[AU] Oubliette - Chapter Thirteen
Universe: G1/IDW AU
Characters this chapter: Megatron/Optimus, Bumblebee, Ricochet, Que, Broadblast, Catapult, Soundwave, Frenzy, Rumble, Overlord, Red Alert, flashback Optimus/Jazz
Rating: NC-17
Warnings this chapter: forced self-service, forced exhibition, sex toys, humiliation, angst
Commission fic for NK
Mood Music: "Dear Agony," Breaking Benjamin
Oubliette
Chapter Thirteen
It was easier, Optimus soon learned, when he cooperated. It was still humiliating as the Pit, but Megatron was less inclined to hurt him. Or get creative. He still used Optimus, manipulated his frame as if he owned it, but the pain all but vanished overnight.
Cooperation also granted him more energon. Optimus was allowed to follow at Megatron's pedes with his tanks at forty percent rather than lingering round thirty. He also had yet to see the inside of the entertainment arena again.
Granted, it had only been a week since their deal had been struck. But it was a week of measurable improvement. It was better than nothing. It was a slim hope that as much as he had failed his Autobots, he might still be able to help them.
Besides, what was a little personal humiliation?
Surely his Autobots had suffered worse?
Today found him at Megatron's pedes in the command center. Which was par for the course. He tagged along wherever Megatron went and Megatron's favorite place was in his command center, holding court, king of his domain.
Optimus' lead had been attached to a ring newly welded to Megatron's throne. He didn't need to keep the lead on Optimus anymore, but Megatron liked the sight of it.
It proved ownership, he claimed.
As did the displays.
Optimus didn't know if today's was any worse or better. He sat on the floor, leaning back against Megatron's throne between the warlord's parted legs. His own were spread before him, knees wide, his interface array on full display. Megatron had ordered him to open his panels and keep them open and Optimus had obeyed.
His gaze cast to the side. Shame burned through his lines. More than a few Decepticons had wandered by for a look. Many lingered to stare until Megatron barked at them to move along and get back to work. Those at communications one level below had the best seat in the house. In the background, Optimus could hear Red Alert droning on, each glyph like a stab to the spark.
The vibrator hummed along happily, warming Optimus' array. It quickly became a constant companion. If Megatron was not taking Optimus' valve, then he was required to keep the vibrator within it. Sometimes, it was on. Most times, it was off. Optimus soon learned how to walk with it taking up space in his valve.
At present, Megatron had it on the lowest setting and that was where he seemed content to keep it. Lubricant welled up around it, soaking Optimus' valve and forming a puddle beneath his aft. His performance determined whether he'd have to clean up the mess or Megatron would allow for a serving drone.
“Touch yourself,” Megatron had ordered, and Optimus had lifted his hands on rote.
It was bothersome how he almost couldn't bring himself to do it. How touching his own frame felt as much a violation as Megatron's hands upon him.
He forced himself to do it anyway. He dragged his palms down his chestplate, around the ruins of his windshield. He hoped that cooperation would grant him repairs, a trip to the medbay, a chance to check on Ratchet.
He touched his hips, his abdomen, his thighs. He stroked his neck, the seam of his chestplates. He measured the length of scars and dents, all evidence of Megatron's ownership. There wasn't a spot on him Megatron hadn't touched or left his mark.
Optimus let his engine idle, a soft vibration that Sparkplug had taken for purring. It matched the low-grade vibration of the toy. It was an almost pleasant sensation. One that sent light bubbles of enjoyment through his processor.
He skirted around his array, the happily buzzing vibrator and the tip of his spike, barely poking from the sheath. He avoided his array up until the moment Megatron nudged him with a knee.
“Put on a show, Optimus,” he instructed, sounding bored. Optimus was close enough to read the fascination in his field. “We all want to see you overload.”
Optimus quailed. Bad enough to be forced into pleasure. He didn't want to pull it from his frame with his own two hands. That made the lines blur. It made it harder to remember that this was all nonconsensual. That he'd asked for none of it.
He should have fought harder.
Optimus forced his dominant hand down, one finger circling the head of his spike. The other reached lower, for the vibrator dancing in his valve.
“Leave the toy,” Megatron said. “Spike only.”
Optimus' helm bowed. He dropped his hand away from his valve, letting it fall to the side. He didn't dare hamper the 'view' and focused on his spike with the other hand. He circled the tip with a finger before figuring that he'd have to manually extend it.
His spike emerged, only the barest hint of lubricant slicking it. Optimus wrapped his fingers around the length and brushed his thumb over the head of it. He rubbed gently, trying to imagine he was elsewhere with anyone else. Arousal simmered in his valve, but his spike was being less than cooperative.
Megatron tapped him with a pede again. “Spread your legs wider.”
Optimus inched his knees and pedes apart, until there was nothing left to the imagination, feeling as though he were suddenly the star in a porno-vid. It was easier if he didn't look at anyone, if he stared blankly into the distance. Megatron never seemed to care if he was making optical contact or not.
He kept his grip firm, sliding from root to tip, root to tip. Part of this was putting on a show and he knew that. He tried to imagine he was back on the Ark, perhaps with Jazz in his berth this time. Ironhide liked to watch him self-service but thinking of Ironhide was too painful. Ironhide was gone.
Jazz, at least, was somewhere.
Optimus held his spike between two fingers, dragging them up and down the sensor lines. His intakes hissed a little. His spike further pressurized. A bead of transfluid gathered at the tip. He pinched it between his fingers and spread the fluid over his spike, a small shudder wracking his frame.
Jazz liked to tease. He liked to lay in front of Optimus, spread his legs, and prepare himself while Optimus watched. Jazz would describe in lewd detail every last thing he wanted Optimus to do to him until he was shivering on the brink of overload. Only then would Jazz allow Optimus to take him, plunging into his wet and dripping valve at the exact moment of overload.
The mix of pleasure and pain had been Jazz's preference. Optimus was willing to provide it. Especially since his own need resulted in a hard and fast 'face that would drag several more screaming overloads from his third. Jazz always became a sated heap of Porsche by the time Optimus was done with him, which was a point of pride for Optimus.
Jazz would do this little twist with his wrist, a squeezing twist, that always made him shudder.
Optimus copied it now, felt the motion drag more charge. Pleasure burst in little pinpricks from his little used spike. His valve pulsed more fluid.
It was a start.
There. If he pretended that he wasn't being watched by a dozen Decepticons. That he wasn't sitting at Megatron's pedes self-servicing, this was almost pleasant.
A commotion dragged Optimus' attention to the here and now. He surfaced from his thoughts, helm swinging toward the noise centered around the entrance to the command center. It was... cheering? But not for him. No, he'd lost most of his audience all of the sudden.
“Decepticons!” Megatron bellowed, startling Optimus bad enough that he jumped. “Clear a path.”
Most of his soldiers obeyed, skittering out of the way immediately. Through gaps in the crowd, Optimus could just make sight of a group of mechs, all dirty and various shades of color but with prominent Decepticon brands.
Behind him, Megatron shifted, sitting further upright in his throne. He tapped Optimus' helm.
“Don't stop,” he ordered.
Optimus shuddered but began again, his hand stroking up and down his spike. A tingle was building in the base of his array, but he was still a long way from overload. At least a spike overload anyway.
“Bring him forward,” Megatron demanded as he sat back in his throne, legs bracketing around Optimus as though staking claim.
The group of dirty mechs emerged into view, none of them recognizable to Optimus. But he gasped when they threw their captive to the floor below Megatron's throne. Scuffed and covered in filth, Optimus would still know Bumblebee anywhere. The minibot's armor was dented and scraped. One of his helm horns was cracked. He was chained six ways to Sunday.
Bumblebee struggled to push himself upright, every motion marked with pain. But he managed to halfway kneel, listing with fatigue as he sat back on his pedes. His optics were dim, flickering, his gaze traveling around the command center until they found Optimus. They widened.
Optimus felt shame licking at his backstrut. Here he was, self-servicing for the Decepticons, bared all and sundry.
He turned his optics away. He couldn't bear to look at Bumblebee. Better, instead, to look at his Autobot's captors, a group of Decepticons Optimus had never seen before. Though that wasn't anything unusual. More and more Decepticons were returning to Cybertron.
No Autobots had arrived, however. Optimus didn't know if it was because they knew to stay away. Or if Megatron was simply blowing up their transports the minute they came in range. He suspected it was more the latter.
“Well, well, well,” Megatron said, amusement ripe in his vocals. “What do we have here?”
“Found 'im scrabbling about in the Wastelands,” one of the Decepticons bragged, stepping to the head of the group. His chestplates puffed out, his visor gleamed. He was, obviously, the leader. “Tried ta filch from us. Almost didn't realize he was an Autobot under all the crud.”
Megatron chuckled. “I see. And you are?”
“Th' name's Ricochet.” A black thumb pointed to the mech's chestplate and the pristine Decepticon sigil. “This here's my crew. Que and Broadblast and Catapult. We were out cruisin' the Andulie quadrant when we got the all call.”
Megatron made a thoughtful noise. “Soundwave?”
