[Transformers Fic] Storm Warning
I started this fic last year for springkink and have only just now finished it. Go me.
Title: Storm Warning
Characters: Silverbolt/Motormaster, Starscream, other Seekers
Rating: R
Word Count: 2100+
Warning: Implied non-con by Seekers
Summary: After getting caught in one of the Seekers' games, Silverbolt has to walk back to Autobot base. Unfortunately, neither Motormaster nor the gathering thunderstorm will make that easy.
Storm Warning
***
"It's simple."
Dark chin resting on his nosecone, red optics peering into his canopy.
"Too bad you're an Autobot. If you could really fly, you'd have more fun."
Laughter all around him, hands heavy on him as the other Decepticon jets press him into the ground.
"See this, Silverbolt? This is a creance."
Starscream leaning back, his thighs underneath Silverbolt's 'cone, holding up the thin line to display. Blue fingers running down the line to the heavy steel stake driven into the ground.
"If you were Thundercracker, I'd tie this to your foot. But you, my dear Aerialbot, need something different."
The pale jet leaning in to wrap it around him, tie it in elaborate designs over his fuselage and wings. The other jets laughing, helping and hindering, hands all over him.
"Now..."
Blue fingers tickling across his canopy class, someone's 'cone rubbing against his tailfin.
"The game is simple, Aerialbot."
Steady pressure on the very tip of his nosecone, forcing him to flex and bend it low, to the vast delight of the Decepticons. The feel of his nosecone rubbing against Starscream's thigh.
"You fly on the creance until you get loose or get off."
***
Systems booted up from cold start. The defragmentation process completed, stealing the last few dream-scraps from Silverbolt and reconciling them into linear memories of actual events.
The Concorde huddled in the dirt, creance tied around his fuselage and the fore-edges of his large wings. A long scrape down one side stung - Ramjet digging his fingers in - and he felt battered, overtouched, and aching. The Seekers had practically mauled him, and not even shocks of lightning had kept them at bay. They just laughed and told him that real fliers could always sense lightning about to strike, could always jump out of the way of it. And then their touches had come all the harder and more cruel.
There was not a Decepticon jet in the sky now. Had they left him here?
He'd blacked out after they'd grounded him a second time. He supposed that he had, in fact, gotten off, and his systems had been too worn and energy-starved to reboot him immediately.
The question was, now what could he do?
Tentatively, Silverbolt tried to transform. His knees caught on the creance but with a bit of wiggling, he was able to ease them out. He couldn't fully fold back his fuselage, though, and his arms were tightly bound to his side. He made a sound like a sigh as he realized he wouldn't be able to transform back in this state.
But at least he had hands. With hands, he could do something about the stake driven into the ground over there. Because he wasn't going anywhere as long as the creance kept him leashed to this spot.
Wind rustled through the grasses and slunk against his thighs. Silverbolt grimaced as he mentally reviewed the situation. No radio to call for help. His arms almost useless. His electrostatic battery was charging, but, despite some of Slingshot's beliefs, not all problems could be solved with lightning. There was also a dearth of convenient large rocks around.
"Well," he said to no one, "I should start digging."
***
Miles from where he'd dug the creance-stake out of the ground, Silverbolt spotted a copse of trees in the distance. With the storm clouds massing on the horizon, the prospect of even that little bit of shelter spurred his step. He did not want to get the hole in his neck rained into; in fact, the only thing he wanted going in there at all was a replacement radio for the one Thundercracker had ripped out.
An expression of surprise and delight lit up his face as he crested another gentle wave in the plains. The trees had a pond!
Shallow as it was, the water was clear and choppy from the stiff breeze blowing in. Silverbolt gratefully waded in, crouching down to awkwardly splash water over himself with his bound hands. Rinsing off some of the dirt clinging to him felt good. His spirit felt a little lighter, even as he tried to scoop water up and throw it against his face.
