FIC: Booty and the Beast
It was a long-standing fact that seekers were dangerous to any ground-bound mech. They came in flights that choked out the stars above, descended on settlements and ransacked them, stealing energon from reserve tanks, taking parts from those unlucky enough to not make it to the reinforced sanctuary of temples, and leaving in their wake ruined buildings crushed under their rutting. Weapons, even the cannons capable of discouraging flight models, were next to useless with flocks that large, though enough of the large guns deterred the massive flocks from trying their luck at the larger cities on Cybertron.
However, even without the danger of the massive flights that roamed Cybertron, they were not safe. Lone seekers, or more often three working together, were notorious for hunting on their own for parts. There were legends and rumors about much of what the seekers did, but none was whispered with as much fear and awe as these lone kidnappings.
They were said to take mechs live, pluck them off the ground, and carry them back to their nests, where their young waited.
The abductions, it was said, were so that their young could practice killing before they even left the safety of their nests.
This was certainly the first thing that came to mind for Optimus Prime, once he awoke and realized with growing horror where he was. The blasted-out, shallow cavern housed a surprisingly comfortable bowl of twisted and melded scrapmetal, but it was when he approached the mouth of the cavern and peered outside that he realized, and shrank back, terror hammering at his spark.
The cavern he was housed - no, imprisoned in, he was shackled in cuffs which were attached to a chain that terminated in a solid bolt into the wall - was situated on a cliff face that jutted up from Cybertron’s uneven surface… and the ground was far, far below.
The sound of engines had him scrambling back, as far back as he could, until the wall pressed close behind him. He remembered that sound. Every ground mech knew that sound, and feared it, but he remembered it more intimately than most still living. He had been travelling from the city, back into the outlying provinces, when that sound had sent him running for cover. Perhaps city life had made him too soft, too unwary of the dangers outside city walls, because he had been too slow to escape the screeching, roaring impact of seeker engines before he was knocked unconscious.
Now, he was in the very last place any mech wanted to be: huddled in a seeker’s nest, waiting with terror for the clicks of tiny seekers emerging from their hiding places to sharpen their talons on his internal wiring. Hadn’t he heard the stories when he was a sparkling himself in the country, of hapless mechs wandering lost and stumbling inadvertently into seeker territory, hearing the high-pitched clicks from all around before they were never to hear again, the flash of brightly-colored, tiny wings before they would never see again?
The sound of his doom came not in clicks, but in the roar of full-grown engines.
A seeker landed , blotting out the light streaming in from the entrance, and Optimus felt as if his spark might expire. Two red optics illuminated the dark face, and by their light Optimus could see a cruelly amused smirk curve below. Before the seeker could open its mouth and immobilize him with its deadly screech, Optimus began negotiating.
“You shouldn’t kill me,” he blurted out, voice a little too hurried to be called calm. The seeker seemed more amused than ever. “Really, you shouldn’t. I won’t ask you to put me back down safely on the ground, but please, you don’t want to feed me to your young.”
The seeker moved forward, into the nest and let the light back in. With its illumination, Optimus could see that the seeker’s coloring matched his own. It was an odd thing to notice, given the circumstances, but it was often strange, the kinds of things one noticed under stress.
“Indeed,” the seeker purred, and Optimus could stop himself from jumping, but not the widening of his optics, surprised that the seeker spoke a shared language. “I don’t. There aren’t any to feed you to… yet.”
Oh, Primus, he was going to be kept alive and “fresh” for them when they hatched. But he was Optimus Prime. He may have been terrified, but he wouldn’t break down in front of his captor. He drew himself up, standing upright and defiant, and met the seeker’s optics. They were too intense, too focused, but Optimus forced himself to remain steady. He was going to be defiant to the end, demand he be returned safely to the ground below, even though he knew it wouldn’t work, and he wouldn’t go down without a fight-
“Open your chestplates.”
Optimus audibly stalled. His arms, still cuffed together, lowered. “… Excuse me?” The seeker scowled, as if not used to being questioned.
“I said open them, moron. I knew groundpounders were stupid, but deaf too?”
