Anon asked: Soundwave trying to de-stress after a tough shift at work and just wants to see/call his husband?
cw: injury
The line is unstable. A skittering whine spills out and washes away in static, denying Soundwave the connection as once again the call fails and they’re left grasping at radio waves and imbalanced satellites refusing to obey.
It’s fine, they tell themself. It will be fine. The day was a troubling one, starting with the most heinous of Starscream tantrums to manipulated code going unnoticed by a distracted gaze. All while seekers and triple changers argued and squabbled over ration and attention. Petty things. But Soundwave kept their head, kept focused on the routine and perhaps because of that they missed the signs of something drawing closer in the dark of space.
Shockwave would call such a mistake “unacceptable”. He’d stand tall in the face of blustering error with strict shoulders and an even tone. A paragon of the logical.
Soundwave’s chuckle was cracked and broken from the split seam deep across their frame as they remember how very much Shockwave hated them those many years ago. How much has changed that above all others, he was the one Soundwave was using the last of their strength to reach across the stars. Just wanting a moment of connection before whatever was to happen would happen.
The signal is weak and fades quickly just as Soundwave finds something strains and struggles within. All the voices and once-soothing thrums of communications across this galaxy and the next fall to white noise as Soundwave tries once more to reach Cybertron. Servos clutching injuries now tacky with pink. How long have they laid here? Lost among the rubble and remains of the ambush. Forgotten by the charging forces as Autobot and Decepticon clashed. Would they always be forgotten here?
The connection chimes, a brittle hope trails across Soundwave’s conscious. Relief scatters pain far from their focus as a familiar voice answers, distorted with distance and desperation.
"Soundwave." Shockwave's voice is calm - but to Soundwave his conjunx might as well have been screaming. "Soundwave, your position is marked. A rescue effort will be retrieving you shortly. Remain where you are."
"Affirmative." Soundwave's response dances with amusement considering neither of their legs survived the initial crash. "Shockwave. Query?"
"Now is not the time for expending energy on questions." Shockwave begs, though it sounds no different than his usual tone.
Beneath Soundwave's cracked mask, they are smiling.
"Query: Shockwave's day, satisfactory?"
If their bonded could laugh, if Shockwave had the capacity, Soundwave wonders if it would be the last sound they heard.
"Only once you are safe will I deem it an acceptable day."
“Request: in case of failure to comply with such request...”
“Denied.” Shockwave cuts them off as the flaring lights of warning and panic take over Soundwave’s HUD. “There is no alternative course. You will return to me. Understood Soundwave?”
The line is weak and goes dark before Shockwave is given an answer.
Optimus Prime was the last creature in all the galaxy that Starscream was expecting to see.
Especially here, now. While all the world seemed to be falling in beneath the weight of a crown which never seemed to fit right. Which mocked him in the passing reflections as Starscream paraded across his new empire, hoping that if he pretended to be happy, maybe he would be.
Starscream had a lifetime of experience with that, he’s not sure why he keeps trying. It never works.
“Are you kidding me?” He laughs but it sounds as broken as it feels, claws digging into the balcony railing where he thought he was safe. How did Prime even find him? How did Starscream let this hulking mech sneak up on him? “Of course, I’m practically glowing aren’t I?!”
Optimus doesn’t flinch at the scathing tone, in fact, his expression doesn’t change in the least from that open concern. Something bent and round and Starscream can’t handle it. He wants to throw something or punch something, he wants to fight! At least then there would be somewhere to put…*all* of this anger. Now he was left scrambling, no exit, no escape. It left him sputtering and drowning in his own frame.
So distracted by his own screaming nerves he doesn’t realize Prime is advancing until he’s being smothered. Panic rises as his body tenses with the weight of arms wrapping his body. The sudden warmth and nearness, the vibration of another’s form as Starscream is dragged into Prime’s embrace and held there. Pressed almost neatly against the hardline of the mech’s torso, his face tucked just against the angular frame where he knows the matrix once resided.
“What are you doing?!” Voice is high, but he doesn’t fight as Prime takes the full weight of him. Holds Starscream still as large servos press gently down the length of Starscream’s back where the wings slump and fall heavy.
