[Flights of Fancy] Topsy-Turvy 05
Mar. 5th, 2018 05:17 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dracoqueen22Title: Topsy-Turvy
Universe: Flights of Fancy
Characters: Megatron/Rodimus, Soundwave, Shockwave/Orion Pax, Drift/Perceptor, Starscream, Ensemble
Rating: M
Enticements: Harpyformers AU, Sexual Content, Romance, Unrequited Love, Angst, Fluff, Slow burn
Summary: If asked, Liege Megatron of the Kaon Aerie would say his life was perfect. With a content, growing flock to manage, he had nothing to worry about. Loneliness was part of a Liege’s life, he’d decided. Until the bright-spirited Hot Rod comes along, determined to be the exception to the rule.
Chapter Five
Hot Rod, at least, had been partially right.
While Megatron had showed himself to be cruel, his words had their intended effect. No more did the beautiful smol linger outside of Megatron’s nest with a flirty smile. Nor did he invite Megatron out for a flight or a meal. He didn’t saunter toward Megatron in the bathing springs, dripping with water, his freshly washed feathers glinting. He didn’t offer to help Megatron clean his scapulae. He didn’t display.
Hot Rod was cordial, but distant. He didn’t interact with Megatron any more than was necessary, though that meant daily. He was still, after all, Orion’s assistant, and the more gravid Orion became, the more he needed to send Hot Rod out to run errands for him and the more he served as go-between for Orion and Megatron.
If he had set his eyes on another in the flock, most likely a bara given Hot Rod’s temperament, Megatron didn’t know. Neither did he ask Soundwave. It was none of his business, so long as Hot Rod was happy and he appeared to be so.
A month passed. Orion grew heavier with egg, still not visible, but the draw on his body meant he tired easily. Storing energy, perhaps, for the much more exciting second month, where Megatron was sure he wouldn’t be able to pry Shockwave and Orion out of their nest for the better part of two weeks.
He was so looking forward to that time. He would be working with Hot Rod a lot more closely then. Hot Rod who had not only done well as Orion’s assistant, he’d accepted the offer to train as the harpy to take over for Orion whilst Orion was too busy with a new fledge.
It was for the best. Megatron was glad Hot Rod had finally been able to move on, that he was seeking out a place for himself in the aerie and the flock, one that wouldn’t include a berth in Megatron’s nest.
Any disappointment on Megatron’s part was swallowed as soon as it burbled into view. He’d had his chance. He refused to take it. He wouldn’t admit he missed it now, how present Hot Rod had been in his life, how seeing the smol’s smile had so often lifted his spirits.
To distract himself, Megatron doubled-down on the amount of time he spent doing his work. He caught up the documents. He spent more time with each of his harpies individually. He got more involved in every aspect of his flock.
He joined Drift’s training sessions as a practice mate for those in training. He offered himself as a second pair of hands for Perceptor. He helped with inventory counting, and started to learn how to prepare some very basic things in the kitchen. Speaking with Trailbreaker had been enlightening, so Megatron made it a point to seek out every last one of his flock.
Are you happy here? Is there anything I can do for you?
He didn’t want to be the kind of leader his harpies fled from. He wanted to be the kind who cared, and to do that, he had to care about his flock as individuals. Kaon was small enough now that it was feasible. He knew every one of his flock by face and name. He wanted to know them by more than that.
Megatron made an effort to be familiar with every task in his Aerie. Everything that needed doing or was being done. Every project, every survival need, every little thing, from the maintenance of the canopy weave to the cleaning of the springs.
Even Gathering.
It was a task vital to the survival of the flock. Yes, they traded for a lot of the more exotic fruits, vegetables, and nuts. The humans at Kaon University were always willing to hand over their extra crops or trade crops for information or harpy crafts. But gathering food from the wilds was equally important. Their own little garden was still a work in progress, but getting larger with each growing season.
Gatherers were usually the harpies in Megatron’s flock with the quickest speeds and the keenest vision. Able to get away in a hurry if necessary, and able to spot the ripest or near-ripest of edible things. They had no trouble digging for the tubers and shrooms hidden in the foliage, and didn’t mind the often far distances that needed to be traveled.
Megatron spent little time as a Gatherer. He had, however, served as a guard on several occasions. Worries about dangerous humans were ever present, and when one of his warriors was sick or otherwise occupied, Megatron was more than happy to fill in the gap. He would not lose a Gatherer to a lucky human.
Megatron had never lost one of his flock to the humans. Adaptus willing, he never would.
Today’s Gathering group wasn’t short in the escort, but Megatron flew out to it anyway. A little extra protection couldn’t hurt, and it was such a lovely day, warm and breezy, the air strong with the scent of honeysuckle and the sky an endless spill of blue without a cloud in sight.
Megatron caught an updraft and used the burst to carry him to the south field, where the Gatherers had found a nice cluster of blackberry bramble, a much beloved sweet treat in Megatron’s flock. Especially if Drift could be persuaded to turn it into jam.
He looked down, counting heads. There should be four Gatherers and two escorts. He spotted Trailbreaker and Bulkhead escorting, and among the Gatherers were Ravage, away from Soundwave for once, and Needlenose. Horribull was there, too, never far from Needlenose.
Wait. That was only three.
Megatron frowned and hovered, flapping to keep himself aloft. Where was the fourth? Who was the fourth? Megatron didn’t receive a daily roll call of who was going to be on what tasks.
He made a mental note to start having Soundwave put together something like that for him. Just because of moments like this.
Megatron dipped a little lower, eyes frantically searching the ground for the fourth harpy. He’d land in a moment, inform Trailbreaker and Bulkhead of their missing Gatherer, but if he could locate the harpy first, that would be a relief.
He caught a bright flash from the corner of his eye. Megatron banked to the left, heading toward another crop of blackberry bushes just over a rise in the land and behind a small stand of trees. The flash was far too big to be a small bird.
He was right.
Megatron swooped in lower just as the bright flash got larger and brighter and coalesced into none other than Hot Rod, a look of frustration on his face as he struggled to disentangle himself from some briar vines. They had a grip on the long length of his feathers, and the more he struggled, the harder the thorns dug in.
Amusement warred with aggravation. Megatron wiped both from his face as he tilted in for a landing and approached the caught smol.
“I didn’t know you were a Gatherer,” he said by way of greeting.
Hot Rod’s gaze whipped up toward him, embarrassment burning bright across the bridge of his cheeks. “Well, uh, you know how it is,” he said with a little nervous laugh. “See a need, fill a need. I go wherever an extra pair of hands are needed.”
“I thank you for your dedication,” Megatron said. He arched an eyebrow as he took in the basket at Hot Rod’s feet, almost tilted over and full of blackberries. “Having some trouble, are you?”
Bushes rustled as Hot Rod twitched. He concealed a wince. “I do appear to be caught in the brambles.” He grinned, though it was a little lopsided. “Um. Help?”
Megatron chuckled. “Gladly.”
He moved closer, albeit carefully. He’d already caught the worst of the issue. There was a brambled vine wrapped around Hot Rod’s left arm and wing, preventing him from moving. Easy enough to get out of with assistance, not so much on his own unless he was willing to sacrifice quite a few feathers.
