Passing the Test
Title: Passing the Test
Author: death_hendry (author tag pleeeease mods :3 )
Verse: G1
Prompt: Megatron/Jazz - 'All shall love me and despair'
Rating: PG13/M? (allusions to forced interface and sparkbonding)
Words: 2688
Summary: Still a freelancing Neutral, Jazz is working for the Autobots when he's captured.
Megatron himself goes to talk to Jazz, revealing he both knows more about the saboteur than the mech realises, and giving Jazz a taste of what he could have if he just threw away his morality and joined the Decepticon cause.
The Warlord's methods of persuation are the hardest test Jazz has ever faced. Even if he passes, he can't be free of the impact of that single meeting.
Authors Note: Story is set in the early stages of the war, but there is a tiny bit at the end set in the future on earth.
Also, this is my first Rare-Pairing Prompts piece :V And as a side note, I was listening to Roxanne from Moulin Rouge soundtrack on repeat to get this done.
It was the darkest, dankest cell Jazz had ever had the misfortunate to get to know the insides of intimately.
They’d thrown him down there, presumably to rot, because they didn’t seem to keep guard… not on the same level as he was situated. That meant they were extremely dumb or didn’t know him very well.
Or, they thought there was no way out but one door somewhere above.
Idiots.
He was Jazz.
Didn’t they know the meister could make his own doors?
Mind, it was taking a fair while, but he was getting there.
He had his plans worked out, knew the timing of his rations (meagre and disgusting as they were).
He had a tool fashioned from his own armour and wiring… not redundant systems, no, they’d stripped him of those… apparently had enough sense to know he was resourceful at least.
They’d underestimated just HOW resourceful, but then again most mechs wouldn’t purposefully torture themselves by taking chunks out of their secondary systems just to make slap-dash lock picks and knives.
At the moment, Jazz was simply conserving his strength, biding his time.
He’d failed to retrieve the necessary information, but the Prime would probably be happy just to have him back alive (and preferably in one piece… mostly so Ratchet didn’t kick up a fuss).
Sounds caught his attention.
Pedefalls from above, heading towards the way down to his cell. The bot sounded heavier than the usual assortment that came down, and what was more, it was certainly not ration time yet.
Jazz frowned slightly, sitting up a bit straighter.
Perhaps, at last, his torture was going to begin for real… then that would be Vortex they were sending down.
Even as good a saboteur as Jazz was, he shuddered at the thought of a Vortex interrogation.
There was no more sadistic mech on Cybertron than that fragged up rotary.
The sound of the steps grew louder… they were on the level where he was being held now.
Convinced he was doomed to several cycles of unimaginable pain, Jazz schooled his features into a well practiced poker face…
Which vanished the moment the large silver, black and red tyrant came into the light of the corridor, beyond his energized little hole in the wall.
Bright, crimson optics bored into Jazz’s visor, and he had the discomforted feeling the warlord could see right through it into his less than stellar optics.
His surprise at Megatron’s appearance was quickly hidden behind another mask of neutrality, curiosity warring within him against a healthy dose of fear.
He may have been the Meister, but Megatron was one hell of a match for him any orn.
Especially in the poker-face division.
The cool, hard, calculating stare never left the saboteur’s gaze as the bars were de-energised and Megatron stepped into the space barely big enough for him to stand straight in.
Jazz maintained his half lotus position against the wall, staring back with a calmness that contradicted the tension in his frame.
He was ready to spring at any moment.
Why the slag had the fragging leader of the Decepticons decided he was worth his time?
Surely this couldn’t be a good thing.
“Jazz, isn’t it?”
The words rolled out colder than solidified nitrogen.
The saboteur struggled not to shudder or twitch in response.
“What’s it to ya?”
The half-drawled response actually got the hint of a smirk out of the warlord.
“I wont even ask if you know who I am. If you didn’t, you wouldn’t have gotten as far into my base as you did. Ignorant fools don’t hack like that.”
Was Jazz imagining things, or was that almost a compliment?
“Figured I’d drop in and give myself a challenge.”
