[Flights of Fancy] Topsy-Turvy 11
Apr. 16th, 2018 06:41 am![[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 Eleven
A soft cough roused Megatron from one of the best night's sleep he’d had in years, one so deep he didn't want to wake. He was warm and comfortable and snuggled up next to an equally warm and soft body. Why would he want to wake?
But the very same anomaly that made him want to linger, was the same that caused him to waken further. Megatron did not share his berth. Rarely, he allowed those dear to him to sleep in the same vicinity. He and Orion had once upon a time, when they were first establishing the flock, and Soundwave, too. Soundwave's brothers sometimes joined him in his nest when they felt the need as well.
This was no platonic berthmate, however. Whomever had joined his nest was as entangled with Megatron as any lover, which was odd because Megatron knew he did not have a lover. He had vowed not to take one.
Why was he not alone?
Megatron forced himself awake, peeling his eyes open. He saw nothing but a poof of bright crimson and gold feathers and memory returned all in a rush.
Orion and Shockwave and their hatchling.
Hot Rod coming to him. Hot Rod kissing him. Megatron giving in to what had always been a shared desire and taking Hot Rod to berth, to rutting with him, to being Hot Rod's first claim. They had spent the rest of the night rutting as though a fire had been lit under their rumps or the fate of the flock depended upon it.
Even now, Megatron could feel the stickiness clumping his featherdown.
Hot Rod was yet asleep. He looked innocent. His eyes were closed, his bright red lashes sweeping his cheeks. He snuggled against Megatron's right shoulder, his left hand hooked into Megatron's plumage and his wing serving as a blanket for them. Their legs were tangled.
Hot Rod had not been the one to wake him.
There was another polite, if muted, cough.
Megatron looked up.
Soundwave stood over the edge of the berthnest, one hand lifted to cover Laserbeak's eyes while his mouth guard drooped, betraying the slight curve to his lips.
“As much as I hate to disturb my liege, I fear I must,” Soundwave said. His voice was as deeply apologetic as it was raspy. “There is a phalanx of soldiers here from Iacon, and they are demanding the return of their prince.”
Megatron blinked. “We have no prince.” At least, none that he knew of. Orion, after all, was from Crystal City.
Soundwave's head tilted down, and his gaze shifted from Megatron to Hot Rod and back again. “Not according to them. They’ve come for Hot Rod.”
“What?” Megatron hissed, his entire body tensing.
Hot Rod shifted, making a low humming noise in his throat. He frowned in his sleep, though he was swimming toward consciousness. It was too cute.
No. Megatron needed to concentrate. He shifted, stirring Hot Rod even further, though he lifted his other hand to further blanket the smol and shield him from Laserbeak's innocent eyes. Soundwave dipped his head in thanks and dropped his hand.
“Who are they?” Megatron demanded as alertness started to set in.
He could see the light of dawn filtering in from the balcony. No wonder it was so difficult to focus. He'd barely slept at all.
“Captain Springer and his unit.”
Megatron's frown deepened. He'd heard of Iacon's Elite Guard and their captain. Springer was in a warrior class all his own. And if Megatron truly had Iacon's prince, he was obligated to at least locate said prince, or risk war. What a perilous situation. Megatron was not one to return any of his flock to a place they’d escaped from. But a prince?
The political ramifications were terrifying
Iacon, and its leader Ultra Magnus, was more than a little protective of the royal family. The line of Ultra was much beloved. Though why their prince had gone missing in the first place, Megatron did not know.
“And they think their missing prince is Hot Rod?” Megatron asked as he stroked the back of his knuckles over Hot Rod's face and rumbled in his chest, trying to wake the sleeping smol.
Soundwave dipped his head. “Perhaps you should ask your mate, my liege.”
“He's not my mate.”
Soundwave chose not to respond to that, but his expression said it all. Megatron rolled his eyes and ignored his Speaker for the time being, turning his attention to Hot Rod. The smol made a little murmuring noise in his throat and burrowed his face into Megatron's plumage. While adorable, now was not the time to indulge.
“Hot Rod,” Megatron rumbled into the smol's ear. “Wake up. You have some explaining to do.”
Hot Rod stretched against him like a feline, his eyes easing open. “Second thoughts already?” he murmured, perhaps meant as a joke, but there was a deeper concern in his voice. One Megatron could not address right now. There were larger issues.
“That is a discussion we will save for later,” Megatron replied in a firm tone, the one he used as liege. “Right now, there is a phalanx of elite guard from Iacon in my aerie and my Speaker tells me you know why.”
Hot Rod's eyes widened, his mouth dropping open. He pulled back from Megatron's arms. “Who… who is it?”
“Captain Springer.”
A shiver passed through Hot Rod's body. He drew away completely, moving to the opposite side of the nestberth. His feathers slicked close to his body, his expression closing off to Megatron.
“Are you going to tell me why the elite guard is here?” Megatron demanded. He pulled himself to his full height.
Hot Rod stood as well, though his head was bowed. His hands formed loose fists at his side, his feathercrest drooping.
“They're here for me. I didn't think they'd find me, but I guess I underestimated Springer.” Hot Rod curled his lips in a wry grin before he straightened, as though putting on a cape of confidence. “I'm also surprised Soundwave didn't find the truth sooner. I must be better at subterfuge than I thought.”
Soundwave made a noise of displeasure. “I knew,” he said as Laserbeak chirped on his shoulder. “It was not relevant.”
Megatron whirled toward his Speaker. “Not relevant?”
“Kaon accepts all so long as no danger is present,” Soundwave rasped. “Minor Rodimus is not a threat, therefore it was not relevant. Per protocol.”
Protocol that Megatron had put into place when they first decided to leave Crystal City and set out on their own. A newcomer's past did not matter and was his own to keep, so long as it did not present a threat. Soundwave was allowed to keep what secrets he deemed irrelevant and Megatron trusted his judgment.
Wait.
Minor Rodimus?
Megatron turned back toward Hot Rod, who was tangling his talons together. “Minor Rodimus?” he repeated. “You really are a prince?”
“Is that so shocking? Orion is too, you know.” Hot Rod rubbed his shoulder with the heel of his hand, his gaze focused on the floor. “If he can abandon Optimus, why can’t I abandon Rodimus? Kaon is about second chances, isn't it?”
“Yes, but...” Megatron sighed and pressed his palm to his face. This was a political nightmare and a massive headache. “I do not have the resources to fend off Iacon, Hot Rod. This could cause a war.”
Hot Rod's feathers rustled. “My sire would not have attacked without just cause. He's smarter than that.” He turned his back on Megatron, head swinging from side to side, before he snatched up a damp cloth from Megatron’s sink bath.
“But he would send a contingent of elite guard apparently.”
Ravage loped into Megatron’s nest, his quadrupedal stride silent. If he hadn’t spoken up, Megatron would have not heard him enter. Surely, he’d picked up that stealthy quality from his brother.
“And they are getting restless,” Ravage said as he moved nearer to Soundwave, sitting back on his haunches. His dark eyes assessed the room, narrowing when they found Hot Rod, who was furiously scrubbing down his feathers, erasing all trace of their encounter last night from his groin and belly.
