[AU] Oubliette - Chapter Two
a/n: Still no masterlist. Read at your own risk. All kinds of terrible stuff in this fic. Keep that in mind. This chapter remains NSFW
Universe: G1/IDW AU
Characters: Autobot Ensemble, Decepticon Ensemble, focus on Optimus, Megatron, Soundwave, Starscream, Ratchet, Grimlock
Pairings: Megatron/Optimus, Ratchet/Wheeljack, Multiple others in passing
Rating: NC-17
Description: For Optimus, the war has never been personal. Hate has never been part of the equation, not even for Megatron. Pity perhaps, but never hate. Now, with the weight of shame on his shoulders, he begins to understand where loathing might have its roots, and how it can so easily slide into hate.
Commission fic for NK
Mood Music: "My Demons," Starset
Oubliette
Chapter Two
Lying on the floor of Astrotrain's cargo hold was arguably the most comfortable Optimus had been in months. Though he was surrounded by Astrotrain's energy field and the steady thrum of the mech's engines, Optimus was not being molested at the moment. Optimus considered that a mercy.
He was certain there wasn't a part of him that didn't ache. He was covered in grime and transfluid. He felt it sticky down his intake and within his valve. He opted to close the panel, even if it meant trapping the spill inside. It was better than advertising. He missed his battlemask. Neither mech had bothered to retrieve it.
They were heading, without further delay, to Iacon, where Megatron had chosen to station his headquarters, in the ruins of the Prime's Estate. Megatron could have gone back to his own stomping ground, back to the Decepticon capital, but no. To further prove he had won, he had chosen Iacon instead.
Astrotrain and Blitzwing had not been kind captors. Optimus was under no illusions that Megatron would be any better. He'd seen the broadcasts.
Astrotrain landed and Optimus braced himself. As the shuttle settled around him, the floor vibrated to the tune of Astrotrain's engine cycling down. Optimus heard the cargo door hiss open. He didn't know who to expect but wasn't surprised to see Thundercracker and Skywarp ascending the ramp.
Optimus was escorted from Astrotrain's hold between the two of them. The triple-changer shifted to root mode the moment Optimus was clear. He and Blitzwing stood together, triumphant and gleeful.
Megatron waited in a courtyard, flanked by his lieutenants. His hands were planted on his hips, his fusion cannon gleaming in the passing starlight and the multitude of floodlights. His grin displayed a mouth full of sharpened denta, a recent addition, perhaps meant to highlight his fierceness. His field blasted Optimus with glee.
A Seeker had a grip on each elbow, but Optimus stood up straight, despite the agony rippling through him. He would meet Megatron on his own pedes with his optics bright, or he would offline here and now. He has lost the war, through trickery and deceit and betrayal, but he was not beaten.
No matter what a pair of triplechangers had done to him.
“Optimus Prime,” Megatron said, strutting forward as though he'd just won the lottery. “In Decepticon hands at last. I trust my soldiers treated you well.”
The taste of transfluid was still sour on his glossa.
“They've shown me a particular brand of Decepticon hospitality,” Optimus replied in a cool tone. He met Megatron's gaze, refusing to cast his optics downward.
Megatron chuckled. “I'm certain they did.” His attention shifted away from Optimus. “Astrotrain. Blitzwing. I don't get a chance to say this often to anyone, but good job.”
The two triple-changers beamed, jostling each other. “I know we can't keep him,” Astrotrain said. “But maybe--”
“A reward?” Megatron grinned at him. “I'm certain something can be arranged. Did you have someone in mind?”
Optimus stiffened. Someone not something? Was Megatron handing out his Autobot prisoners like prizes to his more loyal Decepticons? Optimus knew that many of the Autobots had become slaves in some capacity, but he'd assumed it was for a purpose. Not for... this.
His engine revved.
Skywarp cuffed him upside the helm. “Don't go getting any ideas.” He sneered, fingers tightening around Optimus' elbow. “You'd be dead before you took a step.”
“I was dead before they found me,” Optimus replied, his tone mild but his field rapidly escaping his control.
“No, but we were thinking, first choice?” Blitzwing said. He sounded far too greedy for Optimus' liking. Even his wings twitced as though eager to find a slave for their personal use.
There were few Autobots of size with Optimus, he realized with dread. And of those who he knew still roamed free, there were none who could bear either mech's attention without agony. Perhaps Trailbreaker, not that Optimus would wish that future on anyone.
“That can be arranged,” Megatron said. “Now take the rest of the week off. Consider it a preemptive reward.”
Astrotrain and Blitzwing congratulated each other with more shoulder jostling before they saluted and took off, leaving Optimus with Megatron, his lieutenants, and Starscream's wingmates.
Therefore, Optimus was not surprised when Starscream was the one to break the silence.
“You should kill him,” he said, only to amend it with, “my lord,” when Megatron tossed a glare his direction.
“That would be too easy,” Megatron declared, walking back toward Optimus with an assessing gaze. His optics scanned Optimus from helm to pede. “He won't suffer if I merely take his spark.”
“He is a liability,” Starscream retorted. He stalked forward, his wings rigid and high on his back. His optics flashed, but he paid no attention to Optimus, his ire reserved for his leader alone.
Megatron tossed his second a mild look. “Do you fear Optimus Prime?”
Starscream went still, his field a jagged burst of outrage. “I fear no one,” he snarled.
“Then we have nothing to worry about.” Megatron's lips pulled into a slow grin, and he grabbed Optimus' jaw before Optimus could tilt his helm away. “He is no threat.”
Optimus' optics narrowed. “You would be wiser to listen to the counsel of your second, Megatron.”
“Like you listened to yours?”
Optimus jerked back as though struck, pulling himself from Megatron's grip. How could the warlord have known about that?
“You'll find there is very little I don't know, Prime,” Megatron said and his attention shifted to Thundercracker and Skywarp. “You're dismissed. He's no threat.”
Given his current state, Optimus couldn't argue otherwise. It took all of his willpower to remain standing as he was. His energy readings held steady at fifteen percent, but only because he operated the bare minimum.
“Have fun.” Skywarp snickered.
They abandoned their grip on Optimus and to his horror, he lurched, balance gone. He hadn't realized how much he'd depended on their support. An aborted step forward and his knee failed. Optimus dropped, barely managing to catch himself so that he half-knelt, half-crouched. His processor spun.
“As you can see, Starscream, there's nothing to fear in Optimus Prime.” He heard, more than saw, Megatron's heavy tread as he walked away.
If he could only get to his pedes, stop his processor from spinning, he could escape. He could turn and run, perhaps break the cuffs on his wrists somehow, tear off the inhibitors, and shift to alt-mode, no matter how agonizing it might be. The game would begin again, he hiding and the Decepticons giving chase.
He could escape, if only he could stand.
“Make the arrangements for another announcement,” Megatron was saying.
Optimus lifted his helm, his vision swimming. He could see Megatron standing with his lieutenants, Starscream bearing a sneer, Soundwave, as always, his face a mask of emotion. He could see none of Soundwave's cassettes. If either of them had an Autobot slave, they hadn't brought their prisoner with them.
Alerts flashed again, louder than before. He couldn't dismiss them this time. The trickle in his chassis still hadn't stopped. His energy levels dropped from fifteen to ten.
Stasis Imminent.
Primus, no. He couldn't afford to go into stasis around these mechs. But his ventilations were slowing, and his processor spun and no matter how much he rebooted his optics, he couldn't see clearly. His audials glitched, Megatron's words coming to him filled with static and half-heard modifiers. Starscream's irritated mutter was the buzz of an Earth insect.
Optimus' knee wobbled. His world went dark and light and dark again.
Stasis Initiated, his systems informed him. He couldn't deny it. He felt himself falling, but he never felt himself hit the ground.
0o0o0
Optimus onlined to a sensation of familiarity. His audials and optics were disabled, causing a flash of panic, but a warm presence in his systems was enough to forestall the urge to thrash against the heavy weights he detected around his wrists and ankles. How many times had he onlined like this, after some great battle, with the weight of new repairs on his frame and the heavy slurry of sensor blocks sloshing around his system, and only this voice to reassure him?
Ratchet?
Yes, it's me, Ratchet replied, the words coming through to him as text, streaming through his processor. He could read no emotion in them. I am in the Constructicons' care.
Dismay filled Optimus' spark. Care?
Do not ask me to elaborate. For what it's worth, Optimus, I am sorry.
For what?
But Ratchet did not respond and Optimus felt his chief medical officer and dear friend withdraw from his systems, the warmth of Ratchet's presence abandoning Optimus to the cold. His sensory suites rebooted themselves, reporting a thirty second delay before he would have full visual and audio.
There was a hand on his right shoulder, the weight negligible but the field familiar. It squeezed briefly and then the hand was gone.
His optics onlined with a buzz of static before his vision cleared. He found himself in a medbay, one much better equipped than what they'd had on the Ark, and he was surrounded by Decepticons. Well, Decepticons and Ratchet, who was hovering at his right, though no longer within reach.
