Disclaimer: All characters you recognise are property of HasTak. The giant perverted raping tentacle beast is mine, but is also rather common among anyone with a kink.

Author Note: Crack, crack and moar crack written for my beta. Does not fit in at all with the Until the Dream Ends continuity. Also this has them act relatively comfortable with each other, as I couldn't really be bothered to have them start out in-character. Hence all characterisation mistakes are intentional.

Those Tentacle Blues

for Juujinkan

"Oh, laugh it up!" Starscream growled, glaring at the Autobot scientist who was bent double, clutching as his waist, dissolved in helpless hysterics at the sight of his ridiculous, embarrassing and, above all, compromising predicament.

All right, so perhaps it had not been a good idea to land on a potentially-hostile planet and start blowing the scenery to frag – but how could he have known that the indigenous organic life forms were twice the size of the average Transformer and that the particular one whose nest he had vaporised had a sense of humour that was freakishly similar to Skywarp's? Or that they had tentacles?

"When you're quite finished?" He snapped, glaring at Perceptor, who was struggling to regain some semblance of dignity and control over his wildly shaking chassis. Covering his mouth with one hand in a vain attempt to stifle his giggles, the microscope glanced at the seeker – and promptly collapsed in another fit of chuckles, unable to help himself.

The beast had Starscream splayed on his back, each of the jet's limbs pinned by a tentacle that was thicker than his thigh. One wrapped tight about each wrist, one about each ankle. His null ray weapons were gone, Primus knew where they were now. Slagging tentacle monster had probably eaten them. Or had thought they were sufficiently phallic and had secreted them away somewhere in preparation to shove up his... oh Vector Sigma, don't finish that train of thought...

"Ahaha, I'm sorry." Choked Perceptor, finally able to articulate, determinedly fixing his gaze at the now-docile alien mass of slime and whip-like appendages. If he had deemed it as sentient, he would have sworn that it winked at him with one of its several hundred porous optical organs.

"Right." Forcing himself to keep his temper lest the beast start molesting him again, Starscream's high voice was strained and grating. "Now that you've got that out of your system, how about getting this thing to release me?"

Perceptor cocked his head, still not looking down at the jet. "I have no idea how, I don't think it speaks Cybertronian and, well, shooting it will end me up like you, hmm?"

"Do something!" Shrieked the seeker, his voice rising at least an octave higher in those two words.

Chancing a glance down to see why this might be, Perceptor bit his lip, caught somewhere between extreme amusement and searing embarrassment; a fifth tentacle had wound its way up the dull grey metal of the Decepticon officer's leg and tightened, the tip somewhere at the top of his inner thigh, making the captive robot shudder; a sensitive bundle of wires nestled very close to the epidermal metal there.

"Uh," he stuttered, trying to keep his own voice from wavering, "I could... get help?"

"I'm not having a group of slow-witted Autobots gawking over me! They'd never let me forget this!" Starscream twisted in an attempt to free himself and was rewarded by the tentacles not only tightening but spreading his legs wider. Irritably, he tried to close them, but to no avail.

"From the Decepticons?" Tried the scientist.

"Are you joking!? Reflector's with them! There'll be slagging pictures!"

Once again, the seeker finished his sentence at a much higher note than he started, though this time it was because a sixth tentacle had rubbed across one of his hyper-sensitive wings. He writhed.

"Well, uh, what do you want me to do?" Perceptor mumbled, his amusement almost fully taken over by embarrassment; he had made the mistake of looking and now he couldn't tear his optics away. Mind you, the way that Starscream shuddered was most intriguing, and he made the perfect excuse for his voyeurism.

He was studying Decepticon reactions to such rare predicaments. For science.

"Anything! Ohhhh fra-!"

This time, a seventh tentacle (Perceptor was beginning to think that the beast kept spawning new ones) had slid into the seeker's open mouth. Enraged indignation flashed through the ruby optics at the penetration. The beast shuffled, making a wheezing sound that could have been interpreted as a snicker.

Not one to watch any Transformer, even Starscream, be violated by something that looked like a steroid-pumped Quintesson reject, Perceptor stepped forwards and began trying to tug one of the rope-like limbs from the jet's ankle.

Another tentacle, or possibly the one that had been molesting the air commander's wing, struck Perceptor straight across the shoulders, knocking him forwards. Releasing the alien to stick his hands out and catch himself, the Autobot shut off his optics, preparing for impact with the ground.

No impact came. He restarted his optics and started in shock at the close proximity of Starscream's own scarlet eyes. His fall had brought him onto all fours over the supine Decepticon, their faces close together. Perceptor sat back in a hurry – but that only made matters worse, as he ended up kneeling astride the seeker's hips.

"Uh. Well, uh." He stammered. "This is... awkward."

Starscream spluttered as the beast freed his mouth, his fathomless optics narrowing. "You don't say."

"So, I'll just be, uh, standing up now."

Before he could make good his promise and rise to his feet, he was struck forwards again, this time the whipping appendage's gentle but firm buffet catching him at the back of his head. Once again he found himself nose-to-nose with Starscream, only this time the beast was pressing on the back of his helmet another tentacle pressed his own hips down against Starscream's and an exceedingly unsettling realisation struck him like an angry Megatron and ran away with his dignity.

"Um." He said.

Starscream raised an optic ridge.

"I think it –" The meek voice died to nothing; Perceptor's azure optics widened as he tried to comprehend his situation and rationalise quite why an organic mess of tentacles, eyes and blubber was trying to get two mechanoids to copulate. "I think it wants us to, uh, oh Primus," he paused and gabbled out the end of the sentence in a mangled parody of real speech, "reachsomesortofcoitalbliss!"

