TF Rare Pairings Prompt Fic: BW Megatron/Cheetor: "Into Things."
Title: "Into Things"
Author: Kyra Neko-Rei
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: sorta one-sided Megatron/Cheetor, possibly in both directions.
Disclaimer: They aren't mine, much to my dismay and relief. A T-rex in the backyard would probably violate a few zoning ordinances, and a cheetah would require a bigger litterbox.
Warnings: Battle violence, hints of bondage.
Summary: For TF_Rare_Pairings prompt "Megatron/Cheetor: Here, kitty, kitty." Cheetor has an inconvenient crush, a battle to fight, and an attack of his usual stellar decision-making skills. Megatron is good at taking advantage of things. Optimus is . . . confused.
Cheetor was good at getting into things.
Of course, the Beast Wars themselves hadn't been his fault, precisely---they were just in the area, after all, and then they were Primus-knows-where and Primus-knows-when and one functional ship short of a ride home, and so of course they were staying, but then there was that deal with the survey posts . . . and that thing with the commlink . . . and several incidents where he jumped into a fight and ended up needing his fellow Maximals to get him back out.
Cheetor was just the sort of mech who got into things. He'd come to peace with it. It was almost easy, after awhile. Idea, action, in too deep, rescue, lecture. He could do it on autopilot. It was easy.
Less easy was when the things got into him instead.
------------------
"Permit me to inform you that an enemy which appears to be . . . peaceful, may in fact be merely . . . biding its time. We Predacons have never abandoned our rightful goal of galactic conquest! No! We have merely been waiting . . . for the right moment . . . to STRIKE!"
"You mean like this?!" Cheetor darted from behind the rock and shot Megatron in the face.
"Ahhh! A treacherous, underhanded sneak attack. Oh, I like you, pussycat. Yessss."
------------------
Things like, for example, a sinfully delicious voice, by turn commanding and beguiling. One that clearly came from someone a cut above the everyday rabble that generally comprised the Predacon ranks. One that told of its owner's gravitas and charisma and grandeur.
One that turned Cheetor's insides to liquid when it singled him out. And, for that matter, when it didn't.
------------------
"Ahhhh. Pussycat. State your business."
------------------
"Cheetor?"
It wasn't the right voice. Cheetor looked up at Optimus Primal, a bit sheepishly. "Yeah, Big Bot?"
"Predacon energy signatures coming in from vector 2-1-7. Keep alert."
Cheetor turned his head, cat ears swivelling independently. Dinobot stepped on a twig, and it snapped; Cheetor's left ear honed in on that while his right one caught the first sounds of approaching Predacons.
He was hoping for the solid rhythm of heavy footfalls, and he wasn't disappointed.
------------------
"Nowhere to run, and no place to hide. Yessss. Obliterate them!"
------------------
Long moments sliding by: wait to transform. Conserve the time you can spend in robot form; if you're last to transform you'll be last to be forced into beast mode if the battle stretches out long.
Nothing at all to do with enjoying the suspense, of being teased by remaining in the weaker form, of thoughts about strong fingers stroking one's fur, scratching behind one's ears like a tame housecat, the purr rising in one's chest and throat from just imagining it. Nothing to do, either, with putting off the other feelings, the ones that come with one's own form---the part that understands concepts like interface, and bondage, and surrender.
That's the scariest part of all, because it isn't safe. And given the level of isn't safe it takes to make Cheetor notice, much less take heed . . . well, it doesn't bode well for things.
------------------
"Don't try my patience, feline!"
------------------
"Maximize!" A chorus, Maximal after Maximal (and one semi-reformed Predacon) transforming. Cheetor was last, gripping his gun and aiming, Megatron in his sights more for the close-up of the mech's transformation than any intent to shoot right away. Megatron's face in the middle of transformation was calm, peaceful, stripped of its customary determination and hauteur in the astroseconds before his consciousness fully settled into it. To Cheetor it was intimate, a tantalizing hint at possibilities highly unlikely to become real. The Predacon leader might wear that expression when he recharged; if he recharged next to Cheetor after interfacing (ha ha, yeah right twice over!), Cheetor would be able to see it closer than through a gun sight.
