We do a little Nommin

Megatron was used to doing things his way. He was used to taking charge, forcing his hand and pushing for his will to be enacted, trampling the naysayers and ridding the path of anyone who dared get in his way. 

Before his… enlightenment, and before his reformation (something that was still underway but still very much being made public news and supported by Optimus Prime himself), he had been a tyrant. He had been a monster through and through, drunk off of bloodlust and starving for more power than he could ever get his servos on. Earth had become his playground, and the weak, innocent creatures inhabiting the planet as its greatest species had been his toy of choice. 

That was the old Megatron now, though he was still struggling hard to right the wrongs of his past. The planet didn’t so quickly forget them, and neither did he. It was why he was so surprised to find one those living flesh-bags appear at his door, unannounced and unintimidated, watching him with curious eyes and an expression he had yet to recognize on those hairless faces. 

He looked up from where he sat as his desk in his private quarters when he heard the sound of the door opening, his fixed attention focused on skimming over the final drafts of a peace arrangement between himself and Optimus (as well as the rest of planet earth, as per Optimus’ request) shifting quickly to stare a in shock at the unexpected visitor standing in the doorway staring back up at him. 

Strange and surprising, it was, because he hadn’t been expecting any arrivals… and he certainly hadn’t been expecting to be met with any humans. 

It wasn’t uncommon for a stray Autobot soldier to drop by Megatron’s new living arrangements to check up on him, nor was it uncommon for Optimus to send a close human ally for prearranged meetings to speak with Megatron about whatever fresh news a newly reformed evil warlord might need to hear. Humans never visited him without at least a five-minute warning ahead of time, though, and they always had good reason for coming.

They were always wearing something official and professional looking, too, which this human was not. Instead, the human stood there in tight-fitting shorts and a tank top, both things Megatron hadn’t seen worn by a single human soul out in the world since earth’s winter season had started three weeks ago. 

“Ah…” he began, one eyebrow raised as he turned in his seat and waited for them to announce their purpose in being there.

To his surprise, they didn’t say a word—not at first, at least. Instead, they moved across the room with slow, silent steps, their eyes wide and their face twisting into something akin to curiosity and awe as they looked Megatron up and down. 

“Wow,” they eventually whispered, stopping just short of his pede. They barely came up to where his ankle joint molded into the bulk of his lower leg, they were so small compared to him, but despite the immense size difference, they hardly seemed fazed. “You’re so much bigger in person than I thought you’d be.”

Alarmed, Megatron jerked his pede back, only to grimace when he watched the human below him stumble after it. Before they could hit the ground, he reached down and scooped them up into his palm (picking them up between his fingers felt too mean, and he was trying to be better than mean). He lifted them slowly, his optics shuttering as he adjusted to staring down at the little living creature sitting atop his servo, and—carefully, gently, once he was sure they really wouldn’t panic—moved to set them down atop his desk. 

“Care to explain the purpose behind your visit to my quarters?” he rumbled, his optics narrowing once they’d finally adjusted to the fidgeting, squirming thing settling in front of him, “or am I to assume you’re another one of Optimus’ friends come to talk strategy with me for the umpteenth time today?”

The human blinked, still staring up at him with those wide, curious eyes, and for a moment, Megatron was reminded of past situations exactly like this: situations in which he wasn’t so gentle, situations where he would be out in the city at night, wandering the desert looking for strays, poking his helm around Autobot stations and looking for humans to taunt and terrorize. 

It made him nervous, having a random human here. If the Autobots didn’t know about the human’s arrival, it would look bad for him. After all, his past with humans wasn’t exactly… pure.

He could still recall the way it felt to have them feebly pounding their fists against the insides of his teeth, the way they clung to the tip of his tongue as he tilted his helm back and swallowed, the sounds of their cries as he held them up in the air and dangled them over his gaping maws…

He’d never actually killed a human, no, nor had he actually digested them, though that made little difference to the ones he’d swallowed who thought that it might truly be their end. It was a scare tactic, a way to make himself feel better, stronger, more powerful on this foreign planet where a weaker species lived and thrived and reigned supreme. He was over that now, and he would never go back. Not now, not ever. Not when he and Optimus had finally come to an agreement, and not after he had publicly announced his turn towards good.

The human, still awestruck and silent, still watching him with a look that Megatron didn’t want to decipher and eyes that spoke of too many desires Megatron knew he didn’t want to hear, moved onto their knees and crawled towards the edge of the desk. Megatron leaned back on instinct, uncertain of just where this would be leading him, and tried not to make a face when they began speaking again—properly this time.

“I—I’m sorry to intrude,” the human began, sounding genuinely remorseful at first, though suspiciously giddy. “I’ve heard about you, from the rest of the troops. I’ve heard of your army here on earth, and I’ve seen reports about all of the stuff you’ve done, but I’ve never… god, I’ve never actually met a Decepticon in real life before!”

