[IDW] All the Queen's Treasure 07

[dracoqueen22]

Part Seven
Through the distress in his spark, Sunstreaker registered a sound. It pierced the anxiety, the tremble of his armor, the whirling of his thoughts. 

He wasn’t alone. 

Scuttle pressed against his intake, and Bob. Bob was here, too. Bounding toward him, antennae twitching left and right.

Sunstreaker sank to his knees, gathering the silly bug up in his arms. It was easier than it used to be. He was bigger now, had a wider reach. 

Bob chirped at him, and nuzzled his face. He asked without words, though Sunstreaker could feel his concern now. His affection, too. So genuine and without expectations. 

"I'm not okay, bug. I don't know how to be okay," Sunstreaker said. 

Bob's secondary hands patted him. He purred, the rumbles vibrating against Sunstreaker's armor in new ways now with all his extra kibble and thicker substructure. 

Sideswipe was gone, and bit by bit, Sunstreaker was losing what's left of him. There was nothing left for him on Cybertron, and Bob had led him here, to this Hive, but desperate to have something of his own again, was he surrendering himself? His memories? 

His brother?

Was he making the right choice? 

Sunstreaker was not one to consider himself an indecisive mess, but one glimpse in the mirror had brought the reality of his decision crashing down. The word 'assimilate' kept repeating in his head. 

Would he even be Sunstreaker when this was all over? 

Or worse. 

Did he want to be? 

Scuttle made a mournful noise against Sunstreaker's intake. Bob chirped and patted him again, his worry intensifying. 

No. Not just Bob's worry. Sunstreaker felt it now, the trickling but increasing pressure of the Hive, surrounding him like a physical weight. Sunstreaker's immediate, demanding instinct was to soothe the worry, offer reassurance to the Hive. His Hive. 

Primus, he needed some fresh air. He needed a new perspective. He needed... 

He needed to get out of here. Not to leave, no, but to know he could walk if he wanted. To contact Ironhide, just in case, see if there was anything left for him out there. 

Just this once. 

Sunstreaker pushed to his feet, frame aching and creaking. Exhaustion tugged at his lines. His valve twitched, and the stirrings of need made themselves known. 

He ignored them. He took a deep breath, draping himself in royal poise. 

"Bob. Come," Sunstreaker said, and strode from the room, chin lifted high, shoulders back. 

Hardshell and Sharpshot both waited on the other side, but Sunstreaker didn't give them a chance to speak. 

"I'm going to the surface," he said, leaving them no room to wheedle otherwise. "Show me the way, or I'll find it myself." 

The two Insecticons exchanged a glance, but Sharpshot bowed and excused himself, while Hardshell held out a hand. "Allow me to escort you, my queen." 

Sunstreaker ignored the offer of the hand, though a part of him cried out to touch Hardshell, to fall into his embrace, to greedily consume another upload. No. While he had his wits about him, he needed to be sure. 

“Show me,” Sunstreaker said, and he strode past Hardshell, armor clamped, ignoring the internal wail of rejection. He was stronger than his instincts. 

“As you wish.” 

Hardshell took the lead, and Sunstreaker followed, Bob at his heels, Scuttle tucked against his intake. The humidity of the corridors seeped around him, the cavern floors damp and sticky beneath his feet. Steadily, they climbed upward in a tense silence, Hardshell not speaking, and Sunstreaker not offering any conversation. 

He rubbed one arm with his hand, tracing the nodules building along his seams, places where spikes were sure to emerge, once his transformation was complete. Would he recognize himself afterward? Would the face in the mirror be a stranger? 

Darkened corridors grew less moist, became more arid, a sensation of emptiness clinging to the walls. Sunstreaker left the atmosphere of living things behind, his awareness of the Hive stretching impossibly thin, like a tether threatening to snap. He wondered if that was the extent of the reach, or if further uploads would extend it. 

If he continued on this path. 

There were larger Insecticons here -- less civilian in appearance, more like the warriors and the soldiers Sunstreaker had faced in the Swarm. They were larger, stronger, better armored. There was an awareness in their gazes as they watched Sunstreaker pass, smaller scouts milling around their feet, some smaller even than Bob. 

They parted for Sunstreaker and Hardshell. A few bowed. Their curious gazes tickled over Sunstreaker’s armor. They were on guard for a possible incursion -- Sunstreaker swore he could smell the wariness in the air. It had a bitter reek, an acrid blend of fear and excitement. 

Up and up and up and up. Until the climbing angle of the grade evened out, and the walls of the tunnel were choppier and uneven, as if carved out in haste rather than with deliberate precision. 

Sunstreaker’s comm crackled to life, hissing static at him. He cringed and dialed it down. 

