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Letting Starscream top was... an experience.
It was more or less the exact experience Megatron expected it to be, with a mix of three parts trepidation to one part intrigue. He was already very familiar with Starscream's spike. Over the orns that they had spent fragging each other's lights out, he'd had a lot of close personal contact with virtually every part of Starscream's external anatomy, and more besides. In which time, he'd had Starscream's spike in his hand, against his chest, between his thighs, even in his mouth. A blowjob was precarious but at long as Megatron kept Starscream's hips firmly pinned down, it was pleasant enough. He liked the noises it drew out of his seeker, and he liked the solicitous tone Starscream used to get what he wanted. His crooning flattery afterwards, making sure that Megatron would be willing to do it again, even if he could barely speak afterwards. During one particularly unfortunate assignation, Megatron had been left drooling blood, which had put him entirely out of the mood for the three seconds that elapsed between the first mouthful of blood and the sight of Starscream's optics lighting up like he'd just found Prime sitting atop a nuclear warhead.
Starscream pounced—actually pounced—on him, all thoughts of getting his spike serviced gone in his rush to suck every drop of energon from Megatron's lips. That had been an excellent day: Starscream trying and failing to ride him as he pried at Megatron's split lip with a combination of hands, tongue and teeth; Megatron in turn pinning him down on the berth and fragging him through two overloads without ever leaving the tight circle that Starscream's legs had made around his waist; both of them leaving dents and twisted ailerons and scratched paint without thought of complaint. Starscream could be the queen of all pillow princesses, spouting half-justified excuses about jet fuel and high-performance engines, but Megatron had learned to interpret that as an offer of something more intimate. He could cover Starscream in the great shadow of his frame, with Starscream's panel pressed down on his thigh and Starscream's helm tucked safely beneath his chin while Megatron praised his turbines and his missile launchers and the wings sticking into him until the time was right to grab his panel in one hand and squeeze just hard enough that it snapped open and, if he was lucky, Starscream overloaded without ever really being touched. As much as Megatron liked touching him, he liked the certain proof of Starscream's desire more. And when he took a more proactive role, he was everything that Megatron could have asked for: passionate, demanding, creative, and utterly vicious.
The one small hiccup to their semi-regular interfacing routine—other than the failed coups and the constant injuries and the fuel rations and their busy schedules and the silent disapproval of every mech on board (the last of which they both quite enjoyed)—was that Starscream's spike was possibly the most threatening part of his frame. It didn't quite leave scratches on Megatron's hands or chest, but it would certainly be capable of tearing his valve if properly applied. Megatron's first thought upon seeing it was For the love of god, why? It bristled with spines. Not large, not rigid, not overly sharp, but far, far too many of them. They weren't needle-sharp but they were uncomfortable even against the protoform bared between the joints of Megatron's hand.
Against the soft mesh of his mouth or valve, they were weapons. They were ominous. They oozed malice.
"That's lubricant," Starscream told him. "Your spike does that."
Megatron's spike put out a sensible amount of clear, silky lubricant from between each plate, smoothing the glide of hand or valve over the nearly-seamless ridges. It bore no resemblance at all to what Starscream's spike was doing. "It's pink."
"Who cares what colour it is?" Starscream snapped. "Taste it, if you don't believe me."
"You look like you've come here straight from brutalizing prisoners."
The disgust on Starscream's face momentarily mirrored Megatron's own displeasure, but then he got a sly, smug look. "My lord, you should have told me you've never been with a seeker before."
The subject of either of their previous experience in this area was entirely off limits. Megatron had nothing at all to hide, he just wanted to spare himself the nattering and insecure, territorial displays that would no doubt accompany any discussion on this subject. It was technically true that he'd never been with a seeker before but he was not going to open up this subject to debate by confirming or denying that. "Why the sudden need to spike me, Starscream? Worried I'll get a taste of something better?"
"As if there's anything better than me. I'm doing this for your sake, old timer. I can see how much you need it. Everyone can. When Prime had you pinned the other day, you nearly drooled on him!"
Slander. He had enjoyed it—anyone would—but he was far too sophisticated to drool. "If I needed a spiking so badly, I could pick something much more suitable from your stash of 'confiscated items.'" Never mind that they were stuck on a crowded transport ship with little but their weapons and enough fuel to last the journey: Starscream was bound to have brought something with him, if only to prove that he was perfectly happy without Megatron's help.
