Chapter Text
"He wants WHAT ?!"
Windblade’s indignation wasn’t enough to shatter the windows of Iacon’s makeshift war room, but it did make them rattle in a way that made the Prime standing opposite her wince.
"As I said, Windblade,” Optimus sighed, “I understand that this is an… unconventional demand. The entire command council refused to consider it, of course, but Starscream insisted that it was the one condition he was not willing to negotiate on."
“Of course he wasn’t.” Windblade scoffed as she paced by the largest window; the strategic viewport that looked out over Iacon’s fortifications and the battlefields beyond. “Is this some kind of sick joke? Is he trying to… distract us? That must be it. This whole pacifist act is just a way to get our guard down. I bet he’s massing an army around Metroplex as we speak-!”
She pressed her face to the window, aching to see her Titan in the distance, but then shutters came down with a woosh that plunged the room into sudden darkness that lasted for some nanoklicks, before the automated lights overhead hummed and clicked into life.
“Please sit down, Windblade,” Optimus asked, still standing by the window’s shutter release button as he gestured to the round table where countless lives had been saved and doomed by the mere words passed over it.
“Metroplex is safe,” he assured her, only seating himself after she had reluctantly done so. “We’ve had eyes and ears on Starscream for vorns now, ever since Megatron’s demise. He’s made no advances on our fortresses, and there’s been no signs of a planned assault taking place anywhere.”
“So you actually believe him.” Windblade crossed her arms over her chest. She’d had respect for the Prime since she first met him, not only because of the Matrix that joined his spark to that of every other savior of Cybertron’s past. Even if she didn’t fully believe the Mistress of Flame’s zealous prophecies, Windblade could not deny that the mech sitting opposite her had earned his place on the right side of history.
But the words he gave her now reeked of naivety and inexperience, amateur politics and blind faith. There was no way an entire room of Cybertron’s finest, the ones who had survived the last billion years of battle only because they hadn’t fallen for such obvious traps, could all agree that Starscream was someone worthy of trust. It wasn’t just Windblade’s disgust at the whole proposition clouding her judgement; Starscream had been the number one target in every single mission outside of Iacon. He was to be killed on sight, with extreme prejudice, no matter the cost. If anyone had the chance to destroy him, they were expected to take it. He was simply too dangerous to keep alive.
Windblade had almost managed it once, during the battle for Omega Supreme. Apparently she was the only one who had ever come so close to knocking Starscream offline for good. Omega’s voice had been in the back of her brain, warning her of an incoming strike when her sword plunged into Starscream’s chassis— she hadn’t even realised he was there, not until he was bleeding all over her, and he hadn’t even been armed. Only the shock of his presence, of how easily her blade had cleaved through his protoform, had stopped her from finishing him off. He took to the skies with her sword still stuck inside him, and a vorn later that same sword was returned to her suite in a box with no label or name on it. Allegedly it had taken that long for Starscream to recover from the wound, and by then Megatron had been reduced to a rust-bitten corpse.
Now that public enemy number one, the Autobot’s top priority for extermination, was in charge of the Decepticons, he was supposed to be less of a threat? Windblade wished she’d never left Caminus in the first place. Maybe what Starscream truly wanted was revenge. He’d waited this long to ensure he was fully healed, so he could do to her what she had done to him. Or, more likely, even worse.
“If he truly wished to destroy us like his predecessor,” Optimus tried to argue, “he has had ample opportunity to do so. He would not need control of Metroplex to shatter our ranks, and he is not one for wasting his time on anything unnecessary. We can only take him at his word.”
"So you think we can trust him,” Windblade said, deadpan in disbelief. “So long as I do what I'm told."
It was ridiculous, insulting to even consider. She was not something to be bartered with or traded over, and the fact that Starscream apparently thought she was should have been reason enough to throw out any offers he tried to make.
Optimus closed his eyes in silent agreement. He’d learned how to speak best with his eyes, when he was often too exhausted to waste words. "No-one will force you to do this, Windblade. And no-one will think less of you for refusing-"
Windblade laughed. She actually laughed, a full blown chuckle, right in the face of a Prime. If the Mistress of Flame had seen such disrespect, she’d have been excommunicated from Caminus for the rest of her life.
