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Logically, Starscream knew he was not physically stronger than Megatron.
There were, fortunately, many ways to be strong.
He didn’t need to be physically stronger than Megatron; the lord of the Decepticon army would lay still on his berth, servos clenching the top of the headboard above him, simply because Starscream had asked.
Tension ran rampant in Megatron’s frame, from the whine of cables in his taut arms to the shifting metal of his hips and legs as Starscream knelt between his thighs.
“What a lovely array you have,” Starscream purred. “I don’t know why you don’t brag about this in your speeches, my lord.” He dragged the back of his hand up Megatron’s spike, tapping the tip of it with one taloned finger.
Megatron’s hydraulic system almost screamed with the effort it must have taken him to stay still, and Starscream had hardly even touched him.
Starscream smirked. This was going to be fun.
He gripped Megatron’s spike loosely with one hand, running two fingers from the other along the outer lips of Megatron’s valve. “So pretty,” he cooed. “Not as pretty as me, of course, but far superior than any other ground unit could dream of.” Rubbing two fingers around the entrance to Megatron’s valve produced slick lubricant, which Starscream spread over the rest of Megatron’s array liberally.
Megatron’s engine roared and heat wavered around every vent on his frame. His lip-plates were pulled back into a silent snarl, baring gleaming silver fangs. He held onto the berth frame like it was the only thing anchoring him to the ground.
Starscream continued working over Megatron’s array, as much in control here as he was on the battlefield, wielding Megatron in gun form. “Are you ready for more, master?” He pushed just the tip of one finger into Megatron’s valve. Megatron didn’t say anything, but the way that his hips lifted and pushed back, trying to take more of Starscream’s hand, was very clear indeed.
That was not enough for Starscream.
He moved with Megatron, stopping him from taking Starscream any deeper. “Megatron, I need you to be clear with me.” Removing his finger from Megatron’s valve earned him a low moan; circling Megatron’s anterior node had the moan increasing in volume dramatically.
“Megatron,” he prodded.
“Please,” Megatron growled, grasping the berth frame so tightly the metal shrieked under his servos.
“Please what?”
“Don’t push your luck—” he spat, but was cut off by Starscream leaning down to take the head of Megatron’s spike into his mouth. “Oh, frag, Starscream!”
Starscream sat back up, Megatron’s spike sliding out of his mouth messily. He wiped his mouth with one servo and then wiped his servo on Megatron’s thigh, smirking the whole time. “Please what, Megatron?”
Megatron snarled with rage. Starscream stilled and for a klik Megatron was all tension, almost arching off the berth with it.
And then his entire frame, struts to surface armor, relaxed onto the berth as he gave in. “Please, frag me,” he begged.
Starscream obeyed.