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When he first saw Starscream, Megatron was nothing but a miner just beginning to moonlight in the gladiator pits and had yet to make his name. He’d known that society’s elite sometimes graced the more respectable arenas, but his first sight of Vosian royalty still came as a surprise. He had just felled his latest opponent and was enjoying the respite of victory when he felt the peculiar tingling sensation of being watched. Of course, the optics of every bot in the arena were on him, but this felt different somehow, more intimate. He scanned the crowd as they screamed and clapped and he stood there dripping with a mix of his own energon and his fallen opponent’s. One of his optics was smashed and he could barely see, but the instant he set eyes on Starscream he couldn’t look away.
The prince was in a private box close to the ground. If Megatron were to cross the arena, leap up and stretch out his arm, he could have grabbed one of Starscream’s majestic wings. The wealthy and privileged liked to take the rows at the front so as to be closer to the action and be near enough to see the emotion on the combatants’ faces and smell the energon as it spilled. Starscream was surrounded by other Vosians, their colourful paint vibrant against the rows of greys and muddy greens, russets and browns. The seekers around him were chattering and cheering while Starscream sat in the centre of the group like he was holding court, but his optics were trained on Megatron alone. Megatron was pinned by his gaze, paralysed like a petrorabbit in the sight of a turbofox. He had the wildest urge to cross the arena and throw himself to his knees at the prince’s feet, like all Starscream had to do was crook a finger and he’d come running. He should have known right then that his fate was sealed.
Starscream came to more and more of his fights and each time Megatron was blisteringly aware of him. While the rest of the crowd bayed for blood and cheered at the spectacle, Starscream watched in silence and composure. Megatron sneaked glances at him whenever he dared and couldn't shake the feeling that Starscream wasn’t there to watch the matches so much as to watch him. Megatron felt his gaze burning into his armour even when his back was turned. Instead of putting him off, Megatron found that it made him fight even harder. He won more often, and more spectacularly; he took more risks in the arena and they paid off, each of his victories more theatrical and impressive than the last as he shamelessly showed off for the handsome prince he had never even met. The first time he saw Starscream actually applaud, he thought his spark might explode with pride.
And yet, when the invitation arrived in the hands of a messenger with the prince’s crest on his wings, Megatron was so stunned that he didn’t know what to do. The messenger waited impatiently while Megatron, flustered, scrawled a blunt response. When the evening of the appointment came Megatron was a tense and irritable wreck. He polished his armour as best he could with the small amount of cheap wax he had and got frustrated at the result. He couldn’t change what he was. He would never be anything but a rough working mech, a labourer and a fighter not an elegant socialite or educated elite.
He left his hab-suite in a bad temper after ruminating on the vast gulf between himself and Starscream in terms of wealth, education, and social class. The sleek winged messenger from before came to pick him up, and it was with gruff trepidation that Megatron let himself be loaded into a hover-car that probably cost more than Megatron earned in a hundred stellar-cycles. The car glided smoothly through the evening traffic until it reached the exclusive Towers district. There was one in every city—an elite neighbourhood where the rich and famous came to play. The driver brought the car to a stop inside a big parking garage near the top of one of the towers which was already home to a number of glossy hover-cars and one small but clearly top-of-the-line shuttle at the far end. Megatron exited the car and followed the messenger out of the garage and up a set of stairs into an apartment.
“Do try not to touch anything,” said the smug little seeker with a pinched look. Megatron grunted in response. He expected nothing less from Towers mechs. They were all snobs and idle peacocks who’d never done a cycle’s real work in their lives. “The prince will be with you shortly. He is rather busy at the moment with matters of state.” He gave Megatron one last disdainful look and then left Megatron alone.
The room Megatron had been put in was spacious and spotlessly clean. Large windows looked out over the city, the view from so high up truly magnificent. Megatron watched night fall on Kaon and wondered how his home could look so bright and pretty from up here. Somewhere out there crowds were roaring and energon was flowing as the first of many gladiatorial matches began. Megatron might as well be in another world. His work-roughened hands flexed as though just itching for something to hit.
