[Crown the Empire] Reign 05

[dracoqueen22]

Playlist by Chapter

Title: Reign
Universe: TF Amalgam, Crown the Empire
Characters/Pairings: Grimlock/Starscream, Skywarp, Thundercracker, Swoop, Slag, Snarl, Sky-Byte
Rated: M
Warnings: Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Moral and Political Dilemmas, Minor Character Death, Canon-Typical Violence
Summary: Megatron is dead, and Grimlock has claimed rulership of the Decepticons, where falling for his new Air Commander becomes an unexpected bonus. But there are some who disagree with his ascension, and intend to return the Decepticons to the status quo. Even if it means killing everyone who stands in their way.
Commission fic for nkfloofiepoof.

Chapter Five

No one gave him a second look as he strode into Iacon. For all that Soundwave had become an Autobot, he was still a familiar Decepticon. Or perhaps it was that no one was brave enough to challenge him.

Starscream watched Soundwave's approach with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension. He had never been able to read Soundwave before, and even in times of peace, Soundwave was difficult to comprehend. Starscream didn't understand what Soundwave was after, which made him difficult to predict. Starscream did not like unknowns.

“Well, well, well,” Starscream said. He stepped down the stairs, and raised his orbital ridges. “The prodigal son returns. To what do we owe the pleasure of your presence today, Soundwave?” He smiled sweetly and tilted his helm.

Soundwave's mask and visor made his expression unreadable. And like always, he might as well be offline for all of his field Starscream could sense. He'd earned his reputation for being an emotionless slagger.

Except as of late, where he was sticking to Optimus Prime like glue. Curious.

“Discussion intended,” Soundwave said. “Multiple topics of concern.”

Starscream descended until he stood right in front of Soundwave. They were of a height, though Soundwave had more mass to him. Starscream knew Soundwave had to touch someone for his little mind trick. He had never been afraid of Soundwave before, he wasn't about to start now.

“Is this visit sanctioned?” he asked as he circled Soundwave, wondering if the other mech would detect a subtle scan or two. “Does your Prime know you're here?”

“Autonomy allowed,” Soundwave replied, his frame relaxed. He didn't even turn to follow Starscream. He didn't fear reprisal at all.

Interesting.

“So he does know,” Starscream said.

“Possibility exists.” Soundwave inclined his helm as Starscream paused in front of him again. “Optimus Prime trusts.”

“You?” Starscream snorted and almost laughed. “How did you manage that? I didn't realize you two were that close. You certainly have a type, Soundwave.” Not that Starscream had any room to talk.

The other mech's field briefly spiked before Soundwave reined it in. His visor dimmed as his plating drew in tight.

“Starscream's relationship with Decepticon Lord also typical, yes?”

Starscream's wings twitched before he could stop them. “I see your little spies still get around as well as they used to.” He whirled on a heelstrut. “How long have you had my apartment bugged?”

“Unnecessary. Starscream's type also obvious.”

His lips twisted in a snarl, and he threw a glare over his shoulder, not that it fazed Soundwave. That had always irked Starscream. Nothing ever seemed to shatter the quiet mech's cool. Then again, he never failed Megatron. He was the favorite.

Then again, there at the end, everyone had been a failure to Megatron. He’d handed out beatings left and right. No one was safe. Everyone was a traitor.

He was right, of course, but Megatron didn’t know for sure. Though Starscream had no doubt Megatron realized it by the end. His own Decepticons had turned against him.

Soundwave had turned against him.

That must have stung. It must have hurt.

Good.

“I didn't think you'd stoop so low as to throw insults, Soundwave.” Starscream stalked up the ramp toward Decepticon headquarters. Like frag he would let Soundwave wander around alone. Besides, Grimlock probably wanted to be in on this, too.

Grimlock was far more hands on in Decepticon politics than Megatron had ever been. To be fair, Megatron was interested. He liked to know who to blame for failure. But everything leading up to failure or success? He kept his hands out of it, until it came time to claim credit or mete punishment.

Except Starscream pinged Grimlock and got a succinct “Busy” in reply so it looked like he was on his own. No worries.

“No insult intended. Only observation,” Soundwave replied, still in that irritating monotone. “Grimlock better choice.”

“Funny you should say that. I thought Megatron was your lord and master.”

“Negative.”

The main doors to the command center opened ahead of them. Starscream turned to look at Soundwave.

“This coming from the mech known for his loyalty. What changed, Soundwave?” He didn’t expect an answer. Soundwave never let anything slip. He was a mech of few words, and no intimacies.

“Megatron changed,” Soundwave replied, which yes, was all Starscream expected to get from him.

It was yet another reason he and Soundwave had never been friendly. Starscream had enough political machinations to worry about without trying to interpret Soundwave's deliberately vague manner of speech.

