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Chained, collared, restrained. By all means captive, and yet, Shockwave’s pet abomination nettled Starscream continuously.
As he strode into the room where Predaking was locked up, he expected to look forward to another round of fruitless training. Another half-cycle in a gloomy, dank room, with a stubborn, ornery dragon-former who refused to listen to commands.
What he did not expect was for Predaking’s spike to be out. Fully extended and pointed at the sky without shame.
“Primus!” Starscream yelped and fumbled his shock baton, dropping it with a dull clunk. “Put that thing away!”
Predaking swaggered up to him, tail lashing. And spike out. He made it all the way to the end of his chain before his collar held him back.
“We must mate,” he declared.
“Why!?” Starscream scrambled to retrieve his weapon, snatching it off the ground and aiming it at the shameless beast.
“I need a mate to sate my rut,” said Predaking. “Naturally.”
Starscream supposed that explained the peculiar stench in here he’d begun to notice. Another discreet whiff left no doubt as to Predaking’s condition. Starscream found this surprised him. He hadn't expected a beast as ancient as Predaking to still retain rut coding.
Said beast sniffed at his middle, and Starscream jumped away. “Get back!” He swung the prod, striking him across the snout.
Predaking snuffled and reared back slightly, looking bemused. “Your methods of “training” are useless. If you were serious about subduing me, you would have brought a more robust arsenal. All your ticklish beatings were practically love taps.”
“Have you gone insane?”
“Hardly," rumbled Predaking, smoke curling from the upturned corners of his maw. "Roughhousing is its own kind of seduction.”
“Spoken like a beast!”
“So you say. But your kind isn't too far off from beasts either.”
Starscream took a pause from being appalled by everything else about this situation to being appalled by Predaking's arrogance. “Excuse me? My kind? And what kind would that be, pray tell?”
“Seekers, obviously. Seekers and Dragonformers possess compatible arrays.”
Starscream recoiled. “Lies!”
“Surely, you are also in want of a mate to kindle the fires of your loins. Lacking a trine, you must be in need of attention.”
“You don’t qualify, you beast. Go back to your corner.” Starscream swung the prod at his face again, getting more offended by the klik.
“You should embrace it.” Predaking once again lowered his snout to a level approximately at Starscream’s waist. “By the smell of it, you haven’t interfaced recently, and it’s making you exceptionally difficult.”
“Now, look here! I have plenty of partners who adore my company, and I– ah- ahem.” Starscream cut himself short, not sure why he was bothering with an argument. “I mean. That isn't any concern of yours.”
Starscream was doing the absolute most to keep his optics off Predaking’s spike. Which was– he would like to stress– still very much standing out in the open. To his credit, it was impossible not to stare at such a behemoth.
‘Even Megatron can’t compare’ was the backhanded, unprompted thought that came to him.
Predaking was a big mech. Dragon. Whatever. Gargantuan equipment was par for the course. But what really held Starscream’s attention were the mysterious sacs attached to the base of his spike. A dark pair of orbs, weighted with some sort of bearings, perhaps, swung pendulously under his shaft. A chitinous layer of armored scales covered their surface, glowing faintly red from within, they looked warm and heavy to touch.
And then, the spike itself: overlapping golden armored plates formed a rough and formidable surface. A line of spines under the tip of the upper side continued down the shaft to the base. These would have a painful little bite when dragged along the roof of his valve. He always did enjoy a bit of pain.
A fond sigh escaped him at the sight, which he disguised as a cough.
What was he thinking!? Had he gone insane?
Regardless, Starscream was so enamored– er, distracted – by Predaking’s scent that it was making his valve pulse. He’d been around Predaking for too long. He should have rushed out and quarantined himself until Predaking’s rut had passed, but the form of that impressive spike kept him frozen in place.
It seemed, unfortunately, he was sexually compatible with this abomination.
“You’re intrigued,” observed Predaking.
Starscream sputtered, gesturing at his array. “W-well! It’s massive. Where am I supposed to look? And what are those ugly, bulbous things under it?”
“My transfluid reservoirs.”
“Why are they hanging out of you like that?”
“You’re awfully inquisitive about my species. You truly know nothing. Even less of a reason you should be taming me.”