More time passed with no sign of the prince. Perhaps this was all some kind of joke, and Starscream never meant to meet him at all? Just when Megatron was ready to leave, royalty be damned, a door opened on the far side of the chamber and in strode Starscream himself.
Seeing him up close was a world away from picking him out of the crowd at the arena. There, the brightness of his beauty was diffused by the distance between them, but now he was in the same room with him there was nothing to dilute the full force of Starscream’s brilliance. It was like an energy beam and Megatron melted under its glare.
“Megatron,” Starscream said. “Such a pleasure to finally meet the legend face-to-face.”
Megatron had never had any particular opinions about his own name, but somehow Starscream managed to shape those three syllables into something exotic. The prince’s voice was nothing like Megatron had imagined; it was a high-pitched rasp that should have sounded ugly, but Starscream’s confidence and complete lack of self-consciousness fooled Megatron into believing it didn’t.
Starscream approached with the kind of grace and self-assurance that only the truly elite ever achieved. Megatron, at the other end of the social spectrum, felt a deep and instinctive shame at his shabby appearance, his grubby feet on Starscream’s immaculate floor, at his ungainly, blocky frame. He curled his lip in disgust at his own servile impulses.
Angry, he answered Starscream more harshly than he meant to: “What do you want with me, your highness?”
Starscream took Megatron’s aggressive tone in his stride, save for a slight widening of his optics. Megatron felt all the more uncouth and inadequate in the face of Starscream’s aplomb.
“Why, I just had to meet you,” Starscream said. “I’ve had such fun watching you fight. My, but you are impressive… You’re bigger up close, aren’t you?”
“I’ve no idea,” Megatron grunted. Starscream was close enough for Megatron to smell the sweetly scented wax that gave Starscream’s armour its mirror sheen. Starscream reached out as he circled Megatron and trailed the tip of one bright blue finger across Megatron’s chest-plate. Megatron caught Starscream’s hand and arrested its movement across his chest. Glancing down, he flushed to see that his hand easily enveloped the seeker’s smaller servo.
Starscream had claws, Megatron noticed. For a moment he imagined Starscream in the arena and Megatron watching him tear gladiators apart with his bare hands…
“I’ve seen you at the arena,” Megatron rasped, hoping Starscream’s wouldn’t notice the heat now swirling through his EM field. “You watch me often.”
“Yes,” purred Starscream. “You’re quite magnificent. Come, I’ve had a little repast prepared. You must be famished, big frame like that…'' He slipped his hand free and turned around, and he was halfway across the room before Megatron realised he was expected to walk to heel.
Megatron followed Starscream deeper into the sumptuous apartment. The dining room was a long chamber lit by sparkling chandeliers, the glass-topped table set for two. Brightly coloured, winged servants flitted about like dragonflies as Megatron took his seat. Starscream sat at the end of the table while Megatron was placed on the adjacent edge, to Starscream’s right. It was civilised, yet intimate. The first course was placed before them on delicate silver plates. Megatron had never tasted fuel like it. Flavour exploded across his palate and he let out an involuntary groan. Starscream smirked at him and Megatron wanted the ground to swallow him up.
Conversation during the meal was mostly one-sided. Starscream asked questions and Megatron answered them. The prince asked about Megatron’s life in the mines, about his origins and his homeland. He asked what had brought Megatron from Tarn to Kaon in the first place and Megatron explained the dreadful situation in Tarn, the poverty and lack of work. He’d come to Kaon to earn not his fortune but simply a living. Being a heavy model there were only two options open to him: manual labour or combat. Megatron had capitalised on his time and gone for both.
“You must be very strong,” Starscream said.
“I was built this way,” Megatron said with a shrug. “I wasn’t sparked to be a thinker, so I had to do something.”
“You never thought to aim higher?”
“Such as where?”
“One’s form needn’t dictate one’s function. That’s a hot topic these days, but anyone with half a functioning brain module can see it makes sense.” Megatron stared at him. What Starscream was saying was approaching heresy. “I myself have been known to deviate from my expected scope of interests. I dabble in science, the arts, as well as… other things. But then, I do delight in defying expectations.”