“I’ll do no such thing!” So much for negotiating. The seeker’s optics narrowed dangerously, and Optimus almost, almost regretted speaking at all. His captor’s previous amusement seemed to have completely evaporated as he stalked forward, wings held high, leaning in close enough to kiss… or eat his face. Optimus wasn’t sure which, with his spark whirling so in its casing, scattering his thoughts.
“Do you have any idea who I am?” The seeker hissed. Optimus found himself unable to reply, struck dumb with fear. In that confusion and paralysis, another seemingly-random observation struck him: this seeker was no taller than him. Prime’s optics flickered with surprise. Physically, the seeker was smaller than him, thin plating spread out to give the mech more area, but the mass itself was relatively little.
The subject of his scrutiny grew ever more disdainful at his lack of response. “Maybe I should throw you out,” he muttered, but straightened up and took a step away from Optimus, looking down at the captured mech and height be damned.
“I’m Starscream,” he said, slowly, as if talking to something with a particularly slow processor. “And you are going to remain here, in my nest, until you are no longer useful. If you don’t prove to be a complete failure, I might be persuaded to let you live afterwards.”
Starscream paused, looking at Optimus expectantly, waiting for… begging, or open-chested acceptance. Optimus couldn’t think. He was processing the information, but it seemed… unreal. That must be the shock, he thought.
“My name’s Optimus Prime,” was all he managed to say. Starscream’s face immediately slid from expectant to resigned, and Optimus cursed himself. He had meant to protest, not introduce himself. And he had obviously just proven to Starscream that ground mechs were as stupid as he thought.
Starscream huffed, and advanced again. This time he didn’t bother stopping when he was close to Optimus… he put his hands firmly on Prime’s shoulders, pinning him against the wall and staring into his optics. Optimus felt a strange, out-of-place thrill of fear and something unidentifiable stir in his spark.
“Enough,” Starscream said, his voice smoother now that he wasn’t indignantly berating Optimus. “You either open your chestplates now, or I’ll open them for you and mute my audios to your screams.”
The threat finally snapped Optimus back to his senses, though he was still as shaken as before. He only had one chance, one last hope. Unlikely as it was, maybe he could appeal to some sense of honor within this seeker. It spoke the same language as him, it was obviously not the stupid-but-deadly predator he, and others, had been told about. Maybe he could be reasoned with.
“Wait!” he objected. “Don’t I get a… a last wish?” To his surprise, Starscream actually paused, looking irritated and confused.
“For what?” the seeker snapped.
“Well… I mean, if you’re going to kill me, I deserve something before I die… don’t I? A last request?”
This only earned him a half puzzled, half condescending look. But then, the corners of Starscream’s mouth pulled up into a twisted grin, his red optics dimming. “You think you’re going to…” but he trailed off without finishing, and picked up again at a new point, grin still firmly attached. “Alright,” he purred, and held up a hand before Optimus could say anything more. “I’ll give you your last request. Provided, that is, that you cooperate.”
Prime’s optics narrowed. “And you won’t kill me before fulfilling my request?” Starscream huffed again, getting impatient.
“Yes, yes. No killing before I’m done with you. Now…” Starscream pushed down on Prime’s shoulders with surprising strength, forcing the ground mech into a slumped sitting position on the floor of his hollowed-out nest. The seeker was quick to follow, straddling Prime’s legs and effectively pinning him, his optics growing brighter with anticipation that made Optimus nervous, despite Starscream’s promise. The seeker was still leering, wings held high behind him as he scraped his fingers down Prime’s front.
“Let’s get this open, shall we?” When the plating didn’t immediately part under his hands, Starscream frowned, good mood evaporated. “I thought,” he growled, fingers digging in instead while his optics narrowed in warning at Prime’s uncomfortable shifting. “That we had an agreement. Your life for your cooperation. If you want to die instead, that can be arranged.”
“What do you need my chest opened for, if not to kill me?” Optimus wondered. "Or are you planning on torture, instead?" He suddenly wished he had made 'no disabling, disfigurement, or removal of key systems' part of their earlier agreement. The seeker promised not to kill him, but there was a lot you could do to a mech before the spark extinguished. And if this Starscream used him for his parts while keeping him alive... well, maybe death would have been the better option.
