AN: And so, after battling with FFNet a bit (it still doesn't let me mark this as completed..), we reach the end of this little fic. Which will not have a sequel, ever, because it would be sad and end in death.

It's been awesome writing this, I hope you enjoyed the fic.

Much love to you all and see you later, if I manage to arrange my plans for a new fic!

15. Noise

"Mmn..."

Starscream's wing twitched on its own, searching the pleasant attention it had received a nanoklik ago. The warmth of a touch lingered on the plating, a sensation that his frame accepted even as his bleary processors began to disagree. The thought of someone waking him up with soft touches stirred his constant paranoia as well as a deep, sluggish feeling of confusion.

"Megatron?" he mumbled, moaned, in a languid tone, no thought process preceding the gratified whisper.

"Not…quite."

It was not Megatron's voice, and Starscream sprang into a sitting position with his Spark skipping pulses even as his CPU struggled to comprehend why he had imagined the awkward reply to be delivered in Megatron's voice frequency in the first place. Optics flown wide, Starscream perceived his surroundings, the bright lights overhead making the medical equipment in the room shine and gleam. With a frown adorning his faceplates, the Seeker turned his gaze to the other occupant of the med bay and quite stupidly stared at the green-and-purple colour scheme that decisively confirmed that the mech touching—inspecting, or repairing at most—his wing so pleasantly had not been Megatron but one of the Constructicons. Scrapper, more specifically.

Starscream blinked, the frown plastered onto his faceplates as Scrapper stopped his staring and turned from him after a shake of helm, muttering something closely akin to "Do I even want to know?" under his breath. Starscream, after a moment's useless processing, had to admit that he was not sure if he wanted to know, either. The Seeker was not exactly looking forward to recalling the previous day, not after hearing himself speak out loud in a tone that should have never made it out of his own private quarters. His general grogginess was all the clue of yesterday's events he had, telling of prolonged stasis and, therefore, extensive repairs. The Seeker chased his memories for a while longer, his scowl deepening along with the prevailing silence in the med bay, then gave up with a petulant sniff and took to contemplating his own mumble from a couple of kliks ago.

"Megatron." It refused to make sense, the connection between his leader's name and a pleasurable feeling, yet he had uttered the name ex tempore and with no questions about the sensibility of it all while still rebooting. The Seeker pouted, blatant neglect all the attention he paid to his current company as his CPU strained to draw a connection between

Wham.

…Oh. His memories from the day before rebooted slyly and with no warning whatsoever. Taking him by complete, utter, jaw-dropping-optic-bulging surprise.

Sweet Primus. Starscream was quite sure he had screamed that aloud, judging by the subtle you-might-want-to-shut-up-before-I-dismantle-you helm-clutching gesture Scrapper made. The Seeker rushed to his feet and to the door, ignoring the lime-and-purple mech's further vexed glares and equally annoyed summary of Starscream's completed repairs and clearance.

The Seeker left the med bay half-sneaking, half-prancing; the lighter, bouncier steps immediately undone by nervous, skulking strides as suspicious thoughts borne of vorns of disappointment and Spark-ache darted to restrain the giddy pulses of his core.

Starscream cursed, not too softly, a bemused sigh lingering on his lips and waiting its turn to fill the silence of the peacefully empty corridor—it was still early morning, even more so for his hung-over Decepticon comrades who would not be waking up nor be doing anything useful in a long time. The Seeker chuckled a dry laugh at thought of their current conditions, then fell quiet again, listening to the draggy clack-clack of his heels, uncaring of where the sound was leading him.

He ran into Soundwave in a turn of the hallway. The blue mech stood there: solemn, unreadable as ever but seeming almost important, like a seer of some sort. Starscream quirked an optic ridge, waiting for something he knew to expect. Soundwave had been helping in confusing him and making things worse during the past weeks, after all, it seemed more than probable that he had a new source of disorientation to present even now.

"Megatron's location: Control Room."

Everything Megatron-related appeared to have become incomprehensible overnight, as Starscream found himself processing the tape deck's statement over and over again, only to huff in irritation after realising there was no meaning to extract from the metallic words. "Why would I want to know that?"

"Starscream: meditates very loudly."

