Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Mirage trudged along a newly rebuilt walkway in Iacon. For the most part, his Autobot brand meant that he was ignored by the other Cybertronians he came across- free Decepticons, all. He didn't know why, but there were very few slaves in this sector. Because of his electro-disruptor he had used in the war, Mirage had become adept at avoiding collisions, and even though he did not have the device any more he used the skill to try and remain unnoticed.

Breakdown was the Stunticon who most often used his electro-disruptor, but today Motormaster had taken it for some purpose he hadn't seen fit to explain to the others. Mirage didn't really care, except that it meant that the paranoid Breakdown sent him out to complete any errands that needed doing.

Besides relegating all captured Autobots to slave status, the new Decepticon government of Cybertron had put other sanctions in place. Among those was the ruling that Autobots unaccompanied by their masters were not allowed to transform in public.

Mirage looked jealously down at the street level where other mechs zipped along effortlessly in alt mode. These inane tasks Breakdown sent him on took four times as long because he had to go alone and walk everywhere. During the war he had wanted nothing more than to return to Cybertron and see his planet rebuilt to its former glory. At the rate the Decepticons were moving, it looked like that would happen sooner rather than later.
I just didn't expect to live in my former home as chattel, thought Mirage.

"Watch it, slave!" The exclamation was accompanied by a cuff to his helm. Lost in his own thoughts, Mirage had bumped into the back of another mech. He kept his optics on the ground, mumbled an apology, and backed away.
There was a crowd of mechs standing at an intersection blocking the path. Mirage cycled his vents in frustration. The frenzied pace of rebuilding and construction often caused routes to change without warning. It looked like they were letting mechs through at intervals, but as a slave Mirage would have to wait until absolutely no Decepticons were waiting to cross. He reversed his direction and headed down a side street. It would be a more roundabout way, but at least then he would be only slightly late, and have a chance of getting back to the quarters he shared with the Stunticons before Motormaster returned. The large semi was very displeased if Mirage wasn't ready and waiting for him when he came back to their living unit.

Mirage paused at an intersection to get his bearings. If he cut through several alleys, and they weren't blocked with rubble, he would come out only three sections away from home.

Startled, Mirage examined his thoughts. Yes, he did think of the cramped, noisy rooms that the Stunticons inhabited as home now. The notion was unsettling. Had he really become so used to the situation? Mirage gave up that line of thinking as a bad job, and continued on his way.

The first alley was clear, but the next was absolutely choked. Mirage's shoulder wheels slumped in defeat. It looked like he would simply have to take whatever Motormaster decided to deal out for his tardiness. Mirage turned around, intending to backtrack.

The way out was blocked by three Decepticons.

Mirage didn't recognize them, but lately more and more of the scattered Decepticon forces had been returning to Cybertron, and he found himself recognizing very few mechs on the street.

"Well, well, well – what do we have here?" a hulking mech with a frame that suggested a tetrajet alt mode said.

How cliché, thought Mirage. 'Is that the best they can come up with?' He backed into the rubble pile.

Mirage wasn't too worried- all he had to do was mention Motormaster, and any 'Cons taking liberties with property that didn't belong to them usually left in a hurry.

"I think it's a little lost Autobot," replied one of his companions. "It should be careful, walking around all alone – someone might take advantage."

"I am already spoken for," Mirage said, keeping his eyes on their approaching pedes lest he end up slagged for 'not showing respect'. "If you wish to negotiate for services, you will have to speak with my owner, Motormaster." When he had first been taken by the Stunticons, having to utter those words just to get some 'Con to stop groping him had been galling, and most had laughed at the way he stuttered through it. Now, the words came automatically. Mirage felt that he should feel defeated or sad that they were spoken so naturally, but all he could feel was a crushing tiredness.

"Huh! Do they give you pieces of slag scripts or something?" the seeker hissed. "That's what the other little car said. Not that it made any difference." Mirage's head snapped up and he suddenly found himself pressed against the pile of rubble, the seeker's hand around his neck.

Mirage couldn't even struggle – another part of the Decepticon sanctions against the Autobots was the installation of programs and subroutines that prevented any violence or physical resistance towards a Decepticon. All he could do was put his hands against the other's chassis and push weakly.

"I think I like this one better, Stormwing." The third seeker said. "You couldn't see the fear in the other 'Bot's face 'cause of his visor." He reached down and grabbed Mirage's hip plate, groping him and feeling for the panel that covered Mirage's valve. Mirage's legs twitched, but all of his commands to kick out were overridden by the pacifying programming.

Mirage was becoming more panicked now. This was wrong, he belonged to Motormaster and the Stunticons! Nobody else was allowed to touch him! As soon as the thought flashed into his processor, Mirage felt some surprise at himself. What did it matter which 'Con was 'facing him? But he felt like it did matter now. "My master will be very angry-" he started, but was silenced with a slap from the seeker called Stormwing. The tetrajet threw him on the ground and began to kick him savagely.

Mirage tried to crawl away, scrabbling on the loose rubble that littered the alley. A hand grabbed his shoulder axle and dragged him back, throwing him to the ground once more. He hunkered down, trying to get his CPU in order to think of a way out of this. They had attacked another Autobot, and didn't care about the rules about hassling some else's slave. Mirage shivered. His best option would be to simply capitulate, and hope they didn't slag him up too much.

"Don't interrupt your betters, Auto-whore!"

One of the seekers kicked Mirage in his abdomen, stalling his fans. His engine sputtered as he struggled to keep enough air flowing through his intakes to support combustion. This couldn't be happening! Even if they didn't care about the rules, they had to care about Motormaster!

"P-please don't!" Mirage gasped. A hand reached down and drew him to his feet only to knock him down again. Out of long ingrained habit, Mirage tried to send a distress signal, but was unsuccessful. His comm had been damaged when he and his team were taken, and none of the Stunticons had thought it worth the effort and expense to get it repaired.

Now the three pairs of distinctive seeker pedes surrounded him. Mirage remained hunkered down on his hands and knee-joints. His spark quailed in his chest at the thought of what was inevitably going to happen to him. As one of his assailants pushed him down and rolled him onto his back with deceptive gentleness, Mirage found that he could only think about what Motormaster's reaction would be. Would he get rid of Mirage? Force him to leave? Mirage couldn't believe it, but he didn't want to leave the Stunticons. He had become …accustomed to living with them, and now knew all of their individual quirks. And…it was nice to know that his master was one of the most respected (well, feared but that was the same thing to Decepticons) mechs in the city.

As his legs were forced apart, Mirage covered his face with his hands, hoping that this would be over with soon. "I don't know why you're so weepy," Stormwing leered, looking at the scuffed and worn paint on Mirage's inner thighs and hip plate. "It's obvious you've had your gears stripped plenty already. Hah!"

The tetrajet's disgusting weight settled on top of him, and the seeker grabbed Mirage's wrists to force his hands away.

"No hiding, little Autobot! I want to see your face when I make you moan for me!" Mirage tried to force himself to relax, and shut off his optics as the seeker made as if to enter him.

Suddenly, there was a commotion above them. Shrieks and clangs of tortured metal echoed around the alley. Mirage felt Stormwing jerk in surprise above him, and then the heavy weight was lifted off. All it took was one look at the distinctive black truck-cab pedes that had joined the seeker turbine-heels for Mirage to roll out of the way and scramble for cover. Mirage only caught a few snatches of words over the din.

"What do you think you're doing? Don't interfere!"

"That slave is MINE, and anyone who touches him without my say so gets slagged, but good!" Mirage had never thought that he would be happy to hear Motormaster's voice, but a wave of relief swept through him upon hearing his master's threat.

Mirage cringed as more sounds of metal impacting metal reached his audio receptors. He felt the air displacement as a mech was hurled over his head and landed in the rubble pile. The seeker apparently decided Mirage wasn't worth the trouble and transformed and flew vertically out of the alley.

"How dare you lay your filthy actuators on seekers, ground pounder!" Mirage risked a glance up, to see Stormwing and Motormaster squaring off. The third seeker was looking much less confident, hanging back and looking around for exit routes.

"I didn't take slag from seekers on earth and I'm not going to take it from upstarts who didn't even fight alongside Megatron!" Motormaster growled back as they circled each other. The seeker finally made his move, but Motormaster countered, hauling the tetrajet around and slamming him into a wall and holding him there by his neck strut. Stormwing kicked and fired his turbines, but nothing would make Motormaster release his grip. Mirage doubted anything Stormwing could do would shake Motormaster. He had seen the Stunticon leader subdue Breakdown with no visible effort, even when the Lamborghini was using his vibro-frequency.

For a nano-klik Mirage felt a stutter in his spark. Watching Motormaster's display of strength made him feel…proud of his Master. Mirage decided not to analyze that emotion too closely.

"You're new here so I'm not going to rip your vocalizer out through your afterburner this time, and I'll give you some free advice. Don't go sparkin' with things that don't belong to you. And get out of this city – I have a hunch that you're the ones that slagged up Soundwave's little 'bot last orn, and he isn't happy about that."

The seeker's cocky attitude evaporated immediately. "S-Soundwave?" he stuttered. "That piece of aft belonged to Soundwave?"

Motormaster chuckled darkly. "Yup. And he's got all of his cassettes out lookin' for the fools that did it."

There was a roar from the end of the alley where the seeker that was hanging back blasted off into the air. Stormwing made to follow, and Motormaster let him go, laughing to himself as Stormwing followed his deserting friend, yelling inarticulate curses.

Then Motormaster stopped laughing as suddenly as he had started, turning slowly around to face Mirage. The tall mech's purple optics burned in their housing, and Mirage quailed. Usually when Motormaster turned that look on him, he knew he was going to be 'faced mercilessly in short order. It was probably too much to hope that Motormaster would wait until they were back in their quarters.

"M-master," Mirage whispered, lifting himself to his knees and bowing his head in a submissive posture. "Thank you-"

Mirage's words ended in a surprised squeak as he was jerked off of the ground and held against the wall, just like Stormwing had been a few moments before.

"You know the rules, slave!" Motormaster growled, his powerful engine creating a menacing undertone. "No 'facing anyone outside of the gestalt!"

"Master, I d-didn't want-"

Mirage was again cut off, this time as Motormaster gave him a cruel blow to the side of his helm. Mirage's head snapped to the side and warnings flashed on his HUD. He was sure a few of his circuit boards had been knocked loose.

"Be quiet, you little piece of shareware." Motormaster dropped a hand to Mirage's pelvic unit and pried his access panel open. "I'm going to have to remind you who you belong to." Mirage was only able to get out a whimper before the large black mech entered him roughly, making Mirage scream in pain. He was lifted so that his back strut was braced against the wall and he automatically wrapped his legs around Motormaster's waist.

Pinned as he was between the thrusting, relentless pushing of the Stunticon's chest assembly and the wall, Mirage couldn't do anything other than grasp at Motormaster's shoulders and try to hold on. His vents hitched in time to Motormaster's rhythm. The pain continued, as it always did. There was just too much of a size difference between the two mechs, and Motormaster would never even entertain the notion of changing the way he interfaced: not for his teammates, let alone Mirage.

The back of Mirage's helm hit the wall every time Motormaster surged forward. Mirage found that he was unable to simply endure the ordeal like he had during previous encounters. "Ughn…Master!- Ah! Please-" Mirage begged, though he didn't know what he was begging for. He felt like the semi's spike was going to impale his spark chamber, and the unusual position was putting strain on unaccustomed parts in his valve.

"What?" growled Motormaster in Mirage's audio. The black mech gave an exceptionally hard push and held it, squeezing Mirage mercilessly between himself and the wall. "What are you going to do?" he leered, as Mirage writhed in agony against him, the Liger's pedes and legs alternately kicking out and wrapping themselves around the black chassis. "Beg me to go easy on you? Why should I do that? You're the one who was sparking around outside of the team, looking to get 'faced into the ground. But don't worry, I'll put a new thread in you, show you your place." Motormaster continued with his assault. The fight with the seekers had left him very riled up, and he was expending all of his built up energy on the hapless Mirage.

"Please Master, it wasn't like that!" Mirage pleaded. A burning sensation was building in his lower chassis – had Motormaster ruptured something? It flared in response to every thrust, and built to an incredible buzzing feeling as Motormaster grabbed Mirage's hands and pinned them to the wall on either side of the Autobot's head. "B-Break – ah! – down sent me out and I didn't –ngh!- want to be late…"

Suddenly the thrusting stopped once more, and Motormaster released one of Mirage's hands to connect his sizable fist with the side of Mirage's helm. The blow was hard enough that Mirage's processor lost control of his hydraulics for a klik, and he sagged in Motormaster's grasp. Motormaster grabbed Mirage's throat and squeezed just hard enough to dent his dermal plating slightly.

"I don't accept excuses, slave!" He began pistoning in and out of Mirage once more, and Mirage couldn't believe that Motormaster was managing to be even more forceful now. Mirage couldn't even summon the processor power to react, he felt as if his chassis and substructure was going to be shaken apart, and everything hurt. As compromised hydraulics and joints loosened in the face of the onslaught, the burning-buzzing sensation ripped through his chassis. Mirage thought Motormaster must have surely broken something now. It wasn't until too late that he recognized the sensation for what it was – an impending overload. It had been so long-

"MASTER!" the cry ripped from Mirage's vocalizer. It wasn't clear whether it was a plea for more or a plea for mercy. He had no control over his systems any more. There was too much energy that needed to be released from his frame, and he lost count of how many times he crested the waves of release. It was a hideous mix of pain and pleasure– each spasm that shook his frame felt like things were being pulled and twisted inside Mirage. Motormaster's powerful movements pushed Mirage over the edge.

Finally the last wave of burning agony faded into the general background discomfort of Motormaster abusing him. Mirage powered up his optics when he noticed that Motormaster's rhythm had slowed once more. The big mech was sneering at him with barely concealed rage in his optics.

"What…was that?" he growled, voice low and dangerous. "Did I give you permission to overload?"

"N-no, Master, I'm sorry-" Motormaster pulled roughly out of Mirage and let him fall unceremoniously to the ground.

"You really are a piece of shareware, aren't you?" He didn't seem to really want an answer, so Mirage remained silent, holding himself and trembling. Spare current was still coursing through his frame, and occasionally grounding itself. "For all your prissiness you like a mech that 'faces your paint off. Well, I'll give you want you want!" Motormaster grabbed Mirage's shoulder axle and forced him to his hands and knee joints. Mirage could see that Motormaster's spike was still extended, and he started shaking harder. After the overload, his valve felt many times more sensitive, Mirage couldn't fathom how much it would hurt to have this rough treatment continue.

Motormaster continued his pressure on Mirage's axle until the Autobot yielded and lowered his upper body to the ground. Motormaster's hand on his aft ensured that it stayed raised. Mirage buried his face in his forearms, waiting for the assault to begin anew.

Motormaster knelt behind Mirage and entered him again; Mirage had to brace himself to keep from being pushed forward over the ground. "I can see that I'm going to have to give you another lesson about the rules," Motormaster hissed in Mirage's audio.

"Rule number one," he punctuated his words with a sharp push, making Mirage cry out. "I'm the leader of the gestalt. Not Breakdown. You don't go anywhere outside without my permission. Got that?"

"Yes, Master." Mirage's voice was muffled. Motormaster grabbed one of his helm vents and jerked Mirage's head up and out of his arms.

"I can't hear you! What will you do?"

"I'll only go outside with your permission, Master!" Mirage said desperately. Then he gasped as Motormaster fumbled around on his interface array, and began to tease Mirage's spike housing.

"Good," rumbled Motormaster. "Rule number two," there was another savage push; "you don't sneak around. Stay on the main streets." He paused, waiting for Mirage to reply.

"Yes, Master. I will only walk on main streets-ah!" Mirage bit back a cry. Motormaster had succeeded in making Mirage's own interface spike extend, and had given it a stroke in response to Mirage's answer. That part of him had been long neglected, and despite the draining overload he had had before, Mirage felt his systems start warming up and responding to the touch.

"Rule number three; don't act like a two-credit tramp with other mechs."

"But Master, I didn't-" Immediately the hand on his spike turned cruel, wrenching it and making Mirage yell in pain and surprise. Motormaster then pushed in and out of his valve several times, prompting Mirage to yell again. He could feel Motormaster holding himself above Mirage, the larger mech's frame trembling in an effort to hold himself back from his own overload.

"What's rule number three, slave?!"

"I w-won't act like a-a tramp with other mechs, Master."

"Good." The hand between his legs stopped twisting. "Rule number four, you don't overload without permission."

"Yes Master, I won't overload without p-permission." Mirage's voice hitched as the hand resumed stroking him. The slave had endured quite a few indignities in his time with Stunticons, but this was the lowest he'd ever felt. And yet...Mirage felt a kind of freedom in the knowledge that he would never have to make decisions for himself again. He could lay that burden on Motormaster... his master.

During the War, Mirage had often had to make split second decisions where other mech's lives were on the line. To the Towers-raised noblemech, the often nebulous hierarchy with the Autobot forces had always made him feel uneasy and adrift, as if he didn't quite know his status.

With Motormaster and the Stunticons, he knew his place, and even though it was at the bottom of the pecking order, that knowledge gave him comfort.

Mirage felt himself relaxing further in relief at this realization. He didn't have to do anything; only yield to Motormaster, and everything would be alright.

Motormaster rumbled in amusement as he felt the tension leave Mirage's frame. "That's it, slave. Moan for me!" Mirage gave a keening groan in response. His hip plate began to move almost involuntarily into Motormaster's hand.

"Pl- please, Master!" Mirage gasped. His systems were well on their way to a second overload.

"Please what?"

"Please let me overload, Master!"

"Hmm, I don't know if I -uh!- should." Mirage could almost hear the sadistic smile in Motormaster's voice. "Maybe I should just leave you like this, make you walk home revved up like this-" His thrusts sped, and Mirage could tell that Motormaster was not going to stop them this time. The movements pushed Mirage back and forth over the ground, scraping his forearms and knee-joints.

"Oh! Please Master, mercy! Please let me overload!" Mirage threw the tattered remains of his dignity away, his voice needy and pleading.

"Not so aloof now, are you? What are the rules?"

"I won't go outside without -ah!- your permission, Master. I will stay on the -the main streets-oh please Master!"

"Keep going!" Motormaster slapped Mirage's aft.

"I won't act like- a t-tramp with other mechs, Master! I will only overload with your permission, Master, oh please please, Master, please!" Mirage was caught between the wonderful sensations in his spike, and the pain of his abused valve. "Please Master may I overload, please!" He was on the cusp, and every movement of Motormaster inside him threatened to push him over the edge. The Autobot knew though that any punishment heretofore now would seem insignificant compared to what Motormaster would do to him if he overloaded without express leave now.

"Only for me, you only overload for me!"

"Yes, Master! Only for you, Master!"

"Then do it now, you little slut!"

"Oooh, Master!" Mirage cried as he gave himself up to his second overload. He could feel Motormaster pumping his valve savagely, but the pain was mitigated by the amazing feeling of the hand on his spike. All of Mirage's limbs jerked and twitched, and his leg struts gave out as he overloaded. Motormaster pushed in three more times, then stiffened as he finished. His large engine roared and the vibrations shook Mirage to his core.

When Motormaster withdrew, Mirage could not summon the energy to rise from his prone position on the ground. He only twitched a little when Motormaster replaced the panel that concealed his overheated valve.

Finally Motormaster had enough of waiting and poked him with his pede. "C'mon, get up. What do you say?"

Mirage raised himself slowly on shaking arms. "Thank you, Master." There was a sharper nudge.

"Properly."

"Yes, Master." The Autobot crawled over to Motormaster and placed a kiss on his pede. "Thank you, Master."

"That's a good slave." Mirage was stunned to feel a hand reach down and stroke along one of his helm crests. He was surprised to find himself leaning into the touch. "It occurs to me that I need some way to make sure others know that you're off limits, no matter how much you wave your aft in front of them." Mirage bit back a protest. He didn't want to do anything that would turn the gentle touch cruel again.

Motormaster stalked over to the rubble pile and sat down on an exposed beam. "Come here," he patted his lap as he pulled a stylus from a subspace pocket. Mirage stood on unsteady legs and staggered over to the Stunticon. Motormaster grabbed his arm as soon as Mirage was in range, and pulled him so that he lay over the black lap, aft raised.

"This will make sure any mech with more ball-bearings than processor power knows what's what," Motormaster muttered as he scribbled glyphs onto Mirage's hip plate. When he was done, Motormaster pushed Mirage up and off his lap, and growled with amusement at the way Mirage struggled to stand up straight. "It's just as well you won't be going out any time soon, you won't be able to walk straight for a few cycles!"

Mirage simply stared at the ground, waiting for Motormaster to decide he had had enough and was ready to go home. His processor knew that he should feel resentment and anger towards the hulking black Decepticon, but instead all he could feel was relief: relief that he would be protected by Motormaster and whatever mark he had put on Mirage. Also, now that Motormaster was here, Mirage would be able to transform and drive home with him.

Then, to Mirage's dismay, Motormaster activated the electro-disruptor and disappeared from view. "Get walkin'." The curt order came from where Motormaster had been standing.

"Yes, Master," defeat was evident in Mirage's voice. He could feel Motormaster shadowing him invisibly as he walked back out of the alley and onto the main walkway he had left.

As Mirage made his way along the street, no matter how much he tried to blend in and remain unnoticed, he could see other mechs he passed doing double-takes and staring at him. To the former spy, this was very unnerving. Mirage knew that he was scratched and dented, but he had been in public in much worse shape than this before, and had not provoked such a reaction.

Suddenly he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the smooth metal side of a building that had just been re-plated. Scrawled across his aft in bold glyphs was, "PROPERTY OF MOTORMASTER: TRESSPASSERS WILL BE SLAGGED!" As Mirage felt his spark heating in embarrassment, he could hear the distinctive sound of Motormaster's chuckle nearby.

Chapter Text

Mirage gave an internal sigh of resignation. Drag Strip always had possessed an inflated view of his own skills, and his prowess in the berth was no exception. The former spy was on his back in Drag Strip's berth, his hands pinned down beside his head and his legs up and around the racer's waist. Drag Strip grunted and growled with what Mirage considered unnecessary theatrics. If Mirage didn't know it would get him slagged, he would have laughed. As it was, Drag Strip loved to hear compliments and praises about his abilities, and it didn't cost Mirage anything to oblige him.

"Mmm, yes, take it, slave, take it!" hissed Drag Strip into Mirage's audios. Mirage almost rolled his optics, but caught himself in time. "Beg for it!"

"Please -mmf- Master Drag Strip," Mirage said, trying to sound sincere. "Please, more. Harder, Master Drag Strip." Mirage suppressed a shudder of revulsion as the yellow Decepticon's hands pawed at his chassis. Drag Strip wasn't really hurting him. After Mirage had been broken-in and used by Motormaster, almost nothing the smaller other members of the Stunticon team did in the berth hurt him physically. Besides, Motormaster became irate if any mech other than himself put marks on Mirage, even his gestalt-mates.

Marks…Mirage felt his faceplates heat up as energon rushed to them in embarrassment when he remembered how Motormaster had marked his aft after he was attacked by those seekers a deca-cycle ago.

Drag Strip's thrusts sped up, and Mirage's hip plate surged to meet them. Performing for his masters was practically a basic subroutine by now. Motormaster was the only one who still managed to keep him off balance and surprise him.

Suddenly he was slapped across the face. He looked up in confusion, focusing fully on Drag Strip.

"Pay attention, you little slut! Don't think I don't know when you go off into your little world!"

"I'm sorry, Master Drag Strip, please don't hit me!"

"What do you want me to do then, huh? Say it!" Drag Strip bit down on one of Mirage's neck cables.

"Ah! I want you to 'face me, Master Drag Strip!"

"I'll 'face you, I'll face you right through the berth!" The Stunticon growled again, his high performance engine revving and adding to the din. Suddenly he was jerked off of Mirage. Mirage gave a genuine cry of surprise and hurt, as Drag Strip's spike was roughly pulled out of his valve.

"Gerroff, Drag Strip. I want him now." Motormaster towered beside the berth where Mirage lay. Mirage hadn't heard him come in - it was getting close to the time of the cycle when Motormaster usually came home, but he was at least 10 breems earlier than usual. What was going on?

"Awww, Motormaster!" Drag Strip whined from where he'd been thrown to the floor. "I just got started…"

"Quit griping, you can finish when I'm through." Motormaster was already climbing onto Mirage. The berth creaked ominously, as it wasn't made for a mech as large of frame as Motormaster. Mirage kept quiet, not wanting to get caught in the middle of any dispute. Motormaster would win, of course, but Drag Strip could be headstrong and stupid. Mirage wouldn't put it past him to try and take on Motormaster. He simply kept his panel open, and his legs up and apart in a receptive posture. Any other movement would turn Motormaster's fickle temper on him.

"And why do ya gotta use my berth? I don't want your transfluid all over it!" Motormaster turned to Drag Strip and growled ominously. Drag Strip must have sensed that he was driving over treacherous terrain, because he immediately turned and stalked out of the room, though Mirage could hear him muttering curses all the way.

"Jumped up little slagger is getting rims too big for his tires…" Motormaster rumbled as he settled himself over Mirage. Mirage shifted a bit, trying to keep his head from getting trapped under Motormaster's chassis. It was hard enough trying to get air into his intakes without letting his vents get blocked by Motormaster's bulk.

To Mirage's relief, the large black semi didn't seem to be too interested in playing any games this time. Motormaster quickly lined his spike up with Mirage's valve and pushed in smoothly. Mirage couldn't quite stifle a small whimper. The spike was very large, and it was always uncomfortable interfacing with Motormaster. The Stunticon leader pushed in and out of him in an almost businesslike manner. He didn't have any of his usual taunts for Mirage.

Mirage found being pushed back and forth over the metal surface of the berth to be very annoying and reached up to Motormaster's shoulders to try and steady himself. Motormaster slapped his hands away. Mirage flinched, expecting a blow, but none came.

"Keep your hands to yourself, Mirage," Motormaster glared down at the Autobot slave for a moment, and then focused again at a point just over Mirage's helm. There was not doubt about it - Motormaster was distracted and thinking about something else, and Mirage was just being brought along for the ride.

Finally, the three hard thrusts and a stiffening of Motormaster's frame signaled his overload to Mirage. As Motormaster collapsed on top of him, Mirage concentrated on keeping still and quiet. Then, to Mirage's astonishment, one of Motormaster's large black hands reached up and began to caress his helm crests.

"M-Master?" Mirage asked timidly. It was very rare for Motormaster to touch him with gentleness.

"Quiet." Mirage shut his mouth, and stayed still as his master's hands trailed over his face and down his chassis. He was still pinned by Motormaster's weight, and the larger mech's spike had not retracted and was still buried to the hilt inside of his valve.

Slowly Mirage realized that Motormaster was tracing the scrapes and scuffs that Mirage had acquired during his time with the Stunticons.

"Look at this, slave," Motormaster said eventually. "You look disgraceful."

"Yes, Master," Mirage knew it was true, he hadn't dared to ask his new masters for anything other than the most basic maintenance.

"I know you spend quite a bit of time in the wash racks, can't you do anything about this? Drag Strip doesn't let himself get so…scruffy."

"I-I try, Master. But I can't do anything about it without wax and scratch filler. And paint," Mirage again braced himself for a blow.

"If you had some, would you use it? I can't get paint that matches you right now, but I know Drag Strip has a stash of that other stuff somewhere."

"Oh, yes, Master!" Mirage couldn't help the leap of joy his spark gave at the prospect of being able to do something to rectify the shameful state of his finish.

"Good. I'll give some of Drag Strip's stuff to you. I want you as polished as possible by next cycle." Now, finally, Motormaster rolled off of him, and retracted his spike. Mirage's legs twitched as it withdrew, but he was careful not to kick Motormaster.

"Yes, Master, thank you, Master. Thank you." Mirage's thanks were truly spark felt, and he was suddenly seized with a desire to let Motormaster know just how much it was appreciated. Of course, Drag Strip would be resentful, but he couldn't really do anything to Mirage that Motormaster hadn't already. Mirage did wonder why Motormaster was specifically going after Drag Strip's stash, as he knew that Dead End had a bigger one and was less likely to complain about the reallocation of his resources. As Motormaster pulled himself up to sit on the edge of the berth, Mirage rose to kneel behind him and caress his shoulder struts. "Thank you, Master…" he purred, pressing a kiss to the shoulder joint. He could tell that Motormaster had stilled, but with the cowling that surrounded his head, it was hard to tell whether he was pleased or annoyed with Mirage's forwardness.

With a quick movement, Motormaster reached up and grabbed one of Mirage's wandering hands. He pulled the slave around to hold him in his lap. Mirage cringed fearfully, but all Motormaster did was say, "Continue."

"Mmmm, Master…" Mirage took the order for what it was, and continued his ministrations to Motormaster's anterior chassis. "Thank you, Master," Mirage leaned up, and kissed Motormaster's jaw delicately. The semi had never acted like this before, and Mirage felt a bit adrift, as he didn't understand quite what was expected of him. Motormaster's engine rumbled in a satisfied way, so Mirage grew a bit bolder. He reached up and caressed one side of Motormaster's face, while kissing along the other side of his mandible. In between kisses he murmured expressions of gratitude.

Motormaster was holding Mirage sideways on his lap, and now pushed his legs apart. Mirage immediately let them fall open, and Motormaster groped and fondled his interface array.

"Oh! Master," Mirage gasped, pausing for a moment as his valve adjusted to the invasion. "Th-thank you Master…may I please?"

"May you please what?"

"O-overload, please, Master." By now Mirage was writhing against Motormaster's hand. The semi's touch was by no means gentle, but he wasn't actively trying to cause Mirage pain and that was more than Mirage usually was given. A distant part of Mirage felt sickened at himself for acting this way, but he couldn't help it. After only experiencing rough treatment for so long, he was willing to do almost anything that would earn himself gentleness.

"Not yet. Don't you want to know why I want you to shine yourself up?" Motormaster reached around with his other hand and gave Mirage's aft a tweak, rumbling in amusement at the way Mirage jerked and squeaked at the sudden sensation.

"I-I did, Master, but it's not my place…and I know that as-as long as I obey you, it doesn't matter what your reasons are- oh!" Motormaster had just found one of the sensor nodes inside of Mirage's valve and was stimulating it without mercy.

"That's a very good answer, Mirage. Little slaves who give such good answers deserve a reward. But you still have to wait, and listen to me carefully."

"Yes, Master," Mirage moaned.

"Megatron is going to meeting with his team leaders next orn. The meeting will be held over an extended period of time, and some of the participants will be bringing their slaves to…assist. Fetch and carry, keep us fueled, that sort of thing." Mirage stilled at Motormaster's words. Did he really mean…? "Because you have been making so much progress, and have so obedient, I volunteered your services. Mirage's head snapped up, a fearful question in his eyes. Motormaster just laughed. "No, not those services. And if anyone starts anything with you while you're there, ping me." After the incident with the seekers, Motormaster had installed a special comm and locator on Mirage, that only transmitted on Motormaster's frequency.

"Yes, Master." Mirage was now almost giddy with excitement. Motormaster had mentioned other slaves. That meant other Autobots! He might get to see some of his old comrades! Then he sobered. What would they think of him? He wouldn't be able to get all the marks out, and the way Motormaster acted towards him would surely show everyone just what his position in their team was. 'On my back, that's my position,' Mirage thought despondently. But he was still happy that he would have the chance to get out of their quarters. Motormaster tended to keep him cooped up more than Mirage would have liked.

"Thank you for this privilege, Master," was all Mirage said out loud. But by the way Motormaster smirked at him, Mirage was sure he had guessed at some of the thoughts floating around his CPU.

"There are going to be a few rules while at the meeting, Mirage." Motormaster inserted another digit, smiling at the way Mirage squirmed as his valve was stretched. "Remember them. First: You will call all Decepticons there 'Sir'."

"Yes, Master. I will address them as 'Sir'," Mirage panted.

"Who will you call that?" Motormaster pinched Mirage's array, hard.

"Ah! Decepticons, Master, I will call all Decepticons 'Sir'!"

"Good. You will not speak unless you are spoken to, directly."

"I will be seen, and not heard, Master." Mirage had learned quickly that Motormaster preferred him to paraphrase his rules in response. He supposed doing so signaled to the gestalt leader that he was truly thinking about and processing the dictums. "I won't speak without being prompted, Master." Mirage was rewarded with Motormaster's thumb finding one of his external sensor nodes and stimulating it. Heat was building in his lower chassis, and it was getting harder and harder to concentrate.

"Unless what they ask goes directly against something that I have told you, you will treat any of the freemechs there with the same obedience you would me."

"I will obey the freemechs as I would you, Master. Unless something they want me to do would go against your wishes." Now Mirage's pelvic unit began to push and buck involuntarily against Motormaster's hand.

"Your actions will reflect on me. Keep that in your CPU whenever you have to make a decision."

"Yes, Master. I will remember that anything I do reflects on you, and will act accordingly."

"Good. I understand that some of the slaves there have been attendants at previous meetings like this. They will give you further instructions when we arrive. Now, repeat the rules." Motormaster bent his head to nip at Mirage's neck as the Autobot began to recite.

"I will address all freemechs as 'Sir', Master; I will not speak unless I am spoken to -nngh!" Mirage broke off as Motormaster increased his fingers' rhythm inside of Mirage's valve. "I will obey the freemechs there as I would you, -oh, Master!- and I will remember that my actions will reflect on you, oh please, Master, Master, may I overload, please, please, -please!" Mirage threw his head back in ecstasy, abandoning any pretense of aloofness, his hip plate pumping in an effort increase the sensations Motormaster was providing him.

"One more thing, Mirage."

"Ungh, yes, Master!"

"If another mech who ranks me wants to take you to berth, I can't do anything about it." There was a strained tone in Motormaster's voice. Perhaps he was frustrated by a problem he couldn't beat into submission. "I don't want you to do anything to bring attention to yourself. Several of the…other leaders have started taking slaves they don't own to berth." Motormaster's grip on Mirage tightened. Mirage stilled a bit, leaning back into his master's frame.

"I-I understand, Master," he said quietly. "I will not attract any attention to myself."

"Mmm, such a good little slave." Motormaster said against his neck. "Yes, you may overload, but you need to do it yourself." With that, Motormaster pushed the startled Autobot off of his lap. "On your knees, in front of me." Mirage pulled himself up from where he landed, looking apprehensively at Motormaster. Did he want Mirage to use his mouth…? No, his spike was not extended. Mirage supposed he just wanted to watch.

"Yes, Master; thank you, Master." Mirage positioned himself in front of Motormaster. He sat back with his pedes tucked under himself, knees spread. He carefully kept his own spike from extending, if he ever let that out without Motormaster expressly permitting it, he would find himself in very hot slag indeed. Mirage moaned a little when his fingers first entered his valve. He offlined his optics, so that he wouldn't have to watch Motormaster.

"None of that, slave. You look at me." Motormaster growled. Mirage's spark sank. Apparently his master was in the mood for some "fun". Being forced to pleasure himself in front of the other mechs was humiliating for Mirage - it brought back unpleasant memories from his first cycles with the Stunticons, and Motormaster knew it.

Mirage brought his optics up to Motormaster's face. He lifted one hand to stroke the lines of the winglets and hood of his alt-mode, and flicked the sensor nodes that were hidden on the undersides. He fought to keep his lips from curling in disgust as he felt Motormaster's transfluid in his valve. Mirage covered his discomfiture by giving a breathy moan - he knew that Motormaster liked it when he made noises.

Thankfully, Motormaster did not give him any more directions as he was sometimes wont to do, but simply sat expressionlessly, watching Mirage with dimmed purple optics. Soon Mirage felt the tell-tale heat building in his lower chassis, and with a soft cry he stiffened, rising up on his knee-joints and arching his back as he climaxed. When the last tremors subsided, Mirage slumped a bit, watching Motormaster warily. Sometimes after one of his "performances" Motormaster would be charged and ready to go another round, but not tonight.

Heaving himself to his feet, Motormaster stalked past Mirage, sparing a soft pat to the Autobot's helm as he moved towards the door.

"Clean yourself up for Drag Strip," Motormaster paused at the door as it slid open. "I received our energon ration today. You can decant it after he's done with you." Mirage felt a stab of dread pierce his spark. His valve was always more sensitive after he'd overloaded. Drag Strip's inexpert thrusts and fumbling would not be something he could ignore now.

"Y-yes, Master." Mirage grabbed a spare chamois from under Dead End's berth, and carefully wiped off the trans fluid that was dripping down his legs. He could hear a muffled argument coming from the main room. He assumed that Motormaster was informing Drag Strip that his precious waxing and polishing supplies were at Mirage's disposal. Drag Strip didn't seem to be taking the news too well.

Finishing up, Mirage shoved the rag under the berth again- he could grab it later before Dead End discovered it and guessed who had used it and for what. He then climbed slowly onto the berth, his hip joints squeaking and creaking a bit, as they always did after being tupped by Motormaster. Mirage settled himself on his side, and waited.

Before long, Drag Strip burst into the room, muttering, with a look of anger on his faceplates. No, Mirage thought as the other racer shoved him on to his back, he wouldn't be able to stay aloof this time.

Mirage could tell that Motormaster was smirking at him as he filled five smaller energon cubes from the larger rectangular tank that Motormaster had brought home. Mirage was limping a bit, due to the rough treatment he had just received. Every so often he would wince and gasp as a movement put pressure on a damaged sensor node in his valve.

After he was done, Mirage first brought the largest cube to where Motormaster was lounging. Although insisting on being served first might have made it seem like he didn't care about his team, Motormaster had always instructed Mirage to fill his gestalt-mates' cubes to their fuel requirements first, and he took the portion left over. Fortunately the system for distributing the energon rations took into account varying models' fuel needs, so there was always plenty left over for the large gestalt leader.

"Master," Mirage addressed Motormaster, and knelt in front of him. This was another of the little rituals Motormaster insisted on. Motormaster lifted the cube out of Mirage's hands, and took a long swig. Mirage stayed kneeling. Finally Motormaster looked back down at Mirage, as if just remembering that he was there.

"What are you waiting for? Go serve the others."

"Yes, Master." Mirage lifted himself as gracefully as possible to his pedes. He could hear a rumble of disapproval from Motormaster's engine at his hesitant and pained movements. But Motormaster said nothing as Mirage brought the remaining energon cubes to the rest of the gestalt. After they were handed out, he returned to sit on the floor next to Motormaster's carver. The sensors in Mirage's intakes were picking up the fumes from the energon, and kept flashing warnings about his fuel levels on his HUD. Mirage fought to keep his holding tank valves from grinding. If he let them make any noise, Motormaster would be sure to take even longer.

Eventually, most of the energon from Motormaster's cube was gone. He set the cube on the floor in front of Mirage, but Mirage knew better than to take it right away. He looked around surreptitiously. Break Down and Drag Strip were finished, but Dead End was sipping his energon with a disinterested air. Wild Rider was staring at Mirage, grinning, and Mirage knew he was purposefully taking longer than he needed. Mirage just stared at the floor, trying to ignore the more and more urgent system warnings.

Drag Strip was still sulking about Motormaster interfacing Mirage in his berth. He had been glaring at Motormaster since he emerged from recharge room. Mirage stilled as he finally spoke up.

"Slaggit, Motormaster - it's not fair!" The other Stunticons stopped what they were doing and stared, waiting to see how Drag Strip's latest little rebellion would go.

"What are you griping about now, Drag Strip?" Motormaster said mildly. A tremor chased its way down Mirage's back strut. When Motormaster became calm and quiet, he was really dangerous.

"You always get to 'face Mirage whenever you want to! But the rest of us have to make do with what's left. I'm tired of having to deal with your mess all over his aft." Drag Strip's chin was stuck out defiantly. Mirage shrunk back a bit into the shadow of the carver. Now was not the time to draw attention to himself.

"I'm the leader of this gestalt. I have responsibilities, and those entitle me to certain privileges."

"Yeah, well, Mirage is all of ours. And as Decepticons we're each entitled to a slave. One. Not less than one-fifth of one." Drag Strip forged ahead, heedless of the annoyance that had crept into Motormaster's tone.

"What do you suggest I do about that, then?"

"I want a slave of my own! I'm sick of sharing Mirage's tired aft."

"Oh? And how would we take care of another slave, Drag Strip? I have called in almost every favor I can to bring in enough energon for us. All of us," Motormaster dropped a hand to Mirage's helm and rested it there. Mirage was surprised to find himself feeling a surge of jealousy at the thought of another slave being brought into their household. He was taking care of his duties just fine, and another slave would mess everything up until he was trained.

"Ah, we could give him half of Mirage's energon. They won't be doing much work, and they can keep functioning on leaner rations."

"And that, Drag Strip, demonstrates why you aren't the leader of this gestalt," Motormaster said, rising from his seat. Drag Strip backed up, seeming to realize that he had overstepped the limits of Motormaster's patience. "If we short the slaves rations, their maintenance systems won't be able to keep up. Then in a few short deca-cycles, they'll start malfunctioning, and it will take more credits and time and energy to get them back in useful condition that it would have taken to give them sufficient energon." The gestalt leader crossed the room towards Drag Strip. The Stunticon tried to dodge his grab, but Motormaster was too quick, and struck Drag Strip across the face with a forceful roundhouse blow. Mirage winced at the sound, and huddled even closer to the carver. He knew what was going to happen next: they would all be treated to Motormaster putting Drag Strip in his place.

Mirage didn't look up as the yells and crashes echoed around the room. The sounds of a forceful 'facing soon took over, and they made something deep in his substructure twist and clench in discomfort. Normally he was the one being abused, and the sounds made his autonomic self-writing programming start to execute, in anticipation of having to go through the ordeal that Drag Strip was experiencing. He simply concentrated on aborting the programs the minute they started, and trying to ignore the sounds the two Stunticons were making.

All of the Stunticons were aggressive and violent, and their gestalt was much less stable than those on the outside suspected. Every once in awhile there would be an upset as one challenged the pecking order, but Motormaster kept them all in line with a (literal) iron fist. Drag Strip had been worse than most. The victory-obsessed Stunticon was increasingly restless with no one to fight. Mirage suspected that Motormaster had used Mirage's need for polishing supplies to finally push him over the edge into a confrontation.

When the noises eventually died down from yelling and banging to Drag Strip sniveling, Motormaster returned to his chair, and sat; his engine ticking over as it cooled.

"Slave," Motormaster rumbled, finally.

"Yes, Master?" Mirage kept his optics trained at the little grease spot he had been examining for the last few breems.

"You may refuel."

"Yes, Master; thank you, Master." Mirage tried to not seem too desperate as he brought the cube up to his mouth. The energon that Motormaster brought home was better than the sludge produced on Earth, but still not up to the stuff that had been brewed in the Towers. There was just enough to fill Mirage's tanks left. No matter how poorly he was treated by the Stunticons, Motormaster had never let him or any of the gestalt go chronically low on fuel.

After Mirage had finished and dispersed the cube, he still waited by Motormaster's side. When there weren't any immediate tasks to attend to, Mirage had found that this was the safest place to be.

At the start of the next cycle, Mirage presented himself to Motormaster. Drag Strip had grudgingly handed over some of his polishing supplies, watching sullenly as Mirage went to work on his battered armor panels. Amazingly, most of the scrapes and scratches had disappeared with filler, so even without paint that matched his finish, Mirage was able to repair most of the damage.

Standing still as Motormaster circled him, Mirage suppressed a shudder of revulsion. He hated Motormaster's inspections. When he had first been acquired by the Stunticons, Motormaster had insisted on them every joor - and they had involved poking and probing into every chink, gap, and orifice on Mirage's body, leaving nothing of himself he could call private.

This time, however, Motormaster contented himself with examining the couplings on Mirage's back for gunk, and only a quick grope of his aft. It was practically wholesome compared to what the slave was used to.