"Nonsense." Starscream dismissed that idea with a wave of his hand. "You like my spike. You like it when I'm coming in your throat, don't you?" He didn't give Megatron much of an opportunity to respond, crawling on top of him with the dreadful thing brushing Megatron's waist. "You're going to like it even more when it's in your valve. I know the nasty barbs seem so scawy," this pet talk was belittling and unnecessary, and had no effect on Megatron's disposition whatsoever, "but they feel so, so good. That's what they're for. They're there to feel good."
"For whom exactly?" Megatron grumbled, but he was already lying down, spreading his legs a little more as Starscream slipped between them. The position wasn't ideal for being spiked by a mech much shorter than him, but it was perfect for Starscream to slip down and lick a messy stripe up his valve.
One wet lazy overload later, he was rolled unceremoniously onto his front and Starscream clawed at him until he raised his hips enough to bare his valve. It wasn't the position he would have chosen but then again, there was little of this experience he would choose. At least it hid the face he made as Starscream's spike slid along his valve and pushed slowly in. It did feel good. He wasn't opposed to admitting that: he liked getting spiked as much as anyone would, he just didn't think much of having to go see a medic afterwards. "Starscream, you have spiked before, haven't you? Someone whose valve isn't reinforced with titanium?"
"Shhhhh." That was rude. Insubordinate. If he was allowed to get away with that, there'd be no living with him—and Megatron was forced to live with him. But he sounded breathless already, and far away, enjoying it far too much considering that they had hardly started, and even the thought of effecting Starscream so much made Megatron's insides clench. "Uhn," Starscream gasped. "See? You like it. I knew you'd like it."
They hadn't got to the bad part yet. He braced for the pain as Starscream's panels met his, but Starscream only shifted a micron, more rolling his hips than thrusting them, hardly even that. "Get on with it, seeker."
"So eager already." Instead of drawing back and beginning the process of ablating Megatron's valve, he slipped his hand beneath them, stroking over his spike and crooning little noises of approval. Megatron groaned and slumped a little further into the berth. "Love your spike. Don't-" he paused to gasp for breath with another tiny rocking motion, barely registering past the feeling of his hand, "don't ever think I wanna spike you because I'm tired of this. I'd have your spike in me right now if I could. Knew your valve would feel just as good." The kind of crude flattery he was so known for: obvious, transparent flattery just trying to get what he wanted, words he'd only say because he knew they'd never be entirely believed. Words he only said because he knew they'd work anyway. From anyone else, Megatron would find it boring, even disgusting. Coming from Starscream, they hit the mark, even when he didn't show it. Even when he told himself to ignore it, Starscream's flattery came back to haunt him, stroking his ego the moment he let his guard down. Perhaps it was less the words and more the reminder of having that power over Starscream. The power to make him beg and flatter just to get his spike wet, like he couldn't get it for a tenth of the effort through simple bribery or intimidation or even, dare he imagine, flirtation. But it was Megatron he wanted. "You could make me overload just like this, couldn't you? Milking my spike just laying there. Maybe I'll let you. Maybe if you begged me for it, you could-"
"JUST MOVE!"
He felt a jolt, whether it was fear or laughter, and before he could think more about that, Starscream obeyed. It felt exactly how he'd imagined it would feel, only worse, and also much, much better. Megatron managed not to make a sound as he choked on the feeling, his whole sensornet flaring like an electric shock, but before it was over Starscream was pushing back into him, driving every last thought out of his brain, and then pulling back again. It was all Megatron could do to drag an arm under his face and bite down on his own armour as Starscream set his frame on fire. Distantly, he could feel Starscream's hands clawing at his hips, and hear the sound of their armour clashing together, and taste the energon welling up against his lips, but front and centre of his universe was the increasingly-relevant realisation that every new thrust built on the feeling of the ones before it. Even the smooth glide of Starscream thrusting into him was now a live-wire of electricity, dragging over mesh already raw with use. "Fuck, fuck. fuck," Starscream panted, voice tight, and Megatron could only agree. Fuck.
Then Starscream was grinding into him once more, all but frozen in place, and Megatron could feel even more liquid adding to the ocean seeping out of him. It took him several gasping breaths before he could say, "Already?" It couldn't have been five kliks. Not so bad for a quick frag at the end of a long day, or a rushed blowjob in the communal washracks with the doors locked and the security cameras still on, but right now they had plenty of fuel, plenty of time, and nothing to do but frag and yell at each other. He had expected a certain level of indulgence—not that getting spiked by Starscream was in any way indulgent.