Motion at the edge of Optimus' peripheral view drew his attention to the aforementioned mech. Up until now, Soundwave had quietly been working at the console to Megatron's right. He had been out of Optimus' direct sight and so he hadn't paid much attention to Soundwave.
“Identification confirmed,” Soundwave droned. “Database supports claims. Former commander: Sky-Byte.”
“Yeah.” Ricochet scratched at his chin and looked up at the ceiling. “He kinda... died? There was this planet. And this thing. And it ate metal and the boss took it as a challenge and he kinda...”
“Lost,” the one called Que supplied with a giggle. Little faux-wings, like a spoiler, twitched on his back. “Such a shame.”
“So we got the all call and came here,” Ricochet continued, spreading his hands. He bobbed up and down on his pedes as though he couldn't contain his energy. “Landed yesterday. Saw this one creeping about.” He shrugged. “So we snatched 'im.”
“We figured he would make a nice present for you, Lord Megatron,” Broadblast said with a deep bow. His vocals were deep, resonating. He was the largest of the four, almost twice the size of the others and five times the size of Catapult.
Megatron made a thoughtful noise in his chassis. His legs pushed harder at Optimus' shoulders. He leaned forward, peering down at the gathered Decepticons and their shivering captive.
“You are allowed to keep what you capture,” Megatron said, gesturing toward Bumblebee. “Were you aware of that?”
The four mechs exchanged glances. Ricochet rubbed the back of his helm. “Someone said somethin' but...” He trailed off and looked hesitant and small wonder.
No one wanted to spit on Lord Megatron's generosity after all.
“We don't want an Autobot,” Catapult piped up. He planted his hands on his hips and looked up at Megatron. “Too much trouble to take care of. Broadblast is a shuttle, you know.”
Broadblast certainly looked large enough to be subspacing some mass. No wonder Ricochet's team had been able to wander around the universe.
“I see.” Megatron's fingers rapped on the arm of his throne. “Well, the Race Track Patrol would be next in line, but considering their failure on Earth--”
“Lord Megatron.”
Optimus blinked as did many of the observing Decepticons. Soundwave had taken another step forward, tilting his helm in a bow to Megatron. That was highly unusual.
“Soundwave,” Megatron acknowledged. “Do you have something to add?”
“Request Autobot.”
Amusement trickled into Megatron's field. “Well, that is a surprise. You've not shown any interest before.”
Optimus, too, was surprised. Given the conversations he'd had with both Frenzy and Soundwave, he'd have thought Soundwave wouldn't want one. The idea of slave Autobots had seemed detestable to him. Had he changed his mind?
Or was his intention to try and protect Bumblebee? It would be a grand gesture on Soundwave's part, to be sure. But it carried risks.
“Autobot would be gift.” Soundwave's field flattened, as though embarrassed. His hand touched his chestplate, knocking against the opaque glass. “For cassettes.”
There was a moment of startled silence before Megatron roared with laughter, slapping the arm of his chair.
“Really.” Amusement was rich in his tone, jostling his frame and in turn, jostling Optimus. “You want to make the Autobot a pet for your cassettes?” Megatron's laugh echoed in the command center. “By all means then. Take him. He's yours.”
Soundwave's bow was low and grateful. “Thank you, Lord Megatron.” He returned upright, pressing a button on his frame. “Frenzy, Rumble, eject.”
His cassettes emerged, transforming to their bipedal modes before they hit the ground. They grinned up at their carrier, twin expressions of amusement.
It occurred to Optimus that they were the same size as Catapult, who was smaller even than the average minibot.
“What's up, boss?” they asked in perfect tandem, reminding Optimus in that moment of Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, who at the oddest times, would prove that they were twins. His spark gave a pang.
Were they even still alive? Or had Shockwave killed them?
“Slave acquired. Bring to quarters.”
“Slave?” Frenzy said. He turned slowly and his visor lit up at the sight of Bumblebee, who had yet to say a word. Perhaps it was because of fatigue.
Or maybe it had something to do with the crumpled plating around his intake. Optimus supposed his Autobots had a habit of spitting insults at their captors. They tended to show up with crushed intakes.
“Oh. Is he for us?” Rumble swaggered up to Bumblebee and circled around him. “Kinda dirty, isn't he?”
“We'll just have to clean him up, bro.” Frenzy joined his twin and they slapped palms, glee rampant in their field. “All for us.”
Optimus' tank churned. Bumblebee's helm bowed, his gaze downcast. A visible shudder raced across his frame.
A low rumble in Soundwave's chassis attracted the attention of his cassettes. They both glanced at him before grabbing Bumblebee, one on each side.
“Time ta go, Bumblebrat,” Rumble said.
It required both Cassettes to lift Bumblebee, who seemed to be having trouble getting his pedes underneath him. It hurt Optimus to see the yellow mech in such a state.
He watched them go, Bumblebee barely putting up a fight. Given his condition, he likely didn't have the wherewithal to do so.
Ricochet coughed a ventilation into his palm. “So....” He tilted his frame to the left and right. “Any way a couple of lost Decepticons can get a berth around here?”
“That can be arranged.” The throne rattled as Megatron sat back, visibly relaxing. His legs became less a cage around Optimus and more a support. “There's plenty of room in the barracks. Ask Soundwave for your future assignments.”
Ricochet tilted his helm. “Much obliged, my lord.” He spun on a heelstrut and gestured to his teammates. “Come on. I don't know 'bout you guys, but I've been dreamin' about a berth for years.”
Optimus watched them go, a frown pulling on his lipplates. There was something familiar about them, as though he should recognize them. But he didn't. They'd stared at him, not that Optimus paid that any attention. All Decepticons tended to stare at their leader's slave.
“Lord Megatron's generosity is appreciated,” Soundwave monotoned. He dipped his helm in another bow and returned to his station.
“Nice to see someone around here is earning their keep,” Megatron muttered, subvocal. Then he tapped on Optimus' helm. “I didn't tell you to stop.”
Optimus hunched his shoulders. He'd forgotten, in the display, about his own. He forced his hand back into action, stroking over his spike and manipulating the building charge. The pool beneath him had gotten no smaller, nor had the sensation in his valve eased.
He leaned back against the throne, only to startle as the vibrator doubled its intensity. Optimus bit back a groan, his hips rocking down against the spike within his valve. It was too strong to ignore, shifting the soft warmth to a buzzing heat.
His spike fully pressurized, borrowing on the pleasure ripe within his valve. Optimus sagged as his spike tingled, charge crackling around the base of it. His hips rocked into his own grasp, the head of his spike seeping transfluid. His cooling fans clicked on.
He shuttered his optics. Megatron's calves pushed against his shoulders. Pedes hooked under his knees, keeping him spread. His hip joints ached. Optimus shuddered.
“Are you going to share him anytime soon, Lord Megatron?” one of the Decepticons asked, the lust in his tone unmistakable.
Optimus didn't even have to look to know it was Overlord. The massive super-soldier had been watching Optimus the longest, as though the one taste he'd gotten wasn't enough. Optimus knew that while being Megatron's possession was terrible, being Overlord's would have been worse.
Megatron chuckled. “I know you envy my pet, Overlord. Perhaps if you'd manage to capture one of your own, you'd have one to keep.”
“I would have taken the yellow one,” Overlord said and there was a deep, throaty engine that revved, rumbling the floor.
Dread struck at Optimus' spark. Overlord would have destroyed Bumblebee.
“Yes, well, rewards go to the loyal first.” He all but heard Megatron's smirk. “And the competent. Funny how the rest of the Autobots keep eluding you.”
Optimus' hand slowed as he listened to them, talking about his Autobots as though they were chattel. Prizes to be divvied out. It made the anger fester, dull as it was.
“Send me to Earth. I'll take care of that problem for you,” Overlord said and there was a wicked glee in his vocals. “Won't want to keep any of them but figure I can trade?”
Megatron chuckled. “Yes. Let's see if you can convince the Coneheads to surrender their tracker or Onslaught, his sniper, for a Dinobot.”
Optimus startled. This was the first he'd heard of Bluestreak, for who else would be a recognized sniper? And the Dinobots! He hadn't known any of them lived, save Swoop.
Megatron's hand returned to his helm. “You're slacking, Optimus,” he said.
“Maybe he needs some assistance. I volunteer.” Overlord leered.
Optimus pressed against Megatron's leg and picked up the pace again, stroking himself faster. There was a certain kind of pleasure coiling within his array, a background buzz that meant overload was eventually inevitable. His frame had trained itself in such a short time. He could overload, vaguely feel the pleasure of it, but still, it remained a distant sensation.
Megatron chuckled. “I don't believe my pet likes you, Overlord.”
“Such a shame, too. We had so much fun together.”
“I remember.”
There was a tug to Optimus' lead, and he jerked, swinging his helm up toward Megatron. The warlord crooked a finger at him.
“Come up here, Optimus,” he said, and patted his lap. “Overlord wants a closer look.” His optics flicked to Overlord. “But only a look.”
Overlord grinned and backed up a pace. “I'll keep my hands to myself.”