“He sent them to find me, not attack.” Hot Rod sighed and nibbled on his bottom lip before giving Megatron a look from beneath his lashes. “I'm sorry. I'll take care of it.” He scrubbed harder and faster, a few loose feathers fluttering to the floor.
“I am Liege. I will handle it.” Megatron started forward, a low growl building in his chest. As angry as he was at Hot Rod, there were other things to consider here. “They will learn to respect me and my flock. I did not leave Crystal City only to be cowed in my own aerie.”
“No.” There was a flutter of bright orange and red feathers as Hot Rod moved to intercept him, hands lifted as if they were enough to keep Megatron back. The wet cloth flopped pointedly from his talons.
Megatron reared back. “No?” he repeated, irritation throbbing harder in the pit of his belly. His hands curled, talons scraping his palms. “I am Liege.” And Hot Rod would not tell him what he could and could not do in his aerie.
Hot Rod – Minor Rodimus – was only a prince in Iacon. Not here.
“And I am trying to save your flock,” Hot Rod snapped as he tossed the damp rag in the vague direction of the bowl. He firmly planted himself between the Kaon harpies and the door. “This is my fault, and I'll take care of it. No matter what that means.”
He turned in a swirl of feathers and swept out of Megatron's nest with all the command he must have been taught in his youth. He'd been raised in wealth and privilege, and how could Megatron not have seen that? Had he willfully blinded himself to what was so obvious? Starscream had even suggested Hot Rod was royalty once, and Megatron thought the idea absurd.
How narrow-sighted he’d been.
“I am tempted to say congratulations, if not for the ill timing of the Elite Guard's arrival,” Ravage drawled with a tilt of his head. His inky-black tailfeathers swished behind him. “Dare I ask what changed your mind?”
Megatron shot him a look, but Soundwave beat him to it, hissing a warning at his sibling. Ravage ignored both, sitting back on his knees. If it was possible to look both placid and smug, Ravage managed to portray both.
Soundwave sighed. “He will leave,” he said. “Does my liege wish that?”
“I'm not going to make him stay if he doesn't want to.” Megatron moved to the washbasin and gave himself a quick wipedown, aware he no doubt had dried fluids coating his groin and face. He didn’t look very much like a strong and capable liege, now did he?
He couldn’t face the Elite Guard like this. He needed to prove he was capable of taking care of both himself and his flock. He needed to show they couldn’t throw their weight around as they pleased.
He was still leader of this aerie.
“But you mated him, yes?” Ravage tilted his head. He sounded confused, because of course he would be. Anyone would in this situation.
Hot Rod surely stank of Megatron. They had rutted through the night. He had more claiming bites than any smol Megatron had ever taken to berth. Even now, Megatron’s instincts clamored at him, screaming that he return Hot Rod to his nestberth and continue the claiming until Hot Rod was his mate. Megatron had never felt so strongly about someone. Even with Orion, the feelings had been in his core.
What he felt for Hot Rod, these needs rising up within him, they were something more than that. Something defying words.
“I did not,” Megatron admitted. He breathed shallowly, the air either too thick or too thin, he wasn’t sure anymore. “I will not. I can not. And you know why, Soundwave.”
His Speaker closed the distance between them and rested his hands on Megatron's shoulders. They were of a height, though Soundwave was much slimmer in comparison. A tilt of his head and Megatron could see Soundwave's eyes through the protective visor.
“Hatchlings are not the only thing which a happy mate needs. You assume you hold no worth, my liege, but understand, that is far from the truth.”
Megatron's shoulders slumped. “Hot Rod admitted he came here for the best. He mistakenly believes that to be me.”
“In that case, do not bother to go out there,” Ravage said, though almost offhand as he examined his right hand and nipped at the sharpest of his talons. “He will leave, return to his flock, and you won’t be faced with the burden of him any longer.”
It would be easier, wouldn't it?
Megatron looked away from Soundwave, toward his nestberth and the balcony beyond, where everything had changed for him the night before. It was too easy to tap into the memories, to remember how responsive Hot Rod had been. How he'd moaned Megatron's name as he slid into the smol’s velvety heat. Or how Hot Rod had pinned him down, hips moving in a frantic rut. And more, how sweet Hot Rod had been on his tongue, sweet and eager and pliant.
Would it be easier to let him go than face potential rejection? The very same he'd protected himself against for so long?
Was he that much of a coward?
“You will do him a great disservice if you don't let him make his own choice,” Soundwave rasped and dropped his hands from Megatron's shoulders.
Ravage rose, arching his back like a feline, his tailfeathers rising behind him in a display not unlike a peacock’s. “It would also set a dangerous precedent if Ultra continues to think he can storm into Kaon and demand whatever he wants.”
Megatron breathed in and out.
“You deserve to be loved,” Soundwave managed before his voice cut out on him. He grimaced and rubbed at his throat with his knuckles.
Guilt swamped Megatron. He had not protected Soundwave then. And now, Soundwave risked pain to encourage Megatron to seek out happiness. Sometimes, Megatron feared he did not deserve his Speaker's loyalty.
Megatron straightened and squared his shoulders. “Whether I mate Hot Rod or not, he is flock. He is mine. And I will not bow to Magnus, or any other Ultra, thinking they can demand a harpy from my aerie. No matter who they were.”
Ravage stood full bipedal for once – not keen on weirding out the visitors apparently. “We are with you, my liege. You have many a warrior who will fight beside you.”
“Let us hope it does not come to that.” Megatron’s core hammered in his throat.
He moved past both of them, trying to pull confidence over and around him. He was not the largest or fiercest of his flock, but he hoped that the rules of respect would be all he needed. If not, Megatron was not without adequate training. He could and would defend himself, violently if he must.
He hoped Hot Rod wished to stay. If anything, they needed to talk about last night. They needed to decide where to go from here. Soundwave was right.
Megatron needed to tell Hot Rod the truth and let him make the choice for himself.
Megatron emerged from his nest to a rising clamor, echoing from below. He followed it through the halls to the atrium, recalling the same level of chaos had accompanied Starscream’s arrival. He discovered the atrium packed with his flock. There were more than he expected, given the time of day.
Someone in the Elite Guard unit was carrying a staff and the banner of Iacon hung from it, blue and white, as Grimlock had described. So. The identity of the roaming band of soldiers was clear now. It was a relief to know there weren’t two groups of harpies wandering around with the intention to cause trouble.
Perhaps the guard meant to stake a claim, with that ridiculously oversized banner. Hah. Over Megatron's dead body. He had not left the strictures of Crystal City to find himself claimed by another flock.
His flock was making quite the chatter, but even above that, Megatron heard another voice, this one unfamiliar. The deep, resonating bass had to belong to Captain Springer. By Iacon law, he was no doubt the only one allowed to speak to the prince. They isolated their royals, Megatron had heard.
No wonder Hot Rod left.
“Come home, Rodimus,” the large bara was saying, or cajoling rather. Megatron could make out the large, dark green crest in the midst of the crowd. “You don't belong here.”
“None of us belong here,” Megatron said to announce himself. He stepped into view, quickly assessing the gathered harpies.