The look on Megatron’s face at Jazz’s nonchalant, if not slightly flat reply, told clearly that he wasn’t buying the act.
“I’m not here to get the wheres and why-fores of your motivations. I only want your audio for a breem or so.”
Jazz let himself frown slightly and tilt his helm at that.
“Now why would some-bot as busy and important as you want to talk to lowly lil’ old me?”
“Because I’m not sure you’ve been given a fair chance. An opportunity to see everything from all angles. That IS what you like to do before tackling a problem, isn’t it? My communications specialist seems to have analysed that as a particular trait of yours in your hacking. Very thorough. Very good planning. Skills wasted on the Autobots.”
Jazz scoffed.
“Ooooh, ah shoulda guessed this was gonna turn into a recruitment drive. No sale Megs, ah may not wear anyone’s badge, but that don’t mean I’m a swinger… least, not in that sense.”
The saboteur instantly regretted his little quip the moment he saw the dangerous glint in the warlord’s optics.
A nasty smirk crawled its way across Megatron’s faceplate, scaring Jazz more than any rage or threats could.
“Ah, but you have not heard me out… I’m aware my methods of persuation are well known. But do not think me lacking in morals. Truth, is one of the weapons in my arsenal. I am also a mech of my word.”
Jazz stood slowly as the much larger grey mech loomed imposingly, somehow having gotten closer without Jazz really noticing.
“You? Truth? The two concepts don’t compute so well in mah helm together.”
“Mmmmm, is that so? Let me ask you something, Jazz of Kaon… yes, I know where you are from… I know perfectly well you clawed your way out of the same hole I did… ahah, don’t give me that look, you should be honoured to lay claim to your past. You are not LIKE them… you are not WEAK. Now, as I was saying, I will put a few questions to you… what is the more worthy cause? Fight for the mechs who came from the privilege of ‘peace’ upon the back-struts of bots like us, OR… rejoin us in overthrowing the true oppressors, the conglomerations of power who decide that their perfect society, their ‘peace’ is to be carried by the sufferance of the lower classes… classes they have designated to lives in slavery and cruelty…”
“Tell me, Jazz… where do your loyalties really lie? Your own kind? Or the ones who dole out their silver promises of wistful, unreal ideals of paradise to placate you?”
Megatron leant down until his faceplate was micromechanometers from Jazz’s own.
The saboteur nearly swayed with the dizzying brightness of red filling his vision.
He did not answer, mouth set in a stony grimace.
There was a pause, the air in the dank cell thick with unspoken tensions, and Megatron could fairly hear the frantic buzz of thought processes in the small black helm.
The silver tyrant laughed. A deep, strut chilling chuckle as he backed off just a little.
“You require further convincing? I told you, I am a Mech of truth. I do not make any of these false promises of light and utopian living. You and I both know that’s fanciful rubbish.”
Megatron turned and paced around the cell, gesturing slightly with a servo, the other held rather formally at his side.
“In reality… there will always be corruption. There will always be the few elevated ‘haves’ taking advantage of the many ‘have nots’. It will perpetuate, because it is our nature, as sentient beings, to exploit other, less capable sentient beings. That is how the universe works.’
‘WE were the ‘have nots’. We MADE ourselves into the ‘haves’, and in doing so, earned the RIGHT to take our place at the top. I make no secret of my philosophies… I am a realist. I will never be able to abolish the use of others for one’s own gain.
But I will do any mech the courtesy of not hiding this behind gilded promises and haughty proclamations.”
He looked to Jazz, who remained leaning against the wall, grimace set in place, visor dimmer than before.
Good.
He is thinking.
“The system is simple, elegant. No bot will be unsure of their place in my society. The strong rule. The weak obey.
But do not think I have no compassion. I wish to see my peoples become great again… greater than they ever were under the false pretence of civility boasted by the golden age.
And you and I BOTH know, all too well, that it was false. There was nothing golden about the ages in which we were created. Nothing golden in slavery or starvation.
I would never allow my people to starve. The strong rule, yes. But they have responsibilities. We have a duty, to maintain the health of our planet, our culture.
