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Their prisoner was bound securely in the brig, although the guilty offender seemed anything but contrite. Mask-cum-gag still bolted in place, he had his wrists encircled by thick deactivated stasis cuffs, fastened above his head to a metal ring affixed to the cell wall. The rest of his body was free to move, and he had tried kicking his captors to some limited effect already (Sentinel was currently sulking in the med-bay, nursing a dented and singed abdominal plate). The effort of rebellion had tired Starscream eventually, though – and the light dose of sedative nanites had also helped in that regard. He seemed more relaxed now, his optics a dimmed crimson, half-shuttered. He hung a little in his bindings, weight on one foot, body forming a pleasant, lazy ‘S’, waist and gently swelling hips accentuated by the languorous attitude.

Jazz and Ultra Magnus had descended to the brig together to check on their prisoner, but it was evident Starscream wasn’t going anywhere. Drowsily he focused on the two Elite Guard bots, first one, then the other.

Jazz, wary after watching the Decepticon’s earlier violence, hung back a little. “I don’t know, boss. I still think he’d be better off in stasis for the rest of the trip home. I don’t trust him.”

Ultra Magnus didn’t look away from Starscream as he replied, “This has nothing to do with trust, Jazz. Such a measure would be excessive in this case – he’s perfectly docile now, as you can see.”

“For now.”

Ultra-Magnus spared him a sidelong look. Jazz of course had reason to be cautious around the Decepticon – Ultra Magnus himself knew first-hand what Starscream’s cannons felt like, point-blank no less. He had no desire to experience that again, but those cuffs were sturdy enough to ensure Starscream would not be able to get off even one shot.

“I want a few words with the prisoner,” Ultra Magnus said. “Jazz, go and check on Sentinel Prime.”

Reluctant to leave his leader with the dangerous Decepticon, Jazz nevertheless nodded and withdrew, and the brig’s heavy door hissed shut behind him, the auto-locks clanking into place.

For a few astroseconds Ultra Magnus didn’t move, only stood and regarded his captive with a steady, appraising optic. Starscream met his gaze with a sleepily challenging gaze, and shifted his weight, transferring it from one foot to the other and causing his hips to sway provocatively.

His frame was an unusual one – hardly any of the hard edges that typically made up a mech, and instead graceful curves, much like a femme. That slim waist looked just the right circumference for Magnus to wrap his hands around. For a klik more he admired the trim waist, sinuous hips, smoothly curving thighs – pictured the mech’s neat little aft held pert as a result of those high jet-turbine heels.

Unconsciously, he clenched his dentals. His spark had begun to warm in a way he hadn’t felt in many a stellar cycle. It startled him – not only that he should feel this way, but that the one to incite such sensations should be none other than the Decepticon Starscream. Ultra Magnus had been around long enough to remember that Starscream had been Megatron’s number one since even before the Great War, and nearly as many rumours and horror stories existed about the jet than did about the Decepticon leader himself.

He regarded him for several kliks longer, deliberating as to what to do. Technically speaking, he had the Decepticon at his mercy. No one would ever know were he to do anything to him – and if the ‘Con told anyone, who would believe him? Who would even care?

Lip components pressing together, Ultra Magnus moved forward, keeping his optics locked with Starscream’s.

“You’ve caused us a lot of trouble, Decepticon.” Starscream tilted his head, a sardonic look in his optics. “Now, however, you are in my control. Your comrades will not save you here.”

To his surprise, Starscream gave what must have been a snort of laughter. Expression growing hard, Ultra Magnus grasped Starscream by the chin and turned his face so that their optics locked again. Starscream stilled.

“It is in your best interests,” Ultra Magnus said, at a lower volume, tone soft and stroking, “to co-operate.” Starscream made no further protest when Magnus ran a hand down the jet’s cockpit, noting with a little shock that he could not feel the typical warmth of a spark beneath the smooth curved planes. Unfazed, he let his hand slide lower, until he pressed his fingers between Starscream’s legs. The seeker made a soft noise and shifted, first flinching away, then parting his legs, as though unsure, conflicted.

