[Crown the Empire] Reign 08
a/n: This chapter is NSFW and features some interfacing with Grimlock in dino-mode so if that kind of thing squicks you, might want to skip the end. :)
Playlist by Chapter
Title: Reign
Universe: TF Amalgam, Crown the Empire
Characters/Pairings: Grimlock/Starscream, Skywarp, Thundercracker, Swoop, Slag, Snarl, Sky-Byte
Rated: M
Warnings: Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Moral and Political Dilemmas, Minor Character Death, Canon-Typical Violence
Summary: Megatron is dead, and Grimlock has claimed rulership of the Decepticons, where falling for his new Air Commander becomes an unexpected bonus. But there are some who disagree with his ascension, and intend to return the Decepticons to the status quo. Even if it means killing everyone who stands in their way.
Commission fic for nkfloofiepoof.
Chapter Eight
Grimlock did not like Metalhawk.
There were pacifists among the Autobots, those who would prefer not to fight if given the choice, but every one of them still took up arms if the situation called for it. They still fought to protect their friends and fellow soldiers when push came to shove.
Metalhawk had fled. He'd taken an army of similar-minded mecha and vanished into the depths of the universe, only returning when the battle was won. And then he had the audacity to demand that he and his ilk were the only ones deserving of a home.
He had no right. None.
Grimlock did not like Metalhawk. He did not like political posturing. And he especially did not like trying to play sneaky-spy games the like of which Jazz enjoyed thoroughly.
He had not looked forward to this meeting. But neither could he turn it down. He had to know what Metalhawk was up to. He had to play along.
Metalhawk didn't have to know that if it came down to it, Grimlock would side with Optimus. He and Optimus might not have been on the best of terms always, but he at least trusted that Optimus didn't have plans to line up every Decepticon and execute them.
Metalhawk would do it with a smile on his high caste face.
Metalhawk invited Grimlock to Nova Cronum for their meeting, but he wasn't stupid. He politely declined and suggested a more neutral location. After all, it wouldn't do for Optimus to suspect anything untoward, yes?
So they met at the space bridge, which was the closest thing Cybertron had to a Neutral zone that didn't involve flying to another ruined city. Metalhawk was all smiles and welcome energy field as he met up with Grimlock, his arms folded behind his back.
“Thank you for coming,” he said, with a rolling disingenuous purr that only fooled the foolish.
Something he thought Grimlock to be.
“Make quick,” Grimlock growled, pulling on the veil of stupidity. Let Metalhawk think he was nothing more than a brute who had won control of the Decepticons by virtue of being stronger, not smarter. “Me Grimlock busy.”
“Of course. Of course. Aren't we all?” Metalhawk's smile did not lose its luster.
He started to walk and Grimlock fell into step beside him. Metalhawk was not that much shorter than he, but the flyer was all limbs and angles. He was no threat physically, but there was a sly wit behind his optics.
He reminded Grimlock a bit too much of Starscream, but not in a good way.
“I won't take up too much of your time then,” Metalhawk continued, carefully picking his way across the ground. “I am concerned, Grimlock. Concerned that Optimus Prime may be trying to circumvent the terms of the treaty we all agreed upon.”
Grimlock's visor narrowed into a flat line. What on Cybertron was Metalhawk talking about? It didn't make a lick of sense.
“Him Optimus too stupid honorable to do that,” he countered.
“Yes, well, he might be, but we all know that there are others behind the scenes who are more likely to pull the strings. A certain saboteur responsible for bringing down Megatron comes to mind.” Metalhawk slanted him a knowing look, as though they shared a secret. “I only want to be certain we are all on the same page.”
Grimlock grunted, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. He wanted Metalhawk to dig his own grave.
“I thought you might agree.” Metalhawk nodded and continued with very little prompting on Grimlock's part. He certainly liked to hear himself talk. “After all, it has come to my attention that one of my own has already petitioned to join your faction. Isn't it curious that no one has expressed any interest in joining the Autobots?”
“Him Tailgate,” Grimlock said.
“Yes. I am going to approve the petition. I never had any intention of doing otherwise,” Metalhawk replied. “I'm afraid there may have been some confusion between your third and myself.”
Confusion, Grimlock's aft.
“Him Cyclonus protective,” Grimlock said. “Me Grimlock talk to him Cyclonus.”
Metalhawk lifted a hand, waving it dismissively. “Oh, don't worry. I didn't take any offense. I simply wanted you to understand I bear no ill will.”
“You Metalhawk get to point,” Grimlock said with a bit of a growl. “What you want?”
“Ah. A mech who wastes no time. I understand.” Metalhawk gave him a conspiratorial look. “The truth is Grimlock, I think there is an advantage that can be found for us if we formed a partnership.”
Grimlock cycled a ventilation, trying to conceal his irritation. “Treaty signed already. What else to do?”
“Ensure equal treatment for all, of course.” Metalhawk's smile widened, displaying his neat and even denta. “Have I mentioned how relieved I am that you are now the leader of the Decepticons? Megatron proved unwilling to cooperate with even the slightest consideration for others, but you… you are a great improvement.”
Grimlock grunted.
Metalhawk said a lot, without actually saying anything at all. Was he trying to get Grimlock to agree to some kind of private partnership that would circumvent the boundaries of the treaty?
“Anyway, as I was saying, a partnership would be ideal for both of us. We can exchange resources.”
“Already do that,” Grimlock said.
Metalhawk waved again. “Yes, yes. I know. I meant, without the involvement of the Autobots.” He stopped and whirled toward Grimlock, but not without a conspiratorial look around them. “I fear they are not satisfied with the current treaty. There is a lot of discontent among them, specifically regarding the way you are handling the past actions of some of your troops.”
“Grimlock not hear anything like that.”
“Of course you wouldn't. Optimus knows they are outnumbered right now, but that doesn't mean there can't be accidents.” Metalhawk cycled his vocalizer loudly. “Not that I'm accusing anyone of wrongdoing, but you know, a mech never can be too careful.”
Grimlock stared at Metalhawk. He could discern the mech's intentions now.
Metalhawk hoped to sow distrust between the Autobots and Decepticons until they destroyed each other. This meeting, in fact, was probably one of his moves. All he needed was for someone to report back to Optimus that Grimlock and Metalhawk had met in secret.
Pfft.
Little did Metalhawk know but neither of them were so easily manipulated.
“Me Grimlock very careful,” he said. “Me Grimlock know better than trust anyone.”
Metalhawk released a soft chuckle. “Of course you do.” He inclined his helm. “For your sake and for that of your soldiers, correct?”
“Me Grimlock not understand.”
“Well...” Metalhawk looked sideways, as though sharing some coy secret. “Everyone knows how strong you are. It would be ludicrous to try and attack you, yes? But some of your subordinates are not as, hmm, well-defended?”
Grimlock's engine rumbled before he could rein it in. That sounded like a threat. “What you Metalhawk mean?”
“Just that Optimus' third has a history of aiming for an army's weak spots.” Metalhawk shrugged dismissively. “Not saying that he'd do it, of course. We're at peace. We've signed a treaty. But I haven't survived this long without preparing for all eventualities. However, we seemed to have strayed from the original topic, haven't we?”
Grimlock's distaste for Metalhawk grew. Not only was Metalhawk a simpering fool, but his casual condescending attitude grated on Grimlock's patience.
“Me Grimlock not understand what you Metalhawk want,” Grimlock said, purposefully growling and ex-venting loudly. He shifted his weight, looming over Metalhawk.
The Neutral wisely took a step back. “Let me explain,” he said, with that politician's smile. “I think an agreement would be beneficial to both of us. An understanding that in times of need, we can come to the aid of one another. We will freely share resources. We will have a direct line of communication in case there are any incidents. Et cetera.”
In other words, Metalhawk wanted to form an alliance with Grimlock that excluded Optimus. Grimlock had no doubt Metalhawk would go to Optimus with the very same offer, planting seeds of dissent against the Decepticons. Except Optimus was not so stupid as to fall for this condescending act, so Metalhawk would have to use other methods, perhaps preying on the assaults the Autobots had endured under Megatron's rule.
It would have been clever, if the Autobots and Decepticons had not solidified their own alliance before offering the treaty to the Neutrals.
“Me Grimlock not decide now,” he replied and pulled his hands into fists before releasing them. “Me Grimlock need talk with him Starscream first.”
Metalhawk nodded. “Yes. I understand. The mind behind the throne, so to speak.” His smile was almost blinding. “Well, allow me to offer you this then.” He pulled a datachip from an arm compartment and handed it over. “This is my private, personal comm. You can reach me at any time on it.”
Grimlock accepted the tiny chip, pinching it between two fingers.
“I hope to hear back from you soon,” Metalhawk said as he bowed his helm. “And that your reply is favorable. Thank you for agreeing to meet with me.”
“Me Grimlock appreciate warning,” he replied.
“You Grimlock are most welcome.” Metalhawk took a further step back, giving himself enough room to transform.
Grimlock watched him go, resisting the urge to crush the datachip in his fist. It would have made him feel better, but the information on it was too valuable. He didn't know whether it actually contained Metalhawk's personal comm, or whether it had some clever virus buried in the coding. Either way, Grimlock would take it to Perceptor to look at, since he didn’t have a functioning science unit of his own.
First things first, however, he wanted to discuss this with Starscream, and then contact Optimus Prime.
It looked like Metalhawk had finally made his move.
~
He had three meetings on his agenda today, all of them loathed tasks that he would have preferred avoiding if it at all possible.
