[TF] Exponentiation 1/4
Aug. 9th, 2018 06:20 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dracoqueen22Title: Exponentiation
Universe: IDW/G1/TFP, throw it in a blender, and press puree
Characters: Starscream/Grimlock, Hot Rod/Deadlock, Thundercracker/Bumblebee, Prowl/Shockwave, Megatron/Sunstreaker
Rated: M
Enticements: Sticky Sex, Fragging for Peace, Knotting, Belly Bulge, Implied Mechpreg, Romance, Cross-Factional Relationships, Etc
Description: A series of revelatory mathematical calculations lead Optimus Prime and Megatron to a startling conclusion – they’re going extinct. A truce is made, a plan to repopulate is written up, and an all-call for volunteers rings through the cosmos. Several brave warriors line up to take one for the team.
Commission for Sadrobochild
Starscream and Grimlock
Order of Operations
The war ends with not a grand final battle of epic proportions as the dead lay scattered across the landscape and a single mech stands alone, weeping loss to the heavens.
Instead, it ends with a whimper.
Specifically, Starscream’s. Because he has never in his life seen so much paperwork. Who would have known that peace means boredom, means countless hours spent perched behind a desk and crammed into a chair that’s quite clearly designed as a torture device? Or that he’d actually miss fighting for his life, because wrestling words and articles and punctuation is both exhausting and tedious.
A treaty, he snarls to himself as he trudges through mounds of datapads, and a generous one at that.
Optimus is tired, and Megatron had a ‘coming to Primus’ moment and there they are, shaking hands, agreeing to set terms, living in tense harmony in the ruins of Crystal City.
Starscream’s being a little unfair.
The war, as it is, ends because of math. Shockwave does some calculations and surreptitiously sends them to Prowl, who does some calculations of his own. Both of them, alarmed by their numbers, rush to their respective commanding officers.
Starscream, when no one is looking, steals both of their numbers, and does calculations of his own and releases a little shriek of outrage when he realizes they are both right. It disgusts him. He should never agree with both Shockwave and Prowl on anything, and yet, here he is, staring at the same numbers, the same terrifying prospect of extinction.
Cybertron and Cybertronians by proxy are at a tipping point. One more major clash could put them on the path to functional extinction. The population point of no return where there’s no hope of reviving their species. They’ll die out. Especially, you know, now that the Matrix is shattered, Vector Sigma is cold and dead, and the Allspark doesn’t exist except in fairy tales.
There are no more hot spots. Cybertron drifts through space like a meteor, the center a cold lump of nothing, and destruction will come when it meets an inmovable object. Gravity will pull Cybertron in and that’s it. No more Cybertron. They won’t even have a planet to fight over.
Upon receipt of the devastating report, Megatron locks himself in his room for a week. He talks to no one. Except Soundwave of course.
Meanwhile, rumor has it, Optimus Prime spends hours pacing the halls when he isn’t cloistered in his own office. He brings in counsel of his own: Prowl, Jazz, Ratchet, Ultra Magnus… Clearly, he’s more interested in listening to his command staff than Megatron.
Starscream is not at all miffed that he’s left out of the decision making process.
Much.
The next thing the rest of the universe knows, Optimus Prime and Megatron stand together and declare a truce, a real one. They shake hands. They smile thinly, a grimace if you ask Starscream. They exchange a single datapad to start setting terms.
That one datapad has now become a stack three feet high. Starscream glares at it balefully. But none despise him more than the one currently in front of him.
‘Plan to Repopulate.’
He should have seen this coming.
It was Jazz’s idea, the little interface-starved lunatic. Sure, the whole thing is completely voluntary. Except that Megatron has told the Decepticons that volunteering is mandatory, whether they carry or sire.
“Find an Autobot you can tolerate or another Decepticon, I don’t care which, just make a sparkling or so help me...”
He doesn’t finish the threat. He doesn’t have to. The threat probably isn’t needed, since those with enough intelligence can see the end of it all and know what’s necessary. If there’s even a smidgen of possibility the Cybertronian race can recover, it has to start now, and everyone has to participate.
Don’t want to muddle up the CNA pool after all. Don’t want any of the rarer spark types to vanish. They need variety, not homogeneity.
Starscream fumes as he flicks the datapad back on. The register had been Prowl’s idea. So helpful that one. You sign up if you’re volunteering whether as carrier or sire or both, and that way everyone knows who is interested.
Starscream is more than a little miffed that only one mech’s taken his bait. He’s the second in command of the Decepticons! Anyone should be honored to sire his little Seekerlet. Except there’s only one name on his list.
Grimlock. An Autobot no less. An Autobot Predacon. Not only that, one who’s rumored to be lacking in everything except raw power.
Starscream sniffs and tosses the datapad onto his desk. It’s an outrage. He doesn’t have to accept the offer. He’s free to choose someone else if he wants. It’s just… Grimlock’s the only one interested in him in return. It’s simultaneously galling and flattering.