One could tell at a glance that they didn’t belong here as well. They wore thick and heavy armor, though only Springer’s was made of chainmail, while the others bore polished wood. They carried stronger weapons as well, while Megatron’s warriors relied on lighter armament. The soldiers clustered around Springer wore masks made of flattened metals, and Springer had a helmet tucked under one elbow, a false crest jutting from the top which mimicked his own vibrant emerald feathers.
Megatron continued, firmly planting himself between his flock and the Iaconian guard. “Kaon had never played home to harpies until I came here, and it is only our treaty with the humans which allows us our continued residence here. So by that argument, we should all leave.”
Megatron's flock closed ranks behind him, though Soundwave stayed at his right flank, Ravage at his side and Laserbeak perched on his shoulder. If Orion and Shockwave had not been cloistered, Megatron knew they would be present as well. He’d passed more familiar faces – Drift and Perceptor, Maximus and Rung, Roadbuster, Bulkhead…
Megatron was not alone.
Hot Rod stood between Megatron and Springer, his back to Megatron. His shoulders slumped, his usually vibrant feathers dull and drooping. His plumage, too, sagged as though carrying the weight of defeat.
He half-turned to acknowledge Megatron, and Megatron’s core ached at his expression, which reflected none of the joy Hot Rod was known for.
“Captain Springer is right,” Hot Rod – no, Rodimus. He was Rodimus – said with a wan smile that did not reach his eyes. “I do not belong here. I am an unmated smol who will never be satisfied and my sire calls for me.”
Megatron stared hard at Springer, a bara who matched Megatron in size and height. Like the others, he was armed with a long spear, though it was probably collapsible for the sake of flight.
He had the bearing that probably would have intimidated lesser bara.
But Megatron had clawed his way free of the chains of Crystal City, dragging Orion and Soundwave along with him. He’d fought his way to the safety of Kaon, defending his friends from human slavers and angry harpies who’d thought Megatron was intruding. A dressed up bara from Iacon did not give him pause. The only person who had the power to hurt him in this atrium at this very moment was Hot R-- Rodimus.
Megatron looked at Springer and dismissed him. He turned his gaze to Hot Rod alone, daring to take one step closer to the pretty smol.
“You belong wherever you want to belong,” Megatron said. “If you want to stay in Kaon, then that is your right, unmated or not. Kaon has always been a haven, and I will fight to keep it that way.”
Hot Rod chewed on his bottom lip. He glanced at Springer before he turned fully toward Megatron, his shoulders straight and back. He lifted his head, blue eyes firm and unyielding. There it was, evidence of a harpy raised in royalty.
“I came here in search of something. I thought I had found it,” Hot Rod said. He paused, and brushed the back of his knuckles over his throat.
Megatron could plainly see the imprint of his own teeth, where he’d so thoroughly marked Hot Rod that it was almost a claim. The sight of Hot Rod touching it sent a jolt through Megatron’s insides. His back feathers ruffled, a low growl rising in his chest. Instinct clawed to the surface, and Megatron had to stop himself from crossing the floor and yanking the smol into his arms.
Hot Rod – no, Rodimus, frag but Megatron needed to remember that – dropped his hand. “But I was mistaken,” he finished.
Captain Springer took a step forward, a step closer to Hot Rod. “Whatever this harpy says, Rodimus, the truth is that your sire wants you home. He and your carrier have worried themselves into fits. I’m sorry you didn’t find what you were looking for, but that only means you don’t belong here.” His brows drew down, his voice approaching a growl. “Not with their kind.”
Rodimus visibly swallowed, his eyes holding Megatron’s as he nodded. “I understand,” he said, and stepped back, closer to Springer than anyone else. “It's time I went home anyway.” He turned as if to go, head held high, but the droop of his feathers, the flattening of his crest, all spoke of regret.
No.
Megatron couldn't allow this. Not without trying. Not without…
He took a step forward. “Wait.”
Hot Rod paused. He half-turned, and Megatron saw only a single blue eye.
Now was the moment. He only wished they had a bit more privacy. He was aware that more than half his flock was here, watching this show. Their observation did not feel judgmental, but Megatron was intensely private. He felt the weight of their scrutiny.
“Stay,” Megatron murmured, careful to make it sound like a request and not a command.
He had no authority to bid anything of Rodimus Minor, the heir to Ultra Magnus. He was only a former soldier in the royal guard of Crystal City, now liege of the smallest flock in all of Cybertron, a home of outcasts and outliers and the abandoned or forgotten.
In comparison to a prince of the great Iacon flock, who was he?
Hot Rod's turned further, his eyes widening by fractions. “To what end?” he asked, his voice audibly shaking. His feathers drew even tighter to his body, making him appear smaller.
Megatron swallowed over a lump in the throat. He pretended he stood here alone, that the crowd had gone and it was only he and Hot Rod. He looked into bright blue eyes, and he knew what he wanted, if only he dared take the chance.
“To a bond,” Megatron answered, and his core throbbed so hard and fast, he swore he felt the beat in his ears. “With me.”
Hot Rod's eyes rounded. Despite his attempt to ignore them, Megatron heard the murmurs and the surprised gasps. He wasn’t sure what it was that surprised them the most: him finally agreeing to court someone or it being Hot Rod he chose.
Especially since Megatron had so firmly put the choice in Hot Rod's hands. Right here and now, Hot Rod could break him. He could refuse, and he had every right to do so. He could turn his back on Megatron, walk away, and no one would fault him for it.
Hot Rod took a step toward him, a warble rising in his throat. “Did you--”
“Absolutely not,” Springer snarled, his face taking on a stormy cast. His emerald green plumage ruffled. “The minor of Iacon is not going to mate some Crystal City reject.”
Megatron's eyes narrowed, his plumage lifting before he could convince himself to calm down. “You will not insult me in my own aerie.” He flexed his fingers so that his talons further extended.
The ranks of his flock closed at his back, his warriors moving to form a solid barrier behind him and between the potential fight and his flock. They might not have been draped in armor like the Elite Guard, but Megatron knew his soldiers could put up a good fight. Drift was from a warrior sect out in Tesaurus. Maximus had been head of the guard back in Polyhex. Roadbuster served with Drift in Tesaurus.
“I would have you hold your tongue.” Megatron took a step forward, refusing to give any ground to strangers who would invite themselves into Megatron's aerie and cause a ruckus. “Lest I remove it for you.”
Springer growled, and his crest snapped upright. “You impudent little--”
“Stop!” Hot Rod shoved between them, arms stretched wide, his back to Megatron as he faced Springer. “Stand down, Captain. You offered insult. You are in the wrong. The Tyrest Accord is clear on this.”
Before now, Megatron would have been surprised Hot Rod even knew of the Tyrest Accord. He never seemed to take responsibility seriously, almost as though he was running from it. Which made sense in retrospect.
Springer worked his jaw, but he retreated, though not without a glare at Megatron. “I will not apologize,” he said, but his tone toward Rodimus was much more respectful. “We need to leave. Now. Before the taint of this ramshackle aerie infects us further.”
Megatron snarled.
Hot Rod stomped a foot, his talon scraping a furrow. “That is enough,” he barked, one palm lifted nearly to Springer’s nose. “You will be silent, Captain, or I will inform Sire that you violated the Accord not once, but twice. Am I understood?”
