"Secondary Cures" [Transformers, Megatron/Starscream, PG]
Title: "Secondary Cures"
Author/Artist: Kyra Neko-Rei
Rating: PG or so.
Warnings: Hungover Decepticons?
Word count: 1448
Summary: After a hard night's drinking, Megatron and Starscream wake up entangled in each other.
Prompt: - Transformers, Megatron/Starscream - the morning after - You had to have the white-hot spotlight/You had to be a big shot last night.
A/N: Sorry it's late; I didn't have computer access at all this weekend. This turned out far different than I had intended, shorter and more focused on the morning than on the previous night and I may have bypassed the prompt entirely, but the Megatron/Starscream pseudo-fluff came up and swamped me, so that's what I wrote.
Someone was groaning very loudly, and it grated on Megatron's audials and reverbrated through his slowly-rebooting processors, leading him to the realization that he simply hurt.
Why?
The question moved through his processor like molten slag, and he hesitantly dredged up memories of the night before. High-grade, Starscream, drinking contest---ohhhh, frag. Hangover.
Accepting the unwelcome fact that he'd be feeling like this for most of a solar cycle, he attempted to fall back into recharge, but the groan in question was slowly modulating into a whine, and it drilled straight through Megatron's head, banishing any possibility of unconsciousness, and he growled in frustrated pain. It came out as more of a whine of his own, and the sound felt like someone had stabbed something sharp and pointy right through his processors. Recoiling, he tried to clap his hands to his audials, and this attempt brought the realization that he could not move his arms.
Without thinking, he onlined his optics to see what was restraining them.
He howled, offlining them fast as searing light blazed through his optical feed and lit his processors up with pure, sharp agony. At the same time, the second voice lit up in a screech; bombarded from within and without by sound and various types of pain, Megatron hovered on the edge of unconsciousness, but the pain, restraint, and disorientation had put survival subroutines on high alert, and after a brief moment of incoherence he remained revoltingly awake and aware. Both vocalizations faded, but the pain remained and Megatron let out a broken-sounding whimper.
"Megatron?"
Oh, Primus, if being in this condition wasn't bad enough! An image of how he must look, blind and cringing, surfaced in his processor and he almost whimpered again at the thought of Starscream witnessing it. Instead he forced his vocalizer to work properly. "Starscream." It came out wearier and more plaintive than he'd intended, and he inwardly winced.
"Ow." The Seeker didn't sound much better, and Megatron dared hope that Starscream was too wrapped up in his own hangover to notice Megatron's misery. "I hate hangovers."
"You shouldn't've drank so much," Megatron pointed out helpfully. At least here was something he could do to make himself feel better; needling Starscream always improved his mood.
"Frag off, Megatron." Good, Starscream was sounding frustrated already. "And let go of me, I want to find Hook and make him sedate me."
Let go?!
"Let go of you?" Megatron once again turned on his optics to see what the Pit Starscream was talking about, and once again offlined them just as fast, with a strangled yelp for good measure. Lacking any useful information from that source, he instead analyzed the sensory input from the rest of his body.
He was lying on his side, half curled up, various limbs all tangled up in . . . oh, Primus fragging pit dammit. How the frag had that happened? And perhaps more importantly, who had seen, and had the pictures made it as far as the Autobots yet?
Returning to the problem at hand, he attempted to let go, and realized in short order that he was not so much holding Starscream as he was stuck to Starscream, one hand trapped under a wing, the other between Starscream's arm and body, at such an angle that he couldn't get it out because his own body was in the way. Meanwhile his weight was pressing against one of Starscream's arms, trapping it between them since he didn't have the room or leverage to raise himself up; the Seeker's other arm was wrapped around Megatron's shoulder and wedged in under his jaw; their legs were twined together in a jumble that could only be described as anatomically unlikely, and when Megatron tried to free one leg Starscream tensed up and hissed in pain, the arm under Megatron's jaw tensing up to press against Megatron's neck and one of his ailerons flexing hard to dig painfully into a gap in Megatron's abdominal plating.
"I'm not holding onto you, Starscream. I'm just . . . stuck."
"Oh, you're fragging kidding me."
"No."
Silence, blessed silence, while Starscream pondered their situation, and then the Seeker asked, "How'd we get like this?"
"I have no idea. I don't even know how this position is physically possible to attain. I do know that my head hurts, and your voice is not helping." The menace present in his own voice ensured that he didn't need to explicitly order Starscream to shut up, and he thanked Primus for that small blessing as silence reigned again---his own voice actually hurt his audials more than the Seeker's did.
