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heliopauseentertainments · 2 years

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A Clipped Wing

For MegaStar Week 2022

Day 4 Prompt: Kiss / Wound

Continuity: General

Rating: Teen

Relationship: Megatron/Starscream

Characters: Megatron & Starscream

AU: Canon blending

Warnings: Canon typical violence, mild battle injuries, mild gore. Please see AO3 entry for full applicable tags.

Summary: In which Megatron finds an injured Starscream after a skirmish.

Crossposting: AO3 | DreamWidth | Pillowfort

Fic under cut

Megatron and Starscream were the only ones left on the field. Alive anyway. Assuming Starscream was still alive.

A strange, almost painful tension clenched his chest at the thought as he hiked through the debris of battle and over the rough, cluttered terrain.

He didn’t understand why. Pain usually had a reason, some obvious cause, but this time he could locate nothing as the source.

The hills of this rocky planetoid had been abandoned by both belligerent armies.

The Decepticons had come into a territorial dispute with an alien race, another mechanical species, but warm-wired rather than spark-based. The dispute itself had been minor, over a few-planet system that the Decepticons had been targeting for resource extraction on their way elsewhere, just while passing through. The other race had considered this system their territory despite not having any actual settlements or outposts here.

It was the backwoods, what did they care? Maybe it was a matter of principle.

Not that it mattered now. The Decepticons had earned mineral extraction rights… by decimating the troops sent their way.

They were lucky that Megatron had decided it wasn’t worth it to follow them back to their actually settled systems to take that too, to prove a point.

Picking his way through and over fallen metal bodies, Megatron couldn’t recall the name of their enemy right now, not with his head pounding. What was left of the enemy forces had retreated, but not before getting a lucky punch in and ringing his damn bell.

He could barely remember his own designation… or where Starscream had fallen.

Should have been around here somewhere, amid the corpses. They probably should come back and take these for recycling. There was likely some use these warm-wired mechs could be put to.

Soundwave had taken the rest of their forces at Megatron’s order, leaving a shuttle for him to use when he was ready to leave.

Starscream, or what was left of him, had to be collected before he could go.

Megatron had half a mind to leave the fool out here as a lesson, but it would do no good. Besides, he still needed Starscream. He hadn’t actually seen the impact that had knocked the seeker out of the sky, but he had seen him fall after hearing his unique, pained shriek. Something unknown, unfamiliar, had caused his spark to ache at the sight.

The bastard was most likely alive, too stubborn to die from falling and probably too stubborn to die from whatever injury had actually grounded him.

Good.

That was good.

Megatron decided not to call that warm, uplifting thought such a weak word as “hope.” It was a logical assumption, that was all.

Theoretically, he could have ordered one of his subordinates to go searching for Starscream’s damaged frame, but this time… he preferred to do it himself.

Something in his spark panged in a way he didn’t recognize at the thought of someone else being out here, digging through the hell and havoc for Starscream. It was the same nameless sensation that had gripped him when he saw the fool go down.

Even now, as he scowled with disgust and kicked a random fallen alien out of his path, that feeling continued to plague him.

The metal of the alien’s carapace crumpled from the impact of his foot against its plating, its many limbs splaying wildly as it flopped out of the way.

Perhaps, Megatron thought, Hook could have a look at him later. Maybe he had just picked up some sort of disease that affecting his spark. That was probably all his sense of being out of sorts was, some minor infection that could be purged with a little technical know-how.

More practically, searching like this also let him survey the aftermath of the skirmish personally, rather than waiting for some dry report.

After cresting the next low rise, Megatron saw something move in the shallow ravine below. From underneath the bodies of the alien mechs, a clawed blue hand punched up into the air, followed shortly by a sharp, angry shriek.

Starscream was fine.

Or at least… alive and well enough to complain.

A pressure on his spark that Megatron hadn’t noticed before was suddenly relieved as he ran down the gentle stone slope towards that blue hand. The fool had most likely been knocked unconscious and had just come back online.