The strong must maintain this, by maintaining and guiding the weak into their purposes. They will serve us, and they will be cared for, and none will be left hungry, none will be unattended.
It is not the perfect system of freedom. But freedom is not a right GIVEN. It is earned. The same way we earned it.
You give it away to fools like those who call themselves Autobots, and it is merely taken for granted.
Do you really want bots who have no idea what it is like to fight for themselves taking places of power?”
Jazz looked up into the vehement optics of the warlord where he stood not two paces from him.
Jazz was silent for a few more moments, considering everything he’d heard.
He’d known Megatron was quite the motivational speaker.
But he’d never really listened.
He’d been… afraid to.
His fears were not without reason.
He found himself… agreeing with so much of what was said.
It was hard not to be sympathetic to Megatron’s ideals.
They WERE realistic… starkly so, STAGGERINGLY so. In the beginning, it had been too much for the high-council to accept. So shocking to the prim and proper and their established order that they’d reacted in a whiplash manner, striking out not only to silence, but to tear down Megatron’s ideas and his followers.
Not that it had done them any good in the end.
Once the seeds of dissent were planted an a rally point had risen in the form of an ex-gladiator, the juggernaut of change had taken over.
But Jazz, against his own will, had felt every word in his spark.
As much as he loathed Megatron for all the lives he had already taken, he could not dispute the ideals the Decepticon leader fought for.
So… what did that make him?
Still technically a neutral, and an Autobot sympathiser. By all rights, Megatron would be better off just killing him.
But instead he was extending his servo in recognition of their similarities… Jazz’s strength, born of the same pit the ex-gladiator had been sparked into.
Their paths had been different, but their stories not dissimilar.
A darkness that sat at the edges of Jazz’s spark and mind loomed in a way it hadn’t since the beginning of the war, and the saboteur despised it.
He raised his helm and fixed his gaze back on the piercing scarlet optics.
“You realise you’d always have unrest? The weak don’t always stay weak. Look at US. What’s to stop the mechs breakin’ from their place and takin’ over huh? Ya startin’ something’ that ain’t ever gonna finish. It’s going to tear Cybertron, and every Cybertronian on it to pieces.”
The laugh that rolled from the tyrant this time was cold, hard, and belied the utter frigidity of the mech’s spark.
“That’s the POINT. I do not discourage unrest… I champion it. What are Cybertronians ever going to accomplish through peace? A better understanding of the universe around us? And what will that gain us? Useless facts. Through my model of society, we take what we need to strengthen and advance, and discard the useless facets that hold us back. Mechs are free to seek their own freedom, which is the most beautiful aspect of this whole mission.”
Megatron stalked over to the smaller mech, putting himself well within his personal space again.
“If through our fight to conquer all as the rightful, dominant species, we tear ourselves apart… then so be it. If we cannot survive ourselves, then how are we worthy to make claim to the universe and it’s treasures? Preservation of life… as I learned early, in the pits… is over-rated. You do not live until you stop caring about whether or not you die… you cannot tell me you don’t understand that concept intimately, not given your history.”
Jazz shuddered as large, dark, charcoal servos slid over his frame with the barest of touches.
He did not break his gaze with the warlord, as much to defend his pride as it was because he just couldn’t look away. It discomforted him to realise he felt very akin to a petro-rabbit caught in headlights.
He did his best not to show it… but the manic gleam now dominating the tyrant’s optics was as frightening as the smile on his faceplates.
“You’ve seen my followers… my loyalists… they submitted to death, and gained their lives, earned their freedom. So many have begun to realise that the harsh truth is the most liberating. The Autobots think they understand love? They know nothing… their love is a cheap, weak imitation.
My followers love me… in the truest sense, without the need for murky, simpering affection.”
Huge servos scraped down Jazz’s sides, enough to strip paint, nearly to dent, but teetering right on the line between pleasure and pain.
Jazz made no move to stop or encourage Megatron. He merely stared into the sea of blinding red filling his vision, feeling it seep into his mind, encouraging that blackness, which incited his spark to rally in defence against it.