"Alright, you'll do. Let's go," Motormaster growled. Mirage followed him out of their quarters, and onto the busy thoroughfare. They had to travel several units before descending to the street level, where Motormaster and Mirage transformed and drove off. It had been some time since Mirage had been able to transform, and his hydraulics and joints creaked a bit at the sudden use. But they held, and Motormaster was not going very fast. Mirage kept close behind him, never letting him get too far ahead. After the incident with the seekers, he didn't want to take the chance on some 'Con intent on mischief cutting him off from Motormaster.

After driving several sectors, Motormaster exited the street, and transformed in the designated area. This sector of Cybertron was in a better state of repair than where the Stunticons resided. There was no sign of rubble anywhere, all the buildings were connected to the energy grid, and the walkways and streets were smooth and clean. Mirage guessed that this must be where the most powerful Decepticons had decided to live. He remembered Motormaster's warning about 'Cons who ranked him taking advantage of slaves. Mirage quickened his steps to stay closer to Motormaster.

They approached a long, relatively low building. Motormaster moved to block Mirage's view, and entered a code on a pad by the door. There was a confirming chime, and the doors slid open. Motormaster led Mirage through the foyer, down several halls, and then finally into what was obviously a conference room. There were several mechs present already. But one immediately caught Mirage's attention. He towered over every other person present.

Skyfire.

The big white shuttle was standing in a corner, intently studying a data pad. Mirage's spark clenched in anxiety. He hadn't expected that seeing one of his comrades again would affect him like this. He felt a surge of bitterness as well - Skyfire did not have a scratch on him, and was obviously allowed some privileges Motormaster had forbidden Mirage, judging by the data pad.

"Motormaster!" a jovial voice boomed out. Mirage detected an immediate stiffening of Motormaster's frame. "How are doing, and what have you brought with you?"

"Swindle," Motormaster growled out. He stepped aside marginally so that the inquiring mech could see Mirage, but still kept himself near enough that he could step between Swindle and Mirage if he needed to. "You remember Mirage. I've brought him to assist with the meeting." Mirage didn't miss the emphasis, and supposed that it was to let Swindle know that Mirage was here for one purpose only.

He kept his optics respectfully lowered, and so could only see the yellow Combaticon's pedes, but he could just imagine the big smarmy grin that was surely on Swindle's faceplates.

"Of course! Of course! I never forget a sale!" Swindle boomed again. "It will be nice to have such a pretty aft to look at when things get boring." Swindle now looked around and whispered conspiratorially, "You know how Starscream's presentations can be." Motormaster simply remained silent, fixing the yellow Decepticon with an inscrutable look. He then turned to Mirage.

"Mirage, I want you to-"

"Greetings, Stunticon Motormaster," interrupted a distinctive voice. Mirage turned, surprised at the sudden voice over his shoulder. He hadn't heard anyone approaching! He found himself staring straight into the menacing single optic of Shockwave. Anyone approaching him without him knowing made Mirage extremely anxious. He flinched and backed up, trying to hide behind Motormaster. More than ever he wished for his electro-disruptor.

"Hello, Shockwave," Motormaster replied. He sounded annoyed, but was obviously trying to stifle the peeved tone in his voice now that he was talking to a senior officer. "I hope you are well."

"I am functioning within normal parameters," Shockwave replied. "This is your slave?"

"Yeah, this is Mirage." Motormaster reached behind himself, grabbed Mirage and pushed him forward into view. Mirage shifted uneasily, uncomfortable with being the center of attention. Bad things tended to happen when Decepticons were focusing on him.

Shockwave regarded him silently for a few moments, then said, "I see that you have not been following my training suggestions. He is very skittish." The purple Decepticon reached out with his gun hand. Mirage flinched away, but Shockwave's true hand immediately came up to grasp the other side of his helm and held him still. Mirage quivered as the muzzle of the gun traced his helm crests.

"He knows what's what. He obeys. I don't need anything fancy," Motomaster growled.

"I have been developing several training and programming methods on slaves. He should be submitting to my touch without any resistance or discomfort."

"He doesn't resist me, and that's what matters," said Motormaster.

"But don't you see? If he doesn't truly accept that all Decepticons are his masters, then he can never truly submit to any one of them."

"An interesting theory." Mirage stayed rooted to the spot. He fought against his inclination to run and hide behind Motormaster.

"How is he at obeying other members of your team?" Shockwave asked. "Does he ever resist them, or attempt to pit one of you against another?"

"No, nothing like that. We let him know where his place was right away, and aside from a few rebellions early on, he's been…acceptable. He spreads 'em when we tell him to."

"Ah, yes. I did hear about your…demonstration…while the captives were divvied up." Mirage felt his faceplates heat up. He tried to not think about what had happened in front of everyone when his group was captured. What Motormaster had done to him… For the most part Mirage was successful, but every once in awhile something happened or someone said something at it was like it was happening again, being abused and violated for the first time.

As Mirage became more and more distressed, his core temperature rose, and some of his internal fans kicked on.

"Do you see? He is becoming more agitated as we speak about interfacing. No matter how compliant a slave is, if he submits out of fear of direct physical harm, he will never truly embrace his duty. He should look forward with anticipation to serving his master in the berth, not anxiety."

"And have you, yourself had success with this? Forgive me, Lord Shockwave, if I find it hard to believe that an Autobot slave would ever offer themselves to a Decepticon." Motormaster was really becoming angry at the superior tone Shockwave was using, and what he saw as an attempt to undermine his authority with Mirage.

"Techniques that do not rely on fear have proven to be very effective. Slave Red Alert is almost ready to be placed with a permanent owner."

Swindle, who had been watching the exchange with interest, brightened. "Did you bring him here again? I have been very impressed with the progress he's made from that little glitching thing he was when you first presented him." Swindle peered around, looking for said slave.

"No, I did not bring him. Another slave that has been somewhat fractious and rebellious was brought instead. It is my hope that seeing some of his fellow Autobots will make him more tractable." Shockwave answered.

"Hmmm, I must speak with you about dear little Red Alert." schmoozed Swindle. "Some of my clients have expressed interest in…experiences involving more than one slave. And it would take some of the demands off of my other slave if there was another that could divert Vortex's and Brawl's attentions."

Shockwave turned to Swindle, and his voice betrayed nothing as to whether he was interested or not. "We can speak about it privately. But remember that Lord Megatron has given me the duty of stewarding our Autobot slaves. I must be assured that you and your team will be able to care and provide for him."

"Oh, my slaves earn their own keep. Though I have lost some income because of those brutes I have to share him with. They finally got so bad, that I was having to cancel appointments! Onslaught and I have to lock him in a room when we're away, otherwise when we come back he's in no condition to serve the customers. And every time it's obvious they've tried to break in."

"I am afraid you are not helping your case, Combaticon Swindle. It may be a moot point, however. Lord Megatron has already expressed interest."

Anything Swindle was going to say was interrupted, as Soundwave entered. Jazz was with him, trailing the large blue and white mech, his visor never leaving the floor.

Mirage didn't hear the exchanges as his Master and the others greeted Soundwave. He was looking at Jazz. The Porsche was meticulous. Every bit of chrome gleamed, and his armor was so polished that it looked almost wet. There was not a scratch anywhere. Suddenly Mirage felt very shabby, despite his recently improved appearance. It broke his spark to see his former colleague looking so withdrawn. He wondered if he looked the same.

"Jazz: attend," Soundwave addressed his slave. Jazz raised his head to look at his master.

"Yes, Master Soundwave?" he said quietly. All traces of his characteristic cockiness and gaiety were gone.

"Duties: explain to Slave Mirage."

"Yes, Master Soundwave." Jazz turned and motioned for Mirage to follow him out of the room. Mirage gladly fled the little circle of Decepticons that had surrounded him. Swindle smirked at him as he sidled past.

Once free, Mirage hurried after Jazz, who was standing in a doorway that led out of the meeting area, waiting for him. As they exited the room, Mirage turned to Jazz, wanting to say something. But looking at the saboteur's down cast face, he found himself unable to think of what to say. Seeing Jazz brought up too many memories.

"Don't worry Mirage," Jazz startled him out of his daze. "I'm doing fine. Is your Master taking care of you?"

Mirage found his voice. "Motormaster…provides for my needs."

"I am glad to hear that." They had reached the end of the hall, and entered a smaller set of doors. Instead of the dim, menacing lighting of the hallway, this room was brightly lit. It appeared to be some sort of commissary.

"During the meeting they will want to have coolant available, and will likely stop for a few energon breaks-" Jazz began.

"Mirage!" Mirage's spark gave a twist at the familiar voice.

'Oh no, not him, I don't want him to see me like this-'

A green arm reached out and turned Mirage around. He found himself held in a stiflingly tight embrace. "Mirage, are you alright? I've missed you so much!" Hound said.

"Hound, I- I…" Mirage was unable to finish, his mouth opened and shut a few times, but he couldn't continue. Hound had been his closest friend, Mirage should be overjoyed to see him again, but suddenly he felt trapped by the embrace. For so long, any touch was a sign that he was going to be abused, and now he felt his systems reacting the same way to Hound's hold, yet he didn't have the will to push away. So Mirage simply held as still as possible, not resisting, but not returning Hound's affection either.

Hound grabbed Mirage's shoulders and pushed him away a bit to get a better look at Mirage's condition.

"Oh, Mirage…" he whispered, seeing the dents in his armor. As his gaze swept down Mirage's form, the slave could feel Hound's grip tighten as he saw the wear and tear on Mirage's hip plate and pelvic unit. "Those slaggers! I'd-I'd heard about what happened, but I didn't know it was this bad. I'm so sorry, Mirage."

"Hound, it's not- I'm alright, I really am," Mirage brought a hand up to stroke his friend's cheek. Hound caught Mirage's hand in one of his own, squeezing it tightly.

"No, no you're not. I'll get you out of here, I swear, Mirage," Hound drew Mirage to himself again looked around the small area warily.

"No Hound, don't talk that way-" Mirage said with alarm.

"Jazz, you have to help me. We have to get Mirage and Bluestreak out of here!" Hound looked over to a corner of the room.

Mirage's vents stopped when he caught sight of the silver and red form huddled there. Bluestreak was standing with his face towards the corner. His back strut and door wings had many parallel scorch lines on them - signs of a recent electro-whip flogging. And his hip plate was in even worse shape than Mirage's. Mirage remembered what Swindle had been saying about clients- and he had thought his lot was bad!

"Bluestreak?" Now Mirage pushed away from Hound, and approached the silver mech in the corner. He didn't reach out to him. Wide optics appeared as Bluestreak twisted his head to look over his shoulder.

Jazz stepped forward and grabbed Mirage's elbow joint to pull him away. "Let him be for right now. When it's time to work, he'll come. He'll be fine."

"He's not fine!" Hound's shout made Bluestreak flinch and turn back to the corner. "Look at him! He won't respond or talk to me, you and Mirage are practically drones! Nothing about this is fine!" Hound reached forward and grabbed Mirage's other elbow. "Mirage, I was sent to Shockwave as part of a plan some of the others in the mines and I have. I swear we can get you out-"

"It's no use, Hound." Jazz's voice was tired and listless. "Where would we go? They'd find us and it would just be worse."

"What's happened to you?" Hound dropped Mirage's elbow reluctantly. "Don't you want to escape? Why won't you help me?"

Mirage wanted to break down at the confused, forlorn quality of Hound's voice. He recalled how, back on earth, Spike Witwicky had shed water from his optics when his father's body was recovered from the wreckage of a power plant the Decepticons had destroyed. Upon inquiry, Spike had explained to Mirage that it was something humans did when they were sad. Mirage had asked if it helped, and Spike had said that the release was calming. Now Mirage wished that their Quintesson creators had seen fit to install some sort of function or subroutine that would let him express his grief like his human friend had.

"Why won't you help me?" Hound asked again.

Mirage could only shake his head wordlessly. He couldn't meet Hound's optics. He remembered when they were a team- with Jazz running spec ops operations, and himself and Hound on recon, and funny little Bumblebee always trying to lighten the mood when their team became too gloomy. Although Mirage had hated the war, hated fighting, looking back on it he knew he had been truly happy. Now every cycle blended into the next, in a vast grayness. He didn't have the will to resist anymore.

"Fine," Hound said eventually. "But just be ready. We'll come for you when we break out. We won't forget about you."

"We need to get back there. They'll be wondering where we are," said Jazz softly. Hound released Mirage with a soft caress to one of his helm vents. The gesture was obviously meant to be comforting, but a wiggle of unease chased through Mirage's cables at the contact.

Jazz then showed Mirage where everything was in the prep area, and brought out a hover cart to use to bring the coolant and other refreshments to the meeting room. As Jazz had said, as soon as work began to be performed, Bluestreak joined them, but he still remained silent and did not look at any of them. Jazz seemed unconcerned, and so Mirage decided that this must be normal for Bluestreak now. He felt a bit bereft when he realized that for all of the time he had been with the Stunticons, cut off from his former comrades, he had missed the developing changes that captivity had inevitably wrought in them.

Hound, too, stayed mostly silent as they worked, though Mirage caught him staring wistfully at him out of the corner of his optics a few times. When they were finished, and the hover cart was loaded, Hound took over pushing it with out a word. Jazz, Mirage, and Bluestreak trudged alongside.

As they navigated the winding hall, Mirage asked, "Jazz? Why is Skyfire here? Will he be helping us?"

"No," Jazz answered. "Starscream and Skyfire have been working on a new energon refining process. That's what the meeting is about today. Skyfire is Starscream's…assistant. His expertise might be needed, so he's here to help answer questions."

"You mean that Skyfire is free? Did he defect?" Hound asked incredulously.

"Skyfire didn't betray us, Hound. He was never a soldier. He is, technically, Starscream's slave. But they have a…different arrangement than most," Jazz paused, cleared his vents, and continued. "Don't hold it against him, Hound. In his own way, he suffers just as much as any of us. He's making the best of the situation. That's all any of us can do."

The little group was about to enter the meeting room when an unmistakable, gravelly voice came from the other side of the door. Jazz froze. Megatron himself had arrived.

Despite his seeming serenity, Mirage could tell that Jazz was much more tense now. "Just stay out of the way," he said, visibly steeling himself. "You know what your master's preferences are, so serve them. And…" here Jazz's visor dimmed a little, and his voice became subdued. "I'll attend to Megatron myself, don't worry about him."

"Jazz…" Hound started, but Jazz ignored him, and straightening, walked through the doorway.

Mirage was somewhat uncertain of himself. He tried to remember how the servants in the towers did things, but his recollection was hazy at the most. They had only had the best, of course, and the best servants were all but invisible. So Mirage followed Jazz and Bluestreak's lead. He could tell that Hound felt as discomfited as himself. He hoped he wouldn't make a mistake in front of everyone. His master would be very angry.

Mirage poured coolant into several vessels, and placed those on a tray. Then he followed Jazz across the room to where the Decepticons had gathered. They must have still been waiting for some more to join them, as they appeared to simply be chatting and gossiping. Megatron held sway over most of the group, and even those that were not speaking directly to him had oriented themselves so that they kept him in their view fields.

Jazz had made straight for the knot around Megatron. Motormaster was still talking to Swindle and another 'Con that must have just arrived, Astrotrain. As Mirage approached them, he caught Motormaster's optic. The semi gave a short nod, and Mirage came the rest of the way.

"…and of course then Octane wouldn't stop griping about it." Astrotrain was saying. "Honestly, the way he goes on about that stupid saurian-"

The Decepticons didn't pause in their conversation as they took the vessels of coolant.

It was at this point that Starscream entered, announcing his presence with his distinctive voice. Mirage watched Megatron break off from the other group and make his way to where Starscream was examining the data pad with Skyfire. He carefully moved so that the knot of mechs he was serving stayed between himself and Megatron. This wasn't too difficult, as once their leader left, Astrotrain, Motormaster, and Swindle drifted over to the other conversation.

"…unfortunate that it had to happen. Your slave was a wonderful example of what an attentive master can create." Shockwave was saying. Mirage noticed that he wasn't touching Jazz freely like he had been doing to Mirage, but that his attention was definitely on Soundwave's slave. Jazz just held the tray with the remaining coolant flasks, and stared resolutely downward.

"Jazz: not ruined. Still functional. Service: still satisfactory." Soundwave answered. Mirage was amazed, the usually-emotionless mech managed to sound peeved! It seemed that it wasn't only Motormaster who was annoyed by Shockwave's pontificating about slave training methods. Mirage supposed that Shockwave's tendency to ramble was only inevitable. After all, the mech had spent over four million years stranded on Cybertron with nobody to converse with except drones.

"However, you must admit that before the trine accosted him, he was much more relaxed when assisting at meetings. Have the repairs-"

"Details: confidential. Glit: competent. Repairs: ongoing."

"Well, that's good to know!" boomed Swindle, obviously trying to dispel some of the tension between Megatron's two lieutenants. "I hope they catch whoever did that dreadful thing. It seems like mechs can't have their slaves go anywhere alone without being assaulted."

"One rogue trine hardly counts as a crime wave, Swindle," Shockwave admonished. "And I understand that the trine in question has been…dealt with." Soundwave and Motormaster simply exchanged a look.

"Problem: neutralized,"

Soundwave confirmed. Mirage suppressed a shudder. He recalled how after the incident with the three seekers Motormaster had been absent from their quarters more than usual. It hadn't meant anything to Mirage at the time, but now looking back on it, it was obvious, especially as the final time Motormaster had stayed out much later, and had come back sporting paint scrapes that didn't match Mirage or any of the gestalt.

Looking at Jazz, Mirage felt a twist of pity. Even though his former crewmate seemed physically alright, judging by the what the seekers had said when they assaulted Mirage, Soundwave hadn't rescued Jazz like Motormaster had Mirage. Mirage could see that Jazz's mandible was tense and his hands clenched the serving tray. Soundwave seemed to pick up the tension emanating from his slave as well, for he gently took Jazz's chin in his hand, and lifted Jazz's face to gaze into his own. They stayed like that for a nanoklik, and then Soundwave stroked along Jazz's jaw line with his thumb, and released him. There must have been some exchange between them (without his normal communication module, Mirage didn't know whether it was telepathic or a normal internal comm) because Jazz immediately turned and hurried off.

Jazz paused by the cart where Bluestreak and Hound were standing, having finished with setting out flasks and other accoutrements on the large table. After a quick exchange, Hound left with Jazz, and Bluestreak loaded up a tray and approached Megatron, Starscream, and Skyfire.

"Who are we waiting on?" Astrotrain said. "Blitzwing and I have to go check on how construction is going in the tunnels after this. We need to get started."

"I believe we are only missing the Constructicon representative," Shockwave answered.

"Affirmative." droned Soundwave. He made a quarter turn, and pressed a button on his shoulder. "Rumble: Eject." The cassette sprang out of his chest compartment, transforming in mid-air and landing on his pedes.

Rumble stood akimbo, radiating his trademark cockiness.

"What's up, Soundwave?"

"Meeting: delayed. Hook: absent. Locate and escort back here."

"Sure thing, boss!" The diminunitive cassette chirped. He ran out the main entrance. Mirage wondered what it was about small mechs that gave them such twitchy energy. Bumblebee and Cliffjumper had been the same way.

Suddenly Swindle looked over Mirage's shoulder.

"Don't just stand there, you lazy thing! Step up and be useful!" At first Mirage thought Swindle was addressing him, but then he realized that Bluestreak had been approaching quietly, and appeared to have been hanging back a bit. Bluestreak had been staring blankly in the commissary, but now Mirage could see his optics flickering, indicating that he was trying to look everywhere at once, constantly focusing and refocusing.

Bluestreak all but slunk across the circle of conversing mechs to offer his tray to his master. Swindle waved it away, but said, "Aren't you going to offer our esteemed client some too? He'll think you've forgotten about him." Bluestreak's door wings gave a small twitch, and he turned to offer the tray to Astrotrain.

The triple changer was leering down at the small Autobot. He took one of the flasks off of the tray, and then with a quickness that belied his size, reached out and grabbed one of Bluestreak's door wings, turning him around so that his back strut was pressed up against Astrotrain's anterior chassis.

"Oh, he couldn't forget me, Swindle. Isn't that what they say, 'Nobody forgets their first?' Ha ha!" Astrotrain laughed cruelly. Bluestreak's optics were wide with fear, and Mirage could hear the tell tale sound of fans working to vent heated air in his substructure. Bluestreak stared resolutely at the tray in his hands, which was shaking minutely.

"Perhaps, perhaps. Are you interested in setting up another appointment? Because you're such a good repeat customer, I'll give you a deal if you book three appointments now, and waive the usual damage deposit." Bluestreak's vocalizer gave a quiet keen, but the bargaining mechs ignored it.

"Hmm, that's a tempting offer. But I'm too short on credits right now to make three appointments. What if I go in on some with Blitzwing?"

"The rates would be a bit higher, but if you're splitting them evenly it would still be less than a single. However, I would have to insist on a deposit. I'm afraid Blitzwing is too…enthusiastic sometimes, and after past sessions with him, my slave has had to visit the repair bay. The deposits were the only thing that kept me from taking a loss on the transaction!"

While they were talking over Bluestreak's head, Astrotrain's hand wandered down his back strut, and cupped Bluestreak's aft. As the triple changer's hand continued wandering over Bluestreak's interface panel, tweaking seams here and there. Except for occasional twitches of his door wings, Bluestreak didn't appear to react at all to Astrotrain's touches.

"Triplechanger Astrotrain, you are aware that there are still many slaves that have not been claimed? Your team is entitled to one of your own for your faithful service to Lord Megatron," said Shockwave during a pause in the haggling.

Swindle looked as though he had swallowed denatured lubricant. He glared at Shockwave while Astrotrain answered, "Oh, we know. But my team requires more fuel than others to support more alternate modes. And not to mention Trypticon! Even with him in stasis it's hard to maintain his systems."

"But one of Lord Megatron's top priorities is to place Trypticon in a permanent location. Your team will not be responsible for his welfare for much longer."

"Yeah, but even so, it's too much hassle to look after a slave. I'd much rather pay Swindle's prices for this piece of aft-" Astrotrain slapped Bluestreak on his hip plate, and then continued "-than have to deal with the complications of looking after one of my own."

"What are your rates, Swindle?" Motormaster broke in, surprising every mech in the little group, especially Mirage. He jerked his head up and regarded his master with wary optics. Motormaster was not looking at him, instead he was eyeing Bluestreak.

"Ah, are you interested?" Swindle's voice became even more jovial, as it always did when he sensed an impending business opportunity was about to present itself. "The rates are confidential, but I have a price list I can send you. Would this be just for you, or…?"

"My team. And I want to see how he looks with Mirage." Mirage's spark twisted in anxiety. What was his master doing?

"Well, I will have to factor in the increased wear and tear into the price, but we should be able to come to an agreement. And if you like," Swindle reached out and patted Bluestreak on the helm. "Bluestreak here can always give you a free demonstration."

"Hmmm." It was clear that Motormaster was interested.

"Go on, Bluestreak. Put your tray down and then come back here." Astrotrain released Bluestreak, and the downtrodden mech shuffled off to place his tray on the cart.

"You too, Mirage."

Mirage almost opened his mouth to protest. Now he was beginning to have an idea of what Motormaster was planning and he didn't like it. But then he dropped his gaze from Motormaster's in submission. He knew that if he caused trouble, Motormaster would end up humiliating him in a much worse way than whatever he was planning on now. He hurried off after Bluestreak, and they walked back together. Mirage tried to catch Bluestreak's optics, but he couldn't. Bluestreak's face had gone completely blank, almost as if he was an empty shell.

When they presented themselves to Motormaster, the two Autobots found themselves the center of attention. Motormaster grabbed Bluestreak's arm, and maneuvered him until he and Mirage were standing side by side. Then, with a satisfied rumble of his engine, Motormaster grabbed their chins, tilting the slaves' faces up to look at him. He turned Bluestreak's head from side to side, examining him from every angle.

"He's nice enough to look at," He finally grunted. From Motormaster, that was high praise indeed.

"And he does look nice next to your Mirage," Swindle had sidled up next to Motormaster, and was looking Mirage up and down. "Bluestreak is very compliant, and can offer more than thirty-two services for the discerning mech-"

"You said he could give a demonstration?" Motormaster interrupted.

"Uh, yes, of course. What…what did you have in mind? Keep in mind it's a demonstration I'm offering, not a free sample."

"I want to see him with Mirage."

Mirage felt like his fuel tanks were going to purge. Was Motormaster actually going to make him and Bluestreak-?

"Ah, I don't think that should be a problem. It would give us all a show to enjoy while we wait for our tardy colleague. Bluestreak," said Swindle, "on your knees. Face towards Mirage."

Silently, Bluestreak lowered himself to the ground as per Swindle's instructions. Mirage looked nervously at Motormaster. His master was going to make him perform for all these mechs! Whatever happened to "Don't draw attention to yourself,"?

"Well," The Stunticon leader said to Mirage. "You get your chassis down there too."

Mirage sank to the floor as well. Bluestreak was kneeling with his hands clasped in front of himself, staring at the floor. Mirage wasn't sure what Motormaster expected them to do. He risked a glance up at the mechs towering over them.

"Get to work, Bluestreak," Swindle ordered.

"Mirage…" Motormaster growled, warning Mirage that there would be consequences if he balked.

Mirage lowered his head in submission, and looked over at Bluestreak. His former crewmate's blank stare had been replaced by and expression of unbearable sadness and hopelessness. Slowly leaning towards Bluestreak, Mirage carefully placed his lips over the younger mech's. At first Bluestreak did not respond, but after a few nanokliks his lips parted under Mirage's.

Neither Mirage nor Bluestreak knew what to do next. Over the previous megacycles, their masters had only allowed them to be passive in the berth, and now neither could bring themselves to take a more active role.

"Touch his doors, Mirage." Motormaster ordered. Mirage could pick up the subtle warm hum to his vocals that indicated he was becoming revved up from watching the slaves.

"Go on, use your hands, Bluestreak."

Bluestreak gasped against Mirage's mouth, then threw his head back and arched against Mirage with a quiet moan when one of Mirage's hands found the joint of his door wings. There was a murmur of appreciation from the Decepticons watching them. Mirage bent his head to nip at Bluestreak's neck while drawing the other Autobot into a closer embrace.

Nimble fingers ran over Mirage's chassis, slipping into seams and caressing his shoulder wheels. Bluestreak's gentle kisses and soft touches were a welcome relief from the rough handling Mirage usually endured. But he felt terribly guilty. Bluestreak was so young, and with the way he'd been acting he was obviously not coping, shutting himself off from the outside world except when ordered to do something.

Sneaking a look up at their captors, Mirage caught Motormaster and Swindle talking quietly to each other. Whatever they were discussing, it couldn't be good for him and Bluestreak.

While they were waiting for their next instruction, Mirage delicately circled a finger around one of Bluestreak's headlights while he returned his attention to Bluestreak's mouth. Even though this was abhorrent to him, he could still try and make it as pleasant as possible for the Datsun.

Finally Motormaster turned away from Swindle, and smirked down at Mirage.

"Touch his valve, Mirage."

Mirage could feel Bluestreak whimper against his mouth at the order. He broke the kiss and looked desperately up at Motormaster.

"Please, Master-"

"Do I have to repeat myself?"

"No, Master."

When Mirage reached between Bluestreak's legs, the other mech had already unlatched the panel that covered his interface array. Mirage carefully popped it the rest of the way off, and set it aside. Bluestreak scooted forwards a bit, wrapping his arms around Mirage's neck and burying his face against Mirage's shoulder.

"I'm so sorry, Bluestreak," Mirage whispered into his audio. "Please forgive me." He carefully touched the outer lip of Bluestreak's valve, gently stimulating the sensor bundle found there. Bluestreak gasped again, his grip on Mirage tightening. He was whimpering constantly now, and the broken sounds pierced Mirage to his core. "Shh, Bluestreak, I won't hurt you," Mirage murmured as he placed his other hand on Bluestreak's hip plate to steady him.

"Don't play around, Mirage, stick 'em in him!"

The crude order made Mirage flinch. He brought his hand up from Bluestreak's hip to gently rub his back strut in an effort soothe the other mech. Bluestreak rose up on his knees a bit, opening his legs wider to give Mirage more room to move. Whispering reassurances and apologies all the while, Mirage carefully inserted his index digit into Bluestreak's valve. Bluestreak arched his back strut at cried out.

"Calm down, you little glitch, you've had more up there before," Swindle hissed.

Mirage's spark froze as he caught sight of movement out of the corner of his optics. Jazz and Hound had returned. Hound was staring at the tableau, horrified. Jazz simply remained carefully expressionless, tentatively approaching his master. Mirage switched off his optics. He couldn't bear to see his friends, not like this.

"Give him another, Mirage," snapped Motormaster. Mirage reluctantly pushed another digit into Bluestreak. The other mech began to pump his pelvic unit against Mirage's hand.

"Heh heh heh, the little slut likes it," Astrotrain said.

Mirage was held Bluestreak as tightly as he could when the other mech finally overloaded. Bluestreak suddenly pressed against him, quivering, and Mirage could feel the valve spasming around his fingers. Then Bluestreak sagged, slumping in Mirage's arms. It was over. Mirage simply held Bluestreak as the other mech shook with aftershocks, not wanting to online his optics and face his captors and fellow Autobots just yet. He placed a kiss to the top of Bluestreak's helm, and then rested his head against it, mindful of the sensitive chevron.

A pede tapped against Mirage's leg. He looked up wearily and met Motormaster's optics.

"On your back," was the gruff order. Mirage gently disengaged Bluestreak's arms from around his neck, and leaned back. He lay down, hands clenched at his side, waiting for whatever would come next.

"Spread your legs and open."

Mirage obeyed, his interface panel opening. He should feel ashamed, exposed to his enemies, in front of his friends like this, but the encounter with Bluestreak had left Mirage completely cold. He just wanted this unpleasant business to be done. Mirage was expecting Motormaster to take him right there, but instead Swindle gave an order to Bluestreak.

"Use your mouth, Bluestreak."

Door wings drooping, Bluestreak crawled over to Mirage, maneuvering his chassis so that he could access Mirage's valve. Mirage gasped at the first tentative lick, but the pleasure was purely physical, and fleeting. Did Motormaster actually think he was giving Mirage a reward by ordering this? Mirage switched off his optics so that he wouldn't have to look at the Decepticons staring at him and Bluestreak. Bringing Bluestreak to an unwilling overload had obliterated any enjoyment he might have had, making Bluestreak's ministrations a physical annoyance.

Suddenly someone kicked Mirage's shoulder roughly. He turned his optics on, and found himself staring up at Motormaster again.

"Give these mechs a show, slave. Don't just lie there," Motormaster said. He stepped back and said to Swindle, "He's too prissy by half. Keeps trying to act like he doesn't care what happens." He turned his attention back to Mirage, who gave an unenthusiastic moan. "Touch your hood and vents, Mirage. You know what I like to see." Mirage obliged, and turned off his optics once again, trying to forget where he was, what was happening. That mechs whom he had faced on the battlefield, and others whom he had fought alongside were seeing him at his lowest.

He was savagely kicked again. "Keep your optics on, Mirage! Look at me," Motormaster commanded. Mirage obeyed, though it meant he had to look at Swindle as well, since the wheeling and dealing mech was still standing next to Motormaster. The calculating look on Swindle's faceplates revolted Mirage.

Mirage kept touching himself as Motormaster had told him to, occasionally reaching down to stroke Bluestreak's helm comfortingly. Then he noticed that Motormaster wasn't looking at him anymore. Mirage glanced in the direction of Motormaster's gaze. His master was looking at Hound, with narrowed optics and an expression that made Mirage very nervous. He needed to get Motormaster's attention off of Hound, and fast.

"Mmmm…Master…" Mirage said sotto voce. Motormaster looked back down at him. Mirage locked optics with him, and very slowly drew one digit down the edge of a helm vent. The only result was a fleeting flicker of Motormaster's optics.

Mirage's finger continued down his neck, across his anterior sensor nexus, and traced the line of his hood. He then arched his backstrut languidly, forcing a sultry moan from his vocalizer.

"Looks like your icy little slave is warming up, Motormaster," rumbled Astrotrain. Motormaster merely looked smug, and kept his optics locked on Mirage.

Writhing in a captivating way, Mirage kept up a litany of noises that he hoped would fool Motormaster. He rolled his hips, being careful not to push into Bluestreak too hard. He was rewarded by the faint sound of a fan in Motormaster's substructure activating. He doubted that any of the other mechs would notice it, but Mirage had become adept at observing the state of Motormaster's systems.

"Master, please," Motormaster only acknowledged him with an amused rumble. "Oh, please Master." Mirage let some static enter his voice as if he were really on the cusp of an overload.

"Hmmm? What is it you want? You know how to ask, slave."

"Please, let me overload, Master, please!" Mirage ended his request with a breathy cry and another erotic wiggle. Motormaster's optics darkened.

"Make it good, slave."

Mirage hoped the acting skills he had honed as a spy weren't too rusty from disuse. He opened his mouth wide in a dramatic gasp, flinging one of his arms over his head in a graceful curve. "Mmm, yes, yes, mmmore, more, please! Oh, MASTER!" he finished with an exaggerated spasm, remembering to offline his optics, and initiated a subroutine that generated random tremors in his limbs. He could feel Bluestreak leaving his valve, (finally!) and fumbling a bit while replacing the outer panel. Mirage snuck a peek at Bluestreak. The other Autobot would know that he had faked it - but Bluestreak was only sitting back on his pedes, staring blankly ahead.

"That's what you call 'too prissy'? I'd like to see what you classify as 'demonstrative', Motormaster!" Swindle clapped the larger 'Con on the shoulder plate. "I don't suppose you-"

"My slave is not for sale," Motormaster interrupted. "C'mon," he nudged Mirage, who looked up at him with every evidence of adoration. "What do you say?"

"Mmm, thank you, Master," Rolling over, Mirage lifted himself to his hands and knees, and kissed Motormaster's pede. "Thank you." Hot shame curled through Mirage's inner workings as he abased himself before the Decepticons. But it had worked- Motormaster had all of his attention on Mirage now, instead of the other Autobots.

"That's a good slave." A large hand caressed his helm.

Mirage hated the slight flush of pleasure he felt at Motormaster's praise. He hated the way his body automatically leaned into Motormaster's touch. But most of all Mirage hated how much he loved it when Motormaster pulled him to his pedes and held him close. With Motormaster's strong arm around his shoulders, Mirage felt shielded from the other Cons' ogling.

"Such a good performance deserves a reward," Motormaster brought up his hand that was holding his vessel of coolant. Mirage obediently opened his mouth and tilted his head. Motormaster brought the vessel to his lips, and poured a few sips inside. The coolant was much more refined than the type they had back in their quarters. It slid down Mirage's intake smoothly, and he could feel it pass through his filters with ease. It was wonderful.

Mirage pressed in a little closer after Motormaster took the vessel away from his mouth. He hid his face against Motormaster's plating, and raised one hand to toy with Motormaster's indicator lights.

A rumble welled up from deep within Motormaster, as he captured Mirage's wandering hand with his own.

"Control yourself," He said gruffly.

"Yes, Master."

On the floor, Bluestreak was slowly rising to his pedes.

"Get up, you lazy aft!" Swindle barked at him.

Bluestreak flinched, and scrambled up. For a moment, his optics rested on Mirage and Motormaster. Mirage saw an unmistakable flash of jealousy in them. Then Swindle grabbed Bluestreak and pushed him out of the little circle and towards the cart.

Motormaster then released Mirage and gave him a nudge in the same direction. "Get back to work."

Inclining his head in submission, Mirage stepped away from the little group to retrieve his discarded tray from the cart. He kept his optics lowered, not wanting to look at Jazz or Hound. He could see that the withdrawn, emotionless expression had settled on Bluestreak's face again as the other slave returned to stand beside Swindle.

Mirage was so intent on avoiding the other Autobots, that he didn't pay attention to where he was going, and bumped into another mech.

Mirage felt a stab of horror, thinking that he had stumbled into a Decepticon, but when he looked up, he found himself looking into Skyfire's kind face. The magnitude of understanding and sorrow in the scientist's expression only made Mirage feel worse. He didn't want pity! He was managing just fine. Things could always be worse.

"Mirage-" Skyfire began in a low voice. A large white hand reached for Mirage's shoulder.

Mirage adroitly avoided Skyfire's grasp, slipping under the hand and making his way around the other mech to the cart. He could hear the small noise of hurt that Skyfire made at his brusque treatment, but couldn't bring himself to acknowledge it.

Rumble soon returned with Hook, and the Decepticons made their way to the conference table. Mirage was worried that Jazz or Hound might try to talk to him about what he and Bluestreak had done, but Jazz seemed unsurprised, and didn't mention it. Hound looked like he might say something a few times, but Mirage ignored him and Hound didn't push, for which Mirage was thankful. Didn't Hound know that talking about it when you couldn't do anything about it made it worse? Mirage had already indulged in self-pity when he was first captured. It hadn't made him feel better then, so why would it now?

The meeting stretched on. Most of the scientific jargon went over Mirage's head, and he couldn't bring himself to listen to Starscream outline his and Skyfire's proposal for a new energon refining process. Concentrating on keeping the coolant vessels filled, Mirage and the other slaves moved quietly around the table; but Mirage noticed Hound peeking up at the charts and graphs and formulas often.

Whenever he filled Motormaster's vessel, his master would sneak in a quick grope of his aft. With the lights dimmed so that the holoscreen was more visible, Mirage doubted that any of the other mechs noticed it. But on one instance he looked up, and met Megatron's optics, staring inscrutably at him from the head of the table. Mirage couldn't retreat fast enough after the vessel was filled.

For the rest of the session, Mirage hung back as often as he could, not wanting to attract Megatron's attention.

Before opening up Starscream's proposal to debate, a recess to refuel was called. Jazz and Bluestreak slipped out, and returned shortly with a mobile energon dispenser. Smaller cubes were filled with energon, and the slaves set about distributing them.

Mirage could barely contain himself as the fumes from the energon reached his sensors. This was what he had missed all those long years at war on earth. It was high grade as pure as what had been brewed in the Towers. Mirage wondered if Motormaster would let him have a taste if he was exceptionally pleasing.

The little groups reformed, only this time Megatron pulled Hook and Swindle aside and to a corner of the room. Their conversation seemed to be private, and none of the slaves risked interrupting it, concentrating instead on the larger knot of mechs.

Mirage had distributed most of the cubes on his platter, and was hanging back at the fringe of the group, ready to step in and take the empty cubes away from the 'Cons when they were finished. He listened with half an audio to Soundwave scolding Jazz for a scratch on his finish the Porsche had acquired during the course of the meeting.

"Ah, if it isn't Prime's little spy."

Mirage almost dropped the tray as Megatron's voice came from behind him. The Decepticon leader must have approached the group while Mirage was handing out the refreshments. A huge black hand dropped onto Mirage's shoulder and turned him around. Mirage simply stared at the silver and red chassis and control panel in front of him, not daring to raise his optics. He tried desperately to keep from trembling. Why was Megatron picking him out?

"Lord Megatron, if my slave has displeased you in some way, he will be punished," Motormaster started forward, but Megatron held out his hand.

"Oh, that won't be necessary. After all, we must be… understanding about actions that occurred during battle. Or does sabotaging the ship of a retreating enemy count as 'during a battle', hmmm, Mirage?"

Megatron's hand moved up from Mirage's shoulder to his neck, and with no perceivable effort Megatron squeezed and lifted Mirage up, so that he was forced to stand on the tips of his pedes or have his carotid energon line crimped.

Mirage's grip on the tray slipped, but quiet and quick as a glitch mouse, Jazz reached over and took it from him, then retreated to stand at Soundwave's side, head bowed. Mirage could see Hound standing next to Bluestreak, watching him anxiously.

'Oh Hound, please don't do anything, you'll only make it worse, please…' Mirage thought desperately.

Suddenly Mirage was lifted clear off his pedes. He grasped at the hand that gripped his neck. Warning after warning flashed in his HUD, alerting him to stresses exceeding recommended tolerances on his structure. Megatron drew him close, Mirage could feel the warm air gusting across his body from Megatron's vents. The way Megatron was holding him, Mirage had no choice but to stare directly into his bright red optics.

"Look at you, Towers brat," Megatron hissed. "You and the rest of your high-class friends were what poisoned Cybertron. Now you're lower than even I was." Megatron released Mirage, who fell at his feet, vents heaving. His CPU felt jumbled from the energy deficit. Mirage didn't dare crawl away, so he simply stayed sprawled on the floor, though he incline his head slightly to gaze at Motormaster, silently pleading with his Master do something, anything, to make Megatron stop. But Motormaster simply looked down at him impassively. Mirage supposed he would be punished when they returned to their quarters for failing to remain unnoticed.

"Skidplate scratched," Megatron continued, reaching down and grabbing one of Mirage's pedes, lifting it so that his interface panel was exposed. "Getting your gears stripped by my Stunticons is a fitting fate for you, Towerling." Mirage concentrated on remaining as limp and unresisting as possible. Motormaster was powerless to stop Megatron, and all he could hope for was that Megatron would eventually grow tired of humiliating him.

Megatron made a noise of disgust and dropped Mirage's pede with a clang. Mirage tried not to wince. He stayed quiet and still, wishing fervently for his electro-disruptor.

"I remember the day you and your little band of stragglers were brought in," Megatron continued, slowly stalking around Mirage. "You're fortunate that Motormaster took an interest in you; I had planned on throwing your pathetic chassis to the rank and file, and letting them use you until you deactivated. Your fancy Tower-made frame isn't built for anything useful. It's only good for looking pretty. The only worth you have now is as a berth-toy."

Mirage cowered under Megatron's gaze. He tried to make himself as small as possible.

"Get out of my sight, slave," Megatron growled, coming to a halt. Mirage scrambled up, intent on putting as much distance between himself and Megatron as possible. Unfortunately, the rough treatment had knocked his gyros out of alignment. Before he could adjust for the malfunction, the floor seemed to tip up and he lost his balance, crashing into Jazz and sending energon and coolant everywhere. As he hit the floor once again, Mirage could only think about how angry Motormaster was going to be.

"You clumsy oaf!" Mirage could hear Motormaster yelling above the noise of the other Decepticons laughing. "How dare you!" Mirage shuddered as he heard another, more electric sound. An energy whip being activated.

'Oh, no, please not that Master,' he thought. He pulled himself slowly up onto his hands and knees, intending to help Jazz with cleaning up the contents of the dropped tray. But a large pede stepped on his shoulder axle, forcing him into a groveling bow. Mirage's face was pressed mercilessly into the ground.

"You're going to learn your place, slave," Motormaster growled above him. Mirage stilled, waiting for Motormaster's fury to descend upon him. He could hear the gears and rotors in Motormaster's shoulder whirring as his master raised the energy whip to strike Mirage. There was a hissing crackle, and the first strike landed. Mirage screamed. He felt as if the plating on his back were being abraded off as the electro whip stimulated his damage sensors, making them send pain signals to his CPU. With the programming the 'Cons had installed in him, Mirage couldn't access the control panel to shut them off. His screams turned to whimpers as he stilled, waiting for the next strike. If he tried to squirm away or resist at all, it would be many times worse in the end.

Motormaster took his pede off of Mirage, to move around to another angle. Mirage heard the noises of Motormaster drawing back, and then the whip descending, and then-

"NO!" the cry startled Mirage, but not as much as the sudden weight on his back. Two green arms appeared on either side of him.

'Oh, no, Hound. What are you doing?' he thought.

"Don't hurt him, please, don't hurt him," Hound was begging.

"Gerroff him!" Motormaster shouted. There was more commotion, and Hound rocked under several blows. Mirage could hear Motormaster cursing, Shockwave commanding Hound to release Mirage, and Astrotrain laughing at it all.

"Hound, please don't, they'll hurt you, you'll make it worse, please Hound-" Mirage begged him.

"No, I won't let you be hurt, I won't-" Hound kept repeating this litany, tightening his grip on Mirage. Then there was a flash of light, a rushing sound, and Hound suddenly went limp against him. The Jeep was then roughly lifted off by Motormaster, and thrown to the floor. Mirage could see Starscream powering down a null ray out of the corner of his optic.