“Get me out of here!” he shouted, impatient.

Starscream had probably heard the approaching footsteps, but it was possible he hadn’t known who exactly had come to his rescue.

As soon as he was within reach, Megatron grabbed that flailing hand, unconcerned if he got scratched by those claws in the process. A few scratches were a meager cost to pay to get one of his most skilled soldiers back.

“Thank y—“ The words stopped in Starscream’s vocalizer as soon as his head was free of the pile, now able to see who had him in hand. His optics widened.

“Hold still!”

“Put me back!“

The seeker began wriggling to get free.

“Stop whining!”

The struggle was a futile one anyway.

Uncaring for Starscream’s sudden desire to bathe in the dead, Megatron pulled him up, disentangling him from the alien corpses in the process. Proper washes would be necessary to rid them of the foreign bodily fluids and fuel, but that would be a problem they could deal with back aboard the Nemesis.

Somehow the horrid mess still did nothing to detract from the oddly pleasing sight of Starscream being whole and hale. He’d always been nice to look at, easy on the optics, a bonus when having to work with him constantly. But managing to still shine even when scraped up and covered in the visceral results of battle was a special gift.

Not that Megatron would say so with a gun to his head.

That would have been too close to a compliment for his comfort.

“And be grateful I even came out here for you! I could have left you here on this pathetic rock!”

But he hadn’t, a voice in the back of his processor reminded him.

“Sure, or maybe you’re out here for some other stupid reason.”

Starscream pulled away as soon as he was turned loose, immediately checking his hand as though Megatron might have crushed something.

Megatron huffed, insulted that the mere idea he might have been unable to control his own strength even crossed Starscream’s mind.

“Like you finally realized you can’t run this ramshackle army without me.”

Something else, however, caught his optic.

As Starscream stood there, atop the pile of bodies, fretting over his hand, Megatron noticed his left wing hanging somewhat loose, like one of the connecting hinges was yanked out.

He stalked over for a better look, the aliens crunching underfoot. Starscream hadn’t seemed to notice him.

“You’re right,” he mumbled, leaning closer than he usually would have. Generally, they tried to keep out of arm’s reach of each other. For safety. “I can’t, but that’s not why I’m—“

Megatron stopped himself, upon seeing the damage.

Yes. Two of the three hinges that usually kept a seeker’s wing firmly attached to their chassis were pulled out of place, the bolts shorn off and the hinge-pins long gone. There would be no finding them in the debris here and they’d have to be replaced back on their ship.

Fuel and oil that had leaked from the injury had dried and coagulated against the plating, but no longer seemed to be actively escaping. The only thing keeping the oil from oxidizing into a thick sludge was the lack of a thick, oxygen-rich atmosphere on this barren waste of a planetoid.

That pang in his spark returned at the sight.

“You’re damaged,” he said, not really thinking as he reached out to put a hand on Starscream’s back next to one of the broken hinges.

There was no way Starscream would be able to fly like this. He would need to either walk back to the shuttle or be carried.

Carrying him would be no trouble at all.

As soon as his hand made the barest contact, Starscream let out a howl of pain, whipping around with his clawed hand.

No trouble save for whatever fuss the seeker kicked up about it.

Megatron luckily caught the wrist with his hand just before any fresh damage could be done.

“You’re in no shape to fly.”

“I know that! What makes you think I don’t know that‽”

That wrist was warm in his hand, a somehow comforting reminder that Starscream was alive and well, even if he was hurt. It was unnatural for him to find anything about his second-in-command as “comforting.” Sometimes it was like having chained himself to a wild animal.

Yet there was still something just so… uniquely appealing about him.

Maybe it was the danger.

Starscream was glaring daggers at him with this sharp, judgmental, handsome optics of his, but all that did was make Megatron confident he would be fine.

All was as it ought to have been.

“I’m merely making an observation.”