Starscream jumped, optics narrowing rapidly as his privacy was invaded in that inconsistent monotone. The thought of Soundwave reading his mind was uncomfortable at any time, but particularly now when his thoughts were soaked with inappropriate images from last night and a number of desires and insecurities matching them. His faceplate contorted into a snarl during the two clipped steps that brought him into the blue mech's personal space.

"You have no right to probe my mind!" The Seeker jabbed a sharp finger into the tape deck's face, glaring at him so hotly he half-expected to see the mouth-plate guarding the telepath's features begin to melt.

"Probing: unnecessary. Starscream's thoughts: impossible to disregard."

"I… I! You dare!" The Seeker cringed inwardly at his eloquent reply, his CPU too reserved in trying to guard itself from Soundwave's intrusive telepathy to form a coherent sentence. The blue mech did not answer, only stared Starscream in a chilling way until the Seeker decided he'd had enough and backed from the telepath's face with a warning snarl, "Keep out of my mind."

"Objective: achieved. Soundwave: has work to do."

The jet was left glaring at the blue back as the tape deck turned tail with that conclusive but trivial statement. Soundwave cast no suspicious backward glances during the span of time Starscream spent waiting for them specifically, and as the telepath rounded the next corner, the Seeker reluctantly let his thoughts sail again.

It seemed there was nothing better to do than visiting the Control Room. Megatron.

Starscream sighed, hoping that last night had been about what his memory files claimed it had. He would miss the light, happy feeling about his Spark if it proved to be another daydream or a trick of some sort.

The Control Room morning-dozed in a rare state of complete silence. The silver mech lounging in his throne was eyeing the monitors in an idle way, aware that there was not much work to do. The Decepticons had their storages so full of energon that it would ensure a week of relative laziness, the rich energy reserves providing the suitable ease of processor and free time for thinking up and elaborating schemes to conquer the Universe with. For Megatron and him only, the situation was much more fortunate still, though.

The Decepticons had energy and he had Starscream—the contentment inspired by those facts had been a reason good enough to dismiss the poor Stunticons that had not taken part in yesterday's raid and had thus appointed themselves with a long night of monitor duty. Generosity may have not been in Megatron's character, but keeping a lazy optic on the monitors of the Control Room was a cheap price to pay for a few joors of quietness. Besides, moving to the Control Room after waking up had helped him dodge any feelings of irresponsibility, and the screens lining the room's walls pleasantly reflected his genius and consequent success at any rate—the reported number of energon cubes in the storage was nearly unbelievable considering that his troops had spent a good portion of the original loot last evening.

A sly sound of opening door pried Megatron's gaze off the screen to meet a crimson pair of optics peering at him in a nonplussed way.

Excitement ran through the silver frame at the sight, lifting the Decepticon leader's smirk into a denta-revealing grin. The expression settled on his faceplates with ease, a touch too inadvertently upbeat to match his person. Starscream regarded him with a mistrustful glance, seeming to stop and doubletake when his optics reached the near-smile on Megatron's face. After a moment, the jet's optics lit up with a warm light that probably reflected relief or contentment, the light transforming into mischief and Starscream's expression into a confident smirk along the way the Decepticon Second briskly made across the room. The Seeker's repaired frame gleamed softly in the bright light, begging Megatron to trace every curve with his servos.
"My Second," he purred in a greeting of sorts, the rumble welling up from the warmth that filled his entire chest.

The Seeker, half a step from the silver mech, stopped, hesitated. His confident smirk fell, replaced by an unsure expression made of parted lips and flickering gaze. The Decepticon leader's servos tightened on the arms of his throne.

Starscream, the master of ambivalence, prince of indecision and always ready to disappoint as he was, fidgeted for a klik, every single one of his backwards glances—the door seemed to endlessly intrigue the Seeker all of a sudden—making Megatron tense in growing annoyance. The silver mech's mouth began to part to bark a thorny question, but snapped shut as Starscream reacted, finally.

By shuffling his pedes in a decidedly ridiculous manner and casting his face down to mumble a tedious answer,"Eh. Um, morning, Lord Megatron. I didn't expect to meet you here."

The silver Decepticon spotted the clumsy lie with ease, its transparency insulting Starscream's usual wit. "Why wouldn't I be here?"