Megatron got to work, aware that he now had to stand uncomfortably close to Hot Rod in order to do so, the sweet aroma of the summer blackberries mixing with Hot Rod’s own natural scent. His core gave a hard throb in his chest, one that echoed much lower, to his groin, which had seen only the touch of his own hand for far too long.
“You do realize you’ve separated from the group,” Megatron said. Conversation, he hoped, would be a sorely needed distraction.
“Those bushes were getting stripped clean!” Hot Rod held perfectly still, waiting for Megatron to work the longer thorns loose. “And Drift promised he’d make me some jam if I brought him the biggest ones.”
“Well, I suppose I can’t blame you for that then.” Megatron freed one of Hot Rod’s wings and had him tuck it against his chest. “Don’t move.”
Hot Rod sighed. “Wasn’t planning on it.”
“Is this your first time Gathering?”
“No.”
“Then you know the rules.”
“Rules.” Hot Rod repeated the word, dragging out the last syllable with the kind of aggrieved whine of a sub-adult. “I thought they were guidelines.”
Megatron gave Hot Rod a pointed look. “And if I’d not come around, you’d have been stuck here, with no one knowing where you were.”
“It’s not like I was far!”
“That’s not the point.”
Hot Rod huffed and looked away, the staining around his nose getting brighter. “If I’d known I was going to get a lecture with help, I’d have opted to stay stuck in the thorns.”
“I could still leave you here.”
Hot Rod pressed his lips together and said nothing. He also didn’t turn to look at Megatron again, something closed off in his expression.
Megatron swallowed down a sigh. This was a far cry from the days when Hot Rod was always so happy to see him. When he had a smile for Megatron. This right here was just a reminder of what Megatron had refused.
Sweet and beautiful, charming and bright. Determined and energetic. Not royal like Starscream assumed, but still a good harpy. He’d make someone a wonderful mate.
Megatron untangled the last of the thorns and held the bramble away with the tips of his talons. “You’re free.”
Hot Rod darted past him as though afraid he’d get stuck again if he lingered. He heaved a huge sigh of relief, lifting his arms and examining his wings. He loosed a cry of alarm when he spotted a small bald patch where the brambles had managed to snatch a prize.
“Ratchet’s gonna kill me,” he muttered with such a forlorn tone that Megatron almost laughed.
Ratchet did not suffer fools, and it was certainly foolish to get oneself caught in the blackberry thorns.
Megatron scooped up the blackberry basket, plucking out one of the larger ones and tossing it into his mouth. The sweet-tart juice splashed over his tongue. Oh, these were perfectly ripe. Perfect for jam, perfect for pie, perfect for crumble.
“You could take it as a lesson in obeying those ‘guidelines’,” Megatron said as he ate another blackberry.
Hot Rod gave him a look and held out a hand. “Could I have my basket back, sir?”
“I don’t get a thank you?”
Hot Rod twitched. His lips pressed together into a thin line as though he were holding back his words. “Thank you,” he finally said, and his shoulders sank a little. “I’ll try not to stray so far from the group next time.”
“It’s only because I care for your safety, Hot Rod.” Megatron handed the basket over, and Hot Rod tucked it back onto the hook around his waist. “The rules are there to protect everyone in the flock, not inhibit them.”
Hot Rod smiled, but it was thin and sad. “Everyone, huh? Because no one individual – bara or smol – is more important to you than any other.”
Megatron clenched his jaw. “I am Liege.” He kept his tone soft, gentle. He didn’t want this to sound chiding. “I cannot hold any in higher regard. I should always be fair.”
“You’re only mortal, Megatron,” Hot Rod said quietly, his tone at jarring odds with the usually chipper voice Megatron had gotten used to. “No matter how hard you try, your core will always hold someone dear. Not even a liege is above that trap.”
“Trap,” Megatron echoed and tilted his head. “You think loving someone is a cage?”
Hot Rod chuckled, and there was no humor in it. “I suppose that depends on who built the bars.”
“Hot Rod!”
The sound of someone shouting for Hot Rod struck through their conversation with all the subtlety of a lightning bolt. Megatron looked past Hot Rod to see Bulkhead charging over the hill into view, somewhat out of breath, a wild look in his amber eyes.
“Adaptus be praised! There you are!” Bulkhead said with an audible exhale of relief. “We’ve been looking for you for ten minutes! We’d thought the worse until--” His eyes skipped past Hot Rod and landed on Megatron. “Sir!” His eyes went wide. Panicked.
“It’s okay, Bulkhead,” Megatron said with a dip of his head. “I happened to be passing by when I saw Hot Rod separated from the group. I was just about to shoo him back your direction.”
Relief echoed in the flutter of Bulkhead’s olive-green feathers. He was one of the volunteer guards, a large bara with a barrel chest and a sturdy body. He was the best and fiercest brawler in the guard.
“I’m sorry, sir. We should have been more vigilant,” Bulkhead said with a dip of his head. Though his eyes slanted toward Hot Rod in something like annoyance. “We didn’t even realize he’d gone until Ravage pointed it out.”
Megatron waved off the apology. “The rules are more guidelines anyway. Right, Hot Rod?”
Hot Rod ignored him. “I’m sorry, Bulkhead,” he said with a smile and genuine contrition in his face. He cuddled up to Bulkhead’s side. “I caught a whiff of these bushes and couldn’t resist how full they were. I’ll let you know next time. Promise.”
The irritation vanished. Bulkhead sighed and rubbed the back of his head. “You’re a handful, Roddy.”
“It’s part of my charm.” He grinned, tail feathers twitching with delight. “You’ll forgive me if I share the jam Drift’ll make me, right?”
“I think I can be persuaded.” Bulkhead grinned. He patted his belly. “Never let it be said that I turn down free sweet treats.”
Hot Rod laughed. Or giggled. Probably both. “They forgive anything.”
Bulkhead’s irritation must have passed to Megatron, because he suddenly found himself inexplicably annoyed.
“Well, since Hot Rod is safely found and extracted from the brambles, I’ll be on my way,” Megatron said, perhaps a touch too loudly. He took a step back.
Bulkhead startled as though Megatron had yelled. “Oh, right. Thank you, sir.” He bowed, lower than was necessary. “And sorry. I won’t lose a Gatherer again. You have my word on this.”
“It’s quite all right, Bulkhead. It’s not your fault.” Megatron offered the guard a reassuring smile. “Keep them safe, Bulkhead.”
“Of course, sir.”
Megatron lifted himself into the sky. Perhaps it was petty of him not to say farewell to Hot Rod. It was certainly rude, but there was a squirm in his belly right now, one Megatron couldn’t name.
He fought the urge to look back at Hot Rod and lost. The look the flame-colored smol sent him was a mixture of anger and hurt, before Megatron rose too high to see Hot Rod’s face clearly anymore.
The taste of blackberries lingered on Megatron’s tongue. It was still weaker than the scent of Hot Rod still caught in his nose and clinging to his feathers.
He was definitely going to get Soundwave to start a daily list of who would be Gathering just in case. And in the future, Megatron would be checking said list before joining the Gatherers on their task.
~
Getting himself more involved in every little corner of his aerie turned out to be a brilliant idea for a distraction. Megatron spent less time in his office, crouched over documents, and more time out with his flock.