Thunder rumbled off to the east. Dark clouds covered the sky from horizon to horizon, turning the world into a grey twilight. Wind rustled through the trees and stirred sensors on his wings, nose, and tail. The storm would probably overtake him before he went too much farther across the plains.
A shiver of anticipation went through him. All the charge in the atmosphere of thunderstorms made him tingle as his electrostatic battery went into overdrive. He came out of thunderstorms almost feeling overcharged, sparking.
Silverbolt flicked a handful of water onto his hip. Drops ran down his leg, and the wind turned them icy. He sucked in air at the sudden cold.
"Lookie what we have here."
Motormaster! Instinctively, Silverbolt tried to transform. The jet had to get in the air, keep his distance, if he wanted to survive this!
The creance pulled painfully tight across his chest, bit into joints and seams as the attempted transformation forced parts of his body against it. Silverbolt bit back a cry as he reversed the transformation. All of the rapid shifting of parts left him off-balance, and he stumbled in the water, slipped, and fell.
Motormaster laughed.
Silverbolt scrambled to his feet, water splashing around him. He jerked around to face Motormaster, optics brightening in a slow burn as the truck kept laughing at him.
Motormaster stood at the edge of the pond, striking a calculatedly arrogant pose, hands resting on his hips. There were no signs of the other Stunticons, and no matter how high Silverbolt dialed up the sensitivity of his audials, he couldn't hear any car engines. Just the two of them, and here he was, all tied up.
Slag.
Silverbolt took a measured step back, then another.
Motormaster stopped laughing.
For a moment, only the rattle of branches and lapping of small waves in the wind surrounded the two of them.
Motormaster smiled the usual sharp, contemptuous smile he had for Aerialbots. His violet optics glimmered with a strange intensity that Silverbolt hadn't seen before. "Running away, Silverblot?"
Silverbolt continued to back away. There was no right answer to this, but there had to be a least wrong one. What would Slingshot do in this situation? "Just getting away from all the rank cowardice in case it's contagious."
Outrage flashed across Motormaster's face, and for one frozen instant Silverbolt had time to think that Slingshot's way never worked.
Then Motormaster bellowed in rage and charged. The pond slowed him down a little, barely enough for Silverbolt to scramble to the side.
Not enough to save him. The truck's arm shot out, clothes-lining Silverbolt while momentum prevented Motormaster from immediately turning to deal with the dodging Aerialbot. Silverbolt crashed to the ground, yelping as his wings and nosecone impacted hard with the ground. Above his head, he heard Motormaster growling threats half in English and half in a dialect of blaring horns and clicks.
It began to rain.
The heavy tread of the truck coming back spurred Silverbolt. He couldn't just lie there and moan about his injuries. Not now. The jet rolled onto his side and tried to get his feet under him. It didn't matter that it was hopeless - it was the point of the gesture.
A kick sent him sprawling facedown, and then Motormaster grabbed him by the creance line tied around him. Silverbolt hissed in pain as the line bit into joints and seams. He knew it was a mistake the moment the sound escaped from him. Knew it, and still couldn't help but whimper as Motormaster twisted his hand in the line and pulled it tighter, tight enough for it to cut into Silverbolt's metal.
"Wimp. Weakling," Motormaster growled in his audial before pulling back to nose the hole in the back of Silverbolt's neck. "What'd Prime make you for, anyway? Sure as hell wasn't to fight."
Rough hands turned him to face the grey truck. For a moment, they stared at each other, the rain running down their faces turned brilliant by their optic-light.
"I bet I know why."
Silverbolt barely had time to react to the leer in that voice, before Motormaster yanked him closer and crushed his mouth in a kiss.