“Seeking comfort. It’s been a hell of a day.” Prime’s voice is a strange chuckle, a tender rumble against Starscream’s cheek where he finds it is impossible to fight this engulfing shadow of his former enemy. He feels hidden, swallowed whole, where none can take note of his failings and Primus help him - he didn’t want to fight it. “I hope you won’t tell anyone.”
“You-” Starscream decides to swallow his words, almost shaking now as Prime holds him, hides him. Even spares his pride with a simple statement and how effortlessly the other does it too. It would be horrifying if Starscream didn’t need to scramble his own servos up the Prime’s body, find anywhere to cling to and shift his weight fully onto the other. Have someone *else* carry this for him if just for a brief second. “Fine. But only because I pity you, Prime.” He manages to strangle out as he buries his face deeper into Optimus’ side and pretends it’s not him who’s shaking.
“Thank you, Starscream.” Optimus holds him tightly, lets him burrow and shiver without asking for anything more of him.
Servos are gentle as they adjust, bringing Starscream’s frame upwards where he can better cradle the smaller form. After all these years Megatron is accustomed to wings jutting and trying to slip past his hold. Knows how to manipulate and fold them, keep them from being damaged or strained as Starscream consents to being carried.
Normally Starscream would fight such inappropriate action...but it’s been battle after experiment, after battle. Energon runs through unmarked routes, time apart and time cramped together in the haze of war and leadership. Where petty arguments are pushed aside for the time being to best serve their faction: their goals together.
So he allows it for the sake of his own exhausted body and the fact that Megatron is the only one allowed to.
He doesn’t have to keep optics online as they travel, half fallen to recharge in the cradle of Megatron’s grip. The familiar warmth and trailing vibrations of the powerful mech like a barricade against his body from the world. Knows every churn and chirp of the other’s machinery beneath worn yet unrelenting armor and it plays like a song beneath where Starscream rests his cheek. Nuzzling into the crook of chest plating and letting his wings relax.
Starscream recalls the first time he was carried like this by the other - injured and unable to move - but that didn’t stop him from reflexively slapping the face of the mech who scooped him up mid-battle. The horror of realizing who it was moments later as Megatron personally kept his squirming aft alive as the world erupted in chaos around them. Starscream laughs at his younger self now, how naive and bitter, how far he would come from that flinching little seeker.
“You should be resting, not snickering.” Megatron rumbles from above as they travel, his servo curled beneath Starscream’s body as a thumb pad finds the room to pet behind the hinge of his knee.
“Shh, I’m asleep.” Starscream’s mouth flickers with a smile and yet he still keeps his sights offline, knowing he won’t need them. Trusting Megatron to deliver them to their suite which opens with the sound of familiar doors and the awaiting stillness beyond.
He’s expected to be set down but finds that’s not to be as Megatron’s hulking form travels the distance of the room, crowding Starscream’s frame to him as he settles across the berth. Letting the weight rest across his lap as he still remains holding to Starscream. Adjusting to sweep a servo slow and fond up the side of Starscream’s back just beneath wing joints. Comforting and gentle with lethal hands trained not to disturb the delicate mechanics of wings. Well-acquainted with all of Starscream now that the seeker doesn’t need to do more than relax, purr and hum pleased at the sensation.
“I spoil you.” Starscream teases and battles the grin when Megatron snorts, both dismayed and amused at such a claim. Pressing to stroke a hand across the Decepticon insignia on Megatron’s chest that he can always find without looking.
Megatron answers with the smallest motion, engulfing Starscream’s form with more of his weight as the following sensation of reverent lips against his helm bring the seeker to sigh and press closer. Knowing no cruelty will ever befall Megatron when Starscream is in his arms.
Curious Cat Anon: post-war starop. wherein they're (well, let's be honest, it's mostly starscream) confused and slightly surprised by how peaceful life has gotten. it's hard to forget the dangers that once stood at every corner.
He rests with a blaster under the berth. Feels wrong to be disarmed, not that Starscream ever truly is. But weapon mounts are discouraged in this new society and Starscream can tolerate only so much.
He still hears sirens at night. Still locked in the memory of great ships rumbling fierce through open space, a lullaby of monstrous creations. He never sleeps through the night either, timed routine so deeply ingrained into his very core, pacing the humble home afforded to him as if hunting spies or an unseen threat. Always expecting the worst even though the past few years revealed no more than perhaps a messy greeting room or a shadow resembling a scraplet.