He rockets up from his chair, ignoring the stack of paperwork on his desk. Sure, it’s part of his duty to complete it. But this is part of his duty, too. Megatron had been quite clear on that. Everyone must participate in the Procreation Project.
Everyone.
Megatron hasn’t exempted himself. Which is good, because Starscream would have raised quite a stink if he had. But nope, Megatron’s name is on the list as well, and right now, only Decepticons are offering themselves. Megatron hasn’t chosen anyone yet.
It’s only a matter of time.
Like the Pit Starscream is going to let Megatron defeat him in this. Megatron can take his sweet time choosing a partner, and Starscream’s going to boldly proceed. Show that he’s the bravest of Decepticon command.
He’ll lead the way. Like a leader does.
Hah.
Even if his only option so far is Grimlock. The least he can do is meet Grimlock, see if he can tolerate the mech long enough for however many ‘faces it’ll take to spark. After that, no one says he has to mate Grimlock. He can go his separate way if he wants.
Starscream holds his head high, shoulders back, wings arched, and strides from his office with all the pride he can muster. He leaves behind piles of paperwork, and considers that a plus.
He walks out of the building the Decepticons are using as their administrative base, crosses the thin tarmac dividing the two factions, and strides with confidence toward the residential warehouse where all the Autobots have been living. He’s noticed, of course he is, but he’s not armed, and he’s not making threats, so no one tries to drive him off at the end of a blaster.
If he were at all interested in ending the truce in the most destructive of ways, it would be so terribly easy. But there’s no denying Shockwave’s math. Or Prowl’s. Or his own. No use in winning a war if there’s no one left to live on the planet afterward.
Grimlock’s public “address” places him on the bottom floor and down a back hallway, tucked away like the Autobots are trying to forget he exists. Starscream counts doors, refusing to feel uneasy despite being surrounded by the enemy. He can take care of himself.
He presses the chime as soon as he finds the right door, so he can’t talk himself out of it, and shifts from foot to foot as he waits for an answer. Grimlock’s not on shift right now. He should be here.
A moment drags by. Starscream glances up the long, empty hallway. He could still change his mind. Plenty of time to run…
The door swings open. “What you want?” the inhabitant growls, looming over Starscream effortlessly, his visor a baleful red and the sheer size of him enough to intimidate.
“Are you this polite to all your guests?” Starscream demands archly. He crosses his arms, forcing a look of boredom on his face. “You signed my register, dinobot. I’m here to collect.”
Grimlock stares at him, and if Starscream has to guess, he’d say the dinobot is dumbfounded. “You… Starscream... interested?” he says slowly, carefully. Maybe because his processor is so thick he has to pick out the words one by one.
Oh, Primus, His sparkling is going to be an idiot.
“Why else would I be here?” He taps his foot impatiently. “Are you going to let me in or have you changed your mind?”
Grimlock says nothing. He steps aside in open invitation, so Starscream gathers his dignity and enters Grimlock’s room, bracing himself for what he might find. A mess, perhaps. Something primitive and dirty and--
Starscream’s engine gives a little thrum. His mouth goes dry. Primus, does he want to lay on that berth. It looks so plush and inviting, and a far cry from the harsh, flat planes of the berth he calls home. The room is warm and cozy with the sweet scent of rust candies floating on the air.
“I didn’t think you’d actually accept my offer.”
“Well, first come, first served after all,” Starscream says dismissively, still overtaken by the sheer comfort permeating every inch of the suite.
Wait.
He pauses and slowly spins back toward Grimlock. “What did you say?”
Grimlock shuts the door and cocks his head. “You mean I’m your only choice because my name is the only one on the list.”
“Why are you talking like that?” Starscream splutters, pointing at Grimlock’s chest. “I thought--”
“That I was an idiot?” Grimlock snorts, and a gleam of something flickers across his visor. “It was an effective ploy, I have to admit. Not even Optimus knows how intelligent we really are.” He moves closer, his field preceding him.
It washes over Starscream, warm and tingling. There’s not just interest in it, oh no. There’s desire, too. Genuine want. It’s powerful and intelligent, like Grimlock has kept himself leashed all along, and now this is the real him.
He swallows down a moan, it’s so dizzying. “That’s so calculating,” Starscream says, and cycles a ventilation, drawing his lips into a slow, sliding smirk. “I have to say, you’re truly a mech after my own spark.”
“And other things, too. If you’ll let me.” Grimlock sweeps into a shallow bow and reaches for Starscream’s hand, only to draw it up to his mouthplate.
Starscream’s vents catch. “Why?” he asks, drawn in by the cadence of Grimlock’s voice, the deep rumble of it, and the delicate way he holds Starscream’s hand as though he’s something to be admired.