Starscream shifted minutely, arching against Megatron with obvious care, apparently to relieve pressure on his wing joint; a few seconds' pressure against Megatron's midsection and groin and inner thigh by one knee that felt strangely good, surreal against the throbbing backdrop of the headache, and then the Seeker relaxed, head falling to rest against Megatron's shoulder. Megatron attempted to flex his own neck; Starscream's fingers were wedged uncomfortably against his jaw, and the instant he tipped his head back the digits slipped into the gap between plating, extending to rest against sensitive wiring like they belonged there, and this was finer pleasure, sending delicious shocks through Megatron's oversensitized circuits and interrupting, if not alleviating, the constant pain from his processor. Under normal circumstances Megatron would never allow Starscream to get his hands on those circuits, but right now he was dazed and tired and hungover and in pain and it felt so good in comparison, so he focused his attention on those fingers as much as he could, letting the pleasurable feelings distract him from the pain. Starscream shifted slightly again, rubbing cheekplates against Megatron's chest armor and helm against Megatron's jaw, and each of those felt strangely like a caress as well.
Starscream, in fact, felt remarkably good in his arms, warm and pliant and comfortable, his head heavy on Megatron's shoulder and his legs wedging Megatron's slightly apart, the contours of the wing underneath him sleek and humming ever so slightly with Starscream's internal processes. He could hear them, in fact, if he listened closely, just as he could hear his own, but they weren't painful; in fact they were almost soothing.
Then Starscream shifted again, moving to lightly tap his helm against the point of Megatron's chin, almost as if to get his attention, settled back down, and began to purr, softly, lightly, the resonance traveling through them both and waking up every circuit in Megatron's body to high attention, and he stiffened.
Just as quickly, however, as though they'd analyzed the new stimulus and found it agreeable, those same circuits relaxed, and he found himself following their lead, and he was surprised at how restful he was beginning to feel, lazy and comfortable as he oh-so-occasionally did when he took a morning off to laze in his berth when the war was going well, unburdened with much of anything. Today, however, he had his treacherous Air Commander in his arms, the possibility of widespread humiliation depending on who saw them wrapped up together, and this absolute pitspawn of a headache, and yet he was as relaxed as he ever got. He felt almost exactly like he did during one of those miniature vacations, barring the headache, and that was actually loosening its grip, fading under the pleasant trills and oscillations coming from Starscream's vocalizer.
"This is what I do with my wingmates, when we're hungover together," Starscream murmured, just barely audible.
"Mmm," Megatron acknowledged, throwing better judgment sufficiently aside to pull Starscream closer to him; the Seeker relaxed into him perfectly and he copied Starscream's trilling vocal oscillations, very quietly at first, but as Starscream smiled against his chestplates and snuggled closer, as the headache faded and recharge hovered like a comforting warmth at the edges of his processor, he purred louder.
Author/Artist: Kyra Neko-Rei
Rating: PG or so.
Warnings: Hungover Decepticons?
Word count: 1448
Summary: After a hard night's drinking, Megatron and Starscream wake up entangled in each other.
Prompt: - Transformers, Megatron/Starscream - the morning after - You had to have the white-hot spotlight/You had to be a big shot last night.
A/N: Sorry it's late; I didn't have computer access at all this weekend. This turned out far different than I had intended, shorter and more focused on the morning than on the previous night and I may have bypassed the prompt entirely, but the Megatron/Starscream pseudo-fluff came up and swamped me, so that's what I wrote.
Someone was groaning very loudly, and it grated on Megatron's audials and reverbrated through his slowly-rebooting processors, leading him to the realization that he simply hurt.
Why?
The question moved through his processor like molten slag, and he hesitantly dredged up memories of the night before. High-grade, Starscream, drinking contest---ohhhh, frag. Hangover.
Accepting the unwelcome fact that he'd be feeling like this for most of a solar cycle, he attempted to fall back into recharge, but the groan in question was slowly modulating into a whine, and it drilled straight through Megatron's head, banishing any possibility of unconsciousness, and he growled in frustrated pain. It came out as more of a whine of his own, and the sound felt like someone had stabbed something sharp and pointy right through his processors. Recoiling, he tried to clap his hands to his audials, and this attempt brought the realization that he could not move his arms.
Without thinking, he onlined his optics to see what was restraining them.
He howled, offlining them fast as searing light blazed through his optical feed and lit his processors up with pure, sharp agony. At the same time, the second voice lit up in a screech; bombarded from within and without by sound and various types of pain, Megatron hovered on the edge of unconsciousness, but the pain, restraint, and disorientation had put survival subroutines on high alert, and after a brief moment of incoherence he remained revoltingly awake and aware. Both vocalizations faded, but the pain remained and Megatron let out a broken-sounding whimper.
"Megatron?"
Oh, Primus, if being in this condition wasn't bad enough! An image of how he must look, blind and cringing, surfaced in his processor and he almost whimpered again at the thought of Starscream witnessing it. Instead he forced his vocalizer to work properly. "Starscream." It came out wearier and more plaintive than he'd intended, and he inwardly winced.
"Ow." The Seeker didn't sound much better, and Megatron dared hope that Starscream was too wrapped up in his own hangover to notice Megatron's misery. "I hate hangovers."