Optimus shivered but climbed to his pedes. It was humiliating to climb into Megatron's lap like a pet, but once he got there, Megatron arranged him to his liking anyway. He mechhandled Optimus with little effort, spreading Optimus' legs over the arms of the throne, opening him up wide. One arm looped around Optimus' chest, keeping him pinned against Megatron's chest.
“Now,” Megatron purred into his audial. “Continue.”
Optimus gnawed on the inside of his cheek and forced his hand back into motion. The vibrator was merrily buzzing away within his valve, forcing his hips into a rocking dance atop Megatron's frame, no matter how much Optimus tried to still himself. He stroked his spike in long, squeezing pulls. The faster he overloaded, the faster this display could be finished.
Overlord's gaze on him wasn't helping.
“You have him so well trained,” Overlord commented. He paced slowly back in forth, his optics locked on Optimus, as though being still made it difficult to not touch.
Megatron stroked a finger down the side of Optimus' helm and it was all he had not to turn away from it. “He's learned his place,” Megatron replied.
Optimus shuddered. He bit his tongue, literally, on the urge to retort something sharp and rude.
There would be consequences.
Lose only what you can afford.
If he had any chance of anything, he needed to be undamaged and fueled. The more he obeyed, the more likely Megatron was to loosen the leash.
He offlined his optics and tried to focus on the pleasure. He jerked when the vibrator tipped into the third stage. Optimus hissed air through his vents, frame pressing back against Megatron's. He felt more lubricant seep from around the toy, dripping down into Megatron's lap.
Primus, but he'd be made to clean that later. Frag it all.
“You'll have to teach me some of your techniques,” Overlord said. “Though it's in my favor if he does disobey.”
Megatron's hand curled around Optimus, gripping his jaw. He prodded at Optimus' mouth with a finger, demanding entrance. “Very true. Optimus, suck.”
He grimaced and drew Megatron's finger into his mouth. He lapped at the digit, smelling of grease and Primus knew what else, and sucked on it.
Overload built within him, less pleasure and more demand, the charge cycling endlessly between his valve and his spike. He felt himself shaking, his frame taking on motion of its own as he rolled atop Megatron. His valve clenched. His engine raced.
He almost felt as though he saw himself from a distance, that it was someone else writhing on Megatron's lap like a desperate piece of shareware.
“Don't make a mess, Optimus,” Megatron demanded, nipping at his audial. His finger hooked on Optimus' glossa, rubbing over it and pressing it down, making sure to rub every inch of it.
Beneath his aft, Optimus felt heat rising in Megatron's panel. The warlord always did like a good show. That was no comfort to Optimus. He'd be the one required to take care of it.
Megatron would probably give him the choice again. Like yesterday, when he'd palmed his spike and made Optimus decide if he'd rather swallow it or get fragged.
He'd opted to get fragged, thinking that meant Megatron would take out the vibrator and leave it out. But no, Megatron had simply replaced it when he was done, trapping his fluids within Optimus. Even now, part of what dripped from him wasn't lubricant alone.
He'd never get Megatron out of him at this rate.
“You'd better overload soon,” Megatron continued, and his vocals were taunting. “Otherwise I might just let Overlord lend you a hand.”
Optimus made a low noise of disgust, he refused to name it a whimper, and bent his attention to his equipment. It wasn't difficult. The overload was there. The heat and pleasure pinging back and forth, building to a rapid crescendo.
The hardest part was letting go. Allowing himself to overload, self-pleasure, here in front of all these Decepticons, knowing how vulnerable it made him.
Optimus groaned and tried not to think about it. An impossible attempt. He could feel their stares, hear their spinning fans, their rapid ventilations. He could feel the rapid pulse of Megatron's spark.
Megatron's finger pushed in and out of his mouth, a mimicry of oral fragging, his finger probing deeper and deeper with each thrust. Oral lubricant dribbled down the sides of Optimus' lips. His jaw ached from attempting not to bite down.
Optimus' free hand gripped at the arm of Megatron's chair. His hips rocked on Megatron's lap, a light scrape of metal on metal.
His spike throbbed in his grip. Optimus squeezed, thumbed the tip, and then dragged his fist firmly down.
Overload snatched him at him, through and through. Optimus shook in Megatron's hold, quick to put his free hand over his spike to catch his transfluid as it emerged.
Don't make a mess, Megatron had ordered. Better a warning. Any mess Optimus made, Optimus had to clean. Usually with his glossa.
Pleasure flashed through his frame, there and gone again. Optimus sagged. His overloads were getting shorter and shorter. They barely heated him anymore. He lubricated, but it was beginning to feel like a defense mechanism.
He wondered if he'd get to the point where he couldn't overload at all. Or if he did, if there'd be any pleasure in it.
The vibrator continued to buzz away and Optimus shifted, uncomfortable now. The vibrations were surging against sensitive nodes.
Megatron's finger removed itself from Optimus' mouth. “Good pet,” he said. He reached down, petted Optimus' rippling valve, a tap to his external node making Optimus jerk. “Now clean yourself up.”
“I have no cloths,” Optimus replied. His vocals were riddled with static.
Overlord roared a laugh. “Cloths, he says. I thought you had him better trained, Megatron.”
“I do. His stubbornness persists,” Megatron replied, but there was humor, rather than anger in his vocals. His hands groped at Optimus' chestplates, dragging down the jagged seam between his windshields. Megatron never did bother to get those fixed. “You have a glossa, Optimus. Use it.”
At least it was his own transfluid.
Resigned, Optimus lifted his hands to his mouth and licked them clean. There was a lot less transfluid than he would have expected. A few drops on one hand, a thin spurt on the other. Maybe Megatron really had broken him.
Megatron rumbled his approval, his hand still petting Optimus' valve. He skirted around the lubricant, but tapped on the end of the vibrating spike.
“Close your panel,” he murmured.
Optimus fought back a groan and obeyed, closing his panel and once again trapping the toy within him. His entire lower frame was shaking and he couldn't seem to make it stop.
“Now get back to work, Overlord, I've let you dally long enough,” Megatron said. “You've had your show.”
Optimus onlined his optics and instantly regretted the action as he caught Overlord's burning gaze immediately. He'd never seen such... hunger. Not even all the times Megatron had bent him to his will. It was unsettling.
“I am always grateful for your generosity,” Overlord purred. There was very little sincerity in his tone. He smirked as he turned away.
Megatron grumbled something, only Optimus was close enough to hear it and even then it was so mumbled, he couldn't make it out. But Megatron did shift beneath him, his hands petting over Optimus' concealed array, including his retracted spike. It had sunk so completely within the sheath that not even the head was visible.
The vibrator abruptly shut off and Optimus went limp with relief. He hadn't realized how tense he was. Megatron's hand moved away, giving him room to cycle his spike panel shut as well.
“You've made a mess in my lap, Optimus,” Megatron said. “Clean it up.”
Optimus sighed. “Your command is my duty.” He unhooked his legs from the throne and made to slide down from Megatron's lap, but a hand gripped the back of his neck.
Optimus froze. Megatron's grip was unyielding. All he had to do was squeeze and Optimus would find himself a resident of the medbay once again.
“Your tone could be far more respectful, Optimus,” Megatron said mildly.
He slumped, hands forming fists. He refused to look at any of the Decepticons. “I obey. What more do you want of me?”
“Respect.”
Optimus barely refrained from snorting aloud. “You can make me do many things, but that is not one of them.”
Megatron released Optimus and Optimus took the opportunity to slide back to the ground. The vibrator shifted in his valve, causing a wave of discomfort. Optimus sighed.
He turned and knelt between Megatron's legs, who obliged by spreading his thighs and leaving room for Optimus to notch between them. Lubricant was splattered on Megatron's thighs, the throne beneath him, and his pelvic array.
“We'll work on it,” Megatron said. He looked down at him, helm tilted. “You can start by calling me 'master'.”
Optimus grimaced. “How petty of you.”
Megatron chuckled. “Call it what you will. Now get to work.”
“Anomaly in Sector Twelve.”
Optimus blinked. Megatron did as well. There was a moment of stunned surprise. Optimus had gotten to the point where he more or less tuned out Red Alert's constantly running updates in the background. It hurt to hear his friend reduced to such and for his own sake, Optimus tried not to think about it too often.
Never before had he heard an anomaly.
In a flash, Megatron jerked to his pedes and Optimus had to scramble out of the way before he was kicked. The chain brought him up short, but gave him enough room to crouch by the side of the throne, out of Megatron's way.
“Soundwave, report!” Megatron snapped as he strode across the floor, making a beeline for Red Alert.
He'd gone silent after declaring the anomaly.
“Surveillance system error,” Soundwave reported from the opposite side of the command center. “Rebooting now.”
“A glitch in the system?” Someone else asked and it took Optimus a moment to place the vocals as belonging to Onslaught. The well-behaved Combaticon leader rarely spoke and was often assigned to the back corner of the room. He hadn't risen from his chair, but there was a tension in his frame.
Despite programming, Megatron still did not trust the Bruticus gestalt. Onslaught would forever be paying for his treachery it seemed.
“Negative,” Soundwave said. Optimus heard the hesitation in his tone. “Sabotage likely.”