"Bullslag,” she spat. “I'm the only thing standing between millions of innocent people who've just survived a civil war, and them finally knowing what peace feels like. Anyone who wouldn't hate me for saying no shouldn't be calling themselves an Autobot."
She stared at the Prime’s hands, cupped together on the table with little strain in the cables of his fingers. His tension was stored all in his shoulders, which she could see were sagging despite how stubbornly he tried to keep his spinal strut upright. From a distance he could effortlessly pull off being the poster child of Primus, but up close it was easy to see the toll that so long spent fighting had taken on him. He was a machine worked to its limit, ready to break down, and if peace was finally so close within his grasp then he was willing to let his ruin happen only when it had to.
Windblade found herself wondering what he was like around Elita One. She was likely the only one on Cybertron who had ever seen this Prime at his most vulnerable, perhaps the only reason he had managed to keep going for so long. Elita didn’t need a Matrix or Prime by her side to command respect, not when her pedigree spoke for her, but their union was one of love as well as practicality.
Windblade didn’t believe in the myth of Sanctum Eternas, so-called sparks chosen by Primus Himself and welded together across any and all universes, but Optimus and Elita made a convincing argument for their existence. Of course Primus would put aside someone for one of his Primes, even as the rest of his children were busy slaughtering each other.
But it could all end tomorrow. All she had to do was not die, and not try and kill someone, just for a few hours.
"This will get us peace, right?” she asked, still watching Optimus’ hands. “No more Decepticons? No more war?"
So many people had died, because of conversations like this at this very table. She hadn’t even left Caminus’ hotspot when some of their fates had been sealed. Her entire life was only a minuscule fraction of the war that had ravaged her Creator, and now she had the power to end it all. It didn’t seem fair to everyone else. What had she done to earn such a right, other than be born in the right place at the wrong time?
"That is what Starscream promised,” Optimus told her; he must have known that it didn’t answer her question, but he said it anyway. “And though he had a reputation for subterfuge under Megatron's command, we have no justifiable reason to doubt him now. He has ordered every Decepticon army to disband, and those who refuse will be hunted down and executed as traitors.”
She was sure that was what he’d told them. She wasn’t sure if it was worth believing. “Did he say… what he wanted me for?”
She could imagine a hundred possible reasons, none of them innocent. Revenge could come in many forms. He’d remembered her well enough to have her sword returned when it was pulled out of his body. He’d remember her every time he felt the scar that was surely left behind.
“He refused to say.” Optimus spread his hands flat on the table now, squashing down the ghosts lingering on its surface. “All we know is that he wishes for you to fly to the border of Metroplex and Vos, alone, where he will meet you this evening. We can monitor you at the rendezvous point, but it may be difficult to follow you to any secondary locations.”
Windblade nodded as she closed her eyes, rubbing the markings on her cheeks. Being near Metroplex should have been reassuring, but it only made her even more suspect of a trap laid in her Titan. She could ask Caminus for strength, or Solus for guidance, but what good would either do her against the likes of Starscream? That mech dwelled somewhere between here and the Pit. She’d be better off asking Unicron for a blessing.
“He might notice I’m being watched,” she pointed out. “Or he’ll have me checked for any bugs, or trackers. He’ll look for any excuse to go back on his word. I won’t risk it.”
She had her blade, and her wings. That was all she would need. Windblade rose from the table with one in her hand and the others preparing for take off.
“Tell Chromia that if I don’t check in by morning, she should raise the alarm to Elita One.” She gave the command over her shoulder as her sure stride carried her to the balcony. "And she can have my sword, if you manage to find it with my body."
“You’re leaving now?” Optimus followed after her at a distance— he’d learned from experience not to stand too close to a jet when it was ready to fly.
“No point in delaying it,” Windblade said, pausing her stride only when she was in the naked air of Cybertron— she could give a sniper the easiest kill of their life by just standing there, but that would have been a mercy compared to whatever Starscream had in store.
“If he’s not there yet, I’ll wait,” she decided. “But I think he will be there. He’ll want to get this over with as much as I do.”
She didn’t like how sure she was of what Starscream was thinking, what moves he would make. But at least it was better than going in blind. Optimus gave her a single nod before she activated her T Cog, letting her engines and the rusty wind carry her over what was left of glimmering Iacon.
(But at least the capitol wasn’t yet ruins and rubble like Vos.)