"Oh?" For someone who had just been felt up by a grotesque lump of flesh and had been told that it wanted him to have sex with someone he compulsively tried to kill, Starscream was far too calm. "I suppose it'll let me go if we do that?"

"I suppose so." Admitted Perceptor quietly.

"Hmm. And I can't really seem to move."

"No."

"So I suppose that you're going to have to do all the work?"

Perceptor felt his energon processor lurch. OhPrimusohPrimusohPrimus. How did he get himself into these sorts of messes...? Maybe he should ask Prime to assign him as Wheeljack's assistant – being periodically blown up by whatever malfunctioning gizmo of the inventor's had to be easier than being manipulated into sex by an extra-terrestrial squid.

"It seems that way." He managed, somehow keeping his voice from wavering.

"Get a move on, then. I have other places to be." Demanded the pinned robot, watching the scientist's azure optics unflinchingly. Perceptor silently cursed to himself – but at least it was a Decepticon. How much more awkward it would have been if it was another Autobot, who he would have to see on a regular basis. At least next time he saw Starscream he could just shoot the jet and no one would ask questions.

Rigidly, he eased himself up, feeling the pressure on the back of his head relax but not withdraw to let him free. He brought his grey hands up stiffly to run over the air commander's pectoral vents. Starscream sneered at him.

"At least make it enjoyable, you fool."

Perceptor fisted his hands once or twice, swore never to mention this to anyone, glanced around in case anyone he knew was watching and then squashed the part of his mind that was screaming obscenities at him and accusing him of being insane.

Bringing his mouth forward again, he whispered in the Decepticon's audio sensor as he dragged his fingers up the grey waist, around to brush on the glass of the golden cockpit canopy. "Like this?"

To his surprise, the jet shuddered and moaned, arching beneath him. Taking courage from this apparent sign of enjoyment, he rocked his grey pelvic gimbal forwards once, scraping it over Starscream's red, enticing a jerk and another slight whimper.

He saw Starscream's arms tense against the restraints that bound him. Almost idly, he trailed his fingers to the pectoral vents again, this time having the bravery to delve inside and twist his fingers elegantly about the blades of the turbines. The air commander's mouth fell open, red optics dimmed to inky maroon.

"F-faster," he hissed, the frequency of his voice dropped from that usual splitting screech that made Perceptor want to claw his own aural circuitry from his head to a sultry low-toned gasping. Acquiescing, not wanting to drag this out longer than was necessary, Perceptor sped up his caresses. Starscream's limbs trembled.

Without knowing why, the Autobot scientist captured up those grey lips in a kiss, swallowing the moans he was coaxing forth. Beneath him, Starscream responded all too readily, thrusting his hips up and causing Perceptor to squeak in surprise at the sensation.

Regaining control of himself and learning fast, the Autobot tried another sensuous whisper. "You like that...?"

He knew he was doing something right when Starscream's moans and tremours escalated. Unsure quite what came over him, but suddenly taken up by a moment of exhilarated daring, Perceptor trailed his glossa over the grey throat when Starscream tilted his head back.

The result was instantaneous; a heated whimper of the scientist's name. Perceptor felt himself shiver, wondering why he had ever thought this would be a bad idea. Of course, moron, he told himself, sex is supposed to feel good, or else why would Tracks and Smokescreen keep doing it every night in the Ark when they think no one can hear them screaming?

From the unfocussed look in Starscream's optics, it was clear that the jet was fast approaching his overload. Taking a moment to wonder at the sight that was so precious and so intimate, of having the amazingly powerful and frighteningly psychotic jet at his mercy (a thought more arousing than he would have thought), Perceptor slid one of his legs between the two grey thighs, grinding it up against the red plating.

Just before he could tip Starscream over the edge, however, one of those Primus-forsaken tentacles snaked around his torso and began probing him in places he'd forgotten existed, places that were uncomfortably intimate and oh fragging Sigma he hoped they'd keep doing that.

And, as that damned appendage twined about his aft and dipped between the plates to stroke over his vulnerable inner circuitry, Perceptor's fingers tensed and scraped metal without his accord. Starscream's body clenched in a powerful climax, the Decepticon shrieking the Autobot's name to the heavens.

Hearing his name fall from Starscream's lips without the usual dripping sarcasm or homicidal mania was enough, when twinned with the unwanted but amazing stroking directly over his nervous sensors, to drive Perceptor to his own overload, though, as was always the case, he was much quieter than the jet. He moaned, rather than screamed, his partner's name and dropped forward to drape in a most undignified way over the other robot.

Finally, those cursed tentacles withdrew, living Starscream remarkably unslimed and restraint-free – not that the seeker could find the energy to move at that moment, as it was taking all his concentration to remember quite how his central processor worked. An ungodly squelching signified to the two, or would have done if they had yet regained control of their audio sensors, that the perverted tentacled blob was retreating into whatever dregs of its den still remained.

Sluggishly, Perceptor remembered how his limbs worked and pressed himself up into a sitting position, sliding to perch beside the Decepticon rather than straddling him.

"Uh," he started, but Starscream waved a limp hand.

"That was surprisingly good." He stated, his voice wavering substantially.

"Thanks, I think."

"I imagine it would probably be better without that giant malformed amoeba watching us with two thousand eyes."

"Yes, I imagine it would have been." Perceptor nodded in awkward acknowledgement, both anticipating and dreading the direction this conversation was taking.

"So," with a smirk that the Autobot found both deliciously arousing and worryingly dominating, Starscream heaved himself up on his elbows, "want to try it without?"

"Uh." Glancing around to make sure that there was still a complete lack of anyone he knew or who might use this to blackmail him later, and satisfied by the scenery that was devoid of metallic bodies, Perceptor shrugged. "Well, all right."

Starscream was over him before he could think further, and, in the interests of science, of course, he learned how a Decepticon drove a mech to overload.