“Sabotage!” Megatron roared, and his fist impacted the top of Red Alert's console, making several of the monitors glitch.
Red Alert didn't so much as blink or startle.
“Anomaly in Sector Twelve,” he repeated.
“I am aware of that, you glitch,” Megatron growled. His gaze flicked to the nearest Decepticon grunt, a mech Optimus didn't recognize. “Correct the anomaly. Get him back to task. Soundwave?”
The Communications Officer came into view, standing at attention. “No surveillance. No video. No audio. Sabotage confirmed.”
“Who?”
“No identity. Suspect: Autobot.”
Megatron snarled and stomped across the floor. His field was a violent whip, striking Decepticon and Autobot slave alike.
“I realize that. Jazz?”
Soundwave's helm inclined by a fraction. “Likely.”
Megatron swore and his fist swung out again, slamming into a support column. It shuddered and grit flaked down.
“Why has no one found him yet? He is one Autobot!”
Silence. No one had an answer. No one offered an excuse or an explanation. Everyone was suddenly far too busy to be looking at their leader. Shoulders hunched. Wings drooped. Visors and optics dimmed.
No one wanted the blame.
Optimus was content to keep still and quiet himself. It was only a matter of time before the blame shifted his direction.
There was going to be pain.
“You are all incompetent,” Megatron snarled and his hand whipped toward his comm system. “Starscream! Get you and your trine to Sector Twelve now!”
There was a pause and Megatron's fury intensified. “I don't care if you're in recharge, just do it!”
Hands forming fists, Megatron's gaze whipped around the command center, forcing many a Decepticon to quail.
“Overlord, you, too,” he snapped. “You want an Autobot? Fine. Get me Jazz and you can have whichever one you want. I don't care who I have to take him from. Got it?”
Overlord's optics lit up. “Yes, Lord Megatron. I understand.” His parting bow was far from subservient. He strode from the room, as full of himself as any one mech could be.
“That goes for all of you!” Megatron continued, raising his vocals to be heard, so loud that they echoed. “For every Decepticon. Whoever brings me the Autobot spy can have whichever toy they want.”
Excitement zipped through the room, overriding the fearful silence that had been present. The Decepticons started murmuring to themselves.
“Get to it. Now.”
Megatron stormed back toward his throne as the command center became a flurry of activity. Those who had been hanging around for lack of better duties were either leaving or trading with others, eager to get to the hunt.
Optimus' spark sank.
Before, the hunt for Autobots had been haphazard at best. An aside. Megatron knew they were beaten, without resources and scattered. He hadn't made acquiring them a concern. He'd had search parties and patrol parties with the intent of capturing Autobots, but for the most part, he hadn't been worried.
Now he'd declared open season. Now every Decepticon eager for their own toy was going to spend their off duty time scouring the surface of Cybertron for Autobots. There would be nowhere to run or hide. No way to time or track patrol routes.
“Soundwave,” Megatron snapped, his baleful stare focused on his communications officer. “I want answers.”
Soundwave cycled a ventilation. “Yes, Lord Megatron. Apologies for failure. Will restructure the surveillance system at once.”
“See that you do.” Megatron vented a burst of heat and then his optics found Optimus'. They narrowed. “Contact Shockwave. It seems the Autobots are due another lesson.”
“Clarification: lesson?” Soundwave asked.
Megatron stared down at Optimus, a cruel light in his optics. “Yes. What happens when I am angry. Tell Shockwave to bring Mirage to the arena. Surely he's done poking around the noble brat's internals by now.”
Optimus' optics widened with realization. Of everyone Optimus had seen in the arena, Mirage would be the smallest. He was built to be small and silent, lithe and deadly.
“No,” he said, shaking his helm. “Megatron, don't. Don't do this.”
“And why not, Optimus?”
Megatron's hand snapped forward, gripping the lead near where it connected to Optimus' collar. He jerked Optimus up by it, forcing Optimus to scramble to get his pedes beneath him lest his intake be constricted.
“Your spy seems intent on aggravating me. I am only returning the favor,” Megatron said.
Optimus grabbed the chain, a vain effort to reduce the strain on his intake. “You'll kill him.”
“You say that as though I care whether the brat lives or dies.”
Optimus' engine raced. “He's no use to you dead.”
“Not much use alive either.” Megatron tilted his helm, the rage in his field still fresh and grating. It rasped against Optimus', as painful as a slap to the face.
Optimus worked his intake. “Don't,” he said, and yes, he was begging. It was humiliating, but what did he have left for his Autobots but his humiliation? “Please. I'll... I'll do anything you want me to do. Just... don't.”
Was it better that Mirage stay in Shockwave's clutches? Optimus didn't know. But to put him in the arena? At the mercy of whatever group of Decepticons Megatron felt like rewarding? Especially with the caveat that he didn't care whether Mirage lived or died?
What if it were the triple-changers again? Astrotrain and Blitzwing? They would tear Mirage apart! What if it were Black Shadow or Sixshot?
Megatron laughed, but there was no amusement in it. He loosened his grip on Optimus' chain, giving him the opportunity to get his pedes firmly beneath him.
“I already know you'll behave,” Megatron said. “But this is the fault of your subordinate. He can blame himself.”
“It won't work,” Optimus retorted. He met Megatron's gaze. “You'll only make him angrier.”
“That's fine. I have plenty more Autobots where Mirage came from.” Megatron's optics glittered and he jerked Optimus closer, enough that he could feel Megatron's heated ventilations. “Unless you think you can order him to stand down? Turn himself in? I might even be lenient enough to let him live as a slave instead of executing him.”
Optimus' insides slushed with ice. “Even if I wanted to, I couldn't. I'm not a Prime anymore. You saw to that. I have no authority.”
“Then there's nothing you can do.”
Optimus lowered his gaze. “What if...” Oh, Primus. He didn't want to do this, but he'd survived it once before. He could do it again. “What if I took his place?”
Megatron chuckled. “You Autobots and your penchant for sacrifice.” He tipped his forehelm against Optimus, a parody of intimacy. “No.”
“Why not?”
“Because I said so.” Megatron's free hand grasped his hip, pulling him closer. Optimus' hands were trapped between their frames, all that kept them from being flush together. “You are my pet. I can't let others think that my Autobot manipulates me, can I?”
Disgust swelled within Optimus. The loathing returned and he knew it must have entered his field because Megatron laughed again.
“But,” he said, mouth traveling to Optimus' audial and nibbling it. “Because you offered, I will do you a courtesy. I'll make sure they don't kill him. I'll even be so nice as to make sure none of them are, say, a triple-changer.”
Had Megatron meant to do so all along and wanted to see if Optimus would beg? It was too difficult to tell.
“Now, I believe gratitude is in order, my pet,” Megatron said. He drew back, loosening the chain enough to give Optimus plenty of slack. “Thank me for being merciful.”
Optimus cycled a ventilation. Of course. It wouldn't be a conversation with Megatron without a little shame thrown in for good measure.
“Thank you,” he forced out.
“Mmm. That's a start. But I think you can do better.”
Optimus ground his denta. It wasn't hard to guess what Megatron wanted. So under Megatron's gaze and that of the Decepticons - including fragging Soundwave and whoever else lingered - Optimus lowered himself to his knees. He prostrated himself before Megatron and waited for the warlord to offer him a pede.
He didn't have to wait long. Megatron slid his left pede toward Optimus, his field reading of eagerness. At least the violent fury had eased, leaving a cross irritation behind.
“Thank you,” Optimus said again and he pressed a kiss to the tip of Megatron's pede, “for your mercy.”
“Who are you thanking, Optimus?”
Argh.
He ground his denta so hard he heard metal shriek.
Another kiss, the taste of grit on his lips. His internals rippled, the urge to purge rising within him. Optimus fought it back. His energy levels hovered at forty percent. He needed to keep them that way.
“Thank you, Master,” he said, pressed low to the ground, his aft in the air.
“Sector Thirteen, clear,” Red Alert droned on in the background. They must have gotten him out of the loop.
Megatron dropped the lead entirely. It clattered as it hit the floor around Optimus. He flinched away from the noise. His pede nudged against Optimus' lips.
Optimus obeyed the unspoken demand. He kissed it again and pressed his forehelm to it. His hands lay against the ground, palms pointed upward.
“You are welcome,” Megatron finally said.
Optimus offlined his optics.
There were not enough apologies in the world.
“Soundwave, find me some Decepticons,” Megatron said, and Optimus could feel his regard, pouring down on Optimus. “Let's make them some nice Decepticons, shall we?”
“Understood, my lord.”
“Does that suffice, my pet?”
And what else could he do but press another loathsome kiss to Megatron's pede and whisper, “Thank you, Master.”
****
a/n: Someone asked last chapter about Barricade's team and their pet Autobot. That, my friends, was a poorly worded sentence on my part. What Megatron states in this chapter is correct: it's not that they have an Autobot, but that they are next in line for one. Or were, rather. :)
And what's this? Soundwave finally taking a slave? Hmmmm. And just who are these new arrivals? Tick, tock Megatron. ;)
As always, feedback is welcome and appreciated.