Then Megatron looked up, over, and directly at him, his optics seeming to meet Cheetor's through the scope. Cheetor quaked, disrupting his aim, and when he found it again Megatron was still looking at him, and smiling.
------------------
"Finish you, Maximal? No. I've only just started with you."
------------------
The battle took its usual course---Megatron gloated and threatened, Big Bot answered, they all started shooting. Cheetor took out Waspinator, took out Skorponok, blasted away at Blackarachnia for a few seconds, hurrying to justify helping out Optimus with Megatron.
They were struggling against each other, equally matched, and Cheetor was still for a long moment, simply watching the sheer force at play between them. They struck each other with fierce and heavy blows, and then Megatron engaged his alt-mode's tail, striking Optimus' legs out from under him; the leader of the Maximals fell to the ground and Megatron pinned him down with a massive Tyrannosaurus foot on his chest.
"Big Bot!" Cheetor screamed, and Megatron looked up, his attention vanishing from Optimus and landing, with tangible weight, on Cheetor.
------------------
"It shouldn't be this easy. No! . . . But, mustn't complain." Megatron continued firing down at the trapped Maximals, smiling. "Close the file on Optimus Primal . . . and delete."
------------------
A great and wondrous miracle, the holy texts of Primus call it.
That point when someone gets into your skin, under your plating, beneath your fur, to the point where the very thought of him plays ancient Praxian arpeggios on your circuitry, and a spoken phrase or a smile conducts whole symphonies . . .
And then there's times when that same miracle feels like the universe is playing an elaborate joke on you and Primus is up there somewhere laughing Himself sick as you scramble your way through patrols and battles trying to keep your attraction subroutines from taking over your life.
Or getting it ended.
------------------
"Your nightmares are just beginning, Maximal."
------------------
"Ahh. Pussycat." Megatron smiled, wickedly, arms spreading apart to give Cheetor a deliberate opening while his pede still pressed against Optimus. "Here, kitty, kitty."
Cheetor went. He couldn't not, even as Optimus shouted, "Cheetor, no!" He was saving Optimus, or at least distracting Megatron from Optimus, and that purpose in his spark was at least as loud as his joy at the opportunity to get close to Megatron, although the invitation and the voice that delivered it had the strongest hold of them all.
He did manage to shoot, once, doing at least some damage to the cannon hidden in the T-rex jaws, and then he impacted with Megatron, hard enough, as he'd calculated, to offbalance the Predacon leader and allow Optimus to escape.
That was all he thought of Optimus, as strong arms gripped him around the middle, crushing him to Megatron's plating, and he was squirming, half trying to get free, half trying to be held tighter, as Megatron's laughter rang in his audials and Megatron's energy field suffused his own.
A sudden jerk as Optimus impacted Megatron, and Cheetor squirmed happily, thrust against Megatron's chestplates and doing his utmost to keep at least one of Megatron's arms too busy to deal with Optimus. Another impact and he nearly slid free, yelping with dismay and actually grabbing onto Megatron's shoulder to prevent it.
Optimus misread the yelp and turned his attention to Cheetor, and Megatron capitalized on it, slapping Optimus aside and then turning his own full attention to Cheetor, shifting his grip too swiftly for the Maximal to counter. With devastating suddenness, Cheetor found himself in too deep, Megatron's beast-mode jaws latched onto his shoulder, trapping arm and gun, while Megatron's left arm snaked across Cheetor's chestplates from hip to neck, pressing Cheetor's back against himself.
Big Bot's alarmed optics stared at them from a few paces away.
"No, Optimus Primal," Megatron said, and Cheetor could feel the words resonating through Megatron's frame and into his. "You will not come closer, no, not if you want your fellow Maximal back."
---------------
"Do not attempt to escape, young one!"
---------------
He'd been captured by Megatron before---had spent many nights replaying that perfect moment when Megatron descended into view behind Terrorsaur in the Predacon base. When Terrorsaur had spoken to Megatron, letting Cheetor know that he was well and truly caught---and when Cheetor realized, as Megatron spoke to him in almost-gentle tones that hinted of consideration for his status as just barely an adult, just how scrambled his own processor truly was.
This was more. He was held this time, pinned against Megatron, and pinned under Big Bot's stare, and Primus help him if that didn't make it worse---or better.