“I’m not an expert on your filthy anatomy,” snapped Starscream.
“Clearly.” Predaking chuffed in a way that sounded like a sigh. “We dragons run hot. The sacs being external keeps our nanites at a moderate temperature to sire our clutches. Do you wish to feel?”
“Feel?” asked Starscream. His intake had gotten incredibly dry. “Now why would I do that? Do you think I’m some kind of rube?”
Or perhaps Predaking was the rube. He must be an idiot, entrusting Starscream with such a delicate part of his frame. Starscream should take advantage of his stupidity. At the least, giving those ugly things a good, rough fondling might quell Predaking’s beastly temperament. Teach him a lesson for having such potent transfluid out, tempting, where just any unsuspecting mech could–
“I’m very virile. You can smell it,” said Predaking.
Caught once again, Starscream stammered. “I-I don’t smell anything!”
“You’re a worse liar than I have been told.”
Starscream worked his mouth uselessly. “Even if you were supposedly virile, and I wanted to mate, you would never be enough for me. I only want the best.”
“My seed is more than enough for an ex-lord of the skies. More than you deserve, Seeker.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.”
“Very well. See if you can handle being my mate.”
“Maybe I will!” Starscream felt like he was steadily losing the plot, but his helm was too full of pheromones to care as much about what he’d initially found distasteful. Ah, Predaking’s attitude. Yes, that was right. He needed to be trained. Starscream preferred an obedient mate. Someone who recognized his power.
“I’ll have you know I was a legend back in Vos for my interfacing prowess. I had my pick of virile mechs as Winglord. I know what I’m working with.”
“Then you won’t mind showing off that prowess, Your Highness.”
“That’s Lord, to you. Now, behave yourself, while I give you a taste of my skill.”
Just a taste. That wouldn’t hurt.
Starscream circled around to Predaking’s hindquarters and dropped to his knees, crouching under his belly. He didn’t trust Predaking not to bite him, or Primus forbid, pin him down if he approached from the front.
The scent was much stronger down here. Dense enough to make Starscream’s head spin. Transfluid reservoirs were normally internal, but when they were out like this, the scent of nanites was enticingly strong. So much delicious transfluid, pulsing just under the surface of these unprotected sacs.
Lubricant began to leak steadily from Starscream’s valve, pooling under his panel.
Predaking made an impatient huffing noise and rocked his hips, causing his sacs to slap Starscream in the face.
“What!? What is it?” snarled Starscream, batting them out of the way.
“It’s been a while for you, hasn’t it, Seeker?”
“What are you talking about?”
“You’re getting lost in my scent like a youngling in their first heat.”
“I am not.”
“Then stop admiring them and lick them. A good carrier licks the sacs all over to get acquainted.”
“I know that! Don't condescend to me!”
Cybertron forbid this dumb beast thought his technique was rudimentary. How embarrassing. Nonetheless, Starscream had no idea what he was doing here.
Testing the waters, he elected to first press his face against the sacs. Their warm weight on his derma was tempting. With his glossa, he rolled the sacs one at a time, bathing them each in oral lubricants, tracing around the weightiest parts, sucking and licking into the seam between them.
Predaking’s sacs twitched under the attention of his glossa, filling and warming. Starscream had never heard of carriers participating in this type of an act, but found it to be particularly satisfying. It felt as though he had more of a role in warming up the transfluid, getting it ready. Sucking one sac more intensely into his mouth coaxed a thick spill of prefluid from Predaking’s spike to roll down his back and wings. What a pleasing ritual.
Starscream opened his panel and began playing with his valve, caressing his node. A competitive fire grew in his spark with every suck; every intake of Predaking’s rut-scent. He would prove to be the best carrier, not some second-rate one. It was his duty as Second in Command and ex-Winglord to uphold his reputation of competence.
“Enough.” Predaking lifted his hips up, out of reach of Starscream’s mouth. “I need to check if you’re ready.”
“Check? Just what are you checking for?”
Starscream gasped as Predaking lowered his helm, closed his jaws around one of his ankles and dragged him flat onto his back by a leg. Then he lowered his hindquarters again so Starscream’s face was shoved into his spike. On his other end, Predaking dug his glossa into Starscream’s valve. Tasting him.
