[AU] Oubliette - Chapter Twelve
Universe: G1/IDW AU
Characters this chapter: Megatron/Optimus, Onslaught, Soundwave, his Cassettes, Vortex, Bumblebee, Thundercracker, Skywarp, Starscream
Rating: NC-17
Warnings this chapter: forced bondage, spreader bar, sex toys, valve service
Commission fic for NK
Mood Music: "Ticking Bomb," Aloe Blacc
Oubliette
Chapter Twelve
Megatron worked for the rest of the shift with Optimus sitting at his pedes, leaning against the base of the throne. Decepticons came by to stare, but none dared touch him and Megatron didn't demand anything further of Optimus. He managed a light doze in snatches, though he startled awake with every laugh or rumble of irritation.
Only once did he stir, to listen when the Decepticons on Earth reported in, but they had nothing of interest to say. Nothing except that they hadn't caught whoever had caused problems.
There was a tiny flicker of hope within Optimus. First Aid was alive. Were his brothers as well? Swoop, too. Had other Dinobots survived? Were they now giving the Decepticons stationed on Earth merry hell? Good for them.
It didn't make Megatron any happier.
He threatened everyone. If Barricade's team didn't produce results, they would lose their reward just as the Stunticons had.
Optimus tried to listen, to see who had been given to Barricade's team, but no names were ever mentioned. He almost didn't want to know. He had experienced Barricade's special brand of hospitality. He dreaded to think what an Autobot would suffer within Barricade's grasp on a daily basis.
But once Megatron was done proving his dominance and issuing threats, he apparently decided he'd done enough work for the day. He rose to his pedes, left a newly arrived Cyclonus in charge, and strode from his command center with his pet at his heels.
Optimus trotted along after him and tried not to limp too obviously. What other choice did he have? He tried not to think about the sour taste lingering on his glossa. Or the stain on the floor of the command center. Or the pervasive odor of a snuffed spark.
They returned to Megatron's quarters and already, Optimus' internals swirled with anxiety. What new and terrible torture had Megatron devised now?
“You look troubled, Optimus,” Megatron commented as he pulled Optimus toward the berthroom, a place that held no good memories. Then again, there wasn't a single room in this penthouse that Optimus felt safe visiting.
“It should not be difficult to discern why,” Optimus muttered. His spark pulsed faster. His fingers were shaking. “Your imagination is only outstripped by your cruelty.”
Megatron chuckled. “How right you are.” He turned toward Optimus and dropped the lead to his collar. “Bend over the table.”
It was a test, Optimus knew. Especially given the opportunity Megatron gave. Obey, cooperate, and earn a concession.
Optimus' optics slid to said table. It looked strong enough to support his weight. It was even of an appropriate height that obeying wouldn't put too much strain on his frame. Optimus moved to do so and felt more than a little vulnerable with his aft and back on display.
“Arms behind your back,” Megatron said as he circled around Optimus. There was a gleam to his optics that bode well for no one. “Spread your legs. Open your panels.”
Optimus gritted his denta and grasped his wrists at the base of his backstrut. His panels slid aside, cooler air whisking over his exposed components. His valve twitched, already accustomed to what came next despite how little time Optimus had actually spent in Megatron's custody.
Was it really only two weeks?
“Obedience,” Megatron purred. “I approve, Optimus.”
A hand caressed his aft. Fingers traced the rim of his valve and flirted over his anterior node. Optimus offlined his optics, told himself that he could obey this once, see what it granted him, and if indeed there was nothing afterward, he could rebel.
But if there was the slimmest chance... he would take it.
Fingers tapped his hips. “Further,” Megatron ordered.
Optimus ex-vented and inched his pedes further apart. This left him awkwardly unbalanced, his pelvic array grinding against the edge of the desk as he tried to tilt his weight forward to remain on the desk.
“Better,” Megatron said.
The hands vanished from his aft. Optimus heard Megatron move away and he turned his helm, trying to locate the warlord. Megatron was pulling a box from under the berth and rummaging through it. He emerged with a pair of stasis cuffs, no surprise there, a long bar, and an interfacing toy.
“Optics forward,” Megatron said as he returned.
Reluctantly, Optimus swung his gaze back toward the wall. Was it better or worse that he couldn't see what Megatron was doing? He braced himself for anything.
The cuffs went around his wrist, but he expected that much. The bar was placed between his spread legs and shackled to his ankles, preventing him from drawing his legs together. Then there was a touch on the rim of his valve.
Optimus jerked. A heavy hand rested on his aft, pinning his hips down to the table.
“Don't move,” Megatron said.
Optimus gritted his denta, his hands pulling into fists. He tried to quiet his ventilations as fingers felt all around his valve, one pushing inside as though testing the limits of his lubrication. He heard the pop of a cap and then felt slick fingers enter his valve, spreading around a gooey lubrication.
He wasn't so gone as to think it consideration.
“Almost done,” Megatron said. “Just one last ornament.”
Megatron's fingers left his valve and were swiftly replaced with something hard, ridged, and cold. A false spike, Optimus assumed. He sucked in a sharp vent as Megatron worked the spike deeper and deeper, until the blunt head of it lodged against Optimus' ceiling node. His calipers restlessly clacked around it, trying to connect to sensor nodes that weren't present.
“Close your panel.”
Optimus bit back a groan and did as commanded, cycling his panel closed. The massive spike sat within his valve like a dead weight, far from comfortable. It was cold and unfeeling as well, nothing like a spike.
Megatron stroked his aft. “Obedience looks good on you, Optimus,” His thumb brushed over Optimus' panel, pressing in on it as though trying to feel the toy behind it. “Now. Stay here. Stay still. And do your best not to overload.”
“I doubt it'll be a challenge,” Optimus gritted out.
Megatron chuckled. “We'll see.”
He smacked Optimus' aft and Optimus startled, the shift of his frame jostling the spike within him. His valve fluttered.
He heard Megatron shift and his field distanced itself. Megatron's heavy pedesteps indicated he was walking away and Optimus turned his helm, discreetly watching. What did Megatron intend to get now?
Nothing apparently, because there he was, heading for the washracks. He went into them without a backward glance, leaving Optimus out here like this, on display for no one to see. Waiting for his master to return. He heard the washracks click on and the patter of solvent, as if to further prove he'd been left.
Optimus' engine growled and he sighed, trying his best to relax on top of the table. Solitude was rare enough that he ought to enjoy it while he could.
That was when the toy in his valve started to vibrate.
Optimus grunted. His hips shifted restlessly as the low-grade vibrations traveled all throughout his array. They teased at his spike, struggling to share space with the massive toy in his valve. His array warmed, producing lubricant.
It felt good. Pleasant. Just strong enough to produce sensation, but not so strong he felt overwhelmed. So this was Megatron's game. That bastard.
Optimus groaned and pressed his forehelm to the table. Warmth pooled in his array, blossoming outward. His valve clenched down on the spike, little prickles of static igniting where the soft vibrations teased at his sensors. His hips moved, rocking against the table, shifting the spike within him.
He forced himself to be still. He clenched his hands into fists and tried to regulate his ventilations. He turned his focus inward, hoping to ignore the pleasant sensation in his array.
“Don't overload,” Megatron had commanded.
And if he did? What were the consequences? Optimus didn't want to know. There was little Megatron could do to him physically. But that didn't mean he couldn't hurt Optimus. There were some things worse than pain.
Optimus' ventilations quickened. His ex-vents left damp trails on the table. His panel pinged at him to open and he had to deny it. Lubricant gathered in his valve, filling up all the empty space around the false spike. That only made it worse, made it easier for the vibrations to carry through his array.
It clicked into a higher setting.
Optimus swallowed down what could only be called a squeak. His pedes shifted on the floor, but there was no give to the rod. He couldn't draw his legs together. His hips rocked against the edge of the table, try as he might to hold himself still.
The vibrations were heavier. He could hear them through his frame, where they shook his entire pelvic assembly and rumbled on the table. The low drone filled his audials. His anterior node throbbed.
His panel pinged for release again. Optimus denied it. Heat crept upward, suffusing his entire frame. His knees wobbled. The scrape-scrape of his hips against the table edge became rhythmic. He gripped his own wrists all the harder, hearing his armor protest.
Optimus ground his denta, the skreel of metal on metal a brief distraction.
In the distance, he heard the washracks shut off, the fall of solvent quieting. There was, distantly, the shuffle of pedes.
The vibrator clicked to a third setting and Optimus outright moaned. His entire frame shook as charge shot through his array. He rocked against the table, his ventilations rapid and shallow. Lubricant pushed at his closed panel, seeping into the seams.
The door to the washracks opened. Optimus turned his helm, staring in Megatron's direction, finding it difficult to focus.
“I'm proud of you, Optimus,” Megatron said as he approached, smelling of cleanser and fresh wax. “You didn't overload.” His hand rested on Optimus' aft and stroked his plating.
“So glad I could gain your approval,” Optimus gritted out and his engine raced. “Get this thing out of me.”