However, Cyclonus had agreed to take this position as Grimlock and Starscream's third and he couldn't ignore any task he was given, no matter how distasteful. It was his duty. He was, by unanimous voting among what was considered the command staff, the most fair and honorable of Decepticon leadership.
They trusted him to make the right decisions. Therefore, the task of evaluating the imprisoned Decepticons for who would be allowed parole and who didn't have a chance in the Pit of being released, fell to Cyclonus.
Some of these Cyclonus knew would never see the light of day again. They would never be genuinely remorseful, no matter how deeply Starscream buried them, or how far Grimlock threw the key. They would probably suffer a fate similar to what had befallen the phase shifters, memory wipe and spark imprisonment, unless Grimlock decided to be merciful and execute them.
Still, Cyclonus was obligated to meet with them. He was obligated to give their petitions a scrap of his attention and inform them of their denial. Just as he was obligated to tell them why.
It had been on Grimlock's insistence, actually. He didn't want the Decepticons to dissolve into a lawless group of Cybertronians. He wanted, eventually, for all three factions to co-exist, even assimilate. He knew it was far in coming, but every little bit counted. Every bit helped.
In this, Grimlock was much like Megatron. He had grand ideas for the future. He had big plans and hopes.
Maybe, hopefully, Cyclonus could dare believe that not only would Grimlock accomplish them, but he wouldn't lose his way in the process.
This was a good start. Even if Cyclonus did find it an irritating task.
He had four names on the list today: Shockwave, who insisted his scientific contributions were more valuable outside of the brig than in; Barricade, who tried to argue he was only following orders; Drag Strip, who complained that it was cruel and unusual punishment to keep him from a daily solvent bath; and Breakdown, the only one who held any promise of being released.
Cyclonus opened the door to the brig, nodding to Grindcore who had recently been promoted in the wake of Horri-bull's “defection” to the Neutrals. Cyclonus hesitated to call it a defection, however, as all Horri-bull wanted was to be with Needlenose again, but Needlenose refused to join the Decepticons. A concession had to be made.
Scourge stepped out of the main security room as Cyclonus approached, his expression grave, but then, that was average for Scourge. “More petition requests to be heard, I take it?” Cyclonus' second asked.
Cyclonus cycled a ventilation. “Reluctantly, yes. I trust everyone has been well-behaved?”
“You would be the first to know if they haven't.” Scourge fell into step beside him as they headed for the low-security cell block. These cells contained the mechs Cyclonus thought most likely to be eligible for release. “They've learned that belligerent behavior will not earn them a faster release.”
Thank Primus for small favors.
“Who do you want to see first?” Scourge asked.
Cyclonus debated for a long moment before deciding on the sure bet, to start the rest of the evening off on a positive note. “Breakdown,” he said as he pulled a couple of datapads out of subspace. “If this goes well, you may have one less prisoner to monitor.”
“I will look forward to that.”
They stopped in front of Breakdown's cell. He'd been separated from Motormaster and Dragstrip. Cyclonus hoped keeping all three apart meant they would think for themselves. It worked in Breakdown's case, not so much his gestaltmates.
Breakdown sat on the narrow berth, elbows braced on his knees, his optics fixed on the floor. He looked small and mournful, and didn't lift his gaze when they approached. Blue and white armor was scuffed, perhaps leftover from the first battle.
Cyclonus watched him for another moment longer before he turned and kept going. “Bring him to the conference room,” he requested.
“Yes, sir.”
He wanted a moment to center himself, review his information, before speaking with Breakdown. Besides, a little anticipation could only help.
A few minutes later, Scourge deposited Breakdown in a chair across from Cyclonus, his wrists shackled together, though honestly, Cyclonus didn't feel there was a need. Still, procedures were there for a reason. Scourge left, standing guard outside the door.
Breakdown studied the table. “Are you here to deny my petition?”
“No, I'm here to discuss it.” Cyclonus folded his hands on the table. “I understand you wish to be released under whatever restrictions we deem fit.”
Breakdown hunched. “I don't want to be in prison anymore,” he said, gaze still focused on the table. “I just want a chance to be free.”
“Even if it means leaving your gestalt-mates behind?”
“Yes.”
Not a moment of hesitation. No love lost between them perhaps? Strange that Drag Strip would be so loyal to Motormaster, but not Breakdown. He wondered if that division had always been present or if it was a new thing.
“Do you think you deserve to be released?”
Breakdown fell silent. This would be the moment Cyclonus expected him to expand upon all the reasons he wanted freedom. He did not expect silence. Interesting.
“I spoke with Mirage,” Cyclonus continued as he shuffled through the information on the datapad.
Though 'spoke' was a strong word. He'd sent an official request through Soundwave, was bounced to Jazz, who informed him that Mirage was not available to be interviewed, but he would pass along any questions Cyclonus might have. Though he'd hated to play a game of comm tag, Cyclonus bowed to convention.
Jazz took his questions, spoke with Mirage, and then contacted Cyclonus at a later time with the answers.
“I have been informed that you were not party to any of the assaults he endured,” Cyclonus said as he found the proper file and opened it, re-skimming the contents. “Though you also did not attempt to stop them.”
Breakdown shrank further into himself. “I'm only one mech,” he said, tone miserable. “I didn't have anywhere else to go. It was hard enough getting them to stop trying to encourage me.” His field leaked free, a nauseating mix of misery and fear.
Cylonus tilted his helm and looked at the small grounder, who was rather meek for both a Decepticon and a Stunticon. “Why didn't you?” he felt compelled to ask, because the why was important here. “The opportunity was there, why didn't you take it?”
“Because I didn't want to,” Breakdown said, his vocals glitched with static. “I mean, who'd want to do that? Frag someone who's bleeding disgust and misery and pain?” His shoulders hunched again, cuffs rattling as he worried his hands together. “I didn't even want to watch, but every time I left the room, Wildrider accused me of being an Autobot sympathizer.”
Which, in Megatron's optics, was unacceptable. It would have invited punishment, or worse.
Then again, the Stunticons were Megatron's favorite gestalt. Cyclonus doubted that Megatron would have done something to jeopardize that. Punishment would have been on the table. Breakdown would have suffered. But he would have still been useful.
Was this where the division began in Menasor? Or had it always been there, seething beneath the surface? Curiouser and curiouser.
Cyclonus set down the datapad with a light click. Breakdown flinched.
“There is a requirement that you work,” Cyclonus said as he studied the other mech. “You are expected to contribute.”
Breakdown's intake bobbed. “I don't have any skills,” he said, only to lift his helm and quickly amend with, “but I'm willing to learn!”
Something like discomfort wedged into Cyclonus' spark. There was a painful earnesty to Breakdown's words. If it was carefully crafted, then he was a superb actor. If it wasn't, well, that spoke of things which concerned Cyclonus.
Perhaps he needed to speak with Shockwave about how Menasor came into being. But for now, he would do right by this one.
“What are you interested in?”
Breakdown fidgeted. His faceplate heated. “I once thought about being a medic,” he suggested tentatively. “But that's not what a Stunticon is for,” he added with a new air of misery.
“As luck would have it, we are in need of medics,” Cyclonus said, his decision made. “That is, if you are interested in receiving the proper training.”
Breakdown's optics widened. “I… would be allowed?”
“Provided you follow the terms of your release, yes.” Cyclonus rose to his pedes and circled the table, reaching for Breakdown's wrists to unlock the shackles. “You will be monitored closely. There are no second chances. If you pose a threat at any point, you will return to the brig. Do you understand?”
Breakdown nodded, rubbing his plating where the shackles had left scrapes in paint already thoroughly scratched. “I do. I, um, thank you. For giving me a chance.”
“If we can endure a Dinobot as our new leader, I think giving you a chance is no real risk,” Cyclonus said and gestured for Breakdown to rise. “Come along. I'll have Grindcore escort you out and get you prepped for probation.”
Breakdown's field all but sang with delight. “Thank you. I promise I won't let you down.”
“See that you don't.”
Cyclonus only wished that the others would be so cooperative. But he knew better.
It would be a long afternoon.
~
It wasn't the first time Starscream had come to Dinobot Central, but it certainly felt like it. This felt different than all the other times.
He had the codes, but he pinged for entrance anyway. He and Grimlock hadn't discussed boundaries between personal time and business time. He supposed that would have to be a conversation relatively soon.
The door opened to reveal Snarl, who peered down at Starscream, his armor fluffed out as though in challenge. “What you want?” he demanded.
Starscream refused to be intimidated. “To speak with Grimlock. I know he's here.”
“You Snarl let him Starscream inside!” Grimlock's bellow echoed from within the suite. “And you Snarl be polite or me Grimlock tell him Wheeljack!”
Snarl, well, snarled, his armor fluttering aggressively. “Him Grimlock tattle-tale,” he grumbled, but he stepped aside, waving Starscream in. “You jet not touch anything,” he added.
Intimidated was officially the least of what Starscream felt. Amusement settled in. They really were, in some ways, like sparklings. Grimlock was obviously the eldest and the most intelligent, but in many ways, yes, they were like sparklings. Adult sparklings.
“Perhaps you should tell your leader that,” Starscream retorted with a wink toward Snarl who actually heated around the edges of his faceplate.
Less belligerent, more adorable now.
Starscream smirked and entered Dinobot Central, taking a look around.
Slag wasn't here, Starscream noticed. Swoop was, however, and it was he who was snuggled up with Grimlock on the massive couch they had perched in front of the vidscreen. Even as Starscream watched, Snarl returned to the couch and threw himself down in next to Swoop who squawked in irritation.