“Pah. What would you have me do, then?”
“Oh, I would have you doing all sorts of things. I wouldn’t even know where to begin,” Starscream said with a roguish smile. Megatron’s world tilted and he started to wonder if he’d gotten out of his depth.
The meal ended far too quickly, by which time there were a number of empty engex bottles dotted all over the table. Starscream stood and offered Megatron his hand as he suggested they move into another room. Megatron checked his internal chronometer. He had been there for hours and his head felt fuzzy. It had been easy to drink cube after cube of high-grade when Starscream kept him talking, but now he was overcharged and Starscream didn’t even seem affected. When Megatron stood he swayed embarrassingly, and Starscream was forced to hold him up. As the prince helped him right himself, Megatron looked down at him in surprise. He didn’t know why he’d thought Starscream was a small mech. His sleek lines, narrow waist, and graceful way of moving were deceptive, because his grip on Megatron was strong and sure and he held up Megatron’s weight with ease.
With Starscream’s help, Megatron made it into a softly-lit sitting room and onto a couch. Starscream left him for a few moments before reappearing with a cube filled with crystal-clear liquid.
“Coolant,” he said, handing Megatron the cube. “This’ll sober you up a little.”
Megatron took the cube and obediently drank. It occurred to him that the prince had him in a vulnerable position and it wouldn’t take much to take advantage of him, and yet Megatron didn’t hesitate before knocking back the mystery drink.
Starscream sat beside him on the couch with a good distance between them, and when Megatron had drained his cube he said, “Does that feel better?”
“A little,” Megatron admitted. His head already felt a little clearer.
“You’re not so used to drinking high-grade, are you?”
“Not like this. I’m no stranger to the bars of Kaon, but this is so concentrated.”
“I forget that Vosian fuels are more intense,” Starscream explained. Megatron had never expected to hear anything approaching an apology from the mouth of a royal of all things. “Us jets need a little extra oomph to get us in the air, after all.”
“I see.”
In the pleasant silence that followed, Megatron took in his surroundings. The decor was chic but impersonal, although here and there small touches hinted at the personality of the bot beside him. A holographic painting hung over a fireplace that shimmered with rainbow flames. It was a cityscape unlike any Megatron had seen before, depicting clusters of tall spires and domes glittering in starlight before a backdrop of forbidding, snow-capped mountains.
Starscream followed Megatron’s eyeline and said, “That’s Vos, my homeland.”
“Impressive,” Megatron said.
“The jewel of Cybertron. It’s even more beautiful in person.”
“I’d like to see it one day,” Megatron said without thinking.
Starscream looked at him, and the multicoloured firelight made his optics sparkle like prisms. He gave Megatron a smile that was almost shy, and said, “I could take you. If you want…”
Megatron ought to turn away, but Starscream was so very pretty, and just then there was a softness about him that hinted at a whole different bot than the perfect prince he let everyone see. Why was Megatron given this privilege, of all the bots on Cybertron? Starscream was royalty, and Megatron was… nothing.
“Why am I here, your highness?” Megatron said.
Starscream’s smile faltered. “I’d like us to be friends,” he said.
“Don’t you have enough friends already?”
He felt like an aft as soon as he said it, and hated the way the pretty seeker curled in on himself.
“I see,” Starscream said after a brief silence. “Do you want to go home? I can tell Glitz to take you wherever you want.”
“That’s not what I meant,” Megatron said tiredly. Why was it so much easier to express himself in writing than face-to-face?
“I’m not keeping you here against your will,” Starscream said softly. When Megatron said nothing and only stewed in his own embarrassment and ire, the seeker got up and crossed the room to a bureau, from which he withdrew a sleek datapad. He returned and held it out to Megatron.
“What’s this?” Megatron said, but he took the pad and glanced at the screen Starscream had pulled up. The next moment he gasped as he recognised what he was reading. “You read this?”
“You have a rare gift,” Starscream said. “You’re a natural-forged bard.”
“How do you know it’s mine?” Megatron knew that a bot of his station had no place writing poetry, that was why he published under a pseudonym.