“All in due time.” Megatron chuckled and his fingers traced the seam of Optimus' valve. “You're hot and you're leaking. Are you enjoying my gift?”
Optimus stared at the wall, unwilling to look at Megatron's face further. He refused to answer.
Megatron smacked his aft, jostling the spike again, and Optimus cried out. He shook so hard he could hear some armor plates clattering.
“Answer the question, Optimus.”
He cycled a ventilation. “I have no choice but to enjoy it, Megatron.”
“Hmm. Not quite what I was looking for, but I'll take it. Open your panel.”
It was with no small amount of relief that Optimus did so, despite the trickle of lubricant that immediately emerged and trickled down his thighs. He wasn't even embarrassed about it. Megatron made another noise of approval, his finger swiping up Optimus' inner thigh panel and gathering up a dribble of the lubricant.
“I'd say you were enjoying it immensely,” he observed and Optimus felt the end of the toy shift. It wriggled about within his valve, slid a little deeper, and then slid out, dragging along his sensors.
Optimus shuddered. His hips danced in place. Overload was tantalizingly close. The heat within his array was suffocating. His valve tingled, sensors throbbing with need.
The toy was gone, set to the table beside his hip, Optimus' valve clenching on nothing. A frustrated noise escaped him before he could stop it.
Megatron's hands rested on his hips and Optimus felt the warlord settle between his thighs. The head of his spike poked at Optimus' rim and then dragged along the circumference of it.
“Do you want to overload?”
“Need to,” Optimus gritted out.
Megatron hummed his approval and the very tip of his spike nudged into Optimus' opening. His valve immediately clamped down, trapping the ridged head of it. He felt Megatron's spike throbbing against his sensors. His hips rocked, desperate for more, until Megatron's hands held him in place, pinned him down to the table. More lubricant leaked down his thighs.
“Beg me for it,” Megatron said.
Optimus huffed a sharp ventilation. He refused.
“This is not cooperating, Optimus.” Megatron's spike inched forward, taunting him.
Optimus gasped. “You--” Another smack rang across his aft.
“Beg.”
He pressed his forehelm to the table and shuttered his optics. “Please,” Optimus said and he didn't know it was possible to taste a glyph until now. It was bitter.
“Please what?” The spike pushed deeper, another precious inch, gliding smoothly over his sensors and lighting them. Hungry calipers cycled down.
Optimus shivered. “Please let me overload.”
Megatron slid into him all at once, bottoming out. “As you wish,” he purred and gripped Optimus' hips.
He thrust in and out of Optimus, a fast rhythm that trapped him between Megatron's bulk and the table. Optimus gasped, hearing his chestplate and windshield scrape on the metal, but most of his focus went to his valve. It burned with need, clamped down hungrily on Megatron's spike, and eagerly rushed toward overload.
It didn't take much. Especially not when Megatron planted one hand on his lower backstrut, pinning him down, and the other crept underneath Optimus' frame. The moment his fingers touched Optimus' throbbing nub, Optimus shouted his overload, convulsing beneath Megatron. The warlord's fingers mercilessly rubbed his node, through all the ripples of his release. He shoved his spike through Optimus' clenching rings, ex-venting a burst of heat.
Optimus sagged, gasping for cooler air. There was little to be found as Megatron draped over him, his mass settling on Optimus' frame as his hips pistoned into Optimus' valve. He slammed against the back of Optimus' thighs, mindlessly chasing his own overload. Both of Megatron's hands returned to his hips, grip strong enough to dent, and Megatron roared his overload not too soon afterward.
Optimus felt the spill within him, searing hot, mingling with the copious lubricant his own valve had produced.
He grimaced and waited for Megatron to finish. His valve remained sensitive and twitched as Megatron settled atop him, his spike lingering. Megatron nuzzled the back of his helm.
“You're welcome,” Megatron purred, nibbling at Optimus' neck cabling.
Optimus shuddered. “I didn't say thank you.”
“I know. We'll get to that.”
Megatron pushed himself off Optimus, but he didn't immediately withdraw. Optimus heard him fumble around on the table before he abruptly removed himself from Optimus' valve. He had a moment to be relieved, his valve twitching at the sudden rush of cool air, before the false spike returned, sliding up into his valve and trapping the fluids within.
“Close your panel,” Megatron ordered.
Optimus groaned and obeyed. The false spike was no longer vibrating, but the pressure of it was uncomfortable. All Optimus wanted was to clean himself out. Megatron's spill seemed to sear his internals.
“Good pet.”
Megatron patted his aft and then the shackles were removed from his ankles. There was a clatter as the rod was thrown to the side.
“Cooperation,” Optimus said, his tone dull as he listened to Megatron shuffle around behind him. “What did it earn me?”
Megatron grabbed hold of his wrists and yanked him to his pedes. Optimus hissed air through his vents as his shoulder protested. He struggled to stay upright on wobbling legs. The spike shifted within him, the new angle pressing hard against previously untouched sensors.
Megatron spun him around so that they faced each other and crowded Optimus against the table, a hand to either side of him. He nudged a knee between Optimus' thighs and looked down at him.
“Earn?” he repeated and his lips quirked in a smile. “Ah, I did promise you that, didn't I?”
Optimus turned his helm away. “Never mind. You were only mocking me.”
“I was not.” Megatron nibbled along the curve of his jaw. “I keep my word. What would you ask of me, Optimus?”
Optimus shuttered his optics. There was the obvious. He knew what he should ask for: the freedom of his Autobots. He also knew that Megatron would only laugh at him. One instance of cooperation versus a lifetime of leverage? No, Megatron would not free his Autobot slaves. Optimus doubted he could convince Megatron to release even one of them. At least, not yet.
Megatron rocked against his panel, denta and glossa moving to his audial. “Unless you've changed your mind...?”
“My spark!” Optimus blurted, part of him terrified that he would lose this chance.
“Your spark?” Megatron pulled back, one hand grabbing Optimus' jaw and forcing his face back toward Megatron's.
He kept his gaze averted. “Don't touch my spark again,” Optimus clarified, aware that he was revealing a weakness but frag it. He could take whatever Megatron did to his frame, but the spark assault had been the worst.
He didn't know if he could survive another. Or if he did, whether he'd still be Optimus by the end of it.
Megatron chuckled. “I see. How selfish of you, Optimus. Here I was ready to allow one of your precious soldiers freedom.”
Optimus clenched his jaw. “I don't believe that for a second.”
“Of course you don't.” Megatron made a thoughtful noise. “However, that is a concession I'm given to allow. I'm not fond of spark sharing as it is. I'd much rather have your frame. And your cooperation.”
“Then you have it.” He lifted his gaze, locking optics with Megatron. “So long as you never touch my spark again.”
Megatron's thumb stroked his jaw. “If only you had been so agreeable earlier on, I might have not been forced to destroy your Autobots.”
“You would never have been satisfied with my surrender.”
“You may have a point.” Megatron grinned again and tilted Optimus' helm up, nipping at Optimus' intake. “Can't say I'm disappointed by my results either.”
Optimus swallowed. “Why would you be? You won.”
“Yes, I did. In every way that mattered.” Megatron drew back. His hand fell from Optimus' jaw to his chestplate. He flattened his palm across the seam. “What was yours is now mine. It's only a matter of time before I claim the rest of the universe.”
“Delusions of grandeur,” Optimus noted.
Megatron laughed and stepped back, giving him some breathing room. “That's what they said when I crawled out of the pit and gathered my army. Delusions of grandeur. And here I am, victorious.”
“For a certain definition of the word, yes.”
“By every definition,” Megatron corrected. He crossed the room and sprawled into his chair, lounging upon it as he did his throne. He crooked a finger at Optimus. “Come here.”
He obeyed, though every step was awkward given the massive spike lodged in his valve. It shifted with him, reawakening his once sated array.
Megatron spread his thighs, revealing his panel. Lubricant was visible in the seams, getting tackier with every passing moment.
“Haven't you had enough?” Optimus asked.
“Of you? Never.” Megatron pointed a finger to the ground. “Kneel.”
Optimus sighed through his vents as he dropped down, motions as awkward as walking. There was the click of a panel opening, though when he looked, it was not Megatron's spike that emerged, but the engorged pleats of his valve coming into view. It was dark gray and black, Megatron's anterior node the same crimson as his optics. The gleam of lubricant was barely visible within the depths.
“You have such a talented glossa,” Megatron purred, shifting to get comfortable. He balanced one elbow on the chair's arm and propped his chin upon his knuckles. “I'd hate to see it go to waste.”
Cooperation.
Optimus braced himself and leaned into the task. Megatron was already leaking lubricant, and his frontal nub was swollen. Optimus extended his glossa, first touching that pulsing node. Megatron's sharp intake assured him that Megatron approved.
Optimus pressed closer, his glossa laving a long strip from one end of Megatron's rim to the other. The taste of lubricant was thick on his glossa, bittersweet, and he had to force himself to swallow. Was it better or worse than Megatron's transfluid? How could Optimus even begin to quantify that kind of violation?