Grimlock rumbles, and Starscream swears it vibrates right through to his spark. “You’re beautiful,” he murmurs. His mouthplate opens, revealing lips scarred by battle, but still soft as they brush over Starscream’s knuckles. “Dangerous. Intelligent. Stubborn.”
Starscream licks his lips. “Why Grimlock,” he purrs, though his spark pulses double-time at the compliments. “Have you been secretly harboring lust for me?”
“Yes.”
Starscream’s optics widen. Heat thrums through his lines. He expects subterfuge, a refusal to admit something the Decepticons would categorize as weakness, but no. Grimlock has no fear of weakness. He lays it all out like he’s unafraid of rejection.
“Oh,” Starscream says, briefly struck dumb. Grimlock is still nuzzling his fingertips as though they are precious and worthy.
“The war’s over.” Grimlock moves another step closer, into the densest layer of Starscream’s field, all heat and charge and promise. “There’s no rule saying I can’t pursue you anymore. So I want to. That is, if you’ll let me.”
Starscream works his intake. Heat pools southward, his valve filling with slick, his spike pulsing in earnest. “I’m not easily won,” he says.
“I like a challenge.” Grimlock rests his free hand on Starscream’s hip, fingertips at first, and then his whole palm once Starscream doesn’t refuse him. “I like earning a prize.”
Starscream chuckles. “So I’m a prize now?”
“The very best one.” Grimlock purrs and a nudge from his palm brings their frames into delicious, sizzling contact. His engine rumbles, vibrating against Starscream’s frame.
“I’ve always admired you,” Grimlock continues, his words like a sweet seduction as they slither in Starscream’s audials. “It would be my honor to create with you, Starscream.”
A moan catches in Starscream’s intake. His valve quivers. “All right,” he manages as Grimlock mouths the tip of his index finger, the hot slide of his glossa making Starscream weak in the knees. “Then let’s call this your audition.”
Grimlock’s fingers press in on his spinal strut, finding a sensor cluster that sends a wave of pleasure through Starscream’s frame. “What’s your preference?”
Starscream blinks. “I… what?”
“Your preference.” Grimlock presses a kiss to his palm, ex-vents hot and damp over it. “Do you want to carry? Sire?” A hand sweeps across Starscream’s aft, blatantly fondling him.
Starscream’s vents stutter. “I… you’re actually asking me?”
“I don’t care either way as long as it means you let me have you.” Grimlock licks Starscream’s palm, and a wave of want makes Starscream tilt forward against him, his fingers curling against Grimlock’s seams.
“Primus,” Starscream moans. “Take me. For the love of Cybertron, I want you in my valve.”
Grimlock chuckles, dark and rumbling, but it’s amused, not taunting. His hands sweep to Starscream’s hips, lifting him up with such ease. Desire pours into Starscream’s spark as his thighs notch around Grimlock’s waist, and he immediately feels the scorching heat of Grimlock’s interface panel against his own.
“I can do that,” Grimlock says, and leans down, nuzzling their cheeks together. “Do you have a position preference?”
Starscream arches his back, grinding against Grimlock’s panel. He lets his own open with a groan of relief, lubricant immediately dripping against Grimlock.
“Whatever gets you in me fastest,” he says.
Grimlock’s engine rumbles. His field pours over Starscream’s in a tide of lust. There’s a click and something hard and heated rubs Starscream’s valve folds, sliding thickly over his swollen exterior node.
“This?” Grimlock asks, the thick of him parting Starscream’s pleats, taunting him with the idea of penetration. “Are you sure?”
Starscream licks his lips and rolls down, catching the head of Grimlock’s spike with his rim and painting it in lubricant. “I’ve taken shuttles,” he pants. “I know I can handle you.”
Grimlock chuckles and spins them around. Starscream’s back hits the plush berth, his wings cushioned by the thick padding. Grimlock’s palms hit the mattress to either side of his head, his groin notched between the vee of Starscream’s thighs. His visor gleams at Starscream, hot with desire. And he rolls his hips, grinding himself on Starscream’s valve, painting his spike in Starscream’s slick.
“You’re sure?” He leans down, lips brushing over Starscream’s.
Starscream snatches him by the back of his head, yanking Grimlock into a fierce kiss, tangling their glossa together. He slams his heels against the back of Grimlock’s upper thighs and cants his hips, catching Grimlock’s spike with his rim. He shivers as the first few inches slide into him, igniting his nodes in a wave of heat.
“Positive,” Starscream growls against Grimlock’s mouth.
Grimlock growls in turn. He shifts his weight, angles himself, and his spike slides so deep, it tastes every last one of Starscream’s nodes. A moan ekes out of Starscream’s intake. His backstrut arches. Pleasure sparks through his lines, and he surges toward overload like a new adult discovering his interface drive.
“You’re perfect,” Grimlock groans as he presses his forehead to Starscream’s, audibly cycling several ventilations as his spike throbs within Starscream, buried to the hilt.
