Chapter Text
A high-pitch yelp could be heard echoing from the medbay, as a certain seeker was getting treated by Knock Out. The grounder would roll his optics, given that this isn’t Starscream’s first time being treated from such injuries, but that still wouldn’t stop the seeker from whining like a sparkling.
“Oh would you quit complaining! We’re almost done anyways.” Knock Out was just finishing with buffing the leftover scratches on the seeker’s wings, but like always Starscream had to continue his fidgeting and complaining.
“Excuse me doctor,” he scoffs bitterly, “But I wouldn’t be complaining if it weren’t for that damn beast doing this to me!”
With a soft whirring sound from the buffer, the decepticon CMO just looks at him with a raised brow ridge.
“Yes, remind me again how did the predacon do this to you?” while Knock Out didn’t mind listening to Starscream complain from time to time this was starting to get ridiculous. This was the fifth time he ended up on the medical berth to be treated, all because of Predaking, and while Knock Out doubts Starscream is completely blameless, this was excessive.
With a growl and flourish of his claws the SIC regails his misfortune, “Well if you really must know, I was out flying going to do a patrol when the damned beast attacked me for no reason and forced me out of the air space!”
“Right, and remind me again what part of the Nemesis were you flying by when the predacon attacked you?”
The medic was starting to have a nagging suspicion but he just needed to make sure he was right.
“What does it matter! It attacked me without reason!” Wings hiked up, Starscream just stared at the speedster with scorn.
“Just humor me, so where were you flying by?”
A few angry grumbles before he finally spoke, “I was flying near the bridge, and when I was rounding the lower deck that is where the beast attacked me.”
“Right, and what about the last couple times?”
“I fail to see the point of you making relive the past attacks of that brute.”
Knock Out rolls his optics and walks over to stand in front of the seeker and stares him down. He points a sharp digit in the seeker’s face, “The reason I’m making you go through this again is because it has become a pattern, and as much as it pains you to see it, Predaking isn’t a completely mindless beast.”
“What are you insinuating, Knock Out?”
“I’m saying that there is a link between you getting attacked and Predaking’s sudden aggressiveness, and I think he is protecting something or somemech.”
He waited until his words finally sunk in and saw the moment it clicked for the seeker.
“Megatron?!”
“Precisely, think about it, the first incident was during that meeting, Predaking gave you a warning shot. Ever since then he has been practically territorial over our Lord Megatron.”
The SIC was practically spluttering as he stood up and began to pace along the medbay, “That’s preposterous! I was nowhere near Megatron, I was outside of the Nemesis, remember!”
“Au contraire commander, you were flying outside of the bridge, close to the lower deck. And where exactly would Megatron’s habsuite be located?”
Knock Out couldn’t help the smirk as he watched Starscream come to the same conclusion as him. Wings lowering, the seeker continued to pace and even mumble to himself, Knock Out just let him be and put away his tools.
A few kliks later, the doctor was startled by the loud “Aha!” from the seeker and he had to spin around to look at him. Starscream for his part had a devious smirk and a shine to his optics, all indications of trouble.
“What are you planning Starscream?”
The click of heel struts echoed in the medbay as the seeker approached him, chuckling low to himself.
“Oh nothing for you to worry about dear doctor, but I do have to give you credit for bringing this to my attention.”
Knock Out crossed his arms as he raised a brow ridge, “Is that so? And why do I feel like whatever you have cooking up in your processor is going to blow up in your face?”
With a wave a his claw and a roll of his optics the SIC brushes him off, “That won’t happen, not while our dear master is preoccupied with his Predacon.” The seeker made a face, but the smirk was back in place as he walked past Knock Out.
“Now if you’ll excuse me doctor, I have duties to attend to.” With that the seeker left his medbay, and Knock Out was left wondering what plan Starscream could have concocted with this latest information about their leader.
As for said leader he was currently making his way out of his personal wash rack, solvent still dripping from his armor as he contemplated on a very important decision. The small container of polish and buffer were taunting him and the warlord could only glare down at said objects.
He was being ridiculous, it hadn’t been that long since he had accepted being courted and not much had changed from the routine that had been previously established between them. Yet here he was, contemplating on whether he should buff and polish his armor on the off chance of getting Predaking to notice it.
Megatron doesn’t understand why he wants to do such a thing, he never really cared about how his armor looked, not even when he was a gladiator! Only his benefactors cared about his appearance, they always ensured that he looked polished whenever he was brought to events outside of the gladiatorial pits.