“And Optimus is better,” Starscream assumed as he hung a left and led Soundwave not toward the command center or a conference room, but to a refueling station.

The Decepticons had nothing to hide. That didn't mean Starscream wanted Soundwave anywhere near central command. They weren't that friendly. He didn't think Soundwave was spying. No. Rephrase. He knew Soundwave was spying, but he didn't think it was with malicious intent. Not only was that not Optimus Prime's style, but Soundwave never poked his olfactory sensor where it didn't belong for his own purposes.

He was stupidly honorable like that.

“Yes,” Soundwave said and unsurprisingly, didn’t elaborate.

Starscream supposed a blunt answer was better than an evasion. He hung a left into the nearest refueling station, abandoned as it was mid-shift, and waved Soundwave toward a table. He retrieved two cubes of mid-grade and joined Soundwave who had chosen a table that gave both of them a clear view of the room, and put their backplates to the wall.

Old habits died hard.

“But you didn't come here to talk about our respective relationships, did you?” Starscream plopped down on a stool and shoved a cube toward the quiet mech.

Soundwave accepted it and gave Starscream a long look before his mask split down the middle. Starscream took it for a show of trust. Soundwave rarely refuelled through his mouth, and never in public.

He was an attractive mech underneath, Starscream mused. He had a few protoform deep marks around his mouth, cuts that suggested repeated damage gone unrepaired for so long the nanites were no longer capable of recognizing it as damage. In other words, what the humans could call a scar. They didn't detract from his appearance, however.

“Negative,” Soundwave said after another sip. He rested one hand on the energon cube as his visor shifted Starscream's direction. “Topic of discussion: Metalhawk.”

Starscream leaned back on his stool, making himself comfortable. This was a topic that he had grown to loathe. “I'm listening.”

Soundwave inclined his helm. “Metalhawk unexpectedly amenable and quiet. Suspect conflicting motivations. Summary: scheme intended.”

Starscream tilted his helm. “That much is obvious. Do you have any proof?”

Soundwave audibly cycled a ventilation. “Surveillance suggests dissatisfaction. Wants Autobots and Decepticons gone.”

“How?”

“Method undecided.”

Starscream snorted a laugh. “He knows he's outclassed and outnumbered. Even if he waits for the reinforcements, it'll be too late. So he's got to come up with something before our scattered troops start answering the calls.” He sipped at his energon, the mildly sweet flavor a delicious treat. “Who do you have watching him?”

“Buzzsaw.”

“Not Laserbeak?”

Soundwave shook his helm. “Preference: Optimus Prime.”

Starscream's orbital ridges tried to crawl under his forehelm. “You're keeping tabs on the mech you've sworn allegiance to? My don't you live dangerously. I thought you trusted the Prime?”

“Negative.” Soundwave's visor flashed, and his carefully controlled energy field flicked through the room with denial. “Surveillance not intended. Only concern.”

“You think Metalhawk would attack him? Or that one of my Decepticons would?” Starscream snorted as his wings flicked. “No one on this planet is that foolish.”

“Negative.” Soundwave shifted, and if Starscream had to guess, there was embarrassment in the fidgeting. “Concern for health.”

Starscream cycled his optics. He sat up straight and stared at Soundwave. “You're actually serious about him. When did that happen?”

“Private matters unrelated to Starscream,” Soundwave replied in a clipped tone before his battle mask snapped back shut. His capped his half-finished cube of energon and set it to the side. “Previous topic preferred.”

“All right. Whatever you say.” Starscream held up his hands.

The old Starscream would have pursued it, perhaps to Soundwave's humiliation and Starscream's own self-satisfaction. But they were no longer second and third in command to Megatron. Starscream no longer had to vie for Megatron's approval. There was no need to undercut Soundwave.

Perhaps, in the future, they might even become friends.

“What has Buzzsaw discovered then?” Starscream asked with a flick of his fingers.

“Neutrals presently incapable of mounting an offensive.” Soundwave visibly relaxed as the tight clamp of his armor loosened. “Or defending themselves. Autobots and Decepticons have advantage.”

“Well, that's a relief.” Starscream tapped his chin. “Suggestions for a plan of action?”

“Watch. Wait. Prepare.”

Oh, Soundwave. Ever cautious.

Starscream frowned. He hated that the entirety of the Decepticon special ops division was unavailable. Soundwave and his little imps defected. Vortex had gone Neutral with the rest of his team. And Barricade was in the brig, where he would stay if Starscream had anything to say about it. That mech could not be trusted.

“I trust you'll keep us in the loop?” Starscream asked. “After all, you took our entire intelligence division with you.”

Soundwave's visor flashed, and though Starscream couldn't see his face, he got the distinct impression Soundwave was smirking at him. “Cooperation beneficial.”