“You Snarl always act clumsy!” the flyer said as he bopped the larger Dinobot on the shoulder.
“You Swoop just too small,” Snarl retorted, obviously a tease as he grinned.
Grimlock turned his helm. “You going to join us, Starscream?”
“And dent my wings? Primus forbid.”
Starscream approached the couch, standing behind it as he looked at the screen. They were watching some kind animated film from Earth, as far as Starscream could tell. Pfft. Human entertainment.
“Him Starscream afraid of scratches,” Swoop commented with a loud chortle. He looked over Grimlock's shoulder at Starscream and winked. “Him Starscream too dignified to cuddle.”
Grimlock released a rolling laugh. “That may be true, Swoop.”
Starscream rolled his optics. “I did come here for a reason, you know.”
“Him Grimlock say he off shift right now,” Snarl said with the air of a petulant child.
“I did say that,” Grimlock said with a thoughtful hum.
Starscream leaned against the back of the couch, his lips inches from Grimlock's audial. “This isn't about work, but a certain question you asked of me.” His spark beat a little faster, a mix of anticipation and dread.
He'd given Grimlock's offer a lot of thought, all the while already knowing what his answer would be. All he had to do was work past his own fears, however ridiculous they were.
“I see.” Grimlock patted Swoop on the knee. “Keep my spot warm, Swoop. I'll be back.”
Swoop laughed. “No, you won't.”
Grimlock chuckled and pushed himself to his pedes as Starscream straightened as well. “That depends,” he replied with a long look at Starscream. “You Snarl leave remote alone,” he added.
The large Dinobot harrumphed but didn't argue. He waved Grimlock away, even as Swoop shifted his snuggle from the spot Grimlock abandoned, over to Snarl, who didn't once protest the new warmth at his side.
The spark of the team indeed.
“You do have a private room?” Starscream said with a raised orbital ridge as he followed Grimlock toward an adjoining hallway.
“No. We Dinobots sleep in a huge cuddling nest,” Grimlock retorted, entirely deadpan. But his field flicked out, warm with humor and something else on the edges, something that Starscream couldn't interpret.
Starscream huffed a ventilation. “I wouldn't be surprised if you did.”
Grimlock snickered.
The new hallway was long with multiple doors, but Grimlock passed them all, heading for the far one on the end. Starscream assumed these others belonged to the rest of the Dinobots, and noticed that most of the doors themselves were decorated with various pieces of Earth memorabilia.
“I spoke with Metalhawk this morning,” Grimlock said as he shoved open the last door and gestured for Starscream to follow him inside.
“Good for you,” Starscream replied as he edged into the room, which contained a workdesk, a large berth and another door opposite. Perhaps a second entrance into Dinobot Central. “But I meant it when I said I didn't come here to talk about work.”
The door slid shut behind him, beeping and locking.
Grimlock sat down on the edge of the berth and patted the surface next to him. “Sometimes, I don't know that there's a difference between the two for us.”
Starscream sighed and scrubbed a hand down his faceplate. “Yes, we need to talk about that, too. But this first.”
“All right.” Grimlock's gaze focused on him, and Starscream felt the weight of it. “You have my attention.”
It should be easy.
Starscream worked his intake and cycled a ventilation. This was the moment of truth. He felt at once cold and hot, and it shouldn't feel like he was making a life or death decision, but it did, and he couldn't quite figure out why.
But it felt right and that was more important than anything else.
He paced back and forth, the silence swelling between them. He thought he knew what he wanted to say, but the words flew out of his processor.
Grimlock shifted on the berth. “You do know that no matter what your answer is, I will still continue to treat you with the courtesy and respect you deserve, right?”
Starscream drew up short and stared at him. “What's that supposed to mean? Of course I knew that.”
“I'm not sure you do.” Grimlock slid off the berth and approached Starscream, gently laying his hands on Starscream's shoulders. “I'm not sure that you know you're allowed to say 'no.'”
Starscream's optics narrowed. “Have you been talking to my trinemates?”
“Should I have been?” Grimlock tilted his helm, honestly confused. “And I don't have to talk to anyone to make an educated guess.” His hands slid down Starscream's shoulders, his arms, to take his hands. “Megatron leaves quite the swath of destruction behind him.”
Starscream scoffed. “That's an understatement. Have you looked around you? Cybertron is in ruins.”
Grimlock leaned down, and his forehelm gently pressed to Starscream's own. “I was talking about you,” he said, in a soft tone Starscream had not known him capable. “I wish to court you, my second, best in flight, Air Commander Starscream. But if you want nothing more from me than the relationship we already have, feel free to say so. The choice is yours.”
It should not have been such a novel concept.
That it was sent an ache of longing through Starscream's spark, and a ripple of some ill-defined emotion down his spinal strut.
“And if I were to say yes?” Starscream asked, attempting to sound coy, but failing when it came out just short of breathless.
Grimlock's thumb rubbed across his palm. “Then we'll both see how much I've learned from the books Thundercracker loaned me.”
Starscream couldn't help himself. He laughed. “I knew you'd been speaking to my trine.”
“Only about Vosian customs. Nothing pertaining to my predecessor.” Grimlock lifted his helm and pressed it against the side of Starscream's, his facemask instituting a slow slide against Starscream's audial. “Is that permission?”
Starscream shivered, heat pulsing through his frame. “Yes,” he said, his glossa sweeping over his lips. “I'll allow you this opportunity to impress me.”
Grimlock's engine purred. He squeezed Starscream's hands. “I can start tonight if you like.” A hint of mischief colored his words.
“With your brothers in the next room? Have you an exhibitionist streak I should worry about?” Starscream challenged.
Grimlock laughed as he took a step back, tugging on Starscream's hands to urge him to come along. Not that it took much urging. Heat made a steady path through Starscream's lines. His spark fluttered.
“If it bothers you, I can stop,” Grimlock said.
Again with the courtesy. It boggled the mind.
“I never said it did,” Starscream retorted. He startled when Grimlock abruptly spun him around, picked him up and deposited him on the berth in one smooth move.
Unicron take him! He swore Grimlock did that on purpose, showing off how much larger and stronger he was. And no, Starscream absolutely did not squeak.
“Good.” Grimlock purred and worked his way between Starscream's thighs.
Starscream toppled backward, the berth just wide enough to keep his helm from hitting the wall on the opposite side. His knees and legs hung off the edge of the berth. A visor gleamed back at him, dark with arousal, as Grimlock's hands landed on his thighs and pushed them further apart, baring Starscream's modesty panel to his unrelenting gaze.
Another shiver drizzled down Starscream's backstrut.
“Is admiring part of the courtship ritual?” he asked.
“I don't see why it can't be,” Grimlock replied as his hands slid inward, thumbs brushing over Starscream's modesty panel. “Will you open for me?”
So many questions. Always with the questions.
Starscream worked his intake and manually triggered his panels to open, valve spiraling into view and spike peeking from its sheath. He was only moderately aroused, a dribble of lubricant forming in his valve as his spike peeped forward.
His ventilations caught in his intake as Grimlock swept a light touch over his interface array. Fingers traced the rim of his valve before flirting over the head of his spike, coaxing it free.
“I wonder,” Grimlock said, his voice a rocky rumble. “Do you trust me?”
Starscream's optics widened. “What kind of question to ask is that when you're standing there with my panels open?” he demanded, though instead of a spike of fear, one of thrill went through his field.
“A relevant one.” Grimlock stroked his spike, thumb and forefinger pinching and rolling the sensitive crown of it. “I've a mind to taste you.”
“You don't have a mouth.”
A visor gleamed at him. “Not in this form, I don't.”
Starscream's fingers tangled in the berth cover, one that he belatedly realized was not of Cybertronian construction, but made of Earthen materials. It was soft and pliant and… why was he thinking about blankets?
Grimlock had made him an offer. Grimlock wanted to… to…
His fingers stroked the rim of Starscream's valve again, the delicate touches doing much to ramp Starscream's arousal, drawing light pearls of lubricant.
“You can say no. I've plenty of other ideas, but this one--”
“Yes,” Starscream said, interrupting him, the word nearly a moan. He rolled his hips upward, spike jutting for attention. “Yes, I trust you, damn it. Just do it.”
Grimlock gently rubbed his anterior node and Starscream's hips jerked. Pleasure rang through his frame as he grabbed at the berth covers, twisting his fingers in the blanket.
And then Grimlock backed off, taking two steps away from the berth. He audibly cycled a ventilation. The sound of a transformation filled the berthroom, a different tone than that of the average Cybertronian, before Grimlock fell apart and twisted back together, and a massive beast-mode mech loomed over Starscream. It was an almost terrifying reminder of how much mass Grimlock subspaced. He was so much larger than Megatron, and the gleam of the beast-mode's optics seemed all the more baleful now that he was looking down at Starscream laying on the berth, his legs open and inviting.
But Grimlock leaned forward, his massive helm nudging between Starscream's thighs, ex-venting a heavy and hot burst against his exposed array. Starscream shivered.
“Tell me to stop,” Grimlock growled at him as he cycled another ventilation, puffing more heat over Starscream's quivering components.
He tossed his helm and stared back at Grimlock, challenging him. “Get on with it,” Starscream said instead and shoved a hand down between his legs. He pushed his knees as far as his hip joints would allow and parted the pleats of his valve. “Or I'll take care of myself.”
Grimlock chuckled and nudged the end of his muzzle against Starscream's bared array. “Can't have that.” He opened his mouth, baring sharp denta that would have made a Decepticon proud.