"You shouldn't've drank so much," Megatron pointed out helpfully. At least here was something he could do to make himself feel better; needling Starscream always improved his mood.
"Frag off, Megatron." Good, Starscream was sounding frustrated already. "And let go of me, I want to find Hook and make him sedate me."
Let go?!
"Let go of you?" Megatron once again turned on his optics to see what the Pit Starscream was talking about, and once again offlined them just as fast, with a strangled yelp for good measure. Lacking any useful information from that source, he instead analyzed the sensory input from the rest of his body.
He was lying on his side, half curled up, various limbs all tangled up in . . . oh, Primus fragging pit dammit. How the frag had that happened? And perhaps more importantly, who had seen, and had the pictures made it as far as the Autobots yet?
Returning to the problem at hand, he attempted to let go, and realized in short order that he was not so much holding Starscream as he was stuck to Starscream, one hand trapped under a wing, the other between Starscream's arm and body, at such an angle that he couldn't get it out because his own body was in the way. Meanwhile his weight was pressing against one of Starscream's arms, trapping it between them since he didn't have the room or leverage to raise himself up; the Seeker's other arm was wrapped around Megatron's shoulder and wedged in under his jaw; their legs were twined together in a jumble that could only be described as anatomically unlikely, and when Megatron tried to free one leg Starscream tensed up and hissed in pain, the arm under Megatron's jaw tensing up to press against Megatron's neck and one of his ailerons flexing hard to dig painfully into a gap in Megatron's abdominal plating.
"I'm not holding onto you, Starscream. I'm just . . . stuck."
"Oh, you're fragging kidding me."
"No."
Silence, blessed silence, while Starscream pondered their situation, and then the Seeker asked, "How'd we get like this?"
"I have no idea. I don't even know how this position is physically possible to attain. I do know that my head hurts, and your voice is not helping." The menace present in his own voice ensured that he didn't need to explicitly order Starscream to shut up, and he thanked Primus for that small blessing as silence reigned again---his own voice actually hurt his audials more than the Seeker's did.
Starscream shifted minutely, arching against Megatron with obvious care, apparently to relieve pressure on his wing joint; a few seconds' pressure against Megatron's midsection and groin and inner thigh by one knee that felt strangely good, surreal against the throbbing backdrop of the headache, and then the Seeker relaxed, head falling to rest against Megatron's shoulder. Megatron attempted to flex his own neck; Starscream's fingers were wedged uncomfortably against his jaw, and the instant he tipped his head back the digits slipped into the gap between plating, extending to rest against sensitive wiring like they belonged there, and this was finer pleasure, sending delicious shocks through Megatron's oversensitized circuits and interrupting, if not alleviating, the constant pain from his processor. Under normal circumstances Megatron would never allow Starscream to get his hands on those circuits, but right now he was dazed and tired and hungover and in pain and it felt so good in comparison, so he focused his attention on those fingers as much as he could, letting the pleasurable feelings distract him from the pain. Starscream shifted slightly again, rubbing cheekplates against Megatron's chest armor and helm against Megatron's jaw, and each of those felt strangely like a caress as well.
Starscream, in fact, felt remarkably good in his arms, warm and pliant and comfortable, his head heavy on Megatron's shoulder and his legs wedging Megatron's slightly apart, the contours of the wing underneath him sleek and humming ever so slightly with Starscream's internal processes. He could hear them, in fact, if he listened closely, just as he could hear his own, but they weren't painful; in fact they were almost soothing.
Then Starscream shifted again, moving to lightly tap his helm against the point of Megatron's chin, almost as if to get his attention, settled back down, and began to purr, softly, lightly, the resonance traveling through them both and waking up every circuit in Megatron's body to high attention, and he stiffened.
Just as quickly, however, as though they'd analyzed the new stimulus and found it agreeable, those same circuits relaxed, and he found himself following their lead, and he was surprised at how restful he was beginning to feel, lazy and comfortable as he oh-so-occasionally did when he took a morning off to laze in his berth when the war was going well, unburdened with much of anything. Today, however, he had his treacherous Air Commander in his arms, the possibility of widespread humiliation depending on who saw them wrapped up together, and this absolute pitspawn of a headache, and yet he was as relaxed as he ever got. He felt almost exactly like he did during one of those miniature vacations, barring the headache, and that was actually loosening its grip, fading under the pleasant trills and oscillations coming from Starscream's vocalizer.
"This is what I do with my wingmates, when we're hungover together," Starscream murmured, just barely audible.
"Mmm," Megatron acknowledged, throwing better judgment sufficiently aside to pull Starscream closer to him; the Seeker relaxed into him perfectly and he copied Starscream's trilling vocal oscillations, very quietly at first, but as Starscream smiled against his chestplates and snuggled closer, as the headache faded and recharge hovered like a comforting warmth at the edges of his processor, he purred louder.