Ratchet looked marginally better than he had in the broadcast. His plating was clean, but dented beneath, and missing paint in patches. His optics were dim, his expression lacking the easygoing humor that had often made him the life of the party. His fingers, at least, had been fixed, but there were several new additions. He had a collar around his intake and cuffs around his wrists, though the latter weren't connected.
Judging by the new weight around his own joints and at his intake, Optimus was sporting the same. He'd also been repaired, though his energy levels only read the bare minimum of thirty percent. Something was missing, other than his battle mask, which had neither been returned to him nor had they fashioned him a new one. What was it?
Megatron stepped into view from behind the corral of bright purple and green - the entire Devastator gestalt. Optimus' berth began to tilt itself upright, putting him partially vertical. They'd strapped him to the medberth, and it was all that kept him from tumbling forward.
“By now you'll have noticed your new accessories,” Megatron purred at him, so full of self-satisfaction that he resembled his second. “Those cuffs are welded and can't be removed. The collar is wired directly into your sensory network. As a precaution, I've also ensured that they removed all of your weaponry.”
Optimus' self-diagnostic reported back to him everything Megatron had listed. Most of it was not unexpected. But there was another item missing, something so integral to his very being, that he was horrified.
“And yes,” Megatron continued as he paced toward Ratchet, his hand resting on the medic's helm in a parody of a lover's affection. “We've throttled your engine and removed your transformation cog. Your medic was kind enough to show us how to do so without causing an operating glitch.”
Ratchet wouldn't meet Optimus' optics. A small tremble raced through his frame at Megatron's touch. His lips pressed together, his fingers twisting around each other.
Well, that explained the apology. And right now, Optimus couldn't even tell Ratchet that he wasn't angry. He didn't know what fresh Pit Ratchet had endured in the past couple of days and he was afraid to ask. How could he be angry?
If Megatron had wanted to hammer home that there was no escape, he had succeeded.
Optimus worked his intake, feeling the rough press of the collar against the delicate metal beneath it. “With such precautions, you must have considered me a danger.”
“No. It is part of your punishment.” Megatron's hand slid to Ratchet's shoulder with a lingering caress before he turned back toward Optimus. “Only Decepticons are allowed the right to arm themselves and transform.”
“I noticed Starscream still had his weapons.”
Megatron gave him a startled look before he burst into a laugh. “I wonder how long you'll keep that attitude, Prime,” he said. “Release him from the berth, Scrapper. We have an appointment to keep.”
“Yes, Lord Megatron.”
Optimus heard a buzz and a click before the clamps released his wrists and ankles. He slid to the floor, legs wobbling as he braced his weight upon them. He felt better than he had in months with the majority of his repairs complete. All that he lacked was a full tank, though he doubted Megatron would give him one.
He could, however, feel the absence of his transformation cog. Someone had indeed fiddled with the programming of his engine. He couldn't draw as much from it. The results left him feeling slow and cumbersome.
Megatron's hand came into view and Optimus jerked back, not that he had anywhere to go, and not that it made a difference. Megatron grabbed his arm, yanked him forward, and with his other hand, attached a lead to Optimus' collar. The length of the chain was just long enough that he could direct Optimus' movements, but not give him any leeway.
He grabbed Optimus' other hand and slapped a connector between his cuffs, pinning his arms together in front of him. He probably would have hobbled Optimus as well, if not for the need to make him walk.
Megatron grabbed the dangling chain and gave it a tug, forcing Optimus to stagger forward. The approval in his optics churned Optimus' tank.
“Come along, Prime,” he said airily, coiling the chain around his fingers. “Your audience awaits.”
Optimus balked, for all the good it would do him. Megatron had always been stronger than him, and without the leverage and being underfuelled, Optimus was no match. He lurched after the warlord.
“Audience?”
They left the medbay and Optimus wasn't given a chance to speak with Ratchet, nor see him a final time. He couldn't turn around thanks to the collar, but he could feel his dear friend's regard.
He wondered if he'd ever see Ratchet again.
“Yes. The whole planet is waiting to see you.” Megatron tossed a grin over his shoulder. His fingers tightened around Optimus' lead. “I'm sure your precious Autobots will be glad to have word of your survival.”
“Out of the kindness of your spark, I imagine.”
Megatron barked a dark laugh. “Oh, yes. I'm generally inclined to claim what is rightfully mine. And this way, everyone knows it.”
It became quite clear what Megatron meant when they stepped out the doors of the med building and into a courtyard. Other buildings surrounded it, some in greater repair than others, and the house of the Prime being one of those. Optimus was in the middle of Decepticon headquarters, being led like a slave by their master, and heading toward a stage.
It was, in fact, the very same stage he'd watched countless times on his tiny screen as Megatron mocked the Autobots, handed out pets, and executed his prisoners. The very same one where he'd shown off Ratchet and executed Ironhide without mercy.
A crowd had gathered, one even larger than what Optimus had seen for Ratchet. He hadn't realized there were so many Decepticons. How many had answered their leader's call? Far more than any of them could have anticipated.
Megatron's lieutenants waited on the stage, Shockwave most notable for his absence, though that was not uncommon. He rarely took part in Megatron's shows. Optimus did not know what occupied his time, but he dreaded to find out. There were many Autobots unaccounted for, some of whom would be of interest to the scientist.
But Starscream and Soundwave were there, plus another mech that Optimus did not recognize. He was tall and stately, his battle-grade armor an interesting contrast of dark purple and dark gray. His arms were crossed over his chestplate and the hilt of a large sword was just visible over his right shoulder.
He caught and held Optimus' gaze, but nothing in his expression gave him away.
“You fixed him?” Starscream screeched as they approached, his optics taking in Optimus' appearance before returning to Megatron with an accusing glare.
Optimus drew up short and Megatron yanked on his lead. He doubted it had been intentional, however, as Megatron went tense all over.
“It is my prerogative to do with my property as I want,” Megatron said, his vocals a low growl of warning. “And you do not question my judgment.”
Starscream's face went through a wave of emotion before he visibly drew back, as though biting his glossa. “Of course, Lord Megatron,” he said and Optimus marveled at his restraint.
This was how they had lost the war. Starscream, for once, obeying his master and Megatron, in turn, heeding Starscream's tactical advice.
“I am merely concerned that a healthy Optimus Prime might present the wrong image.”
Megatron scoffed and jerked the lead, forcing Optimus to stumble forward. “When they see how well he serves, there'll be no questions. Now. Is Reflector ready?”
“Affirmative, Lord Megatron.” Soundwave was the one to answer. He stepped forward, the light in his visor traveling from Megatron to Optimus and back again.
“Excellent.” Megatron grinned. “Come, Prime. Your audience awaits.”
Starscream watched him pass, his optics glittering but nothing showing in his frame or his field. He tilted his helm upward, expression one of disdain, but that was it. Soundwave fell into step at Megatron's other side as they emerged onto the stage, the crowd of Decepticons lifting their vocals in a roar.
Megatron could not have puffed any further, but he tried.
He pulled Optimus to center stage and there he forced Optimus to kneel. The lead was attached to a ring welded to the stage, keeping his helm bowed for his comfort, though he could look up if he bore the pressure on his intake. It also put the crowd beneath in perfect view, and he could look on the gathered Decepticons, read their excitement, their lust, their disgust.
Megatron's hand landed on his helm. “Broadcast this to every receiver. I want every Autobot, Decepticon, and Neutral to see it. I want them to understand that I have won,” he said to his lieutenants.
“Acknowledged, Lord Megatron.”
Optimus saw Reflector below, giving the thumbs up to prove that they were ready.
“My loyal Decepticons!” Megatron's vocals boomed over the noisy crowd. His free hand lifted, a call to silence. “I come to you today to announce our ultimate victory. Not only have we beaten the Autobots and reclaimed our planet, but their leader is now in our possession. The great Optimus Prime, our prisoner at last.”
Megatron's grip on Optimus' helm tightened and he tilted Optimus' helm up. This forced him to look over the helms of the cheering Decepticons and showcased the collar around his intake.
“It is only a matter of time before we root out the rest of the cowards and put them where they belong: in shackles and in service,” Megatron continued, his vocals rising higher and higher to be heard over the celebrating Decepticons. “Cybertron is ours now, as it was always meant to be. And I say this to you, any Decepticon who brings me an Autobot - alive or dead - will be handsomely rewarded. This I promise. And as should be clear now, I keep my promises.”
He grinned, the flash of his denta visible from the edge of Optimus' optical feed. His tank clenched. Did that mean Megatron would kill no more Autobots? But was that better or worse than slavery?
The crowd roared their approval. It didn't take a mathematician to know that there were far more Decepticons than Autobots. What was Megatron going to do when he ran out of prizes to give?
Optimus' tank churned. He would have rathered his Autobots die than face this fate.
“This is the dawn of a new age,” Megatron continued and he pushed Optimus' helm back down, forcing him to bow to the Decepticon crowd. “This is not a time for Primes and Autobots. It is a time for Decepticons, for the rule of the strongest, my rule. We will crush anything that stands against us, just as we did the Autobots.”