Big Bot was growling. "What do you want, Megatron?"
Megatron laughed, and Cheetor could've melted into the rich sound, a purr rising in him until he remembered to step on it, drowned out by Megatron's answer. "An interesting question, yessss. What can I demand of you in exchange for---Cheetor, isn't it?"
Megatron's full attention on him, now, and Cheetor barely managed to nod. "Yeah."
"Cheetor," Megatron said again, drawing out the sounds until it was almost a verbal caress, and Cheetor shivered against him, and then Megatron shifted his hand, thumb and fingertips stroking the side of Cheetor's helm and Cheetor could no more have stopped himself from tilting his head into that caress than he could've flapped his arms and flown.
And the energy of the situation shifted as Megatron and Optimus both realized that something more than a hostage situation was going on. Cheetor, faced with Big Bot's shocked expression, did the only thing he could think of and winked one optic out. Planning something. Big Bot's expression shifted---relief? bemusement? puzzlement? and Cheetor relaxed a tad. Now he just needed to come up with something to be planning.
Then Megatron's fingertips traced along his jawline, and he forgot all about planning anything.
---------------
"Yess. Yess. Almost there."
---------------
"Let me see." Primus, Megatron sounded amazing from this particular vantage point, and Cheetor focused on drinking in every syllable. "Perhaps a few breems of access to your ship's computer? Or a few days of unmolested energon-gathering? Hmmm . . . I could always demand an unconditional surrender, but . . ." Cheetor tensed up at this and Megatron looked down at him, smiling knowingly, ". . . That's almost too easy." His fingertips danced over Cheetor's face, dotting the freckles, Cheetor thought, and the prospect of the Predacon leader finding his facial markings endearing was . . . well, something to contemplate at length in the privacy of his own quarters. Right now he was in too deep, yet again, and getting him out of it would be costly to his fellow Maximals. He tried to force his processor back on track.
He was lucky. Megatron, it seemed, was more interested in gloating and savoring his victory than actually pushing the Maximals to seal a deal for concessions. Dinobot was having a muffled argument with Rattrap, and Airrazor was hovering above Terrorsaur and Waspinator, drawing everyone else's attention while Tigatron slunk around to one side, carefully working around behind Megatron like the stalking cat he was. Big Bot was dividing his attention between Cheetor, Megatron, and an obvious temptation to yell at Dinobot and Rattrap, and Cheetor let a purr bubble up and escape as Megatron's thumb brushed across his lips.
Megatron responded with a slow chuckle, and continued tossing out potential concessions he could force Optimus into. Cheetor spared a thought to wonder if this was what the Predacon leader got off on. It'd be nice if he wasn't the only absurdly kinked mechanism on the planet.
Focus, Cheetor, focus!
He squirmed again, deliberately this time, and in the process flexed the arm that was pinioned amidst lots of needle-like Tyrannosaurus teeth. Unsurprisingly, the grip didn't relent any, but his elbow joint was just brushing the cannon-muzzle hidden within it, and if he flexed just so he could keep everything out of the line of fire. And it was pointing up towards the sky. So at any point when Airrazor wasn't directly overhead, the cannon was temporarily out of commission.
"Be still, Pussycat," said Megatron, apparently detecting the difference between that squirm and the others; his fingertips still kept up their caress, a slight hint firmer. Cheetor shivered. "Yes," the Predacon purred, delight in his features, his hand moving to caress the other side of Cheetor's face as Cheetor turned his head to facilitate this. He couldn't see Tigatron. Rattrap and Dinobot looked to be about to come to blows, but Rattrap had an ear aimed back at Cheetor and Dinobot's gaze shrewdly took in the whole battlefield. Airrazor was up in the air off to one side, Waspinator and Terrorsaur hovering to keep an optic on her.
Megatron said to Optimus, "Or perhaps a few vital components of your Sentinel shield system," and the side of his hand between thumb and wrist caressed Cheetor's lips, making his circuitry tingle.
Cheetor opened his mouth and bit.
---------------
"And now, for you!"
"Sorry! This cat's gotta scat!"