He let no part of his inner war show, and yet Megatron seemed to be able to feel it.
The grey behemoth laughed again, a true, naked, sick sort of humour to it.
“The Autobots will learn to love me… and when they do, they will despair. The very same way you are, Jazz.”
“Ah don’t love you. Ah don’t love your ideals. I recognise ‘em. Ah acknowledge the possibilities. But ah don’t love it… ANY of it. In any sense o’ the word.”
The saboteur was shocked by the coldness in his own vocals, but it was at odds with his internal dialogue of constant fear, resistance, acceptance, regret, confusion, hate, and determination.
Just when he’d thought Megatron couldn’t look any scarier, his expression changed again, holding a deep, disturbing sort of promise, and Jazz realised his notion before that his torturer had arrived was entirely correct.
Suddenly, he wished it HAD been Vortex.
Dark servos gripped him firmly, pressing him to the wall, and the warlord loomed again, a black knee sliding forcefully between white thighs.
“I did tell you, Jazz, that I have more than one means of persuation.”
He leant in to bring his mouth to the saboteur’s audial, rumbling in a voice of promise that sent a shiver of ice through the black and white frame.
“You may not be an Autobot… but you too will have reason to love me… and you will despair.”
0000000000
It was very long time before Jazz ever revealed himself to another.
His trust… his love… both in the true sense, were a rare gift, that he imparted only upon Prowl when their sparks touched for the first time.
It was meant to be happy… wonderful, the best thing Jazz had ever experienced, and it was…
But…
He still ended up curled against Prowl’s chest plates, keening into the Praxians chassis.
Prowl… ever patient, ever understanding, clung tighter than was strictly necessary to Jazz’s plating.
He never would have guessed at the darkness lurking within his lover… the self-disgust, the pit of horrors and loathing and guilty desire, on top of which sat that one memory, something Jazz refused to keep from him…
It was his biggest shame.
That Megatron had done something to him he could never stop desiring… and he would forever suffer because of it.
Author: death_hendry (author tag pleeeease mods :3 )
Verse: G1
Prompt: Megatron/Jazz - 'All shall love me and despair'
Rating: PG13/M? (allusions to forced interface and sparkbonding)
Words: 2688
Summary: Still a freelancing Neutral, Jazz is working for the Autobots when he's captured.
Megatron himself goes to talk to Jazz, revealing he both knows more about the saboteur than the mech realises, and giving Jazz a taste of what he could have if he just threw away his morality and joined the Decepticon cause.
The Warlord's methods of persuation are the hardest test Jazz has ever faced. Even if he passes, he can't be free of the impact of that single meeting.
Authors Note: Story is set in the early stages of the war, but there is a tiny bit at the end set in the future on earth.
Also, this is my first Rare-Pairing Prompts piece :V And as a side note, I was listening to Roxanne from Moulin Rouge soundtrack on repeat to get this done.
It was the darkest, dankest cell Jazz had ever had the misfortunate to get to know the insides of intimately.
They’d thrown him down there, presumably to rot, because they didn’t seem to keep guard… not on the same level as he was situated. That meant they were extremely dumb or didn’t know him very well.
Or, they thought there was no way out but one door somewhere above.
Idiots.
He was Jazz.
Didn’t they know the meister could make his own doors?
Mind, it was taking a fair while, but he was getting there.
He had his plans worked out, knew the timing of his rations (meagre and disgusting as they were).
He had a tool fashioned from his own armour and wiring… not redundant systems, no, they’d stripped him of those… apparently had enough sense to know he was resourceful at least.
They’d underestimated just HOW resourceful, but then again most mechs wouldn’t purposefully torture themselves by taking chunks out of their secondary systems just to make slap-dash lock picks and knives.
At the moment, Jazz was simply conserving his strength, biding his time.
He’d failed to retrieve the necessary information, but the Prime would probably be happy just to have him back alive (and preferably in one piece… mostly so Ratchet didn’t kick up a fuss).