Starscream moans. “Of course I am,” he manages without stuttering. He tightens his thighs around Grimlock’s hips, rolling up to grind that spike against his ceiling node. Grimlock’s so thick, his spike a thing of ridges and nubs and each one seems to catch and caress his internal nodes.
White light dances across the back of his optical feed. A shock of almost-overload radiates through his valve, and he clutches hungrily at Grimlock’s spike, demanding more.
Grimlock pants, hot puffs of ventilation ghosting against Starscream’s face. “This is going to be embarrassingly short, I’m afraid.” He rocks forward, circles his hips.
“I’m right there with you,” Starscream admits. He seeks out Grimlock’s lips, mouthing hungrily at the scarred jaw. He tastes each welded line, licks the length and breadth of the scars, memorizing them with the tip of his glossa.
Grimlock’s lips slant over his, the kiss hungry and deep. He’s growling full scale now, and each vibration seems to catch right on Starscream’s spark. He moves harder and faster against Grimlock, his nub catching on Grimlock’s spike housing and sending zings of pleasure through his sensor net.
Grimlock’s mouth buries against his intake, lapping at his cables. “I have a knot,” he pants into Starscream’s intake. “Can I--”
“Yes.” Starscream claws at Grimlock’s back, his hips rising to meet each one of Grimlock’s thrusts.
A growl vibrates his intake. Denta graze his cables, restrained power in the delicate touch, and Starscream whimpers. Pleasure sparks up and down his valve, turning into a hot coil in his tanks. Grimlock thrusts into him, bearing him down into the berth, once, twice, and on the third withdraw, his spike catches on the rim of Starscream’s valve.
Lights explode in the back of his optics. Starscream’s head tosses back on a strangled cry as he overloads, the growing bulge at the base of Grimlock’s spike grinding on a ring of internal sensors and extending his release. He thrashes beneath Grimlock, talons sinking into a seam, the scent of energon tasting the air.
“--so beautiful. I’m the luckiest mech on the planet.”
Grimlock’s voice cuts through the haze of pleasure. Starscream trembles as Grimlock swells inside of him, throbbing a heavy beat against Starscream’s nodes, keeping his valve on the knife’s edge of release.
Grimlock’s words puff hotly over his intake, little kisses dotted like murmurs of worship on Starscream’s plating.
Starscream’s thighs tremble. He pulls himself further onto Grimlock’s spike, feels it and the knot notch firmly in place, before a full shudder wracks Grimlock’s frame.
He nuzzles Starscream’s face. “I’m going to keep you.” Grimlock’s hips move in little jerks, his knot swollen in place, spike throbbing a beat tangible over Starscream’s mesh lining.
Starscream manages a laugh, digging his talons in deep. “Keep me?” He rises up to meet each rock of Grimlock’s hips, the knot massaging an inner ring of nodes to a small overload. “You’re mine now, dinobot. Just try and get rid of me.”
Grimlock’s desire pours over him in a hot wave. His mouth seals over Starscream’s, glossa pushing inside like a claim. He jerks, hot spurts of transfluid spilling inside Starscream, painting his valve in it.
Starscream moans into the kiss. Grimlock’s hot ex-vents puff against his lips. He mouths Starscream’s jaw, his intake, the curve toward his audial. His hips move in stuttered bursts, more and more spurts of transfluid filling every nook and cranny, pushing at the port to his gestational tank.
Another shudder ripples through Starscream’s frame. He overloads, head tipped back for Grimlock’s attention, and his tank relents, cycling open to admit the tide of Grimlock’s transfluid. There’s so much of it.
Starscream whimpers, holding tighter, little overloads rocking him with pleasure until he can’t think, between one roll of ecstasy and the next. He’s holding tight to Grimlock, thoughts spinning, their frames locked together.
“You’re gonna… spark me up… at this rate,” Starscream gasps out, spinal strut arching, fingers turned to claws that draw energon, not that Grimlock seems to mind.
A rumble of a laugh vibrates against Starscream’s intake. “That was the idea.”
“I’m not p-protesting,” Starscream manages as his frame rolls up against Grimlock’s, his valve throbbing and squeezing as his gestational tank fills with transfluid.
Primus, is Grimlock emptying his entire transfluid tank? Probably so, given Starscream can feel the strain of his gestational system, can feel the way it pushes at his internals, bows the thinner plating of his abdomen.
“Good.” Grimlock nuzzles him again, his field a warm and cozy embrace around Starscream’s. His hands slide down Starscream’s sides, cradling him like something precious.
He kisses Starscream again, slower this time, gentler. Like he wants to savor, like he’s trying to pour every ounce of seduction and request into the kiss. Like he’s tasting Starscream bit by bit, the sweetest treat, and Starscream melts into it. He feels cherished, wanted, admired… things he hasn’t felt in centuries.
Grimlock’s definitely passed the audition. He’s won the starring role.