“So it would seem,” Starscream mused aloud. “You mentioned multiple topics. What were the others?”

“Current Decepticon prisoners,” Soundwave said with no hesitation. “Intent to release?”

Starscream raised his orbital ridges. “You'll have to be more specific. Is there someone in particular you are concerned about?”

“Overlord,” Soundwave replied. “Blackshadow. Sixshot. Motormaster.”

Interesting. All of the Phase Sixers and two of whom had been responsible for violations upon Optimus Prime. Was Soundwave's attraction to and defense of Optimus Prime a new occurrence, or had it been beneath the surface throughout the entirety of the war?

Starscream pressed his fingertips together and crossed one leg over the other. It couldn't hurt to share a little information. “The Sixers are going into cold storage for when we need them. Motormaster is not eligible for parole at this moment. He is too loyal to Megatron.”

Some of the tension visibly drained from Soundwave's frame. “Potential for release in future?”

“Maybe,” Starscream hedged.

Motormaster, after all, was a Decepticon despite the despicable things he had done. Starscream had a responsibility toward him. His fellow Stunticons – Breakdown and Drag Strip – were more likely to be released before Motormaster.

Breakdown had expressed an interest in medical engineering, which Starscream suspected had more to do with their CMO than an actual interest in fixing the injured. Rumor had it, also, that Breakdown had been the subject of ridicule amongst his brothers because he did not take part in the rape and degradation of their Autobot pets. Therefore, he was high on Starscream's parole list.

He was still investigating Drag Strip. The mech was loud and obnoxious and selfish, but he didn't have any loyalties to Megatron, and he didn't seem all that loyal to Motormaster either. If he could be taught, he might be useful.

“That depends on his behavior,” Starscream continued. “But it will be no time soon. There are larger concerns.” He rapped his fingers on the desktop. “Speaking of unrepentant prisoners, what of the red minibot?”

Soundwave cycled a ventilation. “Medical care needed. No possibility of parole at this moment. Potential to re-offend too great.”

“A pity,” Starscream mused.

Frankly, he thought there were a few more Decepticons who could do with some of Cliffjumper's justice, but that wasn't what he could say aloud. He only pushed for the minibot's punishment for political reasons.

“Any other concerns you wanted to address, or do you want to save those for our weekly meetings?”

“Nothing of immediate consequence,” Soundwave said. He pushed to his pedes, tilting his helm in a show of deference. “Discussion appreciated.”

Starscream's lips twisted toward a smirk. “Working with the Prime has made you more polite,” he commented with a sidelong glance.

Soundwave's visor darkened. “Competition no longer needed,” he replied. “Would prefer friendship now, if possible.”

“I think I can oblige.” Starscream managed a genuine smile. “I think I like this version of you, Soundwave. I'm sure Optimus Prime does, too.”

Soundwave tilted his helm, a flush of amusement dancing in his field. “Lord Grimlock reciprocates, yes?”

Shots fired. Starscream didn't bother to duck. He suspected the tete-a-tete would become a key part of his and Soundwave's relationship.

“We'll see,” Starscream said. “Go. I'm sure you have as much work to do as I do. Feel free to visit again.”

“Noted.” Soundwave left, no sappy goodbyes from him. Not that Starscream could have expected any different.

He chuckled and shook his helm.

Would wonders never cease?

~

Cybertronians didn't yawn to express their fatigue, but at the moment, Starscream wished he could. He felt it tug at every cable, every strut, every line. His wings drooped. His neck column was stiff. He was starting to limp because of that damn knee.

Hmm. Maybe he should take the recent truce as an opportunity to have Ratchet look at his knee. He could call it fostering good relations.

Starscream snorted. Good relations. Like the fact he was second-in-command and also sexually involved with a mech who Ratchet and his explosive engineer of a conjunx considered their child. That was going to go over well.

Starscream tucked his datapad under his arm and rubbed his face with his free hand. Complicated, thy visage is Starscream, he thought. He always did seem to choose the path of most resistance. Why couldn't he allow anything to be easy?

He glanced back down at his datapad before subspacing it. No more work today. He intended to go to berth, collapse in it, and recharge until he had to rise early to do it all over again.

Why was peace so much more complicated than war?

Starscream flicked his code into the panel outside his private hab – being second in command had to have some perks – and strode into his suite. He briefly thought about claiming some energon from the dispenser, but he wasn't that low. He headed toward the berth room instead only to slam to a halt.

His berth was occupied, and not by any of his trine-mates like he would have expected. Skywarp had a habit of warping around to surprise Starscream as some sort of unfunny joke. Thundercracker occasionally invited himself inside if he had something serious to discuss.