The cheers were enough to drown a mech. The Decepticons screamed and shouted and stomped their pedes. Someone began to chant their leader's name and once it started, it grew, louder and louder, until the whole courtyard vibrated to the sound.
“Megatron! Megatron! Megatron!”
Optimus nearly purged every drop of energon in his tank.
“You see, Prime,” Megatron said, his vocals low enough for Optimus to pick up and no one else. His grip on Optimus' helm loosened by a fraction. “You never had a chance.”
And that, apparently, was all he'd needed to say. The Decepticons cheered, but Megatron made his bows and Reflector stopped recording. Megatron unclipped Optimus from the ring and hauled him to his pedes. He coiled his hand around the leash once more and excused himself from the stage.
“Come along, Prime,” he said, his field reeking of self-satisfaction. “Our work here is done.”
What choice did Optimus have but to follow, to force one pede in front of the other, while humiliation sat like a lead weight on his shoulders. How many Autobots would see that broadcast? Would they be angry? Dispirited? Would they take a chance? He hoped not. He hoped they would take it as their cue to run for their sparks, hide for as long as possible.
There was no way off planet for the Autobots. Not anymore. Megatron had seen to that. He'd methodically tracked down and executed any living Autobot who could leave Cybertron under their own power. Then he'd smelted down the frames to ensure his victory.
The Aerialbots never stood a chance. Omega Supreme probably could have been rebuilt. But not now.
A pang of guilt and grief hit Optimus' spark, hard enough to make him stumble. But Megatron neither noticed nor cared. He led Optimus off the stage and back to the central courtyard, where they crossed it to another familiar building - the residence of the Prime.
“You still think it's wise to keep him alive?”
The question startled Optimus and he wondered how he could have missed the fact that Starscream accompanied them, especially with his field. It was a swirl of dissatisfaction and discontent.
Megatron tipped his helm. “I am not going to have this discussion again, Starscream.” They approached a lift and Megatron jabbed a finger on the call button. The doors opened immediately for him.
Optimus did his best to remain silent. This was a look at the dynamic between Megatron and Starscream no one had ever seen. Plus, it had the benefit of directing their attention away from him. The longer the better.
“He's a liability.”
“And so are you.” Megatron's vocals became a growl of warning. “Unless this is just your jealousy talking. You said you didn't want an Autobot.”
“I still don't,” Starscream snapped. “I didn't join the Decepticons because I wanted a slave.”
“That has never been the goal. It is merely a charming bonus.” Megatron laughed and he gave a pointed tug to Optimus' leash. “It is what they deserve. Some even have their uses. After all, I don't see you working in the refineries.”
Starscream huffed a ventilation. “Because I am more concerned with our future.” He scowled, one optic tilting toward Optimus before ignoring him again. “Unlike Shockwave.”
“He's earned the chance to dabble.”
“And I haven't?”
Optimus winced. Yes, dear friends. That right there was a Starscream shriek. The Seeker was aptly named. Optimus' audials were ringing.
The lift dropped them off at the top floor and Optimus followed behind Megatron like a dutiful pet, not even needing the occasional yank to keep him in line. The time for disobedience would come.
“You might, if only you'd learn to be quiet,” Megatron hissed and his plating ruffled. The low hum of a fusion cannon entering the preparatory stages echoed in the empty halls around them.
Starscream lapsed into silence, his optics cycling down. His wings twitched, and for a moment, Optimus thought he'd leave them be. But no, Starscream seemed to regain his courage and continued, as though he had a death wish.
“Don't you think that your performance might have the opposite effect?”
“Even if it did, there are hardly enough of them to pose a threat,” Megatron retorted, all but jamming his code into the panel. The door slid open with a whoosh of displaced air and he shoved Optimus through it.
The Prime's suite. He wasn't surprised that Megatron had claimed it. They first stepped into the receiving room, a massive space with furniture and an energon dispenser, meant to entertain guests. Closed doors indicated more space beyond them.
“You forget who is still out there,” Starscream snapped, entering after them.
Megatron pushed them into the receiving room and he shoved Optimus down to his knees, his hand a firm grip on Optimus' shoulder. “Stay,” he said, and then his attention went back to Starscream. “There's no proof he's alive.”
“Why don't you ask your pet?”
“And if I actually believed I'd get the truth, I would.”
Starscream scoffed, his wings flicking with agitation, first one and then the other. “He's alive. He's like a cockroach. And if you don't believe he'll come after his Prime, you're a bigger fool than I thought.”
Megatron's engine growled. He took a step forward, prompting Starscream to retreat an equal distance. He still showed no fear.
“He can try,” Megatron said, vocals low and careful. “But he will fail.”
Starscream stared at him. “If only we all could be as confident as you,” he spat, and his optics flicked to Optimus. “Enjoy your pet. I hope he doesn't kill you while you recharge.”
Starscream stormed out, wings high and arched, taking the swarm of anger and dissatisfaction with him. Not that Optimus was any more relieved. This left him alone with a frustrated Megatron.
The warlord whirled on Optimus and stalked toward him. Optimus braced himself, preparing for the first blow, already planning how he could defend himself despite his wrists being bound. But all Megatron did was grab his hands and undo the connector, leaving his arms free to move.
Was it a mercy? Optimus doubted it. Megatron probably had plans, plans that Optimus wanted no part of.
Now might be the only chance he had.
He swung at Megatron, catching the unaware warlord in the chestplate, driving him back a pace. Megatron, startled, and looked down at him. His optics blazed before his lips twisted into a sneer.
“That almost hurt,” Megatron said.
Optimus' engine rattled and he rushed Megatron again. He aimed for the fusion cannon arm, pushing it to the side as he directed another punch, this time to Megatron's face. Megatron ducked under it, spinning around Optimus with a speed few gave the massive warrior credit for. His hand planted in the middle of Optimus' back, giving him a great shove. Optimus stumbled, but was quick to turn, his spark thumping an off-rhythm in his chamber.
It was a disastrously one-sided fight. Pathetic even. Megatron dodged his attacks with ease, cuffing him across the helm as one might a child or an errant pet. His blows were sharp, dizzying, and Optimus struggled to compensate. He felt as though more than his engine were throttled, as though Megatron had drugged him as well. It was hard to focus, harder still to keep on his pedes.
Optimus landed a glancing blow on Megatron's shoulder, barely scraping the paint. Megatron grabbed his arm and slung him into the wall. Optimus bounced off the painted metal with a ring in his audials. He stumbled, regained his balance and swept something off a nearby table. A statue perhaps.
He chucked it at Megatron, waited for the warlord to bat it aside, and charged. He felt slow and cumbersome, like a combiner up to its knees in mud, and gasped when Megatron batted him aside just as he had the statue.
His vision swam.
Megatron smirked at him, optics a coal-fire red.
Electric pain rippled through Optimus' sensory net. He dropped to his knees, frame spasming as fire raced across every circuit, every line, burning him from the inside out. His vision went white; his audials buzzed with static. His spark throbbed and he dropped forward, to his hands, tank seizing.
He barely felt the kick to the side, though it tossed him like so much scrap. The electric shock was brief, but the effects lingered. He couldn't close his fingers into a fist. He couldn't ventilate through the pain.
Fingers wrapped around his arm, yanking him across the floor. Metal screeched on metal, paint leaving long strips behind. Optimus thrashed as a hand wrapped around his intake, shoving the collar hard against the delicate metal. His intake crackled a warning, pressure indicators shouting at him in red exclamations. Optimus gasped a ventilation.
He slammed into the ground, the hand around his intake serving as a warning. Megatron loomed over him, only half a helm taller but suddenly as big as Omega Supreme. Optimus' optics kept fuzzing, and he sent a second request for a reboot. He couldn't seem to focus. His hands scrabbled at Megatron, but his fingers spasmed, unable to do anything more than paw uselessly.
“Do you know how long I've had these, Prime?” Megatron asked, his tone mild but something darker hiding behind them. “The moment we couldn't find your frame in the graying rubble of Omega Supreme, I knew I would need them. I had Shockwave make them for me. Something strong enough to hold a Prime.”
Optimus' vocalizer spat static.
Megatron's smirk was the only clear thing he could see. “It hurts, doesn't it? And that was only a mild shock. I'm not inclined to kill you.”
Optimus twisted beneath him, but his frame wouldn't obey his commands. His optics finally reset, bringing his world into clarity, not that it helped. His legs still spasmed. Megatron was over him, burning ex-vents scorching Optimus' plating, the stink of rising charge around him like a plasma cloud.
“You behave, you get fuel,” Megatron said, and his free hand pressed on Optimus' ventral armor, a parody of a caress. “You don't behave, you get pain. It's a simple concept.”
Optimus cycled a ventilation. He tried to twist his frame away from Megatron's questing hand. Megatron settled between his legs, pinning him in place.
“I'd rather offline,” Optimus spat. He refused to become Megatron's obedient pet.
Megatron nuzzled at Optimus' faceplate. “Not yet, my Prime. You haven't suffered nearly enough.”
