for a decent day. I look up from the paper. Starscream. Typical. 

“Did you get your weekly beatings yet, Screamer?” I smirk at him. 

“Shut up, you puny human and fix me!” He demands. 

“I don’t get paid enough for this.” I stand up, stretching lazily. 

“You should be grateful I don't crush you where you're standing.” He scoffs.

“Who would fix you then, hm? Your docs have their hands full, last time I checked.” I tease with my screwdriver. 

“Whatever.” 

“Oh come now, you want to be tip-top shape for your next humiliation, don't you?” I smirk. “Come now, turn for me.” I add, a little kinder. 

“I don’t have to do anything you say to me.” He pouts. 

“I can fix you better in your alt mode or whatever it's called.” I explain. Again. Sweet fuck I hate him. “Come on. Turn for me.” 

He pouts again, but he turns. Funny how he always ends up doing what I want, but always puts up a fight. 

“Good little mech.” I lower my voice. I know he hates that. “Now stay very still.” 

I get my toolbox and climb on top of him. His insides are a mess. That's the part of the job I don't mind. I like working on machines. The cold metal, the twisting wires… There's something very alluring about that. 

I work silently, losing myself inside the wires. They're beautiful, even if they're inside Starscream . They twist and turn around me, as I climb deeper and deeper. One wraps around my inner thigh. I moan, half in surprise, half in… 

“You sick fleshling, you get off to this!” I hear that awful voice screeching. Well, if anything, that pulls me back. 

“Alright, you caught me.” I shrug, as I climb out of him. I have a feeling I should be embarrassed. But for some reason I don't care. “I used to work in an airport before this, you know. Got fired, because they repeatedly caught me fucking the planes.” I say. 

“Is that some sort of a joke?” He asks judgmentally. 

“Why don't you find out yourself?” I ask. I don’t know why I said that, but I feel him tremble under me. For some reason that pleases me. 

“You're ridiculous, human. Do you honestly think you have what it takes to get a cybertronian even near overloading?” He says, voice shaking a little. Anger? Perhaps. Or… 

“Who said anything about overloading anyone?” I smirk. He trembles again. Oh, I got him. 

“I- shut up!” He screeches. 

“Mmm, why do I have a feeling you're challenging me , Screamer?” I whisper. 

“Don’t you dare -!” 

“Your diagnostics show your energon flooding one specific area of your frame… Should I be… concerned?” I continue teasing him. He doesn't answer. Sweet hell, he is seriously considering this. I didn't think this far ahead, but I'm willing to go with it. 

“If you dare tell anyone about this, I will decimate you.” He warns. So it is a yes. 

“Let me make one thing very clear, Screamer.” I lean closer, whispering. “I am not afraid of you.” I grit through my teeth. Then, just to make my point, I pull on a handful of his wires. He shakes. “See? I can make you hurt too.” 

“Do your worst.” He scoffs. 

I take that as a personal challenge. I crawl inside of him and start relentlessly pulling his wires. He doesn't respond. However much pleasure this gives to me, I stop. This is no fun. I need to hear him moan, need to feel him shake and tremble. 

“Just as I thought. You're pathetic, human. ” He says. He is slightly short on breath, but that's not enough. 

“You didn't see anything yet.” I warn. 

I crawl out of the frame and jump off. I have an idea that might just work. I noticed earlier that his response to fuelling is sort of… strange. A weakness I can and will exploit. I grab the fuelling cable and climb back up. 

“W-what are you doing?” He asks, slightly concerned, but I can hear, oh, I can hear that hidden excitement. 

“You will see soon…” I say with a lilt in my voice, while opening his fuelling port. I lean closer. Maybe I shouldn't, but I lick the edges of the port, drawing a nice, wet circle. What can I say? I always had a thing for machines. 

But enough of that. I am here to prove a point and I will. I will make him scream and squirm. I plug in the cable and start the process. I know he is low on fuel, and so naturally I make the process agonizingly slow. 

He sucks in every drop so desperately. It's beautiful. He is suffering and he loves it. But it's not enough. 

I turn the slow dripping into a rush of energon then turn it back in an instant. It surprised him. Shocked him, even. He coughs, chokes. I can feel him building up heath. Good. I repeat the process one, two, three, many times. His uptight demeanor slowly turns into a shaking mess. 

I turn the flow once more, full force. He screams, then a blue-violet liquid covers the walls. I can hear him panting. 

“You were saying?” I whisper with a satisfied smirk. 

“I hate you.” He says. 

“The feeling is mutual, Screamer.” I nod in agreement. “With that said, we should do this more often.” 

He doesn't say anything, just groans. I get back to fixing him. I like the money, yes, but mainly, I do this for the machines.