This time, however, his berth was occupied by none other than Grimlock, the Dinobot looking quite comfortable as he propped himself up with several pillows. He was focused on the datapad in his hands, one that looked tiny in comparison, but he looked up as Starscream darkened his own doorway.

“You're late,” he said.

“I'm right on time considering this is my berthroom, and I didn't have anything scheduled,” Starscream retorted as he stormed further into his room. “What are you doing here?”

Grimlock flicked the datapad off, and it vanished into his subspace. “Waiting for you?”

“What? Couldn't sleep without a mech to cuddle?”

Grimlock's helm tilted. “Something like that.” He sat up on the berth and patted his lap. “Care to join me?”

Starscream snorted and folded his arms across his cockpit. “It's my berth,” he pointed out as he cocked a hip to the side.

“Thus the invitation,” Grimlock replied, and this time, it was better a purr. A dark sound that rolled right down Starscream's backstrut.

He fought back the shiver, but couldn't stop his wings from twitching, betraying his interest. Soundwave's words hovered at the back of his processor. Yes, he had a type, Starscream acknowledged. Power and confidence and competence, Grimlock had all of it. But more than that, he appreciated Starscream.

That was a heavy intoxicant indeed.

“Or I could leave,” Grimlock said.

Starscream rolled his optics. “I didn't say that,” he said and unfolded his arms, crossing the berth room in a few quick strides. “You must delight in confusing me, Dinobot.”

“It's only confusing because you're not used to it.” Grimlock snagged Starscream's nearest hand, drawing it closer to his masked mouth.

He rubbed his mask against the back of Starscream's knuckles, his visor taking on a glow of arousal that Starscream had come to recognize. His field reached out, tapping against Starscream's in soft request.

Ever since that first conversation, Grimlock always asked. He never assumed. He was as different from Megatron as night and day, as Autobot and Decepticon, as Seeker and Dinobot.

So yes, Soundwave, maybe Starscream did have a type.

Grimlock was all the best parts of it.

Starscream let Grimlock pull him closer and let the Dinobot's arm circle around him. Grimlock's fingers pressed against his back, just below his wing hinges. A purr rumbled through Grimlock’s chassis as he rubbed his battlemask against Starscream's hand again.

“Suppose I can convince you to come to berth now?” Grimlock asked.

“Idiot,” Starscream grumbled, refusing to admit that his ventilations hitched. “I'm here, aren't I?”

“Well. It is your berth.” Grimlock chuckled and slid his hand up higher, fingers teasing Starscream's hinges. “Join me on it. I've a need to see you overload on top of me.”

“You just want to be able to watch my wings,” Starscream retorted with a roll of his optics, but he watched Grimlock scoot back and make room for him.

Starscream climbed after him. He perched on Grimlock's hips, knees digging into the plush berth. Grimlock's panel was already hot to the touch, his field heavy with electro-static need. How long had he sat here, waiting on Starscream and thinking about him?

It was a pretty heady feeling. Like power.

Grimlock's hands rested on his hips, thumbs sweeping inward, brushing the furthest edge of Starscream's panel. He refused to show the jolt it sent through his lines. His valve clenched, lubricant gathering along the protomesh walls.

“There is that,” Grimlock said. He rocked his hips upward, making Starscream rise and fall in his perch. “Are you objecting?”

Starscream braced his hands on Grimlock's abdominal plate. “Not at all,” he purred, and ground down, their panels sliding together with a burr of metal on metal. “You came in here and waited for me. It would be rude to ignore that.”

“Since when have you cared about whether or not you were rude?” Grimlock asked, but his field was heavy with affection as it rolled against Starscream's own, almost as tangible as a caress.

Starscream tilted his helm to the side, lifting his orbital ridges. “Since when have you known me so well?”

“Dinobots observe.” Grimlock’s thumbs stroked harder at Starscream's panel. “Easy to do when everyone assumes you're stupid. Noticed a lot of things others didn't. Noticed that there was a lot more to you than Megatron allowed.”

If Starscream were anyone else, his faceplate might have heated at that.

“Yeah, that was obvious.” He leaned forward Grimlock, his glossa flicking over his lips. “How long have you been watching me, my lord?”

Grimlock's plating twitched beneath him, heat surging up from under his armor. Arousal thickened in his energy field until Starscream could almost taste it.

Hm. Liked that, did he?

“Long enough,” Grimlock said. His hands slid up, gliding along Starscream's sides and along his chassis before stroking back down again. “You are beautiful.”

Starscream startled, not expecting the blatant admission. Pleasure flushed through his field as his spark gave a sharp, surprised throb. He rolled his hips, planting a smirk on his face to hide his shock.

“Well, of course,” he purred. “I am a Seeker. We are lords of the skies.” He raised his arms, draping them around Grimlock's neck. He rolled his frame forward again, Grimlock growing hotter and hotter beneath him.