The faint crackle of the Stunticon's forcefields against his face, the brutal mouth on his, the pressure on his armor as Motormaster pulled the creance lines tighter - it was all too much for the Aerialbot. His armor tingled as his electrostatic battery sent a flood of energy through his system. The rain in his systems turned to steam from the surge of heat, billowing out through the hole in the back of his neck. Under the sudden white flash of electricity, Silverbolt opened his mouth to the kiss, felt Motormaster attack his mouth all the harder. Their tongues touched-
Lightning struck, electricity pouring out of Silverbolt into Motormaster. The Stunticon's entire body jolted, breaking the kiss. Wisps of smoke rose from his mouth, then were slashed away by the wind and rain. Violet optics flared white, then slammed down into black. Barely audible above the rain came the crackle of circuit-breakers overloading inside the Stunticon.
Silverbolt's wings shivered, flicking off an imperceptible spray of water. Electricity still flowed through him, humming in his systems. It lingered strongly where Motormaster's hand gripped his wing. Each bar of pressure outlined in sensation, the rain beating a staccato counterpoint against his body.
A charge shot through him, thunder rumbling several seconds after. He jerked against the immobile Stunticon commander, and the slide of metal over metal made him mewl. Lightning strike. His electrostatic battery had pulled in some of the charge.
He licked his lips, sparks crackling from his mouth. More.
"Reboot," he ordered in a husky voice. "Wake up."
Purple optics flickered dimly then went black, and Silverbolt lunged at the Stunticon commander. A charge lanced through him, another crack-boom of thunder, and Silverbolt mewled in protest at how little the hand on his wing was touching him. He buffetted against Motormaster, trying to get the truck to wake up, to pay attention, to touch him.
Motormaster's optics just started to light again when Silverbolt's efforts toppled the truck over backwards. Motormaster's death-grip on his wing pulled Silverbolt down on top of him, and the jet arched as lightning struck close by. Sparks flared from his mouth as he cried out, and he blackened Motormaster's face with kisses.
The truck woke up snarling, his fingers denting Silverbolt's wing. The jet mewled at the sudden increase in pressure. Thunder rumbled and the rain picked up, striking Silverbolt even harder. Every increase in sensation made him shift and arch and scrape, trying to get more of it.
Motormaster's snarl slowly gave way to bafflement as the jet writhed against him.
Lightning crashed, and Silverbolt arched so hard he thought the creance line would snap. But it held, cutting deep into his wings, and drops of fluid oozed out to mix with the rain.
A leer spread over Motormaster's face, and he grabbed onto the creance-line, yanking Silverbolt down into a violent kiss. Their mouths cut into each other, and Motormaster pulled the creance-line tighter and tighter as the kiss went on. Silverbolt undulated against him, every sensor line in his body feeling white-hot with sensation and rising with every passing moment.
The creance-line snapped abruptly, and Motormaster snarled. His fingertips punched holes in Silverbolt's chest as he grabbed hold of the jet to prevent him from escaping. Silverbolt whimpered at the new sensation, at the way his lines crawled with electricity, at the rising sense of his electrostatic battery as a lightning-strike gathered.
Motormaster bit his mouth, sucking down some of the fluids that flowed out of the cut. "Pretty little bitch."
Silverbolt felt his optics rising to white as his electrostatic battery pulled at the gathering lightning. Anything he said was swallowed in the roar and pulse of electricity as the sky threw lightning directly at him.
And Motormaster.
Their screams melded pleasure and pain, Silverbolt's more ecstatic, Motormaster's more searing. But the truck wasn't only hurt by it, and Silverbolt wasn't only pleased by it.
Silverbolt, though, was the one who didn't drop into protective shutdown. He shifted weakly against the fallen Decepticon, wings tapping against hard armor, then pulled the creance-line loose at last. He sat up and stretched, never having felt so good in his life. He ached, but it was a delicious ache, like coming in after a well-won battle where none of his brothers had gotten badly hurt.
"Thank you," he said, systems humming with energy and optics bright. He pressed a soft kiss to Motormaster's mouth. "I couldn't have done that without you."
He chuckled and stood, stretching slowly, then transformed to jet-mode and took off. He still had a long way to go back to Autobase.