When his captive no longer tried to twist away from him, Ultra Magnus grasped Starscream by the hips and roughly twisted him so that his face was to the wall. The cuffs and chains jangled, and the front of Starscream’s helm banged against the wall even as the Decepticon gave a growl of startled protest. Ultra Magnus, undiscouraged, swiftly unclipped the small latches fastening Starscream’s pelvic armour, and the plates slid fluidly back, exposing the sensitive components beneath. Starscream gave a low growl, but when Magnus passed his fingertips over Starscream’s port opening the aperture flexed and seemed to quiver; Starscream slumped a little in his bonds, and his hips swayed ever so slightly. Smiling, Ultra Magnus tightened his grip on one of the Decepticon’s hips and teased at the edges of Starscream’s port – and he could see it was already slick with pearlescent lubricant – for a klik longer, before decisively ramming two digits inside.

Starscream gave an indignant yelp, which dwindled to a moan as Ultra Magnus moved his fingers, sliding in a vaguely circular motion, gradually inching deeper with each slow, luxuriant thrust. Ultra Magnus leaned over Starscream’s arching back, bringing his pelvic armour closer to Starscream’s aft, adding a third finger to Starscream’s port. Trails of lubricant were beginning to trickle down the seeker’s inner thighs, and the translucent, pearly fluid already coated Ultra Magnus’ fingers, and had splashed up onto his hand. He knew he was straining the ’Con’s port to the point where it must be painful, but the firmly bolted mask kept Starscream from complaining – although he was still quite vocal. However, the indulgent moans and hitching intakes seemed to speak more of pleasure than of pain. Somehow he wasn’t surprised that the Decepticon liked things a little rough.

Unable to put it off any longer, Ultra Magnus withdrew his now-dripping fingers and unclipped his frontal pelvic armour, and then shifted so that he could grip Starscream’s hips with both hands – he grasped the gently curving plates so hard they began to dent under the pressure, and roughly pulled Starscream into a more convenient position, enjoying directing the ferocious ‘Con so carelessly, so dominantly.

Starscream’s back arched even further, and his claws scraped at the wall, as Ultra Magnus slipped inside him, ramming his jack all the way in on the first stroke. Starscream let out a kind of yowl and tried to move away, but Ultra Magnus had too strong a hold on his hips to allow him to move, and so his frame simply began to tremble and his hands twist and flex, bound as they were.

Ultra Magnus had not done this for a very long time. For a few astroseconds he remained still, buried deep in Starscream’s slick port, leaning over the ‘con’s twitching wings, savouring and adjusting to the almost overwhelming pleasure of it. Then his fingers tightened more still, he grit his dentals, and began to move.

To his shock, Starscream mewled and spread his legs a little wider. His port constricted, so that Ultra Magnus’ jack seemed a perfect fit, partially locking into place with each thrust, generating wonderful friction for the backstrokes, stimulating the sensors along the length of it. He thrust deep and slow, setting a steady, even rhythm, holding Starscream in place and allowing himself the perfect angle. Starscream’s vents ran high and fast, and his claws dug long gashes into the wall, whole body flexing as he struggled to push back against his captor’s thrusts. Magnus bent closer over Starscream’s back, his movements becoming jerkier and more forceful in response to the seeker’s wordless keening. Starscream looked over his shoulder and met Ultra Magnus’ optics with his own – his expression was mostly hidden by the mask, but his optics were deep crimson and glowing brightly.