Fingers pressed in on his spinal strut. “You dance in the sky,” Grimlock said as his panel opened, and his spike extended. It rubbed along Starscream's valve panel in quiet request for entrance. “You fly with joy. When the sun catches your wings, you glow.”

Starscream's spark did that odd stutter again. He licked his lips. “You have been watching,” he purred with what he hoped was vain pride and not the sheer flattery he felt. “I didn't know a Dinobot could be so poetic.”

Grimlock's visor flashed with heat. “There are a lot of things you don't know about me.” His vocals rolled like rich, sweet energon. “Open for me?”

“Well.” Starscream smirked and let his fingers toy with the cables at the back of Grimlock's neck, just below the protection of his helm. “Since you asked so sweetly...”

He triggered his panel to open and a shiver danced up his backstrut as the blunt head of Grimlock's spike rubbed over his rim. He was already wet, but even so, Grimlock would be a tight fit. His calipers would struggle to cycle open, struggle to take Grimlock's girth. It was a heady sensation Starscream quickly began to crave, especially since Grimlock was always so careful with him.

Care was still something new to Starscream. He never knew it could be so addictive.

Starscream rolled his hips, teasing himself for several long moments. Grimlock's spike rubbed over his pleats, over his rim, and against his nub. His node throbbed with interest and he felt lubricant seep from his valve, dripping down on Grimlock's spike.

“Should I ask permission?” Grimlock purred as his hands swept up and down Starscream's sides, each sweep of his palm causing a tingle of charge to dance over Starscream's plating. “Or do you want me to beg?”

Starscream grinned. “I do like the sound of you begging.” He rolled his hips, caught the head of Grimlock's spike against his opening, and let the first inch slide inside. “But maybe not this time.”

He both felt and heard Grimlock's ventilations catch. He felt the flex of Grimlock's fingers on his hips and the shudder that rippled over Grimlock's plating.

Starscream's calipers twitched, catching at the head of Grimlock's spike as though trying to drag him deeper. So Starscream obliged, shivering as he sank down, inch by precious inch, his valve cycling open, stretching around Grimlock's girth until he was fully seated.

A low moan rose in his chassis. His backstrut arched, wings first going rigid, then shivering with delight. Starscream's optics dimmed as he allowed himself to luxuriate in nothing but the sheer sensation. No pain to be so full, he realized. Such a novel concept.

Grimlock's thumbs swept inward and a bolt of pleasure rocked through Starscream's frame as the tip of one circled his anterior node. He moaned, hips working Grimlock's spike and calipers rippling around it. Lubricant seeped out, soaking the space between them.

Starscream's hand slid to Grimlock's shoulders, his fingers slipping into transformation seams to stroke at the cables beneath. “You're going to make me overload if you keep that up,” he said.

Grimlock pressed a little harder and Starscream's hips jerked. His node throbbed as lightning stripped his lines.

“Or maybe that's what you want,” Starscream moaned. His hips moved in small circles while Grimlock stayed still beneath him. His spike throbbed and ground against Starscream's ceiling node.

“It might be.” Now Grimlock sounded coy, though his cooling fans had clicked on with a telling whirr and heat blasted out from beneath his plating. “It also depends on how adventurous you are.”

Starscream was intrigued. He forced himself to still, no matter how much his valve eagerly clutched at Grimlock's spike. His own throbbed to be released.

“What do you have in mind?” he asked as he leaned forward, his cockpit brushing Grimlock's chestplate. He could feel the strong vibrations of Grimlock's spark beneath.

Grimlock’s thumb continued the soft, steady strokes on his nub, forcing Starscream's hips back into incremental motion. His other hand cupped Starscream's aft. Grimlock's field thickened with arousal, betraying his need.

“Something I'd like to try, if you're not opposed,” Grimlock said as he rolled his hips upward, his spikehead tapping on Starscream’s ceiling node. “My spike is… different.”

“On purpose?”

Grimlock chuckled and rocked again, sending another sharp thrill of pleasure through Starscream's lines. “Yes and no. Wheeljack took the request for modeling our frame after organic designs a little too literally.”

Starscream blinked. “I haven't noticed anything different,” he said and then grinned. “And believe me, I've looked.”

“It's manually activated,” Grimlock said. He kneaded at Starscream's aft, his grip firm, and yet gentle. He was a master of his own strength.

Charge licked between their interfacing systems, their cooling fans almost whirring in sync. Arousal throbbed between them, and another sharp burst of it made Starscream clench down and shiver.

“But I'm told it's a Pit of a ride,” Grimlock purred. His thumb ground against Starscream's anterior node.

Starscream's backstrut arched as he hissed air through his vents. Pleasure rocked through him, valve rippling in the precursors of overload, but not quite there. His hands clawed at Grimlock's shoulders.