He pawed at Optimus' interface array, fingers pressing against the seams and the panel protecting his valve. His ventilations were ragged.
“Open,” Megatron demanded.
His hand moved to Optimus' hip and he hauled Optimus onto his lap. Optimus' thighs splayed wide, offering his array to Megatron.
He heard the click of a panel popping and felt the wet slide of a transfluid-slick spike nudging at his array. Megatron was hot, burning like the smelter pit of Kaon.
Optimus scraped useless fingers on Megatron's arm. He turned his face away from the warlord and shuttered his optics. He felt vulnerable without his battlemask and he knew his expressions showed. He was far too easy to read. It wasn't quite panic that strobed his spark, but it was a near thing.
Megatron, at least, was smaller than Blitzwing. Though he doubted Megatron was any more inclined to be gentle.
Move it or lose it, Prime, the triple-changer had said.
Optimus wondered how long Megatron would let him keep that dignity. He cycled a long ventilation and triggered the command to open his panel.
Megatron chuckled and nuzzled against the side of his helm, lips teasing Optimus' audial. “So cooperative,” he purred, hand at last leaving Optimus' intake, but only to dip between his thighs.
Blunt fingers poked at his valve, sweeping around the rim before two plunged into the dry depths. They prodded around experimentally before finding a sensory node and rubbing it with abandon.
Optimus jerked, backstrut arching at the unexpected flash of pleasure, however faint. This he had not expected. He was not as dry as he expected to be either. This was not from self-lubrication, no, but something else. Nanite gel, perhaps. Had Blitzwing damaged him enough to need repairs?
Megatron's fingers continued to work at his node, as though he cared about Optimus' pleasure. “Do you know, Prime, how often I've imagined you like this,” Megatron said, his mouth a sloppy mess on the side of Optimus' face. “Pinned beneath me? Open and desperate? Eager for my spike?”
Optimus' engine weakly growled. “Was I always unwilling in your fantasies, Megatron?”
“Always,” Megatron replied with a little laugh. “But not by the end, my Prime. Not by the end.”
His fingers withdrew, a faint moisture clinging to them. Both hands gripped Optimus' hips, the blunt head of Megatron's spike nudging at his valve. Megatron shifted so that he loomed over Optimus, his lips no longer in reach, but all the better to keep him pinned. His fingers dug into the seams of Optimus' hips, hooked around armor plates.
The twitching, at least, had gone. The electric sting of the shock collar and cuffs were a lingering memory.
“Look at me.”
Optimus shuttered his optics, pressing his lipplates together. He turned his helm as far as the limits of his flexibility, his fingers drawing into tight fists.
Megatron rolled his hips, spike knocking at Optimus' valve, stirring the thin trail of lubricant left by his fingers.
“You were much more obedient in my fantasies,” Megatron said. “Ah, no matter. You'll learn soon enough.” He thrust into Optimus without pause, burying himself to the hilt.
He gave no quarter, no rest. Not like Blitzwing. Arguably, the triple-changer had been worse. But Megatron, at least, was of a size more compatible, though the scrape of his spike burned in Optimus' valve. He was not lubricated enough, not that it mattered to Megatron.
Megatron who gripped his hips, yanking him back for each thrust. He hunched over Optimus as if he were a beast, and even rutted like one. His ventilations were sharp and stuttered, to the rhythm of his desperate, rapid thrusts. Optimus' back scraped across the floor; his hips protested the violent slam of frame against his frame. His valve was a thing of fire, no pleasure, only pain.
Optimus gritted his denta, swallowed down a whimper, and tried to disable his vocalizer, only to find that he could not. He no longer had the permissions to access his own frame. Something else Megatron had stolen from him.
Megatron stabbed into his valve as though his spike were a sword, meant to tear Optimus in two. He sought his overload with the kind of reckless abandon Optimus had only ever seen in beasts. The clang of their frames was lost to the roar of Megatron's fans, until he abruptly pulled out, dropping Optimus' hips in the same motion.
That was when Optimus felt the scalding splatter on his array and his pelvic span and his abdominal plating. Several splashes of transfluid painted him to the tune of Megatron's low groan of satisfaction.
He was still between Optimus' legs, preventing him from closing them. Optimus' valve calipers clutched on empty space, torn between the initial flashes of pleasure and pulsing pain.
He heard the slick slide of Megatron pumping his own spike, drawing out his pleasure, and a final spurt hit Optimus' array. He felt it trickle between his thighs and over his valve.
Megatron purred to himself. “Adequate,” he said, and patted Optimus on the knee. “You'll do better next time.” He rose to his pedes, leaving Optimus room to close his legs and turn on his side. His hips protested, aching at the joints.
Optimus onlined his optics, watching Megatron cross the room to a small cabinet. There he pulled out a cube of energon, dimly glowing - midgrade. Optimus' tank clenched in hunger, reminding him that he was running on the bare minimum.
Megatron closed the cabinet, cube in hand, and sat down in a nearby chair, sprawled as though he were exhausted. He took a long pull of his energon, draining half in one go, his gaze never leaving Optimus. His expression was unreadable behind the obvious satisfaction.
Optimus struggled off his side, an awkward push of his elbow getting him upright and onto his knees. He closed his panel, though he could still feel Megatron's spill within him. He doubted he'd be allowed into the washracks to clean himself. He cycled a ventilation, trying not to look as weary as he felt.
“What purpose does this serve, Megatron?”
The warlord swept his glossa over his lips and swirled the energon about, taunting Optimus with it. “None.”
Optimus' shoulders slumped. “Then allow the Autobots to go. Off world even. You've won.”
“Yes, I have,” Megatron said. He lenaed one elbow against the arm of his chair, fingers stroking his chin. “And no, I will not. The Autobots must face their punishment. They do not deserve their freedom.”
Optimus worked his intake. “Freedom is not something which must be earned. It is a right.”
Megatron waved a dismissing hand. “Yes, the right of all sentient beings. How many times have I heard that before, Prime?”
“Then you'd think, by now, it would have sunk in.”
Megatron snorted. “It's a fool's dream. No one's ever free, Prime. We're all bound by something, even if it's so pure as duty or honor.”
He raised his energon to his mouth and drained the last of it, crushing the cube in his grip. As though he needed to prove how much more superior he was.
“You're in no danger of offlining,” Megatron said as he tossed the cube toward a recycling bin. “And you haven't earned your share yet.”
“Earned,” Optimus repeated. The word tasted sour to him.
Megatron shifted on the chair, making himself more comfortable. “Yes, earned. As in obedience.” He patted his lap. “Come here. On your hands and knees.”
So that his aft might wave in the air as if in invitation? Absolutely not. Optimus didn't move, only affixing Megatron with a glare.
Megatron raised his orbital ridges. “That is not obedience, Prime.” He braced his elbows on the arms of the chair and laced his fingers together. “Do you need another lesson about the consequences of your actions?”
“If you wanted easy, you would have killed me,” Optimus said, lifting his chin.
He could handle pain. He had been built to handle pain. But opening his panel so as not to damage it, was not the same as willingly crawling across the floor to Megatron.
He would not do it.
“This is true.” Megatron's helm dipped, his expression buried behind his hands. “Fortunately, this is still entertaining to me.” His optics darkened.
Pain seized Optimus, twice as bad as before. He dropped, entire frame thrashing on the floor as his internals lit up with fire. He could see the electricity crawling out of his plating. He felt it burning through his circuits and several smaller ones popped, unable to contain the current. He smelled burnt metal and saw curls of smoke rise to the ceiling.
He gasped for ventilations, but his fans stalled. Not even his cooling fans seemed to be working. Stars danced in his optics. He couldn't hear anything over the static in his audials.
And then the current was gone, leaving the pain. Leaving him shaking on the floor, frame locked tight, his spark spinning wildly. Oh, Primus. He felt dry, drained of all fluids, and his coolant was distressingly low. His awareness drifted toward gray. He couldn't see because his optics wouldn't boot. Had they burnt out? He didn't know.
Hands wrapped around his ankle, dragging him across the floor. The scrape of his plating was nothing compared to the agony in his lines. He heard the rale of chains, felt something attach to the cuffs at his ankles, and then the cuffs on his hands. Another lead snapped to his collar and Optimus still couldn't see. It was hard enough to ventilate.
“It can still get worse,” Megatron said, though nothing in his voice sounded angry. As though he'd anticipated Optimus' refusal and enjoyed it. “Perhaps tomorrow you'll be more cooperative.”
Optimus tried to boot his optics, his vocalizer, but nothing obeyed him. The gray grew heavier, leaning toward black.
A hand patted his helm. “Recharge well, Prime.”
He never heard if Megatron walked away or not. His systems screamed for an immediate shut down and Optimus obeyed them.
Right now, he'd rather the black.
****
a/n: I'm still working on the masterlist but it's gotten so massive I'm trying to figure out how to truncate it by figuring out which cameos don't need to be mentioned or which pairings and etc. Maybe next week? It only gets worse from here. Keep that in mind.