Tilting his head, Starscream said, “I had a hunch, and you just confirmed it.”
“Are you going to report me?” If it became known that Megatron’s poetry and essays were written by a lowly miner they would be banned and he might even face consequences for daring to publish at all.
“What? No, of course not!” Starscream said. “I want to pay you.”
“What?”
“I meant, I want to be your patron. So you can continue to write without drudging your life away in the mines or risking your spark in the pits. Although… if you wanted to continue to fight I wouldn’t necessarily object. Primus knows you’re a work of art on the battlefield as well—”
Megatron’s processor was still catching up while Starscream rattled on. He had interpreted this evening entirely wrong, and now the pleasure of Starscream’s offer warred with his embarrassment at having thought the seeker had ulterior motives.
“What do you get out of it?” Megatron said cautiously.
“Are you joking? I get to be the one sponsoring the next great Cybertronian literary genius. I get the credit of ‘discovering’ your talent and everybot will talk about my exceptional good taste. And, if you’re amenable… I get to show you off to the best and the brightest of high society. It’ll be good for your career, too, to make some connections.”
Megatron shook his head. “It’ll never work. A low caste labour model like me? They’d delete every copy and throw me in the Stockade for the presumption.”
“Not with the future Winglord backing you,” Starscream said with a smile. “No one wants to offend Vos, we’re too powerful. Which means I get to do whatever I want. So what do you say?” When Megatron hesitated, Starscream’s smile turned sly. “Or are you afraid?”
Megatron stood and pushed into Starscream’s personal space “I’m not afraid of anything,” he growled.
“Excellent,” said Starscream. He took a graceful step back and held out his hand. Megatron’s gears spun for a moment. He still didn’t quite understand what was happening, it seemed too good to be true. However, when he gripped Starscream’s hand to seal their agreement, he found himself reluctant to let go. He and Starscream stared into one another’s optics and for the first time the divide between them seemed to disappear. Barriers of rank and status felt unimportant; here in private they were just two bots facing one another as equals. Megatron tugged Starscream closer and tilted his chin up with a fingertip. He was close enough to see the delicate blush appear on Starscream’s dark face-plates and hear the soft catch of his breath. Starscream swayed toward him only to stop himself with a hand on Megatron’s chest.
“That’s not part of the deal,” Starscream said.
“No,” Megatron agreed. His lips hovered over Starscream’s. The mech in his arms radiated warmth and trembled in anticipation of his kiss, and it felt so sweet to give him what he wanted. Megatron pressed his lips to the seeker’s and drank in the little moan Starscream made. Starscream’s lips were warm and soft, his mouth tasted of the sweet and fiery high-grade they’d been drinking. Starscream gripped Megatron’s shoulders as they both got caught up in the moment, and Megatron wrapped his hands around Starscream’s little waist as he deepened the kiss. Primus, but he could have drowned in the sweet pleasure of Starscream’s mouth, the little noises he made, the feel of his sleek frame against his own. Around them, their energy fields harmonised as though they’d been made for each other.
Megatron tore himself away from the kiss before he became truly intoxicated. Starscream panted up at him with over-bright optics, cheeks tinted and lips glistening and plump, and it was all Megatron could do not to sweep the pretty jet up at once and take him to bed.
“I should go,” he said, intakes heaving, even though he didn’t want to do anything less. But reality threatened to rush back over him and he knew this fantasy couldn’t last. Starscream bit his lip like a sparkling denied a favourite treat. Megatron kissed him again because he simply couldn’t resist, and then he released him and took a deliberate step back. He watched Starscream collect himself, and the next moment Megatron once again stood opposite the polished and poised prince of Vos. His kiss-swollen lips and the vibrant glow of his optics were the only things that gave him away.
“Right,” Starscream said. “You’re right. It’s late. I’ll have Glitz get the car ready.”
Minutes later, Megatron paused on the way to the garage while Starscream’s emerald green attendant waited none-too-patiently. Turning back to Starscream, he said, “I have a match tomorrow night. Will I… see you there?”
Starscream blinked, and then his face broke into a brilliant smile. “Of course,” he said. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”