“Make a smarter one!” Starscream struggled for a moment to free his wrist. “Let me go!”

Twisting his hand to the side, the seeker yanked it free with a sharp pull, breaking Megatron’s grip, not that he had been holding on that firmly.

Definitely the danger.

Maybe he could test that theory. Maybe it was more than an aesthetic appreciation.

“Hm.”

“Primus, what are you thinking now?” Starscream stepped back, just out of reach again. “If it’s ‘if I kill him now, no one would ever have to know,’ I was just thinking the same!”

“Oh, no.” Megatron stepped forward after him, once more closing the gap, allowing himself to smirk. “Quite the opposite, in fact.”

Starscream took yet another step away, a new repulsed look on his face.

“Put that smirk away, you old pervert!”

That was a new insult.

“Beg your pardon?”

“I’m not fragging you on these dead aliens.”

Megatron froze before he could follow, jaw slack in bafflement. He hadn’t even considered the possibility.

“I—Of course not! Don’t be disgusting!”

He waved an arm between them, as though to ward off the very thought that sort of contact. Not on these aliens!

“That is revolting!” Where could Starscream have even dredged up such a suggestion to refute? “I had deigned to carry you back to the evacuation shuttle so that you could save your energy, but now I am rescinding that offer.”

Megatron swung his right arm wide, pointing back up the hill he’d descended to pluck Starscream from the refuse.

“You are walking! You are clearly well enough to walk!” Still waving his arms in exaggerated gesture to underscore the sheer affront to his dignity, Megatron stomped off up the hill. “I don’t care if you start leaking out of your wing again. You are walking the entire way! If it were possible, I’d make you walk the entire way back to the Nemesis!”

#fic #megastarweek2022 #one shot #maccadam #megatron #starscream #megastar

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heliossecretdeskdrawer · 2 years

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A Knife In Your Pocket

For MegaStar Week 2022

Day 5 Prompt: Danger / Night

Continuity: IDW1

Rating: Mature

Relationship: Megatron/Starscream

Characters: Megatron & Starscream

Warnings: Brief alcohol use, accidental knifeplay, nudity, failed assassination attempt, fade-to-black, Megatron is shockingly dumb. Please see AO3 entry for full applicable tags.

Summary: In which Starscream fails to fulfill a lucrative assassination contract.

Crossposting: AO3 | DreamWidth | Pillowfort

Fic under cut

The halls of Kolkular were quiet at this time of night. Very few guards patrolled the winding paths and corridors and the few that did were not likely to stop Starscream. The second-in-command could go wherever he pleased… except perhaps the one place he intended to be tonight.

This was the most lucrative contract Starscream had ever been offered.

Nominally, as part of his official recruitment, his assassination skills were now exclusively at the Decepticons’—Megatron’s—disposal. Sometimes, however, if the price was right, he could be flexible.

During his most recent visit to Iacon as Kaon’s non-voting delegate, a Senate dog, probably at Zeta’s command, had offered him an obscene amount of cash, easily double what was currently in the Decepticons’ meager coffers.

For Megatron’s cold, lifeless spark.

That was fine.

Dangerous, sure, given the target, but Megatron had already done his part for the “Cause.” He had kickstarted the revolution and galvanized the forces of societal discontent.

That had been plenty, Starscream reassured himself as he made his way deeper into the fortress. Megatron had eschewed the relatively lavish suite actually reserved for the fortress’s commander and had instead decided to take up residence in a spacious bunker below the ground level.

Some ideological claptrap about not taking up the raiments and lifestyle of their oppressors.

Starscream was convinced that Megatron just didn’t know what to do with anything remotely luxurious and wouldn’t know material comfort if it hit him on the damn head.

The clack of his heels hitting the floor echoed off the walls with each step. It was colder down here than in the rest of Kolkular, which tended to retain the heat from Kaon’s merciless equatorial sunshine. This was the only place in this derelict city that made Starscream’s plating rattle and shiver, prompting his HUD to suggest activating his high-altitude heat retention measures.