Starscream’s keeping him forever. He’s already marked Grimlock with his claws. Too late now, poor mech.
There’s no escape.
* * *
Universe: IDW/G1/TFP, throw it in a blender, and press puree
Characters: Starscream/Grimlock, Hot Rod/Deadlock, Thundercracker/Bumblebee, Prowl/Shockwave, Megatron/Sunstreaker
Rated: M
Enticements: Sticky Sex, Fragging for Peace, Knotting, Belly Bulge, Implied Mechpreg, Romance, Cross-Factional Relationships, Etc
Description: A series of revelatory mathematical calculations lead Optimus Prime and Megatron to a startling conclusion – they’re going extinct. A truce is made, a plan to repopulate is written up, and an all-call for volunteers rings through the cosmos. Several brave warriors line up to take one for the team.
Commission for Sadrobochild
Order of Operations
The war ends with not a grand final battle of epic proportions as the dead lay scattered across the landscape and a single mech stands alone, weeping loss to the heavens.
Instead, it ends with a whimper.
Specifically, Starscream’s. Because he has never in his life seen so much paperwork. Who would have known that peace means boredom, means countless hours spent perched behind a desk and crammed into a chair that’s quite clearly designed as a torture device? Or that he’d actually miss fighting for his life, because wrestling words and articles and punctuation is both exhausting and tedious.
A treaty, he snarls to himself as he trudges through mounds of datapads, and a generous one at that.
Optimus is tired, and Megatron had a ‘coming to Primus’ moment and there they are, shaking hands, agreeing to set terms, living in tense harmony in the ruins of Crystal City.
Starscream’s being a little unfair.
The war, as it is, ends because of math. Shockwave does some calculations and surreptitiously sends them to Prowl, who does some calculations of his own. Both of them, alarmed by their numbers, rush to their respective commanding officers.
Starscream, when no one is looking, steals both of their numbers, and does calculations of his own and releases a little shriek of outrage when he realizes they are both right. It disgusts him. He should never agree with both Shockwave and Prowl on anything, and yet, here he is, staring at the same numbers, the same terrifying prospect of extinction.
Cybertron and Cybertronians by proxy are at a tipping point. One more major clash could put them on the path to functional extinction. The population point of no return where there’s no hope of reviving their species. They’ll die out. Especially, you know, now that the Matrix is shattered, Vector Sigma is cold and dead, and the Allspark doesn’t exist except in fairy tales.
There are no more hot spots. Cybertron drifts through space like a meteor, the center a cold lump of nothing, and destruction will come when it meets an inmovable object. Gravity will pull Cybertron in and that’s it. No more Cybertron. They won’t even have a planet to fight over.
Upon receipt of the devastating report, Megatron locks himself in his room for a week. He talks to no one. Except Soundwave of course.
Meanwhile, rumor has it, Optimus Prime spends hours pacing the halls when he isn’t cloistered in his own office. He brings in counsel of his own: Prowl, Jazz, Ratchet, Ultra Magnus… Clearly, he’s more interested in listening to his command staff than Megatron.
Starscream is not at all miffed that he’s left out of the decision making process.
Much.
The next thing the rest of the universe knows, Optimus Prime and Megatron stand together and declare a truce, a real one. They shake hands. They smile thinly, a grimace if you ask Starscream. They exchange a single datapad to start setting terms.
That one datapad has now become a stack three feet high. Starscream glares at it balefully. But none despise him more than the one currently in front of him.
‘Plan to Repopulate.’
He should have seen this coming.
It was Jazz’s idea, the little interface-starved lunatic. Sure, the whole thing is completely voluntary. Except that Megatron has told the Decepticons that volunteering is mandatory, whether they carry or sire.
“Find an Autobot you can tolerate or another Decepticon, I don’t care which, just make a sparkling or so help me...”
He doesn’t finish the threat. He doesn’t have to. The threat probably isn’t needed, since those with enough intelligence can see the end of it all and know what’s necessary. If there’s even a smidgen of possibility the Cybertronian race can recover, it has to start now, and everyone has to participate.
Don’t want to muddle up the CNA pool after all. Don’t want any of the rarer spark types to vanish. They need variety, not homogeneity.
Starscream fumes as he flicks the datapad back on. The register had been Prowl’s idea. So helpful that one. You sign up if you’re volunteering whether as carrier or sire or both, and that way everyone knows who is interested.
Starscream is more than a little miffed that only one mech’s taken his bait. He’s the second in command of the Decepticons! Anyone should be honored to sire his little Seekerlet. Except there’s only one name on his list.
Grimlock. An Autobot no less. An Autobot Predacon. Not only that, one who’s rumored to be lacking in everything except raw power.
Starscream sniffs and tosses the datapad onto his desk. It’s an outrage. He doesn’t have to accept the offer. He’s free to choose someone else if he wants. It’s just… Grimlock’s the only one interested in him in return. It’s simultaneously galling and flattering.