The pale blue and white to Springer's left coughed into his hand. “Perhaps, my prince, if we departed, it would ease the tension.”
“It might, Topspin.” Rodimus tilted his head. “But I am not leaving. Not yet. I want an answer first.”
Springer's eyes widened, but he pressed his lips together, saying nothing. Hot Rod's chastisement had worked, and it made Megatron all the hotter to see him carrying that weight of authority. He would be a fine leader in his own right someday.
No more protests were voiced. Perhaps only Springer dared push the boundaries, and now that he’d gone too far, no one else wanted to risk Hot Rod’s anger.
Hot Rod slowly lowered his hand and turned back toward Megatron, confidence in the set of his shoulders.
“Did you mean what you said?” he asked, something raw in his voice. Raw and desperate and yearning.
“I wouldn't have said it if I didn't.” Megatron closed the distance between them, ignoring the warning growl coming from Springer’s direction. “I wish you’d stay.”
Hot Rod's breathing hitched. “Even though you’re in love with another?” he asked, though he was kind enough to soften his vocals, so that only those nearest could hear.
It hurt. Megatron didn't bother to pretend it did not. But he held his ground and dipped his head, as a chastened mate might, or a liege apologizing to a flockmember he’d wronged.
“Love is a multifaceted thing,” he murmured. “I will always love Orion, but it is different to what I feel when I look at you.”
Hot Rod swallowed thickly, his tongue wetting his lips. “Until last night, you carried no interest. You denied me. What could have changed?”
Adaptus.
Megatron's breathing quickened. He glanced around him, aware of their audience, and knew he might have to reveal his deepest shame.
“I will tell you.” Megatron prayed that Hot Rod would grant him this boon. “But it is between you and me, not anyone else. It’s not something I want to share in public.” He reached out, waiting for Hot Rod to move away from him, and when the smol did not, Megatron stroked the back of his knuckle against Hot Rod's throat, where the marks of his teeth were visible. “If there is any regard in your core for me, I beg you to let me have this chance.”
Hot Rod's breathing hitched. He tilted his head back, offering more of his throat to Megatron. “You never needed to beg.”
“My prince!” Springer's expression filled with dismay. He took a step forward, but Hot Rod lifted a hand, cutting him off.
“My sire will just have to live with the disappointment,” Hot Rod said without looking back at the captain. “I’ve waited far too long for this to walk away now.”
Springer looked aghast, and Megatron could hardly blame him. He had little doubt that the Magnus would be displeased for his captain to return without his quarry.
“Are you certain?” Megatron asked as he stroked his knuckle up and down Hot Rod's throat, tracing the outline of every bite.
Hot Rod shivered. “I am.” He rested his hands on Megatron's chest, right below his feathermane. “Captain, you will tell my sire I am safe, and that I will return home on my own accord or with my mate within six lunar cycles. That should pacify him.”
“Minor Rodimus, I must protest.” Springer’s armor clanked noisily as he took another step forward. “Your sire won’t be happy if I return without you. We have failed too many times already.”
Hot Rod growled, his fingers curling against Megatron’s chest as he directed a look over his shoulder. “This is not failure. You found me. But unless you intend to drag me out of here in chains, I’m not leaving.” His tail feathers raised, almost in threat. “Don’t test me.”
It was escalating again. Megatron needed to defuse the situation.
Megatron stood straighter and whistled, loud and sharp. It was enough to cut through the tension, forcing all eyes his direction.
“Perhaps the captain will be pacified if we offer him and his soldiers hospitality for the evening,” Megatron suggested, perhaps a touch over-loud, but it had the intended effect. “That way he might provide escort no matter the outcome, yes?”
Hot Rod stared at him, something wounded in his eyes. “But I thought--”
“Shh.” Megatron brushed his knuckle over Hot Rod's bottom lip. “We will talk, and we’ll decide what comes next. But we can’t do anything while the Elite Guard makes everyone uneasy. It is only polite.” He met Springer’s gaze over Rodimus’ shoulder and grinned, showing off his pointed teeth. “After all, I would not want to be mistaken for a mannerless Raptor.”
Hot Rod twisted his jaw. “That’s not fair,” he said as he poked Megatron in the belly. “Grimlock has been nothing but polite to me.”
“You’re right. My mistake.” Megatron tipped his head in apology. “Grimlock has always shown the best manners unlike recent visitors.” He looked up at Springer. “We’re not mannerless birds.”
Hot Rod sniffed. “Somewhat better.”
Megatron grinned.
Springer, at least, had the decency to give the tiniest twitch of shame.
“My liege's suggestion is the perfect solution,” Soundwave stepped up next to Megatron and Sunstorm joined him, as though they’d already worked out this course of action. “Priest Sunstorm will show you a place where you can rest, refresh yourselves, and eat to your core’s content.”
Megatron's grin widened. “Trust that your prince is in very capable hands.” Springer’s guard were lucky that Grimlock’s usual rooms weren’t the only guest quarters available. Though it amused Megatron to think of the haughty captain resting in a nest once used by a Raptor. Springer would probably hate that if he knew, though Grimlock and his pack always left the quarters immaculate once they departed.
Springer's plumage went rigid. He visibly clenched his teeth before jerking his head into something resembling a respectful bow. “We appreciate your hospitality, Liege Megatron,” he gritted out.
“Excellent!” Sunstorm chirped and flounced forward, every inch the gracious host. His bright gold feathers caught the dawn light, shimmering around him. “Please come with me, and I'll be happy to show you to your accommodations.”
Megatron did not move, only held Hot Rod to his chest, and watched Sunstorm lead Springer and his Elite Guard warriors away. He displayed confidence, while his internals were a knot of anxiety. He was about to share his deepest secret with the smol who had captured his heart, and the fear of rejection reared its ugly head.
Once Springer's unit was gone, Megatron addressed his flock.
“I appreciate every one of you coming to my aid.” He smiled warmly, and loosened his plumage to reassure them. “Feel free to return to your nests and your duties. I will make a formal statement at supper.”
The crowd dispersed. Even Soundwave dipped his head in a bow and left Megatron alone. No doubt he was already arranging for someone to keep an eye on their unexpected guests. Megatron had a feeling Springer wasn’t one to sit idly by and wait for answers.
“You owe me answers,” Hot Rod said as he flexed his talons, the tips of them briefly digging into Megatron’s chest.
He covered Hot Rod’s hands with his own. “You’ll get them. Will you come with me to my nest?”
Hot Rod visibly shivered, his eyes going dark and hungry. “If only you knew how much I’ve been wanting to hear you say that.” He leaned closer, smelling sweet and tempting. “Yes.”
Megatron swallowed and took Hot Rod’s hand in his, lest he kiss Hot Rod here and now, forgetting about the talk they needed to have. It was hard to believe that it was barely dawn since he'd awoken to find his worldview shifted.
As he led Hot Rod back to his nest, not because Hot Rod needed the guidance but because it seemed the right thing to do, another realization came over Megatron.
In all of this, he hadn’t once thought of Orion. He’d thought only of Hot Rod, of keeping the pretty smol in his life no matter the cost.