He mouthed at the rim of Megatron's valve, mapping out the sensor pattern. The faster he got Megatron off, perhaps the faster he could go into recharge. Perhaps the faster Megatron would remove the shackles as well.
Optimus sealed his mouth over Megatron's valve and dipped his glossa past the folds, curling it just so to lap at the sensor behind his anterior nub. Megatron moaned, his hand landing on Optimus' helm. His hips rocked toward Optimus' mouth, grinding his array against Optimus' face.
More lubricant slopped into his mouth. He swallowed lest he choke on it. His glossa went back to work, licking at Megatron's valve and teasing every sensor he found. He returned, time and time again, to Megatron's external nub. Gentle nibbles with his denta made Megatron squirm and his hold tighten. Sucking prompted Megatron's engine to growl.
Megatron's legs tightened around Optimus' shoulders, keeping him pinned. His hand urged Optimus closer, all but smashing Optimus' face against his valve rim. The slick noises of his own glossa echoed in Optimus' audials.
A moan burbled up from Megatron's vocalizer. His legs shifted and Optimus felt his pedes press against Optimus' back, right above his bound wrists. They urged Optimus closer, his hips rutting up against Optimus' face.
“This,” Megatron growled out, his field swamping Optimus' with need and lust, “Is where you belong. In service to me.”
He didn't bother to argue otherwise.
Optimus licked and sucked and nibbled, forcing his glossa as deep into Megatron's valve as he could. Feeling the flutter of the walls against his appendage. Megatron's fingers tightened on his helm. He heard the slap of metal on metal, assumed Megatron's other hand was grasping the arm of his chair.
Megatron's thighs quivered. His nub pulsed and Optimus returned to it. He circled the tip of his tongue around the sensitive node and then suckled it.
Megatron bucked up against him, overloading with a shout. He pushed Optimus' face to his array and ground down, hips moving in tiny circles. Optimus hurriedly redirected his intake vents before they were flooded by lubricant. He felt it slithering down into his tanks, not a trace of energy to be found in it.
Even as the tremors faded, Megatron kept Optimus pressed to his array. He gently lapped at Megatron's valve, easing him through the aftershocks.
Finally, Megatron sagged back into his chair. His hand shifted from pulling on Optimus' helm, to resting around it. His legs unfolded, releasing Optimus' frame, and he uncurled. He sat back in his chair, vents spinning on max.
“Well done,” Megatron praised. His hand petted Optimus' helm, pausing briefly to finger his antennae, before stroking the curve of it. “Now clean up the mess you made.”
Optimus scowled where Megatron could not see him. As if Megatron's pleasure was his fault.
“Would not a mesh cloth be faster?” he asked in between tiny licks. He skirted Megatron's sensitive valve, aiming first for the splatters of lubricant on Megatron's inner thigh.
“But not quite so entertaining.” Megatron purred.
Optimus sighed and continued his task, licking Megatron clean as fast as he could. His shoulders were starting to go numb and he could barely feel his fingers. Not to mention that his energon levels were gradually decreasing.
When he finished, he bowed his helm and focused on ventilating. All he could taste was Megatron's lubricants. He waited for the click of Megatron's panels closing to confirm that Megatron accepted he was done.
“You really are being obedient,” Megatron said with a pat to his helm. “Keep this up and I'll free an Autobot after all.”
“I'll settle for you taking off the cuffs right now,” Optimus muttered.
Megatron laughed. “I'm sure you would. Come on. Get up and turn around.”
He didn't offer Optimus any assistance, seeming content to watch as Optimus struggled to stand, his limbs unsteady beneath him. He gave his back to Megatron and sighed in relief as the cuffs were undone, allowing his arms to swing free. Tension eased from his frame.
Megatron patted his aft. “Good pet.”
Optimus wondered if he would ever stop flinching when he heard that.
-INTERLUDE-
The flattened ruins of Praxus were hardly an appropriate place to meet considering Onslaught's Autobot, or maybe his cryptic messenger had chosen Praxus for precisely that reason. Onslaught did not know.
What he did know was that he did not like being blackmailed and coerced into clandestine meetings with mysterious hackers. Especially since even the hint of treachery toward Megatron was making pain spike along his neural net and set a tremble into his knees. Onslaught was not a fan of discomfort. He was especially not a fan of the discomfort caused by Megatron's coding.
He'd also been told to come alone. But what the hacker didn't know, wouldn't betray him. Vortex was more than skilled at keeping himself hidden.
This would have been a good opportunity for his Autobot sniper, had the mysterious mech not chosen Praxus. Onslaught was not so cruel as to drag Bluestreak here. The Autobot suffered enough as it was and Onslaught still struggled to get him to understand that the Combaticons were not interested in harming him or turning him into a slave.
He was expected to learn useful skills. They expected him to continue training so as to be able to contribute to their team. But he had his own room, small as it was, a ration of energon equal to theirs, and no one touched him without his permission. He was kept clean and well-maintained and when Onslaught could, he brought the sniper news of his Autobot friends.
Bluestreak was probably the luckiest of them all, though that was not saying much. He was still a prisoner, trapped in a cage.
Just like the Combaticons.
Onslaught scanned the horizon again, his sensors set to their maximum. Even so, he somehow missed the arrival of his contact. Or perhaps he'd been here all along.
“What do you want?” Onslaught demanded.
He turned to face the hacker, internally berating himself. The signs had been obvious. He should have guessed. Perhaps he had been blinded by a perceived loyalty.
“Assistance offered,” Soundwave said. Other than Buzzsaw perched on his shoulder, opposite the sonic cannon, he appeared alone.
Onslaught was not fooled. Just because he couldn't see the Cassettes didn't mean they weren't around.
“And assistance needed.”
Onslaught's visor darkened. A low growl built in his chassis. “You'll have to clarify, Soundwave. I'm not the telepath here.”
Soundwave lifted a hand and tapped his spark and then his helm. “Freedom,” he intoned. “Offered.”
Onslaught grit his denta as his spark surged with eagerness and the coding slithered through him, all too quick to stomp it down.
“How?” he forced out.
Soundwave moved closer and Onslaught's battle protocols sprang to readiness, driven by the pain clawing at his internals. He tensed. But Soundwave did not attack him. On his shoulder, Buzzsaw ruffled his metallic feathers but remained still.
Soundwave tapped his helm again. “Method known. Shared.” He paused, tilted his helm, his visor burning brighter. “If allegiance accepted.”
“Shrewd.” Onslaught folded his arms and locked his joints, if only to not betray the sudden weakness in his limbs. His intakes rasped but he would endure this pain. “How do I know I can trust you?”
Soundwave's hand lowered to his side. “Freedom desired.”
“Of course it is. That's what I've been saying all along.” Onslaught snorted and half-turned, only to pause as realization crept in on the edges. He whipped back toward Soundwave. “You're his most loyal follower. Why would he do that?”
Soundwave shook his helm, dismissing the question. “Warning extended.”
“About what?”
“Starscream also involved.”
Onslaught's engine revved with distaste. Had he a mouth, he would have sneered. “Then I want no part of it. He's little better than the monster we serve.” He stalked away from Soundwave, internals threatening to overheat. He needed to get away from this talk before the coding shut him down.
“Query: prefer Megatron?”
“Of course not!”
“Starscream's success inevitable.”
Onslaught stilled again. Soundwave's offer was tempting. Too tempting for him to ignore.
“Fine,” he spat out. “I'll think about it.” And consult his teammates. Onslaught was commander but like it or not, he'd need all of their agreement to make this kind of decision. They all wanted their freedom, but they had to valuate risks.
There was always a cost.
“Understood.”
He heard Soundwave take off this time, perhaps the communications officer was making it a point to be less sneaky. Onslaught didn't know.
In the distance, Vortex melted out of the shadows, shaking out his rotors to free them from the tight fold he'd used.
“Later,” Onslaught said as he joined Vortex on the ridge, his interrogator's expression unreadable. “We'll discuss this later.”
0o0o0
He tried not to fidget. He knew he'd failed when he felt Frenzy laugh at him across their bond. Laserbeak, in contrast, sent soothing waves. Buzzsaw, busy with the boss, had nothing to offer.
“Shut up,” Rumble mumbled as he crossed and uncrossed his arms. “You're not helping.” He returned Laserbeak's comfort however. She, at least, understood.
Ravage transmitted a ping, letting Rumble know she was in position. If Bumblebee tried anything, Ravage would react. Rumble didn't think he would, however. It would gain Bumblebee and the scattered Autobots nothing. Whereas this meeting might gain them everything.
“Boo.”
Rumble jumped and whirled, dropping into a crouch as his defensive protocols leapt into action. He glared into the darkness, where the grubby frame of Bumblebee slid into view, as quiet as a whisper.
“Scared you,” Bumblebee said, something wicked in his tone.
“Did not,” Rumble retorted, rising back to his full height. He pretended to brush grit from his plating, hoping it was nonchalant. “I could have shot you.”
“But you didn't.” Bumblebee stayed a fair distance away, his frame battle-ready, but the dimness to his optics betraying his undercharge. “You knew I was coming.”
“Yeah, and apparently, I taught ya too well.”