The jet still refused to establish optic contact, mouth twisted in something that would've passed for the disappointment it was even if Megatron hadn't been so aware of Starscream's desire to be talking something else entirely. He could see the question on the Seeker's face, the uncertainty in his actions speaking volumes when his mouth didn't. Starscream still needed verification that last evening had mattered. Dim little Seeker.

"It's barely morning," the jet blathered on, so clearly wanting to change subject to something relevant that Megatron couldn't help but assist him a little with an answer.

"You think the leader can laze about? I have a cause to maintain. Troops to supervise." The silver mech grimaced, hit by the realisation that he had taken to rambling, now.

"For a mech so hungry for power you surely know little about the liabilities of leadership," Megatron, still grimacing, added if only to finish that statement. He hadn't meant to get sidetracked; the long-worn-out mechanical remarks were not why he had looked forward to seeing his Second. He cut the Seeker off before he could take offence and spit a round high-pitched of barbs at him, "You have been patched, I see. The Constructicons did a nice job on your frame."

Starscream's face snapped up, his features rounded by naked hopefulness. "Yes, my Lord."

Megatron grinned triumphantly, standing up from his seat. The jet withdrew slightly, a wary gesture Megatron had learnt to expect but did not approve of just now. He reached for the Seeker by reflex, not sure if his original intention had been to lightly grasp the wingtip that flinched into his servo as Starscream fidgeted nervously. The peaked tip of the wing felt warm in his fingers, the fine sensors on its surface ready to be stimulated. Judging by the data Megatron had first-hand gathered about the Seeker's anatomy yesterday, a simple touch to the wings would've had Starscream writhing in his grasp. The silver mech's fans thrummed slightly, then quieted in petulant disappointment as the warlord forewent the idea and merely held the wing like the gesture was part of daily routine. He could feel Starscream's optics on him as he turned the wing a bit, trying to appear to be inspecting the repairs that had erased the marks of his fingers from its span. He hummed, faux-contemplative,"Excellent repair job, indeed. It's as if nothing happened at all."

With that, Megatron let go of the warm Seeker, delighting at the way the colourful frame twisted in search for further contact. He reseated himself in the throne, lifting his optics to observe the far wall. The warlord could feel the Seeker's optics searching his faceplates, pleading for optic contact and an answer of some sort. The Decepticon leader could imagine the jet's confusion and insecurity—and couldn't wait for Starscream to abandon the both of them.

"But…but something did happen, right?" Starscream whispered, so meek and tentative and nearly vulnerable that Megatron had no idea what to answer. Instead of a reply, he turned his gaze to capture the Seeker's bright pleading optics. "Something…changed?"

The Decepticon leader half-snarled, fed up with the Seeker's dubiety, but didn't deny the begging stare. He let himself be fooled into saying something that could've meant his doom had Starscream been merely bluffing, scheming once again (not that the jet knew how to act convincingly), "Yes. Now, Star- -"

The Seeker acted as fast as the change from uncertainty to excitement in his expression. Megatron barely had time to register that the tri-coloured frame had moved before all of the Seeker's passion was poured into him once again as their lips met in a long, languid kiss and Starscream clambered onto his lap, all desperately clinging limbs and shivering warmth. Megatron grunted his approval into the contact of their mouths, reaching to help the jet into the seat and to press the smaller frame against his, ignoring the uncomfortable implications the act of sharing his throne, especially in such a pleasure-dimmed mindset, bore.

Their lip components drifted apart after a moment, optics locked in a heated stare. The silent respite lasted only for a nanoklik, though; the impatient wandering of Starscream servos soon renewed, betraying the jet's need.

"Eager to move on, Starscream?"

"So are you," the Seeker answered with a jab and a broad, confident grin. The Decepticon leader couldn't help but answer the grin, the childishly excited expression on the jet's faceplates something he wanted to have all for himself.

"Greedy little Seeker. Why rush?"

"'Greedy'? Me? You're the one dead set on conquering the whole Universe."

It felt surreal, somehow, to have Starscream spout his usual retorts into his face in such a casual albeit husky tone, the unreal feeling contrasting with the Seeker's very, very tangible warmth and weight on his lap.

"Your silence shows that you agree, oh Mighty Leader," Starscream giggled mockingly.

"Mute it."

The Seeker did, but only after Megatron had crushed their lips together again.