Perhaps things were changing after all.
****
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.
A soft cough roused Megatron from one of the best night's sleep he’d had in years, one so deep he didn't want to wake. He was warm and comfortable and snuggled up next to an equally warm and soft body. Why would he want to wake?
But the very same anomaly that made him want to linger, was the same that caused him to waken further. Megatron did not share his berth. Rarely, he allowed those dear to him to sleep in the same vicinity. He and Orion had once upon a time, when they were first establishing the flock, and Soundwave, too. Soundwave's brothers sometimes joined him in his nest when they felt the need as well.
This was no platonic berthmate, however. Whomever had joined his nest was as entangled with Megatron as any lover, which was odd because Megatron knew he did not have a lover. He had vowed not to take one.
Why was he not alone?
Megatron forced himself awake, peeling his eyes open. He saw nothing but a poof of bright crimson and gold feathers and memory returned all in a rush.
Orion and Shockwave and their hatchling.
Hot Rod coming to him. Hot Rod kissing him. Megatron giving in to what had always been a shared desire and taking Hot Rod to berth, to rutting with him, to being Hot Rod's first claim. They had spent the rest of the night rutting as though a fire had been lit under their rumps or the fate of the flock depended upon it.
Even now, Megatron could feel the stickiness clumping his featherdown.
Hot Rod was yet asleep. He looked innocent. His eyes were closed, his bright red lashes sweeping his cheeks. He snuggled against Megatron's right shoulder, his left hand hooked into Megatron's plumage and his wing serving as a blanket for them. Their legs were tangled.
Hot Rod had not been the one to wake him.
There was another polite, if muted, cough.
Megatron looked up.
Soundwave stood over the edge of the berthnest, one hand lifted to cover Laserbeak's eyes while his mouth guard drooped, betraying the slight curve to his lips.
“As much as I hate to disturb my liege, I fear I must,” Soundwave said. His voice was as deeply apologetic as it was raspy. “There is a phalanx of soldiers here from Iacon, and they are demanding the return of their prince.”
Megatron blinked. “We have no prince.” At least, none that he knew of. Orion, after all, was from Crystal City.
Soundwave's head tilted down, and his gaze shifted from Megatron to Hot Rod and back again. “Not according to them. They’ve come for Hot Rod.”
“What?” Megatron hissed, his entire body tensing.
Hot Rod shifted, making a low humming noise in his throat. He frowned in his sleep, though he was swimming toward consciousness. It was too cute.
No. Megatron needed to concentrate. He shifted, stirring Hot Rod even further, though he lifted his other hand to further blanket the smol and shield him from Laserbeak's innocent eyes. Soundwave dipped his head in thanks and dropped his hand.
“Who are they?” Megatron demanded as alertness started to set in.
He could see the light of dawn filtering in from the balcony. No wonder it was so difficult to focus. He'd barely slept at all.
“Captain Springer and his unit.”
Megatron's frown deepened. He'd heard of Iacon's Elite Guard and their captain. Springer was in a warrior class all his own. And if Megatron truly had Iacon's prince, he was obligated to at least locate said prince, or risk war. What a perilous situation. Megatron was not one to return any of his flock to a place they’d escaped from. But a prince?
The political ramifications were terrifying
Iacon, and its leader Ultra Magnus, was more than a little protective of the royal family. The line of Ultra was much beloved. Though why their prince had gone missing in the first place, Megatron did not know.
“And they think their missing prince is Hot Rod?” Megatron asked as he stroked the back of his knuckles over Hot Rod's face and rumbled in his chest, trying to wake the sleeping smol.
Soundwave dipped his head. “Perhaps you should ask your mate, my liege.”
“He's not my mate.”
Soundwave chose not to respond to that, but his expression said it all. Megatron rolled his eyes and ignored his Speaker for the time being, turning his attention to Hot Rod. The smol made a little murmuring noise in his throat and burrowed his face into Megatron's plumage. While adorable, now was not the time to indulge.
“Hot Rod,” Megatron rumbled into the smol's ear. “Wake up. You have some explaining to do.”
Hot Rod stretched against him like a feline, his eyes easing open. “Second thoughts already?” he murmured, perhaps meant as a joke, but there was a deeper concern in his voice. One Megatron could not address right now. There were larger issues.
“That is a discussion we will save for later,” Megatron replied in a firm tone, the one he used as liege. “Right now, there is a phalanx of elite guard from Iacon in my aerie and my Speaker tells me you know why.”
Hot Rod's eyes widened, his mouth dropping open. He pulled back from Megatron's arms. “Who… who is it?”
“Captain Springer.”
A shiver passed through Hot Rod's body. He drew away completely, moving to the opposite side of the nestberth. His feathers slicked close to his body, his expression closing off to Megatron.
“Are you going to tell me why the elite guard is here?” Megatron demanded. He pulled himself to his full height.
Hot Rod stood as well, though his head was bowed. His hands formed loose fists at his side, his feathercrest drooping.
“They're here for me. I didn't think they'd find me, but I guess I underestimated Springer.” Hot Rod curled his lips in a wry grin before he straightened, as though putting on a cape of confidence. “I'm also surprised Soundwave didn't find the truth sooner. I must be better at subterfuge than I thought.”
Soundwave made a noise of displeasure. “I knew,” he said as Laserbeak chirped on his shoulder. “It was not relevant.”
Megatron whirled toward his Speaker. “Not relevant?”
“Kaon accepts all so long as no danger is present,” Soundwave rasped. “Minor Rodimus is not a threat, therefore it was not relevant. Per protocol.”
Protocol that Megatron had put into place when they first decided to leave Crystal City and set out on their own. A newcomer's past did not matter and was his own to keep, so long as it did not present a threat. Soundwave was allowed to keep what secrets he deemed irrelevant and Megatron trusted his judgment.
Wait.
Minor Rodimus?
Megatron turned back toward Hot Rod, who was tangling his talons together. “Minor Rodimus?” he repeated. “You really are a prince?”
“Is that so shocking? Orion is too, you know.” Hot Rod rubbed his shoulder with the heel of his hand, his gaze focused on the floor. “If he can abandon Optimus, why can’t I abandon Rodimus? Kaon is about second chances, isn't it?”
“Yes, but...” Megatron sighed and pressed his palm to his face. This was a political nightmare and a massive headache. “I do not have the resources to fend off Iacon, Hot Rod. This could cause a war.”
Hot Rod's feathers rustled. “My sire would not have attacked without just cause. He's smarter than that.” He turned his back on Megatron, head swinging from side to side, before he snatched up a damp cloth from Megatron’s sink bath.
“But he would send a contingent of elite guard apparently.”
Ravage loped into Megatron’s nest, his quadrupedal stride silent. If he hadn’t spoken up, Megatron would have not heard him enter. Surely, he’d picked up that stealthy quality from his brother.
“And they are getting restless,” Ravage said as he moved nearer to Soundwave, sitting back on his haunches. His dark eyes assessed the room, narrowing when they found Hot Rod, who was furiously scrubbing down his feathers, erasing all trace of their encounter last night from his groin and belly.