The tunnel grew narrow, until he could no longer walk beside Hardshell, but behind the Insecticon. A whisper of air teased Sunstreaker’s sensors. He wrinkled his nose. It smelled… like death. It was bitter and ashy, and there was something rotten on the air. How had he never noticed it before? 

“We’re close?” Sunstreaker asked. 

“Yes, my queen.” 

He touched Hardshell’s arm, and Hardshell paused in the tunnel, half-turned back toward Sunstreaker, his visor a pale ochre gleam in the dim. He held himself with a rigidity Sunstreaker matched. He was coolly polite, but there was an undercurrent of fear radiating from him. 

It was a little unfair of Sunstreaker, to be able to read him with relative ease now. 

“I want to be alone,” Sunstreaker said. 

Hardshell looked at him, tense and wary, and Sunstreaker gave in to the screeching fear from the Hive. He said, “I’m coming back.” 

Hardshell nodded and stepped aside, leaving enough room in the narrow tunnel for Sunstreaker to pass. “And if you do not, then we’ll know.” 

Fair enough. 

“Come on, bug,” Sunstreaker said as Scuttle chittered and pressed into his throat, tiny frame trembling. 

He emerged from a narrow crevasse, tucked within an overhang of the landscape, into the open air of Cybertron. A moment of vertigo struck him then, a sense of being exposed, of danger, and Sunstreaker hesitated. He'd never been afraid of open spaces before. 

This had to be the coding at work. 

Sunstreaker steeled himself and stepped fully out, under the open sky. He didn't recognize where he was, but then, he didn't expect to. He was in some kind of low basin, ridges rising all around him, the whole area jagged and fractured and jumbled. The perfect way to conceal a tunnel, really. Some of the cliff faces were sheer and unclimbable, others would take some effort, but he could scale them given time. 

A glint of something at the top of the highest ridge caught his optic. Sunstreaker squinted, trying to zoom in on it. Was that an antenna? It was hard to tell at this distance, but he hoped it was. He had a feeling he'd need a boost to the signal. 

He found an outcropping that would make a decent perch. Sunstreaker sat, and Bob clambered up beside him, immediately throwing himself half in Sunstreaker's lap. 

Sunstreaker chuckled and scritched behind Bob's audials. "If I left, would you go with me?" 

Bob licked his fingers. 

"I'll take that as a yes." 

Sunstreaker sat for a few more moments, bracing himself, before he dialed Ironhide's comm code, and hoped he could manage a clear enough connection. 

Ironhide answered immediately. "Sunstreaker! Where the frag are ya, slagger?" 

Sunstreaker huffed a laugh to himself. "You wouldn't understand if I told you, old timer," he said. "I found Bob. I'm safe. But I don't know if I'm coming back." 

"Kid, if this is because--"

"It's not," Sunstreaker interrupted, because he didn't want to drag out old wounds. Not right now. "I just think I've found somewhere I can go." 

"In the wilderness?" 

"I don't belong in that city, Ironhide. We both know that." Sunstreaker shuttered his optics, leaning in against Bob, while Scuttle chittered and patted him. "I don't belong anywhere." 

"That ain't true." 

"It is. You just don't want to admit it, because you feel guilty about the way things happened." Sunstreaker worked his intake and cycled a ventilation. "Sides is gone, 'Hide. And when he was here, I wasn't a very good brother. I wasn't a very good Autobot. I wasn't a very good friend. I guess I just wasn't good at anything." 

"If this is your way of tryin' to get me not to worry, you're not good at that either. Why's this sound like a goodbye, Sunny?" 

Sunstreaker managed a chuckle across the comm. "It is, and it isn't. The next time you see me, I might not be me. I don't know what's going to happen, but it's for the best, I think." 

Ironhide cursed at him. "Damn it, kid. Where are ya? I'll come get ya." 

"I wouldn't even know how to tell you where I am," Sunstreaker admitted. "And it doesn't matter. It's where I need to be, I think. It's where I might actually be good at something." 

Sideswipe's gone. Ironhide didn't need him. Cybertron didn't need another traumatized soldier, wandering aimlessly through the streets. He'd have got back on board the Lost Light, if he could, but that option wasn't available to him. 

He could lose himself in the Hive. Or he could shape the Hive to his image. He could be something to someone, to many someones. 

He wouldn't have to be alone ever again. 

"I'm gonna be okay," Sunstreaker said. Hoped. "I'll call you again when it's all done. Don't worry about me, and don't come looking. I'm fine." 

"Ya don't sound fine," Ironhide growled, but he was important. He had a place in the greater scheme of Cybertron. He couldn't drop everything to wander the wilderness, searching for one lost Autobot, and not even a good one at that. 

"I will be. Thanks for everything." 

"Take care of yourself, kid. And if you need me, I got your back." 

"Noted. Goodbye, Ironhide." 