Starscream drowsed against the cooling chest, listened to the slowing hums of the fans within, and wondered at the hands keeping him in place and on the larger frame—the sizzling post-overload sensations had started to subside by now, but the hold remained possessive. Starscream had anticipated a swift kick or backhand at first; the throne was strictly off-limits, and Megatron had never forgotten to painfully remind the Seeker of that whenever Starscream had tested his luck before. He should have been forcefully removed from the seat already, yet there he dozed in the massive chair, on his leader, and purred stupidly as their systems cooled down from overload.

Perhaps Megatron was merely recovering for a second round? Starscream would not resist if that turned out to be the case, but…He couldn't remember if he'd seen his leader this satisfied, relaxed in his presence. Ever.

A gaudy blare of near-comprehensible sound broke the jet's musings, his Spark racing at hyperspeed even after the shock passed and he realised the sound had been his communications systems recovering with a bang—his trinemates seemed to have bombarded the trine-link him for a moment now.

'Screamer? 'Screamer! Oh sweet frag it's you!'

The red Seeker grimaced, trying toslip back into the content mindset from before but failing as Skywarp's far-too-loud, daze-shattering voice shouted further exclamations of relief over the link between their trine.

'Starscream? So you're still alive after all,' Thundercracker's decidedly calmer voice joined in after a while. Starscream could hear the crease of the blue Seeker's optic ridge.

'Of course I am alive, fools! Why would you expect me to have died overnight?'

'We saw Megatron near the med bay last night. That couldn't all have been his energon if he was still on his pedes, so…' Thundercracker trailed off, undoubtedly shook his helm wherever in the base he was, and continued his reasoning, 'We thought we'd check up on you next morning, see if you're still functioning and all.'

'You were not there!' Skywarp interrupted in a hysterical shriek, 'There was only Mixmaster there an' he was drinking his aft off last night and had no idea if you'd been to the med bay at all! We checked your quarters next, then mess hall, then our own damn quarters in case you'd come to kill me—sorry, 'bout last night, 'Screamer! Slag it, I thought warping you in Meg's quarters was a good idea!—then - -'

'Get to the point or shut up, imbecile!'

'Thanks, Starscream. We tried to comm you after that. For half a joor. What happened to your communication systems?'

'I was... distracted,' Starscream answered his blue trinemate, not at all embarrassed that it had been Megatron 'distracting' him with way too clever servos and heated kisses and an overload matching the one from yesterday evening. Nor did he regret that the interface mode seemed to disable communications systems.

'Distracted? Distracted? I thought I'd helped Megatron murder you! That he'd dumped your slagged-up mangled carcass in the ocean, for Primus' sake! Frag! I...So...You ok?'

'Quite good, thank you very much. I...made it out of our charming leader's quarters last night. Mind you, I still won't forgive you about that anytime soon, Skywarp.'

Thundercracker's voice drowned the purple flier's stream of frantic apologies, 'Where are you now?'

Starscream flinched, glancing quickly upwards to take in Megatron's brightening optics and noting that the servos on his frame had started to trace patterns—a second round of interfacing seemed more than possible. 'In good servos.'

He cut the link with that, centring his attention on Megatron again.

"You were talking with someone," the Decepticon leader mused in a remotely stern tone.

Starscream flinched."What? How did you - - it was over the trine-link, no-one else can - -!"

"You should learn to guard your expressions, Seeker. They betray a lot," Megatron grumbled in answer, but with a grin that made clear the Decepticon leader was not really scolding the jet for his expressiveness. Starscream pouted slightly. "What did your trinemates want?"

"Skywarp was under the impression that teleporting me into your quarters had turned out to be a bad idea after all."

"Ah, so that's how you ended up there…I believe you righted him?" —Starscream half-smirked dryly— "Ha. At least you expressed your eternal gratitude?"

The Seeker faltered."Gratitude? He disobeyed my orders and put me in danger, I don't think he deserves - -"

"I'll thank Skywarp for the both of us later, then. Generously."

Starscream was just about to dive in for the kiss he preferred over a meaningless retort, when the door to the Control Room swished open and stopped time.