Bumblebee tilted his helm. “Sure you did.” He grinned and winked. “You can tell Ravage to come out. I'm not interested in killing either of you. Right now anyway.”
“You got backup?”
“Of course.”
“Then Rav is staying right where she is.”
Bumblebee shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He leaned back against the rocks, but Rumble didn't miss the way his knees wobbled.
Rumble sighed and dared get closer to Bumblebee. He pulled a cube from subspace and held it out. “Here.”
“Charity?” Bumblebee arched a brow. “Do you feel sorry for me, Rumble?”
He scowled. “Just take it.”
Bumblebee straightened and accepted the cube, giving it a testing sniff. “Just like old times,” he murmured and sipped at the energon, his engine revving softly with approval. His free hand waved. “What does Soundwave want?”
Rumble dropped back and perched on another ridge of stone. “You know he's not pulling the strings.”
“He never does. Soundwave is many things, but a leader isn't one of them.” Bumblebee shifted his weight and got comfortable, though his grip on the energon was noticeably tight. “How'd Starscream convince him?”
“How'd you know it was Starscream?”
“Isn't it always?”
Rumble smirked. “Point. And you'll have to ask the boss that. Whatever Screamer said, he ain't sharin'. What did your boss say?”
“He knows.” Bumblebee's tone quieted, his optics briefly meeting Rumble's. “And he trusts me.”
Rumble snorted. “Autobots.”
“Yeah.” Bumblebee lowered himself, crouching back against the rock. “What's the deal, Rumble? What's Starscream offering?”
“Freedom.” Rumble looked up at Bumblebee, his optics drinking in the sight now that there weren't blasters and battle and everything else between them. He wished they'd never had that fight. So many things would be different if Rumble hadn't stormed out in a fit of pique.
“A truce. He wants to share Cyberton. He knows we're gettin' pretty close to the point of no return. We keep goin' like this and it's the end for everyone. Plus, he don't care about takin' over the universe.”
“All he's ever wanted is Cybertron.”
“Kinda.” Rumble rolled his shoulders in a shrug. “So. Work with us, get rid of Megatron, and you can do whatever you want after.”
“That simple?”
“Don't want to make it more complicated.”
Bumblebee finished off the energon and tossed the empty cube back to Rumble. “Good.” He paused and looked at Rumble. “Boss said it's up to me. That I can decide whether to take this offer or walk away. So tell me, Rumble. Can I trust you?”
Not Starscream. Not Soundwave.
Rumble pushed to his pedes and moved closer to Bumblebee, close enough to touch, that the yellow mech could read the intent in his field. There was an ache there, a longing for something he'd let slip away eons ago and couldn't bear to do so again.
In the back of his mind, the rest of his siblings had gone silent. Like Jazz had for Bumblebee, they left this decision to Rumble.
Rumble crouched and looked up at Bumblebee, giving the Autobot the position of power. “Yes.”
He waited, on bolts and brackets, for Bumblebee's reply. There was a lot of history between them. He wouldn't be surprised if Bumblebee stood up and walked away.
But he didn't. Instead, he bowed his helm and murmured, “Primus forgive me,” before he met Rumble's visor.
“Fine,” he said. “We're with you.”
And something tight and noxious within Rumble eased.
0o0o0
“Starscream's planning something.”
Thundercracker snorted and tilted his wing, banking to the right. “Isn't he always?”
Skywarp flitted in front of him, a dark and purple blur that cut against the brightness of the sun that had briefly snagged Cybertron. “This is different.”
“And?”
“Just wondering.”
Thundercracker's path took him over and around Skywarp, a lazy dance between them that was almost fun. There wasn't much fun anymore. Not since Earth. Not since Starscream stopped sneering and started bowing to Megatron.
Not that he ever explained why. He'd been more close-mouthed than usual, keeping everything close to the spark. Granted, their trine had never been the friendliest. Starscream was a hard mech to like. But still...
“You don't just wonder,” Thundercracker said flatly.
Skywarp chuckled. “True.”
Then there was silence. Thundercracker luxuriated in it, enjoying the flush of heat against his wings, the emptiness of the sky. Below him, a ravaged Cybertron stripped by. Going this fast, one almost couldn't see the damage.
“He wouldn't let us keep that Autobot,” Skywarp said, and there wasn't so much anger in his tone, but wistfulness. “And I swear I thought I heard him talking to Soundwave the other shift.”
Thundercracker startled, stalling mid-flight. He reverted to root-mode and watched as Skywarp looped around, only to revert to root-mode as well. They hovered in mid-air, and Skywarp's face was inscrutable.
“What about?”
“Dunno.” Skywarp shrugged, but it was far from casual. There was a shrewd look to his optics, one he always got when he managed to focus his multi-tiered thinking onto a single task. “But I like this,” he finally said. “Flying and not fighting. I didn't think I would, but I do. It's nice.”
Thundercracker tilted his helm. “What are you getting at, Warp?”
“Just that, well, if Megatron has his way, we won't have this for much longer, you know?” Skywarp's gaze wandered away. Beneath them was Vos, stripped of it's glory, turning into a manufactory center like so many other places.
Megatron was spreading them too thin. Not that it was Thundercracker's place to point that out. But Starscream wasn't doing it either. He was going along with whatever ridiculous scheme Megatron kept concocting.
And true, it had won them the war. They'd beaten the Autobots. They'd retaken Cybertron. They'd gotten what they wanted.
Kind of.
“So I don't know what Starscream's planning, but I'm guessing... we're going to have to figure out what part we have to play in it,” Skywarp continued. He popped his thrusters, circling around Thundercracker. “And soon. My spark tells me that much.”
His spark. Warp always did have a knack for intuition.
“I don't want to go back to war,” Thundercracker murmured. He didn't personally care what happened to the Autobots but... he wasn't interested in dominating the universe either.
Skywarp nodded. “One last time?”
“One last time,” Thundercracker agreed and he reverted to alt-mode. “Now let's finish this patrol before Stars gets to shouting.”
0o0o0
“Is it done?”
“Arrangements made.”
Starscream's lips curved upright. “Good.”
He stared out through the window at the shoddy beginnings of Megatron's empire. Soon to be Starscream's own. He caught Soundwave's reflection as the communications officer stepped up beside him, though still managing to cling to the shadows. Buzzsaw perched on his shoulder.
Starscream was sure other cassettes were lurking about.
“Any trouble with them?”
“Starscream disliked.”
He barked a laugh. “That's nothing new.” He examined his fingers, how they polished and gleamed. “But it's amazing what we're willing to do to get what we want.” He caught Soundwave's gaze in the window. “Even work with mechs we hate.”
Soundwave made a noncommittal noise. “Autobots contacted also.”
“And?”
“Agreement made.”
“I knew he'd listen to reason. Probably would have listened a lot sooner if he hadn't let that fool Prime convince him to be temperate.” Starscream had often wondered how Optimus kept those Special Ops members of his leashed so well.
The Autobots might have actually won a bit sooner if they'd been willing to get their hands dirty. What point was holding on to morals if there was no one left alive to keep them? What did it gain?
Weakness. Starscream sniffed. Weakness had lost them the war.
“Perhaps.” Soundwave inclined his helm. “Communication intercepted.”
Starscream's wings flicked. He turned to face Soundwave. “From who?”
“Autobots.”
Not anyone on Cybertron, Starscream imagined. Soundwave had the communication grid locked. These would have come from elsewhere. Off world. Not Earth. Those predacon fools wouldn't have been able to construct something with that capability. But... there were other Autobots out in the universe.
Perhaps they were finally returning home.
“Who leads them?”
“Ultra Magnus.”
“The Wreckers. Hm.” Starscream turned back toward the window, considering.
On their own, the Wreckers could get away with quite a bit of damage before Megatron put them down. The Decepticons outnumbered them in every way. They were hardly a threat. Not that Starscream cared about what threatened Megatron's empire. But they could be useful. Only... Ultra Magnus was not like Jazz. He was as adamantly Autobot as Optimus Prime.
Or, well, Optimus at any rate. There would never be another Prime. Megatron had seen to that. Starscream had been surprised the rusty fool was smart enough to do so. Starscream had no interest in seeing another Prime.
“How far out?”
“Close enough.”
Starscream rapped his fingers on the window ledge. In the distance, three Seekers rose into the night. The Coneheads, he surmised. They were due to search the Sea of Rust for Autobot survivors. He wondered if they'd left their pet behind.
“Then I suppose it's time we received a second distress signal from Earth,” Starscream mused aloud.
“Understood.”
Soundwave turned on a heel, as succinct in their discussion as everything else. Starscream watched him go, excitement building within his spark. It was going to happen sooner or later.
All of this time watching and waiting and bowing and scraping. It would soon be worth it. He would see Megatron a smoldering husk and Cybertron in his grasp. And any Decepticon who didn't approve wouldn't have to live here.
Soon.
Starscream shivered.
He couldn't wait.
****
a/n: Feedback, as always, is welcome and appreciated. We are approaching critical mass. :)
This entry was originally posted at http://dracoqueen22.dreamwidth.org/312273.html. Feel free to comment wherever you find most convenient.