“No pain,” he gasped out.

“Never.” Grimlock’s thumb gentled on Starscream's nub, keeping the pleasure to a soft caress that nearly drew a whimper from Starscream.

“Just think about it,” he said and bent forward, rubbing his face mask against the sensitive dermal metal of Starscream's intake.

Starscream shivered. His wings flicked. He pulled Grimlock closer, grinding down and up all at once. More charge rattled through his array. His plating flared to release excess heat as Grimlock's thumb flicked over his node twice in succession.

Starscream clutched at Grimlock as he overloaded, clamping down hard on the Dinobot's spike. He panted as pleasure stripped his frame raw, and his field flared out of his control. He couldn't stop the helpless whines eking from his vocalizer.

He sagged on top of Grimlock; lingering bursts of pleasure making him twitch. Grimlock pulsed within him and gentled his touches on Starscream's nub to feathery flicks, drawing out the pleasure.

Starscream sucked in huge bursts of air, his cooling fans whirring. His face flushed with heat. His wings sank against his backplate.

“Beautiful,” Grimlock murmured as he cupped Starscream's hips before sweeping his hands up Starscream's back. His thumbs toyed with the hinges of Starscream's wings, and a jolt of ecstasy shot straight to Starscream's valve. “Go again?”

“I'm not done yet,” Starscream rasped as he snatched at Grimlock's wrists and pulled them away. Grimlock allowed it, he had to, because Starscream could never physically overpower him otherwise. “It's my turn now.”

Grimlock inclined his helm. “I'm at your disposal, my Air Commander.”

A thrill danced down Starscream's spinal strut and throbbed through his spark, as it did every time Grimlock reminded him of his position. It was an acknowledgment of his skill and worth, and it left him putty every time. Starscream's engine purred, and he tilted forward, forcing Grimlock backward.

The Dinobot's back hit the berth, his knees rising as his pedes braced on the berth. The motion jostled his spike in Starscream's valve, the throbbing unit skittering charge against Starscream's reawakening nodes.

Starscream settled more firmly on Grimlock, shivering as the thick spike re-situated itself. “You're going to let me lead?” he asked as he dragged his hands from Grimlock's wrists to his hands, tangling their fingers together.

Grimlock could easily rise up and toss Starscream off. He was taller and heavier than Starscream. But instead, he twitched to get more comfortable, and his visor darkened with lust. He didn't appear at all bothered that Starscream had wrested control from him.

“Why wouldn't I?” Grimlock asked as though there was no need for concern. His engine rumbled, vibrating the berth.

Primus. How did he always know the perfect thing to say?

Starscream gnawed on his bottom lip, his ventilations hitching. He circled his hips and squeezed down on Grimlock's spike. His thighs trembled. His entire frame still hummed with need, dancing on the tip of the next edge of overload.

“Next time,” Starscream panted as he lifted and dropped, feeling Grimlock trembling beneath him. “You're going to show me that mod.”

Grimlock's visor flared with arousal. His fingers curled around Starscream's, but not hard enough to damage. “Don't make promises you aren't going to keep, Seeker.”

“Ha.” Starscream's glossa flicked over his lips as he slammed down, the clank of metal against metal an erotic chime to the rattling of the berth. “I can take anything you have to give, Dinobot.”

He ground down, rubbing the head of Grimlock's spike against his ceiling node and rippling his calipers up and down the length of the thick spike. Charge danced between their respective arraysm and Grimlock thrust upward with a near-roar, the hot crackle of his transfluid jetting into Starscream's valve and washing over his internal nodes.

A shiver zipped down Starscream's backstrut. He tossed his helm back and followed Grimlock over, his spike leaving a strip of transfluid up Grimlock's abdomen. His cooling fans clunked in a desperate attempt to whirr away the heat building in his frame.

He sagged on top of Grimlock, feeling Grimlock's fingers flex in his. Heat filled the space between and around them. And yet, despite his overload, Grimlock was still pressurized within him.

Starscream twitched his hips. “You have stamina fit for a Seeker,” he commented.

Grimlock chuckled. “Getting tired in your old age?”

Starscream scoffed and tightened his grip on Grimlock's hands. “Try me, Dinobot.”

Grimlock rolled his hips upward, stirring his spike along the sated nodes of Starscream's valve. “Challenge accepted.”

~

There he was again.

Cyclonus looped in the air and came back for another pass, not at all surprised that the white and blue Neutral was on the bridge, staring out at Cybertron. Every day, at the same time every cycle, Tailgate was here. Almost as if he waited on Cyclonus.

Cyclonus transformed and landed, rolling his neck to ease the tension in his shoulders. He had been dealing with prisoners for the majority of the day, and that left him more than a little tense.