---------------
Megatron bellowed, and Cheetor couldn't help snickering, even as many sharp teeth pierced his shoulder and wild shots scorched his arm on the way out. He was abruptly released, as Megatron let go and swung him aside to deal with Optimus Primal, who barrelled into him like, Cheetor thought, a semi-truck, like his ancient namesake, like a blur of righteous fury, knocking Megatron onto his aft and straddling him to pound him into the unyielding earth.
Megatron twisted and managed to get one clawed foot between himself and Optimus, and kicked him off, his head turning, optics tracking Cheetor, who froze, the thrill of I'm-in-trouble combining with the thrill of Megatron's attention. He forced himself to move, to climb to his pedes---interlude over, and Megatron would be dangerous now---and Optimus, scrambling in his direction, scooped him up and hauled aft for Dinobot and Rattrap.
Cheetor met Megatron's gaze, tension fleeing to make room for elation. Megatron looked ready to explode; his hand, the plating punctured where Cheetor had bitten him, was sparking like it just might do so, and Cheetor laughed.
---------------
"Blast!"
---------------
"Treacherous, underhanded sneak attack! You like me, remember?" Cheetor gloated at him, optics alight with mischief as Big Bot carried him to safety.
Megatron smiled, and it was not a nice smile, but there was a hint of respect in it and a hint of something that Cheetor tentatively thought might be amusement.
"Yessss, pussycat. I like you. I will remember that." Megatron's optics gleamed, and Cheetor wasn't entirely certain the remembrance would be in his favor, but the look made his circuits tingle pleasantly and that was good enough for now.
Megatron swung his cannon at where Dinobot, Rattrap, Rhinox, and Airrazor were beating back the other Predacons. "Your comrades, on the other hand---"
He abruptly pitched forward as Tigatron landed heavily on his back, sending the Predacon leader facefirst into the dirt. "I wouldn't try that again if I were you," he growled, and Cheetor thrilled all over again to see Megatron lying pinned on the ground, a proud and gloating cat perched on his back. "We cats look out for each other."
"Woohoo, go Tigatron!" called Cheetor, just to see Megatron look up and glare at him. Except he wasn't glaring, he was smiling, ignoring Tigatron as the other cat bounded off of him to join the Maximal line, optics burning through Cheetor in that way that threatened to send his circuitry into orbit.
---------------
Yessssss.
---------------
Author: Kyra Neko-Rei
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: sorta one-sided Megatron/Cheetor, possibly in both directions.
Disclaimer: They aren't mine, much to my dismay and relief. A T-rex in the backyard would probably violate a few zoning ordinances, and a cheetah would require a bigger litterbox.
Warnings: Battle violence, hints of bondage.
Summary: For TF_Rare_Pairings prompt "Megatron/Cheetor: Here, kitty, kitty." Cheetor has an inconvenient crush, a battle to fight, and an attack of his usual stellar decision-making skills. Megatron is good at taking advantage of things. Optimus is . . . confused.
Cheetor was good at getting into things.
Of course, the Beast Wars themselves hadn't been his fault, precisely---they were just in the area, after all, and then they were Primus-knows-where and Primus-knows-when and one functional ship short of a ride home, and so of course they were staying, but then there was that deal with the survey posts . . . and that thing with the commlink . . . and several incidents where he jumped into a fight and ended up needing his fellow Maximals to get him back out.
Cheetor was just the sort of mech who got into things. He'd come to peace with it. It was almost easy, after awhile. Idea, action, in too deep, rescue, lecture. He could do it on autopilot. It was easy.
Less easy was when the things got into him instead.
------------------
"Permit me to inform you that an enemy which appears to be . . . peaceful, may in fact be merely . . . biding its time. We Predacons have never abandoned our rightful goal of galactic conquest! No! We have merely been waiting . . . for the right moment . . . to STRIKE!"
"You mean like this?!" Cheetor darted from behind the rock and shot Megatron in the face.
"Ahhh! A treacherous, underhanded sneak attack. Oh, I like you, pussycat. Yessss."
------------------
Things like, for example, a sinfully delicious voice, by turn commanding and beguiling. One that clearly came from someone a cut above the everyday rabble that generally comprised the Predacon ranks. One that told of its owner's gravitas and charisma and grandeur.
One that turned Cheetor's insides to liquid when it singled him out. And, for that matter, when it didn't.
------------------
"Ahhhh. Pussycat. State your business."