Characters this chapter: Megatron/Optimus, Onslaught, Soundwave, his Cassettes, Vortex, Bumblebee, Thundercracker, Skywarp, Starscream
Rating: NC-17
Warnings this chapter: forced bondage, spreader bar, sex toys, valve service
Commission fic for NK
Mood Music: "Ticking Bomb," Aloe Blacc
Oubliette
Chapter Twelve
Megatron worked for the rest of the shift with Optimus sitting at his pedes, leaning against the base of the throne. Decepticons came by to stare, but none dared touch him and Megatron didn't demand anything further of Optimus. He managed a light doze in snatches, though he startled awake with every laugh or rumble of irritation.
Only once did he stir, to listen when the Decepticons on Earth reported in, but they had nothing of interest to say. Nothing except that they hadn't caught whoever had caused problems.
There was a tiny flicker of hope within Optimus. First Aid was alive. Were his brothers as well? Swoop, too. Had other Dinobots survived? Were they now giving the Decepticons stationed on Earth merry hell? Good for them.
It didn't make Megatron any happier.
He threatened everyone. If Barricade's team didn't produce results, they would lose their reward just as the Stunticons had.
Optimus tried to listen, to see who had been given to Barricade's team, but no names were ever mentioned. He almost didn't want to know. He had experienced Barricade's special brand of hospitality. He dreaded to think what an Autobot would suffer within Barricade's grasp on a daily basis.
But once Megatron was done proving his dominance and issuing threats, he apparently decided he'd done enough work for the day. He rose to his pedes, left a newly arrived Cyclonus in charge, and strode from his command center with his pet at his heels.
Optimus trotted along after him and tried not to limp too obviously. What other choice did he have? He tried not to think about the sour taste lingering on his glossa. Or the stain on the floor of the command center. Or the pervasive odor of a snuffed spark.
They returned to Megatron's quarters and already, Optimus' internals swirled with anxiety. What new and terrible torture had Megatron devised now?
“You look troubled, Optimus,” Megatron commented as he pulled Optimus toward the berthroom, a place that held no good memories. Then again, there wasn't a single room in this penthouse that Optimus felt safe visiting.
“It should not be difficult to discern why,” Optimus muttered. His spark pulsed faster. His fingers were shaking. “Your imagination is only outstripped by your cruelty.”
Megatron chuckled. “How right you are.” He turned toward Optimus and dropped the lead to his collar. “Bend over the table.”
It was a test, Optimus knew. Especially given the opportunity Megatron gave. Obey, cooperate, and earn a concession.
Optimus' optics slid to said table. It looked strong enough to support his weight. It was even of an appropriate height that obeying wouldn't put too much strain on his frame. Optimus moved to do so and felt more than a little vulnerable with his aft and back on display.
“Arms behind your back,” Megatron said as he circled around Optimus. There was a gleam to his optics that bode well for no one. “Spread your legs. Open your panels.”
Optimus gritted his denta and grasped his wrists at the base of his backstrut. His panels slid aside, cooler air whisking over his exposed components. His valve twitched, already accustomed to what came next despite how little time Optimus had actually spent in Megatron's custody.
Was it really only two weeks?
“Obedience,” Megatron purred. “I approve, Optimus.”
A hand caressed his aft. Fingers traced the rim of his valve and flirted over his anterior node. Optimus offlined his optics, told himself that he could obey this once, see what it granted him, and if indeed there was nothing afterward, he could rebel.
But if there was the slimmest chance... he would take it.
Fingers tapped his hips. “Further,” Megatron ordered.
Optimus ex-vented and inched his pedes further apart. This left him awkwardly unbalanced, his pelvic array grinding against the edge of the desk as he tried to tilt his weight forward to remain on the desk.
“Better,” Megatron said.
The hands vanished from his aft. Optimus heard Megatron move away and he turned his helm, trying to locate the warlord. Megatron was pulling a box from under the berth and rummaging through it. He emerged with a pair of stasis cuffs, no surprise there, a long bar, and an interfacing toy.
“Optics forward,” Megatron said as he returned.
Reluctantly, Optimus swung his gaze back toward the wall. Was it better or worse that he couldn't see what Megatron was doing? He braced himself for anything.
The cuffs went around his wrist, but he expected that much. The bar was placed between his spread legs and shackled to his ankles, preventing him from drawing his legs together. Then there was a touch on the rim of his valve.
Optimus jerked. A heavy hand rested on his aft, pinning his hips down to the table.
“Don't move,” Megatron said.
Optimus gritted his denta, his hands pulling into fists. He tried to quiet his ventilations as fingers felt all around his valve, one pushing inside as though testing the limits of his lubrication. He heard the pop of a cap and then felt slick fingers enter his valve, spreading around a gooey lubrication.
He wasn't so gone as to think it consideration.
“Almost done,” Megatron said. “Just one last ornament.”
Megatron's fingers left his valve and were swiftly replaced with something hard, ridged, and cold. A false spike, Optimus assumed. He sucked in a sharp vent as Megatron worked the spike deeper and deeper, until the blunt head of it lodged against Optimus' ceiling node. His calipers restlessly clacked around it, trying to connect to sensor nodes that weren't present.
“Close your panel.”
Optimus bit back a groan and did as commanded, cycling his panel closed. The massive spike sat within his valve like a dead weight, far from comfortable. It was cold and unfeeling as well, nothing like a spike.
Megatron stroked his aft. “Obedience looks good on you, Optimus,” His thumb brushed over Optimus' panel, pressing in on it as though trying to feel the toy behind it. “Now. Stay here. Stay still. And do your best not to overload.”
“I doubt it'll be a challenge,” Optimus gritted out.
Megatron chuckled. “We'll see.”
He smacked Optimus' aft and Optimus startled, the shift of his frame jostling the spike within him. His valve fluttered.
He heard Megatron shift and his field distanced itself. Megatron's heavy pedesteps indicated he was walking away and Optimus turned his helm, discreetly watching. What did Megatron intend to get now?
Nothing apparently, because there he was, heading for the washracks. He went into them without a backward glance, leaving Optimus out here like this, on display for no one to see. Waiting for his master to return. He heard the washracks click on and the patter of solvent, as if to further prove he'd been left.
Optimus' engine growled and he sighed, trying his best to relax on top of the table. Solitude was rare enough that he ought to enjoy it while he could.
That was when the toy in his valve started to vibrate.
Optimus grunted. His hips shifted restlessly as the low-grade vibrations traveled all throughout his array. They teased at his spike, struggling to share space with the massive toy in his valve. His array warmed, producing lubricant.
It felt good. Pleasant. Just strong enough to produce sensation, but not so strong he felt overwhelmed. So this was Megatron's game. That bastard.
Optimus groaned and pressed his forehelm to the table. Warmth pooled in his array, blossoming outward. His valve clenched down on the spike, little prickles of static igniting where the soft vibrations teased at his sensors. His hips moved, rocking against the table, shifting the spike within him.
He forced himself to be still. He clenched his hands into fists and tried to regulate his ventilations. He turned his focus inward, hoping to ignore the pleasant sensation in his array.
“Don't overload,” Megatron had commanded.
And if he did? What were the consequences? Optimus didn't want to know. There was little Megatron could do to him physically. But that didn't mean he couldn't hurt Optimus. There were some things worse than pain.
Optimus' ventilations quickened. His ex-vents left damp trails on the table. His panel pinged at him to open and he had to deny it. Lubricant gathered in his valve, filling up all the empty space around the false spike. That only made it worse, made it easier for the vibrations to carry through his array.
It clicked into a higher setting.
Optimus swallowed down what could only be called a squeak. His pedes shifted on the floor, but there was no give to the rod. He couldn't draw his legs together. His hips rocked against the edge of the table, try as he might to hold himself still.
The vibrations were heavier. He could hear them through his frame, where they shook his entire pelvic assembly and rumbled on the table. The low drone filled his audials. His anterior node throbbed.
His panel pinged for release again. Optimus denied it. Heat crept upward, suffusing his entire frame. His knees wobbled. The scrape-scrape of his hips against the table edge became rhythmic. He gripped his own wrists all the harder, hearing his armor protest.
Optimus ground his denta, the skreel of metal on metal a brief distraction.
In the distance, he heard the washracks shut off, the fall of solvent quieting. There was, distantly, the shuffle of pedes.
The vibrator clicked to a third setting and Optimus outright moaned. His entire frame shook as charge shot through his array. He rocked against the table, his ventilations rapid and shallow. Lubricant pushed at his closed panel, seeping into the seams.
The door to the washracks opened. Optimus turned his helm, staring in Megatron's direction, finding it difficult to focus.
“I'm proud of you, Optimus,” Megatron said as he approached, smelling of cleanser and fresh wax. “You didn't overload.” His hand rested on Optimus' aft and stroked his plating.
“So glad I could gain your approval,” Optimus gritted out and his engine raced. “Get this thing out of me.”
