Obedience

A follow up to Megatron's Special Private Time...:P
Slowly (or not so slowly, really) getting a little kinkier, I think.

Megatron shoved Starscream up against the wall, bracing his knee against the jet’s groin plates. He could already feel the tic up in speed of the jet’s capacitors, something like fear. Fear was acceptable. Anger too. Especially effete, impotent anger. The best kind.

“I have done what you asked, my lord,” Starscream breathed, as if afraid to make too loud a noise. He froze against the wall, hardly daring to ventilate.

“Yes,” Megatron said, gently. “I know.”

Starscream looked confused. Megatron was acting angry, but the words didn’t match at all. “M-my lord?”

“You are obedient, Starscream. You know how I value your obedience,” Megatron purred. Unlike Starscream, he knew exactly how this was going to end, but it was delicious to watch Starscream think he could change anything. He ran his hands down the jet’s rib struts, feeling the jet shiver. “Come now, Starscream, I think you have suffered enough.”

“I-I, uhh,” Starscream trailed off. His confusion was nearly as good as his enraged humiliation, Megatron decided. He’d have to see the second again to compare.

“Now,” Megatron said, his hands slipping to the jet’s interface hatch, “You deserve a reward,”

Starscream tried to look over the bulk of his chestplating and cockpit to his hatch. He bit down on a whimper.

“You’re not afraid of me, are you, Starscream? You don’t need to be afraid of me. You know that, right?”

“Yes, Lord Megatron,” Starscream took refuge in a bland agreement with palpable relief. He gasped as Megatron ran a talon across his interface module. Even from here, Megatron could feel the restrained pulse of the datastream. Poor Starscream, going around for cycles upon cycles, aching with desire. He pulled the jet back to his chair, pulling Starscream to the floor in front of him, leading the jet by his module. Whimpering, the jet had no choice but to follow. The datastream hammered against Megatron’s palm. Very good. This would work out just as he planned. He paused, holding the module a hand-span above his access port. “Would you like me to?” The corner of his mouth jerked up. A test. And Starscream saw it, and passed.

“Whatever my lord requires of me,” he choked. Noble show, Starscream, Megatron thought. He connected the jet’s module to his access port. Starscream’s ventilation system whistled under the strain. His datastream pulsed so quickly it was hard to tell when one beat ended and the next began. Oh, this was better than he remembered. Better than Barricade, though that had been a…necessary reminder. And since Barricade had given him this idea, he was inclined to forgive the little pervert.

Starscream reached for Megatron’s module, green lit and ready. “No,” Megatron said. “I have done this to you enough times. Your turn to do it to me.” He fought to keep the smirk off his face. The jet looked wary, but his datastream betrayed his excitement. He was nearing overload, barely holding on. Megatron reached over, and brushed the jet’s own, empty access port with an idle thumb. With a roar of his turbines, Starscream overloaded, quivering, bracing himself on the arms of the chair.

“Well,” Megatron said, “a little involuntary response, was that?” Starscream must have been worked up beyond control if his turbines kicked on in overload.

“My lord,” Starscream gasped, his head bent over Megatron’s knees. Megatron tipped the jet’s head up. “Did you enjoy that?”

The jet’s voice came in broken gasps. “Yes. My lord.”

“Good.” He languorously disconnected the module from his port, keeping it loosely in one hand. “Now,” he said, “It is my turn.”

The wash of expressions over the jet’s face burned in Megatron’s module. If he didn’t control himself, he wouldn’t enjoy this as much as he should. He thought back to Barricade—the robot’s bland expression, no desire, no shame, as he took Megatron’s module in his mouth. He fought back into control and detached his own module. “Kiss it,” he said.

The jet, eyes flickering, leaned over, and nipped the module with his labial plates, softly. Ahhhh. His hesitation read to Megatron’s module as teasing. Barricade had been all-too-matter-of-fact about it. This was what he liked better. “Again. More.”

Starscream paused, then kissed the module again.

“Use your glossa.”

A little fire sparkled in the jet’s eyes, but he bent over again, and touched his glossa—it trembled, to Megatron’s delight—to the module. “Yes,” he said. He had better not need to give the jet another hint of what he wanted him to do.

The jet looked up, once more. He caught Megatron’s steady gaze, fixed on the spectacle of his second in command, kneeling between his legs and kissing his module. Megatron squeezed the jet’s own module in his hand, slowly. He flicked the tip of it with his thumb. The jet shuddered. His eyes still watching Megatron’s face, he lowered his mouth onto the module. “Take it,” Megatron breathed, releasing his hand from his module.

The jet had no choice. He either had to pull the whole module into his mouth, or risk dropping it on the floor. That was clearly not an option. “Yesssss,” Megatron breathed. Better than with Barricade, even though the smaller bot’s technique was better. Barricade had wrapped his glossa deftly around the module like an extended sealing collar. Starscream didn’t know what to do, so his glossa fumbled awkwardly around the sudden intrusion of the module in his mouth. Still, the struggle was erotic, the glossa bumping against the module’s sensitive tip, releasing a pulse of datastream in return. The jet jumped back, unused to a datastream pulse in his mouth. He opened his mouth, startled.

“No, Starscream,” Megatron warned. “You know what I want. And how highly I value your obedience.”

The jet lowered his head, glossa swooping out of his mouth to reseat the module. His eyes burned with a heat Megatron could feel across his thighs. Delicious. He leaned forward, whispering in the jet’s audio receptors. “I,” he said, “am going to overload in your mouth. And you are going to be a good little bot, aren’t you?” The jet whimpered, but after a moment, his glossa began working the module with some concentration, flicking down the shaft, teasing the nodule at the tip. Megatron groaned, torn between closing his eyes to focus on the sensation and keeping his eyes wide open to enjoy the spectacle. The overload tore through him faster than he expected, the energon hose shooting his overload in the jet’s mouth. The overload took the jet off guard—he jerked his head back at the sudden sensation in his throat. He froze, Megatron’s overload filling his mouth. Another contrast, Megatron thought, in the haze of his overload. Barricade had swallowed it without hesitation. Neatly. Cleanly. Starscream had frozen, and the energon was slowly seeping out around his forced-open labial plates. Messier, but oh Primus, it aroused Megatron again, the sight of his overload dripping from his second in command’s helpless, obedient mouth.

He retrieved his module from Starscream’s mouth, gently, and stowed it away. Messy like this, but he’d enjoy remembering this as he cleaned it later. Starscream still stood, as if sensor locked, shocked and humiliated. A trail of energon ran to his chin.

Megatron leaned over to him. “Swallow it,” he whispered. He watched the shuddering of the jet’s throat plates as he complied. That was the kind of blind obedience he wanted from his second in command. And the kind of power—that at a word, he could get his second to drink his overload.

He pulled the jet onto his lap. Starscream resisted, a little, stiffening, but no more. Megatron stroked his back, the bulges of his engines, the flares of his wings. “Shhhhh,” he murmured in the jet’s audio receptors. “Good,” he said. “You were so good.” The jet shuddered in his arms.