So has much has changed. Nothing more so than the great body which rests beside him most nights.
Optimus Prime is a busy mech. Still seen as the savior of Cybertron, still their collective guardian and holy figure. Even former Decepticons who once sought to slaughter the Prime now bend the knee and vow allegiance to a new world. To peace in place of chaos and exhaustion. The war didn't end with a clear winner, more out of desperation and the slow dwindle of their population.
It was only right to stop fighting when Megatron fell.
Fast forward in time, somehow Starscream has grown used to Optimus Prime knocking politely on his door. Never messages ahead. Just shows up with a weary look and a gentle voice and even gentler servos. It should feel taboo but Starscream had always relished the obscene. Never felt more alive than when doing something terrible. Makes their arrangement funny that way.
Optimus Prime needing someone who wasn't blinded by his name, Starscream needing something to claw into. It wasn't romantic, at least not by the saccharine standards of old stories. Poetry had no words for them and he much preferred it that way. The only proof of their trysts after all were the marks left across Prime's bulky frame when he departed in the mornings - and the aghast expression of former Autobots when they managed to piece together what was happening.
Life was: stagnant beyond that.
He wormed his way onto the council now overseeing the redevelopment of their entire race. The endless battles of which culture should reign supreme almost nostalgic, Autobots thinking themselves better than their grittier counterparts. Decepticons refusing to surrender more brutal practices. It took awhile to make both sides understand that shooting first was no longer a lawful conclusion to problems. It had been a rough start, but only now were things beginning to settle. Well, as much as they could.
Starscream misses Megatron sometimes, like one might mourn a painful memory. Terrible to dwell on - but likely taught a lesson. He wonders who else misses the old bastard? If Optimus sometimes spends any amount of his day thinking about his /old friend/. Starscream never asks, he’s certain he won’t like the answer either way. Hasn’t said Megatron’s name in how long and would like to keep it that way honestly. Makes it easier to sleep at night, to relax and wonder what Prime was dreaming of in the berth beside him.
Horrible that he had to be so handsome. Ridiculous that even after everything Optimus was so kind to something who would have killed him any other day of war. Starscream isn’t sure why they fell in together. Maybe because Starscream wore the same rattled look at the beginning as Prime? Neither of them really knew how to exist outside of war. Starscream was a killer, an inventor of monstrous things and sinner. Optimus was hand picked by Primus himself to lead them through war, but now what? What use was a Prime in a democracy? A tie breaker?
He likes to watch Optimus when it’s unlikely he’ll be noticed. When the council gathers and argues and wages a diplomatic war against one another. Likes to take in the way blue optics dim in withdraw - boredom or anxiety over the yelling representatives who were charging one another on a battlefield not too long ago. There’s such a bitterness shrouding Cybertron, but only so many are willing to acknowledge it. He’s watched Prime flinch and reach for a weapon not permitted in the court when tensions rose - and there Starscream found himself.
In that startled and guilty look in Prime’s face that he simply couldn’t let go of where they once had been.
So he sleeps with a gun under his berth. It never seems to dissuade Prime from joining him. The first time a commotion of the airways outside of Starscream’s suite had the seeker rising from the bed - weapon drawn and snarling - Optimus had his servo on his wrist and shaking voice telling Starscream to calm down. Pretending he too wasn’t ready to fight off the next danger with a heaving chest and forgetting not to activate his mask in bed.
Starscream found him incredibly endearing in the moment. Seeing someone else as scarred as himself just trying to make it to the next day. Their thoughts told to be on property value and increasing trade with neighboring colonies - rather than whether bombs would drop or who of the two were intending to slit their throat in the night.
He asked Optimus once, waiting for privacy in the newly raised Tower of their democracy - a grand thing meant to imply unity whereas some only saw ghosts of the crude past. They didn’t touch when outside of Starscream’s home, and didn’t then. Optimus quiet, waiting as Starscream stood at his left (Never the right, he was none’s right hand.). Wing warmed by the Prime’s mere presence and Starscream wondered if he was allowed to touch him? If he wanted to?
“Are we happy?” He had to ask because someone had to know the answer, and maybe the Matrix would make itself useful for once and give a reply. Maybe Starscream just had to be honest and ask the right question and Prime would stop pretending to be just as hurt, and tired, and hollowed as him.