“All in due time.” Megatron chuckled and his fingers traced the seam of Optimus' valve. “You're hot and you're leaking. Are you enjoying my gift?”
Optimus stared at the wall, unwilling to look at Megatron's face further. He refused to answer.
Megatron smacked his aft, jostling the spike again, and Optimus cried out. He shook so hard he could hear some armor plates clattering.
“Answer the question, Optimus.”
He cycled a ventilation. “I have no choice but to enjoy it, Megatron.”
“Hmm. Not quite what I was looking for, but I'll take it. Open your panel.”
It was with no small amount of relief that Optimus did so, despite the trickle of lubricant that immediately emerged and trickled down his thighs. He wasn't even embarrassed about it. Megatron made another noise of approval, his finger swiping up Optimus' inner thigh panel and gathering up a dribble of the lubricant.
“I'd say you were enjoying it immensely,” he observed and Optimus felt the end of the toy shift. It wriggled about within his valve, slid a little deeper, and then slid out, dragging along his sensors.
Optimus shuddered. His hips danced in place. Overload was tantalizingly close. The heat within his array was suffocating. His valve tingled, sensors throbbing with need.
The toy was gone, set to the table beside his hip, Optimus' valve clenching on nothing. A frustrated noise escaped him before he could stop it.
Megatron's hands rested on his hips and Optimus felt the warlord settle between his thighs. The head of his spike poked at Optimus' rim and then dragged along the circumference of it.
“Do you want to overload?”
“Need to,” Optimus gritted out.
Megatron hummed his approval and the very tip of his spike nudged into Optimus' opening. His valve immediately clamped down, trapping the ridged head of it. He felt Megatron's spike throbbing against his sensors. His hips rocked, desperate for more, until Megatron's hands held him in place, pinned him down to the table. More lubricant leaked down his thighs.
“Beg me for it,” Megatron said.
Optimus huffed a sharp ventilation. He refused.
“This is not cooperating, Optimus.” Megatron's spike inched forward, taunting him.
Optimus gasped. “You--” Another smack rang across his aft.
“Beg.”
He pressed his forehelm to the table and shuttered his optics. “Please,” Optimus said and he didn't know it was possible to taste a glyph until now. It was bitter.
“Please what?” The spike pushed deeper, another precious inch, gliding smoothly over his sensors and lighting them. Hungry calipers cycled down.
Optimus shivered. “Please let me overload.”
Megatron slid into him all at once, bottoming out. “As you wish,” he purred and gripped Optimus' hips.
He thrust in and out of Optimus, a fast rhythm that trapped him between Megatron's bulk and the table. Optimus gasped, hearing his chestplate and windshield scrape on the metal, but most of his focus went to his valve. It burned with need, clamped down hungrily on Megatron's spike, and eagerly rushed toward overload.
It didn't take much. Especially not when Megatron planted one hand on his lower backstrut, pinning him down, and the other crept underneath Optimus' frame. The moment his fingers touched Optimus' throbbing nub, Optimus shouted his overload, convulsing beneath Megatron. The warlord's fingers mercilessly rubbed his node, through all the ripples of his release. He shoved his spike through Optimus' clenching rings, ex-venting a burst of heat.
Optimus sagged, gasping for cooler air. There was little to be found as Megatron draped over him, his mass settling on Optimus' frame as his hips pistoned into Optimus' valve. He slammed against the back of Optimus' thighs, mindlessly chasing his own overload. Both of Megatron's hands returned to his hips, grip strong enough to dent, and Megatron roared his overload not too soon afterward.
Optimus felt the spill within him, searing hot, mingling with the copious lubricant his own valve had produced.
He grimaced and waited for Megatron to finish. His valve remained sensitive and twitched as Megatron settled atop him, his spike lingering. Megatron nuzzled the back of his helm.
“You're welcome,” Megatron purred, nibbling at Optimus' neck cabling.
Optimus shuddered. “I didn't say thank you.”
“I know. We'll get to that.”
Megatron pushed himself off Optimus, but he didn't immediately withdraw. Optimus heard him fumble around on the table before he abruptly removed himself from Optimus' valve. He had a moment to be relieved, his valve twitching at the sudden rush of cool air, before the false spike returned, sliding up into his valve and trapping the fluids within.
“Close your panel,” Megatron ordered.
Optimus groaned and obeyed. The false spike was no longer vibrating, but the pressure of it was uncomfortable. All Optimus wanted was to clean himself out. Megatron's spill seemed to sear his internals.
“Good pet.”
Megatron patted his aft and then the shackles were removed from his ankles. There was a clatter as the rod was thrown to the side.
“Cooperation,” Optimus said, his tone dull as he listened to Megatron shuffle around behind him. “What did it earn me?”
Megatron grabbed hold of his wrists and yanked him to his pedes. Optimus hissed air through his vents as his shoulder protested. He struggled to stay upright on wobbling legs. The spike shifted within him, the new angle pressing hard against previously untouched sensors.
Megatron spun him around so that they faced each other and crowded Optimus against the table, a hand to either side of him. He nudged a knee between Optimus' thighs and looked down at him.
“Earn?” he repeated and his lips quirked in a smile. “Ah, I did promise you that, didn't I?”
Optimus turned his helm away. “Never mind. You were only mocking me.”
“I was not.” Megatron nibbled along the curve of his jaw. “I keep my word. What would you ask of me, Optimus?”
Optimus shuttered his optics. There was the obvious. He knew what he should ask for: the freedom of his Autobots. He also knew that Megatron would only laugh at him. One instance of cooperation versus a lifetime of leverage? No, Megatron would not free his Autobot slaves. Optimus doubted he could convince Megatron to release even one of them. At least, not yet.
Megatron rocked against his panel, denta and glossa moving to his audial. “Unless you've changed your mind...?”
“My spark!” Optimus blurted, part of him terrified that he would lose this chance.
“Your spark?” Megatron pulled back, one hand grabbing Optimus' jaw and forcing his face back toward Megatron's.
He kept his gaze averted. “Don't touch my spark again,” Optimus clarified, aware that he was revealing a weakness but frag it. He could take whatever Megatron did to his frame, but the spark assault had been the worst.
He didn't know if he could survive another. Or if he did, whether he'd still be Optimus by the end of it.
Megatron chuckled. “I see. How selfish of you, Optimus. Here I was ready to allow one of your precious soldiers freedom.”
Optimus clenched his jaw. “I don't believe that for a second.”
“Of course you don't.” Megatron made a thoughtful noise. “However, that is a concession I'm given to allow. I'm not fond of spark sharing as it is. I'd much rather have your frame. And your cooperation.”
“Then you have it.” He lifted his gaze, locking optics with Megatron. “So long as you never touch my spark again.”
Megatron's thumb stroked his jaw. “If only you had been so agreeable earlier on, I might have not been forced to destroy your Autobots.”
“You would never have been satisfied with my surrender.”
“You may have a point.” Megatron grinned again and tilted Optimus' helm up, nipping at Optimus' intake. “Can't say I'm disappointed by my results either.”
Optimus swallowed. “Why would you be? You won.”
“Yes, I did. In every way that mattered.” Megatron drew back. His hand fell from Optimus' jaw to his chestplate. He flattened his palm across the seam. “What was yours is now mine. It's only a matter of time before I claim the rest of the universe.”
“Delusions of grandeur,” Optimus noted.
Megatron laughed and stepped back, giving him some breathing room. “That's what they said when I crawled out of the pit and gathered my army. Delusions of grandeur. And here I am, victorious.”
“For a certain definition of the word, yes.”
“By every definition,” Megatron corrected. He crossed the room and sprawled into his chair, lounging upon it as he did his throne. He crooked a finger at Optimus. “Come here.”
He obeyed, though every step was awkward given the massive spike lodged in his valve. It shifted with him, reawakening his once sated array.
Megatron spread his thighs, revealing his panel. Lubricant was visible in the seams, getting tackier with every passing moment.
“Haven't you had enough?” Optimus asked.
“Of you? Never.” Megatron pointed a finger to the ground. “Kneel.”
Optimus sighed through his vents as he dropped down, motions as awkward as walking. There was the click of a panel opening, though when he looked, it was not Megatron's spike that emerged, but the engorged pleats of his valve coming into view. It was dark gray and black, Megatron's anterior node the same crimson as his optics. The gleam of lubricant was barely visible within the depths.
“You have such a talented glossa,” Megatron purred, shifting to get comfortable. He balanced one elbow on the chair's arm and propped his chin upon his knuckles. “I'd hate to see it go to waste.”
Cooperation.
Optimus braced himself and leaned into the task. Megatron was already leaking lubricant, and his frontal nub was swollen. Optimus extended his glossa, first touching that pulsing node. Megatron's sharp intake assured him that Megatron approved.
Optimus pressed closer, his glossa laving a long strip from one end of Megatron's rim to the other. The taste of lubricant was thick on his glossa, bittersweet, and he had to force himself to swallow. Was it better or worse than Megatron's transfluid? How could Optimus even begin to quantify that kind of violation?