He rockets up from his chair, ignoring the stack of paperwork on his desk. Sure, it’s part of his duty to complete it. But this is part of his duty, too. Megatron had been quite clear on that. Everyone must participate in the Procreation Project.
Everyone.
Megatron hasn’t exempted himself. Which is good, because Starscream would have raised quite a stink if he had. But nope, Megatron’s name is on the list as well, and right now, only Decepticons are offering themselves. Megatron hasn’t chosen anyone yet.
It’s only a matter of time.
Like the Pit Starscream is going to let Megatron defeat him in this. Megatron can take his sweet time choosing a partner, and Starscream’s going to boldly proceed. Show that he’s the bravest of Decepticon command.
He’ll lead the way. Like a leader does.
Hah.
Even if his only option so far is Grimlock. The least he can do is meet Grimlock, see if he can tolerate the mech long enough for however many ‘faces it’ll take to spark. After that, no one says he has to mate Grimlock. He can go his separate way if he wants.
Starscream holds his head high, shoulders back, wings arched, and strides from his office with all the pride he can muster. He leaves behind piles of paperwork, and considers that a plus.
He walks out of the building the Decepticons are using as their administrative base, crosses the thin tarmac dividing the two factions, and strides with confidence toward the residential warehouse where all the Autobots have been living. He’s noticed, of course he is, but he’s not armed, and he’s not making threats, so no one tries to drive him off at the end of a blaster.
If he were at all interested in ending the truce in the most destructive of ways, it would be so terribly easy. But there’s no denying Shockwave’s math. Or Prowl’s. Or his own. No use in winning a war if there’s no one left to live on the planet afterward.
Grimlock’s public “address” places him on the bottom floor and down a back hallway, tucked away like the Autobots are trying to forget he exists. Starscream counts doors, refusing to feel uneasy despite being surrounded by the enemy. He can take care of himself.
He presses the chime as soon as he finds the right door, so he can’t talk himself out of it, and shifts from foot to foot as he waits for an answer. Grimlock’s not on shift right now. He should be here.
A moment drags by. Starscream glances up the long, empty hallway. He could still change his mind. Plenty of time to run…
The door swings open. “What you want?” the inhabitant growls, looming over Starscream effortlessly, his visor a baleful red and the sheer size of him enough to intimidate.
“Are you this polite to all your guests?” Starscream demands archly. He crosses his arms, forcing a look of boredom on his face. “You signed my register, dinobot. I’m here to collect.”
Grimlock stares at him, and if Starscream has to guess, he’d say the dinobot is dumbfounded. “You… Starscream... interested?” he says slowly, carefully. Maybe because his processor is so thick he has to pick out the words one by one.
Oh, Primus, His sparkling is going to be an idiot.
“Why else would I be here?” He taps his foot impatiently. “Are you going to let me in or have you changed your mind?”
Grimlock says nothing. He steps aside in open invitation, so Starscream gathers his dignity and enters Grimlock’s room, bracing himself for what he might find. A mess, perhaps. Something primitive and dirty and--
Starscream’s engine gives a little thrum. His mouth goes dry. Primus, does he want to lay on that berth. It looks so plush and inviting, and a far cry from the harsh, flat planes of the berth he calls home. The room is warm and cozy with the sweet scent of rust candies floating on the air.
“I didn’t think you’d actually accept my offer.”
“Well, first come, first served after all,” Starscream says dismissively, still overtaken by the sheer comfort permeating every inch of the suite.
Wait.
He pauses and slowly spins back toward Grimlock. “What did you say?”
Grimlock shuts the door and cocks his head. “You mean I’m your only choice because my name is the only one on the list.”
“Why are you talking like that?” Starscream splutters, pointing at Grimlock’s chest. “I thought--”
“That I was an idiot?” Grimlock snorts, and a gleam of something flickers across his visor. “It was an effective ploy, I have to admit. Not even Optimus knows how intelligent we really are.” He moves closer, his field preceding him.
It washes over Starscream, warm and tingling. There’s not just interest in it, oh no. There’s desire, too. Genuine want. It’s powerful and intelligent, like Grimlock has kept himself leashed all along, and now this is the real him.
He swallows down a moan, it’s so dizzying. “That’s so calculating,” Starscream says, and cycles a ventilation, drawing his lips into a slow, sliding smirk. “I have to say, you’re truly a mech after my own spark.”
“And other things, too. If you’ll let me.” Grimlock sweeps into a shallow bow and reaches for Starscream’s hand, only to draw it up to his mouthplate.
Starscream’s vents catch. “Why?” he asks, drawn in by the cadence of Grimlock’s voice, the deep rumble of it, and the delicate way he holds Starscream’s hand as though he’s something to be admired.
Grimlock rumbles, and Starscream swears it vibrates right through to his spark. “You’re beautiful,” he murmurs. His mouthplate opens, revealing lips scarred by battle, but still soft as they brush over Starscream’s knuckles. “Dangerous. Intelligent. Stubborn.”