No one else was around this far down. Guards didn’t patrol here unless Megatron ordered it specifically. The fool thought he didn’t need the added protection, because, of course, he was a threat in his own right. Only an idiot with a death wish would come down here with the intent to harm Megatron.

Only an idiot… or a professional.

Upon finding the reinforced door to the bunker, Starscream reached out and knocked. He was already thinking of just what sort of ruse to use as an excuse to get inside the bunker.

He had been down here a number of times, usually to continue discussions from meetings of High Command, and often in the company of Soundwave.

It was rare to come down here alone.

The idea of being alone with Megatron was unnerving.

Megatron did almost everything with the same level of intensity. Starscream couldn’t recall ever seeing him relax. That mech was constantly on high alert, which would bring a new level of challenge to actually completing the contract.

He would probably be armed. Hell, Megatron would probably be wearing that cannon that Starscream himself had gifted him.

He was even willing to bet the bastard recharged with it on.

No answer at the door yet. Perhaps Megatron hadn’t heard Starscream knock. That was the most likely explanation.

He reached out and touched his hand to the access pad for the locking mechanism. He knew he wouldn’t have access, but maybe, just maybe, the failure alarms it would sound inside the bunker would summon its occupant. Starscream even slapped the pad a few times for good measure, hoping each credential rejection would be more aggravating than the last.

Now… to wait.

After a few minutes, the seal around the bunker’s door hissed as someone opened it from the other side.

The hidden cameras in the hall had probably shown Megatron who was waiting outside. The footage would have to be edited, doctored… or maybe even destroyed as part of an equipment malfunction. That would probably be the easiest method to cover his tracks.

The door slid into the wall, revealing Starscream’s target, standing there on the threshold, unaware of the fact that soon he would have no awareness at all.

It was almost funny.

Megatron frowned down at his visitor impassively. Starscream noted that, no, he was not visibly armed, at least not with the cannon anyway. Probably had a blaster or two in his subspace though.

“This is an odd time for you to be down here, Starscream. I trust this is important?”

The rejected access alarm still blared inside until Megatron switched it off with the interior access pad.

“Yes,” Starscream started, affecting a yes-man’s appeasing smile. “More important than you know.”

“Important enough for you to disturb me in the middle of the night?”

“Absolutely.” He cleared his vocalizer with a cough, folding his hands together behind his back, wings low in faux deference. “It concerns a matter of command stability, something you’d likely want to be personally involved in.”

“Does it now?”

Megatron raised an optical ridge, already seemingly suspicious. He wasn’t stupid. Starscream wondered if he should have tried a different opening tactic.

“Yes, but it would likely be best discussed in private.”

“Interesting.” Still, Megatron stepped back, creating a space to allow Starscream through into the bunker beyond. “Very well then.”

Once inside, he could hear the door hissing again, the seal reactivating again once it was closed.

And now he was locked in here with the nitrotiger he was meant to hunt. There was only one way out, no turning back.

But even the most powerful mech was just a mech… a mech with vital points. The dagger in his subspace would be sufficient if he could just get close enough.

“Let’s hear it then,” Megatron said, leaving the door behind and heading to a cabinet on one of the bunker’s walls.

The bunker was nearly empty of furnishings. There were a few chairs, devoid of upholstery. Some cabinets. Some shelves for datapads. A work console built into a desk. A barren recharge slab against the far wall. Megatron had never cared much for personal possessions, Starscream knew, but this level of ascetic minimalism seemed unnecessarily extreme.

Some doors sat on the sides of the bunker, probably leading to the washracks and the fuel refinery. There was also probably a storage area or two. Most likely empty or full of ammunition. He could hardly imagine Megatron keeping a personal stock of anything else.

The console glowed, like Megatron had been in the middle of using it when Starscream had arrived, probably reading and rereading reports or news articles.

What a workaholic.