The heat of his ex-vents teased his stiff node. Starscream couldn’t rub it with Predaking’s maw blocking his valve, and it was making him frustrated. Predaking didn’t leave him that way for long, though.
His long glossa pushed in until it flicked against his forge, which opened at the stimulation. Starscream arched. Having Predaking’s glossa squirming up there, giving a hot, wet, slippery massage to the neck of his forge felt wonderful. Then Predaking slid even deeper, teasing in and out of his chamber. Starscream hadn't been stoked in so long, and the sensation was more marvelously intense than he remembered.
“Your forge quickens well for your age,” said Predaking once he’d tasted his fill. “Your one good quality.”
Starscream wished he would stop saying nonsense and get to the spiking. Predaking was one to talk about age. He’d been created from an ancient pile of bones.
“Oh, for the love of Primus, just put it in,” said Starscream.
“Get on your knees and present.”
“Don’t tell me what to do,” Starscream snapped, assuming the beast position. It figured Predaking preferred to do it this way, but Starscream appreciated the suggestion as well. It was easier to become sparked in this position, and Starscream was eager to kindle in one mating session. Any good commander worth his title should know how to get knocked up quickly.
“Mm. So you do follow orders.” Predaking braced his forelegs at Starscream’s sides and lined himself up.
Starscream grunted as he was mounted forcefully. The pain of the stretch was far less intense than he’d expected for such large equipment. Megatron’s enormous, unwieldy spike was good for one thing, at least.
Predaking’s little spines ground along his internal nodes, raking the top of his valve just as deliciously painfully as Starscream had imagined. Spike gradually filled his forge until his abdominal plating bulged.
It hurt a bit, but was so necessary. So stimulating.
Predaking growled once their arrays were snugly connected, the noise reverberating pleasantly through Starscream.
This might take some time. Starscream intended to drain him dry.
—
Starscream had been suspiciously absent from the bridge for a while, Megatron noted.
Soundwave confirmed he’d been training Predaking. Allegedly. But training for hours? That signaled trouble.
Megatron stomped to the training grounds to demand an explanation from Starscream, and was greeted with an audial-ful of Starscream’s shrieking before he’d even entered.
“I t-told you to stay in!” Starscream screeched in the distance. “Stop pulling– ough!”
His complaints descended into yowling. Megatron knew the like. Starscream’s interface cries were unfortunately very distinctive.
He smelled them before he saw them. The stench of ozone and musk choking the training area rolled over him upon stepping into the room, where he could make out the steam-cloaked figure of a dragonformer going at his prey. Predaking’s back was to Megatron, and he hadn’t noticed him.
It became apparent Starscream was pinned underneath, being drilled open by the beast. Not much of his Second was visible aside from his rear end and sloppy, upturned valve, stretched taut around Predaking’s rugged shaft as it squelched in and out around their mingled overloads. Transfluid sacs slapped against Starscream's backside, dangling with messy threads of fluids every time Predaking’s hips connected and lifted away.
Predaking’s spine arched. Tail lashed. Balls tightened and he stiffened, roaring, driving himself to the hilt. The inflated base of his spike popped past Starscream’s abused rim, causing Starscream to howl as Predaking roughly anchored himself.
Megatron could now see what had been causing his Second so much grief as Predaking pulled out, releasing his knot with a pop. Then shoved it back in, the brutal motion punctuated by lustful cries from Starscream.
Predaking forced his knot back in one last time, circling his hips and purring. The knot rubbed and churned Starscream’s hole as Predaking repositioned and squatted over him, grinding lazily to eke out the remainder of his overload.
Starscream had one of his own, howling high and long as he was fucked on his knot. His legs jerked up and lubricant sprayed from his valve in several bursts. Then, silence. Aside from heavy venting and fans whirring, Starscream didn't make a sound. Perhaps he’d passed out.
Assessing that the situation was under control, Megatron left them to their degeneracy and returned to the bridge.
Reluctantly, he would accept Starscream’s unconventional method of taming the beast, if only because it had the additional benefit of taming his awful Second-In-Command.