Anticipation made Starscream's spark beat faster. His spike throbbed. Lubricant seeped from his valve.
The first touch of a large, warm glossa against his array made him moan. His optics flickered, and he canted his hips upward, panting through his denta as another wet swipe made him tingle. He jerked his fingers away as the flat plane of Grimlock's glossa pressed against his valve with a delicious pressure.
Starscream sucked in a vent. He fisted the covers, thrusters spitting fire at the floor as his valve pulsed more lubricant. His spike kept catching the tail end of Grimlock's glossa flick, and it throbbed for attention.
“Don't be a tease!” he snapped.
“Not teasing,” Grimlock retorted, every damp ex-vent another caress to Starscream's array.
His external node throbbed. His valve cycled down on nothing.
Grimlock licked him again, each long and heavy lap of his glossa like sweet torture. Starscream's hips rocked of their own accord, his legs trembling from the effort of keeping himself so open. Energy crackled through his array, the obscene nature of the moment only making him more aroused.
His vents clicked on, roaring at max. His valve throbbed, eager for something to fill it. His spike steadily leaked pre-transfluid, each new dribble lapped up by the tip of Grimlock's glossa. The Dinobot ex-vented from his oral cavity, each wet and warm vent driving Starscream's arousal higher and higher.
His hips moved of their own accord. He had to fight the urge to reach down and stroke himself. Grimlock's glossa was on his anterior node now, fat and heavy licks that built a keen in the back of Starscream's intake.
His frame trembled, his ventilations coming in sharper bursts. His valve clenched down on nothing before Grimlock's glossa returned to it, one long lap and then a wet push of his glossa. The tip eased into Starscream's valve and he moaned, long and low, as overload struck him all at once.
His backstrut arched, pleasure sparking blue-white fire over his armor. His spike spurted a long strip of transfluid up his abdominal armor even as his valve spiraled down, struggling to cycle on nothing. Lubricant flowed freely, soaking the berth, before Starscream collapsed back, the ripples of pleasure making him twitch.
Grimlock's glossa retreated though Starscream ached for more. Condensation gathered on his armor, and the room was thick with the scent of ‘facing.
“Is that it?” Starscream demanded, his vocals laced with static.
Grimlock chuckled and licked a long stripe across Starscream's valve and up the length of his spike, gathering lubricant and transfluid all at once. “Not hardly,” he said and stepped back.
The sound of transformation filled the room as Grimlock returned to root mode, his visor a gleam of hunger and static crawling across his armor. His panels popped open, spike immediately pressurizing into view and dripping pre-fluid. He grabbed Starscream's thighs, grip strong and sure, and wasted no time in plunging into Starscream's valve, bottoming out in the space of a sparkbeat.
Starscream gasped, spinal strut arching, as his valve instantly spiraled down, relief spreading through his array. His calipers rippled, cinching tight, eagerly latching onto Grimlock's spike.
“I take it you liked the taste?” Starscream managed, though his dignity was lying somewhere between the puddle beneath his aft and the instant repressurization of his spike.
Grimlock gripped Starscream's hips, holding him fast against Grimlock before he abruptly lifted Starscream, as always showing off how much stronger he was. Starscream scrambled to get a hold of him as he felt himself lifted off the bed, his thighs and legs clamping around Grimlock's waist.
“Show off,” he grumbled.
Grimlock chuckled and spun around, planting his aft on the berth and Starscream in his lap. “Just admit that you like it and stop posturing.”
“I don't posture,” Starscream said with a huff, one that devolved into a moan as Grimlock's hands slid from his hips to his wing joints.
Thick, powerful fingers nudged at the strong joints and then spread outward, stroking the planes of his wings and tracing the edges.
Starscream shivered. His fingers curled against Grimlock's chestplate, hooking in the seams. This position gave Grimlock no leverage at all, which meant it was up to Starscream to do all the work. Or to deny Grimlock pleasure of his own.
For once, Starscream wasn't interested in being so cruel.
He rocked forward, rolling his hips, minute motions that squeezed down on Grimlock's spike. Charge flickered back and forth between their respective receptor and sensory nodes. This wasn't a hard, fast fragging. But a slow, deliberate one and the idea of it sent another shiver up Starscream's spinal strut.
It was… intimate, he realized. The most intimate they had ever been despite countless sessions of fragging on tables and against walls and bent over berths and chairs and desks. It was further proof that Grimlock meant to court him, meant to make something genuine out of what had started on a whim.
Starscream honestly didn't know what to do with that. He felt his faceplate burn, and knew it wasn't entirely arousal to blame, or the heat pouring off of Grimlock. The Dinobot shook, struggling to stave off his overload, his vents spilling heat into the air.
“This okay?” Grimlock asked, static lining his vocals.
Starscream stared at him. “You always ask me that.”
Grimlock's hands stroked down his back, up and down, between his aft and his wing joint. “Why wouldn't I?”
Starscream's optics narrowed. “Because it should be obvious.”
“Doesn't mean I can't ask,” Grimlock said in that oftentimes painfully stubborn tone of his. But then he tilted his helm and huffed a laugh. “Maybe I'm just looking for feedback.”
Starscream's lips quirked toward a smirk. “On your performance?” he asked with a raised orbital ridge. He circled his hips and felt Grimlock jerk beneath him, spike throbbing faster. “I should think the mess on the berth is all the grade you need.”
“Verbal confirmation is acceptable as well.” Grimlock dropped a hand to Starscream's hip and rocked upward, his spike grinding on Starscream's ceiling node.
Pleasure sent charge zipping through Starscream's sensory net. He swallowed thickly and rolled his hips down, his calipers rippling around Grimlock's spike.
“You want me to list all the ways,?” Starscream asked as he curled an arm over Grimlock's shoulders, giving himself leverage to raise his aft up and down.
Grimlock's spike felt gloriously thick within him, as always challenging the stretch of his calipers and stimulating all his sensory nodes. The rounded bulge at the base rubbed against Starscream's anterior node when Grimlock bottomed out, sending electric shocks of pleasure through Starscream's array.
“Want me to tell you all the ways you make me hot?” Starscream purred as he looked directly into Grimlock's visor, catching and holding his lover's gaze. “Is that what you're looking for?”
“I want to hear you sing,” Grimlock said, his vocals a dark rumble that seemed to resonate in his chest and vibrate against Starscream's own. His fingers tickled at Starscream's wing hinge again as he thrust upward, in faster and faster increments.
Starscream ventilations caught. He tried and failed to come up with something else smart to say, but it was lost in a gasp, a pulse of pleasure that rippled throughout his entire frame. Their armor slid together, a whisper of friction, and the heat emanating from Grimlock seemed to soak into Starscream.
He could feel it again already, overload creeping around the corner. His valve cycled endlessly, his spike throbbed where the tip rubbed against Grimlock's abdomen.
Focus dissolved. All that mattered was the movement of their frames, the desperate push toward overload. Grimlock's frame rumbled. Starscream's vents spun faster and faster. His grip around Grimlock's shoulder tightened as he lifted and dropped himself, rolling his hips on each downward plunge.
Charge sparked along his nodes. Grimlock pulled him closer, until their frames pressed together, no space between them. Starscream's spike was trapped, rubbing endlessly against Grimlock's armor, but more disarming was the way Grimlock held his gaze. The way his hands continued to stroke and tease, holding Starscream as though he were something to value.
That, in itself, was what broke him.
The second overload stripped away his senses. His vision went white, his audials glitched. All he knew was the pleasure coursing through his lines, throbbing through his spark. He dimly heard Grimlock reach his own overload, felt the clenching of the Dinobot's grip on his waist and wing, but it was secondary to his own high.
Starscream came down slowly, his fans spinning at max, his vents struggling to pull in cooler air. He slumped forward, forehelm hitting Grimlock's shoulder, and then yelped as Grimlock tilted back, and he had to unhook his legs at the last second. This left him sprawled on top of Grimlock, the Dinobot's arms wrapped around him.
Grimlock trembled beneath him, the tiny tremors of a mech who had greatly enjoyed his overload. Or maybe it was because his vents roared and his engine rumbled loud enough to vibrate the berth.
Primus.
“Well,” Starscream said with a wheezing vent. He didn't have the wherewithal to lift his helm from Grimlock's chestplate. “You're off to a good start so far,” he said.
Grimlock chuckled. His hands lifted, forming gently stroking patterns up and down Starscream's back and wings. “But I still have a long way to go,” he said, one hand slid down the curve of Starscream's aft so that his fingers could tease at the rim of Starscream's valve. He was still half-pressurized within Starscream, and his valve was plump and moist around the thick spike.
Starscream tried and failed to swallow down his moan. His spike, trapped between their bodies, twitched in interest.
He no longer cared if anyone could hear him or not. He couldn't remember the last time he felt so good, or felt so relaxed.
“Too much longer and you'll offline me,” Starscream said as he struggled to push himself upright, to push his hips down toward Grimlock's curious fingers.
“Are you telling me to stop?” Grimlock asked. His fingers paused, waiting, his field rising up and rolling over Starscream.
“You'll know when I tell you to stop,” Starscream retorted and managed to rock his hips, squeezing down with his valve. “Keep going, Dinobot.”
Grimlock chuckled. He started stroking Starscream's valve rim again, fingers playing in the lubricant and transfluid mix seeping around the edges. “Whatever you want.”
He said it so often, and for the first time, Starscream dared to believe he meant it.
****
a/n: As always, feedback is welcome and appreciated. This entry was originally posted at http://dracoqueen22.dreamwidth.org/345598.html. Feel free to comment wherever you find most convenient.