Chapter Text
Starscream watched her descend from the sky with what she could only call a predatory grin. Any expression he made looked like a threat of some kind, but it was worse when he looked happy. A happy Starscream must have meant that something terrible had just happened.
“You’re here early.” He waited until she landed on her two feet to greet her, but when he reached out his hand she flinched away with a warning grip on her sheathed sword.
“You should be surprised to see me here at all.” She eyed his claws for a long while, until he eventually lowered them back to his side with a tut through his teeth.
“So abrasive, Windblade. But that’s to be expected, I suppose.” He brushed his empty claws down one thigh as his wings twitched, betraying how slighted he truly felt. His optics glanced down at her own hand, the one braced on the same blade that had almost ended him just a vorn ago, but the red lights didn’t snap wide with fear or even blink. He only smirked as he looked back at her face.
“Will you walk with me?” he asked.
Windblade raised an eyebrow, still holding her sword grip. “I thought you hated being on the ground.”
Starscream laughed, but it was a humourless bark. “Even if that was true, it’s hard to hold a conversation in the air, where we’d have to yell over each other's commlines.”
Windblade narrowed her eyes, reluctantly dropping her hand from the sheathe bolted at her waist. “Well, that depends. Where are we going?”
“A safe place. Call it a sanctuary of mine. Just follow me.” He beckoned her with those deceptive claws as he turned away, apparently expecting her to just obey. Windblade looked behind her, at Metroplex’s towering core module. The sun was starting to set behind him, and he cast a shadow over her like a moon over its host planet. He was watching her, and apart from his distant spark-pulse he was silent. Windblade tried to take comfort in the spark alone as she followed Starscream at a servos-length, even as it faded the further they ventured into Vos’ desiccated streets.
“These ruins around you were my home, once,” Starscream called out to her. He must have known she was hanging back, though he didn’t look over his shoulder to check that she was even there. “I can still recognise some of it, if I wish to torture myself. I imagine Caminus would be the same for you, if you only had his skeleton to remember him by.”
Windblade scanned every cluttered road she was led down, but now she had to stop in her tracks. It felt like she’d just received a threat against her progenitor. Starscream could take over Cybertron easily with his new armies, but Caminus was just as likely to be a target for his conquest. The Titan himself was in the same solar system, no longer stranded millions of light years away in exile. All Starscream would need is a Cityspeaker who could communicate with Caminus, or a means to destroy his spark.
She almost pulled out her sword again. His back was turned. Just like last time, he wouldn’t even know it was coming until it was already sticking out through his chest. And this time she wouldn’t miss his chamber. This time she could finish the job.
…But first she’d have to pull out her sword. She didn’t. Starscream had paused up ahead, standing on the edge of a pit, seemingly waiting for her to catch up.
“Down there was our museum,” he told her, pointing to a maze of giant struts and melted metal sheeting that looked like it had been thrown down into the pit. In his other hand he held a hologram projector, which showed a blue-tinged memory of what the maze had once been. The scale was hard to imagine, but it looked more like a palace than anything else, and around it were streets made of mirrors. A snapshot of Vos, before its decimation. Windblade had been told that all records of the city had been destroyed as surely as the city itself.
“A lot of Quintesson leftovers were stored there,” Starscream went on. “All gone now. You’d think it would be freeing, having the evidence of our slavery eradicated. But it only makes me fear that, if someone tries to cage us again, we won’t realise until it’s too late.”
“You weren’t alive when the Quintessons were around,” Windblade pointed out, though she couldn’t take her eyes off the grotesque structure that had once been such a proud building.
“Neither were you,” he jabbed back, though she thought it was supposed to be playful. “But we can at least agree that they weren’t Quintus Prime’s proudest inventions. We had crystal gardens right next door.” He breezed right into a completely separate topic as if he was catching a slip stream on the wind. “Crystal City stole the idea from us. Turned the farming techniques into a factory business. We never forgave them.”
“Why did you summon me here, Starscream?” Windblade didn’t have the patience for whatever mind games he was trying to pull this time. If there was a sniper aiming an infra-red dot at her, let them shoot it. If there was a missile bombardment aimed at Caminus, let it fly free. She could deal with imminent death, if it had to come. She was just sick of being toyed with.
