AN – Hell has frozen over people, I have written an Armada M/SS fic. The insanity … curse you indigo-ink:P But, this aint the happy-joy-joy stuff I usually write … oh no. Pure angst people, angst.
He didn't know why he always did it.
He certainly didn't enjoy it in the least. It hurt like utter hell every time, but he would never cry. No, not he. Some nights he would receive a call on his private beeper, and he knew exactly what his leader wanted. And he had to submit. He had to.
No, not really. He didn't really have to submit. A part of him wanted to, a part of him desired it, but for the most part, he just felt like a used piece of trash ready to be thrown out.
Megatron could destroy him any time. Megatron could have killed him so easily, and he could have run away. But there was something they both needed from each other that held the tentive bonds together.
Hell, what bonds?
Starscream didn't feel any. He desired power, nothing more, nothing less. He wanted Megatron's power as his own. But in his spark he knew he would never get it. It was a dream beyond a dream, like his want for Megatron's affection.
Oh, but he was no virgin.
The seeker, sitting on Megatron's bed, waited. He had received that beeping message that he dreaded and mourned, and so, in his leader's room he waited for the owner to show. Starscream never got any pleasure out of their encounters, it was all about Megatron. He didn't know why Megatron did it and he wasn't going to learn anytime soon it seemed. Still, he sat there like an obedient dog; no, a toy for his leader's whim.
He hated being used and then being tossed away … but he had no choice. A part of him just could not leave that touch behind. But for what? A very, very brief elation? Not even that.
Megatron took all the pleasure for himself. He left none to be scavenged. And it always hurt like he could not believe. Maybe it was Megatron's energy, or maybe it was him. Maybe they were incompatible for energy bonding. Yes, that was it …
But then … why did he allow himself to be merely Megatron's plaything. Why?
Maybe it's all I'm worth in this world …He sighed. NO! I'm worth more than this … I have to be …
And yet, what did Megatron always say? That he was nothing more than cannon fodder? Was he lying?
I don't know … Starscream's optics were dim. I don't have any answers …
The door opened.
Starscream's optics brightened back to its normal colour of orange, and he stood up as his leader entered the room. Megatron held a smirk in place from the battle. It had gone well, and so had the meeting after it. As he walked up to the seeker before him, he noticed that his wings were trembling ever so slightly. He placed a finger under his chin and lifted it so that crimson red met sunset orange. Megatron saw the fear there, fear of things to come.
"Now, now …" He stroked the line of the seeker's cheek. "You should enjoy this … after all, not many feel this from me …"
Megatron said this every time to Starscream, but every time the seeker would just nod and let it happen. But tonight, he didn't even do that. He merely looked at his leader, and those crimson optics, and he felt the energon well up behind his optics once more. He was fully shaking now, and he clenched his fists, but Megatron ever so gently pushed him down on the bed and climbed on top. The seeker shivered as though a cold breeze had suddenly entered the room, and he looked up at Megatron above him. The leader placed a finger on his lips, and bent down to where his audio receiver was:
"You should feel lucky …"
'…not many feel this from me.' He thought in unison, knowing what Megatron was going to say. But he wished he wasn't lucky, if that was the case. He wished he wasn't lucky at all.
As Megatron lay asleep, the seeker remained awake. It was hard not to be awake as the stabbing pains from his groin didn't ebb in the slightest. His legs ached, his neck hurt from the bites, and his back was sore from all the times he had been thumped back on the bed from thrusting. Energon coated his thighs in a fine sheet, having crusted a while ago and could no longer stain. Silver fluid ran from his neck to leave a small pool on the pillow part of the bunk, and chips of red and black paint littered the area. He lay under Megatron's arm, pinned, owned. And the pain this time seemed more vivid than all the other times this had come to pass. He shut his optics, and for once, let the energon that always built up behind his optics flow.