Playlist by Chapter
Title: Reign
Universe: TF Amalgam, Crown the Empire
Characters/Pairings: Grimlock/Starscream, Skywarp, Thundercracker, Swoop, Slag, Snarl, Sky-Byte
Rated: M
Warnings: Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Moral and Political Dilemmas, Minor Character Death, Canon-Typical Violence
Summary: Megatron is dead, and Grimlock has claimed rulership of the Decepticons, where falling for his new Air Commander becomes an unexpected bonus. But there are some who disagree with his ascension, and intend to return the Decepticons to the status quo. Even if it means killing everyone who stands in their way.
Commission fic for nkfloofiepoof.
Chapter Eight
Grimlock did not like Metalhawk.
There were pacifists among the Autobots, those who would prefer not to fight if given the choice, but every one of them still took up arms if the situation called for it. They still fought to protect their friends and fellow soldiers when push came to shove.
Metalhawk had fled. He'd taken an army of similar-minded mecha and vanished into the depths of the universe, only returning when the battle was won. And then he had the audacity to demand that he and his ilk were the only ones deserving of a home.
He had no right. None.
Grimlock did not like Metalhawk. He did not like political posturing. And he especially did not like trying to play sneaky-spy games the like of which Jazz enjoyed thoroughly.
He had not looked forward to this meeting. But neither could he turn it down. He had to know what Metalhawk was up to. He had to play along.
Metalhawk didn't have to know that if it came down to it, Grimlock would side with Optimus. He and Optimus might not have been on the best of terms always, but he at least trusted that Optimus didn't have plans to line up every Decepticon and execute them.
Metalhawk would do it with a smile on his high caste face.
Metalhawk invited Grimlock to Nova Cronum for their meeting, but he wasn't stupid. He politely declined and suggested a more neutral location. After all, it wouldn't do for Optimus to suspect anything untoward, yes?
So they met at the space bridge, which was the closest thing Cybertron had to a Neutral zone that didn't involve flying to another ruined city. Metalhawk was all smiles and welcome energy field as he met up with Grimlock, his arms folded behind his back.
“Thank you for coming,” he said, with a rolling disingenuous purr that only fooled the foolish.
Something he thought Grimlock to be.
“Make quick,” Grimlock growled, pulling on the veil of stupidity. Let Metalhawk think he was nothing more than a brute who had won control of the Decepticons by virtue of being stronger, not smarter. “Me Grimlock busy.”
“Of course. Of course. Aren't we all?” Metalhawk's smile did not lose its luster.
He started to walk and Grimlock fell into step beside him. Metalhawk was not that much shorter than he, but the flyer was all limbs and angles. He was no threat physically, but there was a sly wit behind his optics.
He reminded Grimlock a bit too much of Starscream, but not in a good way.
“I won't take up too much of your time then,” Metalhawk continued, carefully picking his way across the ground. “I am concerned, Grimlock. Concerned that Optimus Prime may be trying to circumvent the terms of the treaty we all agreed upon.”
Grimlock's visor narrowed into a flat line. What on Cybertron was Metalhawk talking about? It didn't make a lick of sense.
“Him Optimus too stupid honorable to do that,” he countered.
“Yes, well, he might be, but we all know that there are others behind the scenes who are more likely to pull the strings. A certain saboteur responsible for bringing down Megatron comes to mind.” Metalhawk slanted him a knowing look, as though they shared a secret. “I only want to be certain we are all on the same page.”
Grimlock grunted, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. He wanted Metalhawk to dig his own grave.
“I thought you might agree.” Metalhawk nodded and continued with very little prompting on Grimlock's part. He certainly liked to hear himself talk. “After all, it has come to my attention that one of my own has already petitioned to join your faction. Isn't it curious that no one has expressed any interest in joining the Autobots?”
“Him Tailgate,” Grimlock said.
“Yes. I am going to approve the petition. I never had any intention of doing otherwise,” Metalhawk replied. “I'm afraid there may have been some confusion between your third and myself.”
Confusion, Grimlock's aft.
“Him Cyclonus protective,” Grimlock said. “Me Grimlock talk to him Cyclonus.”
Metalhawk lifted a hand, waving it dismissively. “Oh, don't worry. I didn't take any offense. I simply wanted you to understand I bear no ill will.”
“You Metalhawk get to point,” Grimlock said with a bit of a growl. “What you want?”
“Ah. A mech who wastes no time. I understand.” Metalhawk gave him a conspiratorial look. “The truth is Grimlock, I think there is an advantage that can be found for us if we formed a partnership.”
Grimlock cycled a ventilation, trying to conceal his irritation. “Treaty signed already. What else to do?”
“Ensure equal treatment for all, of course.” Metalhawk's smile widened, displaying his neat and even denta. “Have I mentioned how relieved I am that you are now the leader of the Decepticons? Megatron proved unwilling to cooperate with even the slightest consideration for others, but you… you are a great improvement.”
Grimlock grunted.
Metalhawk said a lot, without actually saying anything at all. Was he trying to get Grimlock to agree to some kind of private partnership that would circumvent the boundaries of the treaty?
“Anyway, as I was saying, a partnership would be ideal for both of us. We can exchange resources.”
“Already do that,” Grimlock said.
Metalhawk waved again. “Yes, yes. I know. I meant, without the involvement of the Autobots.” He stopped and whirled toward Grimlock, but not without a conspiratorial look around them. “I fear they are not satisfied with the current treaty. There is a lot of discontent among them, specifically regarding the way you are handling the past actions of some of your troops.”
“Grimlock not hear anything like that.”
“Of course you wouldn't. Optimus knows they are outnumbered right now, but that doesn't mean there can't be accidents.” Metalhawk cycled his vocalizer loudly. “Not that I'm accusing anyone of wrongdoing, but you know, a mech never can be too careful.”
Grimlock stared at Metalhawk. He could discern the mech's intentions now.
Metalhawk hoped to sow distrust between the Autobots and Decepticons until they destroyed each other. This meeting, in fact, was probably one of his moves. All he needed was for someone to report back to Optimus that Grimlock and Metalhawk had met in secret.
Pfft.
Little did Metalhawk know but neither of them were so easily manipulated.
“Me Grimlock very careful,” he said. “Me Grimlock know better than trust anyone.”
Metalhawk released a soft chuckle. “Of course you do.” He inclined his helm. “For your sake and for that of your soldiers, correct?”
“Me Grimlock not understand.”
“Well...” Metalhawk looked sideways, as though sharing some coy secret. “Everyone knows how strong you are. It would be ludicrous to try and attack you, yes? But some of your subordinates are not as, hmm, well-defended?”
Grimlock's engine rumbled before he could rein it in. That sounded like a threat. “What you Metalhawk mean?”
“Just that Optimus' third has a history of aiming for an army's weak spots.” Metalhawk shrugged dismissively. “Not saying that he'd do it, of course. We're at peace. We've signed a treaty. But I haven't survived this long without preparing for all eventualities. However, we seemed to have strayed from the original topic, haven't we?”
Grimlock's distaste for Metalhawk grew. Not only was Metalhawk a simpering fool, but his casual condescending attitude grated on Grimlock's patience.
“Me Grimlock not understand what you Metalhawk want,” Grimlock said, purposefully growling and ex-venting loudly. He shifted his weight, looming over Metalhawk.
The Neutral wisely took a step back. “Let me explain,” he said, with that politician's smile. “I think an agreement would be beneficial to both of us. An understanding that in times of need, we can come to the aid of one another. We will freely share resources. We will have a direct line of communication in case there are any incidents. Et cetera.”
In other words, Metalhawk wanted to form an alliance with Grimlock that excluded Optimus. Grimlock had no doubt Metalhawk would go to Optimus with the very same offer, planting seeds of dissent against the Decepticons. Except Optimus was not so stupid as to fall for this condescending act, so Metalhawk would have to use other methods, perhaps preying on the assaults the Autobots had endured under Megatron's rule.
It would have been clever, if the Autobots and Decepticons had not solidified their own alliance before offering the treaty to the Neutrals.
“Me Grimlock not decide now,” he replied and pulled his hands into fists before releasing them. “Me Grimlock need talk with him Starscream first.”
Metalhawk nodded. “Yes. I understand. The mind behind the throne, so to speak.” His smile was almost blinding. “Well, allow me to offer you this then.” He pulled a datachip from an arm compartment and handed it over. “This is my private, personal comm. You can reach me at any time on it.”
Grimlock accepted the tiny chip, pinching it between two fingers.
“I hope to hear back from you soon,” Metalhawk said as he bowed his helm. “And that your reply is favorable. Thank you for agreeing to meet with me.”
“Me Grimlock appreciate warning,” he replied.
“You Grimlock are most welcome.” Metalhawk took a further step back, giving himself enough room to transform.
Grimlock watched him go, resisting the urge to crush the datachip in his fist. It would have made him feel better, but the information on it was too valuable. He didn't know whether it actually contained Metalhawk's personal comm, or whether it had some clever virus buried in the coding. Either way, Grimlock would take it to Perceptor to look at, since he didn’t have a functioning science unit of his own.
First things first, however, he wanted to discuss this with Starscream, and then contact Optimus Prime.
It looked like Metalhawk had finally made his move.
~
He had three meetings on his agenda today, all of them loathed tasks that he would have preferred avoiding if it at all possible.