Then Starscream turned to face her, and she was shocked because it was like she was looking in a mirror. She knew how she looked at her worst, from painting and repainting her markings on every single day, no matter what. Starscream looked even worse than that. In the twilight shadows of Vos’ corpse, his eyes were sunken so deep into his face that they looked more like bare red sockets than optics, and the face itself was tarnished and scratched. The scar that he must have sustained from her blade would have only been one of a dozen all over his body, if that face was an indication of what he tried to hide away.
“Because I’m tired, Windblade,” he answered, and his vocaliser cracked in a way that he couldn’t have hidden even if he tried to. “I’ve been tired of this war ever since its inception. Tired of letting a dead mech continue to play us against each other. Tired of having nowhere to go home to.”
He spread his arms out, gesturing to the wreckage that surrounded them, and by contrast his wings were limp on his back. He only had the strength to hold up one set of limbs.
“But… why me specifically?” Windblade pressed, though her voice now felt like a meagre thing in the vastness of Vos’ silence all around her.
“Because you’re a Seeker,” Starscream said, “just as I am.”
She blinked. She’d heard the word, the name, applied to Starscream and those like him before. The jets and fliers, who had almost all gone to the Decepticons when the seeds of war first took root. She’d never asked an Autobot for clarification, because if they were Decepticons she’d thought they’d all eventually be destroyed.
“I… don’t know what that means,” she confessed, and though Starscream deflated he didn’t seem as disappointed as she was braced for.
“No… you wouldn’t,” he muttered. Then he started walking again, away from the scene of an ancient crime. “Because this war has all but erased every trace of our culture. Our history. My brothers and sisters under the Decepticon banner are all that is left. Apart from you, of course.”
Windblade’s processor skipped a clock pulse, though she forced her peds to keep walking. “You’re… trying to make me defect?”
It didn’t make any sense even as she asked it; what good could one Cityspeaker do for the Decepticons this late in the war? Unless he thought she was the key to controlling Caminus, but he surely knew better than that. Only one person alive could hear Caminus’ thoughts, and even then the Mistress of Flame could never hope to control him directly.
“No,” Starscream told her, putting most of her new fears into stasis. “I’m trying to show you the true price of this war you chose to fight in.”
“I didn’t choose anything,” Windblade argued, now running to catch up so she could speak directly to his face. “Caminus is still the progeny of Primus and Cybertron. We have a duty to protect both.”
“But what if someone else had found Caminus first, Windblade?” Starscream asked instantly, as if he’d known exactly what she would say. “What if Megatron had managed to poison you with his words, convince you that he was Cybertron’s only hope?”
“He would never have managed that,” she scoffed. “He doesn’t have the Matrix.”
A smile flashed on his face, just before it malformed into a smirk. “I see. So Camiens don’t care about what side they’re fighting on, so long as that side has a Prime.”
“I didn’t mean…” She started to get angry, before she realised that he’d made a good point. He wasn’t trying to make her feel stupid. She simply hadn’t chosen her words correctly.
“You’re not thinking before you speak, Windblade,” Starscream said, confirming exactly what she managed to figure out on her own. “And that’s all I want; to speak with you. So we can get to know each other.”
He stopped walking now, and Windblade assumed the metal arch they were standing before was the entrance to his so-called sanctuary. Beyond the arch was a steep ramp that spiralled up a crumbling tower. It would be easy enough to throw someone off the top; the shock of the fall wouldn’t give them enough time to work their T Cog. Or you wouldn’t even need to get to the top, if there was an assassin or a bomb hidden in the walls.
A safe place, her aft. Windblade scowled at Starscream’s insufferable smile, which was the only way she could trick herself into not feeling sorry for him.
“You want to get to know me,” she echoed. “Is that it? So you can twist a knife in my back as deep as it will go?”
Starscream’s smile was wiped away, caught in the winds and vanished. She had to keep scowling to not feel guilty about it.
“You think I want to hurt you,” he stated. “And that hurts me in turn. We should be allies, Windblade. Your Titan borders my home, just as Caminus borders Cybertron. We are more alike than different, as much as that might offend you. So I’ll get straight to the point; what can I do to convince you that you’ll be safe with me?” He held out his empty hands, as if literally begging, but when Windblade looked at them she could only see each claw glinting at her.