Sounds caught his attention.
Pedefalls from above, heading towards the way down to his cell. The bot sounded heavier than the usual assortment that came down, and what was more, it was certainly not ration time yet.
Jazz frowned slightly, sitting up a bit straighter.
Perhaps, at last, his torture was going to begin for real… then that would be Vortex they were sending down.
Even as good a saboteur as Jazz was, he shuddered at the thought of a Vortex interrogation.
There was no more sadistic mech on Cybertron than that fragged up rotary.
The sound of the steps grew louder… they were on the level where he was being held now.
Convinced he was doomed to several cycles of unimaginable pain, Jazz schooled his features into a well practiced poker face…
Which vanished the moment the large silver, black and red tyrant came into the light of the corridor, beyond his energized little hole in the wall.
Bright, crimson optics bored into Jazz’s visor, and he had the discomforted feeling the warlord could see right through it into his less than stellar optics.
His surprise at Megatron’s appearance was quickly hidden behind another mask of neutrality, curiosity warring within him against a healthy dose of fear.
He may have been the Meister, but Megatron was one hell of a match for him any orn.
Especially in the poker-face division.
The cool, hard, calculating stare never left the saboteur’s gaze as the bars were de-energised and Megatron stepped into the space barely big enough for him to stand straight in.
Jazz maintained his half lotus position against the wall, staring back with a calmness that contradicted the tension in his frame.
He was ready to spring at any moment.
Why the slag had the fragging leader of the Decepticons decided he was worth his time?
Surely this couldn’t be a good thing.
“Jazz, isn’t it?”
The words rolled out colder than solidified nitrogen.
The saboteur struggled not to shudder or twitch in response.
“What’s it to ya?”
The half-drawled response actually got the hint of a smirk out of the warlord.
“I wont even ask if you know who I am. If you didn’t, you wouldn’t have gotten as far into my base as you did. Ignorant fools don’t hack like that.”
Was Jazz imagining things, or was that almost a compliment?
“Figured I’d drop in and give myself a challenge.”
The look on Megatron’s face at Jazz’s nonchalant, if not slightly flat reply, told clearly that he wasn’t buying the act.
“I’m not here to get the wheres and why-fores of your motivations. I only want your audio for a breem or so.”
Jazz let himself frown slightly and tilt his helm at that.
“Now why would some-bot as busy and important as you want to talk to lowly lil’ old me?”
“Because I’m not sure you’ve been given a fair chance. An opportunity to see everything from all angles. That IS what you like to do before tackling a problem, isn’t it? My communications specialist seems to have analysed that as a particular trait of yours in your hacking. Very thorough. Very good planning. Skills wasted on the Autobots.”
Jazz scoffed.
“Ooooh, ah shoulda guessed this was gonna turn into a recruitment drive. No sale Megs, ah may not wear anyone’s badge, but that don’t mean I’m a swinger… least, not in that sense.”
The saboteur instantly regretted his little quip the moment he saw the dangerous glint in the warlord’s optics.
A nasty smirk crawled its way across Megatron’s faceplate, scaring Jazz more than any rage or threats could.
“Ah, but you have not heard me out… I’m aware my methods of persuation are well known. But do not think me lacking in morals. Truth, is one of the weapons in my arsenal. I am also a mech of my word.”
Jazz stood slowly as the much larger grey mech loomed imposingly, somehow having gotten closer without Jazz really noticing.
“You? Truth? The two concepts don’t compute so well in mah helm together.”
“Mmmmm, is that so? Let me ask you something, Jazz of Kaon… yes, I know where you are from… I know perfectly well you clawed your way out of the same hole I did… ahah, don’t give me that look, you should be honoured to lay claim to your past. You are not LIKE them… you are not WEAK. Now, as I was saying, I will put a few questions to you… what is the more worthy cause? Fight for the mechs who came from the privilege of ‘peace’ upon the back-struts of bots like us, OR… rejoin us in overthrowing the true oppressors, the conglomerations of power who decide that their perfect society, their ‘peace’ is to be carried by the sufferance of the lower classes… classes they have designated to lives in slavery and cruelty…”
“Tell me, Jazz… where do your loyalties really lie? Your own kind? Or the ones who dole out their silver promises of wistful, unreal ideals of paradise to placate you?”