This entry was originally posted at http://dracoqueen22.dreamwidth.org/314078.html. Feel free to comment wherever you find most convenient.
Characters this chapter: Megatron/Optimus, Bumblebee, Ricochet, Que, Broadblast, Catapult, Soundwave, Frenzy, Rumble, Overlord, Red Alert, flashback Optimus/Jazz
Rating: NC-17
Warnings this chapter: forced self-service, forced exhibition, sex toys, humiliation, angst
Commission fic for NK
Mood Music: "Dear Agony," Breaking Benjamin
Oubliette
Chapter Thirteen
It was easier, Optimus soon learned, when he cooperated. It was still humiliating as the Pit, but Megatron was less inclined to hurt him. Or get creative. He still used Optimus, manipulated his frame as if he owned it, but the pain all but vanished overnight.
Cooperation also granted him more energon. Optimus was allowed to follow at Megatron's pedes with his tanks at forty percent rather than lingering round thirty. He also had yet to see the inside of the entertainment arena again.
Granted, it had only been a week since their deal had been struck. But it was a week of measurable improvement. It was better than nothing. It was a slim hope that as much as he had failed his Autobots, he might still be able to help them.
Besides, what was a little personal humiliation?
Surely his Autobots had suffered worse?
Today found him at Megatron's pedes in the command center. Which was par for the course. He tagged along wherever Megatron went and Megatron's favorite place was in his command center, holding court, king of his domain.
Optimus' lead had been attached to a ring newly welded to Megatron's throne. He didn't need to keep the lead on Optimus anymore, but Megatron liked the sight of it.
It proved ownership, he claimed.
As did the displays.
Optimus didn't know if today's was any worse or better. He sat on the floor, leaning back against Megatron's throne between the warlord's parted legs. His own were spread before him, knees wide, his interface array on full display. Megatron had ordered him to open his panels and keep them open and Optimus had obeyed.
His gaze cast to the side. Shame burned through his lines. More than a few Decepticons had wandered by for a look. Many lingered to stare until Megatron barked at them to move along and get back to work. Those at communications one level below had the best seat in the house. In the background, Optimus could hear Red Alert droning on, each glyph like a stab to the spark.
The vibrator hummed along happily, warming Optimus' array. It quickly became a constant companion. If Megatron was not taking Optimus' valve, then he was required to keep the vibrator within it. Sometimes, it was on. Most times, it was off. Optimus soon learned how to walk with it taking up space in his valve.
At present, Megatron had it on the lowest setting and that was where he seemed content to keep it. Lubricant welled up around it, soaking Optimus' valve and forming a puddle beneath his aft. His performance determined whether he'd have to clean up the mess or Megatron would allow for a serving drone.
“Touch yourself,” Megatron had ordered, and Optimus had lifted his hands on rote.
It was bothersome how he almost couldn't bring himself to do it. How touching his own frame felt as much a violation as Megatron's hands upon him.
He forced himself to do it anyway. He dragged his palms down his chestplate, around the ruins of his windshield. He hoped that cooperation would grant him repairs, a trip to the medbay, a chance to check on Ratchet.
He touched his hips, his abdomen, his thighs. He stroked his neck, the seam of his chestplates. He measured the length of scars and dents, all evidence of Megatron's ownership. There wasn't a spot on him Megatron hadn't touched or left his mark.
Optimus let his engine idle, a soft vibration that Sparkplug had taken for purring. It matched the low-grade vibration of the toy. It was an almost pleasant sensation. One that sent light bubbles of enjoyment through his processor.
He skirted around his array, the happily buzzing vibrator and the tip of his spike, barely poking from the sheath. He avoided his array up until the moment Megatron nudged him with a knee.
“Put on a show, Optimus,” he instructed, sounding bored. Optimus was close enough to read the fascination in his field. “We all want to see you overload.”
Optimus quailed. Bad enough to be forced into pleasure. He didn't want to pull it from his frame with his own two hands. That made the lines blur. It made it harder to remember that this was all nonconsensual. That he'd asked for none of it.
He should have fought harder.
Optimus forced his dominant hand down, one finger circling the head of his spike. The other reached lower, for the vibrator dancing in his valve.
“Leave the toy,” Megatron said. “Spike only.”
Optimus' helm bowed. He dropped his hand away from his valve, letting it fall to the side. He didn't dare hamper the 'view' and focused on his spike with the other hand. He circled the tip with a finger before figuring that he'd have to manually extend it.
His spike emerged, only the barest hint of lubricant slicking it. Optimus wrapped his fingers around the length and brushed his thumb over the head of it. He rubbed gently, trying to imagine he was elsewhere with anyone else. Arousal simmered in his valve, but his spike was being less than cooperative.
Megatron tapped him with a pede again. “Spread your legs wider.”
Optimus inched his knees and pedes apart, until there was nothing left to the imagination, feeling as though he were suddenly the star in a porno-vid. It was easier if he didn't look at anyone, if he stared blankly into the distance. Megatron never seemed to care if he was making optical contact or not.
He kept his grip firm, sliding from root to tip, root to tip. Part of this was putting on a show and he knew that. He tried to imagine he was back on the Ark, perhaps with Jazz in his berth this time. Ironhide liked to watch him self-service but thinking of Ironhide was too painful. Ironhide was gone.
Jazz, at least, was somewhere.
Optimus held his spike between two fingers, dragging them up and down the sensor lines. His intakes hissed a little. His spike further pressurized. A bead of transfluid gathered at the tip. He pinched it between his fingers and spread the fluid over his spike, a small shudder wracking his frame.
Jazz liked to tease. He liked to lay in front of Optimus, spread his legs, and prepare himself while Optimus watched. Jazz would describe in lewd detail every last thing he wanted Optimus to do to him until he was shivering on the brink of overload. Only then would Jazz allow Optimus to take him, plunging into his wet and dripping valve at the exact moment of overload.
The mix of pleasure and pain had been Jazz's preference. Optimus was willing to provide it. Especially since his own need resulted in a hard and fast 'face that would drag several more screaming overloads from his third. Jazz always became a sated heap of Porsche by the time Optimus was done with him, which was a point of pride for Optimus.
Jazz would do this little twist with his wrist, a squeezing twist, that always made him shudder.
Optimus copied it now, felt the motion drag more charge. Pleasure burst in little pinpricks from his little used spike. His valve pulsed more fluid.
It was a start.
There. If he pretended that he wasn't being watched by a dozen Decepticons. That he wasn't sitting at Megatron's pedes self-servicing, this was almost pleasant.
A commotion dragged Optimus' attention to the here and now. He surfaced from his thoughts, helm swinging toward the noise centered around the entrance to the command center. It was... cheering? But not for him. No, he'd lost most of his audience all of the sudden.
“Decepticons!” Megatron bellowed, startling Optimus bad enough that he jumped. “Clear a path.”
Most of his soldiers obeyed, skittering out of the way immediately. Through gaps in the crowd, Optimus could just make sight of a group of mechs, all dirty and various shades of color but with prominent Decepticon brands.
Behind him, Megatron shifted, sitting further upright in his throne. He tapped Optimus' helm.
“Don't stop,” he ordered.
Optimus shuddered but began again, his hand stroking up and down his spike. A tingle was building in the base of his array, but he was still a long way from overload. At least a spike overload anyway.
“Bring him forward,” Megatron demanded as he sat back in his throne, legs bracketing around Optimus as though staking claim.
The group of dirty mechs emerged into view, none of them recognizable to Optimus. But he gasped when they threw their captive to the floor below Megatron's throne. Scuffed and covered in filth, Optimus would still know Bumblebee anywhere. The minibot's armor was dented and scraped. One of his helm horns was cracked. He was chained six ways to Sunday.
Bumblebee struggled to push himself upright, every motion marked with pain. But he managed to halfway kneel, listing with fatigue as he sat back on his pedes. His optics were dim, flickering, his gaze traveling around the command center until they found Optimus. They widened.
Optimus felt shame licking at his backstrut. Here he was, self-servicing for the Decepticons, bared all and sundry.
He turned his optics away. He couldn't bear to look at Bumblebee. Better, instead, to look at his Autobot's captors, a group of Decepticons Optimus had never seen before. Though that wasn't anything unusual. More and more Decepticons were returning to Cybertron.
No Autobots had arrived, however. Optimus didn't know if it was because they knew to stay away. Or if Megatron was simply blowing up their transports the minute they came in range. He suspected it was more the latter.
“Well, well, well,” Megatron said, amusement ripe in his vocals. “What do we have here?”
“Found 'im scrabbling about in the Wastelands,” one of the Decepticons bragged, stepping to the head of the group. His chestplates puffed out, his visor gleamed. He was, obviously, the leader. “Tried ta filch from us. Almost didn't realize he was an Autobot under all the crud.”
Megatron chuckled. “I see. And you are?”
“Th' name's Ricochet.” A black thumb pointed to the mech's chestplate and the pristine Decepticon sigil. “This here's my crew. Que and Broadblast and Catapult. We were out cruisin' the Andulie quadrant when we got the all call.”
Megatron made a thoughtful noise. “Soundwave?”