“Not asking for me in the first place might have helped,” she informed him. No amount of tragedies or sob stories would have excused that simple fact of disrespect; that he had ordered her to be handed over like some kind of prize, or bargaining chip. And if he didn’t respect her as a person, how could she ever respect him as anything other than a war criminal?
“You’d never have agreed to seeing me if I didn’t go to such lengths,” he tried to explain, though the weariness of his vocaliser and the drag of his wings on the ground betrayed his forfeit. “But… you make a point. I suppose there’s no reason to pursue this further, if I’ve already ruined my chance.”
He started to scale the ramp beyond the arch, but turned to face her just before the spiral began. “I won’t keep you here against your will, Windblade. You can leave, and rest assured I will keep my word to Optimus Prime. There will be no more war between our people. We can start rebuilding whenever he is ready. Thank you, at least, for humouring me this long.”
He still smiled at her, even though she’d thrown every politeness right back in his face. It was what he deserved, after all. He was the Second-In-Command to a tyrant, now the tyrant himself. He had filled graveyard moons to the brim with rust and wasted energon. And only now he decided to feel guilty about it. Only now, that he had to suffer the consequences of this war like everyone else, was he ready to end it.
That was what she’d been told, about this sad mech climbing this empty tower by himself. He could easily fly up, with just a boost from the jets on his back, but he chose the hard way even though there was no-one to see him take it. He could have set his terms for peace at anything— a full pardon, a ship full of energon to take him anywhere, a statue built in his honor and placed in Iacon Plaza for everyone to spit on.
He hadn’t asked for any of that. Only her. All he’d wanted was her attention, and her listening ear.
“Wait, Starscream.” Windblade ran to the bottom of the ramp to call up, and she heard her own voice echo. She wasn’t sure how far up he was, if he could hear her, but after a klick he trudged back down and soon he was standing just above her height, crouching down slightly so their optics were level. His face was perfectly neutral, as if he was prepared for anything she was about to say, whether or not it was another damning insult.
“What did you… want to talk about?” she asked, and a glimmer dared to enter his optics as they flashed.
“Why don’t we start with some energon?” he said quietly, uncertainty, as he gestured upwards with his head. “I have a bottle of chilled Lifewire high-grade prepared for us, shipped in from my own quarters on the Nemesis.”
Windblade was not a native of Cybertron, but even she knew what Lifewire was; the prized liqueur brewed by Alchemist Prime himself. “I thought they were all destroyed.”
Now Starscream dared to grin. “This one was stashed away in my family’s cellar. I saved it before the Aerialbot assault came, and kept safe to serve once the war was over.”
“There’s no way you managed to keep it intact all this time.” He had to be bluffing, and she had to know for sure. She started to follow him up.
“You underestimate how important a good glass of high-grade can be, darling,” he said to her over his shoulder, and that last word echoed much further than just the walls of the tower.
Darling . Windblade should have been offended at the endearment, if it wasn’t so endearing.
Chapter Text
It wasn’t the billion-year old high-grade that eventually put Windblade in Starscream’s berth, but she supposed it did help speed things along. It just made sense to her, in the end. He wasn’t the same mech who had been under Megatron’s thumb for millions of years, if he’d ever truly been that mech at all. Not only was he trying to be someone better, he was succeeding. He had not been simply given the title of Winglord because he was the last survivor of the royals, but had earned it.
Vos was the first city after Iacon to be rebuilt from the ground-up, mostly thanks to his cooperation with the Autobots and surviving neutrals. He’d shown her the stratosheer windows, which gave the illusion of being amongst Cybertron’s clouds even at ground level, the delicate glass worked into intricate stained murals of the Thirteen and Daedalus and Primus between them, and the Skyspire, which kissed the fragile edge between atmos and the empty space beyond. He’d been so proud of his efforts, so eager to show her the fruits of his labor and the proof that he’d changed.
And when a mech built an entire city just to prove a point to you, how could you not kiss him for it? How could you reject the palace he wanted you to live in with him, the security and sanctum that he so painstakingly built for you?
Windblade believed that even if she wasn’t around, he still would have shown himself to be a capable Winglord. She wasn’t the sole motivation for his redemption— to say so would have been an insult to all his own efforts to be better for the sake of being better— but she was happy to have played a part in it. She was happy to be the one he came home to, no matter what the days had in store for them both.