As always, feedback is welcome and appreciated.
This entry was originally posted at http://dracoqueen22.dreamwidth.org/300448.html. Feel free to comment wherever you find most convenient.
Universe: G1/IDW AU
Characters: Autobot Ensemble, Decepticon Ensemble, focus on Optimus, Megatron, Soundwave, Starscream, Ratchet, Grimlock
Pairings: Megatron/Optimus, Ratchet/Wheeljack, Multiple others in passing
Rating: NC-17
Description: For Optimus, the war has never been personal. Hate has never been part of the equation, not even for Megatron. Pity perhaps, but never hate. Now, with the weight of shame on his shoulders, he begins to understand where loathing might have its roots, and how it can so easily slide into hate.
Commission fic for NK
Mood Music: "My Demons," Starset
Oubliette
Chapter Two
Lying on the floor of Astrotrain's cargo hold was arguably the most comfortable Optimus had been in months. Though he was surrounded by Astrotrain's energy field and the steady thrum of the mech's engines, Optimus was not being molested at the moment. Optimus considered that a mercy.
He was certain there wasn't a part of him that didn't ache. He was covered in grime and transfluid. He felt it sticky down his intake and within his valve. He opted to close the panel, even if it meant trapping the spill inside. It was better than advertising. He missed his battlemask. Neither mech had bothered to retrieve it.
They were heading, without further delay, to Iacon, where Megatron had chosen to station his headquarters, in the ruins of the Prime's Estate. Megatron could have gone back to his own stomping ground, back to the Decepticon capital, but no. To further prove he had won, he had chosen Iacon instead.
Astrotrain and Blitzwing had not been kind captors. Optimus was under no illusions that Megatron would be any better. He'd seen the broadcasts.
Astrotrain landed and Optimus braced himself. As the shuttle settled around him, the floor vibrated to the tune of Astrotrain's engine cycling down. Optimus heard the cargo door hiss open. He didn't know who to expect but wasn't surprised to see Thundercracker and Skywarp ascending the ramp.
Optimus was escorted from Astrotrain's hold between the two of them. The triple-changer shifted to root mode the moment Optimus was clear. He and Blitzwing stood together, triumphant and gleeful.
Megatron waited in a courtyard, flanked by his lieutenants. His hands were planted on his hips, his fusion cannon gleaming in the passing starlight and the multitude of floodlights. His grin displayed a mouth full of sharpened denta, a recent addition, perhaps meant to highlight his fierceness. His field blasted Optimus with glee.
A Seeker had a grip on each elbow, but Optimus stood up straight, despite the agony rippling through him. He would meet Megatron on his own pedes with his optics bright, or he would offline here and now. He has lost the war, through trickery and deceit and betrayal, but he was not beaten.
No matter what a pair of triplechangers had done to him.
“Optimus Prime,” Megatron said, strutting forward as though he'd just won the lottery. “In Decepticon hands at last. I trust my soldiers treated you well.”
The taste of transfluid was still sour on his glossa.
“They've shown me a particular brand of Decepticon hospitality,” Optimus replied in a cool tone. He met Megatron's gaze, refusing to cast his optics downward.
Megatron chuckled. “I'm certain they did.” His attention shifted away from Optimus. “Astrotrain. Blitzwing. I don't get a chance to say this often to anyone, but good job.”
The two triple-changers beamed, jostling each other. “I know we can't keep him,” Astrotrain said. “But maybe--”
“A reward?” Megatron grinned at him. “I'm certain something can be arranged. Did you have someone in mind?”
Optimus stiffened. Someone not something? Was Megatron handing out his Autobot prisoners like prizes to his more loyal Decepticons? Optimus knew that many of the Autobots had become slaves in some capacity, but he'd assumed it was for a purpose. Not for... this.
His engine revved.
Skywarp cuffed him upside the helm. “Don't go getting any ideas.” He sneered, fingers tightening around Optimus' elbow. “You'd be dead before you took a step.”
“I was dead before they found me,” Optimus replied, his tone mild but his field rapidly escaping his control.
“No, but we were thinking, first choice?” Blitzwing said. He sounded far too greedy for Optimus' liking. Even his wings twitced as though eager to find a slave for their personal use.
There were few Autobots of size with Optimus, he realized with dread. And of those who he knew still roamed free, there were none who could bear either mech's attention without agony. Perhaps Trailbreaker, not that Optimus would wish that future on anyone.
“That can be arranged,” Megatron said. “Now take the rest of the week off. Consider it a preemptive reward.”
Astrotrain and Blitzwing congratulated each other with more shoulder jostling before they saluted and took off, leaving Optimus with Megatron, his lieutenants, and Starscream's wingmates.
Therefore, Optimus was not surprised when Starscream was the one to break the silence.
“You should kill him,” he said, only to amend it with, “my lord,” when Megatron tossed a glare his direction.
“That would be too easy,” Megatron declared, walking back toward Optimus with an assessing gaze. His optics scanned Optimus from helm to pede. “He won't suffer if I merely take his spark.”
“He is a liability,” Starscream retorted. He stalked forward, his wings rigid and high on his back. His optics flashed, but he paid no attention to Optimus, his ire reserved for his leader alone.
Megatron tossed his second a mild look. “Do you fear Optimus Prime?”
Starscream went still, his field a jagged burst of outrage. “I fear no one,” he snarled.
“Then we have nothing to worry about.” Megatron's lips pulled into a slow grin, and he grabbed Optimus' jaw before Optimus could tilt his helm away. “He is no threat.”
Optimus' optics narrowed. “You would be wiser to listen to the counsel of your second, Megatron.”
“Like you listened to yours?”
Optimus jerked back as though struck, pulling himself from Megatron's grip. How could the warlord have known about that?
“You'll find there is very little I don't know, Prime,” Megatron said and his attention shifted to Thundercracker and Skywarp. “You're dismissed. He's no threat.”
Given his current state, Optimus couldn't argue otherwise. It took all of his willpower to remain standing as he was. His energy readings held steady at fifteen percent, but only because he operated the bare minimum.
“Have fun.” Skywarp snickered.
They abandoned their grip on Optimus and to his horror, he lurched, balance gone. He hadn't realized how much he'd depended on their support. An aborted step forward and his knee failed. Optimus dropped, barely managing to catch himself so that he half-knelt, half-crouched. His processor spun.
“As you can see, Starscream, there's nothing to fear in Optimus Prime.” He heard, more than saw, Megatron's heavy tread as he walked away.
If he could only get to his pedes, stop his processor from spinning, he could escape. He could turn and run, perhaps break the cuffs on his wrists somehow, tear off the inhibitors, and shift to alt-mode, no matter how agonizing it might be. The game would begin again, he hiding and the Decepticons giving chase.
He could escape, if only he could stand.
“Make the arrangements for another announcement,” Megatron was saying.
Optimus lifted his helm, his vision swimming. He could see Megatron standing with his lieutenants, Starscream bearing a sneer, Soundwave, as always, his face a mask of emotion. He could see none of Soundwave's cassettes. If either of them had an Autobot slave, they hadn't brought their prisoner with them.
Alerts flashed again, louder than before. He couldn't dismiss them this time. The trickle in his chassis still hadn't stopped. His energy levels dropped from fifteen to ten.
Stasis Imminent.
Primus, no. He couldn't afford to go into stasis around these mechs. But his ventilations were slowing, and his processor spun and no matter how much he rebooted his optics, he couldn't see clearly. His audials glitched, Megatron's words coming to him filled with static and half-heard modifiers. Starscream's irritated mutter was the buzz of an Earth insect.
Optimus' knee wobbled. His world went dark and light and dark again.
Stasis Initiated, his systems informed him. He couldn't deny it. He felt himself falling, but he never felt himself hit the ground.
0o0o0
Optimus onlined to a sensation of familiarity. His audials and optics were disabled, causing a flash of panic, but a warm presence in his systems was enough to forestall the urge to thrash against the heavy weights he detected around his wrists and ankles. How many times had he onlined like this, after some great battle, with the weight of new repairs on his frame and the heavy slurry of sensor blocks sloshing around his system, and only this voice to reassure him?
Ratchet?
Yes, it's me, Ratchet replied, the words coming through to him as text, streaming through his processor. He could read no emotion in them. I am in the Constructicons' care.
Dismay filled Optimus' spark. Care?
Do not ask me to elaborate. For what it's worth, Optimus, I am sorry.
For what?
But Ratchet did not respond and Optimus felt his chief medical officer and dear friend withdraw from his systems, the warmth of Ratchet's presence abandoning Optimus to the cold. His sensory suites rebooted themselves, reporting a thirty second delay before he would have full visual and audio.
There was a hand on his right shoulder, the weight negligible but the field familiar. It squeezed briefly and then the hand was gone.
His optics onlined with a buzz of static before his vision cleared. He found himself in a medbay, one much better equipped than what they'd had on the Ark, and he was surrounded by Decepticons. Well, Decepticons and Ratchet, who was hovering at his right, though no longer within reach.