-End-
Title: Storm Warning
Characters: Silverbolt/Motormaster, Starscream, other Seekers
Rating: R
Word Count: 2100+
Warning: Implied non-con by Seekers
Summary: After getting caught in one of the Seekers' games, Silverbolt has to walk back to Autobot base. Unfortunately, neither Motormaster nor the gathering thunderstorm will make that easy.
Storm Warning
***
"It's simple."
Dark chin resting on his nosecone, red optics peering into his canopy.
"Too bad you're an Autobot. If you could really fly, you'd have more fun."
Laughter all around him, hands heavy on him as the other Decepticon jets press him into the ground.
"See this, Silverbolt? This is a creance."
Starscream leaning back, his thighs underneath Silverbolt's 'cone, holding up the thin line to display. Blue fingers running down the line to the heavy steel stake driven into the ground.
"If you were Thundercracker, I'd tie this to your foot. But you, my dear Aerialbot, need something different."
The pale jet leaning in to wrap it around him, tie it in elaborate designs over his fuselage and wings. The other jets laughing, helping and hindering, hands all over him.
"Now..."
Blue fingers tickling across his canopy class, someone's 'cone rubbing against his tailfin.
"The game is simple, Aerialbot."
Steady pressure on the very tip of his nosecone, forcing him to flex and bend it low, to the vast delight of the Decepticons. The feel of his nosecone rubbing against Starscream's thigh.
"You fly on the creance until you get loose or get off."
***
Systems booted up from cold start. The defragmentation process completed, stealing the last few dream-scraps from Silverbolt and reconciling them into linear memories of actual events.
The Concorde huddled in the dirt, creance tied around his fuselage and the fore-edges of his large wings. A long scrape down one side stung - Ramjet digging his fingers in - and he felt battered, overtouched, and aching. The Seekers had practically mauled him, and not even shocks of lightning had kept them at bay. They just laughed and told him that real fliers could always sense lightning about to strike, could always jump out of the way of it. And then their touches had come all the harder and more cruel.
There was not a Decepticon jet in the sky now. Had they left him here?
He'd blacked out after they'd grounded him a second time. He supposed that he had, in fact, gotten off, and his systems had been too worn and energy-starved to reboot him immediately.
The question was, now what could he do?
Tentatively, Silverbolt tried to transform. His knees caught on the creance but with a bit of wiggling, he was able to ease them out. He couldn't fully fold back his fuselage, though, and his arms were tightly bound to his side. He made a sound like a sigh as he realized he wouldn't be able to transform back in this state.
But at least he had hands. With hands, he could do something about the stake driven into the ground over there. Because he wasn't going anywhere as long as the creance kept him leashed to this spot.
Wind rustled through the grasses and slunk against his thighs. Silverbolt grimaced as he mentally reviewed the situation. No radio to call for help. His arms almost useless. His electrostatic battery was charging, but, despite some of Slingshot's beliefs, not all problems could be solved with lightning. There was also a dearth of convenient large rocks around.
"Well," he said to no one, "I should start digging."
***
Miles from where he'd dug the creance-stake out of the ground, Silverbolt spotted a copse of trees in the distance. With the storm clouds massing on the horizon, the prospect of even that little bit of shelter spurred his step. He did not want to get the hole in his neck rained into; in fact, the only thing he wanted going in there at all was a replacement radio for the one Thundercracker had ripped out.
An expression of surprise and delight lit up his face as he crested another gentle wave in the plains. The trees had a pond!
Shallow as it was, the water was clear and choppy from the stiff breeze blowing in. Silverbolt gratefully waded in, crouching down to awkwardly splash water over himself with his bound hands. Rinsing off some of the dirt clinging to him felt good. His spirit felt a little lighter, even as he tried to scoop water up and throw it against his face.