He looked in on Orion from time to time, his core squeezing with complicated emotion. Pride. Happiness. Regret. The life within Orion grew, the flush of joy made Orion even more beautiful, and the happiness in the mated couple seemed to infect everyone around them. It was hard to be bitter in their presence.
It was hard to forget.
So when Drift came to him with a request, Megatron didn’t think twice about declining.
“I promise it’s only the one time,” Drift said, sounding rushed and apologetic and agitated all at once. His feathers were all afluff, his tailfeathers especially.
Megatron held up a hand, trying to calm his fencemaster. “Drift, it is quite all right. I am happy to help, on this occasion and any other.”
“It’s just, I’m the fencemaster, and this is my responsibility. I’m the one who confused my own schedule, I shouldn’t be getting others to fix my mistakes,” Drift bit out, and there were echoes of his past life in the words, in his hunched shoulders, in the recitation of a lecture he’d probably heard time and time before.
“Drift.” Megatron rested his hands on the smol’s shoulders and looked him in the eyes. “You’ve overextended your time. It’s hardly a mistake worthy of punishment. Don’t worry. I’ll handle the training session, and you concentrate on making sure your anniversary night with Perceptor is a success. Understand?”
Drift smiled, wobbly though it was, and some of the tension bled out of his body. He nodded. “Yes, sir. Thank you. And next time, I’ll make sure Cyclonus is free to help out so you don’t have to be bothered.”
“It’s no bother.” Megatron dropped his hands. Drift was calmer now, more willing to listen to reason. “Now, what time is the session?”
Drift winced again. “In fifteen minutes.”
Megatron swallowed a sigh. He didn’t want to send Drift into another frenzy of guilt and self-recrimination. “Then I’d best be on my way. Good luck tonight.”
“Thank you again, sir.” Drift bowed deeply, a behavior he’d brought with him from his birth Aerie as there was something theatrically formal about it. Megatron had given up on getting him to stop.
Sometimes, there was comfort in old traditions.
“You’re welcome. Now off you go.”
Drift smiled and excused himself, leaving Megatron to finally release the sigh he’d been holding. Fifteen minutes before he had to take over Drift’s training session. It was hardly enough time to prepare anything, much less himself, but he’d already committed to it.
He quickly climbed to one of the highest levels, where the training room and dojo had been built, taking up half the floor and anchored to the trunk for stability. The floor itself was a multi-layered construction of plaited branches interwoven and lain over thick logs banded together with hand-twined cord.
Building the training room had been one of Drift’s projects when they first picked this tree as home for the aerie and started constructing around the massive trunk. It had taken him the better part of two years, and Drift now maintained the structure almost religiously. It was his second pride and joy, beyond the ceiling he’d made for Perceptor.
Megatron arrived and frowned in confusion. The training room was deserted. Sure, he still had ten minutes but shouldn’t some of the attendees have arrived by now? Or perhaps Drift had given him the time the instructor was expected to arrive.
Sighing, Megatron walked a circuit around the room, ensuring he’d have everything he needed. All of the equipment was present and accounted for, clean and ready for use. Not that he had expected otherwise. Drift was scrupulous in the care of everything associated with the dojo. Megatron browsed the practice blades and selected one that would be of use to him.
Footsteps announced the arrival of his first student.
Megatron turned to greet him, and it took all of his self-control not to falter at the sight of Hot Rod strolling into the training room. The pretty smol came to an abrupt halt as he saw Megatron and looked, of all things, like a rabbit in the talons of a hawk.
“Where’s Drift?” Hot Rod asked.
“Otherwise occupied,” Megatron said, hoping he sounded smooth and unbothered. “I will be instructing class tonight.”
Hot Rod blinked. “Class? It’s just me.” He frowned and eyed the sword in Megatron’s grip. “And I’m supposed to be learning hand-to-hand defensive techniques. You know, in case any of those humans you fear so much try to snatch me.”
Megatron stared at him and wondered if the same look of confusion on Hot Rod’s face was now on his own. “Oh. I see.” He turned and put the sword back into the slot. “Either way, I can handle Drift’s responsibilities in his absence.”
Hot Rod nibbled on his bottom lip. “It’s not that important. I can reschedule.” He spun on a tarsal strut back toward the doorway.
“Do you think me incapable or am I so frightening you can’t bear to learn from me?” Megatron crossed his arms in front of him and cocking an eyebrow.
Hot Rod paused and half-turned, his eyes narrowed. “Neither. But you and I both know, my liege, that you’d rather be anywhere so long as it isn’t near me.” His tail feathers twitched. “After all, haven’t I become something of a nuisance?”
Megatron exhaled to hide his flinch. “I deserved that,” he replied and gestured for Hot Rod to come further into the training room. “I can teach you just as well as Drift, and I did promise him I would be his substitute. Are you going to make me go back on my word?”
Hot Rod gnawed harder on his lip. Indecision flicked across his face before he sighed and came back inside. “Well, you’re our Liege. We can’t have anyone doubting your honor, can we?” He spread his hands, long flame-colored feathers rustling across the floor. “But don’t blame me if you regret it.”
“I think I’ll survive,” Megatron said dryly. He moved to the center of the large mat. “So. Drift was going to instruct you in defensive techniques. Has he had a chance to show you any yet?”
Hot Rod joined Megatron on the mat, though he stood more than an arm’s reach away. “No. This was supposed to be our first lesson.”
Megatron nodded and contemplated for a moment. There was a class most members of the Prime’s family and subfamily took back in Crystal City. Other versions of it were offered around the flock to the lower classes, and it was taken by smols mostly. Crystal City had restrictions, but none so badly as aeries like Vos or Tarn.
Sometimes, baras wouldn’t take no for an answer. Sometimes, they needed a physical reminder of what that refusal met. Megatron had never taught one of these classes, but he’d observed quite a few of them. He’d watched Orion take one or three. Orion was a bara, yes, but he was also primeling, heir to the Primacy.
One could never be too careful.
“Uh, are you sure you want to do this?” Hot Rod asked.
Megatron blinked out of his reverie. “Yes.” He gestured for Hot Rod to come closer. “I don’t know what Drift had in mind, but for now, I thought I’d show you how to get out of some of the more common, unwanted holds.”
“Unwanted holds,” Hot Rod echoed as he inched within arm’s reach. “That’s going to require you touching me, isn’t it?”
Megatron arched an eyebrow. “That is the definition of a hold, yes. I don’t see anyone else here I can demonstrate the moves on.” He made a point to look around. “Though if you’d prefer not to learn, I won’t hold it against you.”
Hot Rod sighed and inched closer once more. “I want to learn,” he grumbled and flicked his hands into the air. “What first, my honorable liege?”
Megatron ground his teeth and tried to center himself. Hot Rod was needling him on purpose, and he needed to remember that. He’d hurt Hot Rod and offended him. Of course the smol would still be upset about that.
“A simple grab. Here. Hold out your hand.”
Hot Rod stared at him, clearly hesitating, before he lifted one of his hands. “Be gentle,” he joked.