“I don’t know.” Was the unfortunate reply, but Optimus turned his chin downwards offering what best smile he could. Not the perfectly molded one presented before their unified assembly. Not the one Starscream couldn’t stand as it was just as fake and sickly as his own when Skywarp and TC tried to visit. Tried to suffer each other’s company though being near just felt….adrift without chaos.
Prime smiles and Starscream can’t believe he enjoyed the way it looked on him. Almost like he wasn’t alone, imagine that. The first time in - well - all his existence someone was actually there. Suffering the same. Cut in the same places.
Suddenly Starscream felt very envious of the years of war and anyone who might have seen this hurt side of Prime. He does hope it was his alone.
“But I think we can be, some day.”
Now they try. In their own ways. They still don’t tell anyone about them, whether /they/ are anything worth mentioning. Prime sleeps best when his left arm is swung heavy over Starscream’s waist - idly petting a wing until tripping off to an equally restless sleep. Starscream likes the feel of his weight nearby - the stability implied. The thought that if the fragile peace shattered in the night then at least Optimus would be close.
Strange that. Trust.
They play their roles. They speak for and against the chambers, try to put forth their best effort to redeem four million years of death and cruelty on either side. Starscream doesn’t scheme as much as he’d like and Optimus sometimes yield to ridiculous requests.
Then every now and then Starscream catches Optimus smiling at him. Small, private, his - and Starscream thinks that yes.
Shockwave notes as seekers fly above. The rush of heat and sound enveloped in not so distant eruptions. Gunfire and destruction raging on past the borders of his vision.
Soundwave does not respond immediately, busy clutching the tender site of an injury. Freshly sealed by Shockwave but hardly healed, even the slightest movements would cause discomfort and it showed in their face. Mask missing, the visor cracked and useless in Soundwave's lap as they struggled against expressing pain.
“You stop that.” Shockwave moves to adjust the other, firmly denying the empath their attempt to sit up. Though only with one hand Shockwave has strength enough to guide Soundwave back into a lounging position against the rubble. “I've already contacted the necessary channels. Once this area is secure we will be evacuated. Remain at ease.”
“Understood.” Without their mask to guard them it's a strange experience - witnessing the movement of their expressions. The shifting gaze and pinched, pale mouth, neither settling as the war carried on across Cybertron without them. “You do not seem comfortable, is there additional pain - are your symbionts in danger?”
Soundwave shakes their head, chin lowered with a hand resting protectively over their chest compartment.
“Enigma.” They answer, watching Shockwave with a fluctuating focus. “Your actions. Illogical.”
“You think so?” Normally Shockwave's antenna would shift curiously at such a statement, but currently he was missing one. Torn off in the skirmish which followed Soundwave's injury. Their armed escort through the city under siege had either been killed by the Autobot assault or had fallen deeper into the battlefield in the chaos. Of course what Soundwave was likely referring to was Shockwave's decision to engage with the Autobot force which had jumped their small entourage in order to prevent Soundwave’s potential destruction. Putting himself in grievous danger and even sustaining damages until they joint effort managed to overcome their shared enemy. (The body not too far away, already gone cold as the caravan moved on to join Megatron’s front lines).
“I would disagree, I believe my actions were quite logical.” Something erupts in the east and the distant rumble of collapsing buildings frame the moment. Soundwave watching Shockwave with emotions they cannot contain and that Shockwave cannot understand. “Inaction would chance a higher probability of losing you. Such would not be acceptable.”
Soundwave makes a strange face, but then again, all expressions were strange to Shockwave. Like surprise, but brittle. Startled even before quickly shriveling into an awkward glance downwards. Bothered by something.
“Understood.” They respond, a firm nod and a militant tone. “To further the Decepticon cause.” No, that wasn’t right. No, that wasn’t only. But Shockwave struggled against the pull and push of crossed wires - likely a concussed processor that short-circuited trying to make sense of his irritation at such a claim. Soundwave resting back against their makeshift bed of toppled building and peeled road, satisfaction so apparent on their features. Proving once more that emotions were messy things that should be drained out of the mind before they caused such troubles as Shockwave was having.
“I am not so war-born as our fellow Decepticons, but I do hope you can understand. My actions were out of a singular wish to protect you.” He explains with easy terms and a mannered tone overlooking the intelligence officer. “I do not afford others such considerations. Only you, Soundwave.”