Starscream jumped when he heard a cabinet slamming shut. He instinctively spun on his heel towards the noise, only to see Megatron approaching with a pair of cubes.

Fuel of some kind.

“I’m waiting, Starscream,” he said, holding out one of the cubes when he was within range.

The refinery, if there really was on behind one of the bunker’s doors, was wasted on Megatron, who took his fuel plain. Starscream, while no good at refining anything complicated, could at least flavor his fuel and would certainly take that over plain low-grade refined energon.

He took the cube, assuming it would be boring, pragmatic nourishment. However, as he brought it up to his nose to sniff, his olfactory sensors registered a sharp, sweet odor.

Engex.

That could be a problem. Either he would drink it and risk becoming too inebriated to carry out his mission or he would turn it down and give Megatron even more cause for suspicion. Though he had to wonder why Megaton would offer him an intoxicant in the first place. There was also the chance that this was poisoned in some way, especially since he hadn’t watched these be prepared.

“A little early for a nightcap, isn’t it?” he asked, rotating the cube in his palm as though examining it.

Megatron scoffed, sitting down in one of the chairs, the one near the desk. That couldn’t have been comfortable, given the lack of supportive padding. Then again, the throne at the heart of Kolkular, partially fashioned from Sentinel Prime’s broken frame, was hardly a monument to luxury either.

“You’re the one who called on me in the middle of the night.”

Fair point, Starscream thought begrudgingly, watching as Megatron took a pull from his own cube.

Cautiously, he took a sip from the cube he’d been handed. It tasted like normal engex, unadorned, of course, but normal. The odds of Megatron trying to murder him were relatively low, seeing as he was still highly valuable and necessary to their operations.

If Megatron died now, to an unknown Senate assassin, of course, he would become a martyr. The Decepticons could rally around his death and, more importantly, his successor. Starscream would “reluctantly” step into the vacant role, what was expected of him as the second-in-command, and lead the army in their movement’s “beloved” founder’s memory.

With more cash to bolster them—and Starscream personally—to boot.

It was a good deal.

Sure, the Senate aid that had approached him probably expected that Starscream would then lead a more… moderate Decepticon movement, something more palatable than Megatron’s inflexible hardline stance.

Not a chance, not after the final payment was received anyway.

One sip, however, was probably plenty, enough to say that he had politely partaken in Megatron’s hospitality, such as it was.

“Now, what was it you wanted to discuss?”

Of course, right back to the point as always.

“Yes, it’s just like you to focus on the business at hand,” he said, stepping closer to the occupied chair. “The right decision as always.”

Starscream just had to get Megatron’s guard down, and keep it low long enough to strike. There were several places on a mech’s body, even a heavily armored one like most manual class mechs, where a well-placed cut could cause exsanguination in a matter of seconds.

He just had to be in the right place.

With a “friendly” flutter of his wings, he set the cube of engex down on the desk, pointedly abandoning it.

“I’m not much of a drinker myself, you understand.”

“You’re evading the point again.” But Megatron’s engex joined its twin on the desk all the same. “One has to wonder if perhaps you’ve come here with an ulterior motive.”

The smirk that came with the words and the way his optics followed Starscream’s wings belied that perhaps he didn’t mind, depending on the ulterior motive.

Maybe that’s what he had assumed Starscream had come here for from the beginning. That would certainly explain the booze.

It seemed even workaholic warlords had “needs.”

Starscream could certainly take advantage of that.

“You wound me. I’ve been nothing but loyal all this time and you doubt me,” he said, all the while “casually” sitting across Megatron’s knees without the least bit of resistance. “You don’t even offer me the most comfortable seat in the house.”

The “comfort” comment wasn’t even much of an exaggeration. A warm lap was a far preferable place to sit than cold, bare metal chairs.

The lack of pushback was a little surprising, but then again, perhaps this wasn’t the first time the idea had occurred to the moron. Megatron was forced to see Starscream almost every day for hours at a time, after all. It would only make sense that he would eventually start to want the handsome, talented mech constantly dangled right in front of him.