The Decepticons were understaffed, but it looked like they would remain that way. Cyclonus could not, in good conscience, release any of the mechs who remained in the brig. It might be that Starscream's proposed solution of reprogramming was the answer, no matter how much Optimus Prime disapproved.

Right now, Cybertron and peace were far more important than Autobot illusions of a perfect world.

“Cyclonus!”

Tailgate's visor lit up with happiness as he turned toward Cyclonus. His field freely extended, proving that he was a mech unaccustomed to war and intrigue. Most battle-hardened soldiers knew better than to leave themselves so open.

Tailgate also now bore a small pistol on his right hip. Cyclonus couldn't help but wonder if he had ever used it, and who had given it to him. He had not been armed in all of their prior encounters.

“It is not safe here, Tailgate,” Cyclonus said, trying to form a disapproving frown, but finding himself unable to do so. There was an unexpected warmth in his spark. Closer investigation suggested it might be… happiness.

He was genuinely pleased to see Tailgate. This was unexpected.

“I know,” Tailgate said and his happiness fell, the brightness of his field dimming by several degrees. “But I can't get near the citadel, and it was the only place I knew to find you.”

Cyclonus' spark surged. He told the foolish thing to calm down.

He knelt to be on more even ground with the minibot. “You could have commed me.”

“Would you have come?”

“Yes.” He gave the answer without hesitation, surprising himself, though he was quick to amend his words. “That is, so long as Metalhawk approves. He is still leery of us. I do not know that I would be welcome in Nova Cronum.”

Tailgate huffed a ventilation, his fingers twisting together. “Metalhawk's so stubborn! He just doesn't want to see that there are still good mechs in the Autobots and the Decepticons. He's convinced you're all bad.”

“He has good reason to think so.” Cyclonus cycled a ventilation. “I do not know how much of the war you've seen, but it has been brutal on all sides. His caution is wise.”

“But he won't even talk about it!” Tailgate cried, and he sounded genuinely distressed. His visor flared. “All I wanted was permission, and he told me I had to stay in Nova Cronum.”

Cyclonus cycled his optics and rose to his pedes, instantly scanning the area. He could see no sign of any other mechs, but that didn't mean there weren't any spies out there.

“You came here alone? Without telling anyone?” he asked.

Dear Primus, this was a crisis in the making. All they needed was for Metalhawk to screech that Decepticons were capturing poor, innocent minibot Neutrals, and there would be the Pit to pay.

Tailgate looked down, tapping his fingers together. “They wouldn't have let me come if I told them.”

Cyclonus cycled a ventilation and pinched the bridge of his olfactory sensor. There was a reason he was third in command. He could figure out a solution to this without causing an incident. For example, returning Tailgate to Nova Cronum as soon as possible.

He shifted to alt-mode and popped his cockpit. “Come on. I need to take you back.”

Tailgate's helm snapped up, his visor flaring with alarm. “Do I have to? I'd rather stay here and talk with you for a while.” His field flared, a mix of disappointment and exasperation and reluctance.

“Unfortunately, yes.” Cyclonus allowed the apology to extend into his field so that Tailgate could sense it. “If you'd like, I can expedite your petition for free travel to Iacon. Then Metalhawk could not protest. Though I would insist on a guard. For your own safety.”

Tailgate's shoulders sagged. “I hate this stupid war,” he grumbled, but he did as Cyclonus asked, taking care as he climbed into Cyclonus' cockpit.

Cyclonus appreciated how respectful he was. He didn't touch anything, took care in where he placed his pedes and hands, and made sure not to scratch or dent. Cyclonus sent the commands for the straps to keep Tailgate in place.

“Peace does not come without its bumps in the road,” Cyclonus said as he lifted into the sky, aiming toward Nova Cronum. “In time, perhaps, we will all be a little less cautious and a little more open to the possibilities. Such as friendships between Neutrals and Decepticons.”

Tailgate's field shone brightly. “You think of me as a friend?”

“Well, I certainly don't think of you as an enemy.”

Tailgate laughed, his visor a very bright blue. “That's good.”

“I would, however, prefer if you used my comm in the future, Tailgate. I gave it to you for a reason.”

The minibot ducked his helm. “I understand. And I will. Thank you, Cyclonus.”

It was difficult to stay angry with Tailgate. Everything about his emotions were so genuine and refreshing. The irritation bled entirely from Cyclonus' spark.

“You are welcome,” he replied. “Now let us get you home before there is an incident.” He turned toward Nova Cronum and popped his thrusters, jetting across the sky.

As he did so, he sent a quick communique to the perimeter monitors letting them know of his approach. It was both standard procedure and polite, but the frosty reception he received was offensive.

Metalhawk truly was all that was wrong with old Cybertron.

“I'm sorry,” Tailgate murmured as he slumped a little. “I didn't mean to cause so much trouble.”