Motion at the edge of Optimus' peripheral view drew his attention to the aforementioned mech. Up until now, Soundwave had quietly been working at the console to Megatron's right. He had been out of Optimus' direct sight and so he hadn't paid much attention to Soundwave.
“Identification confirmed,” Soundwave droned. “Database supports claims. Former commander: Sky-Byte.”
“Yeah.” Ricochet scratched at his chin and looked up at the ceiling. “He kinda... died? There was this planet. And this thing. And it ate metal and the boss took it as a challenge and he kinda...”
“Lost,” the one called Que supplied with a giggle. Little faux-wings, like a spoiler, twitched on his back. “Such a shame.”
“So we got the all call and came here,” Ricochet continued, spreading his hands. He bobbed up and down on his pedes as though he couldn't contain his energy. “Landed yesterday. Saw this one creeping about.” He shrugged. “So we snatched 'im.”
“We figured he would make a nice present for you, Lord Megatron,” Broadblast said with a deep bow. His vocals were deep, resonating. He was the largest of the four, almost twice the size of the others and five times the size of Catapult.
Megatron made a thoughtful noise in his chassis. His legs pushed harder at Optimus' shoulders. He leaned forward, peering down at the gathered Decepticons and their shivering captive.
“You are allowed to keep what you capture,” Megatron said, gesturing toward Bumblebee. “Were you aware of that?”
The four mechs exchanged glances. Ricochet rubbed the back of his helm. “Someone said somethin' but...” He trailed off and looked hesitant and small wonder.
No one wanted to spit on Lord Megatron's generosity after all.
“We don't want an Autobot,” Catapult piped up. He planted his hands on his hips and looked up at Megatron. “Too much trouble to take care of. Broadblast is a shuttle, you know.”
Broadblast certainly looked large enough to be subspacing some mass. No wonder Ricochet's team had been able to wander around the universe.
“I see.” Megatron's fingers rapped on the arm of his throne. “Well, the Race Track Patrol would be next in line, but considering their failure on Earth--”
“Lord Megatron.”
Optimus blinked as did many of the observing Decepticons. Soundwave had taken another step forward, tilting his helm in a bow to Megatron. That was highly unusual.
“Soundwave,” Megatron acknowledged. “Do you have something to add?”
“Request Autobot.”
Amusement trickled into Megatron's field. “Well, that is a surprise. You've not shown any interest before.”
Optimus, too, was surprised. Given the conversations he'd had with both Frenzy and Soundwave, he'd have thought Soundwave wouldn't want one. The idea of slave Autobots had seemed detestable to him. Had he changed his mind?
Or was his intention to try and protect Bumblebee? It would be a grand gesture on Soundwave's part, to be sure. But it carried risks.
“Autobot would be gift.” Soundwave's field flattened, as though embarrassed. His hand touched his chestplate, knocking against the opaque glass. “For cassettes.”
There was a moment of startled silence before Megatron roared with laughter, slapping the arm of his chair.
“Really.” Amusement was rich in his tone, jostling his frame and in turn, jostling Optimus. “You want to make the Autobot a pet for your cassettes?” Megatron's laugh echoed in the command center. “By all means then. Take him. He's yours.”
Soundwave's bow was low and grateful. “Thank you, Lord Megatron.” He returned upright, pressing a button on his frame. “Frenzy, Rumble, eject.”
His cassettes emerged, transforming to their bipedal modes before they hit the ground. They grinned up at their carrier, twin expressions of amusement.
It occurred to Optimus that they were the same size as Catapult, who was smaller even than the average minibot.
“What's up, boss?” they asked in perfect tandem, reminding Optimus in that moment of Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, who at the oddest times, would prove that they were twins. His spark gave a pang.
Were they even still alive? Or had Shockwave killed them?
“Slave acquired. Bring to quarters.”
“Slave?” Frenzy said. He turned slowly and his visor lit up at the sight of Bumblebee, who had yet to say a word. Perhaps it was because of fatigue.
Or maybe it had something to do with the crumpled plating around his intake. Optimus supposed his Autobots had a habit of spitting insults at their captors. They tended to show up with crushed intakes.
“Oh. Is he for us?” Rumble swaggered up to Bumblebee and circled around him. “Kinda dirty, isn't he?”
“We'll just have to clean him up, bro.” Frenzy joined his twin and they slapped palms, glee rampant in their field. “All for us.”
Optimus' tank churned. Bumblebee's helm bowed, his gaze downcast. A visible shudder raced across his frame.
A low rumble in Soundwave's chassis attracted the attention of his cassettes. They both glanced at him before grabbing Bumblebee, one on each side.
“Time ta go, Bumblebrat,” Rumble said.
It required both Cassettes to lift Bumblebee, who seemed to be having trouble getting his pedes underneath him. It hurt Optimus to see the yellow mech in such a state.
He watched them go, Bumblebee barely putting up a fight. Given his condition, he likely didn't have the wherewithal to do so.
Ricochet coughed a ventilation into his palm. “So....” He tilted his frame to the left and right. “Any way a couple of lost Decepticons can get a berth around here?”
“That can be arranged.” The throne rattled as Megatron sat back, visibly relaxing. His legs became less a cage around Optimus and more a support. “There's plenty of room in the barracks. Ask Soundwave for your future assignments.”
Ricochet tilted his helm. “Much obliged, my lord.” He spun on a heelstrut and gestured to his teammates. “Come on. I don't know 'bout you guys, but I've been dreamin' about a berth for years.”
Optimus watched them go, a frown pulling on his lipplates. There was something familiar about them, as though he should recognize them. But he didn't. They'd stared at him, not that Optimus paid that any attention. All Decepticons tended to stare at their leader's slave.
“Lord Megatron's generosity is appreciated,” Soundwave monotoned. He dipped his helm in another bow and returned to his station.
“Nice to see someone around here is earning their keep,” Megatron muttered, subvocal. Then he tapped on Optimus' helm. “I didn't tell you to stop.”
Optimus hunched his shoulders. He'd forgotten, in the display, about his own. He forced his hand back into action, stroking over his spike and manipulating the building charge. The pool beneath him had gotten no smaller, nor had the sensation in his valve eased.
He leaned back against the throne, only to startle as the vibrator doubled its intensity. Optimus bit back a groan, his hips rocking down against the spike within his valve. It was too strong to ignore, shifting the soft warmth to a buzzing heat.
His spike fully pressurized, borrowing on the pleasure ripe within his valve. Optimus sagged as his spike tingled, charge crackling around the base of it. His hips rocked into his own grasp, the head of his spike seeping transfluid. His cooling fans clicked on.
He shuttered his optics. Megatron's calves pushed against his shoulders. Pedes hooked under his knees, keeping him spread. His hip joints ached. Optimus shuddered.
“Are you going to share him anytime soon, Lord Megatron?” one of the Decepticons asked, the lust in his tone unmistakable.
Optimus didn't even have to look to know it was Overlord. The massive super-soldier had been watching Optimus the longest, as though the one taste he'd gotten wasn't enough. Optimus knew that while being Megatron's possession was terrible, being Overlord's would have been worse.
Megatron chuckled. “I know you envy my pet, Overlord. Perhaps if you'd manage to capture one of your own, you'd have one to keep.”
“I would have taken the yellow one,” Overlord said and there was a deep, throaty engine that revved, rumbling the floor.
Dread struck at Optimus' spark. Overlord would have destroyed Bumblebee.
“Yes, well, rewards go to the loyal first.” He all but heard Megatron's smirk. “And the competent. Funny how the rest of the Autobots keep eluding you.”
Optimus' hand slowed as he listened to them, talking about his Autobots as though they were chattel. Prizes to be divvied out. It made the anger fester, dull as it was.
“Send me to Earth. I'll take care of that problem for you,” Overlord said and there was a wicked glee in his vocals. “Won't want to keep any of them but figure I can trade?”
Megatron chuckled. “Yes. Let's see if you can convince the Coneheads to surrender their tracker or Onslaught, his sniper, for a Dinobot.”
Optimus startled. This was the first he'd heard of Bluestreak, for who else would be a recognized sniper? And the Dinobots! He hadn't known any of them lived, save Swoop.
Megatron's hand returned to his helm. “You're slacking, Optimus,” he said.
“Maybe he needs some assistance. I volunteer.” Overlord leered.
Optimus pressed against Megatron's leg and picked up the pace again, stroking himself faster. There was a certain kind of pleasure coiling within his array, a background buzz that meant overload was eventually inevitable. His frame had trained itself in such a short time. He could overload, vaguely feel the pleasure of it, but still, it remained a distant sensation.
Megatron chuckled. “I don't believe my pet likes you, Overlord.”
“Such a shame, too. We had so much fun together.”
“I remember.”
There was a tug to Optimus' lead, and he jerked, swinging his helm up toward Megatron. The warlord crooked a finger at him.
“Come up here, Optimus,” he said, and patted his lap. “Overlord wants a closer look.” His optics flicked to Overlord. “But only a look.”
Overlord grinned and backed up a pace. “I'll keep my hands to myself.”