A scowl forms on his faceplate at the memory, those were the times he wanted to forget about the most, when he had to entertain the upper caste, in more ways than he would have liked.
But that was in the past, and Predaking had given his word that he would stop the courting if Megatron said so, which gave him some peace of mind. Unlike most backstabbing mechs, he was willing to believe Predaking would follow through if Megatron decides to stop all of this.
Perhaps that is why he felt inclined to do a little preening.
With a quiet grumble he finishes drying his armor and starts to work on buffing it, the soft humming of the machine filling the silence. It took far longer than he would have liked, trying to reach every dip and crevice of his armor was not an easy fit for him alone, but he managed anyway.
The last step was the polish, the small tin was still new, some dust covering the top of it, he can’t remember where he had gotten it from but it must have been a while ago. As he began to apply a thin coat of it he could tell it was lightly scented, it wasn’t an overwhelming smell but it did linger.
He wondered if Predaking would like it. A stupid thought, but one that wouldn’t leave him alone.
Megatron wasn’t about to go over the top with it either, not like Knock Out and his incessant need to be scratch free. But as he finished applying the polish and looked at the single mirror he had, he could admit there was a small pleasant feeling at seeing himself.
While his armor wasn’t fully buff from all the scratches, a personal choice that still showed his battle prowess, it did have a nice shine that made him look younger. In a way he could understand why other mechs would do this more often, he still looked fierce and powerful and he felt like it too.
In a way he could understand why Knock Out enjoyed doing it, but he would never do it as often as him.
The warlord gives himself one last look over and decides that he is presentable, and leaves his habsuite. Unlike other times, Predaking isn’t waiting right outside his door which offered Megatron an interesting opportunity.
He could not put it into words but there was something stirring in his spark and he felt obliged to follow that feeling. He began making his way to the flight deck, occasionally running his servo along the walls of the Nemesis, leaving faint scratches. His engine rumbled lowly and intermittently, as his optics scanned the halls for signs of Predaking, but the mech was still nowhere to be found.
A loud rumble of his engine echoed through the empty halls, and he paused as he waited for… something. He waited for another klik before continuing on his path, a grumble leaving him. Megatron had to physically shake himself to ease the mild tension in his frame, whatever he was feeling certainly had to do with the lack of Predaking.
As the thoughts continued to run through his processor he finally made it to the open air of the flight deck, the wind pressing down on him momentarily stopping the storming thoughts forming. His optics roamed the sky, the clouds reflecting the colors of this planet’s sun, the night cycle would begin soon if the orange and pink hues of the sky had anything to say.
Megatron watches them a bit longer, he may loathe to admit it but there was a kind of beauty to this mud ball of a planet, in the kind of way he never could appreciate on Cybertron. As he walks to the edge of the flight deck, the remaining light shines off his polished armor, making him almost glow.
A shame a certain predacon wasn’t around to see it.
With a soft ex-vent megatron looks around one last time before letting himself drop from the edge, he takes in the change in air pressure as it pushes against his bulk before transforming and flying high up past the ship. It has been a while since he has gone out for a flight, one where it is just because he feels like it and not because of a fight.
It was such a freeing feeling, not being tied to the ground as he did a couple flips and turns, wind pushing on his wings. He was glad he traded his original form for this.
He continued to fly, doing lazy turns here and there when he heard it, the sound of flapping wings and a loud screech. His spark shook with excitement as he could make out the form of Predaking just over the horizon, flying quickly towards him. But Megatron could not help but pull back and fly higher than him, which Predaking immediately changed his path to match his.
His EM field was filled with playfulness and he couldn’t help it as he continued to change his path or do a couple twirls here and there, which the predacon seemed to follow and imitate in his own way. His spark spun faster, whether from the exertion or just the adrenaline, he couldn’t be sure but as Predaking finally made it within grabbing distance Megatron let his field reach out.
The suddenness of it gave the beast a momentary pause and that was all it took for the warlord to transform back to root mode and let gravity take its course. He nosedived at high speeds, aided by his heavy frame, and as he went past the Nemesis, he once again could hear the beating of powerful wings.
Predaking wasn’t far behind him, flying quickly and optics solely focused on him. Megatron could not help the smile as he shifts his body so it's facing more towards the predacon, and reaches out his arms towards him. That small gesture seemed to spur on the other, as he screeched loudly and with even more determination raced to reach him.