"I must protest your treatment of my slave!" Shockwave said angrily. "You're going to set back my conditioning indefinitely!"

"If you could control your slave I wouldn't have to rough 'im up!" Motormaster yelled back. Mirage lifted himself up off the floor a bit. He could see Megatron looking back and forth between his two arguing subordinates with amusement. Shockwave holding Hound up by his arm, the Autobot was swaying and clumsy from the effects of the null ray.

"You provoked him."

"I didn't do slag! Lord Megatron," Motormaster rounded on his leader. "I insist that Autobot is punished for his impudence!"

"He will be corrected. I do not punish my slaves in public." Shockwave insisted.

"And look how well that has turned out!"

"Decepticons, desist."

Megatron's command cut the argument short. "I understand your concern, Motormaster, however, Shockwave has the right to deal with his property as he find fit, as you are with yours." Mirage could see Motormaster trembling with rage. He let out a short blast of hot air from his vents.

"Fine," rumbled Motormaster. "I'll deal with my property then." Mirage's spark quailed as he caught a glimpse of the vicious smile Motormaster gave Hound. "You're so concerned about your little friend? Then how does this make you feel?" He grabbed the back of Mirage's helm in one large hand, and slammed Mirage's face into the floor. Mirage cried out in pain and fear. His view field became staticky as one optic was cracked.

"M-Mirage…" Hound moaned, jerking weakly in Shockwave's grip.

Motormaster was far from done. He kicked Mirage savagely, with enough force to send the Autobot rolling away from him. Mirage ended up supine, and Motormaster grabbed the front of his chassis, lifting him to his pedes. Mirage grasped at the arm holding him, and looked at Motormaster helplessly.

"Please master, please mercy, Master-" His pleas were cut off as Motormaster struck him twice across the face.

"Shut up!"

Mirage subsided into pained whimpers, one arm held up next to his face in an attempt to ward off more blows. Motormaster hadn't been this brutal with him since he first came to be with the Stunticons. Mirage was then thrown back to the floor where he curled up, trying to protect his more vulnerable systems.

"No, no, Mirage, no…" Hound said. He strained towards Mirage, an anguished look on his face. He was still weakened from the null ray, and Shockwave restrained him easily.

"Well, well, well, it looks like you have an admirer, Mirage," Motormaster drawled. He reached down and lifted Mirage by his shoulder axle. Mirage's already-impaired gyros were now completely out of alignment, and he swayed dizzily. Motormaster crushed him against his chassis, so that they were both facing Hound and Shockwave.

Mirage could see Hound mouthing "I'm sorry," over and over.

"Did you have a silly crush on my slave, Autobot?" Motormaster said to Hound. Mirage looked on in astonishment as Hound first looked surprised, and then ashamed. Hound's head bowed in defeat. Motormaster pressed on mercilessly, throwing all the information he had gathered from watching Hound and Mirage interact back in Hound's face. "Did you wish he was more than a friend? That you could someday do this to him?" Motormaster hooked an arm under one of Mirage's legs, lifting it, exposing his valve. He then thrust two of his fingers inside.

Mirage cried out. He couldn't bear to look at Hound, slumped and defeated in Shockwave's hold. 'Oh, Hound, why didn't you say something?' he thought. If he had known what Hound felt…well, Mirage thought he could have grown to love the tracker as more than a friend. But now… it was too late. Mirage didn't know if he would ever feel a genuine emotion again.

"Moan for me, slave!" Motormaster yelled, giving Mirage's valve a sharp push. Mirage arched his back strut, the way he knew Motormaster liked it, and let out a breathy groan.

"No, let him go!" Hound's anguished plea went unanswered as Motormaster increased his pawing at Mirage.

"I really must protest, Lord Megatron!" Shockwave said angrily. "He is clearly trying to provoke my slave!"

"I'm just doing what I want to my slave," Motormaster lifted Mirage's leg up even higher. Mirage covered his face with his hands, he couldn't bear to look at the Decepticons and his friends who were witness to what Motormaster was going to do to him. "It's your problem if your slave reacts to it!"

A knot of anger and humiliation twisted in Mirage's spark. He had tried. He had tried to please Motormaster, he had thought that the tempestuous Stunticon might give him more autonomy if he was always obedient. Mirage had even found himself grudgingly admiring Motormaster's strength, relishing the feeling when Motormaster protected him. Those feelings just made this punishment sting all the more.

"Megatron, I must protest as well," Starscream interjected.

Peeking out from between his fingers, Mirage saw that Skyfire was on his knees in front of Starscream. Even though he was still taller than Starscream, Skyfire was resting his head on Starscream's cockpit, and the Air Commander was stroking Skyfire's helm comfortingly. "This display is upsetting Sk- my slave too."

"Shut up, all of you. I'm going to enjoy this. It's not every day you get to see a Towerling put in his place." Megatron moved towards Mirage and Motormaster, sneering maliciously. "Just think: when I first started my Decepticon army, it would have been unthinkable for a common mech like me to dream of taking someone like Mirage here to berth. And now he's so low I won't deign to give him the honor being in mine!"

Mirage was dropped unceremoniously. He landed in a heap at Motormaster's pedes. The Decepticon didn't waste any time. He hauled Mirage up by his elbow, dragging the hapless slave to the conference table. Mirage stumbled along, barely able to get his legs under himself.

With far more force than was necessary, Motormaster picked up Mirage and pushed him down on his back on the table. Mirage screamed again; his circuits were still depolarized from the electro whip, and the impact sent pain up and down his back plating.

"Master, mercy, please," whimpered Mirage.

Motormaster struck him across the face, and didn't bother to answer. Mirage went to cover his face again as Motormaster pried off the panel covering his interface array, but Motormaster grabbed his wrists and held them above Mirage's head.

As Motormaster spread Mirage's legs and lined himself up with Mirage's valve, he leaned down and whispered in his slave's audio, "I know you were putting on an act with your little friend, but you won't be able to put one on with me!"

Motormaster slammed his hips into Mirage as hard as he could. Mirage arched up off the table, mouth opening in a soundless scream, the sensation too painfully intense for his vocalizer subroutines to completely execute.

Over the sounds of stressed metal and Motormaster's growls, Mirage could hear Hound shouting, yelling for them to leave Mirage alone.

"Really, Megatron, is this sordid display necessary?" Starscream said.

"I still protest as well, Lord Mega-" Shockwave added.

"Mirage! Mirage! Leave him alone, you slagger-"

"Slave Hound, I order you to be silent!" There were more sounds of Hound struggling against Shockwave.

Then Motormaster began revving his engine, and for a few moments Mirage could hear nothing else, the deep vibrations shaking him to his core. He tried to brace against Motormaster's vicious thrusts, but with his hands entrapped, he couldn't do anything except wrap his legs around Motormaster's waist.

"-cannot control your slaves, they will be pacified so that we can continue uninterrupted," Megatron was saying when Motormaster's engine changed gears and Mirage could hear once more.

"I will place Slave Hound in a pacification collar now. I obviously erred in my assessment that he was ready to appear in public. If you would please hold him, Soundwave."

By turning his head in time to Motormaster's thrusts, Mirage was able to catch a glimpse of Hound. The Jeep was struggling valiantly against Soundwave's hold while Shockwave pulled a silvery, sinister looking device out of a subspace pocket. Hound bucked and thrashed, trying to break free. He looked up and met Mirage's optics momentarily. His face was full of helpless rage and anger. Hound opened his mouth to say something, but then Shockwave took advantage of Hound's moment of stillness, and fastened the device around Hound's neck.

For a few moments, the Autobot's mouth opened and closed, his vocalizer emitting only static. Then, to Mirage's horror, Hound's optics went dark, and he slumped against Soundwave. He was still online, but all of his limbs moved sluggishly, with no real power behind them.

Suddenly Mirage's mandible was gripped in a powerful gray hand. His face was turned to meet Motormaster's angry snarl.

"You pay attention to me, got it, slave?"

"Ye-uh-yes, Master!" Mirage managed to gasp out.

"Tell me what you are!"

The question took Mirage by surprise.

"M-Master, I don't know what you mean-"

Motormaster paused in his thrusting to lift himself up and backhand Mirage. "Wrong answer, tramp!"

With his head to the side, and with Hound now mostly subdued, Mirage could clearly see Megatron watching Motormaster with a satisfied smirk on his faceplates. Jazz had his arms around Bluestreak, who was shaking, while Starscream kept Skyfire turned away from the spectacle Motormaster was making.

"Master, I don't know what you want, tell me what you want, please have mercy-!" Mirage babbled. He had never before seen Motormaster so angry. Or at least angry at him, specifically. He was beginning to fear that Motormaster would offline him for good this time.

Leaning down to speak in Mirage's audio once again, Motormaster hissed, "You're a filthy slut, that's what you are. Say it!"

"Oh, please Master, no-"

With an inarticulate roar of rage, Motormaster grabbed Mirage by the shoulder wheels, lifted him up, and then slammed back onto the table. Mirage cried out as his helm struck the tabletop.

"Say it, slave!"

"'m a f-filthy slut, Master." Mirage choked out.

"Louder, Slave!"

"Ah! Master! I'm a filthy slut, Master!"

Motormaster changed his angle of entry, now mercilessly stimulating Mirage's exterior sensor nexus located just anterior to his valve. "And you like it rough, don't you, little slut. You like to have your paint stripped!"

Mirage only moaned in response. His plating was heating up under Motormaster's assault. The constant stimulation was painful and overwhelming, but it was almost welcome after the numbness Mirage had felt during the encounter with Bluestreak. If he could still feel humiliated and ashamed, did that mean he would eventually be able to feel happy again?

"What are you, slave," Motormaster repeated, "and how do you like it?"

"Master, I'm a filthy slut, and - and I like having my paint stripped!" The vulgar words felt out of place in Mirage's vocalizer, even after so many megacylces among the uncouth Stunticons he still didn't feel comfortable with base language.

There was another burst of static from Hound, and Mirage could see his optics flicker on for a moment as his frame tried to overcome the device Shockwave had placed on him. His left arm lifted jerkily as he reached towards Mirage, but then fell back down to his side.

"Then overload for me, slut!" Motormaster hissed through clenched denta. "Scream for me!" He grabbed one of Mirage's hands, and bit down on an exposed cable in Mirage's wrist.

Mirage whimpered and keened with every surge. Motormaster was crimping a wire bundle that ran directly to his laser core. His CPU interpreted the feeling as one of unbearable heat. It merged with the pain from his valve, sending frissons of sensation up his back strut, making his CPU buzz. Mirage grabbed Motormaster's arm with his free hand, bracing himself.

"M-Master, master, please, Master!" Mirage's cries increased in pitch as he was pushed closer and closer to climax. His logic circuits were so scrambled that he didn't know if he was begging for more or for a reprieve. There was no pleasure in the act, it was only one more way Motormaster exerted control over Mirage's body. Finally Mirage's systems redlined under the assault, and a harsh squawk of feedback was ripped from Mirage's vocalizer as he overloaded. Motormaster followed him a nanoklik later, seizing Mirage's brachial struts and pulling the slave hard and fast against his own hip plate. As he finished, he held Mirage against himself so hard that Mirage thought his pelvic plating would buckle. Mirage writhed as he felt Motormaster's spill inside his valve.

As Motormaster withdrew, the heat in Mirage's sensor net receded, leaving behind an uncomfortable tingling. His CPU felt muzzy and confused. Motormaster closed himself and pulled Mirage off the table, then dropped him. Landing on his face, all Mirage could do was lie still and shake.

"My slave won't be a problem any more, Lord Megatron," Motormaster said, his heavy steps moving away from Mirage.

"Indeed," Megatron said dryly.

"Will he be good for anything after that?" Swindle asked.

"'Course he will. Get up, slave!" barked Motormaster.

Mirage slowly tried to lift himself up on his hands and knees. His gyros were in even worse shape now, and he listed to the side, completely off balance. With a growl of impatience, Motormaster stalked back to him, and tried to haul Mirage to his pedes. But Mirage's hydraulics were too depressurized to hold his weight, and he collapsed to the floor again. He didn't even whimper, but curled in on himself a bit, covering his helm with his hands, expecting at any moment to be beaten again for disobedience. Mirage was so sore and hurting that he couldn't even feel shame for being so helpless in front of his enemies.

"Give him a moment, Motormaster," Mirage heard Hook say, amusement evident. "That was quite a quite a workout you gave him." Steps approached Mirage, and an indifferent finger flipped open a system status display on Mirage's shoulder. "Yes, it looks like you managed to use up a significant percentage of his energon. He'll need a thorough recharge and possibly-"

"If I want your medical opinion, I'll ask for it, Hook!" Motormaster said, still aggressive and touchy from his overload.

"Well, I'm not charging you. I'm only trying to help you get the most out of your slave. He is supposed to be helping while he's here, after all," countered Hook.

"Maybe when you get a slave of your own, you can tell me how to deal with mine!"

Hook's reply was icy. "You know my gestalt's reason for waiting to claim our share of the… spoils."

"Hmm, hopefully this innovative new refining process with enable us to bring him out of stasis on Earth and return him to Cybertron sooner, rather than later, Hook."

"Your ability to turn any topic of conversation into self-aggrandizement always astounds me, Starscream," said Hook as he stepped over Mirage's still form to rejoin the group of Decepticons. Mirage's optics flickered on, though his view field was laced with static.

Jazz had left Bluestreak and was presenting Megatron with an energon cube. As Megatron took it, he reached out and grabbed Jazz's face. Jazz froze as his head was tilted up, and Megatron examined his features.

"Well, Soundwave, it seems repairs are progressing on your slave." Mirage heard him say.

"Repairs: incomplete, Lord Megatron."

"It doesn't matter if all of his cogs aren't perfectly calibrated. He appears adequately functional. Have him at my chambers thirty breems after this meeting is over."

"Glit's advice: interfacing not yet recommended." Mirage could hear the unease in the normally emotionless voice.

"That wasn't a request Soundwave."

"Understood, Lord Megatron."

Releasing Jazz, Megatron gave him a little push towards Mirage. "It is time to resume our discussion. Clean that up."

"Yes, my Lord." Jazz bowed his head in acknowledgement, handed his tray to Bluestreak and walked over to Mirage. Mirage was trying to lift himself up, but kept failing. His valve was sore and throbbing, every movement of his leg struts was painful. He lifted his head as the Porsche approached.

"Jazz…" Mirage whispered. "Please, I cant-"

"It's alright Mirage, we'll take care of you," Jazz said as he gently slung Mirage's arm over his shoulder and helped the other Autobot to his pedes. Mirage leaned heavily on Jazz, who carefully guided him away from the table as the Decepticons took their seats. As the pair exited the room, Mirage could hear Starscream resuming his arguments for the new refining process.

In the hall, Bluestreak overtook them and placed Mirage's other arm around his shoulders. At the same time he carefully supported one of Mirage's armor panels that had been knocked loose with his free hand, easing some of Mirage's discomfort. The gesture touched Mirage's spark, and he looked over at Bluestreak, giving the young mech a small smile.

By the time they reached the commissary, some function was returning to Mirage's legs, and he was mostly walking on his own. Jazz had him stand, holding onto Bluestreak for balance while he drew a bucket of cleaning solution and detergent out of a sink along the opposite wall.

Mirage was surprised to find himself drawing comfort from Bluestreak's touch. He reached out and grabbed Bluestreak's free hand with his own, suddenly craving more contact. Bluestreak stiffened against him at first, but then relaxed, drawing Mirage into a closer embrace. Mirage buried his face in Bluestreak's shoulder as the emotions he had been denying for so long surfaced. He wanted to stay like that forever, safe among friends who wouldn't hurt him.

He heard Jazz turn off the faucet, and his steps approaching. There were some sounds of liquid being agitated behind Mirage, and then a cleaning cloth being wrung out.

Mirage gasped as he felt the first gentle touch to his upper thigh. Jazz carefully wiped away the beads of transfluid that were trickling out of Mirage's valve. Whenever Mirage flinched, he made a soothing sound, and steadied Mirage with a hand on his hip plate. Mirage felt ashamed that he couldn't even do this little task for himself, that Jazz had to do it for him. He keened when Jazz first touched his valve, anticipating more pain, but Jazz was so gentle that there was no discomfort at all. Jazz finished by drying Mirage's legs with a clean rag, and carefully re-latching his interface panel.

"Thank you, Jazz," murmured Mirage, turning his head so that he could look at Jazz as his friend stood up.

Jazz gave him a small smile. "Don't worry about it, my mech," he replied, giving Mirage a pat on the shoulder. "We do need to get some energon in you, though."

In the moment Jazz smiled, he looked so much like how Mirage remembered him on the Ark, that Mirage's fans stalled. Mirage reached out grabbed Jazz's arm before the other mech could leave. "Please, Jazz-"

Almost as if he had read his thoughts, Jazz seemed to know what Mirage wanted. He let himself be pulled into their embrace. He and Bluestreak pressed in other either side of Mirage, supporting their fellow slave. Mirage let himself enjoy the sensation, unlike when Motormaster held him, he knew this would not result in any violence.

After they had remained that way for a few kliks, Jazz said softly, "I'm so sorry, Mirage."

"Hm?" Mirage had almost fallen into a daze. "What do you mean Jazz? You have nothing to apologize for."

"But I do, I do, Mirage! I'm sorry, so sorry-!" Mirage could feel Jazz's frame quaking against his with pent up emotion.

"Shh, Jazz, no-"

"Yes!" Jazz lifted his face to meet Mirage's optics. "When Prowl and Optimus were leaving to go on…on the last offensive, Prime told me to protect my team at all costs. But I haven't. If I'd pegged that tracker drone just a few breems earlier we would never have been caught-"

"It's not your fault, Jazz," Mirage insisted. He gently pulled Jazz closer, and placed a chaste, comforting kiss on the crown of the black helm. "It's not your fault. After Prime fell, we were living on borrowed time."

"I was your commander, whatever happens to you is my fault-"

"Is what Megatron does to you Prime's fault?" Mirage's question brought Jazz up short.

"No! He died defending us, defending Earth."

"Well then, is he any different from you?" Mirage pressed.

"Yes! I don't know how, but it is different, Mirage," Jazz retorted.

"I don't think so." They lapsed into silence once more.

After a moment or two, Jazz said, almost too quietly to hear, "I miss him so much."

"I do too." Just thinking about their fallen leader made Mirage feel like he had been stabbed through the spark. Optimus Prime had been so wise, warm, and gentle. Mirage remembered how Prime had defended him against Cliffjumper's accusations, without even needing to hear Mirage's side of the story first.

"Megatron has his head in his chambers," Jazz's voice became flat once more. Bluestreak whimpered.

"When-when he takes me to berth, he makes me look at it, and I wish- I wish-" Jazz's voice dissolved into static from grief. Mirage made a soothing noise and held him tighter.

"But," Jazz looked around, and lowered his voice, "I don't think Megatron has the Matrix. He likes to show off all of his other trophies, but he doesn't show that off. I think it's gone."

Mirage was dumbfounded. "Where could it be then? Would he have-"

"No, I've… I've seen his spark. It's not there."

"Do you think it could have been taken off of Earth before Prime fell?"

Jazz didn't answer verbally. Suddenly Mirage realized he was tapping his pede against Mirage's leg in one of their old codes. Mirage decrypted it quickly.

Tell Hound, I'll try to distract them to buy you some time. Maybe knowing that will be useful to him.

Mirage nodded, indicating that he had received Jazz's message.

Eventually Bluestreak disengaged himself from their little huddle, and drew an energon cube for Mirage. He gave it to Mirage and took it back when Mirage had drained it. In the short time they had spent in the commissary, Mirage's systems were already recovering. His balance was back, and his optics were compensating for the damage they had sustained.

"Thank you, Bluestreak." Mirage smiled at him. To Mirage's delight, Bluestreak actually returned it before turning and making to leave the commissary.

"Alright, Mirage?" Jazz asked.

"Yes, Jazz, I'll be fine. We do need to get back, they'll be waiting."

When the trio returned to the meeting room, Jazz immediately started cleaning up the spilled coolant and energon. Several of the vessels on the table looked nearly empty, so Mirage and Bluestreak set to work refilling them. Mirage looked at Motormaster out of the corner of his optic, but Motormaster didn't acknowledge him or react to his presence in any way.

Bluestreak approached Megatron, noting that his vessel was almost empty. But Megatron covered the top with his hand when Bluestreak drew near. Bluestreak was confused, but moved on down the table. Then Megatron slowly turned his head and met Mirage's glance. The corner's of Megatron's mouth rose slightly in amusement, and he indicated with a subtle gesture that he wanted Mirage to come closer. Mirage moved closer warily. Now Megatron appeared utterly absorbed in what Skyfire was saying about the various charts and figures that were displayed on the holoscreen at the other end of the table. Mirage quickly filled Megatron's vessel, and then beat a hasty retreat.

Mirage surreptitiously looked around for Hound. He finally saw the scout, sitting slumped against the wall by the door to the hallway. Every once in awhile a faint flicker of light would appear in his optics and his frame would move slightly, but other than that there was no sign of awareness. He would have to be ready to pass on Jazz's message at any time.

The rest of the meeting continued on without incident. Mirage didn't really pay attention to what was going on, but it seemed like most of the Decepticons were favorable to Starscream's proposal. Astrotrain and Hook left immediately after Megatron ended the meeting, but the rest stayed for a bit, talking. Jazz, Mirage, and Bluestreak hurriedly cleared the vessels and empty cubes from the table.

When all the paraphernalia was loaded onto the cart, Jazz said, "Mirage, please take this back." He punctuated his request with a strong squeeze to Mirage's arm. Mirage nodded at him, and slowly pushed the cart back to the door, which happened to be next to Hound. He tensed a bit. A quick glance around the room showed Motormaster and Swindle deep in conversation, and Shockwave, Soundwave, and Megatron in the center of the room. Mirage had just turned back to the cart when a shriek of tortured metal sounded.

Mirage whirled around again, and saw Jazz stumbling back from the table, holding his arm. There was a long line of white paint on the table's edge. Soundwave was already walking over to Jazz quickly. Megatron and Shockwave were focused on Jazz as well.

Moving quickly, Mirage maneuvered the cart so that it was in between Hound and the Decepticons, then ducked down behind it.

"Hound? Hound, it's Mirage," grabbing Hound's hands, Mirage tried to rouse him.

"M…'Raj?" Hound's optics flickered on, and he lifted his head slowly. "'m sssorry-"

"Hush, Hound," Mirage whispered. He leaned forward, placing his lips right next to Hound's audio. "Megatron doesn't have the Matrix. Prime must have had it smuggled off of Earth-"

"MIRAGE!" Motormaster's shout echoed across the room. Mirage jerked away from Hound, turning to meet his master.

"Master, I'm so-"

"Shut up! You stay away from him, tramp!" Motormaster grabbed Mirage by his shoulder axle and dragged him away roughly.

"Please, Master, I'm sorry, please!" pleaded Mirage. "I-I just wanted to say good-bye!"

"We're going home, right now."

Mirage fell silent. He cast one more look at Hound, but his friend showed no indication that he was still online. Mirage hoped his message had gotten through to Hound. He followed Motormaster out the door, struggling to keep up with his long strides. Mirage could feel that the comm channel between them was shut off completely. During the entire journey back to their quarters, Motormaster ignored Mirage, who almost got left behind and a few intersections when Motormaster cut turns across oncoming mechs a bit too close. And with the comm channel offline, Mirage wouldn't be able to call Motormaster for help if they did get separated. Even when they transformed and were navigating the pedestrian areas, Motormaster seemed indifferent to what happened to Mirage. By the time they arrived at the Stunticons' quarters, Mirage was feeling panicked. Even when Motormaster was his angriest, he had never completely ignored Mirage.

Remembering what Megatron had said, Mirage's anxiety level climbed. If Motormaster decided he was too much trouble to keep, would Megatron follow through with his threat to give Mirage to the rank and file? Would he end up with Swindle?

As soon as they were through the doorway and into the main living area, Mirage dropped to his knees, expecting Motormaster to punish him at any moment. But the assault never came. Motormaster continued on, and Mirage could hear him clattering around in the recharge area. None of the other Stunticons seemed to be around, unless Break Down was using the electro-disruptor.

Eventually Motormaster strode back into the room, all of his attention seemingly on a data pad in his hand. He settled his large frame into his carver, and sat reading.

Mirage sat still, holding himself and shivering every once in awhile. Finally, Motormaster put down the pad and motioned for Mirage to come over. When Mirage knelt down in front of Motormaster, he saw that his master's pelvic plating was withdrawn, and his spike was extending. Mirage needed no prompting - even if everything else was nebulous and uncertain, what Motormaster wanted him to do with this wasn't.

Scooting closer, Mirage leaned forward and ran his mouth along Motormaster's length. Motormaster did not move a single strut, but sat impassively, waiting for Mirage to get on with it. Mirage did so, lifting his hands to wrap them around the base of Motormaster's spike.

For awhile he simply squeezed, licked, and sucked somewhat aimlessly as Motormaster didn't seem to be in any hurry. Mirage only hesitated for a bare moment when Motormaster began to stroke his helm. Mirage found the sensation soothing, but Motormaster could always turn violent without warning, so he remained wary.

"Ah, Mirage…" Motormaster finally rumbled. "What am I going to do with you?"

It seemed to be a rhetorical question, so Mirage didn't interrupt his task to answer.

"You were a very bad slave today. Fortunately for you, Shockwave's slave was even worse, so the others won't remember your transgressions quite so vividly." One of Motormaster's fingers traveled along Mirage's helm vents, then lazily wandered over his cheek.

Mirage made a sorrowful noise in response.

"Don't talk with your mouth full," admonished Motormaster, giving Mirage a stern look. Motormaster then lapsed into silence once more, with his hand resting on Mirage's head. A tightening of his grip was all the indication he gave that he wanted Mirage to step up the pace.

Running his glossa over the ridges on the under side of Motormaster's spike, Mirage carefully took more of it into his pharynx. He braced his hands on Motormaster's thighs for balance as he worked his way up the spike.

"You were making so much progress, but now I don't know if it's even worth the bother to keep you. You're a pretty chassis, but I do have my limits." A tremor passed through Mirage at Motormaster's words. The slave redoubled his efforts between Motormaster's legs, drawing back until only the tip was left in his mouth, and then moving back up smoothly.

"You wouldn't last a hexacycle among the regular troops. They would 'face your plating off. Because you'd belong to everybody, nobody would take care of you."

An involuntary keen came from Mirage.

"Quiet," Motormaster gave him a light tap on his helm. "I have my rules to keep you safe. I keep you fueled, and your needs met. In return you obey. I don't think that's so much to ask."

As Mirage pulled back again, this time lapping at the tip of Motormaster's spike with his glossa, he felt a wave of tension ripple through Motormaster's leg plating. Quickly, he took the spike back into his mouth, engulfing it completely. Motormaster's grip turned firm, pushing him down until his lips were pressing against his master's pelvic plating. With a single, quick thrust, Motormaster overloaded, his transfluid emptying down Mirage's intake. Mirage felt a weariness thinking about how hard it was going to be to get it out of his filter trap later.

Motormaster didn't release his helm for a few kliks, and Mirage stayed motionless, concentrating on keeping his vents aligned so that he could keep air circulating in his ducts. Then the hand on his helm traced down a seam, finally coming to rest under Mirage's chin. He tilted Mirage's face up. Mirage tried to keep his optics lowered deferentially, but he eventually had no choice but to look at Motormaster.

"Come here," Motormaster commanded, patting his thigh.

Confused, Mirage scrambled up, and found himself held sideways on Motormaster's lap, the big semi absently stroking his hood. Mirage tucked his head under Motormaster's chin, anxiously waiting to see what the results of this new, strange mood that had taken his master would be.

"I don't like it when you make me punish you, Mirage," Motormaster continued. "Why do you keep making me do it?"

"I'm sorry, Master," whispered Mirage. "I don't mean to, I'm sorry." Mirage reached up and deferentially touched Motormaster's cheek, and then placed a few hesitant kisses on his mandible. Motormaster had seemed to like this before, so maybe it would help. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry Master," whispered Mirage between kisses.

But there was a disapproving rumble from Motormaster, and Mirage's hand and lips were pushed away. "You say that, but then you go and do whatever comes into your CPU. How do I know you mean it?"

"I do mean it, I swear I do, Master. I'm sorry, I'll do better, please don't give me away!" begged Mirage. His pleas were spark felt - he knew his lot could be worse, and after all, before today, Motormaster had seemed to be…warming a bit to him. If Mirage could just prove that he was obedient, and really work on pleasing Motormaster, then he would get back in Motormaster's good graces.

"Hmm, alright, Mirage. I won't give up on you just yet."

"Thank you, Master, thank you," Mirage murmured, pressing in closer to Motormaster. "I'll do better, I promise, thank you." A wave of relief flooded Mirage. He had another chance, and he would do better. If he could just keep from angering Motormaster, then he wouldn't be hurt, and things would improve. Wouldn't they?

Chapter Text

Red Alert pressed closer against Inferno. He had almost lost the firetruck in the confusion following the defeat of Optimus Prime, and he wasn't quite ready to let go of Inferno, even though there was no place Red Alert could lose Inferno in the small cell they now occupied. Red shivered, remembering the frantic screams and pounding pedes of the chaos after their leader's downfall; how mechs rushed everywhere, trying to escape. He had called out frantically for Inferno, desperately trying to find his bondmate in the chaos as Autobots crowded into any of the escape pods and shuttles they could get into on Earth's unfinished orbital defense platform. Red Alert supposed that it was fortunate that a malfunction in the life support systems had necessitated the evacuation of all the human denizens a fortnight earlier.

At least they will die on their own soil, Red Alert thought bitterly.
The Decepticons had developed some sort of new weapon. It punched through armor plating as if it were a thin foil. Prime and Prowl, expecting the enemy fire to be of a comparable magnitude to previous encounters, never had a chance.

Looking around at the occupants of the cramped little cell deep in the hold of the Decepticon flagship, Red Alert felt terribly guilty. He was the Security Director. He should have been able to prevent their little shuttle from being picked up so soon. At least long enough to get them out of Earth's solar system. But the Insecticons had found them, their unique energy signatures allowing them to get close to the shuttle before tripping any of Red Alert's alarms. Hoist, Grapple, Brawn, Perceptor, and Bumblebee all huddled in the darkness, no doubt blaming him for their captivity. Of course, Inferno had said nobody blamed Red Alert, but he would say that anyway, so it didn't count.

Feeling Red Alert shifting, Inferno lifted the arm that was around Red Alert's shoulders for a moment, and then settled it back into place when Red Alert stilled. Inferno gave Red Alert's shoulders a gentle squeeze.

"Alright there, Red?"

Red Alert gave Inferno a wan smile and nodded. He stilled again and concentrated on the feel of Inferno's ceramic alloy plating, always slightly warm to the touch; on the deep thrum of Inferno's internals working to power his massive frame; on Inferno's lovely voice, that always made his enhanced sensor net light up. Certain that they were destined for deactivation in the near future, Red Alert didn't want to waste any of the precious cycles he had left not appreciating Inferno.

A wave of love and reassurance came over their spark bond, an emotional hug to accompany the physical one. Red Alert sent a pulse of his own back to Inferno. He remembered when their bond had been new, and the thrill of the novel combined with the lure of the forbidden, and how they had delighted in sending each other emotions, messages, and impressions; no matter where they were in the base.

Optimus Prime had forbidden any new sparkbondings while the war was being fought. It was too dangerous, he had said, and each mech was too valuable to risk losing when their bondmate was killed. It had always made sense to Red Alert, until he had fallen for Inferno. As an officer, others already looked askance at his relationship with a common enlisted mech, but when they had come out of stasis Red Alert knew that he couldn't risk waiting for the war to end any longer. He loved Inferno too much.

A warm glow settled over Red Alert's spark as he remembered the clandestine bonding. Inferno had made a great show of convincing Red Alert to take a vacation in the Cascades. When they were finally far away from any prying eyes, he and Inferno had read their oaths to each other, and merged their sparks. The resulting energy had nearly started a forest fire, but Inferno was able to get it under control. Every time Red Alert had broken one of Prime's edicts, he had felt terribly sorry afterwards, but not this time. He would never regret bonding to Inferno, though it did pain him to have to hide something so central and special to him from his friends and leader. Red Alert knew that it weighed on Inferno's spark as well.

Inferno sent another emotion along their link, this time one of curiosity. Red Alert sent back the memory of the first time their sparks merged. He was rewarded by Inferno's engine giving a little involuntary rev. Inferno's hand reached over to caress Red Alert's cheek, then lifted his chin to place a reverent, chaste kiss on Red Alert's lips. The kiss did not remain that way for long. An unquenchable fire erupted in Red Alert's spark, but he did not know if the emotions came from himself, or from Inferno. When Inferno's hand caressed his hip plate, teasing into the seams and tracing ridges, Red Alert broke away from the kiss with a gasp.

"Inferno, they'll see-" he protested. But even as he spoke the words, Red Alert found he really didn't care that much about being observed. Would it matter who saw, if they were all deactivated in the next cycle? All he wanted was to feel Inferno against him, inside of him, one last time.

"Does it matter?" whispered Inferno, echoing Red Alert's thoughts. "The 'Cons know we care about each other, if they're planning on using it against us, this won't change it. And I don't care, I want you, I want to love you just once more, Red."

"Mm, yes," Red murmured against Inferno's lips. His mate turned them; maneuvering Red Alert so that his back was towards the corner of the cell, legs astride Inferno's hips. Red Alert caught a glimpse of their team mates, who were all turning away. His sensitive audios could hear the sounds of sensor systems powering down, as the other Autobots endeavored to give the pair as much privacy as was possible.

"I love you, I love you so much, Red," Inferno said against his neck, kissing and nipping his way along Red Alert's mandible. "Don't ever forget that. No matter what happens, never forget it, I love you."

"Mm, Inferno," Red Alert's voice cut off with a soft cry as Inferno's hand reached up and fondled one of his sensor horns. "N-no," Red Alert whispered, grabbing the wandering hand and bringing it to his mouth, where he kissed each knuckle joint. "We don't have time," he pulled the hand down, pressing it to his interface panel. "Please, Inferno, I love you, please," The plating slid open.

Inferno moaned, his engine rumbling, as Red Alert guided his digits to Red Alert's valve. Red Alert whimpered and keened, making the most beautiful sounds as Inferno slipped a finger inside. The Lamborghini wrapped his arms around Inferno's neck, burying his face in Inferno's shoulder even as his pelvic unit pumped back and forth rhythmically in response to Inferno's stimulation.

"Easy, Red, easy," Inferno actually gave a low laugh, stilling Red Alert's hips with a touch of his hose-arm.

"Inferno, I love -oh- you, I need you." With their chest plating pressed close together, their sparks strained to be joined. There was nothing Red Alert wanted more in that moment that to join their sparks, but he knew that would be too risky. The 'Cons didn't have any idea that they were bonded, and for Inferno's safety Red Alert wanted to keep it that way.

To Red Alert's frustration, Inferno was as wary of their size difference as he had been when he had first taken Red Alert to berth. Red Alert just wanted Inferno now. He supposed it had something to do with the fact that Inferno was the one to break his seal. The fire truck had been a bit over enthusiastic, and Red Alert had been terribly sore afterwards. Now Inferno was overly cautious, in Red Alert's opinion. Red Alert wouldn't break, for Primus' sake.

"Inferno, now," Red Alert whispered petulantly, giving another buck with his hips.

"Red, how can I -nngh- refuse you." Inferno extended his spike and slid smoothly into Red Alert's valve. Red Alert arched against Inferno, mouth falling open and vents sputtering at the sensation, intensity undimmed though familiar.

Resting a hand on Red Alert's aft, Inferno carefully pressed them together, and Red Alert squeaked as the tip of Inferno's spike just touched the sensor bundle at the end of his valve. The intimate touch made Red Alert's spark flutter and twist. It was soon calmed by a warm rush of love Inferno sent along their bond.

"Only you," Red Alert panted, holding even tighter to Inferno. "Only you do this, Inferno, only you." Inferno's engine revved again, and such a strong feeling of possessiveness echoed down their bond that Red Alert cried out.

Wrapping his legs around Inferno's waist and hooking his pedes together, Red Alert began rolling his hips in a slow, steady rhythm. By unspoken agreement, the pair forwent their usual touches in favor of pressing as tightly together as possible.

"Only me, only I do this, only for me," Inferno practically chanted in Red Alert's audio, crushing the Lamborghini to himself. It was a liturgy that was recited almost every time they joined, hearing it made Red Alert remember all of the other times Inferno had whispered those words to him.

Every time Red Alert thought they could not possibly hold each other tighter, Inferno would squeeze him just a little bit more. In any other circumstances, it would have been painful, but now Red Alert craved it. He wanted to erase every separation between their bodies, until not even the 'Cons could tear them apart. A corner of his mind cursed the electron clouds that kept their very nuclei from fusing.

When Inferno put his lips to one of Red Alert's sensor horns and hummed, Red Alert stopped processing all together. Then it was a confused frenzy of pushing, straining, and half-heard words.

"I love you Red, you're so beautiful."

He strained to increase the friction between the superior ridge on Inferno's spike and the sensors in his valve.

"Inferno, I love you 'Ferno!" Red Alert bit down on a neck cable.

"Red, Red, Red, mmm Red!"

Inferno's thrusts grew more urgent, each one touching the deep sensor bundle. Frissons of energy shot through Red Alert's limbs, curled around his chassis, and warmed his spark. He could feel the warmth of an inexorable overload building. At once he both dreaded it as the harbinger of the end of their congress, and craved it for the closeness it represented.

Once again steadying energy lapped at his spark, Inferno was synching their spark energy frequencies, so they would reach overload together.

The climax swept over them both, and they stiffened against each other. Their sparks sang in unison, a duet that only they could hear as their very essences spiraled to further and further heights of ecstasy. Red Alert's hips gave two sharp snaps as he finished, he could feel Inferno's transfluid spilling inside of him. Red Alert relished the sensation, concentrating on it, not knowing if he would ever feel it again.

Slowly the hold they had on each other relaxed slightly. Inferno's engine ticked over, and he prepared to withdraw his spike. With a small noise, Red Alert stalled him, wanting to just be still, and savor the feeling of Inferno still filling his valve. Finally, Inferno dipped his head, and kissed Red Alert gently as he withdrew. Red Alert pushed up against his mouth, quivering as the spike slid out. He slumped against Inferno's grill, left strutless and woozy from the encounter. Inferno carefully turned Red Alert so that he was sitting sideways on Inferno's lap. The fire truck's knee gears groaned a bit as crimped hydraulic lines were straightened. He eventually settled himself against the bulkhead, with Red Alert held tight.

Eventually Red Alert became aware of a faint sound. He lifted his head. "Inferno?"

"Hmm?" Inferno had been stroking Red Alert's leg strut languidly.

"Do you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

There was the sound again. It was a distant rumble, almost too low frequency to be detected. Red Alert automatically tried to send a comm blip to the others, but the Decepticons had disabled all of their transmitters. To a race that relied so much on digital transmissions to communicate, it was maddening. So Red Alert reached out and rapped on the decking three times.

Grapple turned, startled, saw that Red Alert and Inferno were done, and quickly indicated to the others to turn their audios back on.

"What is it, Red?" asked Hoist.

"Do you hear that? It's a-a noise." Red Alert finished lamely. Even with his enhanced audios it was hard to classify the noise, faint as it was. They were all quiet for a moment, turning their audios' sensitivity up as high as possible.
Suddenly a tremor shook the cell. There was another, louder rumble.

"It's blaster cannons," moaned Bumblebee. "They're fighting someone else."

Red Alert felt Inferno shiver. He grasped Inferno's hands in his own, squeezing them in comfort as he huddled closer to his mate.

The captives once again sat silently in the dark, waiting to see what the future would bring.

Chapter Text

Red Alert peered anxiously around Inferno. After so many long cycles in the hold of the Decepticon ship with only muffled booms and occasional shaking to give any hint as to what was going on outside, being in the presence of so many mechs was causing his sensor system to overreact to the constant aural stimulation.

Decepticons filed past their cell, peering in, examining the Autobots huddled inside, occasionally remarking on a notable feature or defect. Apparently Megatron had decided that the best way to reward his each one of his teams was with an Autobot slave of their own. Poor Bumblebee and Perceptor had already been chosen - Bumblebee led away in a cerebro-shell induced daze by Bombshell, as the Insecticons' reward for bringing in their group; and Perceptor by Mixmaster, on Megatron's orders. By listening to the conversations of the mechs that came by, Red Alert gathered that Earth had been completely defeated, and that only small groups of Autobots were still at large, being rounded up at the Decepticons' leisure.

Red Alert wanted to go to the front of the cell to try and detect who the other Autobots in the other cells were, but Inferno had held him back. Now the big fire truck and Grapple sat in front of Red Alert, hiding him as best they could from view. Red Alert thought they were being ridiculous, but Inferno had insisted.

Eventually Decepticons ceased walking by their cell. From what Red could hear the thought of dealing with mechs as large and strong as Inferno, Grapple, or Brawn discouraged most from selecting someone from their cell. Red Alert fell into a light recharge leaning against Inferno's back strut, listening with half his CPU to the murmur of conversation, punctuated by occasional muffled screams and sobs from down the corridor outside their cell.

"…really need a medic?"

"He'll be able to work alongside them and withstand the conditions down there, not like that little red and blue thing."

Swindle and Blitzwing stood outside of their cell, looking in. Swindle was making quick marks on a data pad.

"These four Autobots will make an excellent addition to Cybertron's re-opened mines," said Blitzwing.

Swindle frowned. "Four? There should be five still in there." The yellow mech peered in, his wide purple optics brightening as he scanned the inside of the cell. "You there! Move aside!" he barked at Inferno.

A deep rumble came from Inferno's chassis. Red Alert could feel Inferno's hydraulics pressurizing, readying himself to fight. Red Alert vented air in exasperation. This was no time to be belligerent! He placed a calming hand on Inferno's shoulder plate, and moved into view.

"Him? We don't need him for Lord Megatron's mining project; he's just a little thing! He won't last down there any time at all!" Blitzwing exclaimed. Inferno growled again and grabbed Red Alert, holding him close.

"But you'll be able to reach more places with smaller mechs! Those hulking things in there with him are too big to exploit all the tiny shafts that are down there. And besides, with the medic included, you'll be able to keep him running for quite awhile." Swindle wheedled.

"Well, fine. We'll take the whole lot for the mines. But there's already one of those Minibots in there, I don't know why we'd want any more," Blitzwing shrugged.

"But it's not like you're going to be paying for them or their upkeep." Swindle was hurriedly scribbling on the data pad, and then handed it to Blitzwing for his seal. "Our gracious Lord Megatron is handling that."

"Huh," Blitzwing grunted, noncommittally. "I liked it when we were blasting these slaggers, not taking care of them. Have them ready to be transported to the surface in twenty-five breems."

"Of course, Blitzwing, we wouldn't want to disappoint our illustrious leader with a late shipment!" Swindle cheerfully clapped Blitzwing on the shoulders and led him away. The Autobots were left (relatively) alone once again.

Inferno relaxed slightly, and turned to Red Alert with a sad smile on his face. "Don't worry, Red. Wherever we end up, I'll look out for you."

Red Alert leaned up and placed a gentle kiss on Inferno's cheek. "Inferno, I'll be fine. I am a grown mech. We'll get through this. As long as we're together, we'll be fine." He squeezed Inferno's hand, and settled down next to his bondmate to wait for whatever would happen next.

They didn't have to wait long. Soon Swindle returned with his team.

"We need to get them into the cargo container with the others. Unfortunately, I can't move the big ones by myself. Remember, these have already been claimed, so behave yourselves. Vortex!"

The large mech started guiltily away from the energy bars at the mouth of their cell. "Wasn't doin' nothing," he muttered.

"No, but you were thinking it, I can tell," Swindle shot back.

"Remember, these slaves are now the property of Lord Megatron," said Onslaught in his even, cultured tone. "So treat them appropriately."