He mouthed at the rim of Megatron's valve, mapping out the sensor pattern. The faster he got Megatron off, perhaps the faster he could go into recharge. Perhaps the faster Megatron would remove the shackles as well.
Optimus sealed his mouth over Megatron's valve and dipped his glossa past the folds, curling it just so to lap at the sensor behind his anterior nub. Megatron moaned, his hand landing on Optimus' helm. His hips rocked toward Optimus' mouth, grinding his array against Optimus' face.
More lubricant slopped into his mouth. He swallowed lest he choke on it. His glossa went back to work, licking at Megatron's valve and teasing every sensor he found. He returned, time and time again, to Megatron's external nub. Gentle nibbles with his denta made Megatron squirm and his hold tighten. Sucking prompted Megatron's engine to growl.
Megatron's legs tightened around Optimus' shoulders, keeping him pinned. His hand urged Optimus closer, all but smashing Optimus' face against his valve rim. The slick noises of his own glossa echoed in Optimus' audials.
A moan burbled up from Megatron's vocalizer. His legs shifted and Optimus felt his pedes press against Optimus' back, right above his bound wrists. They urged Optimus closer, his hips rutting up against Optimus' face.
“This,” Megatron growled out, his field swamping Optimus' with need and lust, “Is where you belong. In service to me.”
He didn't bother to argue otherwise.
Optimus licked and sucked and nibbled, forcing his glossa as deep into Megatron's valve as he could. Feeling the flutter of the walls against his appendage. Megatron's fingers tightened on his helm. He heard the slap of metal on metal, assumed Megatron's other hand was grasping the arm of his chair.
Megatron's thighs quivered. His nub pulsed and Optimus returned to it. He circled the tip of his tongue around the sensitive node and then suckled it.
Megatron bucked up against him, overloading with a shout. He pushed Optimus' face to his array and ground down, hips moving in tiny circles. Optimus hurriedly redirected his intake vents before they were flooded by lubricant. He felt it slithering down into his tanks, not a trace of energy to be found in it.
Even as the tremors faded, Megatron kept Optimus pressed to his array. He gently lapped at Megatron's valve, easing him through the aftershocks.
Finally, Megatron sagged back into his chair. His hand shifted from pulling on Optimus' helm, to resting around it. His legs unfolded, releasing Optimus' frame, and he uncurled. He sat back in his chair, vents spinning on max.
“Well done,” Megatron praised. His hand petted Optimus' helm, pausing briefly to finger his antennae, before stroking the curve of it. “Now clean up the mess you made.”
Optimus scowled where Megatron could not see him. As if Megatron's pleasure was his fault.
“Would not a mesh cloth be faster?” he asked in between tiny licks. He skirted Megatron's sensitive valve, aiming first for the splatters of lubricant on Megatron's inner thigh.
“But not quite so entertaining.” Megatron purred.
Optimus sighed and continued his task, licking Megatron clean as fast as he could. His shoulders were starting to go numb and he could barely feel his fingers. Not to mention that his energon levels were gradually decreasing.
When he finished, he bowed his helm and focused on ventilating. All he could taste was Megatron's lubricants. He waited for the click of Megatron's panels closing to confirm that Megatron accepted he was done.
“You really are being obedient,” Megatron said with a pat to his helm. “Keep this up and I'll free an Autobot after all.”
“I'll settle for you taking off the cuffs right now,” Optimus muttered.
Megatron laughed. “I'm sure you would. Come on. Get up and turn around.”
He didn't offer Optimus any assistance, seeming content to watch as Optimus struggled to stand, his limbs unsteady beneath him. He gave his back to Megatron and sighed in relief as the cuffs were undone, allowing his arms to swing free. Tension eased from his frame.
Megatron patted his aft. “Good pet.”
Optimus wondered if he would ever stop flinching when he heard that.
-INTERLUDE-
The flattened ruins of Praxus were hardly an appropriate place to meet considering Onslaught's Autobot, or maybe his cryptic messenger had chosen Praxus for precisely that reason. Onslaught did not know.
What he did know was that he did not like being blackmailed and coerced into clandestine meetings with mysterious hackers. Especially since even the hint of treachery toward Megatron was making pain spike along his neural net and set a tremble into his knees. Onslaught was not a fan of discomfort. He was especially not a fan of the discomfort caused by Megatron's coding.
He'd also been told to come alone. But what the hacker didn't know, wouldn't betray him. Vortex was more than skilled at keeping himself hidden.
This would have been a good opportunity for his Autobot sniper, had the mysterious mech not chosen Praxus. Onslaught was not so cruel as to drag Bluestreak here. The Autobot suffered enough as it was and Onslaught still struggled to get him to understand that the Combaticons were not interested in harming him or turning him into a slave.
He was expected to learn useful skills. They expected him to continue training so as to be able to contribute to their team. But he had his own room, small as it was, a ration of energon equal to theirs, and no one touched him without his permission. He was kept clean and well-maintained and when Onslaught could, he brought the sniper news of his Autobot friends.
Bluestreak was probably the luckiest of them all, though that was not saying much. He was still a prisoner, trapped in a cage.
Just like the Combaticons.
Onslaught scanned the horizon again, his sensors set to their maximum. Even so, he somehow missed the arrival of his contact. Or perhaps he'd been here all along.
“What do you want?” Onslaught demanded.
He turned to face the hacker, internally berating himself. The signs had been obvious. He should have guessed. Perhaps he had been blinded by a perceived loyalty.
“Assistance offered,” Soundwave said. Other than Buzzsaw perched on his shoulder, opposite the sonic cannon, he appeared alone.
Onslaught was not fooled. Just because he couldn't see the Cassettes didn't mean they weren't around.
“And assistance needed.”
Onslaught's visor darkened. A low growl built in his chassis. “You'll have to clarify, Soundwave. I'm not the telepath here.”
Soundwave lifted a hand and tapped his spark and then his helm. “Freedom,” he intoned. “Offered.”
Onslaught grit his denta as his spark surged with eagerness and the coding slithered through him, all too quick to stomp it down.
“How?” he forced out.
Soundwave moved closer and Onslaught's battle protocols sprang to readiness, driven by the pain clawing at his internals. He tensed. But Soundwave did not attack him. On his shoulder, Buzzsaw ruffled his metallic feathers but remained still.
Soundwave tapped his helm again. “Method known. Shared.” He paused, tilted his helm, his visor burning brighter. “If allegiance accepted.”
“Shrewd.” Onslaught folded his arms and locked his joints, if only to not betray the sudden weakness in his limbs. His intakes rasped but he would endure this pain. “How do I know I can trust you?”
Soundwave's hand lowered to his side. “Freedom desired.”
“Of course it is. That's what I've been saying all along.” Onslaught snorted and half-turned, only to pause as realization crept in on the edges. He whipped back toward Soundwave. “You're his most loyal follower. Why would he do that?”
Soundwave shook his helm, dismissing the question. “Warning extended.”
“About what?”
“Starscream also involved.”
Onslaught's engine revved with distaste. Had he a mouth, he would have sneered. “Then I want no part of it. He's little better than the monster we serve.” He stalked away from Soundwave, internals threatening to overheat. He needed to get away from this talk before the coding shut him down.
“Query: prefer Megatron?”
“Of course not!”
“Starscream's success inevitable.”
Onslaught stilled again. Soundwave's offer was tempting. Too tempting for him to ignore.
“Fine,” he spat out. “I'll think about it.” And consult his teammates. Onslaught was commander but like it or not, he'd need all of their agreement to make this kind of decision. They all wanted their freedom, but they had to valuate risks.
There was always a cost.
“Understood.”
He heard Soundwave take off this time, perhaps the communications officer was making it a point to be less sneaky. Onslaught didn't know.
In the distance, Vortex melted out of the shadows, shaking out his rotors to free them from the tight fold he'd used.
“Later,” Onslaught said as he joined Vortex on the ridge, his interrogator's expression unreadable. “We'll discuss this later.”
0o0o0
He tried not to fidget. He knew he'd failed when he felt Frenzy laugh at him across their bond. Laserbeak, in contrast, sent soothing waves. Buzzsaw, busy with the boss, had nothing to offer.
“Shut up,” Rumble mumbled as he crossed and uncrossed his arms. “You're not helping.” He returned Laserbeak's comfort however. She, at least, understood.
Ravage transmitted a ping, letting Rumble know she was in position. If Bumblebee tried anything, Ravage would react. Rumble didn't think he would, however. It would gain Bumblebee and the scattered Autobots nothing. Whereas this meeting might gain them everything.
“Boo.”
Rumble jumped and whirled, dropping into a crouch as his defensive protocols leapt into action. He glared into the darkness, where the grubby frame of Bumblebee slid into view, as quiet as a whisper.
“Scared you,” Bumblebee said, something wicked in his tone.
“Did not,” Rumble retorted, rising back to his full height. He pretended to brush grit from his plating, hoping it was nonchalant. “I could have shot you.”
“But you didn't.” Bumblebee stayed a fair distance away, his frame battle-ready, but the dimness to his optics betraying his undercharge. “You knew I was coming.”