Shockwave keeps himself from commenting on the rise in color across Soundwave’s paler features. A reaction to some stimuli Shockwave does not yet comprehend - turning with a look of alarm on the uncovered face that Shockwave fears something is wrong.
“Query: you care for me?” The voice is low with strain having nothing to do with injuries. How perplexing.
“That is a redundant question, I believe I have made myself quite clear that indeed. Yes. I do.”
Shockwave does not have a mouth, so the image of a smile is such a strange thing - how the manipulation of taunt fibers could change a face so minutely. Yet have such a devastating effect on Shockwave’s ability to process that Soundwave was indeed smiling at him. There must be something malfunctioning with his fuel pump as it sped swiftly in reaction to the delicate visage.
“Permission to reciprocate sentiment?”
“By what means?” Shockwave does not have a mouth, so the sensation of a kiss rests strange where Soundwave’s exposed lips brush the corner of his helm. The soft nature of the touch sending sparks and tangled data in a panic across his thoughts. Unable to shutter his optic from the sight of Soundwave’s proximity - or unwilling to miss even a moment as he greedily gathers and stores the sensation and recorded flush of his spark for his personal archives.
“Oh.” He responds once Soundwave withdraws carrying delight as comfortably as Starscream wears complaint, and it is not a terrible look. Oh dear. “Sentiment.”
“Sentiment.” Soundwave repeats, settling back into their resting position, watching Shockwave’s fluster with bright amusement. “Acceptable?”
“Well I suppose I will require further testing on the matter. But yes. I do believe we are in agreement.”
Curious Cat anon: “If you’re still looking for prompts: Megatron tries to give Starscream a surprise gift.”
—
The security deck is quiet for the most part - once you grow used to the background noise of chirping computers and humming radars pulsing back the make of the universe. Starscream scarcely recognized the sound of approaching steps, heavy and unguarded as they were, until Megatron was behind him. He was a weighty shadow in a room of dim lights and stillness beyond the hum of computers and his leader’s natural rumble.
“Do you need something?” Starscream doesn’t turn around until Megatron’s great hand brushes his shoulder. Guiding his attention until he feels wings press against the computer console - his body shifted to stare /up/ at his great and quiet leader. A look of fondness playing warm over optics which shine terrible in the poorly lit room.
“I have something for you.” Megatron’s voice vibrates through the air, drawing a low and pleasing hum through Starscream’s form in response. Starscream has to bite his glossa to keep from scoffing, letting his mouth curl pretty and amicable while he shifts weight. His own gaze drawing down the warlord’s posture. Confident and warm, here for a reason.
“Oh, do you now?” He purrs and watches the wear of wrinkles and repaired seams across Megatron’s face twitch. His own posture loosening to begin lowering to his knees. Hand grasping at Megatron’s hips. “Fine, just make it quick, I actually am on duty.”
He doesn’t get very far before Megatron is making a chuffed noise, heavy servos grasping at pale shoulders and dragging him back up from the floor.
“No not that,” He declines, annoyance apparent and Starscream rolls his optics.
“I’ve never known you to turn it down.” He pinches his mouth, curious then at Megatron’s meaning. “What do you want then?”
“Not that I don’t appreciate the…” Megatron clears his throat, hardly a proud but strangely delicate on manners of debauchery. It was cute. Sometimes. “I actually have something for you.”
“Like what?” All Starscream’s tension pours into wings as Megatron looks /too/ proud of himself. Pulling back to retrieve something from subspace. A simple box of dark metal and no ornate wrapping. It looked little more than a flat cube - plucked from anywhere as innocuous as the rest of the ship.
“A surprise.” He smiles in his “not smiling but most certainly his face has changed” way.
“Why?”
“Why?”
“Why a gift?” Red flags raised as Megatron was not known for giving…gifts.
“Because I wanted to get you a gift.” Megatron explains, motioning with the object with a touch more urgency. “It’s for you. Take it.”
Starscream gives it three kliks…before trying to slap the “surprise”.
“No thank you.”
Megatron is fast enough to catch the box before it gets too far. Fingers wrapping protectively and smile gone, which wasn’t exactly a good sign, but neither was Megatron arriving with a surprise. Who knew what that could mean!?
“Starscream.” A warning, the way he draws out his name is practically a threat to behave. “Control your paranoia.”