Inferno was tensing again. Red Alert desperately clutched at his arm. "Inferno, please don't fight, you'll get hurt, and they might take you away, please!"

Turning to look at Red Alert, Inferno answered, "Alright, Red. But I won't promise not to help you if-"

Suddenly Red Alert's vision went white. A powerful jolt of energy ripped through his systems, he was falling, falling, but he never seemed to hit the ground. He opened his mouth in a soundless scream as the energy hyper-polarized all of his circuits, making them completely unresponsive to his commands.

Eventually he realized he was lying flat on his dorsal plating, with a heavy weight across his legs. Voices drifted to his audios.

"Help me with this one, Blast Off,"

"What's this red slagger plated with? Lead?"

The weight across Red Alert's legs was removed, and he could hear the sounds of metal being dragged over deck grating. Then a pair of strong hands seized his arms, and he was pulled roughly over the floor, over a bump that he supposed was the lip of their cell, and then deposited on the ground none to gently.

"Vortex, take this one. Brawl, you and I will take the big one to the hangar." said Onslaught. "Then we'll come back and get the others. They'll be out for awhile."

Red Alert was lifted and flung over someone's shoulder, his helm striking a protrusion on the mech's back. The armor plates of his carrier dug into Red Alert's sensor net painfully, but he still couldn't get his actuators or hydraulics to respond to any of his commands. They continued on, the Combaticons bickering among themselves, until Red Alert could hear the sounds of a large door slowly creaking open. The mechs entered an echo-y chamber, and then dropped their cargo. By analyzing the vibrations of the decking, Red Alert guessed that Inferno had been set down close by, and that they were in the cargo hold of a large shuttle.

"Vortex, you stay here, and make sure nobody gets up to anything with these two. We'll be back with the other three, and then go get the rest of the slaves Blitzwing picked."

Two pairs of pedes stamped away, but one stayed behind, moving around restlessly. The steps approached Red Alert, and paused. Red Alert could hear the slight whines and creaks that indicated a mech lowering his chassis down to a crouch. A blunt, clumsy finger traced its way down the seam of his faceplate, while the ventilation volume of the mech above him increased.

The finger traveled downward, tracing his collar plating, outlining the human symbols on his hood, and then finally came to rest on his hip plate. Red Alert desperately tried to get his motor systems to respond to his commands, but they remained inert. Even his bond with Inferno was inaccessible - his spark energy was fluctuating too wildly.

Was this how it was going to happen? Red Alert had been under no delusions as to what many Decepticons would do to them given the opportunity, but he had thought that he would at least be capable of putting up a fight, of making a token resistance, however futile it would be. He was almost angrier about being incapacitated than about what Vortex was obviously planning.

His legs were pushed apart.

'Please let Inferno be offline,' Red Alert thought desperately. 'I don't want him to hear this-'

A heavy body covered his, pressing him mercilessly into the deck plating. The loathsome hand continued its inexpert pawing around his pelvic unit, until it finally encountered the discreet, hidden panel it was seeking. It poked and prodded, trying to force the panel to yield.

'No don't touch there, that's for Inferno, not you, stop-'

"VORTEX!"

The shout boomed out from behind them. Heavy steps quickly approached their position. Vortex surged up and off of Red Alert.

"Vortex, you slagging idiot! Can't I trust you to do anything?!" shouted Onslaught angrily.

"Wasn't going to do much to him!" Vortex protested. "Besides, you and Swindle won't let me have any fun with ours, so what am I supposed to do?"

"You can keep your hands to yourself, that's what you can do. Do you know how much hot slag we'd be in if this 'Bot was delivered damaged? Blitzwing would run straight to Megatron!"

"Wasn't going to damage him," Vortex said sullenly. Red Alert could feel his heavy steps moving away slowly. "I only have to damage 'em when they fight. He wasn't fighting."

A brusque pair of hands suddenly swept over Red Alert's chassis, obviously looking for any dings or scrapes.

"Nothing we can't explain away, thank Primus," said Swindle. "Vortex, you know why you can't use our slave yet-" The argument moved away from Red Alert, and then cut off as the large door closed again. They were alone once more.

Slowly, Red Alert could feel some of his motor functions returning, but he didn't force them like he had been trying to do before. After a few kliks, the sound of stiff gears and rotors activating came from his left. There was a low groan that he recognized as belonging to Inferno. Then sounds of a heavy chassis moving unsteadily over the deck approached him.

"Red, Red," Inferno's voice was thick with static. "What'd he do to you?" Inferno tried to lift Red Alert, but even that was too much in his weakened state. Finally Inferno simply lay down next to Red Alert and drew his limp form into a gentle embrace, too depleted to do anything more.

Eventually the energy field of his spark stabilized enough so that Red Alert could send a reassuring datapacket to Inferno. Immediately Inferno stiffened, and then sent a pulse of his own back, full of love and concern. They lay like that for a long time, as the Combaticons came and went, bringing in more of their insensate comrades, both too drained by the electro-pulse to react to the Decepticons' presence.

After they had been left alone for some time, more noises and groans echoed in the small chamber. It sounded like most of the mechs were regaining their functionality. Red Alert turned his optics on and looked up at Inferno, who was resting his chin on Red Alert's helm.

"'Ferno," Red whispered.

"Red? Are you alright? My optics were still offline, did he- Are you-?" Inferno couldn't finish the sentence.

Red Alert smiled at Inferno, and caressed his mandible. Inferno's protectiveness had always been endearing to him, but they needed to deal with this now. "I'm fine, Inferno. He… he just touched me. He didn't have enough time to do anything else."

Inferno growled, holding Red Alert even tighter. "How dare he…when I get a chance I'll rip Vortex apart, he has no right to touch you like that-"

"Inferno."

Red Alert halted Inferno's tirade, holding his index digit to Inferno's lips. Inferno glowered, but remained silent. With a quick glance around, Red Alert confirmed that most of the other Autobots were still offline, or otherwise disinclined to listen in due to the electro-pulse's effects.

"Inferno, you and I both know it's going to happen eventually-" began Red Alert.

"No! I won't let it, I'll protect you, I swear I will-"

"Hush, 'Ferno." Red Alert could feel the tension building up in Inferno's frame. He was even beginning to shake a bit! Then Red Alert came to a realization: Inferno was frightened. His bondmate had always been so reckless, so bold, that this change shook Red Alert to his core. If Inferno was frightened, then who could Red Alert lean on when he was scared? Pulling himself out of this line of speculation, Red Alert slowly wound his arms around Inferno's neck, drawing the fire truck close, tucking Inferno's head against his shoulder. Inferno clutched at him, shaking helplessly.

"It'll be alright, Inferno, I'll be alright," Red Alert continued.

"No, no, no…" whispered Inferno. "You're mine, and I'll protect you, I will, I promise."

Red Alert's spark broke at the helpless tone of Inferno's voice.

"Please, Inferno, when…it happens, please don't fight. They'll hurt you, and probably take you away from me." Red Alert's vents hitched, and he placed a kiss on the top of Inferno's helm. "I'd want you with me… after, I think. No, I know I'd want you to hold me after. But you wouldn't be able to do that if you got yourself deactivated," Red Alert sent a wave of emotion along their bond, and Inferno immediately reciprocated. It was a ritual they had developed – one of the pair would send an unedited burst of whatever they were feeling, and the other would answer with their emotional state.

Inferno's love was almost drowned out by the sadness and fear he felt- but it was fear for Red Alert, fear for his bondmate's well-being. And anger- at the Decepticons, and at his own helplessness.

"I would rather have my spark extinguished than see you hurt, Red," said Inferno quietly.

"And I feel the same way about you, Inferno. It would seem we are at an impasse."

Inferno lifted his head, to gaze into Red Alert's optics. "Alright, Red; I'll try. But I can't promise that I won't do what's necessary to protect you," He drew Red Alert into a long, slow kiss.

When they broke apart, Inferno rested his head on Red Alert's shoulder once more, while Red Alert absently traced the crests and ridges of Inferno's helm.

"I understand, Inferno. Just please remember – all I want is to be with you. Nothing else matters, as long as we're together."

"Mmm, together. I won't let you go," Inferno held Red Alert's free hand tightly as his recharge sequence started.

Both Autobots were deep into their cycles by the time the shuttle launched, bringing them back to Cybertron.

Chapter Text

Red Alert strained with all his might, pushing the loaded hover cart along the shaft to the upper level. The cart had no friction to overcome, but it still had inertia, and his frame was built for speed and agility, not brute force. Even though he was taller than the Minibots, his substructure and fuel converters were just not built the same way theirs were, and being constantly required to operate on too little recharge and minimal fuel was taking its toll. In addition, the energy-cuffs and hobbles that all of the slaves wore leeched energy relentlessly. Over the course of the megacycle the Autobots had been in the mines, Red Alert had never had a chance to complete a defrag sequence; and his processors were suffering for it. In addition, the ubiquitous metal filings kept finding their way into chinks in his armor and causing problems in his system.

Hoist was doing his best for Red Alert, but the medic had so many other 'Bots to look after here in the mines, many of whom had been severely injured during their captures, that Red Alert felt guilty for taking up so much of his time with what should have been routine maintenance. Red Alert reaffirmed his resolve to deal with his troubles on his own.

Inferno tried to take up some of Red Alert's burden, to cover for him when Red Alert simply couldn't make a quota, which compounded Red Alert's feelings of guilt. Why couldn't he be less of a drain on his bondmate's energy?

Suddenly a wave of disorientation swept over Red Alert. He barely had enough processor power to flip the brake locks on the cart before sinking to his knees. When the dizziness passed, Red Alert looked up and saw that there was a dim halo around every light on the shaft's walls. He held up in hands and looked at them in horror. Even though they were grubby and dirty, the lighter color plating had an aura around it too.

'Oh no, no, not now, please, not now,' he thought desperately. Red Alert stayed huddled next to the cart for a few more kliks, and then rebooted his optics. The halos were gone now. 'Thank Primus, maybe it won't really happen then…'

He would not glitch. That was it, he just had to will himself to not have what Ratchet had called his "little episodes". It was inconvenient (and humiliating) enough when he would have them in the Ark, but down here, it would just be one more burden for Inferno. And without access to proper reprogramming facilities, once he had one they would just keep getting worse and worse.

Gathering his resolve, Red Alert disengaged the brakes on the cart and continued on his way. Eventually the incline leveled out as he reached the upper level.

"You, slave!" shouted a guard, striding towards him. "What are you doing topside?" The guard checked Red Alert's tag. "You're with the Gamma crew, and they're supposed to be working on the fourth vestibule. What are you doing up here? Explain yourself!"

Red Alert carefully kept his optics lowered in a submissive posture. "Please, sir, one of the drills melted. I'm bringing it up to get a replacement."

The guard regarded him suspiciously before moving over to the cart and examining its contents.

"Very well," he huffed. "Get on to the supply depot, but be quick about it!"

"Yes, sir."

Red Alert continued on his way, aware of the guards' gaze following him. By staying down in the work area as much as possible, Red Alert had been able to keep from being caught alone with any of the guards so far, but Red Alert knew that it was just a matter of time before…well, he didn't want to think about it, really. When it happened, he just hoped it would be where his bondmate and friends would not have to witness it.

As Red Alert entered the dark access tube that connected to the supply area, the halos returned, accompanied by little flashing lights. Despite his previous denials, Red Alert knew it was inevitable now. Once again locking the cart, he sank down and curled up on the deck plating, placing his hand between his denta to muffle the cries he knew he was going to be making. The last thing he did was pull away from his bond with Inferno.

The glitch hit suddenly, making Red Alert shudder and jerk, moaning in pain around his hand as his horns sparked and fizzled. He lost track of time, only aware of the sharp pains in his processor, which overwhelmed the dull pain of his denta biting down on his palm. Then it was over, the glitch leaving only an unpleasant tingling sensation in its wake; the twinkling lights that heralded it disappearing after Red Alert rebooted his optics.

A small one this time, but past experience had told him the glitches would not remain minor for long. But at least he could hold them off as long as possible, and try to work through them. If he was not able to keep up his production, would Inferno finally grow tired of covering for Red Alert? Would he send Red Alert away?

As Red Alert exited the access tube, and waited for his optics to adjust their apertures for the brighter light, he could almost feel the stares of the guards on him. Usually he could ignore them, push them to the back of his processor, but he wasn't able to do so now. The glitch kept nagging at him that he was being watched, followed, and in the current situation, Red Alert couldn't tell whether that was really the case, or whether the glitch was overreacting.

Red Alert approached the Decepticon who was overseeing the supplies apprehensively. Most of the 'Cons in the mines were there because they had not sought out Megatron on Earth, and were sent down to the sub-levels as a punishment. Of course, Megatron called it an honor to be overseeing the harvesting of much-needed energy, but everyone knew what it really was. The Decepticons then took out their frustrations on the Autobot slaves.

The Decepticon did not look up from his data pad as Red Alert stopped before him.

"What do you want, slave?" he said peevishly.

"I-I just came to deliver this drill. It's melted, sir," Red Alert said quietly.

Now the 'Con actually looked up at him. "Well, we don't have any replacements right now," a calculating look came into his eyes. "And don't think this gets you lazy slaggers a break! Quotas don't change; you'll just have to work a drill short. Probably broke it on purpose…" grumbled the guard.

Red Alert made a sound of dismay. With a drill short, there was no way the slaves would be able to extract the massive amounts of energy their Decepticon masters were demanding of them!

"You got a problem with that, Autoscum?" the guard growled. Suddenly he reached out and grabbed Red Alert's neck, squeezing the cables there mercilessly, and he shoved Red Alert forcefully into the wall.

"N-no!" Red Alert stammered. He tried to keep his optics lowered, but the guard forced his head up, so that Red Alert was looking into his face. Then slowly, deliberately the guard drew back his fist. Red Alert watched it, optics wide, bracing himself for the impact.

Almost faster that his visual sensors could track the 'Con punched him; and Red Alert's visual field went white with static. He bit back a shout of pain as his cheek plating was dented.

"What's going on here?!"

The guard immediately released Red Alert who fell to the ground with a thump. He looked up to see Blitzwing striding towards them angrily. He knew from the scuttlebutt that passed through the mines that Blitzwing and the triple changers were nominally in charge of energon extraction, though he had never seen any of them down in the mines before. Red Alert stayed prone on the floor, to not draw Blitzwing's attention any more than necessary.

"He was mouthing off to me, sir!" the guard answered Blitzwing. "Wasn't showing proper respect!"

"You wouldn't know proper respect if it shot you in the aft, slaghead!" yelled Blitzwing. "I have to account for every slave here to Commander Shockwave, and he'll be coming down here soon, to do a personal inspection. I don't need to deal with you messing them up!"

"It's easy for you!" shot back the guard. "Lord Megatron gave you all your own slaves, we don't get any-"

A loud clang reverberated throughout the chamber as Blitzwing dealt the guard a harsh blow. Red Alert flinched and scrambled out of the way to avoid the falling Decepticon. His view field was slowly clearing, and he watched Blitzwing warily.

"You would have been granted the same privileges as the rest of us if you had fought next to Lord Megatron when he returned, and not come crawling back only after our victory! And not all of us have our own slaves. So you can quit your griping and make do like everyone else," Blitzwing stood akimbo, glaring down at the guard. After a few tense kliks, the guard lowered his optics in submission. With a sound of satisfaction, Blitzwing turned, and hauled Red Alert up by his brachial strut, pulling him away from the supply depot.

Red Alert stayed silent, wondering what was going to happen. Soon, Blitzwing approached the first guard Red Alert had encountered. He shoved Red Alert at the guard. Red Alert stumbled against the guard, who grabbed him.

"Sir?" the guard asked Blitzwing.

"Take that slave back to wherever he came from. And make sure that the slagheads down here understand that the slaves are only here to work, and that they can't do that if you glitches keep damaging them!"

"Yes, sir! C'mon, you!" The guard pulled Red Alert along, down the tunnel to the lower level.

When they reached the chamber Red Alert's work group was exploring, the guard released him.

"Get on; you know what you're supposed to do."

Red Alert scurried away as quickly as he could, checked in with the overseer, and fell back in beside Inferno, who was working with Ironhide on a particularly stubborn section of tubing.

"Red?" Inferno asked, looking concerned. "Are you alright?"

Red Alert felt a jolt of fear. Could Inferno tell that he had had another glitch? He couldn't let Inferno find out, he would just burden his bondmate more.

"Red?" Inferno asked again. "What happened? Why…" his voice caught as he saw Red Alert's dented cheek plating. "Who hit you?" growled Inferno as he gently touched the damaged dermaplating.

Red Alert sighed and leaned into Inferno's caress. Of course- Inferno was asking about the new dent.

"One of the guards tried to rough me up, but Blitzwing stopped him," Red Alert looked down, unable to meet Inferno's optics. It was the first time he had ever really hidden anything from Inferno, and it felt horrible. He wanted to tell Inferno everything, how frightened he was that the glitch would offline him without proper care, but that would just distress Inferno. And maybe Inferno would decide that he didn't want to be bonded to such a burdensome, defective mech!

Deep in his core, Red Alert knew that Inferno would never abandon him, but his glitch was whispering traitorous little barbs in his processor, playing on his fears.

"Oh, Red," Inferno held Red Alert as close as their chains would allow. "I'm sorry, I should have-"

"Hush, Inferno. I'm fine, just… a little rattled." Red Alert gave Inferno a quick kiss and a small smile.

"You two! Get back to work!" the shout from the overseer made Red Alert and Inferno break apart and return to their task of prying off the plating from Cybertron's substructure in search of spare energon.

"He said that Shockwave will be coming here soon…" said Red Alert quietly.

Ironhide looked up at that. Red Alert was a little surprised. The older mech had become very withdrawn during their time in the work crew. Grief-stricken over Prime's deactivation, Ironhide had often been put into forced stasis during their early time in captivity for aggression against their captors. Now he went through each cycle like an automaton.

"Shockwave is coming down here? When?" he demanded. Red Alert shrank back from the pure hatred in Ironhide's expression. Inferno shifted uneasily, ready to put himself between Red and Ironhide if necessary.

"I-I don't know, Ironhide," said Red Alert. "He just said, 'soon'."

"Did he say if anyone else is coming down?"

"No, that's all I know!"

"What about Megatron? Or Soundwave?" Ironhide spat the names out.

"I-I don't-"

"Back off, Ironhide!" growled Inferno. "He said he doesn't know!" Inferno pulled Red Alert away.

Some of the heat left Ironhide's expression. "I'm sorry, Red. I shouldn't have snapped at you. I just want a chance at those slaggers… a chance to pay them back for what they did." His face twisted in grief for a moment. Red Alert reached out and patted him on the arm, tentatively.

"It's alright, Ironhide, I know you didn't mean it."

Over the next megacycle, Red Alert experienced more and more glitches, but each time he was able to slip off before they struck, to suffer in private. He knew that Inferno could tell he wasn't performing at optimum efficiency, but Inferno assumed that the conditions were wearing Red Alert's systems down. The deeper they went into Cybertron's substructure, the hotter the ambient temperature became, straining their cooling systems and taxing their CPU's. The heavier 'Bots and true Minibots were surviving, but Red Alert was going downhill fast. Each cycle blended into the next, and he operated in a haze of confusion, doing the tasks he was put to mindlessly. He wasn't able to even complete a recharge cycle as the glitches further degraded his circuits and memory core.

There was always a constant ache of concern from Inferno, transmitted through their bond. With each glitch, Red Alert was less and less able to control the obsessive thoughts of betrayal, and became more convinced that Inferno was only putting up with him, and would abandon him as soon as an opportunity presented itself. Red Alert was almost constantly shielding the bond now, presenting Inferno with a façade of emotions. He had never done so before, and he felt horribly guilty for it, knowing in his inner spark that Inferno wouldn't abandon him, but unable to stop himself.

Red Alert always felt as if every optic in the place were trained on him, he had learned to ignore the sensation as just another side effect of his glitch. And so Red Alert was unprepared when one cycle, as his work group was herded into their cell in the main slave holding block, one of the Decepticon guards reached out and grabbed his arm as he filed by, snatching him away.

Fear pierced Red Alert's spark, and he cried out, "Inferno!" as he jerked and writhed in the Decepticon's grasp.

The Decepticon held the weakened Autobot easily, laughing at his feeble struggles.

Inferno, who had preceded Red Alert into the cell immediately turned back with a roar of rage, but a second guard had already activated the charged bars. Inferno ricocheted off of them with a zap of discharging energy.

"Let him go, Deception scum, leave him alone!" Inferno raged, trying to reach Red Alert through the bars.

"Oh ho, looks like we got the big 'Bot angry for touching his little piece of aft!" the 'Con holding Red Alert guffawed.

"N-no, let me go!" Red Alert still kicked and struggled as he was hauled over to where the rest of the guards were waiting. He felt sick and dizzy, like his autogyros had been given a good shake. His core temperature was much too hot, and he had been running low on energon for cycles… Red Alert simply didn't have the resources to fight effectively. He caught a glimpse of his friends, and Inferno looking desperately at him from the cell. Grapple and Ironhide were restraining Inferno from hurling himself at the bars again. Shame welled up in him- he didn't want his friends to see this!

"Do you think we haven't noticed you not making your quotas, little Autobot?" sneered a hulking purple mech, who poked at Red Alert. "Your Autoscum friends try to make up for you, but we're going to get something else out of you," he laughed when the slave snapped at the questing digit. "He has some charge in him, still, you better watch out, Treads."

"Red! RED!" Inferno yelled desperately from the cell. "Let me go!" he snarled at Grapple, pushing Grapple away as he renewed his attack on the energy barrier that separated him from Red Alert. "No, no, no!"

"Ha! You should just sit back and enjoy the show we're going to give you!" jeered one of the guards, laughing at Inferno's struggles.

Red Alert took advantage of Treads' distraction. He wriggled free, fell heavily to the floor plating, and then scrambled to his pedes, legs churning as he raced for freedom. He dodged past an outstretched arm, rolled under another, he could see the exit to the main shaft, if he could just get there, an overseer would stop this-

But then Red Alert was jerked back and slammed to the ground, his vents stalling as his systems struggled to recover from the jarring blow. He was hauled to his pedes by his shoulder axle, and dragged back to the guards.

"Oh, you shouldn't have done that, little Autobot," a voice whispered in his audio.

"Yeah, we were going go easy on you too!"

A hand planted itself on Red Alert's backstrut and shoved him forward into the waiting arms of the other three guards. Immediately hands were running over his frame, touching him. His enhanced sensor net made him shudder and jerk at the sensations that ran through his frame at the unwanted contact. As a bolder hand groped along his aft and over his interface panel, Red Alert managed to free one arm, and he tried to cover his pelvic plating in defense.

"No, no, please don't! Don't!" he protested, as Treads approached him.

Inferno let out another roar of rage as Treads hit Red Alert in his abdominal plating.

Red Alert's knee joints buckled, and he sagged in the grip of the Decepticons that held him, vents sputtering as his systems struggled to maintain combustion. Just as Red Alert managed to bring his pedes under him, two more forceful blows felled him, his helm striking the floor and making his processor spin.

Immediately an oppressive weight bore him into the decking; and Treads crouched over him, pinning his shoulder wheels to the floor. Red Alert pushed desperately at the Decepticon, but the pacification program robbed him of his strength. He whimpered in fear.

"Red! Get your filthy 'Con hands off him! Red!"

'No, no, not in front of Inferno, please-' Red Alert turned his head away from his assailant; he could catch glimpses of his bondmate in between the pedes that surrounded him. Inferno was now pushing against the energy barrier constantly, charge building up on his plating and arcing between gaps in his armor. 'Inferno, don't, you're hurting yourself, Inferno-'

"Here, hold the little glitch," said Treads. "Make sure his friend has a good view!"

One Decepticon managed to grab Red Alert's flailing hands and held them together above his head. Two others each grabbed a leg, lifting and spreading them easily, orienting him so that his interface array was towards the cell. Red Alert felt so ashamed and embarrassed to have Inferno see him like this.

"Hey," Treads called to the remaining Decepticon, who was leaning against the wall of the holding area. "Are you going to help or what?"

"What, is one little Autobot too much for four Decepticons to handle?" answered the guard. "I'm enjoying watching you slaggers trying to subdue him."

"Yeah, well, see if any of us help out when it's your turn!" yelled the 'Con holding Red Alert's arms.

Red Alert screamed as a rough hand scrabbled at his pelvic plating. He dimly remembered his pragmatic words to Inferno when they were first transported back to Cybertron, but Red Alert couldn't help it. His fear was taking over his CPU, making him renew his struggles. Red Alert bucked and squirmed, earning a few blows to the helm from Treads. Although Red Alert's audios were cutting out intermittently, he could hear Inferno yelling and cursing over the Decepticons' jeers. His glitch was sending his CPU into a frantic spiral of panic.

'There's too many, too many, they'll hurt me, this can't be happening, it just can't-'

"No, no, no-" repeated Red Alert aloud, whimpering as the 'Con finally figured out the catch on the panel over his valve, and ripped it off. Then the enormous hand reached up and wrapped around Red Alert's neck, stilling his thrashing with a harsh squeeze.

"You don't get to say no, slut!" growled the guard. "You're going to beg me before we're through with you…"

"No, don't do this! Take me instead!"

As one, the guards all turned to look at the cell. Inferno was leaning against the barrier, energy snapping from it to his armor.

"Leave him alone, use me instead. I won't- I won't fight. I'll do whatever you want."

Grapple was looking at Inferno with a horrified expression, but didn't protest. Red Alert looked at the slumped form of his mate in despair.

'No, Inferno, don't do this!'

"Ha! These Autobots are sappier than I remembered!" the Decepticon leaning against the wall laughed.

"Still, I bet we could get some amusement out of him…"

"No! Don't hurt him, please!" Red Alert cried out.

"Didn't I tell you to be quiet, slut?" Treads backhanded Red Alert. "You're going to watch this," he growled as his spike extended. He slid a hand behind Red Alert's helm, lifting his head. Red Alert grimaced in disgust and tried to pull away as Treads ran his glossa over Red Alert's cheek plating. "Oh, don't you have a kiss for me, slut?" He lifted Red Alert's head even higher, forcing Red Alert to look down his chassis. Red Alert trembled in apprehension as the extended spike lowered towards his exposed valve. He made a small noise of terror.

"That's it," whispered Treads in his audio. "I want to hear how scared you are…scream for me- scream for your friends!"

'No, no, not here, I don't want Inferno to see this, please, no!'

Then Red Alert felt a familiar tug at his spark. Inferno was trying to access the bond, offering to shield Red Alert as much as possible from the experience. Red Alert braced himself and pushed Inferno completely out of his spark. He cried out in anguish as he felt Inferno's shock and hurt before the bond was closed completely.

Treads reached down with his free hand, feeling for Red Alert's valve. The touch was rough, painful, wrong. The Decepticons laughed as Red Alert whimpered in fear. It was really going to happen; he was going to be raped on a filthy floor again and again and he couldn't make them stop, and Inferno was going to see-

Blunt fingers pushed into Red Alert's valve, thrusting in and out brutally. Red Alert cried out and writhed in agony. Inferno's yells increased in volume and pitch as he crashed into the barrier over and over.

"Yes, that's it, moan for me, slut!" hissed Treads.

Red Alert's taxed circuits gave out. With a harsh scream, he shuddered violently as his systems succumbed to his glitch. It felt as if his entire helm would crack from the energy flowing through his circuits.

Treads yelled in surprise and sprang back as Red Alert's sensor horns sparked and fizzled.

"What the slag is that?!"

"Never seen anything like it!"

Red Alert lay helpless, gasping and yelling whenever another glitch surged through his systems.

"Do you think it's catching?" An inquisitive pede-tip poked him, but drew back when the action caused Red Alert to flinch and scream, and another spark to jump from his helm.

"Do you want to take that chance? I sure don't."

"Ugh, it's probably some nasty Autobot thing."

As the surges died down, Red Alert was grateful, for once, for the misconceptions that were so prevalent about glitches. He slowly, painfully pulled himself to his knee joints, holding himself and shaking. As the 'Cons discussed what to do above him, Red Alert reached out and grabbed his panel from where the 'Con had tossed it, quickly snapping it back into place.

"Blitzwing will slag us for sure if a slave is damaged."

"Yeah, but it's not our fault. This one must have been defective!"

"Still, we'd better have the medibot take a few scans of him-"

Then Red Alert found himself lifted bodily, his CPU swam at the sudden change in position. He was hauled backwards a short ways, then came the sound of the energy bars depolarizing and he was tossed through the field. Passing through the barrier was pure agony to his over-stimulated circuits, but it was over in a flash. As he became somewhat more oriented, he found himself held in strong, familiar arms.

"Red! Red Alert!" As Red Alert's optics refocused, he saw Inferno's concerned face looking down at him. Inferno was holding him so tightly that Red Alert's vents could barely suck in enough air to cool his internals. Clutching Red Alert desperately, Inferno rocked back and forth, murmuring senseless reassurances in Red Alert's audio.

"Unngh… 'Ferno," Red Alert said, his vocoder emitting almost more static than words. "'m alright, Inferno."

"You're alright, you're fine, shh, it's over, you're fine," Inferno repeated Red Alert's words back at him mindlessly, too overcome with fear and emotion to be completely coherent, reassuring himself as much as Red Alert.

Then Red Alert's helm sensors began to spark again.

"Oh! Inferno!" he cried, clutching Inferno's front grill assembly desperately as another series of glitches coursed through his systems. Red Alert could dimly hear Inferno calling his name as the attack ran its course. Rebooting again, Red Alert gazed up into the concerned faces of Inferno, Ironhide, and Grapple. Inferno was tentatively stroking his face, almost as if he was afraid that the small stimulation would cause Red Alert to malfunction again. Red Alert's processor felt like it was splitting down the middle, and he curled into Inferno, holding his head and whimpering.

"Red, what can I do?" asked Inferno, desperation plain in his voice. "Tell me, I want to help you-"

"Ungh! R-ratchet! I -nngh- need Ratchet!" Red Alert cried, his vocoder cutting out intermittently.

"Ratchet isn't here Red," Inferno's voice was tight with strain.

"It hurts, it hurts, Inferno!" Red Alert was mindless with pain now, and, with his energy reserves exhausted, he lay still in Inferno's arms, only trembling when a glitch wracked his systems. Inferno held Red Alert closely, murmuring meaningless reassurances to him. Red Alert was vaguely aware of crippling fear coming from Inferno's side of the spark bond, but the haze of pain prevented him from processing and analyzing it.

"Inferno, let me see, Hoist taught me some things-" Grapple tried to get Inferno to loosen his grip on Red Alert, but Inferno turned quickly, blocking the view of the other Autobots in the cell.

"Don't touch him, he's hurt!" Inferno growled.

"You need to let us look at him, Inferno, we care about Red too," cajoled Ironhide, trying to turn Inferno away from the corner of the cell. "C'mon, let us help."

"No!" hissed Inferno. "Leave him alone!"

The angry words upset Red Alert even more, and he sent up a low cry of pain and distress.

"Shh, Red, I've got you, I'll fix you, I swear…" Inferno continued rocking Red Alert, whispering against Red's sensor horns.

Grapple and Ironhide shared a look, and then backed off. There was obviously no reasoning with Inferno in this state, and it was only going to get Red Alert more worked up right now.

A commotion at the door to the main slave block signaled that other work groups were coming in for the cycle. After they were locked into their cell, they crowded up to the bars.

"What's going on with Red?" called Huffer. Windcharger, Gears, and Hound were looking on anxiously as well.

"Poor Red's glitching again. The guards said they'd get Hoist, but-"

The main door opened again, and a guard stalked through, leading Hoist.

"He's in here," the guard said curtly. "You, back against the wall!"

Ironhide and Grapple backed up, away from the entrance. When the guard was satisfied that they were far enough away, and that Inferno wasn't inclined to make a break for it, he depolarized the bars and shoved Hoist through.

"I'll be back in fifteen breems. Get what you need done by then." The guard stalked back out, and the Autobots were left alone.

"Uncouth barbarian," muttered Hoist. "You can't rush these things." With a nod to Ironhide, and a quick squeeze to Grapple's shoulder, Hoist approached Inferno.

"Inferno," Hoist's gentle voice broke through Inferno's shell. The distraught fire truck lifted his head and looked desperately at Hoist.

"He's hurting, Hoist, and I can't make it stop!" said Inferno in a desperate whisper.

"Then you need to let me see him, Inferno."

Hoist knelt down by Inferno and gently pulled his arms down, so that he could access Red Alert's system status display panels. He gently took Inferno's hands and shifted their grip, so that Inferno could remain holding Red Alert, but in a position that gave Hoist access to key structures.

Hoist worked quickly, explaining what he was doing as he went along. Although he addressed his narration to Red Alert, it was really for Inferno's benefit.

After he was done, there were several long, tense moments where they waited to see if Hoist's adjustments had worked while Red Alert rebooted.

"H-hoist?" asked Red Alert, as his optics switched on. He looked blearily from Inferno to Hoist and back again. "Wh-what-"

"How long have you been glitching, Red?" asked Hoist, a bit sternly.

Inferno looked up at Hoist, astonishment writ plain on his features.

"He hasn't been glitching at all! This just happened when those-those Decepticons- when they tried to-" Inferno couldn't finish.

"Red?"

Inferno looked down at Red Alert, but Red Alert couldn't bring himself to meet Inferno's optics.

"It's been a megacycle now, Hoist," he said quietly.

"Red!" exclaimed Inferno. "Why didn't you tell me?!"

"I-I didn't want to worry you, Inferno, I thought-" Red Alert mumbled into Inferno's plating.

"Slaggit, Red, didn't we promise-" Inferno bit back the rest of his tirade when he saw how miserable it was making Red Alert. "Aw, Red, I'm sorry, you just scared me out of my plating."

"And I'm afraid I don't have good news," said Hoist gently. "I'm not Ratchet, and he was the one who did the most work on your glitch. Without access to a decent repair bay and his files, all I can give you is a temporary programming patch. Its effectiveness will decrease over time."

Hoist visibly steeled himself and said, "I'm also afraid that your circuits will degrade over time, Red, if nothing is done to stop the process. I can slow it down, however-"

"What are you saying, Hoist?" Inferno demanded.

"Your circuits will eventually overload and blow out completely, if they are not fixed, Red Alert."

"No," said Inferno.

"Inferno, it's-" Red Alert tried to reach up and touch Inferno's face.

"NO!" Inferno shouted.

"You need to be calm, Inferno."

"You said they can be fixed, Red can be fixed, can't he?"

"Not without access to more advanced repair facilities-"

"Inferno, please-"

"You'll be alright Red, you have to be alright!"

"Inferno," said Red Alert firmly, bringing Inferno's increasingly hysterical ranting to an end. He reached up, and clasped Inferno's hand with his own, and brought it down to his face, rubbing his cheek plating over Inferno's knuckle joints. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you earlier, Inferno. N-now that I'm a bit more stable, I realize that was… not the best thing to have done. But you do so much for me already, I didn't want to add to your worries."

Inferno nodded mutely.

"I… have access to Octane," said Hoist. "Perhaps I can convince him to let me have the resources I'll need to effect a complete repair."

Inferno looked up at Hoist. "I'll do anything to help Red, Hoist. Please-"

"I can't promise anything, Inferno, but I'll do my best. And I'll leave instructions that I am to be contacted immediately when Red Alert starts glitching again," Hoist said as he started to pack up his repair kit. "I'm leaving these program modules - if you start feeling like you're going to glitch, Red, just plug one of these in and it will self-execute."

"How-how much time do I have, Hoist?" asked Red Alert quietly. He tried to keep the fear from his vocoder.

"I'm not entirely certain, Red. We'll have to see how things progress," said Hoist, standing. "I'll leave you two alone now." He moved over to the other end of the cell, to have a quiet word with Grapple.

Inferno lifted Red Alert up a bit, so that Red Alert was more or less upright, and Inferno twined their fingers together as they sat in silence for a klik. Red Alert concentrated on the spark bond, but Inferno's emotional state was subdued, and he was holding almost everything back tightly.

"I'll get them for what they're doing to you, Red," Inferno said quietly. Red Alert looked up at him in alarm. Inferno's voice was monotone, emotionless, and he wasn't looking at Red Alert, but rather staring, optics unfocused, at the wall of the cell. He slowly turned his head and looked down at Red Alert, who shrank back from the intensity he saw in Inferno's face. "I'll kill them all if anything happens to you."

"Inferno, no!" Red Alert reached up, trying to cover Inferno's mouth. "They'll- they'll-"

"It won't matter, Red. You're my only reason to function. It won't matter any more. And then I'll be with you again."

Red Alert was horrified at the sudden change in Inferno. His dear, loving Inferno, who had always been so carefree and kind - talking so calmly about his own deactivation frightened him. "Inferno, let's not talk about this!"

Some of the intensity left Inferno's optics, and he gave Red Alert a sad smile, and kissed his forehead tenderly. "I'm sorry Red," The stranger that had taken Inferno's place was gone as suddenly as he had appeared, and his kind, loving Inferno was back.

"Just- just don't leave me, Inferno. Please," Red Alert whispered, holding Inferno's chassis as tightly as he could.

"Never, Red."

For quite a few cycles after Hoist's initial repairs, Red Alert felt better than he had in quite awhile. He rarely had to use the programming patch, and it kept the worst glitches at bay. Red Alert was more worried about Inferno than himself, at this point. Whenever a Decepticon so much as raised his voice to Red Alert, he could feel the hot anger welling up in Inferno's spark.

Red Alert also knew that Inferno was not getting enough recharge time in - more than once, Red Alert had caught Inferno sitting up during the recharge cycle, staring at him.

The reprieve did not last long enough, however.

Even with Hoist's best efforts, the cycle came when Red Alert's systems began to give out, and he could no longer muster the strength to leave with the rest of the work group.

As Red Alert tried to stand, Inferno shielded him from the sight of the guards. Hoist and Ironhide were already up and waiting to be let out of the cell.

"C'mon, Red, you can do it, you have to get up now," Inferno said as he tried to lift Red Alert to his pedes.

"Nngh, Inferno, no," said Red Alert He was disoriented and confused; he pulled away from Inferno and collapsed.

"Hey, what's going on in there?" a guard called through the bars, scowling at Red Alert. "I thought that medic was fixing him."

Inferno growled at the guard, and redoubled his efforts to get Red Alert to stand.

Red Alert was weak and confused. His degrading circuits couldn't supply him with all the information about their capture; he recognized that they were no longer aboard the orbital defense platform, but he couldn't place where they were. And he could sense that Inferno was worried and scared, and he didn't know why it was so important that he had to get up.

He heard vague snatches of conversation as the floor reared up and hit him with a bump. His gyros were telling him that he was upright, but then why was the floor vertical?

"-Red! C'mon, you have to get up-"

"-slave is malfunctioning."

"-don't have the resources to keep him online-"

"-Red, I won't leave you-"

"-be disposed of-"

"Get the other slaves out, then we'll come back to separate those two."

"No, we won't leave him, either!" said Ironhide's voice. What was Ironhide doing here? He wasn't stationed on the orbital platform.

"Alright, you Autoscum are in for it. Dreadnought, let's go get the mechs from section delta. We'll show you upstarts what's what!"

Red Alert could feel Inferno hunched over him, as if sheltering him from something. He could hear heavy pedes moving about, then they all retreated, leaving him and his friends alone. Every so often, a blue flashing light would reflect off of the surfaces in the cell, his CPU would hurt, and his optics would go out, but he was never able to pinpoint the source.

Red Alert phased in and out of awareness, only peripherally aware of Inferno next to him, over him, talking to him.

Then the pede-steps were back.

"Alright, this Autobot foolishness has gone on long enough! You lot stand down!" said an angry voice. Red Alert whimpered.

"I won't leave him; I won't let you take him away!" Inferno yelled. Another wave of apprehension flooded their bond.

The angry voice shot back, "Then I guess we'll have to give you a lesson after we've dealt with-"

"What is the situation here?" said a different voice interrupting the first speaker, its odd inflections stirring something deep in Red Alert's memory core. He immediately felt a spike of apprehension, but he couldn't figure out why. All he knew was that he didn't want the owner of the voice to find him.

"That little Autobot is defective, Commander Shockwave. The other ones are refusing to let us get close to him. We need to get the little one out of here so he can be disposed of."

"You are not handling the slaves according to my guidelines, Overseer Dreadnought. Their efficiency is down 12.56% from where my calculations say they should be. This disruption could have been avoided."

"I…apologize, Commander Shockwave. We have been trying to make do with limited-"

"Your excuses are irrelevant. I will speak with the Autobots. I may have use for them."

A single pair of pedes approached, but stopped some distance away. Inferno held Red Alert even tighter, his fear growing and flooding the bond.

"What caused this malfunction?" the cold voice asked.

"He-he has a glitch," Inferno said. "If it's not fixed, he'll go offline."

"If you relinquish him, I will have him repaired."

'No!' Red Alert thought. 'No, no, no, you promised you wouldn't leave me, you promised, Inferno!' He tried to say something, but all that came out of his vocoder was static. He wasn't able to control the motor relays in his limbs, and they twitched fitfully. With a great effort, Red Alert was able to reach up and grab Inferno's grill.

"I…I couldn't, he needs me…I promised not to leave him…"

"It is obvious that his operational requirements are not being met in this environment. I will provide for him."

Red Alert's optics flickered on for a few kliks, and he tried to focus on Inferno's face. "P-please Inferno, don't leave me-"

"Red, I don't know what to do," Inferno whispered, pressing a kiss to Red Alert's helm. "I love you so much." Inferno then lifted his head and said a bit louder, for Shockwave to hear, "W-will you promise not to hurt him?"

"He will be expected to obey my commands. If he does so, he will not be harmed."

Red Alert was panicking. Inferno was going to give him away!

"No, no Inferno, I don't want to go, please don't send me away, I'm sorry-"

"Hush, Red, it'll be alright, you can't stay here-" Inferno looked deep into Red Alert's optics, and gave him a searing kiss. "I love you so much Red, please remember that, I love you, I love you-"

Red Alert felt his position change as Inferno stood up, cradling him in his arms.

"You are making a wise decision, Autobot Slave."

As Inferno turned around, Red Alert saw Shockwave. He couldn't go with him, Shockwave was a Decepticon! What was Inferno doing, handing him over to a 'Con?! Red Alert twisted and squirmed weakly, trying to escape as they approached the Decepticon commander. Inferno stood still for a moment, facing Shockwave, and clutching Red Alert to his chest assembly.

"Inferno, please, don't do this to me, please Inferno-!" Red Alert was almost shrieking now, he was so hysterical.

"I'm sorry Red, I'm sorry!" Inferno stood across the energy barrier from Shockwave, and looked up at the 'Con desperately. "You promise you'll take care of him? He'll be alright?"

"I do not make promises to Autobots, but know that your comrade is most valuable to me, and to the Decepticon Empire if he is operating at maximum efficiency." Shockwave replied.

"Alright," Inferno whispered. "I'll let him go. Please…take care of him. His-his name is Red Alert." He winced as Red Alert gave a cry of betrayal and loss.

"You may deactivate the bars," Shockwave told the guard. Inferno stepped forward as the energy beams disappeared. As he tried to hold Red Alert out for Shockwave to take, Red Alert wound his fingers into Inferno's grill, holding on as tightly as he could.

"Please, Inferno, please don't let him take me, please, I'm sorry, I'm sorry-" he babbled, certain that Inferno must be angry with him for something if he was handing him over to a Decepticon.

"Forgive me, Red, I love you-" and then cold purple arms were taking Red Alert's weight, and Inferno was holding his hands, disentangling his fingers from Inferno's grill, and then before Red Alert could process it, the glowing bars were back - but this time they were between him and Inferno.