------------------
"Cheetor?"
It wasn't the right voice. Cheetor looked up at Optimus Primal, a bit sheepishly. "Yeah, Big Bot?"
"Predacon energy signatures coming in from vector 2-1-7. Keep alert."
Cheetor turned his head, cat ears swivelling independently. Dinobot stepped on a twig, and it snapped; Cheetor's left ear honed in on that while his right one caught the first sounds of approaching Predacons.
He was hoping for the solid rhythm of heavy footfalls, and he wasn't disappointed.
------------------
"Nowhere to run, and no place to hide. Yessss. Obliterate them!"
------------------
Long moments sliding by: wait to transform. Conserve the time you can spend in robot form; if you're last to transform you'll be last to be forced into beast mode if the battle stretches out long.
Nothing at all to do with enjoying the suspense, of being teased by remaining in the weaker form, of thoughts about strong fingers stroking one's fur, scratching behind one's ears like a tame housecat, the purr rising in one's chest and throat from just imagining it. Nothing to do, either, with putting off the other feelings, the ones that come with one's own form---the part that understands concepts like interface, and bondage, and surrender.
That's the scariest part of all, because it isn't safe. And given the level of isn't safe it takes to make Cheetor notice, much less take heed . . . well, it doesn't bode well for things.
------------------
"Don't try my patience, feline!"
------------------
"Maximize!" A chorus, Maximal after Maximal (and one semi-reformed Predacon) transforming. Cheetor was last, gripping his gun and aiming, Megatron in his sights more for the close-up of the mech's transformation than any intent to shoot right away. Megatron's face in the middle of transformation was calm, peaceful, stripped of its customary determination and hauteur in the astroseconds before his consciousness fully settled into it. To Cheetor it was intimate, a tantalizing hint at possibilities highly unlikely to become real. The Predacon leader might wear that expression when he recharged; if he recharged next to Cheetor after interfacing (ha ha, yeah right twice over!), Cheetor would be able to see it closer than through a gun sight.
Then Megatron looked up, over, and directly at him, his optics seeming to meet Cheetor's through the scope. Cheetor quaked, disrupting his aim, and when he found it again Megatron was still looking at him, and smiling.
------------------
"Finish you, Maximal? No. I've only just started with you."
------------------
The battle took its usual course---Megatron gloated and threatened, Big Bot answered, they all started shooting. Cheetor took out Waspinator, took out Skorponok, blasted away at Blackarachnia for a few seconds, hurrying to justify helping out Optimus with Megatron.
They were struggling against each other, equally matched, and Cheetor was still for a long moment, simply watching the sheer force at play between them. They struck each other with fierce and heavy blows, and then Megatron engaged his alt-mode's tail, striking Optimus' legs out from under him; the leader of the Maximals fell to the ground and Megatron pinned him down with a massive Tyrannosaurus foot on his chest.
"Big Bot!" Cheetor screamed, and Megatron looked up, his attention vanishing from Optimus and landing, with tangible weight, on Cheetor.
------------------
"It shouldn't be this easy. No! . . . But, mustn't complain." Megatron continued firing down at the trapped Maximals, smiling. "Close the file on Optimus Primal . . . and delete."
------------------
A great and wondrous miracle, the holy texts of Primus call it.
That point when someone gets into your skin, under your plating, beneath your fur, to the point where the very thought of him plays ancient Praxian arpeggios on your circuitry, and a spoken phrase or a smile conducts whole symphonies . . .
And then there's times when that same miracle feels like the universe is playing an elaborate joke on you and Primus is up there somewhere laughing Himself sick as you scramble your way through patrols and battles trying to keep your attraction subroutines from taking over your life.
Or getting it ended.
------------------
"Your nightmares are just beginning, Maximal."
------------------
"Ahh. Pussycat." Megatron smiled, wickedly, arms spreading apart to give Cheetor a deliberate opening while his pede still pressed against Optimus. "Here, kitty, kitty."
Cheetor went. He couldn't not, even as Optimus shouted, "Cheetor, no!" He was saving Optimus, or at least distracting Megatron from Optimus, and that purpose in his spark was at least as loud as his joy at the opportunity to get close to Megatron, although the invitation and the voice that delivered it had the strongest hold of them all.