Megatron leant down until his faceplate was micromechanometers from Jazz’s own.
The saboteur nearly swayed with the dizzying brightness of red filling his vision.
He did not answer, mouth set in a stony grimace.
There was a pause, the air in the dank cell thick with unspoken tensions, and Megatron could fairly hear the frantic buzz of thought processes in the small black helm.
The silver tyrant laughed. A deep, strut chilling chuckle as he backed off just a little.
“You require further convincing? I told you, I am a Mech of truth. I do not make any of these false promises of light and utopian living. You and I both know that’s fanciful rubbish.”
Megatron turned and paced around the cell, gesturing slightly with a servo, the other held rather formally at his side.
“In reality… there will always be corruption. There will always be the few elevated ‘haves’ taking advantage of the many ‘have nots’. It will perpetuate, because it is our nature, as sentient beings, to exploit other, less capable sentient beings. That is how the universe works.’
‘WE were the ‘have nots’. We MADE ourselves into the ‘haves’, and in doing so, earned the RIGHT to take our place at the top. I make no secret of my philosophies… I am a realist. I will never be able to abolish the use of others for one’s own gain.
But I will do any mech the courtesy of not hiding this behind gilded promises and haughty proclamations.”
He looked to Jazz, who remained leaning against the wall, grimace set in place, visor dimmer than before.
Good.
He is thinking.
“The system is simple, elegant. No bot will be unsure of their place in my society. The strong rule. The weak obey.
But do not think I have no compassion. I wish to see my peoples become great again… greater than they ever were under the false pretence of civility boasted by the golden age.
And you and I BOTH know, all too well, that it was false. There was nothing golden about the ages in which we were created. Nothing golden in slavery or starvation.
I would never allow my people to starve. The strong rule, yes. But they have responsibilities. We have a duty, to maintain the health of our planet, our culture.
The strong must maintain this, by maintaining and guiding the weak into their purposes. They will serve us, and they will be cared for, and none will be left hungry, none will be unattended.
It is not the perfect system of freedom. But freedom is not a right GIVEN. It is earned. The same way we earned it.
You give it away to fools like those who call themselves Autobots, and it is merely taken for granted.
Do you really want bots who have no idea what it is like to fight for themselves taking places of power?”
Jazz looked up into the vehement optics of the warlord where he stood not two paces from him.
Jazz was silent for a few more moments, considering everything he’d heard.
He’d known Megatron was quite the motivational speaker.
But he’d never really listened.
He’d been… afraid to.
His fears were not without reason.
He found himself… agreeing with so much of what was said.
It was hard not to be sympathetic to Megatron’s ideals.
They WERE realistic… starkly so, STAGGERINGLY so. In the beginning, it had been too much for the high-council to accept. So shocking to the prim and proper and their established order that they’d reacted in a whiplash manner, striking out not only to silence, but to tear down Megatron’s ideas and his followers.
Not that it had done them any good in the end.
Once the seeds of dissent were planted an a rally point had risen in the form of an ex-gladiator, the juggernaut of change had taken over.
But Jazz, against his own will, had felt every word in his spark.
As much as he loathed Megatron for all the lives he had already taken, he could not dispute the ideals the Decepticon leader fought for.
So… what did that make him?
Still technically a neutral, and an Autobot sympathiser. By all rights, Megatron would be better off just killing him.
But instead he was extending his servo in recognition of their similarities… Jazz’s strength, born of the same pit the ex-gladiator had been sparked into.
Their paths had been different, but their stories not dissimilar.
A darkness that sat at the edges of Jazz’s spark and mind loomed in a way it hadn’t since the beginning of the war, and the saboteur despised it.
He raised his helm and fixed his gaze back on the piercing scarlet optics.