Megatron fought the urge to roll his eyes. He closed his fingers around Hot Rod’s wrist, gently to start. “The first likely unwanted contact will be a grab,” he explained as he slowly tightened his hold. “Followed by a pull.” He tugged to emphasize. “You have several options for extricating yourself, if verbal demands do not work.”
“You mean, if I shout for him to stop and he ignores me.” Hot Rod’s lips twitched, as though he couldn’t decide if he were going to smile or frown.
“Yes.” Megatron tightened his grip even more, just enough for Hot Rod to feel the pressure on his bones, before he loosened it. “Now pay attention.”
“Sir, yes, sir.”
Megatron twitched and told himself to ignore Hot Rod’s attitude. The smol was young. He’d been hurt. It was only fair.
So Megatron drew upon every ounce of patience in his arsenal and carefully explained a few techniques that could work to free Hot Rod from an assailant likely to be both larger and stronger than he.
Hot Rod was a quick learner, for all that he complained. He relaxed once he realized Megatron was serious about teaching him and nothing else. It was easier for Megatron when he settled into teaching mode, though he hadn’t done so in years. He always thought he didn’t have the patience for it.
Or maybe he didn’t have the patience for the foolish and lazy, of which Hot Rod was neither.
Chaos struck when Megatron realized that while grabs were important, holds were the most likely assault Hot Rod would expect. Which meant he’d have to touch Hot Rod in more ways than one. He’d have to press his body to Hot Rod’s, feel the heat and firmness of it against his own, be surrounded by Hot Rod’s sweet inviting scent.
Adaptus save him.
“This is easy!” Hot Rod declared as he broke free of Megatron’s grab for the third time, each learned technique becoming more and more natural to him. “What’s next?”
Megatron swallowed thickly. He glanced at the sundial and despaired to see that they still had ten minutes left in the lesson. He could call it to an end. Save himself the trouble. But that would be the coward’s way out.
“Grabs are easy,” Megatron agreed and drew in a heavy breath. “Harder to escape are holds.”
“Holds,” Hot Rod echoed, and his eyes widened fractionally.
Megatron nodded. “Yes. Though if you feel you’ve learned enough for the day, I won’t insist on it. I don’t what you to feel overwhelmed.”
Hot Rod stared at him and then his jaw set. Too late did Megatron realize his error. He’d set a challenge before Hot Rod, however inadvertently. There was no chance of escaping this lesson now.
“I can do it,” Hot Rod said, squaring his shoulders and looking belligerent. “Show me.”
“Very well.”
Megatron sounded far more confident then he felt. It had been hard enough, only touching Hot Rod’s shoulder or wrist or elbow. But to wrap his arms around the smol, from the front or the back, to press himself to those beautiful feathers – it was tantamount to torture.
He had only himself to blame. And backing down now would make him the coward.
He approached Hot Rod, who watched him warily but with determination. “The most likely assault will come from behind,” Megatron explained, proud that he’d kept his voice steady. “Most attackers prefer to choose the moment most advantageous, when they are likely to catch their victims off guard.”
Hot Rod nodded. “Makes sense.” He braced himself and then slowly turned, offering his back to Megatron.
His back, the sweet curve of his rump, and the fiery spill of his gorgeous feathers. Megatron’s mouth went a little dry, his core thumping hard in his chest.
“Like this?” Hot Rod asked, and was Megatron imagining it or was there a quiver in the smol’s voice?
“Yes.” Megatron approached slowly, this was about teaching not frightening, and he didn’t want to startle Hot Rod. “They will likely move quickly, snatching you before you realize they are there.”
Which meant he needed to…
Right.
Megatron drew a deep breath and pressed himself against Hot Rod’s back, trying his best to keep some space between their bodies. Hot Rod’s rump, however, nestled against his thighs, and the smol’s head tucked neatly under his chin. The moment Megatron wrapped his arms around Hot Rod, he’d completely enfolded Hot Rod in his grip.
Hot Rod’s crest feathers tickled his nose. He smelled sweet and tangy, like the blackberries he’d been Gathering not so long ago. Megatron wondered if his mouth would taste the same.
Hot Rod went stiff as a board, an accurate portrayal of how he’d likely react in the same situation, but Megatron knew it had nothing to do with acting. “Then what?” Hot Rod asked and damn, this time his voice was quivering.
“You have several options,” Megatron said, careful to keep his own voice even. Unaffected. “From here, you can reach several sensitive areas, including my solar plexus, groin, and instep. Your elbow can be a very effective weapon if you jab it backward, firm and fast.”
Hot Rod twitched, leaned back a little more, his back and rump pressed to Megatron, and Adaptus, it wasn’t fair. “I’ll hurt you.”
Megatron almost groaned. “Just mimic the motion. You don’t have to put your full strength behind it. Swing your arm back, and I’ll let you know how effective your aim.”
Hot Rod’s elbow struck him right above his mid-section, too far below his solar plexus, but enough to startle any opponent. “There?”
“It’s a start, not effective enough to incapacitate, but a decent warning to let your attacker know you mean business. Try higher,” Megatron suggested, hoping that if he kept it professional, it would be easier to remember why he was doing this.
And tell himself he wasn’t allowed to enjoy the feel of Hot Rod in his arms, warm and sweet, firm and twitchy. The curve of Hot Rod’s neck was so close, calling to Megatron’s teeth, calling for a kiss, a nip. He wanted to slide his hands down Hot Rod’s belly, cup his groin, press fingertips into his sheathes and make Hot Rod moan. Megatron’s clava twitched at the thought, threatening to lengthen.
An elbow bounced against his sternum, lightly but enough to knock some sense into Megatron. He grunted and shook his head.
“Better?” Hot Rod asked, and there was a huskiness to his tone, like he knew what Megatron had just been thinking.
“Yes. Keep in mind, after a blow like that, your assailant is likely to be surprised, maybe enough to let you go, maybe not. Either way, use it to your advantage to try and break free of his hold,” Megatron said, leaning heavily on his teaching voice to keep his thoughts where they belonged. “You can drop down and dart forward. You can twist free. You can add another blow and a heel stomp for good measure. Whatever it takes.”
Hot Rod pushed back against him again, maybe intentionally, maybe not. “Go down fighting, huh?”
“I would.” Feathers tickled at Megatron’s nose again. He drew in an unsteady breath, Hot Rod’s sweet scent making him dizzy.
He glanced at the sundial. Close enough.
He let go of Hot Rod and stepped back, glad that his arousal had stayed hidden behind his feather down. Though if Hot Rod looked too closely, he’d probably see that Megatron was damp.
“That’s enough lessons for today, I think,” Megatron said, tucking his hands behind his back. They were shaking, and the urge to grab Hot Rod and pull him back close was almost overwhelming.
Hot Rod turned around. “I learned a lot.” He smiled up at Megatron, though it wasn’t as strong as it used to be. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Megatron dipped his head politely. “I’m sure Drift will be present for your next lesson. Good luck.”
He didn’t run away, but it was a close thing to it. He didn’t look back; he didn’t allow himself that weakness. Not when all he could think about was retiring to his nest, closing the door, and finding the nearest pillow to dampen with his spill. He swore he could still smell Hot Rod, could still taste an imagined sweetness on his tongue.
Next time, Megatron would get the details before agreeing to take over Drift’s training session, no matter how desperate his fencemaster appeared.