Ultra Magnus sped up, and relinquished his hold on one of Starscream’s hips in order to slide his hand down the seeker’s smooth chassis and between his legs, manipulating the catch and making Starscream’s front pelvic armour retract. This freed the Decepticon’s own jack, and Magnus wrapped his hand around it, roughly stimulating the myriad sensors that covered its length. Starscream bucked, growling, and tried to arch further into Ultra Magnus’ touch, only to push backward again when the older mech drove his jack forward once more. Magnus’ own systems were running hot, even though his vents were cycling as fast as they were able – he hoped his spark wouldn’t give out, being an older model as he was. He grit his dentals and reached up with the hand that had been holding Starscream’s hip, impulsively unlatching the sturdy mask that kept the flyer gagged. The metal contraption clattered to the floor and Starscream gasped, vocalising a long moan as Ultra Magnus adjusted his angle slightly and gave a particularly violent thrust. Looking over his shoulder again, Starscream offered a sloppy grin and, between hitching intakes, said, “Well thank you, Autobot scum. That thing was very – ah! – uncomforta-mm!” He was cut off as Magnus shoved two of his fingers inside his mouth. Starscream looked indignant for a nanoklik before swiftly adjusting, faceplate shifting into an easy smirk. He immediately began to suck on the invading digits, swiping his glossa across the pads of his captor’s fingers and biting ever so slightly. A little bit of coolant trickled out of the corner of his mouth and made its slow, wet way down his chin.

“Silence, Decepticon.”

Starscream purred around Magnus’ fingers as the older mech increased his pace again, causing Starscream’s helm to hit the wall with each thrust. The flyer rolled his hips and ground back against his captor, squirming more desperately and erratically, Magnus’ large hand still pumping his sleek, lubricant-slick jack.

Ultra Magnus thought he was going to have to admit defeat and overload before the infuriating Decepticon, when Starscream suddenly twisted and gave a guttural scream, whole frame shaking, and shot a spray of coolant onto the clean brig wall. His wings trembled and he bit down on Magnus’ fingers, but the older mech didn’t care for the pain as he was already overloading as well – a combination of the seeker’s port tightening brutally around his jack and the spectacularly erotic sight of so gorgeous a model overloading under his touch. He slicked Starscream’s port with a generous dose of coolant, absently leaning down to bite at the juncture between one of Starscream’s wings and his shoulder. He continued driving into Starscream until they were both completely spent, and then for several kliks they both simply slumped against the wall, both drowsy and shaky from the force of overload.

Ultra Magnus slowly withdrew his fingers from Starscream’s mouth, and his dental plates from Starscream’s wing. Starscream offered a sleepy mewl in response, and stretched against him, port flexing. There was a slow, smug smirk lounging on the seeker’s face, and his optics were dark and half-shuttered. “Tell me, Autobot filth,” he said, though Magnus noted there was a slight lag on his vocals. “Do you treat all your prisoners with such hospitality?”

Ultra Magnus allowed himself a tired, dry laugh. “Only the most deadly ones.”

Starscream’s smirk grew into a full, self-satisfied grin. “Flattery will get you everywhere.”


Later, after Ultra Magnus had hit Starscream with another dose of sedative nanites, replaced the mask, and hastily cleaned himself up along with his captive and the coolant-splashed wall (a good amount of his own coolant still lined Starscream’s port, but Ultra Magnus had no choice but to seal up the flyer’s pelvic armour again, as much as he would have liked to have watched it seep out again and drip down Starscream’s thighs) he paid Sentinel a visit in the med-bay. The Prime insisted on checking their prisoner to make sure he was fully secure, and so Ultra Magnus reluctantly let him re-enter the brig – hoping the younger Autobot would fail to notice the dented, scratched plating on the seeker’s hips and aft.

“Hmm.” Sentinel said, inspecting instead the sedated Decepticons’ claws and the damage they had wreaked upon the brig wall. “This is unacceptable.”

“Do not worry, Sentinel Prime,” Ultra Magnus said, considerably relieved. “I have some alternative stasis cuffs – some heavy-duty ones – that do not allow the prisoner his hands.”

Sentinel looked pleased. Magnus was somewhat disappointed, as he had enjoyed watching the seeker’s elegant claws flex and scrape in the throes of pleasure – however, as soon as he saw the new cuffs on his captive, he quite forgot his disappointment.