Thunder rumbled off to the east. Dark clouds covered the sky from horizon to horizon, turning the world into a grey twilight. Wind rustled through the trees and stirred sensors on his wings, nose, and tail. The storm would probably overtake him before he went too much farther across the plains.
A shiver of anticipation went through him. All the charge in the atmosphere of thunderstorms made him tingle as his electrostatic battery went into overdrive. He came out of thunderstorms almost feeling overcharged, sparking.
Silverbolt flicked a handful of water onto his hip. Drops ran down his leg, and the wind turned them icy. He sucked in air at the sudden cold.
"Lookie what we have here."
Motormaster! Instinctively, Silverbolt tried to transform. The jet had to get in the air, keep his distance, if he wanted to survive this!
The creance pulled painfully tight across his chest, bit into joints and seams as the attempted transformation forced parts of his body against it. Silverbolt bit back a cry as he reversed the transformation. All of the rapid shifting of parts left him off-balance, and he stumbled in the water, slipped, and fell.
Motormaster laughed.
Silverbolt scrambled to his feet, water splashing around him. He jerked around to face Motormaster, optics brightening in a slow burn as the truck kept laughing at him.
Motormaster stood at the edge of the pond, striking a calculatedly arrogant pose, hands resting on his hips. There were no signs of the other Stunticons, and no matter how high Silverbolt dialed up the sensitivity of his audials, he couldn't hear any car engines. Just the two of them, and here he was, all tied up.
Slag.
Silverbolt took a measured step back, then another.
Motormaster stopped laughing.
For a moment, only the rattle of branches and lapping of small waves in the wind surrounded the two of them.
Motormaster smiled the usual sharp, contemptuous smile he had for Aerialbots. His violet optics glimmered with a strange intensity that Silverbolt hadn't seen before. "Running away, Silverblot?"
Silverbolt continued to back away. There was no right answer to this, but there had to be a least wrong one. What would Slingshot do in this situation? "Just getting away from all the rank cowardice in case it's contagious."
Outrage flashed across Motormaster's face, and for one frozen instant Silverbolt had time to think that Slingshot's way never worked.
Then Motormaster bellowed in rage and charged. The pond slowed him down a little, barely enough for Silverbolt to scramble to the side.
Not enough to save him. The truck's arm shot out, clothes-lining Silverbolt while momentum prevented Motormaster from immediately turning to deal with the dodging Aerialbot. Silverbolt crashed to the ground, yelping as his wings and nosecone impacted hard with the ground. Above his head, he heard Motormaster growling threats half in English and half in a dialect of blaring horns and clicks.
It began to rain.
The heavy tread of the truck coming back spurred Silverbolt. He couldn't just lie there and moan about his injuries. Not now. The jet rolled onto his side and tried to get his feet under him. It didn't matter that it was hopeless - it was the point of the gesture.
A kick sent him sprawling facedown, and then Motormaster grabbed him by the creance line tied around him. Silverbolt hissed in pain as the line bit into joints and seams. He knew it was a mistake the moment the sound escaped from him. Knew it, and still couldn't help but whimper as Motormaster twisted his hand in the line and pulled it tighter, tight enough for it to cut into Silverbolt's metal.
"Wimp. Weakling," Motormaster growled in his audial before pulling back to nose the hole in the back of Silverbolt's neck. "What'd Prime make you for, anyway? Sure as hell wasn't to fight."
Rough hands turned him to face the grey truck. For a moment, they stared at each other, the rain running down their faces turned brilliant by their optic-light.
"I bet I know why."
Silverbolt barely had time to react to the leer in that voice, before Motormaster yanked him closer and crushed his mouth in a kiss.