****
a/n: Oh Megatron, fighting off those temptations. How strong you are. ;)
Universe: Flights of Fancy
Characters: Megatron/Rodimus, Soundwave, Shockwave/Orion Pax, Drift/Perceptor, Starscream, Ensemble
Rating: M
Enticements: Harpyformers AU, Sexual Content, Romance, Unrequited Love, Angst, Fluff, Slow burn
Summary: If asked, Liege Megatron of the Kaon Aerie would say his life was perfect. With a content, growing flock to manage, he had nothing to worry about. Loneliness was part of a Liege’s life, he’d decided. Until the bright-spirited Hot Rod comes along, determined to be the exception to the rule.
Hot Rod, at least, had been partially right.
While Megatron had showed himself to be cruel, his words had their intended effect. No more did the beautiful smol linger outside of Megatron’s nest with a flirty smile. Nor did he invite Megatron out for a flight or a meal. He didn’t saunter toward Megatron in the bathing springs, dripping with water, his freshly washed feathers glinting. He didn’t offer to help Megatron clean his scapulae. He didn’t display.
Hot Rod was cordial, but distant. He didn’t interact with Megatron any more than was necessary, though that meant daily. He was still, after all, Orion’s assistant, and the more gravid Orion became, the more he needed to send Hot Rod out to run errands for him and the more he served as go-between for Orion and Megatron.
If he had set his eyes on another in the flock, most likely a bara given Hot Rod’s temperament, Megatron didn’t know. Neither did he ask Soundwave. It was none of his business, so long as Hot Rod was happy and he appeared to be so.
A month passed. Orion grew heavier with egg, still not visible, but the draw on his body meant he tired easily. Storing energy, perhaps, for the much more exciting second month, where Megatron was sure he wouldn’t be able to pry Shockwave and Orion out of their nest for the better part of two weeks.
He was so looking forward to that time. He would be working with Hot Rod a lot more closely then. Hot Rod who had not only done well as Orion’s assistant, he’d accepted the offer to train as the harpy to take over for Orion whilst Orion was too busy with a new fledge.
It was for the best. Megatron was glad Hot Rod had finally been able to move on, that he was seeking out a place for himself in the aerie and the flock, one that wouldn’t include a berth in Megatron’s nest.
Any disappointment on Megatron’s part was swallowed as soon as it burbled into view. He’d had his chance. He refused to take it. He wouldn’t admit he missed it now, how present Hot Rod had been in his life, how seeing the smol’s smile had so often lifted his spirits.
To distract himself, Megatron doubled-down on the amount of time he spent doing his work. He caught up the documents. He spent more time with each of his harpies individually. He got more involved in every aspect of his flock.
He joined Drift’s training sessions as a practice mate for those in training. He offered himself as a second pair of hands for Perceptor. He helped with inventory counting, and started to learn how to prepare some very basic things in the kitchen. Speaking with Trailbreaker had been enlightening, so Megatron made it a point to seek out every last one of his flock.
Are you happy here? Is there anything I can do for you?
He didn’t want to be the kind of leader his harpies fled from. He wanted to be the kind who cared, and to do that, he had to care about his flock as individuals. Kaon was small enough now that it was feasible. He knew every one of his flock by face and name. He wanted to know them by more than that.
Megatron made an effort to be familiar with every task in his Aerie. Everything that needed doing or was being done. Every project, every survival need, every little thing, from the maintenance of the canopy weave to the cleaning of the springs.
Even Gathering.
It was a task vital to the survival of the flock. Yes, they traded for a lot of the more exotic fruits, vegetables, and nuts. The humans at Kaon University were always willing to hand over their extra crops or trade crops for information or harpy crafts. But gathering food from the wilds was equally important. Their own little garden was still a work in progress, but getting larger with each growing season.
Gatherers were usually the harpies in Megatron’s flock with the quickest speeds and the keenest vision. Able to get away in a hurry if necessary, and able to spot the ripest or near-ripest of edible things. They had no trouble digging for the tubers and shrooms hidden in the foliage, and didn’t mind the often far distances that needed to be traveled.
Megatron spent little time as a Gatherer. He had, however, served as a guard on several occasions. Worries about dangerous humans were ever present, and when one of his warriors was sick or otherwise occupied, Megatron was more than happy to fill in the gap. He would not lose a Gatherer to a lucky human.
Megatron had never lost one of his flock to the humans. Adaptus willing, he never would.
Today’s Gathering group wasn’t short in the escort, but Megatron flew out to it anyway. A little extra protection couldn’t hurt, and it was such a lovely day, warm and breezy, the air strong with the scent of honeysuckle and the sky an endless spill of blue without a cloud in sight.
Megatron caught an updraft and used the burst to carry him to the south field, where the Gatherers had found a nice cluster of blackberry bramble, a much beloved sweet treat in Megatron’s flock. Especially if Drift could be persuaded to turn it into jam.
He looked down, counting heads. There should be four Gatherers and two escorts. He spotted Trailbreaker and Bulkhead escorting, and among the Gatherers were Ravage, away from Soundwave for once, and Needlenose. Horribull was there, too, never far from Needlenose.
Wait. That was only three.
Megatron frowned and hovered, flapping to keep himself aloft. Where was the fourth? Who was the fourth? Megatron didn’t receive a daily roll call of who was going to be on what tasks.
He made a mental note to start having Soundwave put together something like that for him. Just because of moments like this.
Megatron dipped a little lower, eyes frantically searching the ground for the fourth harpy. He’d land in a moment, inform Trailbreaker and Bulkhead of their missing Gatherer, but if he could locate the harpy first, that would be a relief.
He caught a bright flash from the corner of his eye. Megatron banked to the left, heading toward another crop of blackberry bushes just over a rise in the land and behind a small stand of trees. The flash was far too big to be a small bird.
He was right.
Megatron swooped in lower just as the bright flash got larger and brighter and coalesced into none other than Hot Rod, a look of frustration on his face as he struggled to disentangle himself from some briar vines. They had a grip on the long length of his feathers, and the more he struggled, the harder the thorns dug in.
Amusement warred with aggravation. Megatron wiped both from his face as he tilted in for a landing and approached the caught smol.
“I didn’t know you were a Gatherer,” he said by way of greeting.
Hot Rod’s gaze whipped up toward him, embarrassment burning bright across the bridge of his cheeks. “Well, uh, you know how it is,” he said with a little nervous laugh. “See a need, fill a need. I go wherever an extra pair of hands are needed.”
“I thank you for your dedication,” Megatron said. He arched an eyebrow as he took in the basket at Hot Rod’s feet, almost tilted over and full of blackberries. “Having some trouble, are you?”
Bushes rustled as Hot Rod twitched. He concealed a wince. “I do appear to be caught in the brambles.” He grinned, though it was a little lopsided. “Um. Help?”
Megatron chuckled. “Gladly.”
He moved closer, albeit carefully. He’d already caught the worst of the issue. There was a brambled vine wrapped around Hot Rod’s left arm and wing, preventing him from moving. Easy enough to get out of with assistance, not so much on his own unless he was willing to sacrifice quite a few feathers.