Click. 

Sunstreaker cycled a ventilation. Two. He bowed his head, scratched behind Bob's audials, counted the tremors of Scuttle against his intake. 

He made his choice. 

"Come on, bug. Let's go home," Sunstreaker said. He stood and leaped down from the outcropping, picking his way through the uneven ground back to the tunnel entrance. 

Hardshell was visible within the shadows of it, leaning against the wall, arms crossed. Whether he'd trailed Sunstreaker and been listening in, Sunstreaker didn't know. It didn't matter. 

"Are you surprised?" Sunstreaker asked as he stepped under the ridge, and into the shadowed alcove. 

Hardshell's visor glinted at him. "The searcher chose well." 

Sunstreaker snorted and stepped into Hardshell's space, the Insecticon dropping his arms, kibble flicking to betray his surprise. Sunstreaker was tall enough now to cup his hand around the back of Hardshell's neck, pull him into range for a kiss, an aggressive one. He curved his other hand on Hardshell's hip, fingers sliding into a seam and stroking the cables beneath. 

Hardshell rumbled against him. "My queen?"

"Not yet," Sunstreaker said. "It's time for the next upload." 

Hardshell didn't pull back, but his head tilted with confusion. "What changed?" 

"Nothing." Sunstreaker pressed himself along Hardshell's frame, the heat of the Insecticon like a soothing balm to a desperate itch. "Am I still your queen or not?" 

Hardshell's frame shivered, armor ruffling in a long wave. "You will be." He cupped Sunstreaker's face, returning the kiss, though he was much gentler, reverent and caring. 

This would need to be addressed, too. Sunstreaker had arrived here, confused and lost, had gone with the flow because he hadn't known what else to do. Well, things were different now. 

He was going to be Queen. It was time he acted like it. 

~

Down, down, down, they went, back into the depths of the Hive, far below the surface of Cybertron, where the weight of the planet felt comforting above him, rather than oppressive. The ambiance was better this time, lighter, celebratory. Sunstreaker rather felt he was floating deeper into a warm embrace, rather than fleeing the chill, anxious night. 

"Welcome home, my queen. My queen, welcome home," Sharpshot said as Sunstreaker passed, while Kickback said nothing, watching Sunstreaker warily, as if disappointed but resigned. 

Bob danced around Sunstreaker's feet, and only protested a little when Sunstreaker wouldn't let him enter the private chamber. 

"Go play with your friends," Sunstreaker said, and coaxed Scuttle from his intake, resting the builder on Bob's back. "Take care of Scuttle." 

Scuttle hunkered down. Bob turned in circles, as if trying to see the mini-bug on his back, but unable to get a good view. It was enough of a distraction for Sunstreaker to slip into the chamber, Hardshell in tow, without Bob trying to dart inside. 

Expectation hung in the air, like a charged ion cloud. Sunstreaker's spark throbbed with anticipation. His valve pulsed with it, cycling eagerly, cycling into readiness. 

"I wasn't running away," Sunstreaker said, now that he and Hardshell were alone, without obvious audials listening in. "I was getting perspective." 

"It is not my place to question my queen's actions," Hardshell said, wary as he watched Sunstreaker move through the room, idly touching a few things -- and noting the new mirror, now set up in an alcove. 

Sunstreaker snorted. "So you say." He sat on the berth and looked at Hardshell. "Bob led me here, but you've been the one laying down the offer. You knew I was broken. You've said as much. It was pretty manipulative, don't you think, to offer me this when I couldn't think straight." 

"I only offered what I thought you needed," Hardshell said, but there was diplomacy in his voice. Ah, this was a tone Sunstreaker knew too well. He'd heard it from Prowl often enough. 

Sunstreaker leaned back on his hands, parting his knees and thighs invitingly, and inwardly crowed when Hardshell's gaze dropped to his pelvis before lifting to his face again. 

"I was at my weakest, and you took advantage of that, but then, I'd guess that's what you'd do for the Hive, isn't it?" 

Hardshell's head tipped in an almost servile manner. "My duty is the Hive." 

Sunstreaker shifted his weight and skimmed the palm of his free hand down his chassis, toward his array. "You walk around like you're a servant who only knows to bow, but that's not true, is it?" He flicked his glossa over his lips and cupped his valve, the panel snicking aside beneath his fingertips. "You're the power behind the throne." 

Hardshell’s antennae twitched. Bingo. Nail on the head. 

He moved closer to the berth, gaze flicking toward Sunstreaker’s busy hand, then back to his face. “Coding can control many things, but I am not bound to it. You are my queen, but I chose you.” 

Sunstreaker licked his lips. He traced the rim of his valve before dipping a single finger within, wetting it with his own lubricant. “You’d have killed me.” 

“If you’d proven unworthy.” 