With an instinctual pang of disappointment, Starscream prepared for the hard shove and whatever ridiculous, theatrical accusation ("Your schemes are transparent as usual, traitor! Know that you will never occupy this seat!") with which Megatron would defend his own dignity and gain some distance between them.

They couldn't afford to let this secret spread, as spread like cosmic rust it would once set free.

Or so the Decepticon Second in Command had, wisely in his opinion, thought. Megatron, however, peered over Starscream's wing uninterestedly, yanked the Seeker in for a brief but showy kiss and smirked smugly before turning back to the interrupter the jet couldn't identify for his own shoulder vents and the grip that held him tightly in place.

"…Interruption: unintentional. Apologies, Lord Megatron."

Megatron was surprised only by the fact that he wasn't. Interruptions had become such a recurrent event during the past month, made by both Soundwave and Starscream's fidgets, that all he did was to tighten his hold on the wriggling Seeker, and regard his Third in Command with the marginal interest he had to show as a responsible leader. "I have my servos full at the moment, Soundwave. Did you have something important?"

"Negative. Monitor duty: can wait," Soundwave droned, observing the setting of the Decepticon high command cramped on the throne with interest. Megatron couldn't figure out if the telepath liked the arrangement or not.

"Excellent! Now, please inform the first shift workers that we have some problems with…overheating mechanisms in the Control Room. Those need to be sorted out before they can begin their work."

"Estimation: how long will that take?" the blue mech intoned dully, as if oblivious to the leery ambiguity of Megatron's words and the smug squeeze he gave Starscream's aft.

Speaking of the pouty Seeker in his lap, Megatron couldn't help but wonder why no pathetic "This is not what it seems!" directed at Soundwave had escaped the jet yet. Starscream did glare at his leader and probably would have liked to turn to glare at the telepath too, but aside from that and the servos that dug into Megatron's arms with intent that could have very well been murderous, his Second did nothing.

"Let's say another joor. No one is to enter until that, understood?" Megatron smirked lecherously at the surprised but distinctly pleased gasp Starscream let out at the word 'joor', feeling waves of approval and arousal radiate from the Seeker.

"Affirmative."

"Good. Dismissed."

Soundwave didn't move. "Lord Megatron."

"Yes, Soundwave?" Megatron tensed, however slightly, not sure what the tape deck was up to. The red visor stared back at him blankly.

"Congratulations on your conquest."

The Decepticon leader had never heard an emotionless monotone more mischievous, and after the bolt of initial shock passed, Megatron burst into a wild laughter that accompanied the telepath's departure.

The door slid shut as quickly as it had opened.

"…A conquest?"

"That would mean you, dear Starscream."

"I am not stupid, you ancient glitch! And I, Starscream the Mighty, am most definitely not a conquest any more than some possession of yours!"

Megatron grinned at the Seeker's obvious anger, taunting his Second with a crafty pinch to his backside. Starscream shivered immediately. "You keep telling yourself that, dear Seeker."

The jet shook in the Decepticon leader's lap, dentas bared in outrage and mouth wide open in a resonant, blustery scream,"A-and Soundwave! If he tells anyone, it will ruin my reputation! You could have done something, you rusted-over dimwit!"

"Don't worry about your…reputation, Starscream. Unlike some other mechs, Soundwave knows when to keep secrets…and when not to."

Megatron could see the upcoming burst of rants and obscenities on the Seeker's lips, the curve of the dark upper lip a perfectly offended, contemptuous one. The Decepticon leader rolled his optics and spoke before his unnecessarily loud and far too shrill Second could, "Now, I suggest we make better use of the joor I managed to steal us. You can argue about this later."

The silver mech ignored the momentary indecision on Starscream's face and yanked the Seeker into a kiss, grunting his disapproval for the sake of it when one of Starscream's blue fists pettishly collided with the side of his face before circling his helm and pressing their mouths into a deeper contact. He might have deserved the punch—Megatron could imagine the amount of sheer painful stinging residing in the place of Seeker's pride.

He chuckled a throaty laugh into the kiss, feeling the dark lips stretch into a slight smirk against his.

Escorted to its doom by a hum of cooling fans; shuffling, pinching, exploring sounds of unrestrained servos and kiss-muffled mewls and groans, the silence of too well-kept secrets and miscommunication already strained to its limits after everything that had passed, finally shattered under pleasure.