“Is it a bomb?” He asks with all earnesty and doesn’t flinch when Megatron gapes in return.
“No it’s not a bomb!”
“Poison gas then? A hoard of scraplets waiting to chew out my optics?”
“You’ve gone mad.” Megatron flickers his gaze before shoving the box into Starscream’s chest. “It’s a gift. Just open it.”
“No.” Starscream pushes back, with absolutely no results. Megatron being a thrice reinforced steel wall: he only manages to scrape at the floor a bit with pedes. “I don’t want it!”
“Take it.” Voices raised and that fond little wrinkle turns to Megatron’s usual look of annoyance.
“You can’t make me!” Starscream tries to duck away, certain that whatever was in Megatron’s mysterious box was punishment for something he was planning on denying later. (the list was long and Starscream couldn’t be expected to keep track of his own treachery!). But Megatron was bulky and crude, a single servo was all it took to wrap Starscream’s waist. Effectively lift and relocate him across the console where buttons flared beneath his weight and Soundwave was likely going to have to fix something later.
“You little brat,” Megatron huffs, diving into his space with the grace of a building collapsing. “It’s just a gift!”
“A suspicious gift!” Starscream defends and childishly pinches Megatron’s chin - immediate reprimand for violating his personal space (of which they never respected of one another but Starscream would be irate when convenient.) “Is this punishment for the mess hall incident? Because I told Soundwave—”
“What incident?” By the dark tremor in his voice Starscream decided to shut his mouth, best not to play his hand too soon.
“Nothing. Nevermind. Forget about it.” Waves it off, choosing to release his claws on Megatron’s jawline in favor of cradling that massive fat head. Letting only a fraction of the weight of his leader’s helm rest in palm, frowning at him with lingering doubt. “So what’s in the box that you can’t tell me first?”
“Have you never heard of a surprise?” Megatron shoots back, resting the box on Starscream’s pale thigh between them, seemingly calm for the moment.
“Of course I have! I surprise Autobots constantly - with gunfire, chemical warfare and recordings of Blitzwing singing. It’s dreadfully effective.” He smiles, trying not to look at the box. A miniscule weight on his leg and yet an unknown danger as far as he could tell! What was he supposed to do, trust Megatron? Who knows what sort of nefarious and terrible things Megatron learned Starscream did and was upset about? Enough to present to him his own demise, the sadist!
“You’re unbelievable.” Megatron groans, his huff sending warm air across Starscream’s frame - trapped now as he cradles Megatron’s head.
“And you’re up to something - I won’t be tricked into it!”
Megatron stares for a klik, frown set deep, before the swerve of his optics streak in the dark. Servo returning to the box and lifting the lid without warning.
Starscream flinches, of course, expecting a great deal of terrible things. Even drops Megatron’s chin in an attempt to better cover himself from whatever horrors were about to burst forward from the small /surprise/. Megatron’s expression doesn’t change though, remains lingering on Starscream. Watching his reaction with a mixture of amusement and flat irritation for his theatrics. A commonly seen look in his leader…and one that Starscream didn’t appreciate now that he was faced with the so-called surprise!
He looked inside the box because he couldn’t resist and nothing had launched onto his face yet - confused at the contents.
“What is it?” He questions behind the cover of his servo, leaning back just in case it was a timed explosion.
“You don’t recognize it?” He sounded less disappointed, more amused, and that certainly annoyed Starscream.
“What? A lump of debris?” Snaps, reaching into the box as a show of confidence to retrieve the bent and scorched shape. The odd flat rock, or metal bit no larger than his own palm with pointed angles and — oh.
“There you go Starscream.” Megatron looks too pleased for his taste, but Starscream’s expression has gone slack in realization. “Unless you’d prefer a bomb?”
“This is your–” Blue claws cradle the disfigured Decepticon badge. The one Megatron war against the first battles of bitter Cybertron. The first badge of its kind which Starscream had believed was lost to a skirmish across Praxus where for a moment they all believed Megatron had also been taken from them. They had feeble resources then and to make such a hearty badge, one which could stand up against the flames and chaos of the blossoming war, Megatron had it cut from his own spark chamber.
A trend which thankfully wasn’t required but certainly made a point about loyalty.
“Now it’s yours.” Megatron’s softening expression was truly his greatest act of war. Something so dangerous, someone so terrible should not be capable of looking so…so….