Starscream laughed breathlessly. "Eager for more?"
"I expected something for my troubles, yes."
At least that got Starscream to return to stroking his spike. "Just wait. I'm not done with you yet." Hadn't Megatron growled those exact words against Starscream's cheek not so long ago? Had Starscream felt the same way, hearing them? Anticipation and a flicker of regret, realising what he might have gotten himself into? Already Starscream's hips were rolling against him and this time Megatron could feel the barbs, dragging over mesh already rubbed raw. He clenched reflexively against the feeling, which only made it worse. Starscream laughed. "How could I stay down with that to tempt me?" This time he pulled out slowly, and Megatron felt every barb as it dragged across his burning sensors. The hand on his spike pumped in time, tighter now, slick with the lubricant easing out of his plates. He couldn't stop himself from thrusting into it. "You didn't think I'd pass up the opportunity to feel you overload on my spike, did you? And hear you. I can hear all those moans you're trying to muffle. I imagine the whole ship can." He pushed back in just as slowly, hand stroking down Megatron's spike, and Megatron's groan reverberated off the walls. He shoved his arm against his mouth once more, biting down not so much to muffle the sound as to ground himself as he thrust helplessly forward into Starscream's grip. His valve no longer had any opportunities to relax, keeping him tight as sin as around Starscream's dreadful spike.
Thrust by thrust, Starscream sped up, and Megatron could only bite down harder and moan into his arm as he overloaded with the feeling of pain transmuting into something beyond pleasure and his transfluid spilling in long streaks over Starscream's clever fingers.
Some time later, after who knew how many overloads between the two of them, Megatron summoned the last scraps of his strength to kick Starscream off him. "Enough," he rasped, voice hoarse. "I can't feel my valve."
Starscream didn't argue. He just collapsed, half on Megatron and half beside him, wings trembling as they settled. Surely only so close because he was too tired to move further. They both drifted off in limp, exhausted silence. Only as Megatron's eyes were dimming and he somehow found the strength to roll over, using Starscream's frame as a convenient arm-rest, did he hear, "Told you y'd like it."
Hook stared at him like he was just now hearing about interfacing for the first time. "You mind explaining that again, my lord? I must have missed something."
Megatron was not known for his good humour. Even less so when every movement felt like someone was trying to kindle a fire in his valve. Pain was one thing. He could handle pain. This was indignity. Where was the satisfaction of knowing every wound had been some enemy's last mistake? Where was the proof of having survived yet more? Where was the pride in proving himself again and again, as if any mech could still doubt what he was capable of? The only thing his current injuries served as reminders of was that nothing good ever came of letting Starscream have his way. "Just have a look yourself and save us both the trouble!"
There was a certain degree of wariness in Hook's demeanour but he obediently brought out the required tools and waited as Megatron lay back on the medical slab and parted his plates with gritted teeth. Hook bent to look for a moment, then straightened up again. He began to speak, until he met Megatron's eye and trailed off in the first syllable, ducking back down to continue his examination. Megatron stared at the ceiling with gritted teeth and endured it. After much poking and prodding, Hook straightened up again with renewed conviction. "How did you say this happened, my lord?"
"How is that relevant?" The fewer people who knew he let Starscream do whatever he wanted, the better.
"If you're-" he grimaced and appeared for a moment to be saying a silent prayer for mercy, "inserting any objects not intended for the purpose, there may be fragments I need to remove."
The Decepticons had no medics to spare, and Hook was the best among that limited number. It was in everyone's interests for Megatron to keep him intact. Locking him in the brig for a couple of nights wouldn't be out of the question, except that the tiny transport ship they were packed into had no brig. If anyone did anything seriously wrong, Megatron intended to put them in the airlock. "Starscream."
"Starscream?" he glanced down, at Starscream's delightful handiwork, and back up at Megatron.
That really was straining the limits of Megatron's patience. Hook may or may not have had a medical degree, but surely he had enough experience to be familiar with basic seeker anatomy. "Yes, Starscream. You know how it is with seekers."
"How it is with-" he stopped, mid sentence, as if something was finally dawning on him. Perhaps the fact that he had a job to do. "How it is with seekers. Yes, sir, of course." He turned quickly to his workbench, burying himself in his tools. "I'll, uh, only be a moment sir. This, er, is—as you say—fairly common."