Wing Kink, Parts 1/5 & 2/5, Megatron/Starscream
A series of short one-shots. (As usual, pick your 'verse.)
Title: Wing Kink, Part 1: Entranced.
Author: Kyra Neko-Rei
Rating: R for Part 2.
Disclaimer: Starscream's flexible wing joints are the only part of them I can claim.
Summary: Megatron is fascinated by Starscream's wings.
It was always at least a breem before Megatron caught himself.
It was always the same thing, too, that had him distracted. The only thing, really---anything else he might get lost in thought over he never did get lost in---only this. Only the slow, even movements of Starscream's wings, gracefully flapping back and forth when the Seeker was engrossed in his own work.
He was straddling a chair halfway across the command deck from Megatron, the chair turned around so that he rested his chest against the backrest, one leg to either side, fingers tapping at the keys of his computer terminal, and those lovely white wings moving languidly on their hinges, folding back almost perpendicular to his back, sometimes, and then fanning forward to frame his body, settling back into their default positions for a few seconds before sweeping backwards again.
The Seeker wasn't aware of it, doubtless; it was an unconscious habit, something he did without thinking whenever he concentrated intently on something. He always did it when he worked on scientific endeavours or aerial strategy, or any other project he got deeply into. And Megatron, once aware of the sight, would simply watch, entranced, until breems had gone by, when he came to himself enough to realize he was staring, when he shook his head and forced himself to focus on the task at hand. And still saw white wings, memory superimposed upon his vision, as he'd see an optical illusion reflected in the screen of his own terminal or datapad.
And found himself thinking not of battle tactics nor leadership responsibilities nor victory over the Autobots, but what ailerons and thick strong leading edges and delicate smooth white expanses of metal would feel like against his hands, and then he would turn off the computer or set aside the datapad in favor of pretending to think about battle plans or weapon requisitions, the better to keep his optics focused on Starscream's wings as they gently beat the air away from the Seeker's arched back.
It was a good thing Starscream worked in his lab most of the time, or Megatron would never get anything done.
He wasn't getting anything done now---just staring like a besotted sparkling as Starscream's wings fanned slowly back and forth.
The war could wait.
Title: Wing Kink, Part 2: Tease.
Author: Kyra Neko-Rei
Rating: R
Disclaimer: I don't own the Transformers.
Warnings: BDSM-style mild torture---chains, whips and claws.
Summary: Megatron often gets Starscream's wings in hand---but not entirely the way he wants.
Sometimes Megatron found himself looking forward to Starscream's mutinies.
Oh, getting shot in the back was never fun, and the Seeker's occasional success at, if not supplanting, then at least humiliating him were things better off avoided (not least of all for that tiny traitorous part of him that looked forward to that), and there was the never-quite-banished worry that one of these times his treacherous second would actually succeed at overthrowing him---but this---this was worth it.
This was Starscream's graceful form kneeling on the floor in the center of a brig cell, tightly bound in an array of chains that changed each time with Megatron's mood, holding the ever-proud Air Commander in some variation of delicious restricted movement that invariably left his wings free and vulnerable. Free so that the Seeker could twitch and writhe them to his spark's content; vulnerable so that Megatron could make them twitch and writhe, and make the mech they were attached to whimper and scream and plead for mercy. He wasn't sure what he loved more: the moment when pain overcame Starscream's pride and he started apologizing and begging forgiveness, or the feeling of the wings in his hands, trembling in anticipation of his punishment, shaking and jerking as he pierced them with his claws, shivering with the sensation of the energon flowing across the sensitive expanse of fragile sheet metal.
It was all beautiful---the sensation of metal parting easily ahead of his claws as he gently scratched them, the streams of bright energon flowing from tattered wounds, the more violent spasms and choked-off screams when he applied a shockstick or an energy whip to the wounded and sensitive appendages, the subtle shifts in posture as defiance gave way to supplication---all leading up to the last few astroseconds of their interaction, when Megatron undid the chains and Starscream knelt, as he'd been taught, of his own accord, and tolerated his leader's hands on him in whatever way Megatron pleased---a demonstration that he'd learned his lesson, for the moment.
This was exquisite, but bittersweet---a few drops of purest high-grade to one starving, delicious beyond description but nowhere near satisfying: a moment when Megatron's hands---finally!---rested on Starscream's wings in what might be termed a caress. Sometimes he remained harsh and angry, fingers pressing heavily on wounds that still seeped energon; mostly he was gentle, in this single moment when he could do whatever he wanted without letting it slip that he wanted it, could take those lovely wings in hand and caress them, and pass it off as an exertion of dominance.
He petted his tamed Seeker, his for-the-moment docile second, offering uncharacteristic gentleness as a reward for the temporary obedience he got by rougher means, and loved it. He reveled in the moment, blissful, as Starscream shivered almost imperceptibly against his hands, optics aglow with the slightest hint of something that was neither hatred nor coerced submission, and then he turned and left the cell, leaving the door open for Starscream to leave in his own time, and wanted more.