“He sent them to find me, not attack.” Hot Rod sighed and nibbled on his bottom lip before giving Megatron a look from beneath his lashes. “I'm sorry. I'll take care of it.” He scrubbed harder and faster, a few loose feathers fluttering to the floor.
“I am Liege. I will handle it.” Megatron started forward, a low growl building in his chest. As angry as he was at Hot Rod, there were other things to consider here. “They will learn to respect me and my flock. I did not leave Crystal City only to be cowed in my own aerie.”
“No.” There was a flutter of bright orange and red feathers as Hot Rod moved to intercept him, hands lifted as if they were enough to keep Megatron back. The wet cloth flopped pointedly from his talons.
Megatron reared back. “No?” he repeated, irritation throbbing harder in the pit of his belly. His hands curled, talons scraping his palms. “I am Liege.” And Hot Rod would not tell him what he could and could not do in his aerie.
Hot Rod – Minor Rodimus – was only a prince in Iacon. Not here.
“And I am trying to save your flock,” Hot Rod snapped as he tossed the damp rag in the vague direction of the bowl. He firmly planted himself between the Kaon harpies and the door. “This is my fault, and I'll take care of it. No matter what that means.”
He turned in a swirl of feathers and swept out of Megatron's nest with all the command he must have been taught in his youth. He'd been raised in wealth and privilege, and how could Megatron not have seen that? Had he willfully blinded himself to what was so obvious? Starscream had even suggested Hot Rod was royalty once, and Megatron thought the idea absurd.
How narrow-sighted he’d been.
“I am tempted to say congratulations, if not for the ill timing of the Elite Guard's arrival,” Ravage drawled with a tilt of his head. His inky-black tailfeathers swished behind him. “Dare I ask what changed your mind?”
Megatron shot him a look, but Soundwave beat him to it, hissing a warning at his sibling. Ravage ignored both, sitting back on his knees. If it was possible to look both placid and smug, Ravage managed to portray both.
Soundwave sighed. “He will leave,” he said. “Does my liege wish that?”
“I'm not going to make him stay if he doesn't want to.” Megatron moved to the washbasin and gave himself a quick wipedown, aware he no doubt had dried fluids coating his groin and face. He didn’t look very much like a strong and capable liege, now did he?
He couldn’t face the Elite Guard like this. He needed to prove he was capable of taking care of both himself and his flock. He needed to show they couldn’t throw their weight around as they pleased.
He was still leader of this aerie.
“But you mated him, yes?” Ravage tilted his head. He sounded confused, because of course he would be. Anyone would in this situation.
Hot Rod surely stank of Megatron. They had rutted through the night. He had more claiming bites than any smol Megatron had ever taken to berth. Even now, Megatron’s instincts clamored at him, screaming that he return Hot Rod to his nestberth and continue the claiming until Hot Rod was his mate. Megatron had never felt so strongly about someone. Even with Orion, the feelings had been in his core.
What he felt for Hot Rod, these needs rising up within him, they were something more than that. Something defying words.
“I did not,” Megatron admitted. He breathed shallowly, the air either too thick or too thin, he wasn’t sure anymore. “I will not. I can not. And you know why, Soundwave.”
His Speaker closed the distance between them and rested his hands on Megatron's shoulders. They were of a height, though Soundwave was much slimmer in comparison. A tilt of his head and Megatron could see Soundwave's eyes through the protective visor.
“Hatchlings are not the only thing which a happy mate needs. You assume you hold no worth, my liege, but understand, that is far from the truth.”
Megatron's shoulders slumped. “Hot Rod admitted he came here for the best. He mistakenly believes that to be me.”
“In that case, do not bother to go out there,” Ravage said, though almost offhand as he examined his right hand and nipped at the sharpest of his talons. “He will leave, return to his flock, and you won’t be faced with the burden of him any longer.”
It would be easier, wouldn't it?
Megatron looked away from Soundwave, toward his nestberth and the balcony beyond, where everything had changed for him the night before. It was too easy to tap into the memories, to remember how responsive Hot Rod had been. How he'd moaned Megatron's name as he slid into the smol’s velvety heat. Or how Hot Rod had pinned him down, hips moving in a frantic rut. And more, how sweet Hot Rod had been on his tongue, sweet and eager and pliant.
Would it be easier to let him go than face potential rejection? The very same he'd protected himself against for so long?
Was he that much of a coward?
“You will do him a great disservice if you don't let him make his own choice,” Soundwave rasped and dropped his hands from Megatron's shoulders.
Ravage rose, arching his back like a feline, his tailfeathers rising behind him in a display not unlike a peacock’s. “It would also set a dangerous precedent if Ultra continues to think he can storm into Kaon and demand whatever he wants.”
Megatron breathed in and out.
“You deserve to be loved,” Soundwave managed before his voice cut out on him. He grimaced and rubbed at his throat with his knuckles.
Guilt swamped Megatron. He had not protected Soundwave then. And now, Soundwave risked pain to encourage Megatron to seek out happiness. Sometimes, Megatron feared he did not deserve his Speaker's loyalty.
Megatron straightened and squared his shoulders. “Whether I mate Hot Rod or not, he is flock. He is mine. And I will not bow to Magnus, or any other Ultra, thinking they can demand a harpy from my aerie. No matter who they were.”
Ravage stood full bipedal for once – not keen on weirding out the visitors apparently. “We are with you, my liege. You have many a warrior who will fight beside you.”
“Let us hope it does not come to that.” Megatron’s core hammered in his throat.
He moved past both of them, trying to pull confidence over and around him. He was not the largest or fiercest of his flock, but he hoped that the rules of respect would be all he needed. If not, Megatron was not without adequate training. He could and would defend himself, violently if he must.
He hoped Hot Rod wished to stay. If anything, they needed to talk about last night. They needed to decide where to go from here. Soundwave was right.
Megatron needed to tell Hot Rod the truth and let him make the choice for himself.
Megatron emerged from his nest to a rising clamor, echoing from below. He followed it through the halls to the atrium, recalling the same level of chaos had accompanied Starscream’s arrival. He discovered the atrium packed with his flock. There were more than he expected, given the time of day.
Someone in the Elite Guard unit was carrying a staff and the banner of Iacon hung from it, blue and white, as Grimlock had described. So. The identity of the roaming band of soldiers was clear now. It was a relief to know there weren’t two groups of harpies wandering around with the intention to cause trouble.
Perhaps the guard meant to stake a claim, with that ridiculously oversized banner. Hah. Over Megatron's dead body. He had not left the strictures of Crystal City to find himself claimed by another flock.
His flock was making quite the chatter, but even above that, Megatron heard another voice, this one unfamiliar. The deep, resonating bass had to belong to Captain Springer. By Iacon law, he was no doubt the only one allowed to speak to the prince. They isolated their royals, Megatron had heard.
No wonder Hot Rod left.
“Come home, Rodimus,” the large bara was saying, or cajoling rather. Megatron could make out the large, dark green crest in the midst of the crowd. “You don't belong here.”
“None of us belong here,” Megatron said to announce himself. He stepped into view, quickly assessing the gathered harpies.