The scent of his own arousal filled the air. Hardshell must have picked up on it, if the rev of his engine was any indication. 

“Is that how your previous queen died?” Sunstreaker asked, even more certain there was more to the story than he’d first been told. 

“No. It was a tunnel collapse.” 

“Yeah, and Starscream’s my twin.” 

Sunstreaker snorted, but it didn’t hold for long, not as he flicked his lubricant-damp fingers over his anterior node and a frisson of pleasure swept through his frame. He paused, gathered himself, and his train of thought. 

He tilted his head. “I thought maybe Kickback had done it or had a hand in it, but now I think I was suspicious of the wrong member of my cadre.” 

Hardshell’s silence spoke volumes. He watched Sunstreaker, a step closer now, near enough for Sunstreaker to smell the heat of him, the desire wafting from him, but he said nothing. He wouldn’t lie, but he wouldn’t admit the truth either. 

Sunstreaker smirked and held up his hand, lubricant sticky strings between his fingers. “You are the Queenmaker, but I’ll bet you can also be the Queen-unmaker. If you suspected the Queen was no good for the Hive.” 

There was a beat before Hardshell moved close enough to touch, only to sink to his knees, as if bending before a throne. “I am a loyal servant,” he said, voice subservient, but Sunstreaker didn’t believe it for a second. 

He frowned. “Pitslag.” Sunstreaker pushed himself fully upright, which put him on even keel with Hardshell. “I don’t want that. Be honest with me.” 

Hardshell rested his hands on Sunstreaker’s knees, palm sliding upward in a caress. “I will serve a queen faithfully and loyally, if that queen is worthy of both,” he rumbled, and his thumbs swept tantalizingly close to Sunstreaker’s array. 

Charge flashed hot down Sunstreaker’s spinal strut. “And if not, you can always make another, right?” 

“It’s not so simple. My coding--”

Sunstreaker grabbed one of Hardshell’s mandibular juts, thumb sliding along the length of it, and Hardshell went silent. “You and Sharpshot and Kickback are close, aren’t you?” 

“We three have served our Queen since the Hive’s inception,” Hardshell answered. A shiver ran through his frame, a flutter of his armor, his hands trembling where they cupped Sunstreaker’s thighs before he seemed to master himself. 

Was this what he’d been waiting for? 

“That’s what I thought,” Sunstreaker murmured. It was all the answer he needed as well. 

Hardshell might act the part, might play the servant. But he was as devoted to this Hive, to Sharpshot and Kickback, as Sunstreaker had been to Sideswipe. It wasn’t because his coding told him to be, though that was certainly part of it. 

Hardshell loved his Hive. He loved his cadre. 

And if Sunstreaker could prove himself worthy of it, he’d love Sunstreaker as well. 

He curled his fingers around both of Hardshell’s mandibular spikes, drawing Hardshell close enough for a nuzzle, planting a kiss on the corner of Hardshell’s mouth. 

“Frag me,” Sunstreaker said. “I want to be your queen.” He rolled his hips into Hardshell’s hold, his valve seeping lubricant, the scent of his arousal thick in the room. “If you want me, take me.” 

A low growl rose in Hardshell’s intake. A harsher shudder rippled over his frame, and then he surged upward, lifting Sunstreaker as though he weighed nothing, pressing him down into the berth. Even with the changes, he was still larger, more massive, and Sunstreaker felt dominated by him. 

Arousal pulsed hot and wanton through his sensor net. 

Hardshell’s visor burned. “You play games, Sunstreaker,” he hissed. 

“No more than you, deceiver. Manipulator.” Sunstreaker bracketed his thighs around Hardshell’s waist, hooked his ankles behind Hardshell. He lifted his chin, refusing to be cowed. “Am I to be your queen or not?” 

A click preceded the hot, blunt pressure of Hardshell’s spike against his valve, fully pressurized and dripping with pre-fluid. How long had he been restraining himself? How long had his coding been yelling at him to take his queen? As long as Sunstreaker’s own fledgeling changes had been demanding he take his maker’s spike? 

Sunstreaker shuddered and spread his legs wider, canting his hips up, trying to match the perfect angle for Hardshell to take him. 

“You are our queen,” Hardshell said, but his words were like a vow, a promise, as he slid into Sunstreaker, slowly, achingly slow, tasting every sensor one by one. “We are your Hive. You are ours. We are yours.”  

Sunstreaker moaned, pulled Hardshell’s face closer to his, felt the scrape of Hardshell’s mandibular kibble against his armor, and shuddered with pleasure. “Mine,” he agreed. “Yours.” 

Sunstreaker intended to prove worthy of that promise. He wouldn't be a queen they sought to escape. He’d protect them. He’d love them. 

They’d be his. 

And in return, he’d be theirs. 

***