The faint crackle of the Stunticon's forcefields against his face, the brutal mouth on his, the pressure on his armor as Motormaster pulled the creance lines tighter - it was all too much for the Aerialbot. His armor tingled as his electrostatic battery sent a flood of energy through his system. The rain in his systems turned to steam from the surge of heat, billowing out through the hole in the back of his neck. Under the sudden white flash of electricity, Silverbolt opened his mouth to the kiss, felt Motormaster attack his mouth all the harder. Their tongues touched-
Lightning struck, electricity pouring out of Silverbolt into Motormaster. The Stunticon's entire body jolted, breaking the kiss. Wisps of smoke rose from his mouth, then were slashed away by the wind and rain. Violet optics flared white, then slammed down into black. Barely audible above the rain came the crackle of circuit-breakers overloading inside the Stunticon.
Silverbolt's wings shivered, flicking off an imperceptible spray of water. Electricity still flowed through him, humming in his systems. It lingered strongly where Motormaster's hand gripped his wing. Each bar of pressure outlined in sensation, the rain beating a staccato counterpoint against his body.
A charge shot through him, thunder rumbling several seconds after. He jerked against the immobile Stunticon commander, and the slide of metal over metal made him mewl. Lightning strike. His electrostatic battery had pulled in some of the charge.
He licked his lips, sparks crackling from his mouth. More.
"Reboot," he ordered in a husky voice. "Wake up."
Purple optics flickered dimly then went black, and Silverbolt lunged at the Stunticon commander. A charge lanced through him, another crack-boom of thunder, and Silverbolt mewled in protest at how little the hand on his wing was touching him. He buffetted against Motormaster, trying to get the truck to wake up, to pay attention, to touch him.
Motormaster's optics just started to light again when Silverbolt's efforts toppled the truck over backwards. Motormaster's death-grip on his wing pulled Silverbolt down on top of him, and the jet arched as lightning struck close by. Sparks flared from his mouth as he cried out, and he blackened Motormaster's face with kisses.
The truck woke up snarling, his fingers denting Silverbolt's wing. The jet mewled at the sudden increase in pressure. Thunder rumbled and the rain picked up, striking Silverbolt even harder. Every increase in sensation made him shift and arch and scrape, trying to get more of it.
Motormaster's snarl slowly gave way to bafflement as the jet writhed against him.
Lightning crashed, and Silverbolt arched so hard he thought the creance line would snap. But it held, cutting deep into his wings, and drops of fluid oozed out to mix with the rain.
A leer spread over Motormaster's face, and he grabbed onto the creance-line, yanking Silverbolt down into a violent kiss. Their mouths cut into each other, and Motormaster pulled the creance-line tighter and tighter as the kiss went on. Silverbolt undulated against him, every sensor line in his body feeling white-hot with sensation and rising with every passing moment.
The creance-line snapped abruptly, and Motormaster snarled. His fingertips punched holes in Silverbolt's chest as he grabbed hold of the jet to prevent him from escaping. Silverbolt whimpered at the new sensation, at the way his lines crawled with electricity, at the rising sense of his electrostatic battery as a lightning-strike gathered.
Motormaster bit his mouth, sucking down some of the fluids that flowed out of the cut. "Pretty little bitch."
Silverbolt felt his optics rising to white as his electrostatic battery pulled at the gathering lightning. Anything he said was swallowed in the roar and pulse of electricity as the sky threw lightning directly at him.
And Motormaster.
Their screams melded pleasure and pain, Silverbolt's more ecstatic, Motormaster's more searing. But the truck wasn't only hurt by it, and Silverbolt wasn't only pleased by it.
Silverbolt, though, was the one who didn't drop into protective shutdown. He shifted weakly against the fallen Decepticon, wings tapping against hard armor, then pulled the creance-line loose at last. He sat up and stretched, never having felt so good in his life. He ached, but it was a delicious ache, like coming in after a well-won battle where none of his brothers had gotten badly hurt.
"Thank you," he said, systems humming with energy and optics bright. He pressed a soft kiss to Motormaster's mouth. "I couldn't have done that without you."
He chuckled and stood, stretching slowly, then transformed to jet-mode and took off. He still had a long way to go back to Autobase.
-End-