“You realise you’d always have unrest? The weak don’t always stay weak. Look at US. What’s to stop the mechs breakin’ from their place and takin’ over huh? Ya startin’ something’ that ain’t ever gonna finish. It’s going to tear Cybertron, and every Cybertronian on it to pieces.”
The laugh that rolled from the tyrant this time was cold, hard, and belied the utter frigidity of the mech’s spark.
“That’s the POINT. I do not discourage unrest… I champion it. What are Cybertronians ever going to accomplish through peace? A better understanding of the universe around us? And what will that gain us? Useless facts. Through my model of society, we take what we need to strengthen and advance, and discard the useless facets that hold us back. Mechs are free to seek their own freedom, which is the most beautiful aspect of this whole mission.”
Megatron stalked over to the smaller mech, putting himself well within his personal space again.
“If through our fight to conquer all as the rightful, dominant species, we tear ourselves apart… then so be it. If we cannot survive ourselves, then how are we worthy to make claim to the universe and it’s treasures? Preservation of life… as I learned early, in the pits… is over-rated. You do not live until you stop caring about whether or not you die… you cannot tell me you don’t understand that concept intimately, not given your history.”
Jazz shuddered as large, dark, charcoal servos slid over his frame with the barest of touches.
He did not break his gaze with the warlord, as much to defend his pride as it was because he just couldn’t look away. It discomforted him to realise he felt very akin to a petro-rabbit caught in headlights.
He did his best not to show it… but the manic gleam now dominating the tyrant’s optics was as frightening as the smile on his faceplates.
“You’ve seen my followers… my loyalists… they submitted to death, and gained their lives, earned their freedom. So many have begun to realise that the harsh truth is the most liberating. The Autobots think they understand love? They know nothing… their love is a cheap, weak imitation.
My followers love me… in the truest sense, without the need for murky, simpering affection.”
Huge servos scraped down Jazz’s sides, enough to strip paint, nearly to dent, but teetering right on the line between pleasure and pain.
Jazz made no move to stop or encourage Megatron. He merely stared into the sea of blinding red filling his vision, feeling it seep into his mind, encouraging that blackness, which incited his spark to rally in defence against it.
He let no part of his inner war show, and yet Megatron seemed to be able to feel it.
The grey behemoth laughed again, a true, naked, sick sort of humour to it.
“The Autobots will learn to love me… and when they do, they will despair. The very same way you are, Jazz.”
“Ah don’t love you. Ah don’t love your ideals. I recognise ‘em. Ah acknowledge the possibilities. But ah don’t love it… ANY of it. In any sense o’ the word.”
The saboteur was shocked by the coldness in his own vocals, but it was at odds with his internal dialogue of constant fear, resistance, acceptance, regret, confusion, hate, and determination.
Just when he’d thought Megatron couldn’t look any scarier, his expression changed again, holding a deep, disturbing sort of promise, and Jazz realised his notion before that his torturer had arrived was entirely correct.
Suddenly, he wished it HAD been Vortex.
Dark servos gripped him firmly, pressing him to the wall, and the warlord loomed again, a black knee sliding forcefully between white thighs.
“I did tell you, Jazz, that I have more than one means of persuation.”
He leant in to bring his mouth to the saboteur’s audial, rumbling in a voice of promise that sent a shiver of ice through the black and white frame.
“You may not be an Autobot… but you too will have reason to love me… and you will despair.”
0000000000
It was very long time before Jazz ever revealed himself to another.
His trust… his love… both in the true sense, were a rare gift, that he imparted only upon Prowl when their sparks touched for the first time.
It was meant to be happy… wonderful, the best thing Jazz had ever experienced, and it was…
But…
He still ended up curled against Prowl’s chest plates, keening into the Praxians chassis.
Prowl… ever patient, ever understanding, clung tighter than was strictly necessary to Jazz’s plating.
He never would have guessed at the darkness lurking within his lover… the self-disgust, the pit of horrors and loathing and guilty desire, on top of which sat that one memory, something Jazz refused to keep from him…
It was his biggest shame.
That Megatron had done something to him he could never stop desiring… and he would forever suffer because of it.