And even when she woke up to an empty berth, she always knew where to find him.
“Good morning, my love.” She announced herself to the throne room, because he was so engrossed in the datapad in his hand that otherwise it would have taken klicks for him to notice her. But as soon as she spoke, she had his full attention with an instant smile.
“It is a good morning with you around.” He tossed the pad aside so nothing was in the way of her climbing into his lap. After enough time, two frames could end up feeling more like one. It felt wrong for them to be apart, because they fit together so right.
“Busy day ahead?” Windblade slipped her arms around his neck, draping her legs over his as her wings retracted into their housing. He sighed into her neck, even as he dragged his claws over her thighs.
“Afraid so. Need to consult with Astrotrain about the transit lines to Helex, then there’s the meeting with Ultra Magnus, then there’s our assembly with Prime and Elita One. More like a glorified double-date…”
She could feel his stress in the weight of his talons, as they travelled back and forth across her bare legs. She didn’t bother pulling her armour on first thing in the morning, not if she didn’t have somewhere to be, and Starscream had gifted her a fine set of silk covering for her protoform on her first night with him (apparently a peace offering from the spider beasts, led by Airachnid’s once-infamous sire Tarantulas). It was soft and beautiful, and also see-through, which suited both of them just fine.
She took his hand into her own, squeezing the palm as she held it up.
“You’re forgetting something,” she told him.
“Hm? And what would that be, darling?” He sounded distant, distracted, because of course his attention was now squarely on her chest. Proof that he knew exactly what she was talking about, but she placed his hand directly upon her cleavage anyway, letting her breasts part from the claws.
“Vos needs an heir, remember?” And she gave him another reminder that he didn’t really need with her hips, as they started to grind into him. His hand started to travel again, gliding each claw across her abdomen as it rippled, pausing just above his most savoured part of her.
“Mm. That it does.” Starscream’s vocaliser usually affected a growl, but now he was positively purring as he drummed his talons just above her interface casing, teasing the warmth coming from it. “With all our sessions this week, you should be pregnant thrice over by now.”
He dragged a single claw back up to her cleavage before cupping her right breast, squeezing it around the bud as if making sure there wasn’t a fledgling growing in there after all. Triplets would have been ideal for a Seeker— a spark in each breast, with the third growing directly adjacent to her own spark chamber, a perfect trine from birth like what Starscream himself was gifted with— but even just one sparkling would still have been beloved by both of them. Windblade had known early on that he would make a good sire, even before she fell in love with him.
“But it doesn’t hurt to make sure, does it, my lord?” she asked him, smiling as he moaned. It was one thing for him to be called Lord Starscream of Vos, another to call him her lord, all hers just as she was all his.
“Not at all, my lady.” He shifted his legs, leaning back as he made her straddle him and oh , his codpiece was already straining between her legs. “Let me see you-”
He tugged at the hem of her chest covering, and she bared herself as he rolled it up to expose each breast with an approving growl. “That’s my girl… you’ve been missing me, hm?”
His claws were around her thighs as she leaned into him, and he danced them over her interface panel with a single unspoken command— open .
“I always do.” Windblade hissed as her valve was finally revealed, and she could feel her lube mixing with coolant already dripping down her thighs. Her breasts squished against his own chest, and the sensitive buds sent a jolt of electricity down her spine when they rubbed against the seams of his armour. There was that scar under his chest plating as well, the one that had almost taken him away from her, but he enjoyed having it teased by her delicate fingers and flesh.
“Just a little wider, my lady… that’s it.” Starscream guided her hips against his, cupping her rear with his hands while the claws curved into her valve. She could feel them pulling her open slightly, ensuring that she was ready for his spike and gathering slick to rub into her node. All Windblade had to do was rock back and forth, and give him her mouth and glossa, and he did all the work for her.
Then, just as she was getting into the rhythm, he replaced his claws with his spike. She hadn’t even heard his codpiece opening, but it was slipping into her with such practised ease that she could only let out a mewl before Starscream smothered her with another kiss. He was through with teasing her— he clasped his hands together at the small of her spine, and used them to push her down onto his cord. It was an impressive length, even for a Seeker, and what it lacked in girth it made up for with a spiral of red ribbing that was now cleaving through her valve, throbbing in time with her spark, promising a flood of transfluid from the thick bearings under her that would rival what was already coming out of her.