However, Cyclonus had agreed to take this position as Grimlock and Starscream's third and he couldn't ignore any task he was given, no matter how distasteful. It was his duty. He was, by unanimous voting among what was considered the command staff, the most fair and honorable of Decepticon leadership.
They trusted him to make the right decisions. Therefore, the task of evaluating the imprisoned Decepticons for who would be allowed parole and who didn't have a chance in the Pit of being released, fell to Cyclonus.
Some of these Cyclonus knew would never see the light of day again. They would never be genuinely remorseful, no matter how deeply Starscream buried them, or how far Grimlock threw the key. They would probably suffer a fate similar to what had befallen the phase shifters, memory wipe and spark imprisonment, unless Grimlock decided to be merciful and execute them.
Still, Cyclonus was obligated to meet with them. He was obligated to give their petitions a scrap of his attention and inform them of their denial. Just as he was obligated to tell them why.
It had been on Grimlock's insistence, actually. He didn't want the Decepticons to dissolve into a lawless group of Cybertronians. He wanted, eventually, for all three factions to co-exist, even assimilate. He knew it was far in coming, but every little bit counted. Every bit helped.
In this, Grimlock was much like Megatron. He had grand ideas for the future. He had big plans and hopes.
Maybe, hopefully, Cyclonus could dare believe that not only would Grimlock accomplish them, but he wouldn't lose his way in the process.
This was a good start. Even if Cyclonus did find it an irritating task.
He had four names on the list today: Shockwave, who insisted his scientific contributions were more valuable outside of the brig than in; Barricade, who tried to argue he was only following orders; Drag Strip, who complained that it was cruel and unusual punishment to keep him from a daily solvent bath; and Breakdown, the only one who held any promise of being released.
Cyclonus opened the door to the brig, nodding to Grindcore who had recently been promoted in the wake of Horri-bull's “defection” to the Neutrals. Cyclonus hesitated to call it a defection, however, as all Horri-bull wanted was to be with Needlenose again, but Needlenose refused to join the Decepticons. A concession had to be made.
Scourge stepped out of the main security room as Cyclonus approached, his expression grave, but then, that was average for Scourge. “More petition requests to be heard, I take it?” Cyclonus' second asked.
Cyclonus cycled a ventilation. “Reluctantly, yes. I trust everyone has been well-behaved?”
“You would be the first to know if they haven't.” Scourge fell into step beside him as they headed for the low-security cell block. These cells contained the mechs Cyclonus thought most likely to be eligible for release. “They've learned that belligerent behavior will not earn them a faster release.”
Thank Primus for small favors.
“Who do you want to see first?” Scourge asked.
Cyclonus debated for a long moment before deciding on the sure bet, to start the rest of the evening off on a positive note. “Breakdown,” he said as he pulled a couple of datapads out of subspace. “If this goes well, you may have one less prisoner to monitor.”
“I will look forward to that.”
They stopped in front of Breakdown's cell. He'd been separated from Motormaster and Dragstrip. Cyclonus hoped keeping all three apart meant they would think for themselves. It worked in Breakdown's case, not so much his gestaltmates.
Breakdown sat on the narrow berth, elbows braced on his knees, his optics fixed on the floor. He looked small and mournful, and didn't lift his gaze when they approached. Blue and white armor was scuffed, perhaps leftover from the first battle.
Cyclonus watched him for another moment longer before he turned and kept going. “Bring him to the conference room,” he requested.
“Yes, sir.”
He wanted a moment to center himself, review his information, before speaking with Breakdown. Besides, a little anticipation could only help.
A few minutes later, Scourge deposited Breakdown in a chair across from Cyclonus, his wrists shackled together, though honestly, Cyclonus didn't feel there was a need. Still, procedures were there for a reason. Scourge left, standing guard outside the door.
Breakdown studied the table. “Are you here to deny my petition?”
“No, I'm here to discuss it.” Cyclonus folded his hands on the table. “I understand you wish to be released under whatever restrictions we deem fit.”
Breakdown hunched. “I don't want to be in prison anymore,” he said, gaze still focused on the table. “I just want a chance to be free.”
“Even if it means leaving your gestalt-mates behind?”
“Yes.”
Not a moment of hesitation. No love lost between them perhaps? Strange that Drag Strip would be so loyal to Motormaster, but not Breakdown. He wondered if that division had always been present or if it was a new thing.
“Do you think you deserve to be released?”
Breakdown fell silent. This would be the moment Cyclonus expected him to expand upon all the reasons he wanted freedom. He did not expect silence. Interesting.
“I spoke with Mirage,” Cyclonus continued as he shuffled through the information on the datapad.
Though 'spoke' was a strong word. He'd sent an official request through Soundwave, was bounced to Jazz, who informed him that Mirage was not available to be interviewed, but he would pass along any questions Cyclonus might have. Though he'd hated to play a game of comm tag, Cyclonus bowed to convention.
Jazz took his questions, spoke with Mirage, and then contacted Cyclonus at a later time with the answers.
“I have been informed that you were not party to any of the assaults he endured,” Cyclonus said as he found the proper file and opened it, re-skimming the contents. “Though you also did not attempt to stop them.”
Breakdown shrank further into himself. “I'm only one mech,” he said, tone miserable. “I didn't have anywhere else to go. It was hard enough getting them to stop trying to encourage me.” His field leaked free, a nauseating mix of misery and fear.
Cylonus tilted his helm and looked at the small grounder, who was rather meek for both a Decepticon and a Stunticon. “Why didn't you?” he felt compelled to ask, because the why was important here. “The opportunity was there, why didn't you take it?”
“Because I didn't want to,” Breakdown said, his vocals glitched with static. “I mean, who'd want to do that? Frag someone who's bleeding disgust and misery and pain?” His shoulders hunched again, cuffs rattling as he worried his hands together. “I didn't even want to watch, but every time I left the room, Wildrider accused me of being an Autobot sympathizer.”
Which, in Megatron's optics, was unacceptable. It would have invited punishment, or worse.
Then again, the Stunticons were Megatron's favorite gestalt. Cyclonus doubted that Megatron would have done something to jeopardize that. Punishment would have been on the table. Breakdown would have suffered. But he would have still been useful.
Was this where the division began in Menasor? Or had it always been there, seething beneath the surface? Curiouser and curiouser.
Cyclonus set down the datapad with a light click. Breakdown flinched.
“There is a requirement that you work,” Cyclonus said as he studied the other mech. “You are expected to contribute.”
Breakdown's intake bobbed. “I don't have any skills,” he said, only to lift his helm and quickly amend with, “but I'm willing to learn!”
Something like discomfort wedged into Cyclonus' spark. There was a painful earnesty to Breakdown's words. If it was carefully crafted, then he was a superb actor. If it wasn't, well, that spoke of things which concerned Cyclonus.
Perhaps he needed to speak with Shockwave about how Menasor came into being. But for now, he would do right by this one.
“What are you interested in?”
Breakdown fidgeted. His faceplate heated. “I once thought about being a medic,” he suggested tentatively. “But that's not what a Stunticon is for,” he added with a new air of misery.
“As luck would have it, we are in need of medics,” Cyclonus said, his decision made. “That is, if you are interested in receiving the proper training.”
Breakdown's optics widened. “I… would be allowed?”
“Provided you follow the terms of your release, yes.” Cyclonus rose to his pedes and circled the table, reaching for Breakdown's wrists to unlock the shackles. “You will be monitored closely. There are no second chances. If you pose a threat at any point, you will return to the brig. Do you understand?”
Breakdown nodded, rubbing his plating where the shackles had left scrapes in paint already thoroughly scratched. “I do. I, um, thank you. For giving me a chance.”
“If we can endure a Dinobot as our new leader, I think giving you a chance is no real risk,” Cyclonus said and gestured for Breakdown to rise. “Come along. I'll have Grindcore escort you out and get you prepped for probation.”
Breakdown's field all but sang with delight. “Thank you. I promise I won't let you down.”
“See that you don't.”
Cyclonus only wished that the others would be so cooperative. But he knew better.
It would be a long afternoon.
~
It wasn't the first time Starscream had come to Dinobot Central, but it certainly felt like it. This felt different than all the other times.
He had the codes, but he pinged for entrance anyway. He and Grimlock hadn't discussed boundaries between personal time and business time. He supposed that would have to be a conversation relatively soon.
The door opened to reveal Snarl, who peered down at Starscream, his armor fluffed out as though in challenge. “What you want?” he demanded.
Starscream refused to be intimidated. “To speak with Grimlock. I know he's here.”
“You Snarl let him Starscream inside!” Grimlock's bellow echoed from within the suite. “And you Snarl be polite or me Grimlock tell him Wheeljack!”
Snarl, well, snarled, his armor fluttering aggressively. “Him Grimlock tattle-tale,” he grumbled, but he stepped aside, waving Starscream in. “You jet not touch anything,” he added.
Intimidated was officially the least of what Starscream felt. Amusement settled in. They really were, in some ways, like sparklings. Grimlock was obviously the eldest and the most intelligent, but in many ways, yes, they were like sparklings. Adult sparklings.
“Perhaps you should tell your leader that,” Starscream retorted with a wink toward Snarl who actually heated around the edges of his faceplate.
Less belligerent, more adorable now.
Starscream smirked and entered Dinobot Central, taking a look around.
Slag wasn't here, Starscream noticed. Swoop was, however, and it was he who was snuggled up with Grimlock on the massive couch they had perched in front of the vidscreen. Even as Starscream watched, Snarl returned to the couch and threw himself down in next to Swoop who squawked in irritation.
“You Snarl always act clumsy!” the flyer said as he bopped the larger Dinobot on the shoulder.