“Yeah, and apparently, I taught ya too well.”
Bumblebee tilted his helm. “Sure you did.” He grinned and winked. “You can tell Ravage to come out. I'm not interested in killing either of you. Right now anyway.”
“You got backup?”
“Of course.”
“Then Rav is staying right where she is.”
Bumblebee shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He leaned back against the rocks, but Rumble didn't miss the way his knees wobbled.
Rumble sighed and dared get closer to Bumblebee. He pulled a cube from subspace and held it out. “Here.”
“Charity?” Bumblebee arched a brow. “Do you feel sorry for me, Rumble?”
He scowled. “Just take it.”
Bumblebee straightened and accepted the cube, giving it a testing sniff. “Just like old times,” he murmured and sipped at the energon, his engine revving softly with approval. His free hand waved. “What does Soundwave want?”
Rumble dropped back and perched on another ridge of stone. “You know he's not pulling the strings.”
“He never does. Soundwave is many things, but a leader isn't one of them.” Bumblebee shifted his weight and got comfortable, though his grip on the energon was noticeably tight. “How'd Starscream convince him?”
“How'd you know it was Starscream?”
“Isn't it always?”
Rumble smirked. “Point. And you'll have to ask the boss that. Whatever Screamer said, he ain't sharin'. What did your boss say?”
“He knows.” Bumblebee's tone quieted, his optics briefly meeting Rumble's. “And he trusts me.”
Rumble snorted. “Autobots.”
“Yeah.” Bumblebee lowered himself, crouching back against the rock. “What's the deal, Rumble? What's Starscream offering?”
“Freedom.” Rumble looked up at Bumblebee, his optics drinking in the sight now that there weren't blasters and battle and everything else between them. He wished they'd never had that fight. So many things would be different if Rumble hadn't stormed out in a fit of pique.
“A truce. He wants to share Cyberton. He knows we're gettin' pretty close to the point of no return. We keep goin' like this and it's the end for everyone. Plus, he don't care about takin' over the universe.”
“All he's ever wanted is Cybertron.”
“Kinda.” Rumble rolled his shoulders in a shrug. “So. Work with us, get rid of Megatron, and you can do whatever you want after.”
“That simple?”
“Don't want to make it more complicated.”
Bumblebee finished off the energon and tossed the empty cube back to Rumble. “Good.” He paused and looked at Rumble. “Boss said it's up to me. That I can decide whether to take this offer or walk away. So tell me, Rumble. Can I trust you?”
Not Starscream. Not Soundwave.
Rumble pushed to his pedes and moved closer to Bumblebee, close enough to touch, that the yellow mech could read the intent in his field. There was an ache there, a longing for something he'd let slip away eons ago and couldn't bear to do so again.
In the back of his mind, the rest of his siblings had gone silent. Like Jazz had for Bumblebee, they left this decision to Rumble.
Rumble crouched and looked up at Bumblebee, giving the Autobot the position of power. “Yes.”
He waited, on bolts and brackets, for Bumblebee's reply. There was a lot of history between them. He wouldn't be surprised if Bumblebee stood up and walked away.
But he didn't. Instead, he bowed his helm and murmured, “Primus forgive me,” before he met Rumble's visor.
“Fine,” he said. “We're with you.”
And something tight and noxious within Rumble eased.
0o0o0
“Starscream's planning something.”
Thundercracker snorted and tilted his wing, banking to the right. “Isn't he always?”
Skywarp flitted in front of him, a dark and purple blur that cut against the brightness of the sun that had briefly snagged Cybertron. “This is different.”
“And?”
“Just wondering.”
Thundercracker's path took him over and around Skywarp, a lazy dance between them that was almost fun. There wasn't much fun anymore. Not since Earth. Not since Starscream stopped sneering and started bowing to Megatron.
Not that he ever explained why. He'd been more close-mouthed than usual, keeping everything close to the spark. Granted, their trine had never been the friendliest. Starscream was a hard mech to like. But still...
“You don't just wonder,” Thundercracker said flatly.
Skywarp chuckled. “True.”
Then there was silence. Thundercracker luxuriated in it, enjoying the flush of heat against his wings, the emptiness of the sky. Below him, a ravaged Cybertron stripped by. Going this fast, one almost couldn't see the damage.
“He wouldn't let us keep that Autobot,” Skywarp said, and there wasn't so much anger in his tone, but wistfulness. “And I swear I thought I heard him talking to Soundwave the other shift.”
Thundercracker startled, stalling mid-flight. He reverted to root-mode and watched as Skywarp looped around, only to revert to root-mode as well. They hovered in mid-air, and Skywarp's face was inscrutable.
“What about?”
“Dunno.” Skywarp shrugged, but it was far from casual. There was a shrewd look to his optics, one he always got when he managed to focus his multi-tiered thinking onto a single task. “But I like this,” he finally said. “Flying and not fighting. I didn't think I would, but I do. It's nice.”
Thundercracker tilted his helm. “What are you getting at, Warp?”
“Just that, well, if Megatron has his way, we won't have this for much longer, you know?” Skywarp's gaze wandered away. Beneath them was Vos, stripped of it's glory, turning into a manufactory center like so many other places.
Megatron was spreading them too thin. Not that it was Thundercracker's place to point that out. But Starscream wasn't doing it either. He was going along with whatever ridiculous scheme Megatron kept concocting.
And true, it had won them the war. They'd beaten the Autobots. They'd retaken Cybertron. They'd gotten what they wanted.
Kind of.
“So I don't know what Starscream's planning, but I'm guessing... we're going to have to figure out what part we have to play in it,” Skywarp continued. He popped his thrusters, circling around Thundercracker. “And soon. My spark tells me that much.”
His spark. Warp always did have a knack for intuition.
“I don't want to go back to war,” Thundercracker murmured. He didn't personally care what happened to the Autobots but... he wasn't interested in dominating the universe either.
Skywarp nodded. “One last time?”
“One last time,” Thundercracker agreed and he reverted to alt-mode. “Now let's finish this patrol before Stars gets to shouting.”
0o0o0
“Is it done?”
“Arrangements made.”
Starscream's lips curved upright. “Good.”
He stared out through the window at the shoddy beginnings of Megatron's empire. Soon to be Starscream's own. He caught Soundwave's reflection as the communications officer stepped up beside him, though still managing to cling to the shadows. Buzzsaw perched on his shoulder.
Starscream was sure other cassettes were lurking about.
“Any trouble with them?”
“Starscream disliked.”
He barked a laugh. “That's nothing new.” He examined his fingers, how they polished and gleamed. “But it's amazing what we're willing to do to get what we want.” He caught Soundwave's gaze in the window. “Even work with mechs we hate.”
Soundwave made a noncommittal noise. “Autobots contacted also.”
“And?”
“Agreement made.”
“I knew he'd listen to reason. Probably would have listened a lot sooner if he hadn't let that fool Prime convince him to be temperate.” Starscream had often wondered how Optimus kept those Special Ops members of his leashed so well.
The Autobots might have actually won a bit sooner if they'd been willing to get their hands dirty. What point was holding on to morals if there was no one left alive to keep them? What did it gain?
Weakness. Starscream sniffed. Weakness had lost them the war.
“Perhaps.” Soundwave inclined his helm. “Communication intercepted.”
Starscream's wings flicked. He turned to face Soundwave. “From who?”
“Autobots.”
Not anyone on Cybertron, Starscream imagined. Soundwave had the communication grid locked. These would have come from elsewhere. Off world. Not Earth. Those predacon fools wouldn't have been able to construct something with that capability. But... there were other Autobots out in the universe.
Perhaps they were finally returning home.
“Who leads them?”
“Ultra Magnus.”
“The Wreckers. Hm.” Starscream turned back toward the window, considering.
On their own, the Wreckers could get away with quite a bit of damage before Megatron put them down. The Decepticons outnumbered them in every way. They were hardly a threat. Not that Starscream cared about what threatened Megatron's empire. But they could be useful. Only... Ultra Magnus was not like Jazz. He was as adamantly Autobot as Optimus Prime.
Or, well, Optimus at any rate. There would never be another Prime. Megatron had seen to that. Starscream had been surprised the rusty fool was smart enough to do so. Starscream had no interest in seeing another Prime.
“How far out?”
“Close enough.”
Starscream rapped his fingers on the window ledge. In the distance, three Seekers rose into the night. The Coneheads, he surmised. They were due to search the Sea of Rust for Autobot survivors. He wondered if they'd left their pet behind.
“Then I suppose it's time we received a second distress signal from Earth,” Starscream mused aloud.
“Understood.”
Soundwave turned on a heel, as succinct in their discussion as everything else. Starscream watched him go, excitement building within his spark. It was going to happen sooner or later.
All of this time watching and waiting and bowing and scraping. It would soon be worth it. He would see Megatron a smoldering husk and Cybertron in his grasp. And any Decepticon who didn't approve wouldn't have to live here.
Soon.
Starscream shivered.
He couldn't wait.
****
a/n: Feedback, as always, is welcome and appreciated. We are approaching critical mass. :)
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