“Doubt you? Nonsense.” Megatron sat still, seemingly uninterested in dissuading Starscream from making himself at home. “And what makes you think you don’t already have the most comfortable seat in the house?”

“I do now, yes.” Starscream sneered. “No thanks to you.”

When all he got in reply was a scoff, it seemed that Megatron had mistaken his comments for a joke of some kind.

Little did Megatron realize that letting a skilled assassin get on one’s lap was generally a good way to end up dead. Or maybe he did realize that and got some sort of sick thrill from the risk.

There really was no accounting for taste, but perhaps he would actually enjoy what Starscream had for him in his subspace then.

“But, back to the point, it really is a command issue, you see.” He flapped his wings again, knowing their shape and shine made them attention-grabbing. “When we’re pent up and… frustrated… that makes it difficult to lead effectively, doesn’t it?”

“Hm.” A hand came up to rest against Starscream’s cheek, a thumb rubbing underneath his optic. The grasp was somewhere between affectionate and an examination. “I suppose you do make a good point.”

Not a bad way to go, given the alternatives. Starscream imagined the only way Megatron might prefer to die would be in battle.

As long as Starscream didn’t get caught before he could put the dagger’s blade where it needed to be, a little rough fun was surely warranted. That’s what he’d always heard about these manual class mechs: clumsy and inelegant but a good time.

Besides, Starscream could always clean up after before he left with that fancy private washrack. The surfactants and detailing supplies were probably minimal, but that would be fine until he could back to his own lodgings later.

“Of course, I do,” he said, adjusting his posture to straddle and scoot closer. He took the palm from his face, again with zero resistance, and slid it down to cup his hip, only pausing to briefly linger on the glass of his cockpit. That would leave streaks—and possibly rubprints—but any decent washrack had glass cleaner.

This was turning out to be an easier hit than he had anticipated. Megatron was practically rolling out the red carpet for him, but he was almost certainly expecting to leave this encounter with an overload or two and his life. Maybe he was even expecting this to become a regular occurrence, a fun but enticingly dangerous jaunt while indulging the allegedly age-old tradition of interfacing with one’s second-in-command when no one was looking.

Starscream leaned forward, wrapping one arm around the back of Megatron’s neck in a half-embrace. This was the closest they’d ever been, even compared to being packed tightly into the holding cells of Kaon’s old jail building.

“I’ve even brought something I think you’ll quite like,” he said, reaching with his free hand into his subspace, feeling around for that dagger.

He was taking a risk by showing his hand so early, especially if it turned out Megatron was not into that much danger. Starscream would then either have to throw the knife and just continue with the encounter, staving off the assassination attempt for another day, or he would have to act quickly with it before Megatron could defend himself. There would most likely be no coming back from that potential outcome.

In order for his gamble to work, Megatron would also have to see the damn thing.

Taking hold of the dagger by the handle, Starscream held it up in front of Megatron’s face for inspection. The design was plain, minimalistic. Cheap. Not the best weapon but suitable for his purposes and readily disposable if he had to get rid of it.

“What do you think?”

Light flared behind Megatron’s optical glass. That was either a good sign or—The flare was shortly followed by the unmistakable revving sound of a powerful engine turning over.

Well, so far so good.

“I thought you would appreciate it.” He shifted, dragging the flat of the blade across rapidly heating chest plating before settling the cutting edge of it somewhere tentatively safe, against Megatron’s clavicle faring. “Now—“

Click.

Starscream froze when the panel concealing his spike housing popped open of its own accord, allowing the whole thing to pressurize.

Absolutely no accounting for taste.

“I assume that is also for me.”

“… Yes, it is.”

At least that idiot from Iacon had already paid half upfront.

“Excellent, I love a good ‘stabbing.’”

#fic #megastarweek2022 #one shot #suggestive #megatron #starscream #megastar #I hope this one shows up in the tags

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