But the seeker only regarded him with some amusement, looking him up and down once more, reappraising. “… You might not be entirely stupid,” Starscream murmured, almost appreciatively. But just because he'd given such a vast compliment didn't mean that he was going to outright explain or calm the ground mech’s fears. All he required was cooperation. Though, it couldn't hurt too much to hope for a bit of proper worship. "Oh, it might be torturous for you," He relented, sinister grin spreading across his face as he ran his fingers down glass panes once again, "but it isn't going to be painful. Now open up if you don't want to die.”
Optimus had no choice - and no idea what was going to happen. As long as there is life, there is hope, he reminded himself as his chestplates cracked open and he offlined his optics, turning his head away from the sight of his sparklight reflected on the seeker's shined plating. It was terrifying enough to expose himself to a ravenous seeker; Optimus didn’t want to see the cruel smirk and predatory optics drinking in his sparklight.
Starscream did not immediately descend onto him and devour his spark. He did, however, scoot back and lean forward a bit to see the spark closer. He had never seen the spark of a fully intact and functioning Autobot before. His curiosity was piqued as he witnessed the shine of what must have been a spark at least as large as his own. Most of the other seekers he'd ever heard speak of Autobot sparks had painted a picture of stunted, dim, lopsided orbs, too enveloped by their own cowardice and complacency to grow into brilliance.
Someone had lied to him.
But making them pay would have to wait. Especially as he narrowed his optics at the odd piece of machinery covering this particular mech's spark. Reaching out and tapping a finger against the round, glass plated surface without the least amount of decorum or sympathy to the mech’s flinch, he asked irritably, "What is this?"
Prime’s optics flickered back online, and the sight that was presented to him was… surprising. Starscream’s face was not one of ferocity and hunger, but… interest. He was even more surprised by how the seeker looked as if he were concentrating and puzzled by what he found. It was startlingly... normal.
"Ah..." he started, trying to make sure his voice was no less bold and confident than it had been before. Any weakness, and the seeker - Starscream - could forget his promise and kill Optimus. "You mean...? Oh, that's... it's not another layer," he said quickly. "That's... that's the Matrix." He paused to see if that meant anything to Starscream, then continued, relieved when there was no reaction. "It... doesn't come out. ... Are you a... seeker medic, of some sort?" If he wasn't going to kill Optimus once his chest was open, or steal his components... was he studying anatomy?
“… Matrix,” Starscream responded flatly, obviously disinterested in the name. “Is this some sort of spark suppression device?” The seeker threaded his fingers through the silver arms of the Matrix, as if he were about to test whether Prime’s words were true or not, ignoring his captive’s cuffed hands raising to try and stop him, however foolish the notion.
“It’s part of my spark!” Optimus blurted out hurriedly, blue optics wide with fear once more. His spark was already stirring behind the clear cover of the Matrix, light swirling in response to the touches of a seeker.
A seeker. The Matrix had been touched by a seeker. Optimus would have felt ill, if he hadn’t already been in that state since waking in this nest.
The proclamation made Starscream pause, his fingers tightening, pushing Prime's chest back slightly so that he could better view the contraption. No matter how he looked at it, it didn't appear to be of the same materials as the mech around it, but he wasn't willing to kill his catch so carelessly by attempting to remove the device. "How do you get to your proper spark then?"
If this dimwitted mech had fooled him into thinking he was a proper carrier of his sparkling when his spark was possibly incompatible, then death would be the least of the mech's problems.
“Why do you need to get to my spark at all?” Optimus asked. Starscream’s flat look spoke volumes. If he had been even half this obvious, any number of his flight would have been falling over themselves to please him and win his favor. Instead, he was stuck with an obviously substandard mech as a partner.
This one was barely worthy of being in his nest. He spoke plainly (obviously any subtlety was beyond this groundpounder), optics darkening, "If you can't interface, then you're of no use to me."
Prime's engine stalled for a moment before restarting with an incredulous splutter. "I... what?" he managed. This was impossible. This couldn't be happening. "You want to... with me?" All thoughts of trying to maintain his decorum were lost. A seeker had kidnapped him and taken him to its nest. Not to feed him to its young or kill him at its leisure... but to interface with him.