Megatron got to work, aware that he now had to stand uncomfortably close to Hot Rod in order to do so, the sweet aroma of the summer blackberries mixing with Hot Rod’s own natural scent. His core gave a hard throb in his chest, one that echoed much lower, to his groin, which had seen only the touch of his own hand for far too long.
“You do realize you’ve separated from the group,” Megatron said. Conversation, he hoped, would be a sorely needed distraction.
“Those bushes were getting stripped clean!” Hot Rod held perfectly still, waiting for Megatron to work the longer thorns loose. “And Drift promised he’d make me some jam if I brought him the biggest ones.”
“Well, I suppose I can’t blame you for that then.” Megatron freed one of Hot Rod’s wings and had him tuck it against his chest. “Don’t move.”
Hot Rod sighed. “Wasn’t planning on it.”
“Is this your first time Gathering?”
“No.”
“Then you know the rules.”
“Rules.” Hot Rod repeated the word, dragging out the last syllable with the kind of aggrieved whine of a sub-adult. “I thought they were guidelines.”
Megatron gave Hot Rod a pointed look. “And if I’d not come around, you’d have been stuck here, with no one knowing where you were.”
“It’s not like I was far!”
“That’s not the point.”
Hot Rod huffed and looked away, the staining around his nose getting brighter. “If I’d known I was going to get a lecture with help, I’d have opted to stay stuck in the thorns.”
“I could still leave you here.”
Hot Rod pressed his lips together and said nothing. He also didn’t turn to look at Megatron again, something closed off in his expression.
Megatron swallowed down a sigh. This was a far cry from the days when Hot Rod was always so happy to see him. When he had a smile for Megatron. This right here was just a reminder of what Megatron had refused.
Sweet and beautiful, charming and bright. Determined and energetic. Not royal like Starscream assumed, but still a good harpy. He’d make someone a wonderful mate.
Megatron untangled the last of the thorns and held the bramble away with the tips of his talons. “You’re free.”
Hot Rod darted past him as though afraid he’d get stuck again if he lingered. He heaved a huge sigh of relief, lifting his arms and examining his wings. He loosed a cry of alarm when he spotted a small bald patch where the brambles had managed to snatch a prize.
“Ratchet’s gonna kill me,” he muttered with such a forlorn tone that Megatron almost laughed.
Ratchet did not suffer fools, and it was certainly foolish to get oneself caught in the blackberry thorns.
Megatron scooped up the blackberry basket, plucking out one of the larger ones and tossing it into his mouth. The sweet-tart juice splashed over his tongue. Oh, these were perfectly ripe. Perfect for jam, perfect for pie, perfect for crumble.
“You could take it as a lesson in obeying those ‘guidelines’,” Megatron said as he ate another blackberry.
Hot Rod gave him a look and held out a hand. “Could I have my basket back, sir?”
“I don’t get a thank you?”
Hot Rod twitched. His lips pressed together into a thin line as though he were holding back his words. “Thank you,” he finally said, and his shoulders sank a little. “I’ll try not to stray so far from the group next time.”
“It’s only because I care for your safety, Hot Rod.” Megatron handed the basket over, and Hot Rod tucked it back onto the hook around his waist. “The rules are there to protect everyone in the flock, not inhibit them.”
Hot Rod smiled, but it was thin and sad. “Everyone, huh? Because no one individual – bara or smol – is more important to you than any other.”
Megatron clenched his jaw. “I am Liege.” He kept his tone soft, gentle. He didn’t want this to sound chiding. “I cannot hold any in higher regard. I should always be fair.”
“You’re only mortal, Megatron,” Hot Rod said quietly, his tone at jarring odds with the usually chipper voice Megatron had gotten used to. “No matter how hard you try, your core will always hold someone dear. Not even a liege is above that trap.”
“Trap,” Megatron echoed and tilted his head. “You think loving someone is a cage?”
Hot Rod chuckled, and there was no humor in it. “I suppose that depends on who built the bars.”
“Hot Rod!”
The sound of someone shouting for Hot Rod struck through their conversation with all the subtlety of a lightning bolt. Megatron looked past Hot Rod to see Bulkhead charging over the hill into view, somewhat out of breath, a wild look in his amber eyes.
“Adaptus be praised! There you are!” Bulkhead said with an audible exhale of relief. “We’ve been looking for you for ten minutes! We’d thought the worse until--” His eyes skipped past Hot Rod and landed on Megatron. “Sir!” His eyes went wide. Panicked.
“It’s okay, Bulkhead,” Megatron said with a dip of his head. “I happened to be passing by when I saw Hot Rod separated from the group. I was just about to shoo him back your direction.”
Relief echoed in the flutter of Bulkhead’s olive-green feathers. He was one of the volunteer guards, a large bara with a barrel chest and a sturdy body. He was the best and fiercest brawler in the guard.
“I’m sorry, sir. We should have been more vigilant,” Bulkhead said with a dip of his head. Though his eyes slanted toward Hot Rod in something like annoyance. “We didn’t even realize he’d gone until Ravage pointed it out.”
Megatron waved off the apology. “The rules are more guidelines anyway. Right, Hot Rod?”
Hot Rod ignored him. “I’m sorry, Bulkhead,” he said with a smile and genuine contrition in his face. He cuddled up to Bulkhead’s side. “I caught a whiff of these bushes and couldn’t resist how full they were. I’ll let you know next time. Promise.”
The irritation vanished. Bulkhead sighed and rubbed the back of his head. “You’re a handful, Roddy.”
“It’s part of my charm.” He grinned, tail feathers twitching with delight. “You’ll forgive me if I share the jam Drift’ll make me, right?”
“I think I can be persuaded.” Bulkhead grinned. He patted his belly. “Never let it be said that I turn down free sweet treats.”
Hot Rod laughed. Or giggled. Probably both. “They forgive anything.”
Bulkhead’s irritation must have passed to Megatron, because he suddenly found himself inexplicably annoyed.
“Well, since Hot Rod is safely found and extracted from the brambles, I’ll be on my way,” Megatron said, perhaps a touch too loudly. He took a step back.
Bulkhead startled as though Megatron had yelled. “Oh, right. Thank you, sir.” He bowed, lower than was necessary. “And sorry. I won’t lose a Gatherer again. You have my word on this.”
“It’s quite all right, Bulkhead. It’s not your fault.” Megatron offered the guard a reassuring smile. “Keep them safe, Bulkhead.”
“Of course, sir.”
Megatron lifted himself into the sky. Perhaps it was petty of him not to say farewell to Hot Rod. It was certainly rude, but there was a squirm in his belly right now, one Megatron couldn’t name.
He fought the urge to look back at Hot Rod and lost. The look the flame-colored smol sent him was a mixture of anger and hurt, before Megatron rose too high to see Hot Rod’s face clearly anymore.
The taste of blackberries lingered on Megatron’s tongue. It was still weaker than the scent of Hot Rod still caught in his nose and clinging to his feathers.
He was definitely going to get Soundwave to start a daily list of who would be Gathering just in case. And in the future, Megatron would be checking said list before joining the Gatherers on their task.
Getting himself more involved in every little corner of his aerie turned out to be a brilliant idea for a distraction. Megatron spent less time in his office, crouched over documents, and more time out with his flock.