"INFERNO!" he screamed, bucking and kicking with all his strength. The glitches had corrupted his pacification programming, and the sudden violence caught Shockwave off guard. Red Alert aimed a vicious strike at a panel he knew hid a sensor nexus, and experienced a surge of satisfaction as Shockwave's hold loosened. Red Alert looked desperately back at Inferno, who was pressed up against the bars. Then Red Alert did something that he knew was underhanded, but he couldn't help himself. He couldn't be taken away from Inferno!

Accessing their spark bond, Red Alert pulled. Inferno cried out and collapsed to his knees, clutching at the plating above his spark. Red Alert poured all of his pain at the separation and perceived betrayal into the bond, which then cascaded through Inferno and back into his own spark. They both screamed simultaneously.

Shockwave looked down at Red Alert suddenly, although his fearsome visage betrayed no astonishment. The Autobot sagged in his arms, completely spent from his efforts.

"You will open his chest plating," Shockwave said to the guard standing by. "I wish to see his spark." Red Alert keened in distress at the words.

"You said you wouldn't hurt him!" shouted Inferno, pacing behind the barrier. "You said you wouldn't!"

"Be silent," Shockwave intoned as the guard approached. He held Red Alert up, disengaged the manacles, and wrenched Red Alert's arms behind his back. The rotors in Red Alert's shoulder gears groaned.

The guard poked and pried at Red Alert's chest plating. Red Alert kicked out weakly, but the Decepticon parried it easily, and continued to force Red Alert's spark casing open. Finally, he let out a mournful keen as his spark was revealed.

It shone a beautiful light blue, and around the center spun a prismatic halo, the visible manifestation of his spark bond with Inferno. Red Alert could hear the shocked intakes from Ironhide and Grapple. Shockwave studied the spark for several moments, and then looked up at Inferno.

"You are bonded with him?" It was not really a question.

"Yes," said Inferno, dropping his gaze and staring at the floor. "Please…please take care of my bondmate," Inferno knelt down, inclining his head in a traditional supplicating posture. "I beg for your mercy towards him."

Shockwave stared at Red Alert's spark a few more moments then, with a deft flick of his servo he closed Red Alert's spark casing and chest plates. As they sealed once more, Red Alert curled in on himself and whimpered, trying to protect his delicate components. Shockwave addressed the guard, gesturing towards Inferno.

"You will see to it that this slave is well-maintained. He is spark bonded to my slave, and any distress on his part will interfere with my slave's functioning," Shockwave looked back down on Red Alert. "I will be working on a process to sever the bond," Red Alert's pained shriek and Inferno's shout of dismay rang out at the same time. "I will keep you updated on my progress."

Red Alert was spurred into a frenzy by Shockwave's announcement.

"No!" he yelled, and surged up from Shockwave's hold. "You can't, no, I won't go, -Inferno- please, don't leave me!"

Inferno threw himself against the bars, while Ironhide and Grapple tried to restrain him. "Red! Red!"

"Inferno! No, no, no!"

"Hold him," Shockwave ordered the guard, who grabbed onto the thrashing Red Alert. Shockwave drew a silvery device from a subspace pocket, and, with some difficulty, managed to affix it to the side of Red Alert's helm.

"Please, Inferno, I don't want to leave you, please-"

There was a sharp snap of discharging energy from the device, and Red Alert's world went black.

Chapter Text

Red Alert rebooted, all of his systems coming online within normal parameters. His core felt wonderful. He was still a bit muzzy from prolonged stasis, but he knew, somehow, that his systems were running more efficiently and more smoothly than they had in awhile. It felt like all of his fluids had been flushed and changed as well.

"It's time to get up, Red Alert."

The voice was familiar. Red Alert switched on his optics, and a large, pale blue mech came into focus.

"Hot Spot?" he said. His voice was staticky from disuse, but after cycling his vocoder a few times it cleared up.

"How are you feeling?"

"I am…functioning well," answered Red Alert after a quick systems scan. "Where am I?"

"In the repair bay in sector alpha, in-" Hot Spot cut off as a door on the opposite wall opened. Red Alert experienced a moment of puzzlement- there was no one there! But then movement towards the floor caught his attention. A white cassette with a Decepticon faction symbol on his withers and cargo compartments on his flank stalked into the med room. Hot Spot immediately backed away from Red Alert.

With an impressive leap, the cassette mounted a lift next to the repair berth that Red Alert was on, and ascended to the level of the berth.

"Hot Spot, I want you to take a level one scan of the patient's servo relays."

"Yes, Master Glit," Hot Spot answered deferentially, and turned away to gather the necessary equipment.

Glit examined the diagnostic readouts on the control panels on the berth silently for a few moments.

"Well, you seemed to have recovered as much as possible," he said to Red Alert. Red Alert was so astonished to see a Decepticon medic -and a cassette no less- that it took several moments for him to get his thoughts in order.

"Uh, yes, sir, I feel much better."

"I wasn't able to get rid of the underlying defect that causes the glitches, though."

"I don't think that would be possible, sir, I've had it since my manufacture. Please don't bother about it."

"I wasn't," Glit said sharply. As Hot Spot returned, Glit lowered the lift and made to leave the repair room. He paused by the door, and said, "Your new master will be here soon to take you home, Red Alert. He has purchased my services at great expense. It would behoove you to be ready for him." Then he left the two Autobots alone once more.

New master… Red Alert felt a chill creep down his back strut. He hadn't thought about the circumstances that had landed him in this situation yet. A pang shot through his spark at the memory of Inferno giving him up to Shockwave. Hadn't they promised that they would do whatever it took to stay together? Red Alert knew that he would rather offline down in the dark under Cybertron's outer shell than be separated from Inferno. His spark ached at the distance that separated them. Except for the time when Inferno had been whisked away by that ridiculous space bridge Megatron had built in a human stadium, Red Alert didn't think that they had ever been so far apart.

"All scans show you are functioning within acceptable parameters, Red Alert," said Hot Spot, bringing Red Alert out of his musings. "I know you're functioning, but how do you feel?"

Red Alert remained silent for a few moments. Then Hot Spot said quietly, "I know about the spark bond, Red."

Red Alert looked up at him sharply. "How?"

"It was a bit hard to miss when Glit opened your chassis. Is it Inferno?" asked Hot Spot gently.

Red Alert vented some air forcefully in defeat. "Yes," he answered, looking down at his hands. Hot Spot sat down beside him on the berth.

"But I thought Prime had forbidden-"

"He did," Red Alert interrupted. "We…didn't care."

Hot Spot remained quiet for a few moments, then asked, "When… when did-?"

Red Alert looked up at Hot Spot. The large Protectobot was looking at him almost hungrily, and there was a deep sadness in his optics that Red Alert hadn't noticed before.

"Just after my little escapade with the Negavator. Inferno said that he couldn't bear to not know whether I was alright or not, ever again. I know Prime forbade it, but I'm not sorry."

"Sometimes…sometimes it would be better to not know, when they're not alright," said Hot Spot.

"Hot Spot, what happened to your gestalt?" Red Alert asked. He had a horrible suspicion as to why Hot Spot had been looking at him so desperately.

Hot Spot let out a long, mournful noise from his vocoder.

"Oh, Hot Spot, I'm so sorry," Red Alert opened his arms and the other Autobot immediately filled them. They stayed that way for several breems, both grieving for their lost comrades.

After Hot Spot had settled a bit, Red Alert spoke.

"Do you know what happened to anyone else?"

Hot Spot shuddered against him.

"Hot Spot? What is it?"

"I tried to stop it, but I couldn't, I couldn't!" said Hot Spot. "They kept hitting me with null-rays, and there were too many of them, oh, Mirage-" Hot Spot keened again, the sound of grief cutting through Red Alert's spark. He gave Hot Spot's hand a comforting squeeze. "I tried to keep them safe! We were one of the last groups to be rounded up, and - and they all thought that I could keep them safe, but they were wrong, I let them down, Mirage, I'm so sorry…"

"I'm sorry, Hot Spot," Red Alert whispered in his audio, unable to say anything more, wondering what had happened to make Hot Spot so spark-sore about it.

"Th-the Stunticons have him. B-before they took him away, M-Motormaster…" Hot Spot couldn't finish.

"Do you know what happened to anyone else?" Red Alert pressed, trying to get Hot Spot off of the subject of an obviously painful memory.

"I get to see Jazz sometimes. Soundwave brings him in to Glit for maintenance. Glit doesn't like working for Soundwave that much; I think he's worried that Soundwave will try to add him to his little, ah, cassette collection."

"Is he the only one you get to see?" Red Alert had the impression that Hot Spot didn't get to see many other Autobots, given the way he was talking. It seemed like Hot Spot didn't often have the opportunity to converse with anyone as an equal.

"Sometimes we travel to other sectors to visit the public research and repair facilities that have been established. Ratchet, Wheeljack, and Perceptor are working in those. But they get moved around quite a bit, going to different sectors. I never know who will be there when Glit and I arrive," answered Hot Spot. "Oh, but Swoop is always with Wheeljack, for some reason. I know Wheeljack doesn't like it, I've overheard him trying to convince Mixmaster and Hook to transfer Swoop to Ratchet's care, but they won't. I don't know why."

"Mixmaster and Hook?"

"The Constructicons are overseeing several public works programs. Mixmaster and Hook are in charge of public maintenance and scientific research."

"Is Glit part of that program?"

"No, Glit has a private practice. I'd say he's just about as good as Ratchet, for delicate repair work," said Hot Spot, a hint of pride creeping into his voice. "He chose me as his assistant because sometimes his patients get a bit rowdy, and he just doesn't have the mass to keep them quiet. And I can reach things on the top shelves."

Red Alert actually felt a swell of amusement at this. He wondered at himself for being able to find something funny in their situation.

"Starscream and Skyfire work with them quite often, too. Skyfire belongs to Starscream; Starscream seems to actually treat him rather well."

Red Alert felt a chill creep over his plating. For a brief moment he was very glad that he hadn't ended up with the mercurial Decepticon Air Commander. He still experienced memory core artifacts from the time Starscream had convinced him to steal the Negavator from the Autobots. Red Alert doubted that Starscream would treat him as well as he was treating Skyfire.

"Swindle comes in with Bluestreak sometimes, but Glit won't let me even see him," said Hot Spot continued, quietly. "And Glit is always very angry for awhile after they leave, but he won't tell me why. I-I think he is not being cared for very well. Poor maintenance practices always make Glit annoyed."

The door to the repair bay hissed open, and Hot Spot immediately pulled away from Red Alert, and slid off of the repair berth.

Shockwave stood in the doorway, his single optic betraying no emotion.

"Slave Red Alert, when I enter your presence you are to stand."

"Yes, sir." Red Alert hurriedly got to his feet, fidgeting a bit under Shockwave's inscrutable gaze.

After a few moments, Shockwave said, "You will address me as 'Master', Slave Red Alert."

Red Alert remained silent. Despite all of his pragmatic words to Inferno about acquiescing to their captors' demands, some small, essential part of him rebelled at the command. In the mines, none of the 'Cons had insisted upon such a title; they likely would have been mocked roundly by their peers if they had done so. Now Red Alert couldn't bring himself to utter the words, feeling that doing so would be giving up, in some small way.

"Slave Red Alert, you are resisting me," Shockwave said. The strange inflection in his vocals made Red Alert's spark flutter in fear. "You will be corrected when we return to quarters. Attend and follow me." Shockwave turned and exited. Red Alert glanced over his shoulder at Hot Spot. The large Protectobot seemed small and bereft in the repair bay as he lifted up one hand in farewell.

When Shockwave reached the walkway outside of Glit's repair bay, he said, "When we walk, you will follow on this side, two paces behind me, Slave Red Alert," Shockwave indicated the position Red Alert was to stay in with his hand. Red Alert fell in step as Shockwave moved off through the compound.

The walk was somewhat long for root-mode. Red Alert assumed that Shockwave would normally fly, and was leading Red Alert so that he wouldn't become lost.

Even as they reached more public areas, they passed few Decepticons. Red Alert hadn't synched his chronometer with the local cycle, but it appeared that this sector's activity period was coming to an end. Cybertron's sky was always dark, but the lights along the walk ways and on buildings were dim and sparse. Several 'Cons greeted Shockwave, but they completely ignored Red Alert. This suited Red Alert just fine, and he endeavored to remain unnoticed behind Shockwave during these encounters.

Eventually, the public walkways that followed the main thoroughfares gave way to more secluded paths that meandered around low buildings. They approached a solid barrier, with a forbidding gate. Shockwave entered a code in the keypad, moving so that Red Alert could not see the sequence. Surprisingly, the large gates opened smoothly and silently, their mechanisms clearly well-maintained.

"This is the main command compound of Cybertron, Slave Red Alert. We are honored to be quartered here, in the same sector as Lord Megatron," said Shockwave as they crossed the threshold.

Red Alert remained silent, his optical apertures dilating in astonishment. When he had last seen the surface of Cybertron, it had been war-torn and ravaged. But here, at least, was a section of it that still recalled his people's past glory and achievements.

Crystal gardens glowed softly among the elegant metal buildings. A much larger, palatial structure was visible nearby, and Red Alert could not even see where the other side of the enclosure was. Were they going to enter the main building? But then Shockwave took a side path that veered away from the brooding construct, and led to a smaller housing unit. Again, a code was entered (and Red Alert prevented from seeing it), and they entered Shockwave's quarters.

The unit was a rare free-standing one, and several drones were carrying out tasks in the main reception area. Red Alert could see no pieces of artwork, or any personalizing touches in the room. Several doorways led off from the area, and as they passed one Red Alert caught a glimpse of an energon-preparation array.

Shockwave turned and regarded Red Alert once again with his eerie gaze. Red Alert stared resolutely at the floor.

"Turn, Slave Red Alert."

Red Alert looked up, not comprehending the order.

"I wish to inspect you."

Biting back a sarcastic remark, Red Alert acquiesced. His spark rebelled at the objectifying command, but what could he do?

As his backplate was turned, Shockwave's hand grabbed his shoulder axle. Red Alert's spark gave a leap in fright. He had been trying not to think about what was going to happen to him at Shockwave's hands, but now he couldn't help himself. He was at Shockwave's mercy, and his little rebellions really didn't mean anything in the long run. Shockwave was more than capable of forcing him to berth. Red Alert's thoughts turned to Inferno. He hadn't had a chance to explore how the bond was faring over this distance. Would they still be able to communicate? The constant ache of the strained connection was wearing him down. Would Inferno know when…it…happened?

Shockwave's digits explored Red Alert's suspension and wheels in a clinical fashion. Red Alert made a small, quiet noise of discomfort as Shockwave poked his wheel-wells.

"You will be silent, Slave Red Alert."

Finally he was released, and Shockwave turned him around again.

"You are in unacceptable condition for service, Slave Red Alert. You will go to the wash-rack," Shockwave indicated a narrow hallway, "A drone will assist you in removing the contamination. Then you will return and present yourself to me," Shockwave signaled one of the drones, who rolled forward and reached out with an actuator and grasped Red Alert's elbow joint. Red Alert found himself being marched down the hallway, and into a brightly lit wash-rack.

The door shut automatically behind Red Alert, and the drone released him. Almost in a trance, Red Alert turned on the spray, barely feeling the detergent sluicing over his frame.

Despite his outward calm, Red Alert's processor was racing. He just knew that the instant he was clean, Shockwave was going to 'face him. He just knew it. And Inferno wasn't here, wouldn't be here to hold him afterward. Would he ever be held by Inferno again? Red Alert stifled the rising panic, and slowly sank to the tiled floor, leaning back against the wall, knees drawn up. He rested his head against them, trying to find a calm center.

As always when he was looking for stability within himself, he found the sparkbond.

Concentrating, Red Alert sent a tentative pulse along it, completely throwing open his shields so that he wouldn't miss any faint signal from Inferno. It seemed like he waited for forever, but then a faint glimmer of…of… relief echoed back along the link. It was followed by a surge of love. Red Alert wanted to wail his pain at being separated from Inferno, but he didn't dare. This was the most disconnected he had ever felt from his bondmate when communicating in this fashion. It was as if their sparks were two stars, only able to send the faintest signals via warmth and light across the vast gulf that separated them.

Red Alert returned Inferno's signal of love, careful to keep his fear out of it. He wondered what Inferno was doing, what part of the activity cycle of the mines they were on, who he was speaking to. Red Alert worried that Inferno would not hold his temper without him there to remind Inferno to stay safe.

Then a sudden spike of surprise and apprehension came from Inferno, and the bond went silent.

This time Red Alert did give a tiny wail, his spark sending out increasingly desperate pulses, trying to reconnect. But there was no response. Red Alert was truly alone.

A loud beep startled him, and he looked up at the drone. It was approaching purposefully.

"Time limit: approaching," it said in a harsh monotone. Red Alert remained passive as he was hauled to his pedes. Shockwave must have anticipated more passive rebellion from Red Alert, because the drone immediately went to work scouring Red Alert's frame.

When it was finished, the spray head was turned off, and the drone produced a polishing cloth, and a unit of wax. Red Alert stood inert, only moving when drone manipulated his limbs to access parts of his frame. The rhythmic rubbing of the cloth, as businesslike as it was, had a soothing effect on Red Alert. He was soon half-way to recharging on his pedes when the drone beeped again. Red Alert rebooted his optics as his arm was gripped again and he was pulled inexorably out of the wash-rack. They passed a mirror, and Red Alert was astonished at the glimpse he caught of himself.

All of his chrome had been cleaned until it was spotless and gleaming, and his armor had been waxed expertly, the paint looking almost wet. All traces of his time in the mines were gone. The last time Red Alert had looked like this, he had been preparing himself for his bonding with Inferno. Another keen of loss came from his vocoder as he was ushered into the room where Shockwave waited.

This room appeared to be some sort of work area. A terminal and several neat stacks of data pads were on the desk where Shockwave was seated. The drone pushed down on Red Alert until his knee joints were forced to buckle and he kneeled before Shockwave.

Shockwave sat with his back strut ramrod straight, hands on his knee-joints as he regarded Red Alert, who was holding himself and quivering. Red Alert's shaking was due to a myriad of different subroutines executing and aborting as he worked himself up.

"Slave Red Alert, I have selected you to my service for a reason. But you cannot fulfill your purpose if you continue to resist me."

Red Alert did not answer.

"I know that there were different protocols in place for the mines, however, here there will be very specific rules and guidelines that govern your behavior," Shockwave continued. "You will abide by them, or you will be corrected."

There was another long silence. Being completely unable to read Shockwave's expression was very disconcerting to Red Alert. He had no way of gauging how his rebellion was affecting Shockwave. However, he reasoned that he might as well go all the way if he was to put up a fight at all.

"You will address me as 'Master'. When you are referring to me, you will use, 'Master Shockwave'. You will address Lord Megatron as, 'My Lord'. All other free Decepticons you will address as, 'Sir'. You will refer to them in the same manner as you refer to me, in order to acknowledge and honor their superiority to you."

Red Alert stared at the floor, not acknowledging Shockwave's orders.

"You will respond to these rules with 'Yes, Master'," intoned Shockwave.

"No," Red Alert said softly.

"Consider your position, Slave Red Alert. If you continue with this rebellious behavior, you will be corrected."

"You are not my master."

"Your behavior is unseemly for a slave, and it will be corrected. But now I will continue," replied Shockwave, apparently unperturbed, almost as if he had expected this. "Until you have proven that you are accepting your rightful position as a slave, you will not leave my rooms without express permission. When you have made progress, you will be allowed to move about the compound. You will never attempt to enter the central building without express permission."

Shockwave paused, but Red Alert still did not respond. Was Shockwave going to talk him into submission?

"You will not transform without my permission. You will treat all Decepticons with the deference they are due as your superiors. You will obey me without hesitation. When I enter your presence, you are to acknowledge my mastership by rising if possible," Shockwave seemed to be winding down, but then added, "You will act at all times to bring glory to the Decepticon Empire, and to our illustrious Lord Megatron."

Red Alert's mouth twisted in disgust.

"Will you abide by these rules, Slave Red Alert?"

"Never," Red Alert mentally braced himself for the punishment he knew would come soon. In some ways, he thought that it might be easier if Shockwave took him violently.

"Why are you resisting, Slave Red Alert?"

"Why shouldn't I? You-you're going to beat me and-and make me 'face you anyways. It doesn't matter," said Red Alert quietly. He cursed the tremors in his vocoder that betrayed his fear.

"I will not forcibly interface with you, Slave Red Alert. You will come to my berth willingly. Submitting to your master is an honor you will anticipate, spark-bonded or no."

Red Alert shook his head in denial, too overcome with disgust to answer.

"Will you service your master, Slave Red Alert?"

There was a soft click, and Red Alert's head snapped up to see Shockwave's spike extending.

"Will you submit, Slave Red Alert?"

In answer, Red Alert stared defiantly into Shockwave's single optic, his expression communicating a courage he didn't quite feel.

"Very well," Shockwave retracted his spike, closed his panel, and stood. Red Alert expected him to pull out an electrowhip, or stasis cuffs or anything, really, except what Shockwave did, which was to walk calmly past Red Alert without another word. Shockwave entered another room, and shut the door. Red Alert could hear the soft click of a lock being activated.

Red Alert stayed where he was for a few kliks, watching the closed door warily. When it became obvious that Shockwave was not going to emerge any time soon, he slumped and let a rush of air out of his vents, spent after being so tense. But at least it seemed that he would be left alone for the time being. Carefully, Red Alert stood up, and stuck his head out of the workroom.

The drones were all in their docking capsules, and the lights in the main room were dimmed. As he exited the room, the door slid shut behind him and locked.

Red Alert decided to at least get a bit of recharge while he could. And also… try to connect with Inferno again. A small, traitorous corner of his mind whispered to him that the reason Inferno had shut down what little connection they had been able to establish was that he was glad to be rid of Red Alert, that Red Alert had been too much of a burden.

Shoving those thoughts away, Red Alert lay down on the floor, switched off his optics and attempted to concentrate.

It was slow going, and his CPU kept locking up briefly for some reason. It wasn't until the fifth or sixth time that he decided to run a system diagnostic.

How odd…he seemed to be running several points higher than optimal temperature. But Red Alert couldn't find anything in his systems that would cause such a thing. Besides, he wouldn't be able to do much about it – shortly after being taken into the mines, all of the slaves had had standard programming installed that severely limited access to their own systems.

Finally, he checked his environmental sensor readouts. The room was a full 20 points hotter than it had been just a breem or two ago! Red Alert turned on his optics and surged to his feet. Every heating coil had been turned on in the quarters. Now that he was concentrating on it, the temperature was oppressive. He could feel his relays and processor slowing down inexorably under the strain.

Red Alert went into the energon preparation alcove. The temperature was the same. Even a vent to the outside had been closed, and no cooling breeze came through. Red Alert's sensors began to spark as his systems lagged. His vents and fans started cycling faster, but their activity made things worse – they raised his internal core temperature and only brought in air that was hotter than his internals.

Red Alert tried the door to the workroom. Shockwave had equipment in there that he wouldn't want damaged, so it had to be cooler in there! But the door wouldn't budge. Red Alert ran to the portal to the outside. The metal of the door was cool to his touch, but it was warming up fast. The temperature inside the unit continued to climb.

Disoriented and half-mad with fear, Red Alert pried off the key pad cover, and began cycling through the Decepticon access codes he had stored in his memory core. Each time the unit denied him access with a loud buzz-beep, he cursed, finally yelling in frustration and smashing the panel. He slid down the door, trying to cool himself against the metal while he still could. His sensors sparked almost constantly, and Red Alert whimpered in pain every time they lit up. Holding his head in his hands, he made a last ditch, desperate attempt to reach Inferno.

Inferno, please, I'm so scared, it hurts, I don't want to do this, Inferno, I love you, I don't want to die, Inferno-

At the start of the next cycle, Shockwave lowered the climate controls to the main rooms before exiting his recharge chamber. So far the slave he had selected was reacting as his calculations had predicted, but the next few cycles would be the true test of his methods.

Shockwave was surprised to not find his slave in the main room. He wordlessly made note of the destroyed keypad, and then went into the refueling alcove. The slave was not there either. Then the sound of rushing fluid reached his audios. Turning quickly, Shockwave walked down the hallway to the wash-rack.

The Autobot sat huddled under the spray of detergent. The sensors that sat on his helm were sending off bright blue sparks intermittently, but the mech's optics were offline. Shockwave shut off the spray, and opened a readout panel on the slave's chest.

Ah, so. It appeared that the slave had not been able to complete a defrag cycle, despite circumventing Shockwave's conditioning. At least this cycle wouldn't be a total loss.

"Slave Red Alert, it is time to activate," he said. The Autobot slowly lifted his head, peering at Shockwave blearily from under his helm's brim. A mournful sound came from his vocoder, but Shockwave disregarded it. The sooner the Autobot yielded and accepted Shockwave's mastery, the sooner he would find peace and comfort. But Autobots were rebellious and stubborn, and Shockwave had prepared for a struggle before the Autobot accepted his yoke.

"Nngh-" the slave's vocalizations were laced with static. "Can't… move."

Shockwave reached down and lifted the slave easily. Once the slave's pedes were under him, he seemed to come back to himself somewhat, and was able to ambulate on his own, if somewhat unsteadily. Shockwave allowed him to sink back down the floor, while Shockwave retrieved two energon rations. He set one in front of the slave on the floor.

"You will refuel, Slave Red Alert."

Shockwave was pleased when the Autobot automatically lifted the cube to his mouth and poured the shimmering fluid down his intake. Shockwave finished his own ration, and dispersed both cubes when they were empty. A quick scan confirmed that despite his continued shaking, the slave's core temperature was falling to normal tolerances.

"You will accompany me today, Slave Red Alert." The slave looked up at him with a blank expression. Shockwave doubted he was processing at full capacity yet. "I will have a pacification collar with me if you choose to be disruptive." The slave processed this then nodded dumbly. Progress was being made.

Red Alert passed the cycle in a haze. His systems were exhausted, and he could barely concentrate. He desperately needed an uninterrupted recharge and defrag cycle, but Shockwave had errands all over the compound. There seemed to be no end to the mechs he had to see, projects he had to approve, and meetings he had to attend. Red Alert did not recognize any of the 'Cons they came across, but at the moment he felt as if he wouldn't recognize Unicron himself, he was so weary. A few of the Decepticons gave him long, appraising looks, but none commented on him or his presence.

Finally Shockwave turned down the path that Red Alert recognized as the one that led to Shockwave's quarters. When they were finally inside, Red Alert couldn't spare the effort to remain upright, and collapsed to his knees. He remained there, leaning against the seating bench, while Shockwave continued on into the unit. Red Alert barely processed as he heard the sounds of the wash-racks being activated. Would Shockwave do the same thing again? Red Alert didn't know if he could stand it another time. A tremor passed through his chassis as he remembered how miserable the previous recharge-cycle had been.

The wash-rack was shut off, and in a few kliks Shockwave exited the hallway, turned, and entered the workroom. Red Alert sat, seemingly forgotten in the main living area.

Red Alert did not know if he could hold out again, but he knew he had to. To give in would be tantamount to being unfaithful to Inferno. He had to keep something of himself for his Inferno, and if Shockwave was not going to use force, he would keep that.

Red Alert had entered a light recharge mode when Shockwave entered the room and sat on the bench. He regarded Red Alert for some time before he spoke.

"Slave Red Alert, will you fulfill your duty?" Shockwave's panel clicked open, but his spike did not extend.

"Never," whispered Red Alert. His gyros were mis-calibrated after the ordeal of the previous cycle, so his optics remained shut off. He didn't have the will to engage in another staring match with Shockwave.

"Slave Red Alert, as long as you continue with your rebellious behavior, you will be corrected. I ask again: will you submit to your master?"

Red Alert shook his head.

"Very well." Shockwave rose, and entered his recharge room without another word or a backwards glance.

Within a breem, the temperature began to climb once again. Red Alert hauled himself up and stumbled to the wash-rack, intending to take refuge there once more.

The door was closed and locked. With a cry of frustration, Red Alert pounded his fist against the door, before he sank to the floor. He didn't have the energy reserves to go back out to the main living area and try to find another shelter.

Red Alert held himself and made small noises of distress as the ambient temperature increased. His processor started glitching again, every shower of sparks feeling like an electroblade was slicing through his circuits.

But he wouldn't give in! He couldn't. What Red Alert wanted more than anything was a thorough recharge. But the price was something he couldn't bring himself to pay.

Red Alert remembered how possessive and proud Inferno was of the fact that Red Alert had never had any other interface partners than him. He had tried to hide it, but Red Alert discovered how Inferno felt when they had first merged sparks. Red Alert vowed to himself that he would never be unfaithful to Inferno, no matter how much worse the situation became.

A particularly violent glitch shook him, and Red Alert cried out in pain.

All he had to do was go to Shockwave, whatever Shockwave did to him couldn't be worse than this… but Red Alert was no longer holding on for himself, only for Inferno. He couldn't give in, for Inferno's sake.

He sent a last, desperate call down the spark-bond, but there was only silence.

The next cycle, he was brought out of stasis-lock by a manual reboot. Red Alert found himself alone in the hallway outside of the wash-rack, so Shockwave must have left after flipping the necessary switches to bring him online. Red Alert knew that meant his systems had become so taxed that they had all completely shut down, without ever going into recharge. There was a sharp sensation of ozone hitting his air filters, a sign of burned out relays.

With a groan of joints and gears, Red Alert stood, swaying unsteadily. He made his way into the main area, and knelt down next to an energon cube that had been set on the floor. Red Alert lifted it to his lips.

"Slave Red Alert, you will not refuel until I have given you leave to do so," Shockwave's eerie monotone said from behind him. Red Alert cursed himself as his arms automatically lowered the cube. But perhaps if he obeyed Shockwave in all other things, he would stop this 'conditioning'?

A klik passed, and then Shockwave said, "You may refuel now, Slave Red Alert."

Red Alert lifted the cube to his mouth again and consumed the energon. It did help to clear his processor, but he still desperately needed a complete defrag.

"You will thank me for providing for your needs, Slave Red Alert."

"No," answered Red Alert.

"Then you will accompany me again today."

The cycle's tasks took Shockwave out of the compound. As Shockwave did not possess a vehicular alt-mode, at first he instructed Red Alert to transform and follow him on the ground, while Shockwave flew at a low altitude above the street. However, it became obvious that this was not feasible in short order.

Red Alert was so dizzy and sick with exhaustion that he kept losing control of his vehicle mode, and after the third near miss, Shockwave landed, made apologies to the Decepticon Red Alert had almost collided with, and they continued by walking.

This meant that the errands for the cycle took several times longer to complete. Red Alert was dragging his pedes by the time they neared the gated compound again. All he wanted was to curl up on the floor the klik they were inside.

However, Shockwave took a side path just before they reached the gate, and continued on for a small way before stopping suddenly. Red Alert had not been paying attention and bumped into Shockwave's back.

"Slave Red Alert, you must be more mindful. You will transform," admonished Shockwave.

Puzzled, Red Alert finally took notice of his surroundings. They were standing next to what was unmistakably a track of some sort. It was a loop, but in vastly different dimensions than the ones he had become used to on Earth. He had a sinking feeling he knew what Shockwave was planning.

With a groan of tired servos, he transformed, and waited.

"Slave Red Alert, you will drive around the track until you are commanded to stop."

Cycling his vents in frustration (he only wanted to get some recharge!) Red Alert slowly moved out onto the track, and drove off. He was still a bit wobbly, but at least the track had more traction than the streets, and without the distractions of other mechs he was able to keep control of his alt-mode.

As Red Alert zoomed around the track, he felt a bit of exhilaration. He had loved to go out into the desert when he thought nobody would notice, and race the wind. Quite often Inferno would come along, and he remembered Inferno's pleasure at watching Red Alert show off his alt-mode's speed and maneuvering abilities.

Eventually though, Red Alert began to feel run-down. The stress of running his engine at high-speed was causing his core temperature to rise faster than his depleted cooling systems could handle. He was grateful when Shockwave sent him a signal to stop and come in.

Red Alert transformed, and stood in front of Shockwave, head bowed, vents expelling superheated air. Shockwave turned without a word, and Red Alert followed him back to the compound and their quarters.

As they returned so late in the cycle, Shockwave only paused to lock the workroom and wash-rack before asking, "Will you submit to your master, Slave Red Alert?"

Red Alert did not answer. He didn't trust his vocoder not to betray him by saying, "yes". His processor prodded and screamed at him to yield to Shockwave, to forgo the torment of another miserable cycle, but his spark still held out hope that he could get through this without submitting to Shockwave in the berth.

"You will be corrected again, Slave Red Alert," Shockwave said as he left Red Alert alone in the room.

This time Red Alert wasted no time, but immediately began looking for hidden vents and egresses that he might exploit to avoid the punishing temperatures he knew would come soon.

He found nothing.

Red Alert flinched when his sensitive audios detected the soft pings of heating coils activating in the walls. A low moan of dread escaped his vocoder.

Inferno, I'm so sorry, I don't know if I can do this, thought Red Alert. He shuffled aimlessly around the unit, too anxious to stay still despite his depleted state.

The heat grew more intense.

Red Alert found himself standing outside of Shockwave's door.

No, I won't go to him, I won't, he thought. Red Alert sank to the floor outside of Shockwave's door, trying to concentrate, to figure out his options, any option.

His processor kept locking up as the temperature rose. Red Alert moaned as the first glitch surged through his systems.

On the other side of the door, he knew Shockwave's room would be blessedly cool. He could almost feel the caress of chilled air over his plating, bringing down his core temperature and enabling his circuits to function again. He would be able to recharge and defrag completely, and with his recent tune up, he knew he would feel better than he had in a long time.

For several long breems, Red Alert sat staring at the closed door, warring with himself, sometimes starting forward, and then pulling back.

Finally, Red Alert's shoulders slumped in defeat. He approached the door cautiously.

Forgive me, Inferno, I'm not strong enough.

Red Alert raised a hand and knocked timidly.

The door remained shut.

Red Alert pounded a bit more forcefully this time. "Please, let me in, I'll do it, please," he called, his voice quiet from strain. "Please, Master, mercy."

The door opened.

Red Alert fell into the dim room. His ventilation systems immediately kicked in, sucking in cool air and dumping heat. Red Alert pulled himself inside, and lay motionless for a few kliks on the floor, relishing the feeling of his systems returning to full capacity. When his processor stopped spinning, he slowly, painfully pulled himself to his knees and looked up.

Shockwave was sitting on the edge of the berth, knees apart, and spike extended. Red Alert crept forward, before Shockwave held out a hand, signaling for him to stop.

"Slave Red Alert, have you accepted your position and the responsibilities it entails?"

"Yes," Red Alert's answer was almost inaudible.

"You will address me properly, Slave Red Alert."

"Yes, Master."

"You may approach and fulfill your duty."

Red Alert crawled the rest of the way forward, until he was kneeling between Shockwave's legs. He trembled in anxiety, unable to bring himself to take the spike into his mouth.

"Slave Red Alert, are you resisting?" asked Shockwave.

"N-no, Master, please don't send me back out there, please!" Red Alert cursed himself, his weakness. Frightened of being cast out into the outer rooms, Red Alert steeled himself and took the spike into his mouth.

At first he was shocked at how cold it was. Inferno's plating was always warm, sometimes hot. But Shockwave was cool, almost too cool. Red Alert had thought that perhaps he could get through this by pretending it was Inferno, but that was impossible. His Inferno was vocal, demonstrative, while Shockwave was silent, and motionless.

Red Alert took more of the spike into his pharynx, running his glossa along the sensor ridges, an action that never failed to have Inferno practically melting.

Shockwave remained still.

Bringing his hands up timidly, Red Alert caressed and squeezed the base of the spike, while he gently sucked the tip. He tried to keep from processing what he was doing, if he did, he knew he would purge his fuel tanks and that would surely get him thrown out.

Red Alert alternated between moving his mouth down along the spike, taking it almost all the way into his intake, and moving back, to concentrate on just the sensor nodes at the end of the spike.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Shockwave stiffened for a bare moment, and transfluid spilled into Red Alert's intake. Red Alert had been unprepared, as the cues he usually relied on had been absent, and a small amount trickled out of the corner of his mouth.

Shockwave's spike retracted and Red Alert pushed himself backwards, lifting a hand to wipe at the mess on his facial plating.

"You will leave it, Slave Red Alert."

Red Alert dropped his hand back down to the floor. He couldn't bring himself to look up at Shockwave. He felt frightened, humiliated. When he had performed this act for Inferno, he had always felt valued and protected afterwards; and he had done it in love. With a stifled moan, Red Alert hugged his own frame, trying to bring himself some comfort.

"You have performed your duty well, Slave Red Alert," said Shockwave. "You may come closer."

Red Alert bit back a groan of despair. Wasn't Shockwave done with him? He scooted back to his previous position, and Shockwave reached down, took hold of Red Alert's hands, and moved them to the interface unit that Red Alert's mouth had just left.

Shockwave wordlessly manipulated Red Alert's hands, moving them over his spike housing, and rubbing them firmly around his pelvic plates. Shockwave's grip was viselike, and one of Red Alert's key energon lines was being crimped, impairing his hand's function. Shockwave also pressed Red Alert's hands into his plating a bit too hard, causing Red Alert to whimper in discomfort a few times. Just when Red Alert began to wonder what the point of this was, Shockwave's spike extended once more, and Shockwave released his hands and held Red Alert at arm's length.

"Slave Red Alert, you will lie on the berth."

"N-no, please, Master," Red Alert begged. "Please, I'm bonded; don't make me do this, Master."

"You are a slave, and someone in your station is not entitled to have such a bond. It interferes with your duties. It will be terminated at the earliest possible opportunity."

"Please, Master, no-"

"Are you resisting me, Slave Red Alert?"

Red Alert fell silent. He couldn't go back outside, after all this. He just couldn't.

"Then obey me."

"Yes, Master," Red Alert whispered. He slowly rose, and climbed up onto the berth.

"You will be supine."

"Y-yes, Master." Red Alert settled himself on his back, and stared unseeingly at the ceiling. His energon pump was racing, reacting to his anxiety, and his limbs were trembling from the terror he felt. He bit back a cry when the berth creaked as it took Shockwave's full weight.

Red Alert's pelvic unit was lifted, and a wedge placed beneath, angling it up. He couldn't hold back a soft cry as his legs were parted. Shockwave paused, regarding him silently for a moment, but then continued when Red Alert remained compliant.

Red Alert clenched his hands into fists as Shockwave traced the outline of the panel that covered his interface array, and flinched when the catch was released. Shockwave set the panel aside. Red Alert had been trying to distance himself from what was happening, and so was taken by surprise when a cold, blunt digit was inserted into his valve.

He cried out and curled up off of the berth, grabbing onto Shockwave's arm, trying to prevent the invader from pushing any farther in.

"Master, please no, please no, don't make me do this, please," the words tumbled out in a desperate torrent, as Red Alert pushed futilely on his master's hand. "Please, you can't, you can't, no-"

"Slave Red Alert, do not resist me." Red Alert released Shockwave's hand, but stayed propped up on his elbows, and continued to plead for a reprieve.

"I beg you, please, Master! I'll do anything, just please not this, not this, oh!" Red Alert gave a despairing cry as Shockwave firmly pushed him back against the berth. He brought both hands up to cover his face as Shockwave continued his clinical exploration.

Red Alert tried to think about Inferno, remembering every plane and seam of his face, his easy laugh, the fire that would burn in his eyes when they joined, in body and spark. Recalling their secret bonding, Red Alert thought about the words Inferno had spoken to him, had vowed to him, just before they merged sparks.

"I love you, Red Alert, I always will. You make my spark whole…"

As a second digit was inserted, Red Alert could feel his valve start to release lubricant.

"I want to add my spark to your spark, to be your refuge, to shelter you, to cherish you for as long as I am operational…"

I'm so sorry, Inferno.

"I open my firewalls to you, so that there will never be any secrets between us. From this moment forward, my systems will function only for you…"

Shockwave removed his fingers, and examined the lubricant that coated them. He made a satisfied sound. Moving slowly, he positioned himself over Red Alert, his arms resting on either side of Red Alert's helm to avoid crushing the slave with his prominent chest array.

Please forgive me, Inferno.

"I will be faithful to you, to our bond, until we are joined forever in the Well of All Sparks, until All are One…"

Oh, Inferno-

Shockwave removed Red Alert's hands from his face; tilted Red Alert's chin up, and entered him.

Red Alert arched off of the berth, a quiet cry of loss escaping from his vocoder. His frame shook with grief beneath Shockwave. It was as if Shockwave was made of ice, his body chilling Red Alert down to his substructure. It was cold, so cold, and Red Alert tried to shy away from the sensation, but there was nowhere to go.

"…let our bond be a reflection of the unity that is to come…"

Inferno, I'm sorry, I didn't want to, I swear-

Shockwave moved within him, pace businesslike- neither slow nor violent. It did not vary and the angle of Shockwave's thrusts never changed. Red Alert found himself grasping Shockwave's upper arms to minimize the abrasion from the berth's surface. He stared into Shockwave's single, unblinking optic, ventilations coming in short, hitching cycles in time to Shockwave's movements. His spoiler was pinched as he was pushed back and forth over the surface of the berth, creating an almost unbearable annoyance.

Red Alert's legs lifted and he keened as he felt Shockwave finish; the Decepticon stilled against Red Alert as he climaxed. Shockwave did not flop over Red Alert, did not stroke his helm or whisper anything to him after, like Inferno did. Instead he carefully lifted himself off of Red Alert and sat back, staring at Red Alert for a few moments.

"You have performed adequately, Slave Red Alert. You will be rewarded," said Shockwave. Red Alert remained inert, staring up at the ceiling. A small tremor was his only reaction when Shockwave took hold of his shoulder wheel, removed the wedge, and turned Red Alert onto his side. Red Alert switched off his optics as Shockwave pressed up against his dorsal armor plating.

His optics rebooted and he gave a small yelp of surprise as a cold hand moved over his interface array. Red Alert tried to squirm away, but Shockwave's heavy arm kept him pinned in place.

"Do not resist the privilege I am allowing you, Slave Red Alert."

Once more, Red Alert covered his face with his hands, and this time Shockwave did not remove them. Red Alert's leg was nudged up, and Shockwave increased his stimulation of Red Alert's spike housing. Realizing what Shockwave was up to; Red Alert slowly executed the command to extend his spike. Shockwave immediately ran his hand over it, and Red Alert tried not to move away from the uncomfortable chill.

Shockwave's actions so far had been clinical, removed, and this was no exception. His hand moved up and down on Red Alert's spike, never pausing or speeding up. Red Alert just wanted this to end, to be over. He didn't want to overload, this wasn't a reward! Would Shockwave leave him nothing he could call his own?

The inevitable overload took Red Alert by surprise, and his vocoder emitted a harsh bark of feedback as he bucked once, twice, in Shockwave's arms. As Shockwave released him and drew away from his back, Red Alert fought down the compulsion to expel his fuel tank contents.

For a few moments the only sounds in the room were Red Alert's systems winding down from the overload. Then Shockwave spoke.

"There are cloths on the shelves," Shockwave gestured to the far wall. "You will retrieve one, Slave Red Alert."

Red Alert rolled over to his hands and knees, wanting to scream as he felt a bit of transfluid trickle down his thigh plating.

"Yes, Master," He made his way to the indicated shelf. While he was doing so, Shockwave also rose and went to a small sideboard where there was a flask of coolant, from which he poured a moderate ration. As Red Alert was climbing back on the berth, Shockwave consumed half. He then set the vessel down on the berth between them, and reclined against the bracket that held the berth to the wall.

"You will clean me, Slave Red Alert."

Bowing his head in submission, Red Alert carefully ran the cloth over Shockwave's spike and hip plate, removing all traces of lubricant and transfluid. When he was done, Shockwave retracted his spike and closed his panel.

"You will clean yourself, Slave Red Alert."

Quickly, Red Alert wiped his mouth, thighs, and then his spike. Gritting his denta, he wrapped the cloth around a finger and cleaned out his valve. Shockwave handed him his panel, and Red Alert hurriedly snapped it into place.

"The berth."

When all traces of their coupling were at last removed, Shockwave gestured to a slot in the wall.