“I don’t understand. Why?” Starscream fumbles with words, suddenly awkward and yet protective of the piece of Megatron he now holds. Trying to come up with a reason, a logical or at least acceptable answer to the spinning in his head over such an intimate gift.
“Because I want you to have it.” Megatron shifts closer, taking advantage of Starscream’s shock to brush a quiet kiss to his cheek. Something unexpected and altogether unlike his fearsome leader.
But not unwanted.
“You’re ridiculous.” He pulls a frown, watching Megatron’s smug face.
“If you don’t want it–”
“No!” He shrieks, slapping away a hand not even reaching to retake the gift. “It’s mine! What sort of mech are you, trying to reclaim a present! No class, no class at all!” Starscream pulls the object, broken and burnt as it was, to his chin. Holding it there to stare over the chipped and mangled crown of the Decepticon badge, his mouth brushing what once belonged within the innermost core of Megatron’s frame. Metal touched by his life, now belonging to Starscream.
“Do you like it?”
“No.” Starscream lies and clutches the gift all the more tenderly. “Not in the least.”
request for @kurxo for Tarnma flirting
“Dear Doctor, as always, it is a pleasure to watch you work.”
Tarn’s voice inspires a low tremble at the cruel angles of Pharma’s wings, his approach highlighted in the sound of each footfall. One. Two. At Pharma’s side and within his sight, a towering figure of dark violet and black, that heinous mask glowing red and tragic in the quiet light of the room.
“And as always, I work best in silence.” Pharma answers the pleasant tone with something suffocated and denying Tarn the grace of a second glance. Setting back to work on the strapped form beneath swiftly moving hands. Plucking wires and shaving soft circuitry away from his goals, ignoring his company who decides now is the time to circle the exam table. Closer now. Thick servos like talons, the width of them almost equal to Pharma’s wrist, dragging along the edge of the metal table as he preens.
“Is my company distracting you, Doctor?” Doctor he says, like it’s a cherished word and Pharma refuses to look up. Only aware of the vulture’s shift of Tarn’s form. The warmth of him, even still so far, exhausting against his ever sensitive wings which reach for warmth in such a chilled room.
Pharma collects himself, sets aside a wet tool and retrieves another to burrow deeper into the infrastructure. Parting that which is unnecessary and delicate around the beginnings of his quarry. Peeking from the meticulously cleared region as fragile as a spring blossom, blooming early against the winter’s lingering hold. It was always winter in Messatine, always cold and bitter, always marked with the dark figure lurking on the fringes of his sight.
Pharma has grown to seek that terrible shadow on the horizon, leading him here where Tarn looms like a ghoul drawn too close. Watching. Expelling heat from his broad form all too near his own delicate body - which could easily break under the Decepticon’s touch.
“I’m not easily distracted by surveyors.” Methodical in his procedure. Knows what to bend, knows what to break - which leaves him fighting a grin when he tosses aside a fist of useless dermis and almost soils Tarn’s polished torso with flecks of fuel. “What distracts me is poor manners.”
“Poor manners.” Tarn mimics with a chuckle that carries across Pharma’s back. “My behavior doesn’t satisfy you?”
“I’m not easily satisfied.” The doctor answers, chancing to address his company and finding the stillness of Tarn’s form to be just as unsettling as ever. The optics behind the mask steady, unwavering as predator to its mark, the great body controlled with no motion out of turn. “Neither am I impressed with your morbid voyeurism.” With grace, and a wet squelch, he pulls the TCog free from its tethers. The component held between them, dripping pale fluid to the floor, like the offering it was. The only reason Tarn has not killed him yet in such a small shape.
And yet Tarn’s focus does not shift from Pharma, holding the doctor’s gaze. The gentle tilt of the mask as alarming as any great motion and almost startles him in return.
“Dearest Doctor, I can assure you my observations are for the motion of your hands - and not only the work they so expertly weave.” Tarn’s field brushes his own, a shivering weight of curiosity both warm and daunting where Pharma could only raise his chin in defiance. Only reaching the lower portion of Tarn’s chest in height, it took a great deal of arrogance on his part to stand equal against his company.
“And yet, you’re not staring at my hands.”
“So I am not.”