He looked in on Orion from time to time, his core squeezing with complicated emotion. Pride. Happiness. Regret. The life within Orion grew, the flush of joy made Orion even more beautiful, and the happiness in the mated couple seemed to infect everyone around them. It was hard to be bitter in their presence.
It was hard to forget.
So when Drift came to him with a request, Megatron didn’t think twice about declining.
“I promise it’s only the one time,” Drift said, sounding rushed and apologetic and agitated all at once. His feathers were all afluff, his tailfeathers especially.
Megatron held up a hand, trying to calm his fencemaster. “Drift, it is quite all right. I am happy to help, on this occasion and any other.”
“It’s just, I’m the fencemaster, and this is my responsibility. I’m the one who confused my own schedule, I shouldn’t be getting others to fix my mistakes,” Drift bit out, and there were echoes of his past life in the words, in his hunched shoulders, in the recitation of a lecture he’d probably heard time and time before.
“Drift.” Megatron rested his hands on the smol’s shoulders and looked him in the eyes. “You’ve overextended your time. It’s hardly a mistake worthy of punishment. Don’t worry. I’ll handle the training session, and you concentrate on making sure your anniversary night with Perceptor is a success. Understand?”
Drift smiled, wobbly though it was, and some of the tension bled out of his body. He nodded. “Yes, sir. Thank you. And next time, I’ll make sure Cyclonus is free to help out so you don’t have to be bothered.”
“It’s no bother.” Megatron dropped his hands. Drift was calmer now, more willing to listen to reason. “Now, what time is the session?”
Drift winced again. “In fifteen minutes.”
Megatron swallowed a sigh. He didn’t want to send Drift into another frenzy of guilt and self-recrimination. “Then I’d best be on my way. Good luck tonight.”
“Thank you again, sir.” Drift bowed deeply, a behavior he’d brought with him from his birth Aerie as there was something theatrically formal about it. Megatron had given up on getting him to stop.
Sometimes, there was comfort in old traditions.
“You’re welcome. Now off you go.”
Drift smiled and excused himself, leaving Megatron to finally release the sigh he’d been holding. Fifteen minutes before he had to take over Drift’s training session. It was hardly enough time to prepare anything, much less himself, but he’d already committed to it.
He quickly climbed to one of the highest levels, where the training room and dojo had been built, taking up half the floor and anchored to the trunk for stability. The floor itself was a multi-layered construction of plaited branches interwoven and lain over thick logs banded together with hand-twined cord.
Building the training room had been one of Drift’s projects when they first picked this tree as home for the aerie and started constructing around the massive trunk. It had taken him the better part of two years, and Drift now maintained the structure almost religiously. It was his second pride and joy, beyond the ceiling he’d made for Perceptor.
Megatron arrived and frowned in confusion. The training room was deserted. Sure, he still had ten minutes but shouldn’t some of the attendees have arrived by now? Or perhaps Drift had given him the time the instructor was expected to arrive.
Sighing, Megatron walked a circuit around the room, ensuring he’d have everything he needed. All of the equipment was present and accounted for, clean and ready for use. Not that he had expected otherwise. Drift was scrupulous in the care of everything associated with the dojo. Megatron browsed the practice blades and selected one that would be of use to him.
Footsteps announced the arrival of his first student.
Megatron turned to greet him, and it took all of his self-control not to falter at the sight of Hot Rod strolling into the training room. The pretty smol came to an abrupt halt as he saw Megatron and looked, of all things, like a rabbit in the talons of a hawk.
“Where’s Drift?” Hot Rod asked.
“Otherwise occupied,” Megatron said, hoping he sounded smooth and unbothered. “I will be instructing class tonight.”
Hot Rod blinked. “Class? It’s just me.” He frowned and eyed the sword in Megatron’s grip. “And I’m supposed to be learning hand-to-hand defensive techniques. You know, in case any of those humans you fear so much try to snatch me.”
Megatron stared at him and wondered if the same look of confusion on Hot Rod’s face was now on his own. “Oh. I see.” He turned and put the sword back into the slot. “Either way, I can handle Drift’s responsibilities in his absence.”
Hot Rod nibbled on his bottom lip. “It’s not that important. I can reschedule.” He spun on a tarsal strut back toward the doorway.
“Do you think me incapable or am I so frightening you can’t bear to learn from me?” Megatron crossed his arms in front of him and cocking an eyebrow.
Hot Rod paused and half-turned, his eyes narrowed. “Neither. But you and I both know, my liege, that you’d rather be anywhere so long as it isn’t near me.” His tail feathers twitched. “After all, haven’t I become something of a nuisance?”
Megatron exhaled to hide his flinch. “I deserved that,” he replied and gestured for Hot Rod to come further into the training room. “I can teach you just as well as Drift, and I did promise him I would be his substitute. Are you going to make me go back on my word?”
Hot Rod gnawed harder on his lip. Indecision flicked across his face before he sighed and came back inside. “Well, you’re our Liege. We can’t have anyone doubting your honor, can we?” He spread his hands, long flame-colored feathers rustling across the floor. “But don’t blame me if you regret it.”
“I think I’ll survive,” Megatron said dryly. He moved to the center of the large mat. “So. Drift was going to instruct you in defensive techniques. Has he had a chance to show you any yet?”
Hot Rod joined Megatron on the mat, though he stood more than an arm’s reach away. “No. This was supposed to be our first lesson.”
Megatron nodded and contemplated for a moment. There was a class most members of the Prime’s family and subfamily took back in Crystal City. Other versions of it were offered around the flock to the lower classes, and it was taken by smols mostly. Crystal City had restrictions, but none so badly as aeries like Vos or Tarn.
Sometimes, baras wouldn’t take no for an answer. Sometimes, they needed a physical reminder of what that refusal met. Megatron had never taught one of these classes, but he’d observed quite a few of them. He’d watched Orion take one or three. Orion was a bara, yes, but he was also primeling, heir to the Primacy.
One could never be too careful.
“Uh, are you sure you want to do this?” Hot Rod asked.
Megatron blinked out of his reverie. “Yes.” He gestured for Hot Rod to come closer. “I don’t know what Drift had in mind, but for now, I thought I’d show you how to get out of some of the more common, unwanted holds.”
“Unwanted holds,” Hot Rod echoed as he inched within arm’s reach. “That’s going to require you touching me, isn’t it?”
Megatron arched an eyebrow. “That is the definition of a hold, yes. I don’t see anyone else here I can demonstrate the moves on.” He made a point to look around. “Though if you’d prefer not to learn, I won’t hold it against you.”
Hot Rod sighed and inched closer once more. “I want to learn,” he grumbled and flicked his hands into the air. “What first, my honorable liege?”
Megatron ground his teeth and tried to center himself. Hot Rod was needling him on purpose, and he needed to remember that. He’d hurt Hot Rod and offended him. Of course the smol would still be upset about that.
“A simple grab. Here. Hold out your hand.”
Hot Rod stared at him, clearly hesitating, before he lifted one of his hands. “Be gentle,” he joked.
Megatron fought the urge to roll his eyes. He closed his fingers around Hot Rod’s wrist, gently to start. “The first likely unwanted contact will be a grab,” he explained as he slowly tightened his hold. “Followed by a pull.” He tugged to emphasize. “You have several options for extricating yourself, if verbal demands do not work.”