"Place the cloth in there, Slave Red Alert. A drone will retrieve it. Then you will return here."

"Yes, Master."

When Red Alert returned to the berth, Shockwave handed him the vessel of coolant.

"You will thank me for giving you this honor, Slave Red Alert."

A hot ball of anger suddenly flared up in Red Alert's spark. Shockwave may have taken everything from him, but Red Alert wouldn't thank him for it! He placed the coolant on the surface of the berth and remained silent.

"Are you resisting me, Slave Red Alert?" Shockwave stiffened almost imperceptibly.

Red Alert stayed quiet, resolutely studying the cooling vent patterns on the berth's surface.

"You will be corrected if you continue with your rebelliousness. The climate outside has not been changed."

Red Alert bit back a cry of despair. He couldn't go back out there after all that he had done. If he did so, he would have betrayed Inferno for nothing!

"You will say, 'Thank you for this honor,' Slave Red Alert."

"Thank you for this honor, Master," echoed Red Alert, and then he grabbed the coolant as quickly as he could without rudeness and emptied it down his intake, as if to wash away the taste of those words.

Shockwave took the empty vessel from him and placed it on a small shelf that was next to the berth. He grasped Red Alert's arm, and pulled Red Alert down next to him. Red Alert lay stiff and still as Shockwave positioned himself, and then winced as Shockwave deliberately placed an arm over his chest, effectively pinning Red Alert in place.

"You have made excellent progress this cycle, Slave Red Alert. However, it is obvious that you will require more conditioning and education before you truly accept and fulfill your purpose. Recharge now, and meditate on your place under the great Lord Megatron," Shockwave intoned, before powering down his systems.

Before Red Alert initiated his own recharge and defrag sequence, he accessed his bond with Inferno once more. It was still silent. Were the faint sensations he had felt before only processor artifacts? Did Inferno know what had happened, and now was refusing to acknowledge the bond because of Red Alert's betrayal?

As Red Alert flipped the controls to his rest mode, he sent a final signal down the bond, not knowing if it would reach his mate.

I love you, Inferno, and I'm so sorry. Please forgive me…

Chapter Text

Jazz kept his optics firmly on the decking in front of him as he was steered through the corridors of the Decepticon vessel. The manacles and chains that bound him were heavy, but they were not what kept his helm bowed and his shoulder struts hunched.

You let them all down… it's all your fault, the accusing thoughts echoed in his processor, along with the anguished cries and screams from his fellow Autobots as they were divvied up as spoils by the Decepticons.

He glanced out of the corner of his visor at the mech who had claimed him. Soundwave. The imposing blue and white Decepticon walked at his elbow, a large hand gripping it and steering him effortlessly through the traffic in the hallway.

Jazz did not want to speculate about why Megatron's communications officer had selected him out of the line-up. It made him uneasy to think of the times they had grappled on the battlefield, and to wonder if Soundwave had been looking at him as an object of desire instead of an opponent.

But it did not matter. Nothing mattered anymore. The torments that his team was suffering now and in the future all fell on his head. Prime had charged him to keep his team safe... and he had failed. The thought of his fallen leader made Jazz's spark feel as if it were being savagely compressed. He could not bear to think about it – the pain was too great. Jazz reached deep inside himself, regaining the numbness that had enveloped him during their captivity, and buried his grief.

"What- what now Jazz?" Ratchet had whispered as they huddled in the darkness of Skyfire's alt-mode hull with the few Autobots that had fled earth with them. All were running their systems at minimum, hoping that the tracker drone Jazz had discovered hadn't been able to alert any others to their location. Ratchet's voice, for the first time Jazz could remember, held a hint of fear and uncertainty. Hearing the normally calm medic so nervous shook Jazz to his spark, made a scream well up in his vocoder fighting to be released. Jazz quashed the desire savagely. He had to keep it together, for their sake.

Jazz looked over at Hot Spot before answering. The last Protectobot was staring at the only activated monitor, searching for any stray energy signal that might indicate they had been detected. "We wait," Jazz answered Ratchet, more calmly than he felt. "We've been in tight spots before this. We're all still together. That's what matters." His words felt hollow, they may have individually been in tighter spots, but never before had their combined strength and friendship and skills been inadequate to get them back out again…

As Soundwave maneuvered Jazz through yet another doorway, his view brightened to the point of pain. He had not been paying attention to where Soundwave was taking him, and so was unprepared when they entered a brightly lit room. As Jazz's view field cleared, he realized that they were in what must be the Decepticon wash-racks.

Soundwave pulled Jazz along, ignoring the curious stares of several Decepticons who were already using the 'racks. Gently manipulating Jazz into position under a nozzle-head, Soundwave punched in a code on the control panel and stood back as the cold solvent sprayed out. Jazz stared blankly at the wall while the grit and grime of his time on the run and in a holding cell washed away.

"Hey, Soundwave!"

Jazz looked over at the door, and saw Frenzy standing there, peering in.

"Frenzy: Report progress," intoned Soundwave.

"The program is compiling now, Ravage is watching it."

Frenzy looked over at Jazz, and gave him a cocky grin. Jazz hurriedly looked away. He hadn't really thought about all of the …complications that could go along with being... (Jazz shuddered as the thought of the word) owned by Soundwave. Even as often as his Special Ops team had been in and out of the Decepticon headquarters on Earth, the relationship between Soundwave and his cassettes was still mostly a mystery to him.

Jazz stood passively as the nozzle went through its wash cycle, listening with half a processor to Soundwave and Frenzy. It was a bit less intimidating now that that Soundwave was not standing right there, staring at him. Dimming his optics as the rinse phase started, Jazz tried to stop thinking all together. During his time in Special Ops, he had never been able to stop thinking, to stop noticing, now it didn't matter, nothing mattered-

A hand grabbed his hip plate.

Jazz sprang away, turned and pressed up against the wall.

Dirge stood there, leering at him. Jazz's spark flared in alarm. The seeker was crowding him, and Jazz had no hope of being able to fight off Dirge with his hands bound. He had been in desperate situations before, but never had he felt so powerless, helpless to change what was going to happen, what he knew was going to be done to him.

Jazz flinched back when Dirge reached for him again, but there was no place left to retreat.

"Hey, hands off! That's ours!" Frenzy's shout brought Soundwave's attention to what was happening in the corner. He immediately turned and stalked towards Dirge.

"Aw, I was just going to scare him a little, Commander Soundwave!" whined Dirge as he took a few steps back.

"Jazz: not yours." Though monotone, Soundwave's voice held a clear warning. He moved to block Dirge's view of Jazz. "Leave the area."

"Aw, fine, fine. C'mon Thrust," Dirge beckoned to his fellow seeker, who had been watching the exchange from under the air blower. "Let's see if Skywarp is done with that little red 'Bot-"

Jazz watched the two as they left; feeling a hot flare of anxiety for the Autobot they were talking about. He turned to look at Soundwave.

The large blue and white Decepticon was staring at him, expression inscrutable behind the facemask. Basic courtesy protocols and programming gave Jazz an almost irresistible urge to thank Soundwave, but he stifled the words before they left his vocoder, and lowered his head to stare at the floor grating. Soundwave eventually moved away.

The wash rack reached the end of its cycle and shut off, startling Jazz.

Soundwave was conversing with Frenzy again, and did not look at Jazz as he made his way to the blower. But when he reached it, Jazz discovered another difficulty inherent in living on a ship designed by and for Decepticons – the switch to turn on the dryer was out of his reach, obviously made for mechs several heads taller than him. There was probably a remote control that could be activated with a comm signal, but all of the Autobots had their transmitting arrays disabled upon capture.

So Jazz stood, there, miserable and dripping, unsure of what to do. It was an unusual, uncomfortable feeling: part of being in Special Ops was feeling and acting at home in any environment. Jazz had not felt awkward in a long, long time.

"Hey, Soundwave, it looks like the pet Autobot needs some help," Frenzy said, drawing Soundwave's attention to Jazz's predicament. Without a word Soundwave emitted a simple series of beeps, and the blower started its cycle.

Over the roar of hot air coming from the blower, Jazz could hear Soundwave chastising Frenzy, "Jazz: not a pet. You will use his designation."

"Alright, alright, Soundwave." Frenzy grumbled something else after that which Jazz did not catch, and Soundwave seemed to ignore.

As Jazz turned in the cone of moving air, Soundwave said, "Item status?"

"It's all ready, but I don't want to have to listen-"

"Tonight: you will assist Ravage."

"What?! Aw, come on Soundwave, I don't want to have to recharge in the comm room!" Frenzy whined.

"There will be no arguments."

Grumbling again, Frenzy turned and stomped out of the room, the effect somewhat ruined by his small size. Soundwave watched him leave, then turned and looked at Jazz.

Suddenly Jazz became aware that he had been dry for some time now, and his outer plating was becoming uncomfortably hot under the warm air. This time Soundwave approached, standing directly in front of Jazz as he reached up and shut off the current.

For several long moments, Soundwave stared down at Jazz. Jazz soon dropped his gaze in submission. There wasn't anything to be gained by showing defiance. But Soundwave reached up and took hold of Jazz's chin, lifting his face up. Jazz gazed into the visor and mask that obscured Soundwave's features. Jazz's spark flared in fear once more. Was Soundwave going to take him right now? Here? A tremor passed through his frame at the thought. Soundwave was one of the most ruthless Decepticons in Megatron's forces; it certainly wasn't out of the question that Soundwave would choose to humiliate Jazz, his chattel, by taking him in the public wash-racks.

Standing close like this, Jazz was struck by just how big Soundwave was. In the heat of battle, Jazz had never stopped to analyze it, but his head only just cleared the lower seam of Soundwave's cassette compartment. Jazz realized with a sinking feeling that no matter where it happened, it was going hurt terribly. Would it be more bearable to fight gear and grease even though it was pointless, or to submit to whatever Soundwave demanded, in hopes that it would buy Jazz some reprieve?

Despite Jazz's thoughts about the advantages to simply capitulating to whatever Soundwave demanded, when a blue finger reached up to trace the line of his mandible, Jazz flinched away. Immediately Soundwave released him, and stepped back.

"Follow," Soundwave commanded, palming open the door control, and leading Jazz back into the hallway.

This time Soundwave did not hold onto Jazz, and led him through several corridors, eventually emerging into a practically deserted hallway. Soundwave entered a code next to the door. Jazz quickly memorized the code, but at the same time berated himself for expending the effort to do so.

Soundwave stood aside as the door slid open, and gently pushed Jazz forward into the dark room.

The lighting units activated as Jazz stepped inside. Despite Soundwave's rank, the room was rather bare and utilitarian. A berth was placed with its head against the far wall, and the only concession to Soundwave's status seemed to be a large and complex workstation. A cube of energon and a long, rectangular carrying case of some sort were set on the foot of the berth.

Jazz drifted to a halt in the center of the room, trying to only look at the floor. The only other place he could really look was the berth- the very large berth. Where he would be-

Jazz flinched when he heard the unmistakable sound of the locking mechanism on the door activate, and listened with half an audio to Soundwave's heavy steps as the Decepticon moved about the room. Although trying to appear as if he wasn't doing so, Jazz surreptitiously watched as Soundwave moved over to a wall, and hung up his compression rifle and shoulder-mounted sonar gun. Jazz quickly looked back down, not wanting to be caught staring when Soundwave started to turn around. When the steps moved in front of him, Jazz risked looking up.

Soundwave held his gaze for a moment, and then took hold of one of Jazz's shackled arms. Jazz tried to pull away, but Soundwave held him easily. After a few moments of struggling, Jazz gave up his little show of defiance, allowing his arm actuators to release and go limp. Then, to Jazz's astonishment, Soundwave released the locking mechanisms on the cuffs of the manacles that encircled his wrists. Soundwave let Jazz's hands fall, but kept hold of the cuffs so that their weight wouldn't bear down on the collar still encircling Jazz's neck. The catch on the collar was more complex, and took some fiddling before it too was released. Soundwave moved away, holding the hated things, and placed them on the workstation.

Jazz felt even more confused now, as he stood rubbing his plating where the manacles had scratched his finish. There was really nothing preventing him from attacking Soundwave now. Nothing was separating him from freedom... nothing but a ship full of Decepticons. Jazz felt weariness and hopelessness descend on him once again. Caught in his own melancholy musings, he accepted the energon cube that Soundwave offered him automatically.

The fumes jolted Jazz into alertness. The sensors on his air filters identified the energon as incredibly pure high-grade. Where and how had Soundwave managed to acquire it? Jazz paused, looking warily over the rim of the cube at Soundwave. It would only take a few units of the substance to get him thoroughly overcharged. Jazz couldn't decide if that was a good thing or not.

"Charge levels: insufficient. Refuel, please," intoned Soundwave.

It was more the surprise of hearing a Decepticon issuing a polite request than a genuine desire to obey that made Jazz tilt the cube and pour a moderate portion down his intake. Almost immediately he felt a pleasant buzz overtake his circuits – not enough to impair his function, but definitely present and noticeable. Soundwave took the cube back from Jazz and set it down again. Still silent, Soundwave took Jazz's hands in his own and firmly pulled him towards the berth.

Jazz tried to control his trembling - he didn't know what he had expected. More fanfare? To be simply thrown down and raped the klik they walked in the door? With a quiet whimper of fear, Jazz pulled back, resisting Soundwave's tug on his arm. Jazz knew it was foolish – he should be giving in to this battle, he was going to make it worse for himself, but something small and vital in his spark wouldn't let him be led docilely to his own debasement.

"Apprehension: unnecessary," Soundwave said. "You will not be harmed." So saying, he increased the force he was exerting until he pulled Jazz down next to him.

"By whose definition?" asked Jazz, his first words since Soundwave had chosen him. Soundwave turned to face him, but Jazz stared ahead, unseeingly. He clenched his hands into fists, bracing himself the assault he knew was going to come any moment.

Soundwave did not answer, but only reached out and took hold of Jazz's chin, turning his face until Jazz had no choice but to meet Soundwave's gaze. Releasing Jazz's head, Soundwave turned from him and picked up the flat case. It looked familiar to Jazz.

No, it couldn't be – and how could he know? thought Jazz.

Soundwave released the catches on the case and opened it to reveal a silvery-blue metal instrument.

A photoharp... Jazz stared in unbelief. Then a hot flare of anger suffused his spark. How dare he? It's not enough that he's going to frag me, he wants me to entertain him too? Jazz looked up at Soundwave and back down to the photoharp several times. Angry words caught in his vocoder – his processor knew he should do whatever Soundwave demanded for his own safety, but his spark wanted to throw the thing across the room.

Soundwave tried to make Jazz take it, shoving the photoharp into his unresponsive hands.

The instrument was flat, with a larger trapezoid connected by a narrow neck to a smaller trapezoid on the top. They were oriented so that they formed a shallow, angular arch. Beams of light generated from a row of diodes on the foot were paired with a row of photo-detectors on the head.

"Song: requested." Soundwave finally simply manipulated Jazz's hands until they were wrapped around the neck of the photoharp.

"No." Jazz kept his helm bowed, mouth twisting in disgust. He thought about the countless battles that he had fought where they had faced each other. It made him feel violated that Soundwave had been planning this for him, waiting for him. It was apparent that Soundwave had done extensive research on Jazz's interests – even before the war, a photoharp was not what one could call a common instrument.

Suddenly a massive hand wrapped around his neck, and his head was forced up until he was staring into Soundwave's visor.

"Song: requested." Soundwave did not grip Jazz's neck tightly, but the threat was implicit. Jazz held his gaze defiantly for a klik, spark surging in indignation.

"No!" Jazz shoved the photoharp away from him and wrenched himself out of Soundwave's hold. He was running for the door the nanoklik his pedes contacted the decking. The berth creaked behind him as Soundwave stood, the sound followed a second later by the brief cacophony released by the photoharp when it hit the floor.

Reaching the door, Jazz started tapping in the code that Soundwave had, his digits flying over the key pad – he could hear one of the tumblers deactivate, there was one more, he almost had it-

An impossibly heavy weight hit him from behind, pushing Jazz up against the door. His wrist was caught in a vise-like grip and twisted behind him to the point of pain. Jazz gritted his denta and struggled against it, but he was spun around and slammed against the wall again.

Soundwave loomed over him, visor dulled to a deep red. He effortlessly held onto Jazz as he kicked and struggled and tried to break free. Transferring hold of both Jazz's arms to one hand, Soundwave again reached out and held onto Jazz's neck.

'No, no!' Jazz thrashed and jerked violently in Soundwave's hold as he was dragged back towards the berth. He continued to struggle against Soundwave as he was forced down to the berth, knocking over the cube of high-grade and inflicting a few dents in Soundwave's plating.

"No, don't!" With their plating pressed together, Jazz was almost scorched by the heat radiating from Soundwave. He managed to free one hand and pushed as hard as he could against Soundwave, bucking and trying to throw him off.

"Resistance: inadvisable, irrelevant." Soundwave's hand tightened around Jazz's neck cables; his fingers were placed so as to constrict Jazz's main energon line.

Eventually Jazz was forced to still as more and more urgent warnings popped up in his HUD. Jazz's processor raced. He was trapped, he was on a ship full of Decepticons, and his friends were either dead or enslaved. Hating the idea even as it presented himself, Jazz realized that his best option, his only option, was to give in. To give in, and hope that he survived to fight again in the future.

"Please... don't hurt me," Jazz whispered, hating how small and helpless his voice sounded. "Please, I...I was just... startled. Don't hurt me, I won't fight." He forced himself to cease his struggles and relax.

Soundwave must have felt some of the tension leaving Jazz's neck hydraulics, because he relaxed his hand, and allowed Jazz to pull his neck away, though he remained on top of Jazz's body. The hand that had held onto Jazz's neck now moved up to caress Jazz's face.

Jazz twitched his head away with a whimper. Soundwave grabbed hold of his chin and firmly brought it back, and resumed his touching. Vents heaving and shaking in distress, Jazz stilled and submitted, letting his head fall to the side so that at least he wouldn't have to look at Soundwave.

After a few kliks, Soundwave heaved himself off of Jazz, and with a smooth motion hooked an arm under Jazz's knees and rotated him so that he was fully on the berth. Jazz shuddered and flicked off his optics as the berth creaked. He could feel Soundwave moving above him, could feel plating of the berth bend slightly as Soundwave placed his hands on either side of Jazz's shoulder wheels. Jazz carefully brought one of his hands up to his mouth, not wanting to do anything that could be construed as aggressive or rebellious.

Jazz flinched when he heard Soundwave's panel retract.

When a large hand groped between his legs, released the catch on Jazz's panel, and slid it up and out of the way, Jazz bit his hand to keep himself from screaming.

He could feel warm air from Soundwave's vents move over his plating, and he recoiled in shock when Soundwave pushed his facemask against Jazz's neck, but Soundwave's arms on either side of him were immovable pillars, and Jazz had nowhere to retreat. Soundwave's extended spike rubbed against the outside of Jazz's interface components, and Jazz tried to twist his pelvic unit away, but Soundwave had now placed his full weight on Jazz, trapping him.

Jazz's vocoder let out a low whine when Soundwave's spike entered him.

A warm hum came from Soundwave's speakers, and he reached up to stroke Jazz's helm in a soothing manner.

Jazz wanted to purge his fuel tanks.

As he shook beneath Soundwave's still form, Jazz felt as if his struts had all turned to ice, but ice so cold that it burned.

'This isn't happening, it's not, it's not-'

Soundwave moved, slowly withdrawing and then pushing back in and holding himself there.

Jazz went limp, all willpower to do something in reaction to Soundwave's invasion draining from him. He ceased shaking and lay completely still. Soundwave ran his hands down Jazz's forearm plating; when he reached Jazz's hands he laced their fingers together in an obscene mimicry of a lover's touch.

Soundwave now began moving steadily, but did not set a brutal pace or even thrust forcefully into Jazz. In a disconnected corner of his processor, Jazz found himself analyzing Soundwave's motions. Every so often he would pause when he was deep within Jazz's valve and press himself close against Jazz, and emit the humming sound. Jazz was somewhat startled to realize that he wasn't being hurt. His valve wasn't as lubricated as it could have been, but the discomfort was bearable. Soundwave didn't care about hurting him, he realized. Soundwave was using Jazz's body to blow his own circuits.

Jazz turned off his optics, and waited for it to be over. His struts would spasm every once in a while when Soundwave would give a relatively hard push, but other than squeezing Jazz's hands, Soundwave showed no reaction to Jazz's movements.

Releasing Jazz's hands, Soundwave moved his arms under Jazz's shoulders, lifting them off of the berth. One hand wrapped around the back of Jazz's neck, supporting his head, and the other grabbed his upper back plating. With the shifting of position, Soundwave's angle of entry changed, and Jazz squirmed as a sensor cluster on his interfacing array was stimulated by Soundwave's spike. Jazz gritted his denta – he felt no pleasure, and the temperature of Soundwave's plating climbed higher and higher.

Just when it reached the point of pain, Soundwave thrust into him harder than before. Jazz groaned at the forceful push. Soundwave made a series of little movements inside of Jazz's valve as he overloaded and spilled his transfluid. The larger mech collapsed onto Jazz, who grunted at the impact.

Jazz waited for Soundwave to rouse, processor spinning. He felt as if the universe had changed in some essential way, even as his sense of unreality lifted. When Soundwave's systems reset, he retracted his spike and heaved his chassis off of Jazz. Jazz knew he should do something, anything, but he could only lie still and stare unseeingly at the ceiling plating. He should be frightened, ashamed, but all he felt was... emptiness.

'It's over, and I'm alright. I'm alright.'

When Soundwave reached down to stroke his face again, Jazz did not react. Although he could feel the digit wandering over his sensitive derma-plating, it seemed to be happening to someone else. Jazz stayed where he was left as Soundwave stood up and moved about the room, cleaning himself and then gathering up the manacles from the workbench.

Jazz only shut off his visor when Soundwave lifted his hands and fastened the restraints around his wrists and neck once more.

He didn't make any noise of protest when Soundwave reclined on the berth, gathered Jazz into his arms, and powered down his systems.

Jazz rebooted when the restraints were removed. It took a few moments as his memory core came online to remember where he was and what had happened. Soundwave was leaning over him, and Jazz found himself shrinking back apprehensively. Given what had happened the previous cycle, Jazz wondered if his restraints were going to be removed every time Soundwave decided to make use of him.

"Status?" Soundwave placed a hand on Jazz's hood.

Jazz reset his vocoder, surprised at the gentle tone Soundwave managed to convey.

"I- I'm fine," Jazz said automatically, hoping that Soundwave would remove his hand. It made his plating crawl . Though after his initial reaction, Jazz realized that yes, he was fine, physically, at least.

Soundwave continued to gaze down at Jazz saying nothing. Jazz noticed that Soundwave had his scanning array in place, and that the compression rifle had been taken down from the wall, so Soundwave must have been online for a little while before rousing Jazz.

As the silence stretched, Jazz shifted uncomfortably. Was Soundwave expecting him to say something? What did Soundwave want from him?

Soundwave leaned back and Jazz saw that Buzzsaw had returned. The Recordicon was perched in a high corner of the room, staring at him.

"Do not leave this room. Your safety: not assured outside." Soundwave stood, and motioned to some items on the shelf at the foot of the berth. The photoharp had been placed there, along with some datapads and what looked like a small waxing and polishing kit. "These are for you. Purpose: diversion."

Jazz did not respond. He was confused: Soundwave had forced him to berth, had captured him and his team members, did he really think that Jazz was some silly drone that could be distracted so easily? What was he playing at?

Soundwave turned away and strode out of the room. The lock activated behind him.

Jazz regarded Buzzsaw warily, but the Recordicon seemed disinclined to bother him. After a breem, Jazz moved, carefully lifting himself to his knees. His lip components curled in disgust when he noticed a small smear of transfluid where he had been lying. Grabbing one of the mesh squares that Soundwave had left for him, Jazz quickly wiped at his panel, but there didn't seem to be any remnants of the night before. Jazz couldn't bring himself to expose his interfacing array to see if there was...anything... there too.

He wiped down the berth and tossed the bit of mesh into a corner.

For a while, Jazz simply lay on the berth, trying to process the position in which he now found himself. The cycle before seemed distant. Jazz could recall the feeling of Soundwave on top of him, moving in him, but the memory files felt as if they belonged to someone else. Eventually, Jazz succumbed to boredom, and picked up the photoharp and the datapads. The datapads for the most part contained very old Cybertronian poetry, written before the schism between the Autobots and Decepticons. Jazz put those aside. Poetry wasn't really something he enjoyed. The remaining was a technical manual, fairly innocuous, about various recording and sound technologies. Jazz set that one on the berth.

With another glance up at Buzzsaw, Jazz investigated the cleaning supplies. He'd taken care of his chassis back on the Ark, but he had no idea what most of the things contained in the kit were for. Suddenly Jazz found himself missing Tracks and Sunstreaker desperately. The Ark's two resident metal peacocks had been endlessly aggravating to Jazz, but right now he would give anything to have Tracks inform him disdainfully what the various mysterious compounds were used for.

Jazz shut the kit firmly, and pushed it away. That left only the photoharp to explore. He stayed, staring at it for a while. The sleek design and the way the light hit the curves of the instrument tempted him to pick it up, but Jazz couldn't bring himself to do it. He considered poking through Soundwave's workbench, but the sound of Buzzsaw's camera zooming in when he approached it made Jazz give that notion up quickly.

In the end, he tried to forget his situation by reading the technical manual. The dry, informational content allowed him to devote his processor to run through scenarios for gaining his freedom. Each of his solutions was more fantastic and improbable than the last. Finally he tossed the datapad off of the berth and pushed his systems into forced recharge.

Soundwave could shower Jazz with "gifts" all he wanted, but he couldn't force him to be conscious to enjoy them.

His recharge cycled aborted when there was a commotion at the door. A muffled pounding sounded on the outside plating. Jazz sat up and drew his knees up to his chest plating nervously. If another 'Con broke in, there was no place for him to hide. He looked around the little room quickly, but there was nothing. His only chance would be if Buzzsaw managed to get a message to Soundwave in time-

"Buzzsaw! I know you're in there!" said a distinctive voice from the outside of the door. "I have to get Soundwave's new encryption codes! Let me in!" The pounding resumed.

Buzzsaw turned his head, the first movement Jazz had seen him make, and… flickered one optic in a parody of a human wink. Then he gave a piercing cry, which clearly meant something to the entity on the other side of the door.

"WHAT?! Why you overgrown metal-" The rest of the sentence was lost as the speaker trailed off into incomprehensible threats and invective.

Buzzsaw let out another call.

"YES, I am alone. Primus. Just open up."

Buzzsaw's optics flickered, and the portal unlocked, admitting a very irate Rumble. The little Recordicon stalked angrily over to Soundwave's workstation, and jumped up to the work surface. As he sorted through the datapads, Buzzsaw squawked at him again. Rumble stiffened, then looked directly at Jazz.

"Tell bit-brain over there that I'm not speaking to him."

Jazz was so surprised that he only opened and shut his mouth several times. Buzzsaw looked up at him and emitted a string of incomprehensible syllables. Jazz looked back and forth between them a few times.

"OK, fellas, I think you are gonna have to settle this on your own. Leave me out of it." The times Jazz had seen the Recordicons interacting before had been nothing like this! They reminded him of the way Sunstreaker and Sideswipe behaved when not fighting 'Cons.

"Fine." Rumble found the datapad he was searching for and jumped off the desk. "Soundwave is gonna hear about this and then you'll be in trouble, buzzbrain."

Buzzsaw gave a shriek of fury, and dove off of the ledge. But Rumble was ready, and ran out the door, shutting it in Buzzsaw's face. Buzzsaw swooped back up to his perch, and muttered to himself for awhile, before settling down.

Once again, Jazz experienced a sense of disconnect, observing Soundwave's cassettes interacting in ways he had never observed during the war. He was going to have to watch them, to figure out the relationships and bonds that held Soundwave's little posse together.

When Soundwave returned, he seemed to be alone. Jazz watched him warily, but the first thing he did was call Buzzsaw down, and appeared to be having a private conversation with him. After a klik or two, Buzzsaw left, flying out of the door, which shut behind him.

Soundwave approached the berth, noting the untouched items on shelf at the foot, and knelt to retrieve the discarded datapad from the floor. He stood, and stared silently at Jazz, who refused to meet his gaze.

Finally Soundwave removed a half-full cube of energon from subspace, and held it out to Jazz.

"Refuel, please."

Jazz stayed motionless.

"Rebellion: pointless. Forced energon infusion: always possible."

Jazz stayed where he was, but his shoulder struts slumped the tiniest bit. Soundwave was right, of course. They could force-fuel him. And no matter how good it felt to refuse everything Soundwave offered him, it would accomplish nothing other than weakening himself. Jazz did not have even the slightest idea how to free himself, never mind the other Autobots, but he knew that whatever he did come up with, he would have to be energized and ready to take advantage of any opportunity that presented itself.

Soundwave set the cube on the berth and made a small sound of encouragement when Jazz picked it up. As Jazz refueled, Soundwave put away his sonar gun and compression rifle. When Jazz was done, Soundwave took the empty cube and dispersed it, then picked up the photoharp and held it out to Jazz.

Jazz looked at the photoharp sadly. Evidently Soundwave was not going to give up so easily. This time, when Soundwave placed the photoharp in Jazz's hands, he didn't resist.

Jazz's arms brought the photoharp into the proper playing position automatically.

Soundwave sat down next to him on the berth.

Holding the photoharp in his hands brought back a rush of memories – memories of his life before the war. Jazz had last played one before he joined the Autobots. He had always meant to get rid of the musical programming that he had installed because of the valuable hard disk space it would free up, but Jazz had never been able to bring himself to do it.

Just placing his fingertips in position made the programming boot up, ready to execute. Jazz carefully placed a finger so that it was interrupting one of the beams of light. The photoharp emitted a low, polyphonic tone.

Soundwave moved minutely closer, close enough now that Jazz could sense the electrical currents running beneath Soundwave's plating. Jazz made to move away, but Soundwave quickly grabbed his upper arm in a not-quite-painful grip. He held it for a few nanokliks, and released Jazz when he moved back to his previous position.

"I-I can't," protested Jazz, even as his fingers were moving to a ready position on the frets.

Soundwave leaned even closer, and placed a hand on Jazz's knee. "Other activities: preferable?" he asked, his visor glowing a sullen red. Jazz pulled his leg away reflexively and gripped the photoharp close to his chest.

"No! er, I mean, I'll play, just give me a moment." Jazz quickly executed a few logarithmic chords, in hopes that Soundwave would be distracted from his intentions by the music. It seemed to work – at least, Soundwave let Jazz's leg go, yet he did not move away.

Steeling himself, Jazz played a sad melody, one based on an ancient dirge and built on a basic fractal equation. Jazz had never much cared for it, too simple and slow to play, but fitting now to how he felt.

The musical programming, of course, meant that he had never needed to stay "in practice" as his human friends might say; however his digital actuators and bearings were being moved in ways they had not been for millions of years. At first they felt stiff and clumsy, but eventually the joints freed up and the playing became easier.

Soon, Jazz became so wrapped up in his playing that he did not notice when Soundwave moved closer still.

His fingertips jerked in the beams of light, and the photoharp gave an un-melodic squawk when Soundwave rested his hand on Jazz's thigh. Jazz looked over at Soundwave, unsure of what was going to happen next, but prepared for anything.

"Continue." Heat was radiating from Soundwave's plating – Jazz could feel it. And this time Soundwave didn't remove his hand, but instead slid it minutely further up Jazz's leg strut. Jazz fought the compulsion to purge his fuel tanks. His cache was pulling up memory files from the previous night, making it hard to concentrate.

Letting out an unsteady puff of air from his vents, Jazz turned back to continue playing. He fought to keep his fingers steady as Soundwave kept touching him, stroking up and down his plating. A heavy arm wrapped around him, squeezing his waist, but was placed so as not to inhibit his playing. A single fingertip traced down Jazz's side as Soundwave moved to hold him in a closer embrace. As the questing finger came into contact with a sensor node on his mid-axillary seam, the melody once again stumbled to a halt.

Jazz stayed frozen for several moments, not daring to move a strut. Soundwave gave a few more lazy flicks to the bundle, and then grabbed Jazz firmly. Tensing, Jazz expected at any moment for Soundwave to tire of this charade, and simply pull him down and frag him through the berth. But instead, Soundwave pulled Jazz on to his lap, orienting him so that Soundwave was pressed up against Jazz's back plating, and Jazz's legs fell on either side of Soundwave's. "More," Soundwave demanded, the normally emotionless buzzing holding an undertone of barely restrained passion.

The plating pressed against Jazz was burning, and he tried to move away slightly but was pulled back immediately. As he began again, Soundwave's hands were relentless, touching everywhere, firm, but not rough. Jazz's processor raced, trying to anticipate what Soundwave was going to do next. He knew he was going to be fragged again, but when? What was Soundwave's game this time?

Jazz's ventilations hitched in surprise when Soundwave traced the joint between Jazz's thigh and pelvic unit. Now Jazz was having to fight with himself – he wanted to scream, to kick, to fight, anything.

Perhaps it would be best to simply lash out. Force Soundwave's hand, and get it over with. What did Jazz have to gain by dragging it out like this?

Soundwave traced around one of Jazz's headlights, up over the racing stripes on the hood of his alt mode, and along his shoulder axle. Jazz needed all of his concentration to continue playing – would Soundwave become angry if he stopped? Would he stop being gentle? Jazz felt Soundwave's battle-mask press into the joint where his neck met his shoulder strut, could hear the heavy, forceful ventilations that Soundwave was making, and could feel the hot air move over his plating. Even as Jazz squirmed in discomfort, his body betrayed him: his over stimulated sensor net sent an answering thrill of arousal up Jazz's back-strut, and his plating increased a few degrees in temperature.

The pacing of the melody became unsteady as Jazz's concentration on his internal metronome wavered. Soundwave's large hand traveled down again, over his abdominal plating and just barely lingering over the panel that covered Jazz's interface array. An involuntary groan escaped Jazz's vocoder, and Soundwave's grip strengthened for a moment before relenting and continuing to move over Jazz's body.

I can't do this, I have to get away.

Carefully holding Jazz's thighs, Soundwave slowly tugged, urging Jazz to let his legs fall farther apart, and Jazz could hardly resist. All of his processing power was focused on not fumbling any of the notes. Something was causing his musical subroutines to execute incorrectly, and Jazz had to make manual corrections. The sensations that Soundwave's touch was creating only served to confuse his processor more as the input from his sensors almost overwhelmed its capacity to sort and process the signals. His core temperature climbed, an involuntary response to Soundwave's actions. His processor felt woozy: it was becoming harder and harder to think. It didn't make any sense! Jazz tried to concentrate on what was happening to him, but his thread of thought kept slipping away whenever he tried to grasp it.

"Nnnnn-" Jazz let out a moan laced with static. His plating was heating up rapidly, and he was losing his resolve just as fast. When Soundwave traced the seam around the panel that covered Jazz's interface array, Jazz lost all control for a moment. He cried out, and arched his back strut, pressing the back of his helm into Soundwave's shoulder. His playing faltered as his optics shut off, too overcome to do anything but react to the sensations. Almost immediately he came back to himself, and flinched away, mortified at how easily he was being worked up. Soundwave ceased his movements for a moment, allowing Jazz to collect himself enough to continue playing. However, even that reprieve was not enough to stop his cooling fans from switching on.

This was humiliating.

After a few more iterations of the melody, Soundwave's hands became restless once again. Jazz trembled, but held himself steady as Soundwave moved to caress his panel once more. This time Soundwave did not stop when Jazz flinched and cried out, but to Jazz's puzzlement, Soundwave did not force the catch on the panel either. Instead he traced around and around the seam, a hand occasionally straying to caress a wire bundle or sensor node elsewhere on Jazz's chassis. Jazz twitched and whimpered whenever Soundwave hit a particularly sensitive spot, trying in vain to not react to the pleasurable sensations coursing through his wires.

How long is this going to go on? Jazz wondered. What's the point? He tried to lose himself completely in the music, barely noticing when Soundwave began to harmonize with the melody, emitting a low hum in counterpoint to Jazz's playing. And so, Jazz was taken by surprise when he felt the subroutines for his panel locks begin to execute. The song staggered as his CPU tried to process his overrides at the same time as executing the musical program. Both locked up, and to Jazz's horror, his panel unlatched and slid open.

Before Jazz could shut it again, Soundwave had taken advantage of the new development, and was mercilessly stimulating the external sensor node anterior to Jazz's valve. A wave of dread and fear overwhelmed Jazz, and he squirmed; all thought of the music forgotten as he struggled to evade the invasive touch.

No , no, don't touch there, stop- Jazz could not force the words through his vocoder, all that he could emit was a quiet squawk of feedback and static.

Soundwave was not easily dissuaded. He tightened his arms around Jazz, and Jazz experienced a moment of panic that Soundwave would unintentionally crush him. The rich energon Jazz had consumed made his circuits even more sensitive, and even as he struggled against Soundwave, his plating became more heated, and another cooling fan switched on.

When Soundwave slipped a fingertip into Jazz's valve, it shook Jazz out of the anxious confusion he had fallen into. Suddenly his processor cleared, and he stilled, realizing what was happening to him. Soundwave took advantage of Jazz's momentary motionlessness, and slid another digit into his valve, moving them in and out, careful to hit as many sensors as possible while doing so.

"The ener-energon..." Jazz slurred. He tried to run an analysis on his intake filter contents to see if he could find whatever Soundwave had put in it, but they were disabled. "You- you slag-gh – head." The photoharp fell from Jazz's hands.

"Resistance, unacceptable," answered Soundwave. "Relaxation necessary. Demonstrate acceptance, and you will be given pleasure."

"Nnn-no, no," Jazz groaned, trying to push Soundwave's hand away from his valve. He could barely control his arms now. Whatever Soundwave had done to him was removing Jazz's ability to regulate the energy flow in his systems, causing some components to be completely overcharged, and leaving others barely functioning.

He was completely helpless. He kicked weakly at Soundwave and tossed his head trying to connect with Soundwave's facemask.

"Desist."

"No." Jazz continued his struggles. "You-you're going to do what you want with me anyways, just do it, stop playing with me!"

Soundwave held still for a moment. Then, "As you wish."

Soundwave stood and at the same time turned Jazz around so that they were pressed together.

The larger mech bore Jazz backwards until he his back hit the wall with a strut -jarring thump. Soundwave loomed over him, leaning down until his face was so close that Jazz could clearly see his reflection in the smooth metal. Jazz opened and closed his mouth soundlessly as he struggled futilely against Soundwave.

He froze in shock when Soundwave's mask slid aside, revealing his oral components. They betrayed no emotion, but were set in a grim, determined line.

This is it, thought Jazz desperately. Fear, cold and crushing, clashed with the hot arousal coursing through his frame as Soundwave's intense gaze did not waver. Soundwave was angry, at least the previous cycle he hadn't been angry, now he was going hurt Jazz-

Jazz stiffened and shut off his visor as Soundwave made a quick feint towards him. The angle of the pressure on his shoulders changed, and his visor flared to life again when he cried out in surprise as a hot glossa licked slowly around the rim of his valve. Jazz's legs felt as if all of his hydraulic fluid was draining away. Soundwave shifted his grip to Jazz's hips, supporting his weight as Jazz struggled to keep his legs under himself.

Jazz wanted to squeeze his thighs together, he wanted to spread them as far apart as he could, he wanted to shove Soundwave away, and he wanted to pull him close, so that the wonderful feelings would never stop. Jazz grasped Soundwave's helm as the glossa delved deeper into his valve. Jazz's fingers clutched compulsively at Soundwave, pushing against him weakly.

"No, no, I don't want this!" whispered Jazz. He lost all ability to stay upright, and curled over Soundwave's head. Soundwave merely made a low noise of negation that hummed up through Jazz's interface array and made him whimper against gritted denta.

Soundwave looped an arm under Jazz's knee, pushing his legs apart. Jazz was helpless to resist, and his pelvic unit jerked several times in reaction to a particularly intense move. When Soundwave traced around his spike housing, Jazz groaned. His hands fell weakly to Soundwave's shoulders. Every relay in his structure was focused on fighting the compulsion to extend his spike and cease resisting.

An inexorable heat was flaring and growing steadily in Jazz's pelvic unit. It traveled up his main support column, warm flames licking at his sensor net as it expanded. A terrible weakness followed it, and Jazz sagged in Soundwave's grip, his spike extending now that he was not actively trying to keep it contained. Soundwave immediately opened his mouth and accepted it inside.

So enveloped, Jazz lasted mere astroseconds. With a loud shout, he climaxed, his limbs jerking uncontrollably as he crested the waves of pleasure again and again, until he spent himself completely. Then he was falling, falling into darkness and calm.

Jazz rebooted slowly. His joints and struts tingled pleasantly, and his CPU hummed in contentment. A soothing hand was rubbing his sensor horns, gently stroking and occasionally wandering over his helm to explore and caress its contours. Still fuzzy from the reboot and the extra charge chasing through his circuits, Jazz sprawled across Soundwave's chassis, and the soft hum and breeze coming from beneath him indicated that he had been moved to a berth.

The hand reacted to Jazz's movements by moving gently over his brow and down his cheek. The chassis his head was resting against shifted, and Jazz automatically reached up to clutch at Soundwave's chassis, seeking some stability even as his processor drifted in the afterglow and in reaction to the doctored energon. His limbs felt as if weights had been tied to them – it had been a very long time since Jazz had experienced such an intense overload.

As Jazz's optics came online, he lifted his head to look blearily at Soundwave. The Decepticon (his master) looked impassively down at him. The facemask was once again in place.

"Jazz, status?" intoned Soundwave.

Jazz whimpered. He felt as if he would slide right off of the berth if he moved at all, his gyros were so destabilized. His sensors were still depolarized, and every touch felt much more intense than it should have. Jazz groaned when Soundwave moved him and his thigh brushed up against Soundwave's extended spike. In his current state, Jazz couldn't feel apprehensive; he couldn't feel any anxiety at all, even when Soundwave rolled them over, so that Jazz was pinned beneath him.

Jazz knew he should feel angry, he should feel frightened, but a sort of numbness had taken him over. Soundwave shifted his weight slightly, so that their interface arrays rubbed together. Jazz should have been completely drained, but heat stirred deep within his chassis once again. His hip plate was pinned to the berth by Soundwave's bulk, but not uncomfortably so. As Jazz processed this new development, Soundwave leaned down and pressed his face mask into Jazz's shoulder.

The movements were so disorienting that Jazz automatically reached up and wrapped his arms around Soundwave's neck, clinging to him desperately, searching for something stable to ground himself. He allowed Soundwave to move his thighs apart, to run his hands over Jazz's frame. He gasped against Soundwave's plating when the questing digits stimulated his valve entrance. The receptors lining it were still depolarized from his recent overload, and every touch and sensation was magnified. Soon Jazz was gasping and shuddering against Soundwave, his limbs compulsively squeezing and relaxing against the larger chassis. Jazz couldn't even feel humiliated at his shameful loss of control any more.

"Ungh, please-" he moaned. "Please, no more."

"Do not resist."

A profound weariness came over Jazz when Soundwave spoke. He didn't want to think anymore, he couldn't think anymore, the tingling in his limbs building instead of abating sending Jazz careening towards the brink of overload. He allowed his arms to go limp, and sprawled on the berth, too tired and confused to do anything other than submit to whatever Soundwave desired.

Soundwave reached up and took hold of one of Jazz's arms, carefully pressing his wrist down onto the vented surface. Jazz moaned again, a quiet, plaintive sound. He could feel Soundwave positioning himself, and Jazz quieted, submitting to the manipulation.

Then Soundwave retracted his facemask once more, and kissed Jazz.

It took Jazz several nanokliks before he realized what Soundwave was doing. A bulky forearm slid behind his head, and pressed him into Soundwave's kiss. Jazz gaped in surprise against Soundwave's mouth, but the kiss did not relent.