Starscream licks his lips. “Why Grimlock,” he purrs, though his spark pulses double-time at the compliments. “Have you been secretly harboring lust for me?”
“Yes.”
Starscream’s optics widen. Heat thrums through his lines. He expects subterfuge, a refusal to admit something the Decepticons would categorize as weakness, but no. Grimlock has no fear of weakness. He lays it all out like he’s unafraid of rejection.
“Oh,” Starscream says, briefly struck dumb. Grimlock is still nuzzling his fingertips as though they are precious and worthy.
“The war’s over.” Grimlock moves another step closer, into the densest layer of Starscream’s field, all heat and charge and promise. “There’s no rule saying I can’t pursue you anymore. So I want to. That is, if you’ll let me.”
Starscream works his intake. Heat pools southward, his valve filling with slick, his spike pulsing in earnest. “I’m not easily won,” he says.
“I like a challenge.” Grimlock rests his free hand on Starscream’s hip, fingertips at first, and then his whole palm once Starscream doesn’t refuse him. “I like earning a prize.”
Starscream chuckles. “So I’m a prize now?”
“The very best one.” Grimlock purrs and a nudge from his palm brings their frames into delicious, sizzling contact. His engine rumbles, vibrating against Starscream’s frame.
“I’ve always admired you,” Grimlock continues, his words like a sweet seduction as they slither in Starscream’s audials. “It would be my honor to create with you, Starscream.”
A moan catches in Starscream’s intake. His valve quivers. “All right,” he manages as Grimlock mouths the tip of his index finger, the hot slide of his glossa making Starscream weak in the knees. “Then let’s call this your audition.”
Grimlock’s fingers press in on his spinal strut, finding a sensor cluster that sends a wave of pleasure through Starscream’s frame. “What’s your preference?”
Starscream blinks. “I… what?”
“Your preference.” Grimlock presses a kiss to his palm, ex-vents hot and damp over it. “Do you want to carry? Sire?” A hand sweeps across Starscream’s aft, blatantly fondling him.
Starscream’s vents stutter. “I… you’re actually asking me?”
“I don’t care either way as long as it means you let me have you.” Grimlock licks Starscream’s palm, and a wave of want makes Starscream tilt forward against him, his fingers curling against Grimlock’s seams.
“Primus,” Starscream moans. “Take me. For the love of Cybertron, I want you in my valve.”
Grimlock chuckles, dark and rumbling, but it’s amused, not taunting. His hands sweep to Starscream’s hips, lifting him up with such ease. Desire pours into Starscream’s spark as his thighs notch around Grimlock’s waist, and he immediately feels the scorching heat of Grimlock’s interface panel against his own.
“I can do that,” Grimlock says, and leans down, nuzzling their cheeks together. “Do you have a position preference?”
Starscream arches his back, grinding against Grimlock’s panel. He lets his own open with a groan of relief, lubricant immediately dripping against Grimlock.
“Whatever gets you in me fastest,” he says.
Grimlock’s engine rumbles. His field pours over Starscream’s in a tide of lust. There’s a click and something hard and heated rubs Starscream’s valve folds, sliding thickly over his swollen exterior node.
“This?” Grimlock asks, the thick of him parting Starscream’s pleats, taunting him with the idea of penetration. “Are you sure?”
Starscream licks his lips and rolls down, catching the head of Grimlock’s spike with his rim and painting it in lubricant. “I’ve taken shuttles,” he pants. “I know I can handle you.”
Grimlock chuckles and spins them around. Starscream’s back hits the plush berth, his wings cushioned by the thick padding. Grimlock’s palms hit the mattress to either side of his head, his groin notched between the vee of Starscream’s thighs. His visor gleams at Starscream, hot with desire. And he rolls his hips, grinding himself on Starscream’s valve, painting his spike in Starscream’s slick.
“You’re sure?” He leans down, lips brushing over Starscream’s.
Starscream snatches him by the back of his head, yanking Grimlock into a fierce kiss, tangling their glossa together. He slams his heels against the back of Grimlock’s upper thighs and cants his hips, catching Grimlock’s spike with his rim. He shivers as the first few inches slide into him, igniting his nodes in a wave of heat.
“Positive,” Starscream growls against Grimlock’s mouth.
Grimlock growls in turn. He shifts his weight, angles himself, and his spike slides so deep, it tastes every last one of Starscream’s nodes. A moan ekes out of Starscream’s intake. His backstrut arches. Pleasure sparks through his lines, and he surges toward overload like a new adult discovering his interface drive.
“You’re perfect,” Grimlock groans as he presses his forehead to Starscream’s, audibly cycling several ventilations as his spike throbs within Starscream, buried to the hilt.