“It's no trouble,” Cyclonus reassured him, hoping to chase away the disappointment in Taiglate's field. Something about the little mech called to a softer side of him, and Cyclonus was loath to abandon that. “I am only concerned.”

Tailgate's visor lifted to his instrument panel. “I could always petition to join the Decepticons,” he suggested with a hopeful lilt.

Cyclonus' flight plan wobbled. “If you no longer wish to be Neutral, that is one thing,” he said, careful to keep his tone as gentle as possible. “But I would ask that you join the Autobots instead. The Decepticons, right now regrettably, are no place for a Neutral.”

He sighed as the first intact wall of Nova Cronum came into view, and behind it, the single building the small group of Neutrals had turned into a home. Metalhawk had yet to swallow his pride and ask for assistance so they currently lived in their shuttle while they repaired a single building for residence.

“It was a long war, Tailgate, and those of us who survived have done so by learning to be cruel, or by starting out that way,” Cyclonus added. “I would not see the same happen to you, if there is any hope for the future of Cybertron.”

He circled around the Neutrals' shuttle once, looking for the best place to land, and wasn't at all surprised to find Metalhawk waiting at the end of the ramp, his second and third to either side of him. Well, this was going to be uncomfortable and potentially infuriating.

At least they had cleared the surrounding area of debris, making it easier for Cyclonus to find a place to land. He popped his cockpit and waited for Tailgate to climb out before he transformed. He turned to say something to Tailgate, who was looking up at him with a gleaming visor and tangled fingers, but Metalhawk intervened.

“Tailgate!” he bellowed, storming forward with a frenetic energy to his field. “We've been looking everywhere for you. Where have you been?” he demanded.

Metalhawk dropped to a knee in front of Tailgate, his hands on the minibot's shoulders as he looked him up and down, like one might an errant youngling who'd been caught misbehaving. Or as though he thought Cyclonus had done something terrible.

His gaze flicked toward Cyclonus with nothing short of a glare.

“I went to Iacon,” Tailgate answered as he stepped out of Metalhawk's reach, his plating clamped down with discomfort. He glanced up at Cyclonus before shifting his attention back to Metalhawk. “On my own. Of my own free will. Cyclonus was kind enough to give me a ride back.”

“Yes, I'm sure the Decepticon was kind,” Metalhawk said in a dark tone as rose to his full height.

Tailgate's fingers twisted together.

Cyclonus wondered if, cruel and dangerous or not, Iacon and the Decepticons were a better place for Tailgate. He seemed to have become some sort of pawn for Metalhawk now.

“Skids, take Tailgate inside. I'm sure he is tired,” Metalhawk continued, all without taking his gaze from Cyclonus. His armor was rigid, and one hand was drawn into a fist.

The once-Autobot – at least according to the briefs Jazz had sent over – inclined his helm and gestured for Tailgate to follow him. He said something Cyclonus didn't catch, and Tailgate's shoulders slumped as he followed along after. Tailgate cast a glance over his shoulder, but obeyed.

“You have my comm if you need me,” Cyclonus said to Tailgate's back. He didn't expect a response, but knew Tailgate had heard him by the twitching of the minibot's tires.

This left Cyclonus staring at Metalhawk and Sky-Byte both, neither of whom could be considered remotely welcoming. He folded his arms, refusing to be intimidated.

“He's not a sparkling,” Cyclonus said as he lifted his orbital ridges. “Why do you treat him as such?”

Metalhawk lifted his chin. “And why is it any business of yours what occurs within my faction on our own territory?”

Yes. This was quickly going to become unpleasant. Cyclonus changed tactics.

“If Tailgate petitions for free access to New Iacon, we are going to grant it,” Cyclonus informed them. “Fostering good relations is important to all of us. I would hope, Metalhawk, that you would not stand in his way or restrict his personal freedoms.”

“He will never become a Decepticon!” Metalhawk hissed.

Cyclonus inclined his helm. “Is that not his choice to make?”

That settled it.

If Tailgate came to New Iacon looking for asylum, Cyclonus would not deny him, no matter how loudly Starscream screeched or Metalhawk demanded his return. The choice would be Tailgate's. Cyclonus would not see him turned into a pawn.

Metalhawk's optics narrowed. “Yes, it is. As it's mine to ask you to leave. Decepticons are not welcome here.”

“I'll keep that in mind in the future.” Cyclonus glanced at Sky-Byte, who had added nothing to the conversation, before he shifted to alt-mode and took to the sky.

He did not look at Nova Cronum as he left, but he did make a mental note of Metalhawk's behavior. He would have to discuss this with Grimlock and Starscream both, along with contacting Optimus Prime.

This could be a problem in the future.

A big one.

****

a/n: As always, feedback is welcome and appreciated.