One could tell at a glance that they didn’t belong here as well. They wore thick and heavy armor, though only Springer’s was made of chainmail, while the others bore polished wood. They carried stronger weapons as well, while Megatron’s warriors relied on lighter armament. The soldiers clustered around Springer wore masks made of flattened metals, and Springer had a helmet tucked under one elbow, a false crest jutting from the top which mimicked his own vibrant emerald feathers.
Megatron continued, firmly planting himself between his flock and the Iaconian guard. “Kaon had never played home to harpies until I came here, and it is only our treaty with the humans which allows us our continued residence here. So by that argument, we should all leave.”
Megatron's flock closed ranks behind him, though Soundwave stayed at his right flank, Ravage at his side and Laserbeak perched on his shoulder. If Orion and Shockwave had not been cloistered, Megatron knew they would be present as well. He’d passed more familiar faces – Drift and Perceptor, Maximus and Rung, Roadbuster, Bulkhead…
Megatron was not alone.
Hot Rod stood between Megatron and Springer, his back to Megatron. His shoulders slumped, his usually vibrant feathers dull and drooping. His plumage, too, sagged as though carrying the weight of defeat.
He half-turned to acknowledge Megatron, and Megatron’s core ached at his expression, which reflected none of the joy Hot Rod was known for.
“Captain Springer is right,” Hot Rod – no, Rodimus. He was Rodimus – said with a wan smile that did not reach his eyes. “I do not belong here. I am an unmated smol who will never be satisfied and my sire calls for me.”
Megatron stared hard at Springer, a bara who matched Megatron in size and height. Like the others, he was armed with a long spear, though it was probably collapsible for the sake of flight.
He had the bearing that probably would have intimidated lesser bara.
But Megatron had clawed his way free of the chains of Crystal City, dragging Orion and Soundwave along with him. He’d fought his way to the safety of Kaon, defending his friends from human slavers and angry harpies who’d thought Megatron was intruding. A dressed up bara from Iacon did not give him pause. The only person who had the power to hurt him in this atrium at this very moment was Hot R-- Rodimus.
Megatron looked at Springer and dismissed him. He turned his gaze to Hot Rod alone, daring to take one step closer to the pretty smol.
“You belong wherever you want to belong,” Megatron said. “If you want to stay in Kaon, then that is your right, unmated or not. Kaon has always been a haven, and I will fight to keep it that way.”
Hot Rod chewed on his bottom lip. He glanced at Springer before he turned fully toward Megatron, his shoulders straight and back. He lifted his head, blue eyes firm and unyielding. There it was, evidence of a harpy raised in royalty.
“I came here in search of something. I thought I had found it,” Hot Rod said. He paused, and brushed the back of his knuckles over his throat.
Megatron could plainly see the imprint of his own teeth, where he’d so thoroughly marked Hot Rod that it was almost a claim. The sight of Hot Rod touching it sent a jolt through Megatron’s insides. His back feathers ruffled, a low growl rising in his chest. Instinct clawed to the surface, and Megatron had to stop himself from crossing the floor and yanking the smol into his arms.
Hot Rod – no, Rodimus, frag but Megatron needed to remember that – dropped his hand. “But I was mistaken,” he finished.
Captain Springer took a step forward, a step closer to Hot Rod. “Whatever this harpy says, Rodimus, the truth is that your sire wants you home. He and your carrier have worried themselves into fits. I’m sorry you didn’t find what you were looking for, but that only means you don’t belong here.” His brows drew down, his voice approaching a growl. “Not with their kind.”
Rodimus visibly swallowed, his eyes holding Megatron’s as he nodded. “I understand,” he said, and stepped back, closer to Springer than anyone else. “It's time I went home anyway.” He turned as if to go, head held high, but the droop of his feathers, the flattening of his crest, all spoke of regret.
No.
Megatron couldn't allow this. Not without trying. Not without…
He took a step forward. “Wait.”
Hot Rod paused. He half-turned, and Megatron saw only a single blue eye.
Now was the moment. He only wished they had a bit more privacy. He was aware that more than half his flock was here, watching this show. Their observation did not feel judgmental, but Megatron was intensely private. He felt the weight of their scrutiny.
“Stay,” Megatron murmured, careful to make it sound like a request and not a command.
He had no authority to bid anything of Rodimus Minor, the heir to Ultra Magnus. He was only a former soldier in the royal guard of Crystal City, now liege of the smallest flock in all of Cybertron, a home of outcasts and outliers and the abandoned or forgotten.
In comparison to a prince of the great Iacon flock, who was he?
Hot Rod's turned further, his eyes widening by fractions. “To what end?” he asked, his voice audibly shaking. His feathers drew even tighter to his body, making him appear smaller.
Megatron swallowed over a lump in the throat. He pretended he stood here alone, that the crowd had gone and it was only he and Hot Rod. He looked into bright blue eyes, and he knew what he wanted, if only he dared take the chance.
“To a bond,” Megatron answered, and his core throbbed so hard and fast, he swore he felt the beat in his ears. “With me.”
Hot Rod's eyes rounded. Despite his attempt to ignore them, Megatron heard the murmurs and the surprised gasps. He wasn’t sure what it was that surprised them the most: him finally agreeing to court someone or it being Hot Rod he chose.
Especially since Megatron had so firmly put the choice in Hot Rod's hands. Right here and now, Hot Rod could break him. He could refuse, and he had every right to do so. He could turn his back on Megatron, walk away, and no one would fault him for it.
Hot Rod took a step toward him, a warble rising in his throat. “Did you--”
“Absolutely not,” Springer snarled, his face taking on a stormy cast. His emerald green plumage ruffled. “The minor of Iacon is not going to mate some Crystal City reject.”
Megatron's eyes narrowed, his plumage lifting before he could convince himself to calm down. “You will not insult me in my own aerie.” He flexed his fingers so that his talons further extended.
The ranks of his flock closed at his back, his warriors moving to form a solid barrier behind him and between the potential fight and his flock. They might not have been draped in armor like the Elite Guard, but Megatron knew his soldiers could put up a good fight. Drift was from a warrior sect out in Tesaurus. Maximus had been head of the guard back in Polyhex. Roadbuster served with Drift in Tesaurus.
“I would have you hold your tongue.” Megatron took a step forward, refusing to give any ground to strangers who would invite themselves into Megatron's aerie and cause a ruckus. “Lest I remove it for you.”
Springer growled, and his crest snapped upright. “You impudent little--”
“Stop!” Hot Rod shoved between them, arms stretched wide, his back to Megatron as he faced Springer. “Stand down, Captain. You offered insult. You are in the wrong. The Tyrest Accord is clear on this.”
Before now, Megatron would have been surprised Hot Rod even knew of the Tyrest Accord. He never seemed to take responsibility seriously, almost as though he was running from it. Which made sense in retrospect.
Springer worked his jaw, but he retreated, though not without a glare at Megatron. “I will not apologize,” he said, but his tone toward Rodimus was much more respectful. “We need to leave. Now. Before the taint of this ramshackle aerie infects us further.”
Megatron snarled.
Hot Rod stomped a foot, his talon scraping a furrow. “That is enough,” he barked, one palm lifted nearly to Springer’s nose. “You will be silent, Captain, or I will inform Sire that you violated the Accord not once, but twice. Am I understood?”