Ratchet looked marginally better than he had in the broadcast. His plating was clean, but dented beneath, and missing paint in patches. His optics were dim, his expression lacking the easygoing humor that had often made him the life of the party. His fingers, at least, had been fixed, but there were several new additions. He had a collar around his intake and cuffs around his wrists, though the latter weren't connected.
Judging by the new weight around his own joints and at his intake, Optimus was sporting the same. He'd also been repaired, though his energy levels only read the bare minimum of thirty percent. Something was missing, other than his battle mask, which had neither been returned to him nor had they fashioned him a new one. What was it?
Megatron stepped into view from behind the corral of bright purple and green - the entire Devastator gestalt. Optimus' berth began to tilt itself upright, putting him partially vertical. They'd strapped him to the medberth, and it was all that kept him from tumbling forward.
“By now you'll have noticed your new accessories,” Megatron purred at him, so full of self-satisfaction that he resembled his second. “Those cuffs are welded and can't be removed. The collar is wired directly into your sensory network. As a precaution, I've also ensured that they removed all of your weaponry.”
Optimus' self-diagnostic reported back to him everything Megatron had listed. Most of it was not unexpected. But there was another item missing, something so integral to his very being, that he was horrified.
“And yes,” Megatron continued as he paced toward Ratchet, his hand resting on the medic's helm in a parody of a lover's affection. “We've throttled your engine and removed your transformation cog. Your medic was kind enough to show us how to do so without causing an operating glitch.”
Ratchet wouldn't meet Optimus' optics. A small tremble raced through his frame at Megatron's touch. His lips pressed together, his fingers twisting around each other.
Well, that explained the apology. And right now, Optimus couldn't even tell Ratchet that he wasn't angry. He didn't know what fresh Pit Ratchet had endured in the past couple of days and he was afraid to ask. How could he be angry?
If Megatron had wanted to hammer home that there was no escape, he had succeeded.
Optimus worked his intake, feeling the rough press of the collar against the delicate metal beneath it. “With such precautions, you must have considered me a danger.”
“No. It is part of your punishment.” Megatron's hand slid to Ratchet's shoulder with a lingering caress before he turned back toward Optimus. “Only Decepticons are allowed the right to arm themselves and transform.”
“I noticed Starscream still had his weapons.”
Megatron gave him a startled look before he burst into a laugh. “I wonder how long you'll keep that attitude, Prime,” he said. “Release him from the berth, Scrapper. We have an appointment to keep.”
“Yes, Lord Megatron.”
Optimus heard a buzz and a click before the clamps released his wrists and ankles. He slid to the floor, legs wobbling as he braced his weight upon them. He felt better than he had in months with the majority of his repairs complete. All that he lacked was a full tank, though he doubted Megatron would give him one.
He could, however, feel the absence of his transformation cog. Someone had indeed fiddled with the programming of his engine. He couldn't draw as much from it. The results left him feeling slow and cumbersome.
Megatron's hand came into view and Optimus jerked back, not that he had anywhere to go, and not that it made a difference. Megatron grabbed his arm, yanked him forward, and with his other hand, attached a lead to Optimus' collar. The length of the chain was just long enough that he could direct Optimus' movements, but not give him any leeway.
He grabbed Optimus' other hand and slapped a connector between his cuffs, pinning his arms together in front of him. He probably would have hobbled Optimus as well, if not for the need to make him walk.
Megatron grabbed the dangling chain and gave it a tug, forcing Optimus to stagger forward. The approval in his optics churned Optimus' tank.
“Come along, Prime,” he said airily, coiling the chain around his fingers. “Your audience awaits.”
Optimus balked, for all the good it would do him. Megatron had always been stronger than him, and without the leverage and being underfuelled, Optimus was no match. He lurched after the warlord.
“Audience?”
They left the medbay and Optimus wasn't given a chance to speak with Ratchet, nor see him a final time. He couldn't turn around thanks to the collar, but he could feel his dear friend's regard.
He wondered if he'd ever see Ratchet again.
“Yes. The whole planet is waiting to see you.” Megatron tossed a grin over his shoulder. His fingers tightened around Optimus' lead. “I'm sure your precious Autobots will be glad to have word of your survival.”
“Out of the kindness of your spark, I imagine.”
Megatron barked a dark laugh. “Oh, yes. I'm generally inclined to claim what is rightfully mine. And this way, everyone knows it.”
It became quite clear what Megatron meant when they stepped out the doors of the med building and into a courtyard. Other buildings surrounded it, some in greater repair than others, and the house of the Prime being one of those. Optimus was in the middle of Decepticon headquarters, being led like a slave by their master, and heading toward a stage.
It was, in fact, the very same stage he'd watched countless times on his tiny screen as Megatron mocked the Autobots, handed out pets, and executed his prisoners. The very same one where he'd shown off Ratchet and executed Ironhide without mercy.
A crowd had gathered, one even larger than what Optimus had seen for Ratchet. He hadn't realized there were so many Decepticons. How many had answered their leader's call? Far more than any of them could have anticipated.
Megatron's lieutenants waited on the stage, Shockwave most notable for his absence, though that was not uncommon. He rarely took part in Megatron's shows. Optimus did not know what occupied his time, but he dreaded to find out. There were many Autobots unaccounted for, some of whom would be of interest to the scientist.
But Starscream and Soundwave were there, plus another mech that Optimus did not recognize. He was tall and stately, his battle-grade armor an interesting contrast of dark purple and dark gray. His arms were crossed over his chestplate and the hilt of a large sword was just visible over his right shoulder.
He caught and held Optimus' gaze, but nothing in his expression gave him away.
“You fixed him?” Starscream screeched as they approached, his optics taking in Optimus' appearance before returning to Megatron with an accusing glare.
Optimus drew up short and Megatron yanked on his lead. He doubted it had been intentional, however, as Megatron went tense all over.
“It is my prerogative to do with my property as I want,” Megatron said, his vocals a low growl of warning. “And you do not question my judgment.”
Starscream's face went through a wave of emotion before he visibly drew back, as though biting his glossa. “Of course, Lord Megatron,” he said and Optimus marveled at his restraint.
This was how they had lost the war. Starscream, for once, obeying his master and Megatron, in turn, heeding Starscream's tactical advice.
“I am merely concerned that a healthy Optimus Prime might present the wrong image.”
Megatron scoffed and jerked the lead, forcing Optimus to stumble forward. “When they see how well he serves, there'll be no questions. Now. Is Reflector ready?”
“Affirmative, Lord Megatron.” Soundwave was the one to answer. He stepped forward, the light in his visor traveling from Megatron to Optimus and back again.
“Excellent.” Megatron grinned. “Come, Prime. Your audience awaits.”
Starscream watched him pass, his optics glittering but nothing showing in his frame or his field. He tilted his helm upward, expression one of disdain, but that was it. Soundwave fell into step at Megatron's other side as they emerged onto the stage, the crowd of Decepticons lifting their vocals in a roar.
Megatron could not have puffed any further, but he tried.
He pulled Optimus to center stage and there he forced Optimus to kneel. The lead was attached to a ring welded to the stage, keeping his helm bowed for his comfort, though he could look up if he bore the pressure on his intake. It also put the crowd beneath in perfect view, and he could look on the gathered Decepticons, read their excitement, their lust, their disgust.
Megatron's hand landed on his helm. “Broadcast this to every receiver. I want every Autobot, Decepticon, and Neutral to see it. I want them to understand that I have won,” he said to his lieutenants.
“Acknowledged, Lord Megatron.”
Optimus saw Reflector below, giving the thumbs up to prove that they were ready.
“My loyal Decepticons!” Megatron's vocals boomed over the noisy crowd. His free hand lifted, a call to silence. “I come to you today to announce our ultimate victory. Not only have we beaten the Autobots and reclaimed our planet, but their leader is now in our possession. The great Optimus Prime, our prisoner at last.”
Megatron's grip on Optimus' helm tightened and he tilted Optimus' helm up. This forced him to look over the helms of the cheering Decepticons and showcased the collar around his intake.
“It is only a matter of time before we root out the rest of the cowards and put them where they belong: in shackles and in service,” Megatron continued, his vocals rising higher and higher to be heard over the celebrating Decepticons. “Cybertron is ours now, as it was always meant to be. And I say this to you, any Decepticon who brings me an Autobot - alive or dead - will be handsomely rewarded. This I promise. And as should be clear now, I keep my promises.”
He grinned, the flash of his denta visible from the edge of Optimus' optical feed. His tank clenched. Did that mean Megatron would kill no more Autobots? But was that better or worse than slavery?
The crowd roared their approval. It didn't take a mathematician to know that there were far more Decepticons than Autobots. What was Megatron going to do when he ran out of prizes to give?
Optimus' tank churned. He would have rathered his Autobots die than face this fate.
“This is the dawn of a new age,” Megatron continued and he pushed Optimus' helm back down, forcing him to bow to the Decepticon crowd. “This is not a time for Primes and Autobots. It is a time for Decepticons, for the rule of the strongest, my rule. We will crush anything that stands against us, just as we did the Autobots.”