Jazz realized that the tip of Soundwave's spike was slipping into him, and spread his legs even wider, lifting his knees. With each increase of pressure against his mouth, Soundwave pushed in a little more, until he was fully seated inside of Jazz. Then he released Jazz's lip plating, and held himself still for a few spark-beats. Jazz lay limply against the berth, trying to process the feeling – Soundwave filled him completely, but was not hurting him. In fact, Jazz thought that Soundwave would probably hit every one of his sensor arrays when-

Soundwave moved.

It wasn't a particularly large or fast movement, but Jazz reacted with a piercing cry and arched up off of the berth as the spike moved within him. His free hand clutched and scrabbled at Soundwave's plating, trying to find a purchase, trying to push him away. But Soundwave grabbed that arm too, and effortlessly pushed it back to the berth.

Soundwave moved again. This time all Jazz could do was emit a soft whine of feedback, and twitch and jerk in Soundwave's grip. Soundwave produced a low, harmonic tone, which buzzed and vibrated against Jazz's plating. Jazz threw back his head; mouth wide in a soundless cry of ecstasy and despair.

Soundwave began to move rhythmically, slowly at first, but increasing the pace steadily. Jazz grunted at every thrust, trying to control his reactions, but the heat in his pelvic unit only grew. It was as if his entire interface array had gone numb, and at the same time as if his entire body had become too sensitive; it was at once too much and not enough. Then Soundwave carefully placed his denta over Jazz's neck plating and bit down, and for the second time Jazz's vision went white and staticky as he overloaded, writhing and whimpering in horror. Jazz did not offline this time, but was dimly aware of Soundwave pushing almost savagely into him, before stiffening, pushing Jazz against the unyielding plating of the berth, and emptying himself into Jazz's valve.

Jazz couldn't be sure, but he thought he felt Soundwave's lips move next to his cheek, and heard his voice, which no longer seemed strange and emotionless, whisper "Jazz," before falling into static.

The pair lay entwined together, vents cycling heavily. Soundwave had collapsed onto Jazz, pinning him to the berth. Jazz carefully straightened his knee joints as far as they could extend comfortably in this position, shook his hands free from Soundwave's hold, and waited for Soundwave to recover.

The energy discharges had cleared some of the tainted energon from Jazz's systems. Suddenly, he realized why Soundwave was acting the way he was. The gifts, the photoharp, it all made sense.

Soundwave had some sort of ...domestic fantasy; he wanted Jazz to come to him willingly. To enjoy being taken to berth. Jazz would have laughed if he hadn't also wanted to scream. He would have rather Soundwave simply forced him. Instead Jazz was going to be tormented with a mockery of seduction; he would have preferred brutality.

Soundwave's visor brightened as he came fully online. He held Jazz's gaze, once again reaching up to run a finger down the side of Jazz's face as he gently retracted his spike. Even as careful as Soundwave was, Jazz couldn't hold back a gasp of pain as the spike slid over receptors that had been over-sensitized.

"Jazz, status?" asked Soundwave as he replaced his panel cover. "Do you require repairs?"

"N-no..." Jazz found himself unsure of how to address Soundwave. He had to play along, had to humor Soundwave. "...master?" he ended quietly, hoping that was what Soundwave wanted to hear.

Instead, Soundwave stiffened, and pushed himself off of Jazz. He reclined on his side, one hand propping up his head as the other reached out to wander over Jazz's plating.

"Title: not necessary here." The hand traveled up, under Jazz's mandible, tilting his head up so that he was looking at Soundwave. "In public, use Master Soundwave." continued Soundwave, pulling Jazz close. An undertone of sadness colored Soundwave's voice. Jazz wondered if Soundwave had always been so expressive; if he had just missed all of the inflections and tones that Soundwave was able to produce.

"Alright... Soundwave." Jazz initiated his own protocols to close his panel. He watched Soundwave warily out of the corner of his visor, remaining motionless as the hand continued to run over his plating.

His spark tightened, as a crushing weight seemed to descend on his shoulders. This was all he had to look forward to. He was a – a toy for a Decepticon, and nothing would ever be the same again. He was doubtlessly better off than most of the rest of the Autobots, but that was cold comfort. His friends were suffering, and nothing he could do would help them-

A quiet keen escaped from his vocoder, soon followed by another, this one louder. Soundwave looked over at him, a hint of concern in his voice.

"Damage detected?"

Nothing you would care about. Jazz turned over, away from Soundwave, and tried to curl up. He continued to keen, the energon additive robbing him of his ability to keep his emotions in check.

A large blue arm wound around him, squeezing him almost too tightly. Soundwave pressed up against Jazz's back plating. Jazz struggled as much as he was able, but he had no strength left. Even if Soundwave had placed both of Jazz's hands around his own spark Jazz would have been unable to extinguish it.

"Desist." Soundwave placed a hand on Jazz's helm, and stroked a sensor horn. Jazz barely held back a scream.

After a few kliks, Soundwave let his hand wander down Jazz's plating, finally settling over his panel. Jazz shivered at the touch, but lay still, unable to protest. Soundwave continued to caress Jazz's panel seemingly aimlessly; Jazz realized Soundwave was tracing a small trail of Jazz's own transfluid.

"Activities... unpleasant?"

I hate you, I hate this, how can you even ask that, filthy 'Con, get your hands off me-

Soundwave shifted their position, rolling back over and pulling Jazz so that he was tucked securely into Soundwave arms.

Jazz thought back over the Autobots he had seen fall in the last battle – poor Prowl, Jazz would sit through an eternity of his dull staff briefings happily if it meant Prowl was alive once more. Warpath, Cliffjumper – the high-strung mini-bots had often clashed with Jazz's more laid-back attitude, but Jazz missed them, missed everything about them, desperately.

"Your status: assured." Soundwave's voice buzzed in Jazz's audio. "You will not be harmed."

What about my friends? What about the ones you killed? Jazz's processor was slowing even more, and his limbs felt heavier and heavier as the slow touches continued to move over his plating.

"Rest now. Talk: next cycle."

After the events of the day, and especially after the massive energy discharges he had experienced, Jazz was in desperate need of a recharge. He couldn't resist any longer, and began powering down his systems. Just before his processor shut off, he was almost certain he heard the sound of armor being retracted and felt a kiss pressed to the crown of his helm.

Chapter Text

SYSTEM ERROR

Jazz rebooted, confused and dazed by the abrupt aborting of his recharge cycle.

SYSTEM ERROR
CONTAMINANT QUARRANTINE UNSUSTAINABLE

He became suddenly and terribly aware of a cold, twisting sensation in one of his auxiliary fuel storage tanks.

ERROR
ELECTRO-SANITIZERS AT MAX MOBILIZATION
SYSTEM PURGE IMMINENT

Jazz snapped on his optics, but immediately wished he hadn't. The large blue bulk of Soundwave's recharging chassis was visible out of the corner of his viewfield, and a large arm pinned Jazz to the berth.

"Mmngh… Soundwave…" Jazz tried to push Soundwave's arm off, but his system was still depleted from the effort of neutralizing the additive from the energon he had consumed the previous cycle. Jazz's vocoder emitted a few quiet squeaks and barks of feedback as he struggled to turn over, to delay the inevitable, even as he felt his backflow buffers activate, then fail. "Soundwave… please."

Jazz tried to lift his leg strut to kick Soundwave, but something was holding it down. Something that protested and dug its claws into his plating when he moved suddenly. Jazz looked down at the foot of the berth and saw Ravage staring indignantly back at him from the floor, where he had been unceremoniously dumped by Jazz's movement. At first it appeared that Ravage was going to hiss aggressively for the affront to his dignity, but then one of Jazz's overflow tanks gave a deep rumbling gurgle.

Ravage shut his mouth with a snap, and his optics flashed.

Immediately Soundwave stirred, lifting his arm. Jazz rolled himself over, practically throwing his head and shoulders over the edge of the berth, and purged his tanks.

Blue liquid with a metallic sheen hit the floor plating. Jazz was at the mercy of his autonomic systems, as they used every pump available to get rid of the offending substance. A large hand caressed his back plating, but Jazz didn't have the strength to shrug it off.

When his pumps finally brought up the last dregs, Jazz stayed draped over the edge of the berth, too exhausted and depleted to do anything other than watch the swirling patterns made as trace energon reacted to the additive.

Cobalt isotope in solution to disrupt the electron flow, thought Jazz, a corner of his processor working busily away at the problem. It wasn't a particularly uncommon substance to add to energon, and in normal Cybertronian systems, it would have been slowly but completely broken down and recycled by system filters. But all mechs in Spec Ops had been supplied with advanced electro-sanitizers, which not only worked to eliminate active invaders, but also could cause the precipitation of foreign solutes to facilitate their more rapid removal.

Unfortunately, when they worked too quickly on too much, the tanks where the foreign product was stored filled faster than Jazz's matter recycling systems could process it. It was a trade off – become violently ill for a short period of time versus being incapacitated for far longer. How Soundwave had been able to get the isotope into a form that had not tripped the foreign substance alarms on Jazz's intake filters was a mystery.

The hand that had been resting on his back plating moved around to Jazz's front, and Jazz was lifted gently and pulled back to rest supine on the berth. Jazz shut off his optics, and dug his fingertips into the vents on the surface of the berth, trying to quell the sense of vertigo as his internal systems struggled to recover from the purge.

He made a small noise of protest as a gentle hand wiped away a dribble of fluid that had escaped from the corner of his mouth.

"Status?" Soundwave's voice buzzed in his audio. Jazz batted ineffectually at where he judged Soundwave's head to be, but his hand was caught and held without any perceivable effort on Soundwave's part. "Desist."

"L-let me go-" Jazz ceased struggling, and his hands were firmly placed on the berth beside him.

"Request: impossible."

Jazz rebooted his optics just as Soundwave sat up, and watched in growing horror as Soundwave pressed a button on his shoulder.

"Frenzy: eject."

Had Frenzy been inside of Soundwave the entire time? Was he aware of what was happening when inside of Soundwave? The thought that there might have been more participants in the previous cycle's activities than he had initially thought made Jazz's hydraulics run cold.

"What's up, Soundwave? Hey, the pet -er, Jazz doesn't look so good."

"Assignment: retrieve coolant and energon. Rumble will assist. Instruct Ratbat to relieve Rumble."

"Right-o, Soundwave." As he turned to leave, Frenzy looked over his shoulder at Jazz, and gave him what could only be taken as a filthy leer. Jazz recoiled, and Frenzy opened his mouth to say something.

"Delays: unnecessary." Giving Soundwave an annoyed look, Frenzy finally left.

Rubbing at his arm plating, Jazz turned away from Soundwave again, and tried to curl up on his side. How many more Recordicons were inside of Soundwave last cycle? Even as he felt disgusted, Jazz berated himself for the feeling of apprehension that welled up in his spark at the thought of facing Frenzy again. The Recordicon was tiny! If it wasn't for Soundwave, Frenzy would never be able to physically force Jazz to do anything.

And Soundwave was touching him again.

The warm, solid bulk pressed up against his back plating, and a large arm curled around his torso. Soundwave's other hand reached up to stroke Jazz's sensor horns.

After a few ineffectual jerks of his head, Jazz settled, resigning himself to being pawed. He felt as if his processor was separated from his chassis, and although he was aware of the touches ghosting over his plating, he felt as if they were happening to someone else. He found the activity of the cleaner-drone busily going about removing the sludge from the floor plating of more interest than what Soundwave was doing.

"Apologies."

It took a klik for Jazz to realize that Soundwave was talking.

"Apologies: substance thought to be harmless. Side effects: unanticipated."

What does he want me to say? 'Oh well, you didn't think it would disrupt my systems too much? Just enough for you to 'face me without too much trouble?' Well, that changes everything, I'm sure we'll be slagging good friends now.

"Continued resistance: unacceptable. Objective: increase pleasure."

Just because you made me blow my circuits doesn't mean- Jazz suddenly came to a sickening realization.

He hadn't been speaking out loud. He knew Soundwave was a telepath, how could he have been so stupid- Instantly he reacted with a defensive burst of energy through his cognitive circuits, specifically designed to confuse anyone reading the electrical energy they generated.

Jazz felt a thrill of vicious glee when Soundwave flinched and released him.

"Don't read my mind." Jazz's voice was cold. "You have my body. Leave me that."

Soundwave was quiet for a klik.

Suddenly he was swept away by mental bombardment. Jazz went limp as Soundwave's consciousness invaded his processor. He could feel him moving around, was helpless to resist such a direct assault-

Then it faded into intense pleasure. All of a sudden, he was cognizant of what Soundwave was offering him. He couldn't see anything, not in the way that one could using optical sensors, but he simply knew. Soundwave wanted to give him everything he desired, an easy life, no labor, no pain. No worries.

No freedom.

But what was "freedom" other than an irrelevant Autobot buzzword? Soundwave could keep Jazz from harm. Soundwave could take Jazz to heights of ecstasy Jazz had never imagined. Had Jazz ever interfaced mind-to-mind? It was beyond description, but Jazz saw a dim reflection of the wonder and glory of the memory of such an act in Soundwave's thoughts.

For a brief moment, Jazz teetered on the edge of temptation. If he gave in, accepted Soundwave as his master-

No, not master. Not here.

-he would be able to experience that, he would be able to forget the whole horrible, ugly war. He could forget everything, and escape into hedonism. If he accepted, if he came to Soundwave, it – it would be as if he hadn't been... forced the first few times, wouldn't it? It would be as if it hadn't happened.

The terrified faces of the Autobots loomed up in his processor. That brief flash of remembrance was all it took to harden Jazz's resolve. He would never forget his friends. He would never not be an Autobot. Instantly Jazz felt a change, a resignation in Soundwave's mental presence. It withdrew almost as quickly as it had come, but more carefully, more gently.

Jazz turned his attention back to his optical sensor input, feeling surprised to find himself still lying quietly on the berth, with Soundwave's arm wrapped around him once more. The... intensity of the episode made Jazz feel as if it should have tumbled them to the floor.

Then: "Request: accepted." Soundwave finally broke the silence. "Monitoring of your thoughts will cease."

Jazz didn't know what to say to that. "Thank you" didn't seem quite appropriate. But at least the touching had stopped, though Soundwave's hand was resting on his hip plate.

At that moment the door hissed open. Frenzy and Rumble entered, each carrying a large cube. Frenzy was carrying a cube of coolant, and Rumble one of energon. Soundwave sat up, and took the cubes from them. He set them on the berth next to Jazz.

"You must refuel."

"No."

"Your systems: depleted. Refuel."

"Go to the Pit."

"Reminder: forced refueling is still an option."

Jazz, who had pulled himself into a sitting position against the head of the berth, looked away, and remained silent. Soundwave stared at him. The silence stretched out, until Frenzy and Rumble started becoming restless.

"What's his problem?" asked Rumble.

"Aw, he's just sulking because Soundwave gave him such a good 'facing last cycle, probably," Frenzy said, smirking at Jazz.

Jazz looked away, unable to meet Frenzy's smug gaze. He hugged his own chassis, and drew his knees up to his chest as if to shield himself.

"Don't be like that – you made such nice sounds last-"

"Frenzy: remarks inappropriate."

Frenzy fell silent, but did not stop looking at Jazz. Soundwave seemed to consider the matter settled, and turned his attention to Jazz once more.

"Reason for continued resistance?"

"It doesn't matter." Jazz shrugged. "You'll keep giving me electroinhibitors until you find the right mixture, and can keep me under control that way. Forgive me if I won't help you incapacitate me."

"Energon: unadulterated. Necessary for your systems. Coolant: likewise."

"How do I know? Why should I trust you? Why should I trust them?" Jazz gestured angrily at the Recordicons gathered at the foot of the berth.

"Aw, don't be like that, Stripes-"

"Frenzy, Rumble, report to Hook. Assignment: organize repair bay storage room. Ravage: assist Ratbat."

"What?! But-"

Soundwave's visor flashed, and any protests Rumble and Frenzy were going to make were cut short as they turned and fled the room. Ravage followed at a more relaxed pace. Turning back to Jazz, Soundwave offered the energon cube again, and again Jazz refused it.

"Energon: pure. Proof: offered." Soundwave lifted the cube and retracted his facemask, pouring a generous portion down his intake. Jazz watched him warily, studying Soundwave for any evidence of incapacitation or deceit. After a breem, there seemed to be no ill effects. Jazz kept looking from Soundwave to the energon cube, debating whether it would be worth it to continue to show defiance and be force-fueled. His options were practically non-existent. He could give in, do what Soundwave wanted, and be 'faced pleasurably, but unwillingly. Or he could continue to resist, be kept under chemical restraint, sedated, and still be forced to the berth.

"Soundwave," he finally said. "I will refuel. I," Jazz lowered his defiant gaze, unwilling to look at Soundwave as he said the words. "-I won't resist any more. I'll do what you say. But don't restrain me. Don't drug me. And," here Jazz looked up at Soundwave, visor flashing in anger. "Don't have any little stowaways in here," Jazz poked harshly at Soundwave's cassette compartment. "-Without telling me about them! If you won't do that, then you might as well take this cube back and dope it up to the brim and get used to having to wrestle every time you want to blow your fuses, because I won't ever cooperate!"

Jazz noticed with some surprise that his internal fans had switched on and he was running several degrees hotter than usual – a side effect of how much his tirade had worked him up.

Soundwave seemed to be actually taken aback by Jazz's outburst. While he hadn't moved, he was leaning away from Jazz, regarding him with some astonishment. There was another long silence, but this time Jazz refused to back down and lower his gaze. He knew it was a gamble – he had no ground to make demands, really. Soundwave could abuse him in any way he wished. Jazz's only hope was that Soundwave didn't want to have to use force.

After a seemingly interminable time. Soundwave said, "This request... also granted. No more system inhibitors."

"What about your little tag-a-longs?"

"Recordicons: of no consequence. Query: why does their presence concern you?"

Jazz actually gave an incredulous laugh. He turned away from Soundwave, staring at the entrance door, but he didn't see it.

"I want to know who is fragging me, is that so wrong?" Jazz experienced a little thrill of dark satisfaction as Soundwave flinched at the crude word.

"Frenzy: not a participant."

"He seemed to think so."

"There are no secrets between Recordicons. Frenzy was idle and desired to be present. The experience was shared."

The experience? Is that what you think it was? Jazz's shoulders slumped in defeat. Soundwave wouldn't grant him this, and to Jazz, this was an all-or-nothing deal. And Frenzy... that disgusting, immature little slag heap had "experienced" Jazz... he felt as if he would purge again. How could he look Frenzy in the optics? Frenzy was probably regaling the Constructicons with tales from the previous cycle right now-

Soundwave placed a hand over Jazz's, grabbing it tightly when Jazz tried to snatch his hand away.

"Request: granted. All requests: granted. You will be informed of all present."

"That's all I ask," said Jazz quietly. He bowed his head and picked up the energon cube.

The energon flowed through his intakes and filters smoothly. Even though it wasn't high-grade, it was much purer than anything they had synthesized on Earth. Jazz couldn't hold back a small sigh of satisfaction when it was finished. Soundwave took the cube from him gently and dispersed it.

"Energon: allow to integrate. Coolant: consume in 10 breems." Soundwave placed the cube of coolant on a shelf next to the berth.

Jazz stiffened so quickly he thought he would blow a hydraulic line when Soundwave pressed up against his side and slid a hand between his legs. He instinctively grabbed the intruding arm, but stopped himself before resisting too much.

"Our agreement: uphold."

Jazz stayed motionless, trembling for a bare nanoklik, before releasing Soundwave's arm and forcing his hydraulics to depressurize. Soundwave made a small sound of approval. The hand went for his panel again, tracing seams, exploring every ridge and groove of Jazz's pelvic unit. Jazz kept a tight rein on himself, refusing to react in any way. He supposed that in his own way, Soundwave was testing Jazz's word, Jazz's promise.

Concentrating on pressing his palms into the berth, Jazz did his best to ignore the molestation, only moving in response to direct manipulation of his limbs. Soundwave reached around Jazz's shoulders and pulled him onto his lap. At first, he held Jazz sideways, one hand exploring Jazz's hood, the other arm supporting Jazz's backstrut and toying with his hip plate.

When Soundwave turned him again, so that he was reclining between Soundwave's legs with his back plating to Soundwave's front, Jazz switched off his optics. He could bear this. He had to.

Soundwave gave a gentle tug, and Jazz let his thighs fall open. That wasn't enough for Soundwave, and he pulled more forcefully, lifting Jazz's legs and placing his feet outside of Soundwave's calf-struts. Even though his panel wasn't open, Jazz felt completely exposed – the Recordicons hadn't seemed to give too much thought to simply coming and going as they pleased, and anyone who opened the door to the outside was certain to get an optic-ful.

"Anxiety: unnecessary." Soundwave began emitting a low, soothing hum from his speakers. The frequency made Jazz's plating buzz and tingle, but not unpleasantly.

"Please, Soundwave-" Jazz arched his backstrut, a quiet protest against the hands holding him.

"No resistance."

Jazz slumped, allowing Soundwave to position him as he desired. He had promised, and securing additional privileges for himself would require showing Soundwave that he was trustworthy.

"Open." A broad hand rested against Jazz's interfacing panel.

Jazz obeyed.

Two of Soundwave's digits pushed into his valve, and Jazz gasped and tried to practically climb backwards up Soundwave's chassis to escape the sudden invasion. Soundwave wrapped one arm tightly across Jazz's chest armor holding him down, keeping him in place. It wasn't until Jazz ceased squirming and relaxed that Soundwave began slowly moving his fingers, the tips tracing around the grooves and seams inside of Jazz's valve, seeking out external sensor clusters with his thumb.

Jazz tried not to react, but he couldn't hold back small gasps in response to the physical pleasure, nor prevent his pelvic unit from pumping reflexively against Soundwave's hand a few times. A dreaded, familiar heat built in his lower backstrut, and a wave of tingling sensation flowed over his plating, leaving an urgent feeling in its wake. Jazz struggled to keep his processor grounded, to remember where he was, who was doing this to him.

When Soundwave retracted his mask, and slowly, deliberately stimulated one of Jazz's sensor horns with his glossa, Jazz's tenuous control over his circuits slipped, and his system fell into overload.

He shuddered in Soundwave's hold, his pelvic unit snapped back and forth, and then it was over.

Jazz was humiliated by his body's betrayal. He lay limply in Soundwave's arms, ventilation system cycling rapidly to expel the heat that had built up beneath his plating. He waited for the inevitable, waited for Soundwave to tire of this and roll their bodies over and take Jazz once again.

He was surprised when Soundwave merely slid his panel shut, and gently extricated himself from his position behind Jazz. Soundwave stood, and moved towards the foot of the berth. He picked up the cloth that was draped over the waxing supplies, and wiped off his hand before turning towards Jazz.

"You will use these."

Jazz looked down at the containers, not comprehending. "What? Now?"

"Affirmative."

Just the thought of touching himself in the manner that giving himself a good, thorough waxing would require made Jazz's hydraulics run cold. He had been touched so much, so often in the last few cycles that all he wanted to do was sit quietly and above all alone.

Soundwave must have read his reticence in his face. "Options: Use items on yourself, or I will."

Again Jazz felt crushing despair and defeat. "Yes, Soundwave. I'll do it."

Soundwave watched impassively while Jazz scooted down to the foot of the berth and opened up the containers of wax and polish. He hoped he was using them correctly – after all that he had been through, he didn't know if he could take any more humiliation this cycle.

After Jazz had started rubbing in some of the wax on his plating in earnest, Soundwave turned and sat at his workbench, all attention apparently on the datapads he was looking over. Jazz worked as quickly as possible, rubbing at his chassis almost frenetically. However, there were no mirrors in Soundwave's quarters, and he had to guess as to whether he was doing an acceptable job on his helm.

When he was done, and had polished his chrome, Jazz quietly put everything back in the place it had been, and sat quietly, at a loss as to what to do next. He wished there was more seating in the room – other than Soundwave's chair, Jazz's only option was to lounge on the berth. It made him feel... available in a way that he didn't want to be.

But you are available. a snide voice in his head said. Jazz stifled it quickly.

Suddenly he became aware that Soundwave's small movements had ceased, and Jazz looked over to the workstation. Soundwave was turned towards Jazz, staring at him. Jazz hated how his optics automatically dropped away, almost fleeing from Soundwave's gaze.

It was only by sheer force of will that Jazz held himself still at the foot of the berth when Soundwave stood and approached him. He was glad when he managed not to flinch as Soundwave reached out and caressed the crest on top of his helm.

Must have missed some, Jazz thought as Soundwave picked up the cloth and sat down on the edge of the berth, pulling Jazz close. He arranged Jazz so that Jazz's back was to him, one leg folded up under him, the other hanging over the edge of the berth.

Jazz switched off his optics as the cloth was moved and buffed over the neglected areas of his helm.

When he heard the sound of Soundwave's panel unlocking and retracting, he was unable to contain a shudder. Soundwave gently grabbed Jazz's hand, and pulled it behind him, placing it over Soundwave's interface array.

Soundwave's spike extended slowly, sliding into Jazz's cupped palm.

I said I wouldn't resist, not that I'd go along with whatever idea your sick little processor comes up with!

But despite this bitter thought, Jazz closed his hand around the spike. It was hot – hotter than Soundwave's plating, which was already heating up quickly. Soundwave made a soft humming noise; one that Jazz presumed signaled contentment and approval. Although their positions didn't allow for much movement, Soundwave was able to thrust into his hand a few times.

It was obvious what Soundwave wanted.

Trying to ignore what he was doing, Jazz began to squeeze and stroke the spike. Soundwave resumed caressing Jazz's helm, his touches much slower and more sensual than utilitarian. Jazz stifled his rising panic. He knew where this was going to end – was Soundwave always this insatiable?

He tried to ignore the touches to his helm, but that only left him more processor power to concentrate on what he was doing with his hand, and he couldn't do that. Jazz's core temperature rose a few points as Soundwave increased his stimulation.

Suddenly Soundwave embraced Jazz tightly, pressing up against his back plating and thrusting more forcefully into his hand. Jazz waited for the inevitable burst of fluid, trying to ignore the sensor inputs from his hand and digits.

"Megatron to Soundwave. Report to the Command Deck."

Megatron's gravelly voice sounding suddenly in the room made Jazz's spark clench in fear and surprise.

Soundwave immediately became motionless, then answered, "Acknowledged, Lord Megatron." There was no hint of strain or arousal in his flat tone. The spike in Jazz's hand suddenly retracted, and Soundwave stood, closing his panel. He reached down and held onto one of Jazz's shoulder wheels and tilted his head up with his other hand. Mask sliding quickly open, Soundwave leaned down and kissed Jazz firmly. He held the kiss for several moments, though Jazz did not respond.

Then, just as suddenly, Soundwave turned and walked out of the door.

Jazz sat for awhile, staring at the bulkhead. He knew he should take the time alone to do something that would further his goals... but what goals did he really have now? Succumbing, Jazz let the numbness and apathy overwhelm him as he sat, simply relishing the feeling of not being touched, of not being watched.

He did not know how long it had been when Soundwave came striding back into the room, and he did not bother checking his internal chronometer. Soundwave did not pause or hesitate, and Jazz found himself swept up, and placed gently onto his back plating. Soundwave's armor was already hot, and his fans activated with a high whine as he released his controls on them.

Jazz gave a soft groan as his panel was opened. He had pressurized his hydraulics when Soundwave first entered, interpreting the other's manner as pique, but now he saw that it was barely restrained passion. Soundwave did not hold his hands or wrists down this time, but Jazz let them fall to the berth anyway. He turned his head and spread his legs, submitting physically, as fully as he could.

A low rumble emanated from deep in Soundwave's chassis, transferring to Jazz's plating where Soundwave was pressed up against him.

When Soundwave entered him, Jazz shut off his optics. He could feel his body moving over the berth, could feel the pressure of Soundwave moving inside of him, but he did not feel connected to either event. Even when Soundwave turned his head up and kissed him, Jazz did not react, did not even feel distress. Soundwave kept changing the angle of his thrusts, would push hard against Jazz and make smaller movements, but his efforts did not arouse any physical reaction. Soundwave continued to press his mouth to Jazz's neck, jaw line and helm as he pushed into Jazz's valve again and again.

Finally, Jazz felt Soundwave's release flood him, and Soundwave slumped over him, spent for the moment. Jazz stayed still, staring at the ceiling plating, idly noting a long crack that reminded him of the Colombia River. He endured the caresses that followed with the same detachment, shuddered through his own release at Soundwave's hands without emotion, and powered down his systems without a word being exchanged.

The cycles that followed took on an eerie, blurred quality for Jazz. Soundwave and the Recordicons would come and go, the passing of time marked only by their appearances and Soundwave taking him to berth. Even as Jazz played the photoharp on Soundwave's command, Soundwave would play Jazz's body, exploring, eliciting what physical reactions he could.

All of Soundwave's efforts were in vain. He offered Jazz datapad after datapad, their subjects varied, yet mild and unlikely to be dangerous in the hands of a captive enemy. The most Jazz could bring himself to do was glance at the titles. He spent as much time offline in recharge as he was allowed.

It was only when playing the photoharp that Jazz felt connected to his physical self. He focused completely when he was playing, able to fool his processor into forgetting where he was, what he was now. Soundwave would sit in silence as Jazz played – he never requested (ordered) any specific song or melody, but seemed content with whatever Jazz wanted to perform.

Then one cycle, as Jazz was lying on the berth, tracing one of the vents with a fingertip, trying to decide whether he should attempt to recharge or bother to get up and play the photoharp, something changed. Jazz sat bolt upright, trying to figure out what the change was, and why his spark was suddenly shot through with apprehension and fear.

After a klik, he realized what it was: the constant, steady thrum of the engines had ceased. They had landed.

Jazz tucked his legs under his chin and waited to see what this new development would mean.

After a very long time (Jazz had almost started to think he'd been abandoned) Soundwave entered the room. He paused at the door, and motioned to his chest. "Rumble, Frenzy: present."

Soundwave was acting oddly – instead of marching over to Jazz immediately as he was wont to do, Soundwave seemed... uncertain. He wouldn't look directly at Jazz, and instead veered off, to sit at the workstation.

Something was up.

After a few breems of moving datapads around pointlessly, Soundwave seemed to come to some sort of resolution. He shoved his chair back and stood, turning towards Jazz. Jazz pressed himself against the wall at the head of the berth, knowing that whatever made Soundwave act so oddly couldn't bode well for him. Soundwave approached the side of the berth, and stood staring down at Jazz.

"Jazz... status?"

The question took Jazz off guard. Soundwave had not asked him that since the beginning of his ownership.

"I'm alright," Jazz answered, watching Soundwave warily as he lowered himself to sit on the berth. Soundwave reached out and stroked Jazz's cheek plating, making a small, low sound. Jazz did not jerk away, though his SpecOps programming screamed at him to run, do anything to escape whatever it was that was making Soundwave behave this way. Jazz stifled the urge. After all, Soundwave had upheld their agreement so far. If Jazz resisted now, he had no guarantee that Soundwave would continue to keep their bargain.

Eventually, Soundwave took hold of Jazz's chin, and tilted his head up, capturing Jazz's mouth in a deep kiss. Jazz remained compliant as always, allowing Soundwave to pull him away from the wall, and lay him gently down on the berth. As Soundwave straddled him, Jazz tried to capture his usual detachment, to dissociate himself from what was happening to him.

Soundwave's touch felt more... urgent, somehow. He stroked and fondled Jazz possessively, claiming him, constantly varying his touches, keeping Jazz off balance.

Jazz focused on the wall, examining the patterns that the light from the lamps made on the plating. The light in Soundwave's quarters was cold, not like the warm, orange glow that Jazz had become used to on the Ark.

Jazz retracted his panel when Soundwave tapped it.

When Soundwave began stimulating his interfacing array, Jazz tried to disconnect himself once more – but something was wrong. Soundwave pressed his lips to Jazz's neck and jawline, glossa flicking out, exploring Jazz's plating, nibbling here and there. He worked his way back to Jazz's mouth and once more pressed him back into the berth with a forceful kiss. Jazz made a small noise of discomfort as his helm was ground into the berth plating. Soundwave reached up with the hand that had been exploring Jazz's valve and began stimulating a helm sensor.

A burst of static escaped from Jazz's vocoder at the sensation, and he shut off his optics.

Soundwave's other hand was rubbing up and down his arm plating, stopping every so often to pinch and tweak a ridge or edge where Jazz's internal wiring ran close to the surface. Jazz's core temperature climbed steadily – he would overload soon. He had stopped fighting against that. He knew that once he overloaded, Soundwave would take him, and then it would be over and he could go back to recharge.

Just get this over with… it will stop soon then.

Soundwave's touch on his arm became more forceful – if he didn't let up soon, he was going to open-

Jazz's medical access panel opened, something was plugged in. Jazz's optics switched on and he wrenched away from the kiss.

"What are-" He cut off as an executable file assaulted his firewalls. Jazz pushed and scrabbled and scratched at Soundwave's chassis, taking him by surprise and managing to rip out the program module that Soundwave had plugged into him. The execution of the foreign file was aborted, Jazz's buffers throwing up error message after error message as the download was interrupted.

"Do not resist." Soundwave tried to grab Jazz's flailing limbs.

"No – get off - what was that?" Jazz hissed. He had a small advantage, Soundwave was trying to be gentle with him. Jazz finally landed a blow with some power behind it to the side of Soundwave's neck strut. Soundwave's grip on him loosened, and Jazz squirmed out from beneath him, landing on all fours on the floor.

But Soundwave recovered quickly, and Jazz had nowhere to go. Jazz pressed his back up against the bulkhead while Soundwave slowly rose from the berth.

"Do not resist," repeated Soundwave. "Mandatory programming: painless."

"That's a lie!" Jazz hissed, edging along the wall, refusing to take his optics off of Soundwave. "Why did you try to sneak it in? We had a deal."

Soundwave lunged for him. Jazz ducked beneath his grasp, and knocked Soundwave's legs out from underneath him with a sweep of his leg. As soon as Soundwave's chassis hit the deck plating, Jazz pounced, grappling with a strength borne out of desperation. He didn't know what was on that program module, but it couldn't be anything good.

"Desist." Soundwave's voice was as flat as ever, even as they were locked in combat. Jazz tried to find purchase on Soundwave's neck, but Soundwave's thick armor and longer reach were impossible to overcome. He battered at Soundwave's face as well, but the mask was back in place, and Soundwave gave no indication that he even felt Jazz's blows.

Then, so quickly that Jazz wasn't quite sure what had happened, Soundwave managed to get a leg up on the berth and flipped them over. Jazz's ventilation system sputtered and stalled, the sudden hard blow jarring vents and valves as his back hit the decking. Jazz kept hitting Soundwave, becoming angrier and more frustrated as each blow failed to deter Soundwave. Finally, Soundwave managed to catch both of Jazz's hands in one of his. Jazz continued kicking, but Soundwave was sitting on his hip plate and he couldn't get enough leverage to do any damage.

"You must submit. Programming, mandatory."

"No! What is it? Tell me what it is!" Jazz's vocoder cut out intermittently as his fear and anger mounted. "You promised! I've been good, I've obeyed, don't, don't!"

Soundwave sat up, keeping hold of Jazz's hands. He reached up with his free hand and pressed a button on his shoulder.

"Rumble, Frenzy: eject." The two Recordicons flew out of his chest and transformed in midair.

"Not taking it so well, is he, Soundwave?" Rumble said, looking the tableau over. Frenzy was over by the berth, rummaging around underneath it.

"I've got it!" Frenzy emerged, holding the programming module.

"Objective: stress-free installation."

"I think we're past that point, Soundwave." Rumble took the module from Frenzy. "Hey Frenzy, help hold his arm still."

Jazz watched in dread as the module was brought closer to him. As Rumble tried to line it up with the access port on his jerking arm, a soft keen came from Jazz's vocoder. Fear throttled his spark. He started to beg. "Please, Soundwave, please don't do this, please, you promised, please just tell me what that is!"

Rumble looked up at Soundwave, looking for direction.

"Program: required by Megatron for all Autobots returning to Cybertron. Objective: make violence and rebellion impossible. Enforce obedience and acceptable behavior."

Jazz stared at Soundwave in shock. He couldn't- that was horrible.

"Y-You don't have to do this, Soundwave, please, don't, we can pretend-"

Soundwave nodded at Rumble, who plugged in the module. The download began immediately.

"Silence. No rebellion: discomfort minimal." Soundwave ran his free hand over Jazz's helm.

DOWNLOAD PROGRESS: 20%

"Please, Soundwave... I'll do whatever you ask, please, don't-" Jazz tried to throw Soundwave off again, but Soundwave's hold remained strong. The hand on his helm stilled and tightened for a moment, then resumed its petting. Jazz stared at him, speechless for a moment, then tried another tack. He let his visor flicker off, and moaned, pushing his helm into Soundwave's touch. The hand on him paused. Jazz let his arms go lax, then pushed gently on Soundwave, asking to be let free.

Soundwave reached up with the hand that had been stroking Jazz, and held onto Jazz's arm, gently enough to allow Jazz some movement.

"Please, Soundwave – I know what you want." Jazz moved his pelvic unit again, but this time it was in a slow, undulating motion. "Don't do this, I can do what you want, I can be what you want, please," said Jazz, as he reached up, and ran his hand over Soundwave's chest, his touch gentle, solicitous.

A deep hum emanated from Soundwave's speakers when Jazz touched him, and he covered Jazz's hand with his own. His visor flickered and went dark for several moments.

Jazz experienced a small thrill of hope.

DOWNLOAD PROGRESS: 53%

"I am unable to accept. Lord Megatron's orders: irrefutable."

Rage and fear fought for dominance in Jazz's spark, and his vocoder emitted bursts of static and quiet whines of feedback as he struggled against mindless panic.

"Apologies: This...was not my decision."

Jazz looked from Soundwave to Frenzy to Rumble and back again. The regret on the Recordicons' faces made him even madder.

"That's hot slag!" Jazz yelled, and renewed his struggles. "You lied! You made a promise, and I've kept my end, let me go!"

DOWNLOAD PROGRESS: 75%

Jazz writhed and kicked, trying to throw them off in a last, desperate attempt.

"Apologies..." Soundwave said again.

DOWNLOAD PROGRESS: 100%

DOWNLOAD COMPLETED

INITIALIZING INSTALLATION

Jazz screamed as the program executed. His firewalls dropped, processor core laid bare and vulnerable as the insidious program went to work.

"No, no...no," Jazz whispered, shaking in fear and rage. His arms weakened as new protocols overrode his Autobot ones. He could no longer physically resist a Decepticon, he was helpless. Soundwave gathered him up, cradling Jazz in his arms as Jazz shuddered in the throes of the reprogramming. Jazz weakly beat his fist against Soundwave's chassis several times in protest, but Soundwave paid no heed to them. He opened his cassette compartment quickly and Rumble and Frenzy transformed and jumped inside, their task done.

The program seeped into every nook and cranny of Jazz's processor, rearranging priority trees, motor protocols, every system essential for operation. Jazz realized that their agreement didn't matter anymore: this program made it so he wouldn't be able to resist Soundwave, ever again.

Anger burned in Jazz's spark even as any method he could have used to express it was stripped from him. He felt himself picked up, and lowered to the berth, Soundwave emitting a low crooning sound as he stroked Jazz's helm and face.

INSTALLATION COMPLETED

Soundwave gently removed the spent module and set it on the berth.

"Jazz: status?"

Jazz remained silent and limp in Soundwave's arms. He couldn't bring himself to answer. They'd had an agreement. And Soundwave had broken it.

Soundwave retracted his mask, tilted Jazz's head back and kissed him. Jazz tried to bite him, but the commands were squelched and overridden immediately by the new programming.

Jazz's panel was still open, his interface array exposed. Soundwave slowly, carefully straddled him, picking up where they had left off as if nothing had happened. Jazz pushed as hard as he could against Soundwave, but his efforts were weak, puny, laughable.

Soundwave broke off the kiss as he entered Jazz, but kept his face close, vents ghosting puffs of air over Jazz's facial plating.

"Liar."

Soundwave didn't react visibly to Jazz's quiet accusation. Instead he started to slowly move in Jazz's valve, in a motion that had previously brought Jazz to overload. Now Jazz's systems did not react at all.

"Coward. Uh-" Jazz grunted as Soundwave pushed a bit more forcefully into his valve. "You disgust me."

Soundwave did not react to Jazz's goading.

"I don't want you, I'll never -ah- want you, filthy 'Con slagger."

Soundwave lifted a hand to stroke Jazz's helm and face again, tracing his features. "Silence."

"No." Jazz stared back, unwilling to back down. He couldn't resist physically anymore, but he could do this.

"Do not resist, and the program will be dormant." Soundwave pressed his mouth against Jazz's neck, and spoke softly. "You will not be hurt."

"Y-you don't want me, you just want a puppet, a drone-"

Soundwave flinched, and drew back from Jazz. "Command: silence."

"Oath-break- mmpf!" Jazz's accusations were stifled as Soundwave clapped a hand over his mouth. Soundwave's thrusts sped – they were not hurtful, but Jazz let out a few squeaks and moans of discomfort around Soundwave's hand as he pried at it, trying to wrench his face free. There was a dark sense of satisfaction in having finally provoked a rise out of Soundwave. At the moment Jazz didn't care if he was killed for it, and even hoped Soundwave would strike him. The pain would be worth it, just to see the emotionless veneer Soundwave cultivated crumble.

Soundwave held him easily, could have held him with one fingertip if he'd desired. Jazz stared defiantly into Soundwave's face, anger overcoming fear for the moment. Then his face was turned roughly, Soundwave pushed Jazz's head to the side, so that he was staring at the wall. Jazz groaned when Soundwave pushed sharply into his valve several times before he climaxed, spilling his transfluid deep in Jazz's valve.

When Soundwave's systems reset, he heaved himself off of Jazz, and sat back on his knees as he closed his panel. Jazz lay motionless, legs spread, where he had been left.

"Was it good for you, sweetspark?" Jazz spat the endearment. Soundwave stiffened, going completely still, visor flashing bright red.

This is it. Kill me, Decepticon. Oblivion is better than this... existence.

However, after a few nanokliks, Soundwave turned away. "Clean up. We are home. Time to disembark: two breems. Gather your belongings."

"Home?" asked Jazz, confused, thinking of the ravaged Earth he and his fellow Autobot refugees had fled. They had been traveling for much too long to be anywhere near Earth.

"Location: Cybertron."

Chapter Text

"Why you Perceptor put glass back in furnace? Me Swoop thought we need to cool glass down."

Perceptor smiled, and looked up at Swoop, who was watching him work intently. At the other bench in the tiny lab, Wheeljack pored over some calculations.

"Because, Swoop, I am annealing the glass."

"What does 'annealing' mean?"

"In order to make the glass strong enough to safely contain the super-refined energon distillation, it must be brought down in temperature very slowly, in a kiln. That is what annealing means," Perceptor said. It seemed like Swoop had endless questions, but Perceptor had endless patience, and had come to enjoy explaining every little thing that he did in their tiny lab. Poor Swoop had always seemed to be the most intelligent of the Dinobots, and he was stifled in their current environment.

"Can me Swoop turn down furnace when glass is ann-eal-ed?" Swoop's vocoder stumbled a bit over the unfamiliar vocabulary.

"Of course, Swoop. Your assistance would be greatly appreciated."

Swoop preened a bit; Perceptor and Wheeljack tried to include him wherever they could, but it was difficult when-

The lab door swung open with a bang and Mixmaster strode in. Perceptor stiffened, and Wheeljack stood, grudgingly giving the Constructicon the respect he demanded.

"What progress have you made on the distillation process?"

"I am double checking my calc-" Wheeljack started to say, but was silenced with a wave of Mixmaster's hand. Mixmaster fixed Perceptor with a cold stare, and Perceptor immediately looked down in deference. He used to return Mixmaster's leers with an impassive gaze, but now... well, now all he could concentrate on was not making it any worse for himself and his friends.