The pale blue and white to Springer's left coughed into his hand. “Perhaps, my prince, if we departed, it would ease the tension.”
“It might, Topspin.” Rodimus tilted his head. “But I am not leaving. Not yet. I want an answer first.”
Springer's eyes widened, but he pressed his lips together, saying nothing. Hot Rod's chastisement had worked, and it made Megatron all the hotter to see him carrying that weight of authority. He would be a fine leader in his own right someday.
No more protests were voiced. Perhaps only Springer dared push the boundaries, and now that he’d gone too far, no one else wanted to risk Hot Rod’s anger.
Hot Rod slowly lowered his hand and turned back toward Megatron, confidence in the set of his shoulders.
“Did you mean what you said?” he asked, something raw in his voice. Raw and desperate and yearning.
“I wouldn't have said it if I didn't.” Megatron closed the distance between them, ignoring the warning growl coming from Springer’s direction. “I wish you’d stay.”
Hot Rod's breathing hitched. “Even though you’re in love with another?” he asked, though he was kind enough to soften his vocals, so that only those nearest could hear.
It hurt. Megatron didn't bother to pretend it did not. But he held his ground and dipped his head, as a chastened mate might, or a liege apologizing to a flockmember he’d wronged.
“Love is a multifaceted thing,” he murmured. “I will always love Orion, but it is different to what I feel when I look at you.”
Hot Rod swallowed thickly, his tongue wetting his lips. “Until last night, you carried no interest. You denied me. What could have changed?”
Adaptus.
Megatron's breathing quickened. He glanced around him, aware of their audience, and knew he might have to reveal his deepest shame.
“I will tell you.” Megatron prayed that Hot Rod would grant him this boon. “But it is between you and me, not anyone else. It’s not something I want to share in public.” He reached out, waiting for Hot Rod to move away from him, and when the smol did not, Megatron stroked the back of his knuckle against Hot Rod's throat, where the marks of his teeth were visible. “If there is any regard in your core for me, I beg you to let me have this chance.”
Hot Rod's breathing hitched. He tilted his head back, offering more of his throat to Megatron. “You never needed to beg.”
“My prince!” Springer's expression filled with dismay. He took a step forward, but Hot Rod lifted a hand, cutting him off.
“My sire will just have to live with the disappointment,” Hot Rod said without looking back at the captain. “I’ve waited far too long for this to walk away now.”
Springer looked aghast, and Megatron could hardly blame him. He had little doubt that the Magnus would be displeased for his captain to return without his quarry.
“Are you certain?” Megatron asked as he stroked his knuckle up and down Hot Rod's throat, tracing the outline of every bite.
Hot Rod shivered. “I am.” He rested his hands on Megatron's chest, right below his feathermane. “Captain, you will tell my sire I am safe, and that I will return home on my own accord or with my mate within six lunar cycles. That should pacify him.”
“Minor Rodimus, I must protest.” Springer’s armor clanked noisily as he took another step forward. “Your sire won’t be happy if I return without you. We have failed too many times already.”
Hot Rod growled, his fingers curling against Megatron’s chest as he directed a look over his shoulder. “This is not failure. You found me. But unless you intend to drag me out of here in chains, I’m not leaving.” His tail feathers raised, almost in threat. “Don’t test me.”
It was escalating again. Megatron needed to defuse the situation.
Megatron stood straighter and whistled, loud and sharp. It was enough to cut through the tension, forcing all eyes his direction.
“Perhaps the captain will be pacified if we offer him and his soldiers hospitality for the evening,” Megatron suggested, perhaps a touch over-loud, but it had the intended effect. “That way he might provide escort no matter the outcome, yes?”
Hot Rod stared at him, something wounded in his eyes. “But I thought--”
“Shh.” Megatron brushed his knuckle over Hot Rod's bottom lip. “We will talk, and we’ll decide what comes next. But we can’t do anything while the Elite Guard makes everyone uneasy. It is only polite.” He met Springer’s gaze over Rodimus’ shoulder and grinned, showing off his pointed teeth. “After all, I would not want to be mistaken for a mannerless Raptor.”
Hot Rod twisted his jaw. “That’s not fair,” he said as he poked Megatron in the belly. “Grimlock has been nothing but polite to me.”
“You’re right. My mistake.” Megatron tipped his head in apology. “Grimlock has always shown the best manners unlike recent visitors.” He looked up at Springer. “We’re not mannerless birds.”
Hot Rod sniffed. “Somewhat better.”
Megatron grinned.
Springer, at least, had the decency to give the tiniest twitch of shame.
“My liege's suggestion is the perfect solution,” Soundwave stepped up next to Megatron and Sunstorm joined him, as though they’d already worked out this course of action. “Priest Sunstorm will show you a place where you can rest, refresh yourselves, and eat to your core’s content.”
Megatron's grin widened. “Trust that your prince is in very capable hands.” Springer’s guard were lucky that Grimlock’s usual rooms weren’t the only guest quarters available. Though it amused Megatron to think of the haughty captain resting in a nest once used by a Raptor. Springer would probably hate that if he knew, though Grimlock and his pack always left the quarters immaculate once they departed.
Springer's plumage went rigid. He visibly clenched his teeth before jerking his head into something resembling a respectful bow. “We appreciate your hospitality, Liege Megatron,” he gritted out.
“Excellent!” Sunstorm chirped and flounced forward, every inch the gracious host. His bright gold feathers caught the dawn light, shimmering around him. “Please come with me, and I'll be happy to show you to your accommodations.”
Megatron did not move, only held Hot Rod to his chest, and watched Sunstorm lead Springer and his Elite Guard warriors away. He displayed confidence, while his internals were a knot of anxiety. He was about to share his deepest secret with the smol who had captured his heart, and the fear of rejection reared its ugly head.
Once Springer's unit was gone, Megatron addressed his flock.
“I appreciate every one of you coming to my aid.” He smiled warmly, and loosened his plumage to reassure them. “Feel free to return to your nests and your duties. I will make a formal statement at supper.”
The crowd dispersed. Even Soundwave dipped his head in a bow and left Megatron alone. No doubt he was already arranging for someone to keep an eye on their unexpected guests. Megatron had a feeling Springer wasn’t one to sit idly by and wait for answers.
“You owe me answers,” Hot Rod said as he flexed his talons, the tips of them briefly digging into Megatron’s chest.
He covered Hot Rod’s hands with his own. “You’ll get them. Will you come with me to my nest?”
Hot Rod visibly shivered, his eyes going dark and hungry. “If only you knew how much I’ve been wanting to hear you say that.” He leaned closer, smelling sweet and tempting. “Yes.”
Megatron swallowed and took Hot Rod’s hand in his, lest he kiss Hot Rod here and now, forgetting about the talk they needed to have. It was hard to believe that it was barely dawn since he'd awoken to find his worldview shifted.
As he led Hot Rod back to his nest, not because Hot Rod needed the guidance but because it seemed the right thing to do, another realization came over Megatron.
In all of this, he hadn’t once thought of Orion. He’d thought only of Hot Rod, of keeping the pretty smol in his life no matter the cost.
Perhaps things were changing after all.