Title: Wing Kink, Part 1: Entranced.
Author: Kyra Neko-Rei
Rating: R for Part 2.
Disclaimer: Starscream's flexible wing joints are the only part of them I can claim.
Summary: Megatron is fascinated by Starscream's wings.
It was always at least a breem before Megatron caught himself.
It was always the same thing, too, that had him distracted. The only thing, really---anything else he might get lost in thought over he never did get lost in---only this. Only the slow, even movements of Starscream's wings, gracefully flapping back and forth when the Seeker was engrossed in his own work.
He was straddling a chair halfway across the command deck from Megatron, the chair turned around so that he rested his chest against the backrest, one leg to either side, fingers tapping at the keys of his computer terminal, and those lovely white wings moving languidly on their hinges, folding back almost perpendicular to his back, sometimes, and then fanning forward to frame his body, settling back into their default positions for a few seconds before sweeping backwards again.
The Seeker wasn't aware of it, doubtless; it was an unconscious habit, something he did without thinking whenever he concentrated intently on something. He always did it when he worked on scientific endeavours or aerial strategy, or any other project he got deeply into. And Megatron, once aware of the sight, would simply watch, entranced, until breems had gone by, when he came to himself enough to realize he was staring, when he shook his head and forced himself to focus on the task at hand. And still saw white wings, memory superimposed upon his vision, as he'd see an optical illusion reflected in the screen of his own terminal or datapad.
And found himself thinking not of battle tactics nor leadership responsibilities nor victory over the Autobots, but what ailerons and thick strong leading edges and delicate smooth white expanses of metal would feel like against his hands, and then he would turn off the computer or set aside the datapad in favor of pretending to think about battle plans or weapon requisitions, the better to keep his optics focused on Starscream's wings as they gently beat the air away from the Seeker's arched back.
It was a good thing Starscream worked in his lab most of the time, or Megatron would never get anything done.
He wasn't getting anything done now---just staring like a besotted sparkling as Starscream's wings fanned slowly back and forth.
The war could wait.
Title: Wing Kink, Part 2: Tease.
Author: Kyra Neko-Rei
Rating: R
Disclaimer: I don't own the Transformers.
Warnings: BDSM-style mild torture---chains, whips and claws.
Summary: Megatron often gets Starscream's wings in hand---but not entirely the way he wants.
Sometimes Megatron found himself looking forward to Starscream's mutinies.
Oh, getting shot in the back was never fun, and the Seeker's occasional success at, if not supplanting, then at least humiliating him were things better off avoided (not least of all for that tiny traitorous part of him that looked forward to that), and there was the never-quite-banished worry that one of these times his treacherous second would actually succeed at overthrowing him---but this---this was worth it.
This was Starscream's graceful form kneeling on the floor in the center of a brig cell, tightly bound in an array of chains that changed each time with Megatron's mood, holding the ever-proud Air Commander in some variation of delicious restricted movement that invariably left his wings free and vulnerable. Free so that the Seeker could twitch and writhe them to his spark's content; vulnerable so that Megatron could make them twitch and writhe, and make the mech they were attached to whimper and scream and plead for mercy. He wasn't sure what he loved more: the moment when pain overcame Starscream's pride and he started apologizing and begging forgiveness, or the feeling of the wings in his hands, trembling in anticipation of his punishment, shaking and jerking as he pierced them with his claws, shivering with the sensation of the energon flowing across the sensitive expanse of fragile sheet metal.
It was all beautiful---the sensation of metal parting easily ahead of his claws as he gently scratched them, the streams of bright energon flowing from tattered wounds, the more violent spasms and choked-off screams when he applied a shockstick or an energy whip to the wounded and sensitive appendages, the subtle shifts in posture as defiance gave way to supplication---all leading up to the last few astroseconds of their interaction, when Megatron undid the chains and Starscream knelt, as he'd been taught, of his own accord, and tolerated his leader's hands on him in whatever way Megatron pleased---a demonstration that he'd learned his lesson, for the moment.
This was exquisite, but bittersweet---a few drops of purest high-grade to one starving, delicious beyond description but nowhere near satisfying: a moment when Megatron's hands---finally!---rested on Starscream's wings in what might be termed a caress. Sometimes he remained harsh and angry, fingers pressing heavily on wounds that still seeped energon; mostly he was gentle, in this single moment when he could do whatever he wanted without letting it slip that he wanted it, could take those lovely wings in hand and caress them, and pass it off as an exertion of dominance.
He petted his tamed Seeker, his for-the-moment docile second, offering uncharacteristic gentleness as a reward for the temporary obedience he got by rougher means, and loved it. He reveled in the moment, blissful, as Starscream shivered almost imperceptibly against his hands, optics aglow with the slightest hint of something that was neither hatred nor coerced submission, and then he turned and left the cell, leaving the door open for Starscream to leave in his own time, and wanted more.