Optimus shivered but climbed to his pedes. It was humiliating to climb into Megatron's lap like a pet, but once he got there, Megatron arranged him to his liking anyway. He mechhandled Optimus with little effort, spreading Optimus' legs over the arms of the throne, opening him up wide. One arm looped around Optimus' chest, keeping him pinned against Megatron's chest.
“Now,” Megatron purred into his audial. “Continue.”
Optimus gnawed on the inside of his cheek and forced his hand back into motion. The vibrator was merrily buzzing away within his valve, forcing his hips into a rocking dance atop Megatron's frame, no matter how much Optimus tried to still himself. He stroked his spike in long, squeezing pulls. The faster he overloaded, the faster this display could be finished.
Overlord's gaze on him wasn't helping.
“You have him so well trained,” Overlord commented. He paced slowly back in forth, his optics locked on Optimus, as though being still made it difficult to not touch.
Megatron stroked a finger down the side of Optimus' helm and it was all he had not to turn away from it. “He's learned his place,” Megatron replied.
Optimus shuddered. He bit his tongue, literally, on the urge to retort something sharp and rude.
There would be consequences.
Lose only what you can afford.
If he had any chance of anything, he needed to be undamaged and fueled. The more he obeyed, the more likely Megatron was to loosen the leash.
He offlined his optics and tried to focus on the pleasure. He jerked when the vibrator tipped into the third stage. Optimus hissed air through his vents, frame pressing back against Megatron's. He felt more lubricant seep from around the toy, dripping down into Megatron's lap.
Primus, but he'd be made to clean that later. Frag it all.
“You'll have to teach me some of your techniques,” Overlord said. “Though it's in my favor if he does disobey.”
Megatron's hand curled around Optimus, gripping his jaw. He prodded at Optimus' mouth with a finger, demanding entrance. “Very true. Optimus, suck.”
He grimaced and drew Megatron's finger into his mouth. He lapped at the digit, smelling of grease and Primus knew what else, and sucked on it.
Overload built within him, less pleasure and more demand, the charge cycling endlessly between his valve and his spike. He felt himself shaking, his frame taking on motion of its own as he rolled atop Megatron. His valve clenched. His engine raced.
He almost felt as though he saw himself from a distance, that it was someone else writhing on Megatron's lap like a desperate piece of shareware.
“Don't make a mess, Optimus,” Megatron demanded, nipping at his audial. His finger hooked on Optimus' glossa, rubbing over it and pressing it down, making sure to rub every inch of it.
Beneath his aft, Optimus felt heat rising in Megatron's panel. The warlord always did like a good show. That was no comfort to Optimus. He'd be the one required to take care of it.
Megatron would probably give him the choice again. Like yesterday, when he'd palmed his spike and made Optimus decide if he'd rather swallow it or get fragged.
He'd opted to get fragged, thinking that meant Megatron would take out the vibrator and leave it out. But no, Megatron had simply replaced it when he was done, trapping his fluids within Optimus. Even now, part of what dripped from him wasn't lubricant alone.
He'd never get Megatron out of him at this rate.
“You'd better overload soon,” Megatron continued, and his vocals were taunting. “Otherwise I might just let Overlord lend you a hand.”
Optimus made a low noise of disgust, he refused to name it a whimper, and bent his attention to his equipment. It wasn't difficult. The overload was there. The heat and pleasure pinging back and forth, building to a rapid crescendo.
The hardest part was letting go. Allowing himself to overload, self-pleasure, here in front of all these Decepticons, knowing how vulnerable it made him.
Optimus groaned and tried not to think about it. An impossible attempt. He could feel their stares, hear their spinning fans, their rapid ventilations. He could feel the rapid pulse of Megatron's spark.
Megatron's finger pushed in and out of his mouth, a mimicry of oral fragging, his finger probing deeper and deeper with each thrust. Oral lubricant dribbled down the sides of Optimus' lips. His jaw ached from attempting not to bite down.
Optimus' free hand gripped at the arm of Megatron's chair. His hips rocked on Megatron's lap, a light scrape of metal on metal.
His spike throbbed in his grip. Optimus squeezed, thumbed the tip, and then dragged his fist firmly down.
Overload snatched him at him, through and through. Optimus shook in Megatron's hold, quick to put his free hand over his spike to catch his transfluid as it emerged.
Don't make a mess, Megatron had ordered. Better a warning. Any mess Optimus made, Optimus had to clean. Usually with his glossa.
Pleasure flashed through his frame, there and gone again. Optimus sagged. His overloads were getting shorter and shorter. They barely heated him anymore. He lubricated, but it was beginning to feel like a defense mechanism.
He wondered if he'd get to the point where he couldn't overload at all. Or if he did, if there'd be any pleasure in it.
The vibrator continued to buzz away and Optimus shifted, uncomfortable now. The vibrations were surging against sensitive nodes.
Megatron's finger removed itself from Optimus' mouth. “Good pet,” he said. He reached down, petted Optimus' rippling valve, a tap to his external node making Optimus jerk. “Now clean yourself up.”
“I have no cloths,” Optimus replied. His vocals were riddled with static.
Overlord roared a laugh. “Cloths, he says. I thought you had him better trained, Megatron.”
“I do. His stubbornness persists,” Megatron replied, but there was humor, rather than anger in his vocals. His hands groped at Optimus' chestplates, dragging down the jagged seam between his windshields. Megatron never did bother to get those fixed. “You have a glossa, Optimus. Use it.”
At least it was his own transfluid.
Resigned, Optimus lifted his hands to his mouth and licked them clean. There was a lot less transfluid than he would have expected. A few drops on one hand, a thin spurt on the other. Maybe Megatron really had broken him.
Megatron rumbled his approval, his hand still petting Optimus' valve. He skirted around the lubricant, but tapped on the end of the vibrating spike.
“Close your panel,” he murmured.
Optimus fought back a groan and obeyed, closing his panel and once again trapping the toy within him. His entire lower frame was shaking and he couldn't seem to make it stop.
“Now get back to work, Overlord, I've let you dally long enough,” Megatron said. “You've had your show.”
Optimus onlined his optics and instantly regretted the action as he caught Overlord's burning gaze immediately. He'd never seen such... hunger. Not even all the times Megatron had bent him to his will. It was unsettling.
“I am always grateful for your generosity,” Overlord purred. There was very little sincerity in his tone. He smirked as he turned away.
Megatron grumbled something, only Optimus was close enough to hear it and even then it was so mumbled, he couldn't make it out. But Megatron did shift beneath him, his hands petting over Optimus' concealed array, including his retracted spike. It had sunk so completely within the sheath that not even the head was visible.
The vibrator abruptly shut off and Optimus went limp with relief. He hadn't realized how tense he was. Megatron's hand moved away, giving him room to cycle his spike panel shut as well.
“You've made a mess in my lap, Optimus,” Megatron said. “Clean it up.”
Optimus sighed. “Your command is my duty.” He unhooked his legs from the throne and made to slide down from Megatron's lap, but a hand gripped the back of his neck.
Optimus froze. Megatron's grip was unyielding. All he had to do was squeeze and Optimus would find himself a resident of the medbay once again.
“Your tone could be far more respectful, Optimus,” Megatron said mildly.
He slumped, hands forming fists. He refused to look at any of the Decepticons. “I obey. What more do you want of me?”
“Respect.”
Optimus barely refrained from snorting aloud. “You can make me do many things, but that is not one of them.”
Megatron released Optimus and Optimus took the opportunity to slide back to the ground. The vibrator shifted in his valve, causing a wave of discomfort. Optimus sighed.
He turned and knelt between Megatron's legs, who obliged by spreading his thighs and leaving room for Optimus to notch between them. Lubricant was splattered on Megatron's thighs, the throne beneath him, and his pelvic array.
“We'll work on it,” Megatron said. He looked down at him, helm tilted. “You can start by calling me 'master'.”
Optimus grimaced. “How petty of you.”
Megatron chuckled. “Call it what you will. Now get to work.”
“Anomaly in Sector Twelve.”
Optimus blinked. Megatron did as well. There was a moment of stunned surprise. Optimus had gotten to the point where he more or less tuned out Red Alert's constantly running updates in the background. It hurt to hear his friend reduced to such and for his own sake, Optimus tried not to think about it too often.
Never before had he heard an anomaly.
In a flash, Megatron jerked to his pedes and Optimus had to scramble out of the way before he was kicked. The chain brought him up short, but gave him enough room to crouch by the side of the throne, out of Megatron's way.
“Soundwave, report!” Megatron snapped as he strode across the floor, making a beeline for Red Alert.
He'd gone silent after declaring the anomaly.
“Surveillance system error,” Soundwave reported from the opposite side of the command center. “Rebooting now.”
“A glitch in the system?” Someone else asked and it took Optimus a moment to place the vocals as belonging to Onslaught. The well-behaved Combaticon leader rarely spoke and was often assigned to the back corner of the room. He hadn't risen from his chair, but there was a tension in his frame.
Despite programming, Megatron still did not trust the Bruticus gestalt. Onslaught would forever be paying for his treachery it seemed.
“Negative,” Soundwave said. Optimus heard the hesitation in his tone. “Sabotage likely.”