“You mean, if I shout for him to stop and he ignores me.” Hot Rod’s lips twitched, as though he couldn’t decide if he were going to smile or frown.
“Yes.” Megatron tightened his grip even more, just enough for Hot Rod to feel the pressure on his bones, before he loosened it. “Now pay attention.”
“Sir, yes, sir.”
Megatron twitched and told himself to ignore Hot Rod’s attitude. The smol was young. He’d been hurt. It was only fair.
So Megatron drew upon every ounce of patience in his arsenal and carefully explained a few techniques that could work to free Hot Rod from an assailant likely to be both larger and stronger than he.
Hot Rod was a quick learner, for all that he complained. He relaxed once he realized Megatron was serious about teaching him and nothing else. It was easier for Megatron when he settled into teaching mode, though he hadn’t done so in years. He always thought he didn’t have the patience for it.
Or maybe he didn’t have the patience for the foolish and lazy, of which Hot Rod was neither.
Chaos struck when Megatron realized that while grabs were important, holds were the most likely assault Hot Rod would expect. Which meant he’d have to touch Hot Rod in more ways than one. He’d have to press his body to Hot Rod’s, feel the heat and firmness of it against his own, be surrounded by Hot Rod’s sweet inviting scent.
Adaptus save him.
“This is easy!” Hot Rod declared as he broke free of Megatron’s grab for the third time, each learned technique becoming more and more natural to him. “What’s next?”
Megatron swallowed thickly. He glanced at the sundial and despaired to see that they still had ten minutes left in the lesson. He could call it to an end. Save himself the trouble. But that would be the coward’s way out.
“Grabs are easy,” Megatron agreed and drew in a heavy breath. “Harder to escape are holds.”
“Holds,” Hot Rod echoed, and his eyes widened fractionally.
Megatron nodded. “Yes. Though if you feel you’ve learned enough for the day, I won’t insist on it. I don’t what you to feel overwhelmed.”
Hot Rod stared at him and then his jaw set. Too late did Megatron realize his error. He’d set a challenge before Hot Rod, however inadvertently. There was no chance of escaping this lesson now.
“I can do it,” Hot Rod said, squaring his shoulders and looking belligerent. “Show me.”
“Very well.”
Megatron sounded far more confident then he felt. It had been hard enough, only touching Hot Rod’s shoulder or wrist or elbow. But to wrap his arms around the smol, from the front or the back, to press himself to those beautiful feathers – it was tantamount to torture.
He had only himself to blame. And backing down now would make him the coward.
He approached Hot Rod, who watched him warily but with determination. “The most likely assault will come from behind,” Megatron explained, proud that he’d kept his voice steady. “Most attackers prefer to choose the moment most advantageous, when they are likely to catch their victims off guard.”
Hot Rod nodded. “Makes sense.” He braced himself and then slowly turned, offering his back to Megatron.
His back, the sweet curve of his rump, and the fiery spill of his gorgeous feathers. Megatron’s mouth went a little dry, his core thumping hard in his chest.
“Like this?” Hot Rod asked, and was Megatron imagining it or was there a quiver in the smol’s voice?
“Yes.” Megatron approached slowly, this was about teaching not frightening, and he didn’t want to startle Hot Rod. “They will likely move quickly, snatching you before you realize they are there.”
Which meant he needed to…
Right.
Megatron drew a deep breath and pressed himself against Hot Rod’s back, trying his best to keep some space between their bodies. Hot Rod’s rump, however, nestled against his thighs, and the smol’s head tucked neatly under his chin. The moment Megatron wrapped his arms around Hot Rod, he’d completely enfolded Hot Rod in his grip.
Hot Rod’s crest feathers tickled his nose. He smelled sweet and tangy, like the blackberries he’d been Gathering not so long ago. Megatron wondered if his mouth would taste the same.
Hot Rod went stiff as a board, an accurate portrayal of how he’d likely react in the same situation, but Megatron knew it had nothing to do with acting. “Then what?” Hot Rod asked and damn, this time his voice was quivering.
“You have several options,” Megatron said, careful to keep his own voice even. Unaffected. “From here, you can reach several sensitive areas, including my solar plexus, groin, and instep. Your elbow can be a very effective weapon if you jab it backward, firm and fast.”
Hot Rod twitched, leaned back a little more, his back and rump pressed to Megatron, and Adaptus, it wasn’t fair. “I’ll hurt you.”
Megatron almost groaned. “Just mimic the motion. You don’t have to put your full strength behind it. Swing your arm back, and I’ll let you know how effective your aim.”
Hot Rod’s elbow struck him right above his mid-section, too far below his solar plexus, but enough to startle any opponent. “There?”
“It’s a start, not effective enough to incapacitate, but a decent warning to let your attacker know you mean business. Try higher,” Megatron suggested, hoping that if he kept it professional, it would be easier to remember why he was doing this.
And tell himself he wasn’t allowed to enjoy the feel of Hot Rod in his arms, warm and sweet, firm and twitchy. The curve of Hot Rod’s neck was so close, calling to Megatron’s teeth, calling for a kiss, a nip. He wanted to slide his hands down Hot Rod’s belly, cup his groin, press fingertips into his sheathes and make Hot Rod moan. Megatron’s clava twitched at the thought, threatening to lengthen.
An elbow bounced against his sternum, lightly but enough to knock some sense into Megatron. He grunted and shook his head.
“Better?” Hot Rod asked, and there was a huskiness to his tone, like he knew what Megatron had just been thinking.
“Yes. Keep in mind, after a blow like that, your assailant is likely to be surprised, maybe enough to let you go, maybe not. Either way, use it to your advantage to try and break free of his hold,” Megatron said, leaning heavily on his teaching voice to keep his thoughts where they belonged. “You can drop down and dart forward. You can twist free. You can add another blow and a heel stomp for good measure. Whatever it takes.”
Hot Rod pushed back against him again, maybe intentionally, maybe not. “Go down fighting, huh?”
“I would.” Feathers tickled at Megatron’s nose again. He drew in an unsteady breath, Hot Rod’s sweet scent making him dizzy.
He glanced at the sundial. Close enough.
He let go of Hot Rod and stepped back, glad that his arousal had stayed hidden behind his feather down. Though if Hot Rod looked too closely, he’d probably see that Megatron was damp.
“That’s enough lessons for today, I think,” Megatron said, tucking his hands behind his back. They were shaking, and the urge to grab Hot Rod and pull him back close was almost overwhelming.
Hot Rod turned around. “I learned a lot.” He smiled up at Megatron, though it wasn’t as strong as it used to be. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Megatron dipped his head politely. “I’m sure Drift will be present for your next lesson. Good luck.”
He didn’t run away, but it was a close thing to it. He didn’t look back; he didn’t allow himself that weakness. Not when all he could think about was retiring to his nest, closing the door, and finding the nearest pillow to dampen with his spill. He swore he could still smell Hot Rod, could still taste an imagined sweetness on his tongue.
Next time, Megatron would get the details before agreeing to take over Drift’s training session, no matter how desperate his fencemaster appeared.
a/n: Oh Megatron, fighting off those temptations. How strong you are. ;)