Pharma chooses to toss the TCog at him, disrupt the moment like pulling free of a tether winding its way across his wings. A slow trap he fears he’s taken too long to struggle against. But ah, there is a pull across his mouth in amusement watching Tarn flinch, catch the part before it can fall and bruise on the ground. Masked or no, Pharma thinks Tarn looks lovely flustered…
“If my hands are so lovely to you,” Pharma responses, tugging a cloth from a bench at Tarn’s side - ignoring the smallest touch of wing against unyielding heat standing so near the Decepticon. "You should be next on my table."
“Is that an invitation?”
“Are you so eager to be under my touch?” Dims the light of his optics with the smile, letting it unfold naturally. Scrubbing soiled hands clean while his benefactor watches with unfounded intensity that has Pharma questioning whether it’s only Tarn’s voice with the power to undo. (Questioning what he would do with Tarn stretched out before him. Willing.)
“I believe, were I so lucky to fall beneath your hands, you would eat my spark right out of it’s chamber.” Tarn purrs, and it’s a physical vibration that reaches across the small distance between them. That charming voice which hushes Pharma’s very system and sends shudders through every nerve, sensor, and seam.
“Only your spark?” Pharma’s answers without thinking. Or perhaps choosing not to.
“I’m not sure, Doctor, what else would you like to ea---” A loud groan interrupts them both, Tarn and Pharma turning back towards the room’s entrance where the rest of the DJD stand. Waiting. Staring. Horrified.
“Please stop.” Kaon begs, covering Vos’ helm as if to shield them from the conversation. Whereas Helex seems rather invested, and now disappointed at the lack of conclusion.
Tarn withdraws and Pharma shrinks back, not having realized how close they’d been in the first place. Heat pouring off his face and his pride now built up like fortress walls to better shield himself while Tarn’s maks gives away nothing. Unfair.
He’d very much like to slap it off his damned face -- see if he’s smiling under there.
Starscream lands with a skipping pede at his left by the time the golden hue of flames reach them.
Megatron does not have to turn his chin far to watch the seeker's approach, the blaze before them casting the devilish creature in scorched orange and vibrant red. The colors of Starscream's form blending and molding into the heat, the inferno which consumes without pause or prejudice.
"It's done." Starscream has never been a silent mech, nor has Megatron ever been spared of the other's theatrical tone. But the two simple words barely make it past the seeker's mouth. Choked as if the pyre center of Iacon's political district was pouring smoke directly into Starscream's chest. Spilling out with shaken words and leaving the seeker breathless. Swollen on the sight before him as his claws, colored black in the overwhelming sight of destruction, twitch and grasp at nothing.
"We're free." Megatron echoes the true sentiment, the singular strand which unites his Decepticons past anger and hunger. Freedom. The desperation to feel it within ones hands and own oneself completely. A fantasy while these towers still held their shape. Towers filled now with the corpses of former senators and lawmakers - washed away by the purity of fire. Burning a foundation built across the broken backs of /his/ brood from the face of Cybertron.
Starscream nearly collapses. It startles him, reaching past the cradled haze of victory to push his servo across the seeker's torso. Hold him firm so he would not bow before the haunting spire of flame and cruelties. Starscream doesn't respond with indignation or a fight. He lets Megatron's hand bear his weight. Even drops claws to clutch at his thick wrist. Bracing himself against the immovable strength of the one to whom he swore his allegiance.
Who promised exactly this moment in return.
"Free." Starscream pants as a smile cracks open his face. Optics flaring to see through the inferno and watch the skeleton of their enemy burn. His delight shakes him, sends a quiver down his lean body and Megatron tracks it to the brilliant wings, blinding in reflection as his pale shape mirrors the war before them. Starscream wearing their moment of triumph as proudly as his badge.
A soldier truly forged in the fires of their deeds. Bathing in the flames at Megatron's side.
"It's beautiful." Starscream no longer stutters as seekers rumble and rage overhead, exhilaration and chaos mingled as one about them while all Cybertron stops to stare at the fires. The beginning of the universe's submission to their cause.
Megatron misses the city burning as he tracks the light across Starscream's face. Smoldering, wicked and relieved as a lifetime of pain spills off like broken chains.
Megatron seeing firsthand his actions saving one hurt like him.
"Yes," He mumbles through the deafening cries of destruction and rebirth, focus only on Starscream. "Beautiful."