The cheers were enough to drown a mech. The Decepticons screamed and shouted and stomped their pedes. Someone began to chant their leader's name and once it started, it grew, louder and louder, until the whole courtyard vibrated to the sound.
“Megatron! Megatron! Megatron!”
Optimus nearly purged every drop of energon in his tank.
“You see, Prime,” Megatron said, his vocals low enough for Optimus to pick up and no one else. His grip on Optimus' helm loosened by a fraction. “You never had a chance.”
And that, apparently, was all he'd needed to say. The Decepticons cheered, but Megatron made his bows and Reflector stopped recording. Megatron unclipped Optimus from the ring and hauled him to his pedes. He coiled his hand around the leash once more and excused himself from the stage.
“Come along, Prime,” he said, his field reeking of self-satisfaction. “Our work here is done.”
What choice did Optimus have but to follow, to force one pede in front of the other, while humiliation sat like a lead weight on his shoulders. How many Autobots would see that broadcast? Would they be angry? Dispirited? Would they take a chance? He hoped not. He hoped they would take it as their cue to run for their sparks, hide for as long as possible.
There was no way off planet for the Autobots. Not anymore. Megatron had seen to that. He'd methodically tracked down and executed any living Autobot who could leave Cybertron under their own power. Then he'd smelted down the frames to ensure his victory.
The Aerialbots never stood a chance. Omega Supreme probably could have been rebuilt. But not now.
A pang of guilt and grief hit Optimus' spark, hard enough to make him stumble. But Megatron neither noticed nor cared. He led Optimus off the stage and back to the central courtyard, where they crossed it to another familiar building - the residence of the Prime.
“You still think it's wise to keep him alive?”
The question startled Optimus and he wondered how he could have missed the fact that Starscream accompanied them, especially with his field. It was a swirl of dissatisfaction and discontent.
Megatron tipped his helm. “I am not going to have this discussion again, Starscream.” They approached a lift and Megatron jabbed a finger on the call button. The doors opened immediately for him.
Optimus did his best to remain silent. This was a look at the dynamic between Megatron and Starscream no one had ever seen. Plus, it had the benefit of directing their attention away from him. The longer the better.
“He's a liability.”
“And so are you.” Megatron's vocals became a growl of warning. “Unless this is just your jealousy talking. You said you didn't want an Autobot.”
“I still don't,” Starscream snapped. “I didn't join the Decepticons because I wanted a slave.”
“That has never been the goal. It is merely a charming bonus.” Megatron laughed and he gave a pointed tug to Optimus' leash. “It is what they deserve. Some even have their uses. After all, I don't see you working in the refineries.”
Starscream huffed a ventilation. “Because I am more concerned with our future.” He scowled, one optic tilting toward Optimus before ignoring him again. “Unlike Shockwave.”
“He's earned the chance to dabble.”
“And I haven't?”
Optimus winced. Yes, dear friends. That right there was a Starscream shriek. The Seeker was aptly named. Optimus' audials were ringing.
The lift dropped them off at the top floor and Optimus followed behind Megatron like a dutiful pet, not even needing the occasional yank to keep him in line. The time for disobedience would come.
“You might, if only you'd learn to be quiet,” Megatron hissed and his plating ruffled. The low hum of a fusion cannon entering the preparatory stages echoed in the empty halls around them.
Starscream lapsed into silence, his optics cycling down. His wings twitched, and for a moment, Optimus thought he'd leave them be. But no, Starscream seemed to regain his courage and continued, as though he had a death wish.
“Don't you think that your performance might have the opposite effect?”
“Even if it did, there are hardly enough of them to pose a threat,” Megatron retorted, all but jamming his code into the panel. The door slid open with a whoosh of displaced air and he shoved Optimus through it.
The Prime's suite. He wasn't surprised that Megatron had claimed it. They first stepped into the receiving room, a massive space with furniture and an energon dispenser, meant to entertain guests. Closed doors indicated more space beyond them.
“You forget who is still out there,” Starscream snapped, entering after them.
Megatron pushed them into the receiving room and he shoved Optimus down to his knees, his hand a firm grip on Optimus' shoulder. “Stay,” he said, and then his attention went back to Starscream. “There's no proof he's alive.”
“Why don't you ask your pet?”
“And if I actually believed I'd get the truth, I would.”
Starscream scoffed, his wings flicking with agitation, first one and then the other. “He's alive. He's like a cockroach. And if you don't believe he'll come after his Prime, you're a bigger fool than I thought.”
Megatron's engine growled. He took a step forward, prompting Starscream to retreat an equal distance. He still showed no fear.
“He can try,” Megatron said, vocals low and careful. “But he will fail.”
Starscream stared at him. “If only we all could be as confident as you,” he spat, and his optics flicked to Optimus. “Enjoy your pet. I hope he doesn't kill you while you recharge.”
Starscream stormed out, wings high and arched, taking the swarm of anger and dissatisfaction with him. Not that Optimus was any more relieved. This left him alone with a frustrated Megatron.
The warlord whirled on Optimus and stalked toward him. Optimus braced himself, preparing for the first blow, already planning how he could defend himself despite his wrists being bound. But all Megatron did was grab his hands and undo the connector, leaving his arms free to move.
Was it a mercy? Optimus doubted it. Megatron probably had plans, plans that Optimus wanted no part of.
Now might be the only chance he had.
He swung at Megatron, catching the unaware warlord in the chestplate, driving him back a pace. Megatron, startled, and looked down at him. His optics blazed before his lips twisted into a sneer.
“That almost hurt,” Megatron said.
Optimus' engine rattled and he rushed Megatron again. He aimed for the fusion cannon arm, pushing it to the side as he directed another punch, this time to Megatron's face. Megatron ducked under it, spinning around Optimus with a speed few gave the massive warrior credit for. His hand planted in the middle of Optimus' back, giving him a great shove. Optimus stumbled, but was quick to turn, his spark thumping an off-rhythm in his chamber.
It was a disastrously one-sided fight. Pathetic even. Megatron dodged his attacks with ease, cuffing him across the helm as one might a child or an errant pet. His blows were sharp, dizzying, and Optimus struggled to compensate. He felt as though more than his engine were throttled, as though Megatron had drugged him as well. It was hard to focus, harder still to keep on his pedes.
Optimus landed a glancing blow on Megatron's shoulder, barely scraping the paint. Megatron grabbed his arm and slung him into the wall. Optimus bounced off the painted metal with a ring in his audials. He stumbled, regained his balance and swept something off a nearby table. A statue perhaps.
He chucked it at Megatron, waited for the warlord to bat it aside, and charged. He felt slow and cumbersome, like a combiner up to its knees in mud, and gasped when Megatron batted him aside just as he had the statue.
His vision swam.
Megatron smirked at him, optics a coal-fire red.
Electric pain rippled through Optimus' sensory net. He dropped to his knees, frame spasming as fire raced across every circuit, every line, burning him from the inside out. His vision went white; his audials buzzed with static. His spark throbbed and he dropped forward, to his hands, tank seizing.
He barely felt the kick to the side, though it tossed him like so much scrap. The electric shock was brief, but the effects lingered. He couldn't close his fingers into a fist. He couldn't ventilate through the pain.
Fingers wrapped around his arm, yanking him across the floor. Metal screeched on metal, paint leaving long strips behind. Optimus thrashed as a hand wrapped around his intake, shoving the collar hard against the delicate metal. His intake crackled a warning, pressure indicators shouting at him in red exclamations. Optimus gasped a ventilation.
He slammed into the ground, the hand around his intake serving as a warning. Megatron loomed over him, only half a helm taller but suddenly as big as Omega Supreme. Optimus' optics kept fuzzing, and he sent a second request for a reboot. He couldn't seem to focus. His hands scrabbled at Megatron, but his fingers spasmed, unable to do anything more than paw uselessly.
“Do you know how long I've had these, Prime?” Megatron asked, his tone mild but something darker hiding behind them. “The moment we couldn't find your frame in the graying rubble of Omega Supreme, I knew I would need them. I had Shockwave make them for me. Something strong enough to hold a Prime.”
Optimus' vocalizer spat static.
Megatron's smirk was the only clear thing he could see. “It hurts, doesn't it? And that was only a mild shock. I'm not inclined to kill you.”
Optimus twisted beneath him, but his frame wouldn't obey his commands. His optics finally reset, bringing his world into clarity, not that it helped. His legs still spasmed. Megatron was over him, burning ex-vents scorching Optimus' plating, the stink of rising charge around him like a plasma cloud.
“You behave, you get fuel,” Megatron said, and his free hand pressed on Optimus' ventral armor, a parody of a caress. “You don't behave, you get pain. It's a simple concept.”
Optimus cycled a ventilation. He tried to twist his frame away from Megatron's questing hand. Megatron settled between his legs, pinning him in place.
“I'd rather offline,” Optimus spat. He refused to become Megatron's obedient pet.
Megatron nuzzled at Optimus' faceplate. “Not yet, my Prime. You haven't suffered nearly enough.”