“Sabotage!” Megatron roared, and his fist impacted the top of Red Alert's console, making several of the monitors glitch.
Red Alert didn't so much as blink or startle.
“Anomaly in Sector Twelve,” he repeated.
“I am aware of that, you glitch,” Megatron growled. His gaze flicked to the nearest Decepticon grunt, a mech Optimus didn't recognize. “Correct the anomaly. Get him back to task. Soundwave?”
The Communications Officer came into view, standing at attention. “No surveillance. No video. No audio. Sabotage confirmed.”
“Who?”
“No identity. Suspect: Autobot.”
Megatron snarled and stomped across the floor. His field was a violent whip, striking Decepticon and Autobot slave alike.
“I realize that. Jazz?”
Soundwave's helm inclined by a fraction. “Likely.”
Megatron swore and his fist swung out again, slamming into a support column. It shuddered and grit flaked down.
“Why has no one found him yet? He is one Autobot!”
Silence. No one had an answer. No one offered an excuse or an explanation. Everyone was suddenly far too busy to be looking at their leader. Shoulders hunched. Wings drooped. Visors and optics dimmed.
No one wanted the blame.
Optimus was content to keep still and quiet himself. It was only a matter of time before the blame shifted his direction.
There was going to be pain.
“You are all incompetent,” Megatron snarled and his hand whipped toward his comm system. “Starscream! Get you and your trine to Sector Twelve now!”
There was a pause and Megatron's fury intensified. “I don't care if you're in recharge, just do it!”
Hands forming fists, Megatron's gaze whipped around the command center, forcing many a Decepticon to quail.
“Overlord, you, too,” he snapped. “You want an Autobot? Fine. Get me Jazz and you can have whichever one you want. I don't care who I have to take him from. Got it?”
Overlord's optics lit up. “Yes, Lord Megatron. I understand.” His parting bow was far from subservient. He strode from the room, as full of himself as any one mech could be.
“That goes for all of you!” Megatron continued, raising his vocals to be heard, so loud that they echoed. “For every Decepticon. Whoever brings me the Autobot spy can have whichever toy they want.”
Excitement zipped through the room, overriding the fearful silence that had been present. The Decepticons started murmuring to themselves.
“Get to it. Now.”
Megatron stormed back toward his throne as the command center became a flurry of activity. Those who had been hanging around for lack of better duties were either leaving or trading with others, eager to get to the hunt.
Optimus' spark sank.
Before, the hunt for Autobots had been haphazard at best. An aside. Megatron knew they were beaten, without resources and scattered. He hadn't made acquiring them a concern. He'd had search parties and patrol parties with the intent of capturing Autobots, but for the most part, he hadn't been worried.
Now he'd declared open season. Now every Decepticon eager for their own toy was going to spend their off duty time scouring the surface of Cybertron for Autobots. There would be nowhere to run or hide. No way to time or track patrol routes.
“Soundwave,” Megatron snapped, his baleful stare focused on his communications officer. “I want answers.”
Soundwave cycled a ventilation. “Yes, Lord Megatron. Apologies for failure. Will restructure the surveillance system at once.”
“See that you do.” Megatron vented a burst of heat and then his optics found Optimus'. They narrowed. “Contact Shockwave. It seems the Autobots are due another lesson.”
“Clarification: lesson?” Soundwave asked.
Megatron stared down at Optimus, a cruel light in his optics. “Yes. What happens when I am angry. Tell Shockwave to bring Mirage to the arena. Surely he's done poking around the noble brat's internals by now.”
Optimus' optics widened with realization. Of everyone Optimus had seen in the arena, Mirage would be the smallest. He was built to be small and silent, lithe and deadly.
“No,” he said, shaking his helm. “Megatron, don't. Don't do this.”
“And why not, Optimus?”
Megatron's hand snapped forward, gripping the lead near where it connected to Optimus' collar. He jerked Optimus up by it, forcing Optimus to scramble to get his pedes beneath him lest his intake be constricted.
“Your spy seems intent on aggravating me. I am only returning the favor,” Megatron said.
Optimus grabbed the chain, a vain effort to reduce the strain on his intake. “You'll kill him.”
“You say that as though I care whether the brat lives or dies.”
Optimus' engine raced. “He's no use to you dead.”
“Not much use alive either.” Megatron tilted his helm, the rage in his field still fresh and grating. It rasped against Optimus', as painful as a slap to the face.
Optimus worked his intake. “Don't,” he said, and yes, he was begging. It was humiliating, but what did he have left for his Autobots but his humiliation? “Please. I'll... I'll do anything you want me to do. Just... don't.”
Was it better that Mirage stay in Shockwave's clutches? Optimus didn't know. But to put him in the arena? At the mercy of whatever group of Decepticons Megatron felt like rewarding? Especially with the caveat that he didn't care whether Mirage lived or died?
What if it were the triple-changers again? Astrotrain and Blitzwing? They would tear Mirage apart! What if it were Black Shadow or Sixshot?
Megatron laughed, but there was no amusement in it. He loosened his grip on Optimus' chain, giving him the opportunity to get his pedes firmly beneath him.
“I already know you'll behave,” Megatron said. “But this is the fault of your subordinate. He can blame himself.”
“It won't work,” Optimus retorted. He met Megatron's gaze. “You'll only make him angrier.”
“That's fine. I have plenty more Autobots where Mirage came from.” Megatron's optics glittered and he jerked Optimus closer, enough that he could feel Megatron's heated ventilations. “Unless you think you can order him to stand down? Turn himself in? I might even be lenient enough to let him live as a slave instead of executing him.”
Optimus' insides slushed with ice. “Even if I wanted to, I couldn't. I'm not a Prime anymore. You saw to that. I have no authority.”
“Then there's nothing you can do.”
Optimus lowered his gaze. “What if...” Oh, Primus. He didn't want to do this, but he'd survived it once before. He could do it again. “What if I took his place?”
Megatron chuckled. “You Autobots and your penchant for sacrifice.” He tipped his forehelm against Optimus, a parody of intimacy. “No.”
“Why not?”
“Because I said so.” Megatron's free hand grasped his hip, pulling him closer. Optimus' hands were trapped between their frames, all that kept them from being flush together. “You are my pet. I can't let others think that my Autobot manipulates me, can I?”
Disgust swelled within Optimus. The loathing returned and he knew it must have entered his field because Megatron laughed again.
“But,” he said, mouth traveling to Optimus' audial and nibbling it. “Because you offered, I will do you a courtesy. I'll make sure they don't kill him. I'll even be so nice as to make sure none of them are, say, a triple-changer.”
Had Megatron meant to do so all along and wanted to see if Optimus would beg? It was too difficult to tell.
“Now, I believe gratitude is in order, my pet,” Megatron said. He drew back, loosening the chain enough to give Optimus plenty of slack. “Thank me for being merciful.”
Optimus cycled a ventilation. Of course. It wouldn't be a conversation with Megatron without a little shame thrown in for good measure.
“Thank you,” he forced out.
“Mmm. That's a start. But I think you can do better.”
Optimus ground his denta. It wasn't hard to guess what Megatron wanted. So under Megatron's gaze and that of the Decepticons - including fragging Soundwave and whoever else lingered - Optimus lowered himself to his knees. He prostrated himself before Megatron and waited for the warlord to offer him a pede.
He didn't have to wait long. Megatron slid his left pede toward Optimus, his field reading of eagerness. At least the violent fury had eased, leaving a cross irritation behind.
“Thank you,” Optimus said again and he pressed a kiss to the tip of Megatron's pede, “for your mercy.”
“Who are you thanking, Optimus?”
Argh.
He ground his denta so hard he heard metal shriek.
Another kiss, the taste of grit on his lips. His internals rippled, the urge to purge rising within him. Optimus fought it back. His energy levels hovered at forty percent. He needed to keep them that way.
“Thank you, Master,” he said, pressed low to the ground, his aft in the air.
“Sector Thirteen, clear,” Red Alert droned on in the background. They must have gotten him out of the loop.
Megatron dropped the lead entirely. It clattered as it hit the floor around Optimus. He flinched away from the noise. His pede nudged against Optimus' lips.
Optimus obeyed the unspoken demand. He kissed it again and pressed his forehelm to it. His hands lay against the ground, palms pointed upward.
“You are welcome,” Megatron finally said.
Optimus offlined his optics.
There were not enough apologies in the world.
“Soundwave, find me some Decepticons,” Megatron said, and Optimus could feel his regard, pouring down on Optimus. “Let's make them some nice Decepticons, shall we?”
“Understood, my lord.”
“Does that suffice, my pet?”
And what else could he do but press another loathsome kiss to Megatron's pede and whisper, “Thank you, Master.”
****
a/n: Someone asked last chapter about Barricade's team and their pet Autobot. That, my friends, was a poorly worded sentence on my part. What Megatron states in this chapter is correct: it's not that they have an Autobot, but that they are next in line for one. Or were, rather. :)
And what's this? Soundwave finally taking a slave? Hmmmm. And just who are these new arrivals? Tick, tock Megatron. ;)
As always, feedback is welcome and appreciated.
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