“You Swoop just too small,” Snarl retorted, obviously a tease as he grinned.
Grimlock turned his helm. “You going to join us, Starscream?”
“And dent my wings? Primus forbid.”
Starscream approached the couch, standing behind it as he looked at the screen. They were watching some kind animated film from Earth, as far as Starscream could tell. Pfft. Human entertainment.
“Him Starscream afraid of scratches,” Swoop commented with a loud chortle. He looked over Grimlock's shoulder at Starscream and winked. “Him Starscream too dignified to cuddle.”
Grimlock released a rolling laugh. “That may be true, Swoop.”
Starscream rolled his optics. “I did come here for a reason, you know.”
“Him Grimlock say he off shift right now,” Snarl said with the air of a petulant child.
“I did say that,” Grimlock said with a thoughtful hum.
Starscream leaned against the back of the couch, his lips inches from Grimlock's audial. “This isn't about work, but a certain question you asked of me.” His spark beat a little faster, a mix of anticipation and dread.
He'd given Grimlock's offer a lot of thought, all the while already knowing what his answer would be. All he had to do was work past his own fears, however ridiculous they were.
“I see.” Grimlock patted Swoop on the knee. “Keep my spot warm, Swoop. I'll be back.”
Swoop laughed. “No, you won't.”
Grimlock chuckled and pushed himself to his pedes as Starscream straightened as well. “That depends,” he replied with a long look at Starscream. “You Snarl leave remote alone,” he added.
The large Dinobot harrumphed but didn't argue. He waved Grimlock away, even as Swoop shifted his snuggle from the spot Grimlock abandoned, over to Snarl, who didn't once protest the new warmth at his side.
The spark of the team indeed.
“You do have a private room?” Starscream said with a raised orbital ridge as he followed Grimlock toward an adjoining hallway.
“No. We Dinobots sleep in a huge cuddling nest,” Grimlock retorted, entirely deadpan. But his field flicked out, warm with humor and something else on the edges, something that Starscream couldn't interpret.
Starscream huffed a ventilation. “I wouldn't be surprised if you did.”
Grimlock snickered.
The new hallway was long with multiple doors, but Grimlock passed them all, heading for the far one on the end. Starscream assumed these others belonged to the rest of the Dinobots, and noticed that most of the doors themselves were decorated with various pieces of Earth memorabilia.
“I spoke with Metalhawk this morning,” Grimlock said as he shoved open the last door and gestured for Starscream to follow him inside.
“Good for you,” Starscream replied as he edged into the room, which contained a workdesk, a large berth and another door opposite. Perhaps a second entrance into Dinobot Central. “But I meant it when I said I didn't come here to talk about work.”
The door slid shut behind him, beeping and locking.
Grimlock sat down on the edge of the berth and patted the surface next to him. “Sometimes, I don't know that there's a difference between the two for us.”
Starscream sighed and scrubbed a hand down his faceplate. “Yes, we need to talk about that, too. But this first.”
“All right.” Grimlock's gaze focused on him, and Starscream felt the weight of it. “You have my attention.”
It should be easy.
Starscream worked his intake and cycled a ventilation. This was the moment of truth. He felt at once cold and hot, and it shouldn't feel like he was making a life or death decision, but it did, and he couldn't quite figure out why.
But it felt right and that was more important than anything else.
He paced back and forth, the silence swelling between them. He thought he knew what he wanted to say, but the words flew out of his processor.
Grimlock shifted on the berth. “You do know that no matter what your answer is, I will still continue to treat you with the courtesy and respect you deserve, right?”
Starscream drew up short and stared at him. “What's that supposed to mean? Of course I knew that.”
“I'm not sure you do.” Grimlock slid off the berth and approached Starscream, gently laying his hands on Starscream's shoulders. “I'm not sure that you know you're allowed to say 'no.'”
Starscream's optics narrowed. “Have you been talking to my trinemates?”
“Should I have been?” Grimlock tilted his helm, honestly confused. “And I don't have to talk to anyone to make an educated guess.” His hands slid down Starscream's shoulders, his arms, to take his hands. “Megatron leaves quite the swath of destruction behind him.”
Starscream scoffed. “That's an understatement. Have you looked around you? Cybertron is in ruins.”
Grimlock leaned down, and his forehelm gently pressed to Starscream's own. “I was talking about you,” he said, in a soft tone Starscream had not known him capable. “I wish to court you, my second, best in flight, Air Commander Starscream. But if you want nothing more from me than the relationship we already have, feel free to say so. The choice is yours.”
It should not have been such a novel concept.
That it was sent an ache of longing through Starscream's spark, and a ripple of some ill-defined emotion down his spinal strut.
“And if I were to say yes?” Starscream asked, attempting to sound coy, but failing when it came out just short of breathless.
Grimlock's thumb rubbed across his palm. “Then we'll both see how much I've learned from the books Thundercracker loaned me.”
Starscream couldn't help himself. He laughed. “I knew you'd been speaking to my trine.”
“Only about Vosian customs. Nothing pertaining to my predecessor.” Grimlock lifted his helm and pressed it against the side of Starscream's, his facemask instituting a slow slide against Starscream's audial. “Is that permission?”
Starscream shivered, heat pulsing through his frame. “Yes,” he said, his glossa sweeping over his lips. “I'll allow you this opportunity to impress me.”
Grimlock's engine purred. He squeezed Starscream's hands. “I can start tonight if you like.” A hint of mischief colored his words.
“With your brothers in the next room? Have you an exhibitionist streak I should worry about?” Starscream challenged.
Grimlock laughed as he took a step back, tugging on Starscream's hands to urge him to come along. Not that it took much urging. Heat made a steady path through Starscream's lines. His spark fluttered.
“If it bothers you, I can stop,” Grimlock said.
Again with the courtesy. It boggled the mind.
“I never said it did,” Starscream retorted. He startled when Grimlock abruptly spun him around, picked him up and deposited him on the berth in one smooth move.
Unicron take him! He swore Grimlock did that on purpose, showing off how much larger and stronger he was. And no, Starscream absolutely did not squeak.
“Good.” Grimlock purred and worked his way between Starscream's thighs.
Starscream toppled backward, the berth just wide enough to keep his helm from hitting the wall on the opposite side. His knees and legs hung off the edge of the berth. A visor gleamed back at him, dark with arousal, as Grimlock's hands landed on his thighs and pushed them further apart, baring Starscream's modesty panel to his unrelenting gaze.
Another shiver drizzled down Starscream's backstrut.
“Is admiring part of the courtship ritual?” he asked.
“I don't see why it can't be,” Grimlock replied as his hands slid inward, thumbs brushing over Starscream's modesty panel. “Will you open for me?”
So many questions. Always with the questions.
Starscream worked his intake and manually triggered his panels to open, valve spiraling into view and spike peeking from its sheath. He was only moderately aroused, a dribble of lubricant forming in his valve as his spike peeped forward.
His ventilations caught in his intake as Grimlock swept a light touch over his interface array. Fingers traced the rim of his valve before flirting over the head of his spike, coaxing it free.
“I wonder,” Grimlock said, his voice a rocky rumble. “Do you trust me?”
Starscream's optics widened. “What kind of question to ask is that when you're standing there with my panels open?” he demanded, though instead of a spike of fear, one of thrill went through his field.
“A relevant one.” Grimlock stroked his spike, thumb and forefinger pinching and rolling the sensitive crown of it. “I've a mind to taste you.”
“You don't have a mouth.”
A visor gleamed at him. “Not in this form, I don't.”
Starscream's fingers tangled in the berth cover, one that he belatedly realized was not of Cybertronian construction, but made of Earthen materials. It was soft and pliant and… why was he thinking about blankets?
Grimlock had made him an offer. Grimlock wanted to… to…
His fingers stroked the rim of Starscream's valve again, the delicate touches doing much to ramp Starscream's arousal, drawing light pearls of lubricant.
“You can say no. I've plenty of other ideas, but this one--”
“Yes,” Starscream said, interrupting him, the word nearly a moan. He rolled his hips upward, spike jutting for attention. “Yes, I trust you, damn it. Just do it.”
Grimlock gently rubbed his anterior node and Starscream's hips jerked. Pleasure rang through his frame as he grabbed at the berth covers, twisting his fingers in the blanket.
And then Grimlock backed off, taking two steps away from the berth. He audibly cycled a ventilation. The sound of a transformation filled the berthroom, a different tone than that of the average Cybertronian, before Grimlock fell apart and twisted back together, and a massive beast-mode mech loomed over Starscream. It was an almost terrifying reminder of how much mass Grimlock subspaced. He was so much larger than Megatron, and the gleam of the beast-mode's optics seemed all the more baleful now that he was looking down at Starscream laying on the berth, his legs open and inviting.
But Grimlock leaned forward, his massive helm nudging between Starscream's thighs, ex-venting a heavy and hot burst against his exposed array. Starscream shivered.
“Tell me to stop,” Grimlock growled at him as he cycled another ventilation, puffing more heat over Starscream's quivering components.
He tossed his helm and stared back at Grimlock, challenging him. “Get on with it,” Starscream said instead and shoved a hand down between his legs. He pushed his knees as far as his hip joints would allow and parted the pleats of his valve. “Or I'll take care of myself.”
Grimlock chuckled and nudged the end of his muzzle against Starscream's bared array. “Can't have that.” He opened his mouth, baring sharp denta that would have made a Decepticon proud.
Anticipation made Starscream's spark beat faster. His spike throbbed. Lubricant seeped from his valve.