This was more ridiculous than those cheap datapad novels. At least he wasn't before some council of seekers, being assigned a seeker from the group, a young, rebellious rulebreaker who had displeased his flight and was being punished with having to interface with a ground mech...
Optimus began laughing. Nervously, and at a hysterical pitch. It was probably going to get him killed, but it was too late. He was probably already dead. Or dreaming. Either way, this couldn't possibly have been happening in reality.
Starscream was less than impressed. Red optics narrowing in a glare, he shook the Autobot with a hand still gripping the Matrix, ignoring the yelp it produced from his captive, growling and snapping his wings up in a demand for attention that he expected to be obeyed. “Are you malfunctioning? Shut up and answer!”
If he'd brought some mech with faulty hardware up here, then it was going to be a major inconvenience. It would, after all, be hard work flying the larger framed bot far enough away from his nest to be inconspicuous but still high enough to shatter him down to his spark casing.
"I'm sorry," Optimus gasped. "... sorry. I wasn't... wasn't laughing at you. Primus forgive." The hysteria seemed to be dying down, at least. "I just... it's just unbelievable. Why would you...?" But, looking again at Starscream's face, Optimus chose not to finish his question. Perhaps it was better to not know why a seeker would kidnap an Autobot and interface with them.
"... Yes," he finally answered, haltingly. "I can interface. I think." He wasn't sure, really. He had never interfaced before - his profession and lifestyle forbade it, for purity's sake - but it would hardly matter to his captor, who could just rub himself against the sacred artifact in Prime's chest and be done with it. Optimus was fairly certain he could fake an overload, if he needed to. He had seen enough of the other disciples to know, at any rate.
"You think?" Starscream questioned, incredulous, studying the other mech with something between awe and disgust. How did one not know if they could interface or not? This mech didn't look like a sparkling- not in the least- though he knew that there were some Autobot practices of creating new sparks in adult frames. Just more proof that the entire, smelting group of ground crawlers was deranged.
The other list of possibilities that came to mind and the seeker eyed Prime's frame and spark at once. "Are you considered undesirable, then?"
Prime's optics flickered as his processor raced to find a response to that. One that wouldn't get him killed, preferrably. "I... no," he admitted, still more hesitant. He had been propositioned, many times in fact, by fellow members of the temple and by citizens - all of whom he had to politely, but firmly, decline.
"It's part of my... lifestyle," he said finally. "But if it will keep me alive..." He shrugged, glancing nervously at the way Starscream huffed and raised his paneling as he glared at Optimus as if this was all his fault.
"What kind of ridiculous lifestyle would forbid you from interfacing?" The seeker grumbled and growled, navigating the nest with ease and fishing into a hidden floor compartment.
"A spiritual one," Optimus answered automatically, watching the seeker move with curiousity and wariness combined. He tugged experimentally on the chain attaching him to the wall by his cuffed wrists, but it wasn't giving way. Not without a lot of force.
Starscream stood again, carrying an opaque container of some sort, and Optimus shrunk back a bit, optics narrow and suspicious. "What is that?"
Without preamble, he pushed a hand against Prime's shoulder and straddled him again, cracking a small opening through the corner of the container with his thumb, licking away the glowing residue off of his digit as he pressed the container against the matrix in offering. "Drink," was all he ordered.
Optimus leaned back, but there was nowhere to escape and no way to avoid... whatever was being pressed into his chest, or the way his spark crackled a little at the faint energy it sensed so close to itself. He looked down at the container, frowning behind his protective facial plate. "... But what is it?"
The glow glimpsed on Starscream's finger spoke of energon... but was it kind? And what kind? Harvested, stolen... collected from the corpses of other kidnapped mechs?
"I'm assuming you've had energon before." Starscream said snidely, getting impatient and glaring at Prime's face. That plating over the face was getting in the way, in his opinion. He grasped it with his free hand, looking for a hold he could use to rip it off with. "It's for drinking if you really need that explained.”
Optimus grunted in protest, trying to pull his face away from the seeker's grasp. "But... No! I mean, yes! I've had energon before, but I'd rather starve than drink a mech's fluid! And how do I know you haven't contaminated or poisoned it? That little lick wasn't enough for me to just trust you!"
