In the end, it was about survival.
Starscream refused to be defeated or abandoned or left for scrap. He would not be ignored or cast aside. He would not accept any of it.
There were probably better paths, harder paths, he could have taken. Succumbing to the sweet temptation of Waspinator’s pheromones was not one of them. Letting the creature Wasp had become ‘mate’ him was little better. But it was a choice, an option, and Starscream took it.
Because buried in Waspinator’s inane and incomprehensible chatter was the inkling of a plan. It was present in the ridiculous ease with which Waspinator lifted him, and the insectisoid mech’s unmatchable strength. As well as his ability to survive that which would kill most mecha.
“There will be more,” Waspinator rasped as he stroked Starscream’s frame, lingering over his midsection and abdominal cavity. His field was a strange static-electric buzz against Starscream’s, further proof of the changes Blackarachnia had wrought in him.
Waspinator’s pheromones permeated the air, sticky sweet, infecting Starscream inside and out. They made it easier. They made him slick and open. Ready. His spark spun faster. His vents rapidly cycled. Higher thought processing dulled, narrowing his desires to a select few.
He didn’t look down.
He’d seen the thing Waspinator used for an interfacing unit. It was not a spike, but something borne of night purges. Starscream did not want to see it enter his frame, though he felt the blunt knob of it prodding at his valve.
“Eggzzz,” Waspinator chattered as he groped at Starscream and made several uncoordinated thrusts. “Breed hive. Make hive. Make queen. Lotzzzzz.”
Waspinator’s coherency dissolved the more frantic his rutting became. His frame temperature skyrocketed, blasting Starscream. His fingers hooked in transformation seams, digging deep, scraping cables. The pain was lost to the need throbbing through Starscream’s lines.
He canted his hips back impatiently. “Frag me already, you fool!” he snapped. Or tried to. He wasn’t sure how much of it came out words, and the rest static.
Waspinator trilled an odd noise. He snapped his hips forward, and Starscream hissed as the predacon finally found his mark. He worked that thing inside Starscream, bulldozing a deep path to Starscream’s ceiling node, and the channel to his gestational chamber, eagerly open thanks to the pheromones. Lubricant eased the way, but Starscream’s calipers protested. Sensors pinged back pleasure.
He had the pheromones to thank for that, too. Which was a good thing. He had no idea how many “eggzzzz” Waspinator planned to implant on him, but if it brought him an army, Starscream would put up with it.
It was a small price to pay.
“Zzzzzooon,” Waspinator cackled, thrusting harder, with wild abandon, like a beast.
Starscream gritted his denta against the rising tide of pleasure.