Starscream moans. “Of course I am,” he manages without stuttering. He tightens his thighs around Grimlock’s hips, rolling up to grind that spike against his ceiling node. Grimlock’s so thick, his spike a thing of ridges and nubs and each one seems to catch and caress his internal nodes.
White light dances across the back of his optical feed. A shock of almost-overload radiates through his valve, and he clutches hungrily at Grimlock’s spike, demanding more.
Grimlock pants, hot puffs of ventilation ghosting against Starscream’s face. “This is going to be embarrassingly short, I’m afraid.” He rocks forward, circles his hips.
“I’m right there with you,” Starscream admits. He seeks out Grimlock’s lips, mouthing hungrily at the scarred jaw. He tastes each welded line, licks the length and breadth of the scars, memorizing them with the tip of his glossa.
Grimlock’s lips slant over his, the kiss hungry and deep. He’s growling full scale now, and each vibration seems to catch right on Starscream’s spark. He moves harder and faster against Grimlock, his nub catching on Grimlock’s spike housing and sending zings of pleasure through his sensor net.
Grimlock’s mouth buries against his intake, lapping at his cables. “I have a knot,” he pants into Starscream’s intake. “Can I--”
“Yes.” Starscream claws at Grimlock’s back, his hips rising to meet each one of Grimlock’s thrusts.
A growl vibrates his intake. Denta graze his cables, restrained power in the delicate touch, and Starscream whimpers. Pleasure sparks up and down his valve, turning into a hot coil in his tanks. Grimlock thrusts into him, bearing him down into the berth, once, twice, and on the third withdraw, his spike catches on the rim of Starscream’s valve.
Lights explode in the back of his optics. Starscream’s head tosses back on a strangled cry as he overloads, the growing bulge at the base of Grimlock’s spike grinding on a ring of internal sensors and extending his release. He thrashes beneath Grimlock, talons sinking into a seam, the scent of energon tasting the air.
“--so beautiful. I’m the luckiest mech on the planet.”
Grimlock’s voice cuts through the haze of pleasure. Starscream trembles as Grimlock swells inside of him, throbbing a heavy beat against Starscream’s nodes, keeping his valve on the knife’s edge of release.
Grimlock’s words puff hotly over his intake, little kisses dotted like murmurs of worship on Starscream’s plating.
Starscream’s thighs tremble. He pulls himself further onto Grimlock’s spike, feels it and the knot notch firmly in place, before a full shudder wracks Grimlock’s frame.
He nuzzles Starscream’s face. “I’m going to keep you.” Grimlock’s hips move in little jerks, his knot swollen in place, spike throbbing a beat tangible over Starscream’s mesh lining.
Starscream manages a laugh, digging his talons in deep. “Keep me?” He rises up to meet each rock of Grimlock’s hips, the knot massaging an inner ring of nodes to a small overload. “You’re mine now, dinobot. Just try and get rid of me.”
Grimlock’s desire pours over him in a hot wave. His mouth seals over Starscream’s, glossa pushing inside like a claim. He jerks, hot spurts of transfluid spilling inside Starscream, painting his valve in it.
Starscream moans into the kiss. Grimlock’s hot ex-vents puff against his lips. He mouths Starscream’s jaw, his intake, the curve toward his audial. His hips move in stuttered bursts, more and more spurts of transfluid filling every nook and cranny, pushing at the port to his gestational tank.
Another shudder ripples through Starscream’s frame. He overloads, head tipped back for Grimlock’s attention, and his tank relents, cycling open to admit the tide of Grimlock’s transfluid. There’s so much of it.
Starscream whimpers, holding tighter, little overloads rocking him with pleasure until he can’t think, between one roll of ecstasy and the next. He’s holding tight to Grimlock, thoughts spinning, their frames locked together.
“You’re gonna… spark me up… at this rate,” Starscream gasps out, spinal strut arching, fingers turned to claws that draw energon, not that Grimlock seems to mind.
A rumble of a laugh vibrates against Starscream’s intake. “That was the idea.”
“I’m not p-protesting,” Starscream manages as his frame rolls up against Grimlock’s, his valve throbbing and squeezing as his gestational tank fills with transfluid.
Primus, is Grimlock emptying his entire transfluid tank? Probably so, given Starscream can feel the strain of his gestational system, can feel the way it pushes at his internals, bows the thinner plating of his abdomen.
“Good.” Grimlock nuzzles him again, his field a warm and cozy embrace around Starscream’s. His hands slide down Starscream’s sides, cradling him like something precious.
He kisses Starscream again, slower this time, gentler. Like he wants to savor, like he’s trying to pour every ounce of seduction and request into the kiss. Like he’s tasting Starscream bit by bit, the sweetest treat, and Starscream melts into it. He feels cherished, wanted, admired… things he hasn’t felt in centuries.
Grimlock’s definitely passed the audition. He’s won the starring role.
Starscream’s keeping him forever. He’s already marked Grimlock with his claws. Too late now, poor mech.
There’s no escape.