The first touch of a large, warm glossa against his array made him moan. His optics flickered, and he canted his hips upward, panting through his denta as another wet swipe made him tingle. He jerked his fingers away as the flat plane of Grimlock's glossa pressed against his valve with a delicious pressure.
Starscream sucked in a vent. He fisted the covers, thrusters spitting fire at the floor as his valve pulsed more lubricant. His spike kept catching the tail end of Grimlock's glossa flick, and it throbbed for attention.
“Don't be a tease!” he snapped.
“Not teasing,” Grimlock retorted, every damp ex-vent another caress to Starscream's array.
His external node throbbed. His valve cycled down on nothing.
Grimlock licked him again, each long and heavy lap of his glossa like sweet torture. Starscream's hips rocked of their own accord, his legs trembling from the effort of keeping himself so open. Energy crackled through his array, the obscene nature of the moment only making him more aroused.
His vents clicked on, roaring at max. His valve throbbed, eager for something to fill it. His spike steadily leaked pre-transfluid, each new dribble lapped up by the tip of Grimlock's glossa. The Dinobot ex-vented from his oral cavity, each wet and warm vent driving Starscream's arousal higher and higher.
His hips moved of their own accord. He had to fight the urge to reach down and stroke himself. Grimlock's glossa was on his anterior node now, fat and heavy licks that built a keen in the back of Starscream's intake.
His frame trembled, his ventilations coming in sharper bursts. His valve clenched down on nothing before Grimlock's glossa returned to it, one long lap and then a wet push of his glossa. The tip eased into Starscream's valve and he moaned, long and low, as overload struck him all at once.
His backstrut arched, pleasure sparking blue-white fire over his armor. His spike spurted a long strip of transfluid up his abdominal armor even as his valve spiraled down, struggling to cycle on nothing. Lubricant flowed freely, soaking the berth, before Starscream collapsed back, the ripples of pleasure making him twitch.
Grimlock's glossa retreated though Starscream ached for more. Condensation gathered on his armor, and the room was thick with the scent of ‘facing.
“Is that it?” Starscream demanded, his vocals laced with static.
Grimlock chuckled and licked a long stripe across Starscream's valve and up the length of his spike, gathering lubricant and transfluid all at once. “Not hardly,” he said and stepped back.
The sound of transformation filled the room as Grimlock returned to root mode, his visor a gleam of hunger and static crawling across his armor. His panels popped open, spike immediately pressurizing into view and dripping pre-fluid. He grabbed Starscream's thighs, grip strong and sure, and wasted no time in plunging into Starscream's valve, bottoming out in the space of a sparkbeat.
Starscream gasped, spinal strut arching, as his valve instantly spiraled down, relief spreading through his array. His calipers rippled, cinching tight, eagerly latching onto Grimlock's spike.
“I take it you liked the taste?” Starscream managed, though his dignity was lying somewhere between the puddle beneath his aft and the instant repressurization of his spike.
Grimlock gripped Starscream's hips, holding him fast against Grimlock before he abruptly lifted Starscream, as always showing off how much stronger he was. Starscream scrambled to get a hold of him as he felt himself lifted off the bed, his thighs and legs clamping around Grimlock's waist.
“Show off,” he grumbled.
Grimlock chuckled and spun around, planting his aft on the berth and Starscream in his lap. “Just admit that you like it and stop posturing.”
“I don't posture,” Starscream said with a huff, one that devolved into a moan as Grimlock's hands slid from his hips to his wing joints.
Thick, powerful fingers nudged at the strong joints and then spread outward, stroking the planes of his wings and tracing the edges.
Starscream shivered. His fingers curled against Grimlock's chestplate, hooking in the seams. This position gave Grimlock no leverage at all, which meant it was up to Starscream to do all the work. Or to deny Grimlock pleasure of his own.
For once, Starscream wasn't interested in being so cruel.
He rocked forward, rolling his hips, minute motions that squeezed down on Grimlock's spike. Charge flickered back and forth between their respective receptor and sensory nodes. This wasn't a hard, fast fragging. But a slow, deliberate one and the idea of it sent another shiver up Starscream's spinal strut.
It was… intimate, he realized. The most intimate they had ever been despite countless sessions of fragging on tables and against walls and bent over berths and chairs and desks. It was further proof that Grimlock meant to court him, meant to make something genuine out of what had started on a whim.
Starscream honestly didn't know what to do with that. He felt his faceplate burn, and knew it wasn't entirely arousal to blame, or the heat pouring off of Grimlock. The Dinobot shook, struggling to stave off his overload, his vents spilling heat into the air.
“This okay?” Grimlock asked, static lining his vocals.
Starscream stared at him. “You always ask me that.”
Grimlock's hands stroked down his back, up and down, between his aft and his wing joint. “Why wouldn't I?”
Starscream's optics narrowed. “Because it should be obvious.”
“Doesn't mean I can't ask,” Grimlock said in that oftentimes painfully stubborn tone of his. But then he tilted his helm and huffed a laugh. “Maybe I'm just looking for feedback.”
Starscream's lips quirked toward a smirk. “On your performance?” he asked with a raised orbital ridge. He circled his hips and felt Grimlock jerk beneath him, spike throbbing faster. “I should think the mess on the berth is all the grade you need.”
“Verbal confirmation is acceptable as well.” Grimlock dropped a hand to Starscream's hip and rocked upward, his spike grinding on Starscream's ceiling node.
Pleasure sent charge zipping through Starscream's sensory net. He swallowed thickly and rolled his hips down, his calipers rippling around Grimlock's spike.
“You want me to list all the ways,?” Starscream asked as he curled an arm over Grimlock's shoulders, giving himself leverage to raise his aft up and down.
Grimlock's spike felt gloriously thick within him, as always challenging the stretch of his calipers and stimulating all his sensory nodes. The rounded bulge at the base rubbed against Starscream's anterior node when Grimlock bottomed out, sending electric shocks of pleasure through Starscream's array.
“Want me to tell you all the ways you make me hot?” Starscream purred as he looked directly into Grimlock's visor, catching and holding his lover's gaze. “Is that what you're looking for?”
“I want to hear you sing,” Grimlock said, his vocals a dark rumble that seemed to resonate in his chest and vibrate against Starscream's own. His fingers tickled at Starscream's wing hinge again as he thrust upward, in faster and faster increments.
Starscream ventilations caught. He tried and failed to come up with something else smart to say, but it was lost in a gasp, a pulse of pleasure that rippled throughout his entire frame. Their armor slid together, a whisper of friction, and the heat emanating from Grimlock seemed to soak into Starscream.
He could feel it again already, overload creeping around the corner. His valve cycled endlessly, his spike throbbed where the tip rubbed against Grimlock's abdomen.
Focus dissolved. All that mattered was the movement of their frames, the desperate push toward overload. Grimlock's frame rumbled. Starscream's vents spun faster and faster. His grip around Grimlock's shoulder tightened as he lifted and dropped himself, rolling his hips on each downward plunge.
Charge sparked along his nodes. Grimlock pulled him closer, until their frames pressed together, no space between them. Starscream's spike was trapped, rubbing endlessly against Grimlock's armor, but more disarming was the way Grimlock held his gaze. The way his hands continued to stroke and tease, holding Starscream as though he were something to value.
That, in itself, was what broke him.
The second overload stripped away his senses. His vision went white, his audials glitched. All he knew was the pleasure coursing through his lines, throbbing through his spark. He dimly heard Grimlock reach his own overload, felt the clenching of the Dinobot's grip on his waist and wing, but it was secondary to his own high.
Starscream came down slowly, his fans spinning at max, his vents struggling to pull in cooler air. He slumped forward, forehelm hitting Grimlock's shoulder, and then yelped as Grimlock tilted back, and he had to unhook his legs at the last second. This left him sprawled on top of Grimlock, the Dinobot's arms wrapped around him.
Grimlock trembled beneath him, the tiny tremors of a mech who had greatly enjoyed his overload. Or maybe it was because his vents roared and his engine rumbled loud enough to vibrate the berth.
Primus.
“Well,” Starscream said with a wheezing vent. He didn't have the wherewithal to lift his helm from Grimlock's chestplate. “You're off to a good start so far,” he said.
Grimlock chuckled. His hands lifted, forming gently stroking patterns up and down Starscream's back and wings. “But I still have a long way to go,” he said, one hand slid down the curve of Starscream's aft so that his fingers could tease at the rim of Starscream's valve. He was still half-pressurized within Starscream, and his valve was plump and moist around the thick spike.
Starscream tried and failed to swallow down his moan. His spike, trapped between their bodies, twitched in interest.
He no longer cared if anyone could hear him or not. He couldn't remember the last time he felt so good, or felt so relaxed.
“Too much longer and you'll offline me,” Starscream said as he struggled to push himself upright, to push his hips down toward Grimlock's curious fingers.
“Are you telling me to stop?” Grimlock asked. His fingers paused, waiting, his field rising up and rolling over Starscream.
“You'll know when I tell you to stop,” Starscream retorted and managed to rock his hips, squeezing down with his valve. “Keep going, Dinobot.”
Grimlock chuckled. He started stroking Starscream's valve rim again, fingers playing in the lubricant and transfluid mix seeping around the edges. “Whatever you want.”
He said it so often, and for the first time, Starscream dared to believe he meant it.
****
a/n: As always, feedback is welcome and appreciated. This entry was originally posted at http://dracoqueen22.dreamwidth.org/345598.html. Feel free to comment wherever you find most convenient.