He did manage to shoot, once, doing at least some damage to the cannon hidden in the T-rex jaws, and then he impacted with Megatron, hard enough, as he'd calculated, to offbalance the Predacon leader and allow Optimus to escape.
That was all he thought of Optimus, as strong arms gripped him around the middle, crushing him to Megatron's plating, and he was squirming, half trying to get free, half trying to be held tighter, as Megatron's laughter rang in his audials and Megatron's energy field suffused his own.
A sudden jerk as Optimus impacted Megatron, and Cheetor squirmed happily, thrust against Megatron's chestplates and doing his utmost to keep at least one of Megatron's arms too busy to deal with Optimus. Another impact and he nearly slid free, yelping with dismay and actually grabbing onto Megatron's shoulder to prevent it.
Optimus misread the yelp and turned his attention to Cheetor, and Megatron capitalized on it, slapping Optimus aside and then turning his own full attention to Cheetor, shifting his grip too swiftly for the Maximal to counter. With devastating suddenness, Cheetor found himself in too deep, Megatron's beast-mode jaws latched onto his shoulder, trapping arm and gun, while Megatron's left arm snaked across Cheetor's chestplates from hip to neck, pressing Cheetor's back against himself.
Big Bot's alarmed optics stared at them from a few paces away.
"No, Optimus Primal," Megatron said, and Cheetor could feel the words resonating through Megatron's frame and into his. "You will not come closer, no, not if you want your fellow Maximal back."
---------------
"Do not attempt to escape, young one!"
---------------
He'd been captured by Megatron before---had spent many nights replaying that perfect moment when Megatron descended into view behind Terrorsaur in the Predacon base. When Terrorsaur had spoken to Megatron, letting Cheetor know that he was well and truly caught---and when Cheetor realized, as Megatron spoke to him in almost-gentle tones that hinted of consideration for his status as just barely an adult, just how scrambled his own processor truly was.
This was more. He was held this time, pinned against Megatron, and pinned under Big Bot's stare, and Primus help him if that didn't make it worse---or better.
Big Bot was growling. "What do you want, Megatron?"
Megatron laughed, and Cheetor could've melted into the rich sound, a purr rising in him until he remembered to step on it, drowned out by Megatron's answer. "An interesting question, yessss. What can I demand of you in exchange for---Cheetor, isn't it?"
Megatron's full attention on him, now, and Cheetor barely managed to nod. "Yeah."
"Cheetor," Megatron said again, drawing out the sounds until it was almost a verbal caress, and Cheetor shivered against him, and then Megatron shifted his hand, thumb and fingertips stroking the side of Cheetor's helm and Cheetor could no more have stopped himself from tilting his head into that caress than he could've flapped his arms and flown.
And the energy of the situation shifted as Megatron and Optimus both realized that something more than a hostage situation was going on. Cheetor, faced with Big Bot's shocked expression, did the only thing he could think of and winked one optic out. Planning something. Big Bot's expression shifted---relief? bemusement? puzzlement? and Cheetor relaxed a tad. Now he just needed to come up with something to be planning.
Then Megatron's fingertips traced along his jawline, and he forgot all about planning anything.
---------------
"Yess. Yess. Almost there."
---------------
"Let me see." Primus, Megatron sounded amazing from this particular vantage point, and Cheetor focused on drinking in every syllable. "Perhaps a few breems of access to your ship's computer? Or a few days of unmolested energon-gathering? Hmmm . . . I could always demand an unconditional surrender, but . . ." Cheetor tensed up at this and Megatron looked down at him, smiling knowingly, ". . . That's almost too easy." His fingertips danced over Cheetor's face, dotting the freckles, Cheetor thought, and the prospect of the Predacon leader finding his facial markings endearing was . . . well, something to contemplate at length in the privacy of his own quarters. Right now he was in too deep, yet again, and getting him out of it would be costly to his fellow Maximals. He tried to force his processor back on track.
He was lucky. Megatron, it seemed, was more interested in gloating and savoring his victory than actually pushing the Maximals to seal a deal for concessions. Dinobot was having a muffled argument with Rattrap, and Airrazor was hovering above Terrorsaur and Waspinator, drawing everyone else's attention while Tigatron slunk around to one side, carefully working around behind Megatron like the stalking cat he was. Big Bot was dividing his attention between Cheetor, Megatron, and an obvious temptation to yell at Dinobot and Rattrap, and Cheetor let a purr bubble up and escape as Megatron's thumb brushed across his lips.