“Let’s get serious about it now, shall we?” Starscream snarled against her lips, letting them go just long enough to not accidentally bite her as he flipped her over. Now she was lying on his throne, and he stood so that he could get the perfect angle for pistoning into her. His wings were like a canopy over their bodies, sheltering her, ensuring that this was the only place she needed to be as his heavy bearings started to slam against her.
“Make me a sire, Windblade… you’d look so good so full of me…”
This was her favourite part. When he let his vocaliser catch up to his filthy mind, when he wasn’t concerned with anyone overhearing him. He would snarl in her audio, telling her exactly what she did to him, what he wanted to do to her, and sweet Solus there was nothing better in the galaxy than his desperation. Even when he was trying to be a saint, his instincts gave him a mouth as wicked as Unicron himself.
Then there was a ping from his discarded datapad, though it was almost completely muffled by the thud of his bearings against her port, and their mingled moans, and the squelch of fluids between them.
“ Lord Starscream, you have a comm request from Astrotrain-” It sounded like Blitzwing, from the way he reluctantly said ‘Lord’, but it wasn’t given much more chance to identify itself before Starscream let go of Windblade’s legs, just to slam the pad against the nearest wall.
“Busy. Frag off.” It was unlikely that Blitzwing heard the growl when the pad was more likely completely destroyed, but that hardly mattered. Starscream cupped Windblade’s chin, holding it between two talons as he drilled both eyes and spike straight into her. He didn’t need to make her look at him, because she didn’t want to look anywhere else, but it was hard to stop her neck from automatically craning as her back arched on its own.
“Overload for me, Windblade. My lady… my queen…”
She was the Queen of Vos. She was all his, and everything he had to give was hers.
“Starscream… oh, Starscream-!” There was a burst of static at the back of her throat, and it must have prickled Starscream’s glossa as he clamped his mouth firmly over hers. Her valve was helpless, milking his spike with its spasms until he too was dragged over the edge. The red ribbing expanded inside of her as the fluid was unleashed, lodging the cord in her walls as it pumped his seed straight into her gestation chamber. It was in so deep that, if she looked down past her coolant-soaked breasts, she could see its outline bulging through her own protoform, and if she looked closer still she could even see it pulsing as it emptied his bearings. Starscream was in a trance over her, distant once again as he panted, but slowly coming back to solid ground (how fitting, that the king of the skies would let his mind go there in its greatest bliss).
He slowly released her legs, letting them hang limp around his waist. She waited until her vents stopped roaring before she tried to move— only slightly, because his spike was still jammed inside of her. Even when it was deflated once more, he was reluctant to pull it free from her depths just as she was reluctant to let it go. She kept her hips elevated, so he wouldn’t pull out too much of his fluid with his release, and he caressed the joints of her thighs with such care that it was as if she was already carrying his sparklings and he was terrified of damaging her. His tip was still at the rim of her port, like a hilariously chaste kiss between their bodies.
“We’ll… need to clean up before we leave,” he groaned, as he picked her up and resumed their positions; the king on his throne, his queen on his lap. Still joined together at the hips.
“But we don’t need to… for another few hours.” Windblade rested her head on his shoulder as she sank back down on his spike, ensuring that she was securely plugged with his empty bearings holding his precious fluid inside of her.
“Mm. True.” Starscream squeezed each of her breasts, lapping at her neck with his tired glossa. “So I suppose… you can just stay here. On my spike. For a little while longer.”
Her valve was still spasming from leftover pleasure, pulling in the last dredges of his transfluid, and her spark bloomed just a the thought of what would be born from it.
“I can’t think of a better place to be… my lord.”
steelrunner on Chapter 3 Wed 13 Apr 2022 04:24PM UTC
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Nitrobot on Chapter 3 Thu 14 Apr 2022 01:21PM UTC
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82492 on Chapter 3 Sun 17 Nov 2024 03:12AM UTC
Last Edited Sun 17 Nov 2024 03:21AM UTC
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ShadowOfAPretender on Chapter 3 Sun 23 Oct 2022 09:47AM UTC
Last Edited Sun 23 Oct 2022 09:59AM UTC
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BunnyFair on Chapter 3 Wed 29 Mar 2023 09:08PM UTC
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