Megatron wasn’t convinced, but he didn’t stop them. He didn’t kick them out, either. Not yet.

“You haven’t?” he asked. “How odd. And here I thought I had met the entirety of you and your…” he made a gesture with a servo, searching for the right term, “Autobot-leaning human faction.”

It still didn’t explain why they were here, but Megatron didn’t have to ask. Before he could finish, they were continuing on.

“You haven’t,” they said, “but it’s fine! Most of us just work in the background. We never actually get to see the action. We never get to… uh… experience the cool stuff, I guess.”

Megatron felt his stomach flip. That didn’t sound promising. He tensed, waiting for them to finish.

“Look,” they said, “I know this is probably a big ask from a human you’ve never met before, let alone a human, but I gotta know. That… that thing you used to do. You know, the thing where you…”

They pointed at their mouth, lips parted, and mimed swallowing before patting their belly with a hand.

“Whatever it’s called,” they said, speaking faster as Megatron’s face twisted into a look of something unpleasant. “I don’t mean to pry, and I don’t want to push if you’re busy, but since everyone’s gone for the day and the rest of the Autobots are finished with their rounds, I gotta know.”

“Know… what, exactly?” Megatron asked, leaning forward until his arms were resting atop the desk, their faces inches apart. He watched the human shiver at the proximity, and he couldn’t help the little rush of satisfaction it gave him to see. “Are you implying that I may still be swallowing your comrades for the fun of it during my free time?”

“No!” the human quickly said. “No, no. Not at all!” Their expression said otherwise, and a moment later, they caved. “Well… not exactly. I mean, not like that.”

Despite Megatron’s spark racing at the implications, his lips quirked up into an amused smile. “Elaborate.”

“I just think it’d be cool, y’know,” they said. “I think it’d be cool to experience for myself. I’ve heard all of the horror stories, but everyone got out alive, right? So…”

So why not try it? Megatron almost laughed. The humans were never injured, but they were always terrified afterwards, and here was this human, wanting to try it for themselves. 

It made him nervous. If he were caught, he knew it would look bad. Still… he hadn’t ever minded the feeling. The sensation of a human sliding down his throat settling in his gut, filling out his belly and warming him from the inside… he liked it. He missed it. He had always wanted to do it again, even if he never could, and even after he had reformed.

The appeal of a power trip wasn’t there for him anymore, knowing that it was a human asking him for the favor, and he found himself hesitating despite the absurdity and amusement of the situation. It wouldn’t hurt—not physically, it wouldn’t ever hurt them, and he knew that from several different experiences—but would it damage his reputation?

Not if they didn’t tell. Not if he kept it private. Not if he let it happen on their terms, let them crawl into his jaws of their own volition and hug his tongue as they desired, slip down his throat when they were ready and settle in the pits of his tanks for as long as they desired. He swallowed, his mouth already growing wet at the thought, then nodded.

“Fine,” he said, “but you will be in charge of your own destiny. Should you want to be let out early, you tell me.”

The human sat up, beaming, and nodded. Then, Megatron lowered himself further. He rested his chin atop the desk and opened his mouth, allowing for them to poke their head into the dark cavern inside before stepping over the bottom row of his teeth and settling atop his tongue.

The weight was a familiar comfort, and when Megatron leaned back in his chair, he found that they didn’t struggle or scream like the other humans always had. They mapped out his mouth from the inside, tracing their fingers over his teeth and patting the walls of his mechanical gums. They were gentle as they worked their way to the back of his mouth, stopping each time Megatron found himself reflexively swallowing against the buildup of saliva that accumulated and pooled beneath their feet, and when they were ready—a pat to the far back of his mouth, their fingers curling around the opening that led to his throat as they prepared to slide in—Megatron tipped his helm back and swallowed.

It was easier this time, so much easier, but he still coaxed them down, a servo at his throat and his jaws clenching as he swallowed over and over again to aide in their descent. He could feel them as they slid down, down, down, their lax form a lump protruding from his protomesh until they dropped down into his chest and slid the rest of the way into his belly, and then—Primus, he could feel them in his gut, heavy, warm, settling.

He made a low, rumbling sound in the back of his throat, humming contentedly as he leaned back the rest of the way in his seat and rubbed at his belly. They were too small to make a difference in the shape, but it protruded outward all the same in a bloated swell, his tanks accustomed by now to accommodating the weight of something that wasn’t food or fuel when he ate someone.

To his surprise, it felt nice. It was even nicer than the dozens of humans he scared by swallowing whole and holding captive in his tanks, and he settled into a half-doze as he felt them make themselves comfortable inside of him.