It felt as if time had slowed as he watched Predaking fly towards him, claws as extended as the distance between them grew smaller and smaller. The warlord knew that at any point he could transform and just fly himself but it was as if every code in his frame told him to let the predacon catch him and Megatron had to oblige.
Logically, it didn’t make any sense to do such a thing, but as Predaking finally made it towards him, rather than grabbing him right away he flew parallel to him. Their optics met and their frames twirled around as they continued to dive further down and closer to the ground, but it did not matter to them. Predaking chitter softly, as he reaches one big claw towards him, their optics never once wavering as Megatron met him half way with his own outstretched servo and held onto him.
Honestly he felt a little silly, but if he didn’t know any better it almost felt as if an electric current ran through him the moment they held servos. His spark spun faster and Predaking’s optics seemed to cycle wider, perhaps he felt it too. He was pulled closer, frame pressed tightly to the larger mech as wings wrapped around him, and they spiraled downwards, the ground finally in view but Megatron felt nothing but warmth and a calmness deep in his spark.
Megatron shutters his optics, pressing his faceplate into the warm frame, a soft rumble and a press of Predaking’s chin to his neck cabling soothed him further, as he felt the wings release him from their embrace. Their frames shifted and suddenly they were swooping back up, a cloud of dust left in their wake as they had managed to not hit the ground. The rapid change pushed him closer to Predaking as they flew back up to the Nemesis, but he did not complain.
Once he felt his pedes touch the floor of the flight deck he begrudgingly pulled away from the predacon. He didn’t move too far, still enjoying the residual warmth on his frame, and looked up at the golden optics as the predacon shifted on his claws, was he nervous?
The warlord couldn’t help but chuckle as he places his servos on his hips, brow ridge raise, “Well? Did the cybercat catch your glossa?”
That seemed to ruffle his sensors as Predaking stood up straighter, biolights shining and moving almost rhythmically,wings spreading to their full length and Megatron just watched with rapt attention.
Now with the warlord’s full focus, Predaking began to let out a low rumble, the sound was deep and strong and as quickly as it started it changed to a sequence of clicks and chittering.
It was… enthralling. He remained silent as he allowed Predaking to do whatever this display was meant to be, but even if it seemed a little ridiculous he felt the need to watch it all the way through.
The vocalizations went on for another klick or two, and Megatron could tell that Predaking was waiting for something, he could tell from the slight droop of his wings and the slight shift in his claws again.
He furrows his brow ridge as he watches his display again, he still thinks it’s odd but not appalling, since it seems to be drawing him in.
He scowls, before deciding to just let his spark guide him.
Megatron lets out a small vent before making a sort of humming sound accompanied by the rumble of his engine. He tried to match the rhythm of the clicks but it felt off, instead he deviated slightly and after changing his pitch it seemed to work.
They were harmonizing, and it looked like Predaking came to the same conclusion as he stood up straighter and finally let out a piercing roar, and Megatron had to laugh at the almost pleased expression coming from the predacon.
Predakings steps closer and nuzzles his cheekplate, before moving to nuzzling his neck cables, Megatron felt a little flustered and could feel the energon rush to his faceplate. He pushes the other away, looking away as he composes himself.
“I think it has been too much excitement for one solar cycle.”
The sound of transformation made him turn back to look at Predaking, optics glowing softly as he smiled down at him.
“Then by all means allow me to walk you back to your hab, my lord.”
Megatron rolls his optics, albeit a bit fondly by now, “Do as you please, but don’t expect anything in return.”
Predaking chuckles, “Of course not.”
They walk back in relative silence, the type of silence that allowed him to think about everything so far, and the warlord comes to one conclusion.
He could grow used to Predaking being by his side.
As they reach his hab suite, Megatron was just going to head in but Predaking stops him by holding onto his servo. The warlord turns around, with a questioning look, but before he can voice his thoughts, the taller mech leans down and places a gentle kiss onto his servo.
“Rest well, my lord.”
Megatron pulls his servo back, presses it against his chest plate, right above his spark chamber as he stares. His processor was spinning as his frame heats up, he could barely utter a soft, “You as well,” before quickly stepping back into his hab.
He ensures to lock it and stays there for several kliks, enough that he heard when Predaking left.
Megatron groans, as he slides down the door.
Scratch that, he wants the predacon to stay far away from him, if he is going to have him act like some kind of youngling with their first crush. With a shake of his helm he walks to his cushiony berth to finally rest, and definitely does not think about Predaking and the soft looks he gave him.
Nor does he think about how he would like to feel more of those soft dermas on more than just his servo.