He pawed at Optimus' interface array, fingers pressing against the seams and the panel protecting his valve. His ventilations were ragged.
“Open,” Megatron demanded.
His hand moved to Optimus' hip and he hauled Optimus onto his lap. Optimus' thighs splayed wide, offering his array to Megatron.
He heard the click of a panel popping and felt the wet slide of a transfluid-slick spike nudging at his array. Megatron was hot, burning like the smelter pit of Kaon.
Optimus scraped useless fingers on Megatron's arm. He turned his face away from the warlord and shuttered his optics. He felt vulnerable without his battlemask and he knew his expressions showed. He was far too easy to read. It wasn't quite panic that strobed his spark, but it was a near thing.
Megatron, at least, was smaller than Blitzwing. Though he doubted Megatron was any more inclined to be gentle.
Move it or lose it, Prime, the triple-changer had said.
Optimus wondered how long Megatron would let him keep that dignity. He cycled a long ventilation and triggered the command to open his panel.
Megatron chuckled and nuzzled against the side of his helm, lips teasing Optimus' audial. “So cooperative,” he purred, hand at last leaving Optimus' intake, but only to dip between his thighs.
Blunt fingers poked at his valve, sweeping around the rim before two plunged into the dry depths. They prodded around experimentally before finding a sensory node and rubbing it with abandon.
Optimus jerked, backstrut arching at the unexpected flash of pleasure, however faint. This he had not expected. He was not as dry as he expected to be either. This was not from self-lubrication, no, but something else. Nanite gel, perhaps. Had Blitzwing damaged him enough to need repairs?
Megatron's fingers continued to work at his node, as though he cared about Optimus' pleasure. “Do you know, Prime, how often I've imagined you like this,” Megatron said, his mouth a sloppy mess on the side of Optimus' face. “Pinned beneath me? Open and desperate? Eager for my spike?”
Optimus' engine weakly growled. “Was I always unwilling in your fantasies, Megatron?”
“Always,” Megatron replied with a little laugh. “But not by the end, my Prime. Not by the end.”
His fingers withdrew, a faint moisture clinging to them. Both hands gripped Optimus' hips, the blunt head of Megatron's spike nudging at his valve. Megatron shifted so that he loomed over Optimus, his lips no longer in reach, but all the better to keep him pinned. His fingers dug into the seams of Optimus' hips, hooked around armor plates.
The twitching, at least, had gone. The electric sting of the shock collar and cuffs were a lingering memory.
“Look at me.”
Optimus shuttered his optics, pressing his lipplates together. He turned his helm as far as the limits of his flexibility, his fingers drawing into tight fists.
Megatron rolled his hips, spike knocking at Optimus' valve, stirring the thin trail of lubricant left by his fingers.
“You were much more obedient in my fantasies,” Megatron said. “Ah, no matter. You'll learn soon enough.” He thrust into Optimus without pause, burying himself to the hilt.
He gave no quarter, no rest. Not like Blitzwing. Arguably, the triple-changer had been worse. But Megatron, at least, was of a size more compatible, though the scrape of his spike burned in Optimus' valve. He was not lubricated enough, not that it mattered to Megatron.
Megatron who gripped his hips, yanking him back for each thrust. He hunched over Optimus as if he were a beast, and even rutted like one. His ventilations were sharp and stuttered, to the rhythm of his desperate, rapid thrusts. Optimus' back scraped across the floor; his hips protested the violent slam of frame against his frame. His valve was a thing of fire, no pleasure, only pain.
Optimus gritted his denta, swallowed down a whimper, and tried to disable his vocalizer, only to find that he could not. He no longer had the permissions to access his own frame. Something else Megatron had stolen from him.
Megatron stabbed into his valve as though his spike were a sword, meant to tear Optimus in two. He sought his overload with the kind of reckless abandon Optimus had only ever seen in beasts. The clang of their frames was lost to the roar of Megatron's fans, until he abruptly pulled out, dropping Optimus' hips in the same motion.
That was when Optimus felt the scalding splatter on his array and his pelvic span and his abdominal plating. Several splashes of transfluid painted him to the tune of Megatron's low groan of satisfaction.
He was still between Optimus' legs, preventing him from closing them. Optimus' valve calipers clutched on empty space, torn between the initial flashes of pleasure and pulsing pain.
He heard the slick slide of Megatron pumping his own spike, drawing out his pleasure, and a final spurt hit Optimus' array. He felt it trickle between his thighs and over his valve.
Megatron purred to himself. “Adequate,” he said, and patted Optimus on the knee. “You'll do better next time.” He rose to his pedes, leaving Optimus room to close his legs and turn on his side. His hips protested, aching at the joints.
Optimus onlined his optics, watching Megatron cross the room to a small cabinet. There he pulled out a cube of energon, dimly glowing - midgrade. Optimus' tank clenched in hunger, reminding him that he was running on the bare minimum.
Megatron closed the cabinet, cube in hand, and sat down in a nearby chair, sprawled as though he were exhausted. He took a long pull of his energon, draining half in one go, his gaze never leaving Optimus. His expression was unreadable behind the obvious satisfaction.
Optimus struggled off his side, an awkward push of his elbow getting him upright and onto his knees. He closed his panel, though he could still feel Megatron's spill within him. He doubted he'd be allowed into the washracks to clean himself. He cycled a ventilation, trying not to look as weary as he felt.
“What purpose does this serve, Megatron?”
The warlord swept his glossa over his lips and swirled the energon about, taunting Optimus with it. “None.”
Optimus' shoulders slumped. “Then allow the Autobots to go. Off world even. You've won.”
“Yes, I have,” Megatron said. He lenaed one elbow against the arm of his chair, fingers stroking his chin. “And no, I will not. The Autobots must face their punishment. They do not deserve their freedom.”
Optimus worked his intake. “Freedom is not something which must be earned. It is a right.”
Megatron waved a dismissing hand. “Yes, the right of all sentient beings. How many times have I heard that before, Prime?”
“Then you'd think, by now, it would have sunk in.”
Megatron snorted. “It's a fool's dream. No one's ever free, Prime. We're all bound by something, even if it's so pure as duty or honor.”
He raised his energon to his mouth and drained the last of it, crushing the cube in his grip. As though he needed to prove how much more superior he was.
“You're in no danger of offlining,” Megatron said as he tossed the cube toward a recycling bin. “And you haven't earned your share yet.”
“Earned,” Optimus repeated. The word tasted sour to him.
Megatron shifted on the chair, making himself more comfortable. “Yes, earned. As in obedience.” He patted his lap. “Come here. On your hands and knees.”
So that his aft might wave in the air as if in invitation? Absolutely not. Optimus didn't move, only affixing Megatron with a glare.
Megatron raised his orbital ridges. “That is not obedience, Prime.” He braced his elbows on the arms of the chair and laced his fingers together. “Do you need another lesson about the consequences of your actions?”
“If you wanted easy, you would have killed me,” Optimus said, lifting his chin.
He could handle pain. He had been built to handle pain. But opening his panel so as not to damage it, was not the same as willingly crawling across the floor to Megatron.
He would not do it.
“This is true.” Megatron's helm dipped, his expression buried behind his hands. “Fortunately, this is still entertaining to me.” His optics darkened.
Pain seized Optimus, twice as bad as before. He dropped, entire frame thrashing on the floor as his internals lit up with fire. He could see the electricity crawling out of his plating. He felt it burning through his circuits and several smaller ones popped, unable to contain the current. He smelled burnt metal and saw curls of smoke rise to the ceiling.
He gasped for ventilations, but his fans stalled. Not even his cooling fans seemed to be working. Stars danced in his optics. He couldn't hear anything over the static in his audials.
And then the current was gone, leaving the pain. Leaving him shaking on the floor, frame locked tight, his spark spinning wildly. Oh, Primus. He felt dry, drained of all fluids, and his coolant was distressingly low. His awareness drifted toward gray. He couldn't see because his optics wouldn't boot. Had they burnt out? He didn't know.
Hands wrapped around his ankle, dragging him across the floor. The scrape of his plating was nothing compared to the agony in his lines. He heard the rale of chains, felt something attach to the cuffs at his ankles, and then the cuffs on his hands. Another lead snapped to his collar and Optimus still couldn't see. It was hard enough to ventilate.
“It can still get worse,” Megatron said, though nothing in his voice sounded angry. As though he'd anticipated Optimus' refusal and enjoyed it. “Perhaps tomorrow you'll be more cooperative.”
Optimus tried to boot his optics, his vocalizer, but nothing obeyed him. The gray grew heavier, leaning toward black.
A hand patted his helm. “Recharge well, Prime.”
He never heard if Megatron walked away or not. His systems screamed for an immediate shut down and Optimus obeyed them.
Right now, he'd rather the black.
****
a/n: I'm still working on the masterlist but it's gotten so massive I'm trying to figure out how to truncate it by figuring out which cameos don't need to be mentioned or which pairings and etc. Maybe next week? It only gets worse from here. Keep that in mind.
As always, feedback is welcome and appreciated.
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