Megatron responded with a slow chuckle, and continued tossing out potential concessions he could force Optimus into. Cheetor spared a thought to wonder if this was what the Predacon leader got off on. It'd be nice if he wasn't the only absurdly kinked mechanism on the planet.
Focus, Cheetor, focus!
He squirmed again, deliberately this time, and in the process flexed the arm that was pinioned amidst lots of needle-like Tyrannosaurus teeth. Unsurprisingly, the grip didn't relent any, but his elbow joint was just brushing the cannon-muzzle hidden within it, and if he flexed just so he could keep everything out of the line of fire. And it was pointing up towards the sky. So at any point when Airrazor wasn't directly overhead, the cannon was temporarily out of commission.
"Be still, Pussycat," said Megatron, apparently detecting the difference between that squirm and the others; his fingertips still kept up their caress, a slight hint firmer. Cheetor shivered. "Yes," the Predacon purred, delight in his features, his hand moving to caress the other side of Cheetor's face as Cheetor turned his head to facilitate this. He couldn't see Tigatron. Rattrap and Dinobot looked to be about to come to blows, but Rattrap had an ear aimed back at Cheetor and Dinobot's gaze shrewdly took in the whole battlefield. Airrazor was up in the air off to one side, Waspinator and Terrorsaur hovering to keep an optic on her.
Megatron said to Optimus, "Or perhaps a few vital components of your Sentinel shield system," and the side of his hand between thumb and wrist caressed Cheetor's lips, making his circuitry tingle.
Cheetor opened his mouth and bit.
---------------
"And now, for you!"
"Sorry! This cat's gotta scat!"
---------------
Megatron bellowed, and Cheetor couldn't help snickering, even as many sharp teeth pierced his shoulder and wild shots scorched his arm on the way out. He was abruptly released, as Megatron let go and swung him aside to deal with Optimus Primal, who barrelled into him like, Cheetor thought, a semi-truck, like his ancient namesake, like a blur of righteous fury, knocking Megatron onto his aft and straddling him to pound him into the unyielding earth.
Megatron twisted and managed to get one clawed foot between himself and Optimus, and kicked him off, his head turning, optics tracking Cheetor, who froze, the thrill of I'm-in-trouble combining with the thrill of Megatron's attention. He forced himself to move, to climb to his pedes---interlude over, and Megatron would be dangerous now---and Optimus, scrambling in his direction, scooped him up and hauled aft for Dinobot and Rattrap.
Cheetor met Megatron's gaze, tension fleeing to make room for elation. Megatron looked ready to explode; his hand, the plating punctured where Cheetor had bitten him, was sparking like it just might do so, and Cheetor laughed.
---------------
"Blast!"
---------------
"Treacherous, underhanded sneak attack! You like me, remember?" Cheetor gloated at him, optics alight with mischief as Big Bot carried him to safety.
Megatron smiled, and it was not a nice smile, but there was a hint of respect in it and a hint of something that Cheetor tentatively thought might be amusement.
"Yessss, pussycat. I like you. I will remember that." Megatron's optics gleamed, and Cheetor wasn't entirely certain the remembrance would be in his favor, but the look made his circuits tingle pleasantly and that was good enough for now.
Megatron swung his cannon at where Dinobot, Rattrap, Rhinox, and Airrazor were beating back the other Predacons. "Your comrades, on the other hand---"
He abruptly pitched forward as Tigatron landed heavily on his back, sending the Predacon leader facefirst into the dirt. "I wouldn't try that again if I were you," he growled, and Cheetor thrilled all over again to see Megatron lying pinned on the ground, a proud and gloating cat perched on his back. "We cats look out for each other."
"Woohoo, go Tigatron!" called Cheetor, just to see Megatron look up and glare at him. Except he wasn't glaring, he was smiling, ignoring Tigatron as the other cat bounded off of him to join the Maximal line, optics burning through Cheetor in that way that threatened to send his circuitry into orbit.
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Yessssss.
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