But his jaw moving with speech and Starscream's firm grip loosened the latches that held his facial plating in place - and it came away when he turned his head, revealing a relatively young and handsome face contorted in determined, almost pouty defiance.
Starscream gave the loose mask a customary glance, barely noting the clamp assemblies before tossing it aside to land amongst the rest of the nest rubble.
“Hey!" Optimus reached for his mask as it flew away from him, in vain. Starscream was busy staring at the uncovered features, remaining still for a moment before he rose on his knees to get closer to the larger mech's facial plates, grasping the cheeks in a firm grip before proceeding to turn Prime's head so he could more thoroughly examine him. Optimus took to that with more frowning, which was terribly exaggerated in Starscream’s grip.
Finally satisfied, Starscream released his face and sat back again, smirking. This was, in his opinion, an acceptable development. Most of the mech's tantrum didn't particularly concern him. "It's customary to offer the first drink of energon to the youth..." but he shrugged and threw his head back, gulping down some of the brightly glowing liquid with relish.
With the grip on his face finally absent, Prime’s sulky look softened. Without the mask, he looked even more innocent than he was, staring at Starscream. "The youth...?" he murmured, not expecting any answer. "Anyway, that could still be mech fluid..."
Starscream was still watching Prime as he wiped the residual energon from his lips with the back of his hand. "If it were mech fluid," he said, smirk sliding wider as he leaned a little closer to the Autobot, again pressing the cube against his chest in offering, "We'd be drinking it out of still warm fuel lines." Optimus grimaced, disgusted by the very idea.
Then Starscream laughed softly, rubbing the container against the matrix and making the energon slosh - and Prime’s spark swirled excitedly in its casing, much to its owner’s embarrassment. "This," he motioned towards the energon, "is merely clarified energon from Altihex, transferred into fuel capsules, heavily insulated and double plated to avoid destabilization during transport and long storage." Smirking and still leaning into the other mech's personal space, he waited eagerly for a response.
Despite all that Optimus had been shown, this seeker was cleaner and more articulate than he could have imagined... but apparently, Starscream was still every bit the dangerous predator.
The only thing he could think to say was, "So that's how you get it... I thought seekers were supposed to glut themselves on what they could find and leave..." It took him a moment longer to register and process the significance of Starscream’s admission.
"Wait... Altihex? You raided a city?" Was there nowhere safe from seekers now?
"I'm did not bring you here to debate politics," Starscream growled out, abandoning his approach for one much more direct. He pressed the capsule to Prime's lips, grabbing the back of his helm to hold him still, and commanded him to drink.
Optimus squirmed, trying to lash out with his feet, but his legs were securely pinned under the weight of the seeker, and his arms next to useless. Any confused thought about why a seeker would even know what politics were was put low on the priority list.
His optics offlined and he drank, face scrunched up with anger and shame as the energon - delicious, pure, and heavy with energy - poured into his fuel tank.
Starscream held that capsule to his prisoner's lips, watching with interest and satisfaction as he forced him to messily gulp down every last drop left. The capsule was thrown aside as Optimus finished, and he didn't wait for the Autobot to clear his intakes before he shoved his glossa between still slightly opened lips.
Prime's response was a shocked, brief squeal of static, the back of his head hitting the wall behind him, his optics blinking online again in an instant. He was so shocked that he didn't respond, didn't fight back, didn't bite the slagger's tongue off like he should have. He just sat there dumbly, not quite believing what was happening, and not believing at all that this felt so good. His spark pulsed lightly, pulling a whine from his vocaliser.
Starscream raised up onto his knees, humming in pleased approval as he tilted Prime's head back. He kept his helm trapped between his arms from where they now rested on the larger mech's shoulders, only moving so far as to grasp one of the Autobot's arms and guiding both cuffed-together hands to his wing while Prime’s lips moved, twitched, in a sad effort to reciprocate.
Once guided to where they were apparently supposed to be, Prime’s hands spread to palm the wing panels greedily. If he was going to be forced into this, then he'd get the most of it before he was killed... even though he'd have no opportunity to brag to anyone about touching a seeker's wings, tasting one, feeling ailerons shift under his heavy fingers...
He'd just have to enjoy it for his own sake, for however long he could.