"What about you?" Mixmaster approached Perceptor and Swoop, stopping just a micromechanometer too close for Perceptor's comfort. Immediately Perceptor's processor started working out the possible outcomes for the confrontation. His vocoder's output volume was turned down and his shoulderstruts slumped in a submissive posture. Mixmaster was looking to throw his weight around – if Perceptor gave him a reason to, would it make Mixmaster happy? Or could he submit and comply and hope that the storm would pass by him?

"I am afraid that the equipment that was provided with this laboratory is of insufficient quality for our needs. I am currently-" Perceptor cut off as Mixmaster surged forward and grabbed him by the neck.

"What are you saying, Autobot? That Lord Megatron has not been generous enough for you? That you are ungrateful for what he's given you?"

"No!" Perceptor pried at the hand around his neck, but his struggles were ineffectual, and Mixmaster held him with no visible effort. "Please, Mixmaster, sir-"

"You Mixmaster leave him Perceptor alone!"

To Perceptor's horror, Swoop rushed towards them. For all his speed, his movements were clumsy, and his face showed the effort it cost him. Even the pacification programming couldn't overcome inertia, and Swoop managed to hit Mixmaster with enough force to knock all three of them to the ground. Mixmaster gave an inarticulate roar of rage as he surged to his pedes and rounded on Swoop, who continued to glare at Mixmaster as he trembled impotently with anger, the programming making him unable to continue his rebellion.

"Swoop, no!" Wheeljack shouted, as he stepped in front of Swoop, grabbing him in a bear hug to keep his arms at his sides.

"Oh, you're going to catch it now, Dinobrat!"

"No, please, sir," Wheeljack begged. Perceptor remained where he was on the ground at Mixmaster's pedes, not daring to move a single strut lest the situation spiral even further out of control. He was already thinking through possible scenarios, desperately trying to find options that wouldn't result in them all being slagged.

"Me Swoop not scared of you Decepticon!"

"Swoop, hush!"

"You're going to be!" Then there was a sound that made every hydraulic line in Perceptor's chassis run cold – the sharp buzz-snap of an electro-whip being drawn and activated.

"No, no, I'll send him away, don't-"

As Mixmaster stepped forward and drew back his arm, obviously not caring whether Swoop or Wheeljack took the brunt of the blow, Perceptor reached out and placed a hand on his leg plating. Mixmaster stopped, and looked down at him.

"Please," whispered Perceptor, not meeting Mixmaster's optics. "My apologies, it's all my fault, my actuators were uncoordinated and I shattered the vials, I am making more, please..." Perceptor's words trailed off, but Mixmaster still stared down at him. Perceptor knew he had just sealed his fate, but it was only logical – if events had continued the way they were, all three of them would end up injured, possibly seriously. This was the only reasonable course of action.

"Leave. Take the Dinobrat with you." Mixmaster's voice was uncharacteristically deep and emotionless, and he did not stop looking at Perceptor.

Sneaking a glance up, Perceptor saw that Wheeljack looked as if he might protest. No, don't hesitate, Wheeljack. Remove yourself and Swoop, now.

"You can stay if you like. Maybe give the Dinobrat an education, heh." Now Mixmaster laughed, and his emotionless gaze turned into a filthy leer. Perceptor's spark quailed in its chamber, but he remained motionless, expression blank.

Wheeljack looked at Perceptor, optics trying to convey a wordless apology. Then he grabbed Swoop's armstrut and turned to go.

"C'mon, Swoop, we need to leave."

"But him Percep-"

"Be quiet Swoop." Wheeljack half-marched, half-dragged Swoop out of the lab. Perceptor was glad that Swoop allowed Wheeljack to direct him. Wheeljack would never be able to physically overpower him.

The door closed behind them, and Perceptor was left alone with Mixmaster. He would be struck the very astrosecond he moved, so Perceptor stayed as still and small as he could, delaying the inevitable.

"So." Mixmaster turned on his heel and began to stride back and forth across the tiny room. He deactivated the electro-whip, and a tiny bit of tension drained from Perceptor's chassis. "So, you say you were clumsy and broke the equipment that Lord Megatron has so graciously provided for you."

"Yes, sir." It galled Perceptor to confess to being careless with delicate scientific equipment, and he was unused to prevaricating. "I poured the refined energon...and the glass shattered."

"You must have been pouring it wrong!"

"Yes, sir."

"Maybe we should put you to work serving energon down at the dispensory! The mechs there would teach you to be careful! Haw haw!" Mixmaster laughed at his own joke.

"I'll be careful in the future, sir. I am making new glassware that will be able to withstand my... my clumsiness."

Perceptor was unprepared for the savage blow that knocked him into the legs of the bench. His optics shorted out for a few nanokliks, and he listened intently to the sound of instruments rattling on the surface, relieved when he didn't pick out the sound of glass shattering from the din. Perceptor's scope was jammed uncomfortably against the bench pedestal section; he hoped none of the lenses had been damaged.

"You're right you'll be more careful!" A hand reached down and grabbed his shoulder, hauling him to his pedes. Perceptor suppressed a hiss of pain.

It would be over soon. Mixmaster only became physical at the end of his little episodes. Perceptor remained silent.

"I know you think you're so much better than me, because you talk fancy and use big words."

That caught Perceptor off-guard. He looked up for an instant in surprise before remembering himself and bowing his head once more.

With a snarl, Mixmaster stepped forward, pushing Perceptor up against the lab bench. Perceptor tried to call up memory files to ascertain what was currently on the lab bench, but most of his processor was focused on Mixmaster and what he might do.

"I know your type. You're just like him. You think that because you're smart and you've got a nice vocoder, that makes you special. That makes you the boss."

"No, sir, I do not-"

"Don't play your little word games with me, Auto-slut!"

As creative with the insults as ever. The stray thought flitted across Perceptor's processor, and he was amazed at himself for being able to think of anything other than what was going to happen – what he knew had been going to happen since Mixmaster had first walked in the lab.

Mixmaster let go of Perceptor's shoulder and turned his attention to Perceptor's pelvic unit.

Don't panic. These are just the normal actions of a conquering society that has been at war for a very long time.

Blunt, rough fingers worked at the catch on the armor panel covering Perceptor's interface array. Perceptor unlocked it, knowing it would only be worse for him if he resisted.

"Think you're better…I'll show you… you're no better than me." Mixmaster continued his diatribe at a low volume. When he succeeded at exposing Perceptor's valve, he grabbed Perceptor's legs and heaved him up to sit on the lab bench.

Systematic subjugation of a conquered enemy has played out many times in many societies, this time is no different, just because I happen to be present, it's not personal, it doesn't matter.

"Hands up."

Perceptor immediately raised his arms to hug his own chassis, bringing them out of Mixmaster's way. Mixmaster gave a grunt of approval and moved in closer, pressing between Perceptor's legs. His own panel retracted and his spike extended, and he laughed when Perceptor flinched. As close as they were, Perceptor could feel Mixmaster's electromagnetic field, feel the soft puffs of air from Mixmaster's vents moving over his own plating. He tried to turn his head and look away (he couldn't meet Mixmaster's optics anymore, and he couldn't bring himself to look down) but Mixmaster caught Perceptor's face and turned it back, forcing Perceptor to meet his gaze.

The pure hatred that burned in Mixmaster's red optics always startled Perceptor. He would never become used to being the object of such intense hostility.

"You're not better than me." Mixmaster's grip on Perceptor's chin tightened. "You think you are; I'm going to show you different."

"No, sir, I don't presume to-"

"Don't deny it!" Mixmaster shouted in Perceptor's face. Perceptor hoped that Wheeljack and Swoop were far enough away that they wouldn't be able to hear what was transpiring in the lab.

The enfranchised members of a hierarchical society will waste no opportunity to subjugate those of a lower caste-

Mixmaster let go of Perceptor's face, grabbed both of his hips and pulled, sliding his spike home in Perceptor's valve in one hard push.

Perceptor's face was pressed against Mixmaster's shoulder, and his vocoder let out a shriek of agony. Mixmaster pushed into him hard again, his thrusts rocking the lab bench. Perceptor felt a twinge of despair and frustration as the faint sound of shattering glass came from the kiln. It's going to take so long to clean that up. Swoop is going to be so disappointed.

"That's right, that's right," Mixmaster said, his words interrupted with small, staccato grunts. He pushed in and out, movements short and forceful.

A whine of distress escaped Perceptor's vocoder, and he attempted to muffle it against Mixmaster's plating.

"You wanna say something?" The rough voice buzzed in Perceptor's audio. Mixmaster paused in his movements. "Say it!" He gave one hard, sharp thrust. Perceptor could hear something tip over and spill on the bench.

Perceptor remained silent. He thought words over before he said them, he couldn't just start talking.

"I told you to speak!" Mixmaster pulled back, pushed Perceptor away and struck him across the face. Only the grip on Perceptor's arm kept him from tumbling to the floor. Immediately Mixmaster was back, pushing ever harder into Perceptor. "Beg me!"

"P-please, sir, please-" Perceptor was barely able to force the words out past his pain and fear.

"Yeah, yeah," Mixmaster said to himself. "Keep talking."

"D-don't, I beg you, please don't hurt me," whispered Perceptor. His valve felt strained, he could feel the creaking and popping of metal being stressed beyond tolerances by the awkward angle and rough treatment. Fear, despair, anger and frustration warred within his spark. The cycle was going so well, too. It had been almost... pleasant. Answering Swoop's questions, working in companionable silence with Wheeljack, Perceptor could almost pretend that he was back on Earth, back on the Ark, back on...

Mixmaster let out a repulsive groan and pulled Perceptor close, until Mixmaster's spike was buried fully in Perceptor's valve. A ridge caught the edge of a plate in Perceptor's valve, and he writhed in Mixmaster's grip as he felt it warp and buckle. Mixmaster did not pause; Perceptor opened his mouth, smothering his scream in Mixmaster's plating as wires and hydraulic lines were crimped.

"That's right, pay attention, Auto-slut."

Perceptor whimpered.

"I'm just as smart as you, you don't fool me!" Mixmaster pulled Perceptor onto his spike again and again. "You talk so fancy, but you're stupid." He emphasized his words with a particularly violent thrust. Perceptor couldn't keep his cry of pain stifled. "Admit it! I'm smart, and you're just a stupid slut!"

"Y-you're so smart, Mixmaster, sir," said Perceptor, stammering a bit as Mixmaster's thrusts sped.

"What else?" A harsh shake reminded Perceptor of his place.

"I'm-I'm s-s-stupid!" Perceptor's spark ached at having to degrade himself like this.

"You're a stupid what?"

"I'm a-a stupid s-slut!"

"Say it again, what are you?" The spike's movement became more and more erratic and violent as Mixmaster neared his overload.

"A stupid slut!"

"That's right," growled Mixmaster, his optics going offline. "That's right, you're just stupid, you think you're better than me, you're not better than me, I'll show you HOOK!"

Mixmaster pushed deeper than ever into Perceptor's valve and held him in a vise-like grip as he climaxed and spilled his transfluid. Perceptor tried to keep from trembling in Mixmaster's grip as he waited for Mixmaster to release him. Mixmaster had never even mentioned Hook in Perceptor's memory – the significance of the outburst was lost on him. All he could do was stay as compliant as possible. He wouldn't be hurt then. Everything would be all right.

Suddenly Mixmaster pushed away from Perceptor, grabbing his armstrut and jerking Perceptor off of the table and onto the floor. Perceptor stayed where he fell, not daring to say anything. Mixmaster stared down at him for a klik, before turning on his heel and walking away.

Perceptor looked up cautiously at Mixmaster's retreating backstrut. He waited a klik after the door had slammed shut before pulling himself to his pedes. A trickle of transfluid escaped his valve as he stood, and Perceptor tried desperately to find a bit of mesh on his ruined bench with which to clean himself.

The small stream tickled and dripped over his plating, every nanoklik spreading it farther, fueling Perceptor's desperation. When he located a piece of microfiber he normally used to clean his lenses, Perceptor grabbed it and began wiping at his interface array and leg plating with short, desperate strokes.

There was a soft noise from the other side of the laboratory entry door. Perceptor froze. It would not be the first time Mixmaster had decided that one round of humiliation was not enough. If Mixmaster came back and Perceptor had moved from where he had been left, things could certainly become... very unpleasant.

Things are already unpleasant.

"Perceptor?" Wheeljack said quietly from the other side of the portal.

Perceptor slid his panel closed quickly, checked himself to make sure there was no physical evidence of the... encounter left on his plating. He would have to save a thorough cleaning for later.

"Y-yes." Perceptor's vocoder snapped and hissed with static as it reset. "Yes! Come in!" He yelled a bit louder than necessary.

As the door slid open and Wheeljack poked his head into the room, Perceptor realized with horror that there was a large smear of transfluid and his own lubricant on the bench – he had completely overlooked it. He reached out to try and wipe it away as he heard two sets of pedes approach him from behind, but his hands were shaking, and he knocked against a flask that contained some alkaline waste from one of his energon experiments. The flask rocked and spilled, its contents flowing over a datapad. Perceptor's frantic grab for the flask and pad only resulted in the flask being completely knocked over and rolling away.

"Easy, easy, there," Wheeljack said from behind him, as he caught the flask before it tumbled off the edge of the bench.

"Why him Perceptor shaking?"

"I'm not." Perceptor placed both hands on the work surface of the bench, digging his fingertips into the plating, willing himself to calm down and stop shaking.

It didn't work. Swoop regarded Perceptor dubiously.

Out of the corner of his optical field, Perceptor could see Wheeljack carefully not looking at the stain on the bench. Of course Wheeljack knew what had happened, but having him see physical evidence of Perceptor's humiliation was too much.

"Did him Decepticon hit you Perceptor?" Swoop was frowning, obviously not satisfied with the obfuscating answers he was normally given to his questions about Mixmaster's visits to their lab and quarters.

Wheeljack regarded Perceptor cautiously, as if he was considering answering instead.

"Yes, Swoop. Mixmaster... struck me." Wheeljack placed an arm around Perceptor's shoulders and gave them a squeeze.

"Why?"

"B-because he was very angry about all of the equipment that was broken." Lying to Swoop was harder than lying to Mixmaster.

"But equ-ip-ment not broken before him Mixmaster was here," Swoop pointed out. Perceptor could no longer look him in the optics.

"No, it wasn't," he said quietly.

"No more questions right now, Swoop. Let's help Perceptor clean up this mess," Wheeljack said with forced brightness. "Go get the metal refuse container from our quarters. We can put the broken glass in there."

Swoop leveled a suspicious look at Perceptor and Wheeljack, but turned to go fetch the requested item. When he was gone, Wheeljack reached out and pulled Perceptor into a fierce hug. At first, Perceptor did not react, but then his frame began to tremble.

Wheeljack didn't say anything. Anything that could be said already had, and all that was left was pain and silence.

When Perceptor's shaking had quieted, Wheeljack said in hushed tones, "We've got to get Swoop out of here."

Perceptor experienced a flash of hot anger in his spark. Wheeljack was concerned about Swoop?

I'm the one being fragged whenever Mixmaster pleases. Perceptor suppressed the ugly thought almost immediately. He knew Wheeljack felt responsible for Swoop's plight. But did Wheeljack really think that Swoop would be happier somewhere else? There was nowhere that was a good place to be an Autobot anymore. Probability dictated that any place Swoop was taken would represent a decline in care and maintenance.

Wheeljack pushed Perceptor away and held him at arm's length. Perceptor resisted the compulsion to hold himself and hide from Wheeljack's searching gaze. He knew Wheeljack had his best interests at spark.

"I don't see any external damage. Do you feel any internal damage? Any pain?"

"N-no more than usual." Perceptor's tone was bitter.

The door opened again and Swoop came in, holding a lidded metal box. Because refuse from Wheeljack and Perceptor often involved volatile materials, they had been provided with the box as a fire caution.

"Thank you, Swoop. And-and I am sorry, but I think the glass in the kiln was broken." Turning away from Swoop's disappointed face, Perceptor reached out to shut the kiln off. "We'll clean it up when it's cool."

Slowly, carefully, Perceptor bent his knee joints, ignoring the ache between his legs, to kneel down on the floor and sort through the items that had been knocked off of the bench. Unbroken and still-useful components were quickly separated from the debris, and then the tedious task of gathering up the shards began. Wheeljack and Swoop joined him on the floor.

They worked in silence until Wheeljack cycled his vocoder and flashed his indicator panels.

"Swoop," he began, sounding unsure of how he should continue. "Do you... do you like it here with Perceptor and I?"

Swoop looked puzzled. "Ye-es," he said cautiously. "Me Swoop like being with you Wheeljack and him Perceptor. Me Swoop not like him Decepticon. Me Swoop not like any Decepticon."

"Do you like it when you go to stay with Ratchet?"

"Yes, but me Swoop wish him, Ratchet could stay with us"

"You know that's not possible, Swoop," Wheeljack said quietly. "I think you should stay more with Ratchet. Would you like that?"

Perceptor stopped picking up and watched Swoop warily. Emotions were passing over Swoop's features: confusion, anger, hurt.

"Why you Wheeljack not want me, Swoop here anymore? Me Swoop not break anything!"

"No, Swoop, no, it's not like that-"

"Him Ratchet not want me Swoop either!" Swoop became more and more distraught. "Nobody want me, Swoop! Only him Grimlock and other Dinobots, I want to be with other Dinobots!"

"Why do you think Ratchet doesn't want you? He helped me build you, Swoop!" Wheeljack seemed taken aback by Swoop's outburst.

"Because him Ratchet yelled at me Swoop last time. Me Swoop opened lab door, and him Hook was-was hurting him Ratchet."

Wheeljack became very still. "How was Hook hurting Ratchet?"

"Him Ratchet was on the med-berth and him Hook was on him Ratchet, and him Ratchet saw me Swoop, and yelled and said to leave. Him Hook laughed. Why was him Ratchet angry? Me Swoop not mean to be dis-rup-tive."

Shoulders slumped in defeat, Wheeljack said, "Ratchet wasn't angry, Swoop. I think- I think he was frightened. He – he didn't want Hook to hurt you too."

"What was him Hook doing to him Ratchet?" Swoop fixed Wheeljack with a penetrating stare.

"I, uh, I think-" Wheeljack struggled for words.

Don't lie to him, thought Perceptor. He's too smart for that to work much longer. And then he'll feel betrayed when-

"I think you are right – Hook and Ratchet were just fighting, and Ratchet didn't want you involved."

-he finds out you lied.

"Don't worry Swoop. You don't have to leave if you don't want to. It's just that I thought you would be happier with Ratchet. C'mere." Wheeljack opened his arms and pulled Swoop into a hug, rubbing his back plating and making soothing sounds. "I love having you here with us, Swoop."

Swoop looked over Wheeljack's sensor panels and fixed Perceptor with a piercing, thoughtful gaze.

Ratchet is being raped and tortured by Hook, Swoop. Perceptor was seized with an almost uncontrollable urge to give voice to his thoughts, to see Swoop's gentle face contort with pain. That way he wouldn't be the only one hurting. Just like me. Every time Mixmaster comes into the lab, or rouses us all up from stasis, and Wheeljack takes you away, he rapes me. He takes his spike and he shoves it in my valve or sometimes my mouth and he doesn't care how much it hurts me, how much I scream-

Wheeljack released Swoop, and the urge was gone. Swoop looked down at Wheeljack.

"Don't worry Swoop, I won't make you go away." Wheeljack turned, leaned back, and placed his hand over Perceptor's. "We're a team – a family. We're in this together."

Perceptor nodded.

I'm in this alone.

Chapter Text

Red Alert rebooted, the usual warnings and alarms failing to show on his HUD. His processor was still muzzy from recharge, and a heavy weight was pressing him into… whatever he was reclining on. Squirming a bit, Red Alert tried to dislodge it as his boot sequence neared its end. He twitched as a digit moved purposely over his anterior plating.

Inferno must be up already…

For a moment Red Alert was confused- it was rare for them to be able to spend an entire recharge-interval together, and Red Alert couldn't remember being able to schedule such a tryst recently. Had he called in a few favors to do it? But no… that was wrong. Inferno had left him, left him with-

His plating thermal sensors finished their initiation sequence. The touch turned from soothing pressure to a line of bitter cold.

- Shockwave. Red Alert switched on his optics and found himself staring into Shockwave's frightening countenance. Shockwave's single yellow optic was unwavering, and Red Alert recoiled in horror.

A startled squeak escaped from Red Alert's vocoder and he tried to kick out. The pacification programming prevented him from his full range of motion, but he still managed to scramble backwards and off of the berth. Now he remembered, he remembered the whole horrible ordeal. After a thorough recharge and defrag, the discomfort he had been in from Shockwave's "conditioning" seemed inconsequential and distant. How stupid he had been! He should have been able to be stronger, should have stayed faithful to Inferno, should have-

"Slave Red Alert." Shockwave stood up and moved around the berth to where Red Alert was holding himself and shaking. "You must submit to whatever your master desires. Your shell is not yours to deny access."

"N-no, please, please don't, Master," Red Alert pleaded, hoping to placate Shockwave enough that he would give this up. Red Alert could still feel Shockwave's hand on his frame from the cycle before, he could feel the Decepticon commander in his mouth, in his valve, it was horrible, he didn't know what he would do if Shockwave touched him again!

Red Alert flinched away as Shockwave reached for him, but was unable to evade Shockwave's grasp. He jerked and trembled in distress as Shockwave lifted him and placed him sitting on the edge of the berth. Shockwave stood in front of Red Alert, running his hands over Red Alert's plating, ignoring Red Alert's distress. Red Alert felt something inside clench and twist as Shockwave explored his plating, tracing seams and fondling any exposed cables. As Shockwave neared his pelvic unit, Red Alert fell silent and hugged himself tightly, trying to bring himself some small measure of comfort, trying to ignore what he had no control over.

When Shockwave tapped his panel, Red Alert obediently unlatched it and Shockwave made a small, satisfied sound as he set the panel aside. Red Alert tried to focus on a point beyond Shockwave, tried to ignore what Shockwave was doing down there, but when a single large, blunt object was inserted into him, he couldn't. Looking down, Red Alert saw that Shockwave was pushing his gun hand into him.

"No! No, no!" He resumed his thrashing and squirming, pushing ineffectually against Shockwave's large frame.

"You will be still, Slave Red Alert," Shockwave said, his words interrupted as he tried to control Red Alert. Red Alert's movements had pushed his muzzle out from Red Alert's valve, and after a few moments of grappling, Shockwave reached up and wrapped his hand around Red Alert's neckstrut, and firmly pushed him back onto the berth. "You will be corrected for this unseemly behavior, Slave Red Alert."

Red Alert tried to press his legs together, to deny Shockwave access to himself but Shockwave had positioned his bulky torso in such a way that Red Alert found this impossible. There was a quick flurry of parries as Red Alert covered his exposed valve with a hand and batted at Shockwave's muzzle as it approached. Panic rose in his spark as the muzzle came closer – what was Shockwave going to do to him? He was whimpering constantly now, his vocoder incapable of producing anything beyond static and quiet noises of desperation as his anxiety peaked.

"This could have been done by now, Slave Red Alert," Shockwave said. "I had intended only to inspect your outer plating. But when you resist my touch," Shockwave shoved aside Red Alert's hand and thrust his gun-hand's muzzle into Red Alert's valve. "We will repeat this lesson."

Opening his mouth in a silent scream, Red Alert fought with himself. His first instinct was to squirm away, but what if his movements caused it to go off? Was Shockwave threatening to shoot him? What settings did the gun have? Red Alert tried to remember, but panic made him unable to focus on anything except for the cold object intruding into his body. Would Shockwave stun him down there? What would that do?

Red Alert's processor kept coming up with possible outcomes, each more dire than the next. Would Shockwave do something to make it hurt to interface?

Would Shockwave charge the gun, scorching the sensor-laden lining of his valve? What was he thinking?

What did he want?

Red Alert covered his face with his hands, only wanting the spark numbing fear and degradation to stop. The gun barrel did not hurt, but it did not fit, it wasn't made to fit. He tensed as it slid deeper into him, trying to ignore the feeling of the blunt bulb at the end of the muzzle grating along the sensors and catching internal seams. His legs twitched and jerked even as he tried to stay still, so as not to jostle the invader inside of him.

If he shoots me, no one will care. No one will know. Inferno will never know what happened to me.

Every moment seemed to last an eternity – every moment Red Alert was in mortal terror of the deadly thing inside of him, waiting for the flash of heat that would warm the muzzle of the gun immediately before sending him into oblivion.

Finally, mercifully, Shockwave withdrew, and Red Alert let out a shuddering ventilation of hot air in relief. When Shockwave moved away, Red Alert sat up as soon as he was released and grabbed his panel, trying to snap it back in place with shaking hands. For a few moments he found it hard to believe that he was not in the Well of All Sparks.

"Slave Red Alert," Shockwave said as he turned back towards Red Alert, wiping his gun-hand clean. "As part of your duties, when you reboot at the beginning of the cycle you will prepare a cube of energon, and present it to me." Shockwave paused, clearly expecting a response.

"Yes, Master," Red Alert responded after a few moments, still trying to collect his thoughts. He rose slowly, stiffly, and ducked past Shockwave without looking up at him. As Red Alert generated a cube of energon, he wondered what he had gotten himself into. If only he had been stronger he could have held out. Consumed with self-recriminations, Red Alert approached Shockwave in the main public area of their rooms, and held out the energon.

"You will kneel, Slave Red Alert."

"Yes, Master." Red Alert lowered himself on trembling legs, careful to not spill the energon.

Shockwave took the cube from him, and consumed it quickly. "You will now refuel, Slave Red Alert." Shockwave handed back the now-empty cube to Red Alert, turned, and exited towards his workroom. Red Alert pulled a smaller ration of energon, and sat quietly, trying to force it down his intake. He didn't want to refuel, even though he was a quarter tank down. After he was done, Red Alert dispersed the cube and sat on the bench in the main room. He stared at the wall, trying to erase the memory of Shockwave's touch from his cache.

Heavy steps announced Shockwave's return to the room, and Red Alert stood automatically, lowering his optics to the floor.

"Slave Red Alert, you will accompany me." Shockwave moved to the portal to the outside and tapped in a code to open it. Red Alert fell in behind him.

There were more Deceptions out and about the compound this cycle. Red Alert tried to remain unobtrusive, but he felt as if his surrender to Shockwave was written on his plating for all to see.

After they exited the main gate of the compound, Shockwave again had Red Alert transform and follow him in vehicle mode. This time Red Alert was much steadier on his tires, and was able to follow Shockwave with minimal mishaps. Shockwave led him along an expressway to another section of the city. Red Alert noticed more buildings in disrepair, and not all of them were energized. However, the streets were clear of debris and in decent shape. Shockwave landed in front of a tall building with no windows. He signaled Red Alert to transform and led him inside.

Once inside, they entered a lift cage that seemed to go up forever before halting. Red Alert waited, letting his processor wander while Shockwave spoke to someone over an intercom mounted on the wall. He expected to simply tag along like he had when accompanying Shockwave previously.

"Commander Shockwave, prompt as usual," said a cultured voice from behind them.

Red Alert tried to duck into the shadows behind his master.

"Greetings Constructicon Hook." Shockwave moved forward to meet Hook. "Have you selected a suitable facility?"

"Yes, Commander Shockwave. Is this the subject?" Hook looked Red Alert up and down.

Red Alert stepped back in surprise. Subject? Facility? What was this place? He looked to Shockwave, hoping that his master would say no.

"Yes, this is the subject. Let us proceed." Shockwave reached out and took hold of Red Alert's elbow in a firm grip before Red Alert could bolt. Apprehension made Red Alert's spark feel as if it were being smothered. What was going to happen to him?

Hook opened a nondescript door and ushered them inside. Red Alert looked fearfully around. What he saw did not reassure him. There were a variety of sinister-looking scientific instruments lining the walls and suspended above a repair berth. Red Alert's processor began analyzing how secure the room was. Even though his expertise was in keeping people out, finding escape routes was not so different. However, the room appeared to be very secure , down to the restraints that were bolted to the berth.

"Master...?" Red Alert tried to hang back against Shockwave's hold, but he was no match for the larger Decepticon.

"Slave Red Alert, you will cooperate with Constructicon Hook. If you do not comply, we will be forced to restrain you. If you do not resist, you will be left free."

Red Alert stayed frozen for a moment, looking from the berth to Shockwave; then he looked down in submission. Whatever was going to happen to him, it would be better to not be strapped down. "Yes, Master. What... what should I do?"

"Get up on the lift," said Hook curtly. "Sit up, and open your spark casing."

With a quick look at Shockwave Red Alert moved over to the lift and sat with his pedes hanging over the edge. He watched nervously as Hook assembled a variety of complicated and unpleasant-looking tools.

"Slave Red Alert, you will obey Constructicon Hook."

"Yes, Master." Steeling himself, Red Alert opened his chest plating and spark casing. He felt vulnerable, exposed in front of the two Decepticons.

"So it's true." Hook leaned close to examine the glowing blue ball of energy.

Red Alert grabbed the edge of the berth to keep himself from trying to cover his vulnerable spark with his hands.

"Did you doubt my assessment?" Shockwave's voice held a hint of offense.

"No, but I did find it hard to believe that even Autobots would have been so foolish as to spark bond during a war." Hook took a scanning device out of subspace and ran it over Red Alert's spark, paying particular attention to the spark-bond halo. Suddenly he poked the halo with one blunt digit. Red Alert gasped and recoiled, but Hook reached out and grabbed his arm strut, holding him still.

Red Alert squirmed as Hook groped about in his chest. Only Inferno had ever touched him there; not even a medic would examine a patient's spark unless it was absolutely necessary. Red Alert wished more than ever that he was back with Inferno – Inferno had always treated his spark carefully, reverently.

Inferno gazed down at Red Alert, his kind features bathed in the soft blue glow from Red Alert's exposed spark. Red Alert, reserves exhausted after their latest round of lovemaking, did not have enough energy to even close his spark chamber. However, he did not feel exposed or vulnerable – Inferno was with him, Inferno would never hurt him. His last memory before succumbing to exhaustion and slipping into recharge was seeing Inferno carefully closing his spark chamber and outer plating, and feeling a gentle kiss placed on the armor over his spark.

Red Alert tried to hold onto the happy memory for as long as he was able, but he could not ignore Hook's movements within his chassis.

Hook's clumsy fumbling felt more hurtful, more invasive than Shockwave's earlier treatment. Red Alert felt as if the questing hand was feeling his very essence, and he writhed, unable to hold himself still. He made a small noise of distress when Hook poked particularly harshly at the corona. Shockwave approached from his other side and grabbed him, holding him still.

"Slave Red Alert, if you cannot control yourself, you will be restrained."

"Yes, Master," said Red Alert, trying to steady himself. "This...this is hurting me, Master."

"Be quiet!" Hook glared up at Red Alert and raised his hand. Red Alert flinched, bracing for the blow. But it never came. He looked cautiously up and saw that Shockwave held Hook's hand.

"Slave Red Alert is not to be punished by anyone but myself, Constructicon Hook. If he is rebellious, report his behavior to me and it will be dealt with."

The look Hook gave Shockwave was full of loathing. "Yes, Commander Shockwave. I will do that." Hook pulled his hand free and frowned at Red Alert. "Stop your cringing, Autobot." He picked up another instrument – this one had a probe connected to an analysis and display module, and poked it into Red Alert's spark corona with more force than was necessary. Red Alert cried out softly and looked over at Shockwave, but his master merely gazed back impassively.

"Hmm, interesting." Hook turned the display to show Shockwave his results.

"I have never seen a spark-bond energy reading in person, Constructicon Hook, but from my research I gather that such frequencies are... unusual."

"Very unusual." Hook turned the readout back to its original position. "Do you think it could be because-"

"My research indicates that spark-bonds are not affected by imposed states on either individual spark."

"I see. I do have some theories, but I will send them to you in a private transmission. Shall we proceed with the deep scan?" Hook said.

"That would be acceptable."

"Then I would suggest we use the restraints – if your slave acted up with just a surface probe, then he will likely protest more strenuously at the deep scan." Hook turned and began punching in codes at a control panel. Above Red Alert's helm, various bits of machinery maneuvered and hummed and became poised in readiness.

"Master, please, don't make me do this," Red Alert said, before Shockwave had a chance to give him any instructions. "I'll be obedient, I really will, you don't have to take my bond, I promise!"

"Slave Red Alert, this is not up for discussion." Shockwave took one of Red Alert's arms and guided him to lay supine on the berth. "You will be silent, and think on how this research will benefit the great Decepticon Empire."

"You promised, Master! Please don't-"

"Silence. You will accept all actions without further unseemly protest, Slave Red Alert."

Red Alert fell silent, but his struts were shaking. As the bindings were locked in place around his limbs, a low, constant, keening hum began to issue from his vocoder. Red Alert stared at the shadows of Hook and Shockwave working that were visible on the wall, trying to imagine himself somewhere, anywhere else.

Don't worry, Inferno, I won't let you go, not ever. Red Alert thought.

Hook moved to Red Alert's side, and Red Alert turned his head to look up warily at him. Shockwave was working with his back turned at a control panel on the bulkhead, and so didn't see the malicious smile Hook gave Red Alert. The Constructicon produced several spindly looking claw-like contraptions, and immediately set about securing them to Red Alert's torso. They wrapped around his thoracic plating, keeping Red Alert's spark plating open. It was excruciating. The pain wasn't as sharp as he had expected, but the dull throb of the clamps was wearing, and the knowledge that nothing he did or said would have any effect on how long he had to endure them was almost as bad as the pain. Red Alert keened in distress and Hook chuckled.

"I am ready to proceed with the scan, Commander Shockwave." Hook turned away from Red Alert to address Shockwave.

"Initiating deep scan cycle." Shockwave pressed a sequence of buttons on the console, and immediately a machine on the ceiling sprang to life. It descended towards Red Alert on a long armature.

Red Alert watched it come inexorably closer, his anxiety rising as it approached. "Please, no, no," he whispered, unable to help himself, even though he knew that neither Decepticon would heed his pleas. A long metal rod extended from the machine, heading directly towards Red Alert's spark. Red Alert tried to squirm out of the way, but the torso clamps kept him immobilized.

"During the next session, perhaps we should obtain readouts of the subject's processor state," Hook said mildly. "It would be interesting to see how different probe levels affect subroutines and surface programming."

The rod entered Red Alert's spark corona. It kept going further. Red Alert tossed his head from side to side. He wanted to squirm away from the invasion, to do anything to escape, but he couldn't get away.

The rod extended to its full length, just touching the spark-core. Red Alert ventilated quickly, trying to bear through the pain of the invasion.

The rod energized. Red Alert threw back his head and screamed. His vision went dark, CPU unable to process the input from his optical sensors under the assault. Red Alert lost track of his chronometer, only aware of the searing, burning pain in his spark.

They're going to kill me, I'm going to die, I'm going to die-

Then, suddenly, in the hot ball of agony that had replaced the spark in his chest, Red Alert felt a familiar stirring. It was sluggish, slower than he was used to, but he knew it. He would always recognize it.

Inferno... Red Alert tried to grab onto Inferno's presence. He could sense Inferno's confusion, he wondered why Inferno was so slow, so passive.

The pain didn't abate, but feeling Inferno's presence made Red Alert aware that he could bear it. Red Alert reached through the turmoil, trying to connect with Inferno, trying to grab hold of his bondmate. He became more and more alarmed as there continued to be no answer from Inferno's spark, no reaction to Red Alert's travails. Red Alert could feel occasional glimmers and flickers of reaction, but they were not what he was used to.

Inferno, it's me, help me, I need you, I need you so much, Inferno-

Then the pain burned white hot, and Red Alert was barely aware of his own vocoder emitting piercing screams before his CPU gave out and shut down, plunging him into darkness and ripping him away from Inferno.

"...disable..."

"There's another on the lower plate. I'll need the angled rasp to access it."

"Use the fine grit, Constructicon Hook. The plating must remain smooth."

An annoying, denta-grating sound reached Red Alert's audios. At the same time, sensors in his chest plating informed him of an abrading, scraping sensation on his inner armor. His optics rebooted, and he focused them, trying to make sense of what he saw.

A bright light was suspended over him, and as Red Alert became more oriented, he experienced a dull throbbing in his spark. It was as if someone had jumbled his insides, looking for something, and now they were slowly, painfully returning to their rightful places. Red Alert groaned.

A cold hand was placed on his helm. The coolness of the hand was soothing, and Red Alert turned his head into the touch. Shadowy figures moved above him.

"M-Master, it h-hurts..."

"Shh, Red, I'm not your master," said a familiar voice. "Just stay still."

"You will experience some discomfort, Slave Red Alert."

"I'm going to have to slice through the base, Commander Shockwave. Make sure he doesn't move."

"Red, you need to stay quiet." Another cool, gentle hand was placed on his upper arm, holding it in place.

There was a high pitched whine and a sharp, searing pain in Red Alert's chest, he opened his mouth to scream, but his vocoder only emitted a bark of feedback. The hand on his arm tightened, but didn't hurt him.

"Shh, it will be over soon-"

Red Alert jerked and cried out as he felt something small under his armor twist and shear away in a nanoklik.

"Please, Hook, sir," the voice said. "Let me disconnect his sensor relays, it will only take-"

"Be quiet! We don't have a spanner in here that will fit his silly little Autobot connectors."

Then there was a ping and a zip and the pain stopped. Red Alert ventilated hot air that had built up in his chassis. He rebooted his optics until they cleared, and he looked up at the mech above him.

Ratchet stared down at him, his optics full of sadness.

"Ratchet? What- what's happening?" Red Alert almost didn't want Ratchet to answer him. He didn't want to know what they were doing to his body.

"Your latch cams are being disabled, Slave Red Alert," said Shockwave calmly moving up to answer. "You have no use for them, as you will not be denying access to your internals."

Ratchet looked down in deference to Shockwave, but he would not meet Red Alert's optics.

Red Alert looked up at Shockwave, stunned. He wouldn't be able to lock his chest plates closed without his cams! Shockwave stared back at him, as if daring Red Alert to protest. Red Alert eventually looked away and shut off his optics.

"Sir, I do not think the restraints are necessary. I respectfully request that they be removed, as they are distressing the patient." Ratchet kept his helm lowered as he spoke to Hook.

"Fine," Hook growled as he bent to his task again. "Just don't jostle me."

Ratchet nodded, and immediately set about undoing the mag locks that held Red Alert's arms in place. Once he was free, Red Alert immediately groped for Ratchet's hand, eager to have some small form of comfort. Ratchet took his hand, and held Red Alert in as much of an embrace as they could manage in that position. Neither Shockwave nor Hook seemed inclined to protest.

Red Alert had not been particularly close to Ratchet, but he found himself pressing his face into Ratchet's shoulder, and tightening his hold every time Hook made a particularly painful motion inside of his plating.

When Hook was finished, he opened and closed Red Alert's chest plate several times, and made a few adjustments to keep the action of the plates smooth.

"The armor will still catch together and stay in place, Commander. But just a little pressure," Hook said as he demonstrated. "And they will open easily."

A small tremor ran through Red Alert. Ratchet made a soothing noise against his audio receptor.

"Excellent work, Constructicon Hook. Proceed with the next section."

"I'll need to move him up, and lift his legs."

Ratchet released Red Alert to remove the leg restraints. He returned to hold Red Alert's hand as Hook and Shockwave manipulated Red Alert's legs into a new position, with his knees bent up and out. Red Alert knew that he should feel shame and embarrassment from being in such a position in front of Decepticons, but he felt only weariness and numbness. He couldn't keep looking at Ratchet, and turned his head to stare at the wall, not reacting as Hook took off his panel and began the process of disabling the cams and latches that surrounded his interface array. Hook's touch was not gentle, but he was efficient.

Then Hook began removing entire armor plates. Red Alert tried to sit upright to see what he was doing but Shockwave immediately pushed him back down.

"What's he doing? M-Master, please-"

"The current configuration of protective plating over your interface array is non-standard and inconvenient. It will be replaced with the more standard sliding panel."

Red Alert could not even bring himself to protest. He trembled in Ratchet's arms, and let his head fall to the side. Shockwave was remolding Red Alert into what he wanted. Red Alert's separating interface panel cover had its drawbacks, but it was him. Inferno had loved it, had said it made Red Alert unique, had said-

A small keen escaped from Red Alert's vocoder, and he shied away from the memories, knowing he would be unable to keep his composure if he continued to think about Inferno. How far was Shockwave going to go? Would he be recognizable when Shockwave was through remaking him?

Red Alert found he could mostly ignore the sensations, but every once in awhile one of Hook's digits would linger just a nanoklik too long on his array, or stray just a little bit too close to the rim of his valve, and Red Alert would be brought back to his humiliating predicament.

When Hook pressed down directly on one of the sensor nodes on Red Alert's actual valve rim, Red Alert looked up sharply. Ratchet met his optics, and gave a small shake of his head, squeezing Red Alert's hand surreptitiously. Red Alert stayed silent.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Hook closed Red Alert's panel and announced that the modifications were complete.

"Get him on his pedes," Hook barked at Ratchet. "Ping me when he's recovered. Commander Shockwave, we can go over some of my theories in my private lab now, if you'd like."

"I am afraid I must decline, Constructicon Hook. The modifications took longer than I had anticipated, and I have other obligations this cycle." Shockwave looked over at Red Alert. "My slave is obviously unable to make the journey back to my quarters right now. Will he be able to remain here until he is recovered? I will retrieve him when my errands are finished."

"Ratchet can take him back to the command compound when he's ready if you like, Commander Shockwave," said Hook. "He knows his way around."

"Very well. Slave Red Alert," Shockwave turned back to where Red Alert lay on the berth. He drew a small data card out from a subspace pocket and tucked it into one of Red Alert's. "This is a single-use authorization card for entry into my quarters. When I return, I expect you to be in condition for service."

"Yes, Master," whispered Red Alert with a sinking feeling in his spark.

When Shockwave left, Hook turned to Ratchet.

"Clean this up, and once you're done with that," Hook motioned to Red Alert, "report to me. I have a task for you."

Ratchet nodded.

Hook crossed the room in two quick strides and pushed Ratchet up against the bulkhead with a bang.

"What was that, slave? I didn't seem to catch it."

"Yes, sir, I'll report to you."

To Red Alert's horror, Hook reached down and grabbed Ratchet's pelvic unit, blatantly thumbing the control that would expose Ratchet's interface array. However, instead of stiffening and pushing Hook away like Red Alert expected, Ratchet seemed to go limp, his head bowing and hands falling to his side.

"N-No, don't!" Red Alert called out before he could stop himself. He tried to stand, but his recent ordeal had knocked many of his critical systems for a loop, and he lost his balance on the berth and crashed to the floor. Ratchet looked from him to Hook in alarm. Hook looked down at Red Alert for one long moment, then threw back his head and laughed.

"Does your little friend really think his lot is so much different from yours?" Hook said to Ratchet. Shooting a sinister smile at Red Alert, Hook drew Ratchet close and ran a hand lewdly around the panel over Ratchet's interface array. Ratchet's expression remained blank. Hook continued to grope Ratchet for a few moments more, then roughly pushed away, turned away, and exited the room, leaving Red Alert and Ratchet alone.

Red Alert stayed sprawled on the floor, only noticing that his frame was shaking when he tried to lift himself.

Ratchet cycled his vents, and seemed to shake himself, then knelt on the floor next to Red Alert.

"Red, how could you have done something so foolish?" Ratchet helped Red Alert into a sitting position, propped up by one of the berth's moorings. Red Alert bowed his head. "Prime didn't let us spark-bond for a reason, of all 'Bots I never expected you-"

"I'm sorry," said Red Alert in a small voice. He was cowed and taken aback by Ratchet's castigation.

Ratchet shut his mouth with a snap, and looked at Red Alert for several long moments. "No, you're not. If you had the opportunity to do it all over again, would you?" Red Alert nodded miserably. "That's what I thought." Ratchet no longer sounded angry, just very, very tired.

"Ratchet, what am I going to do? Can they really break the bond? If that happens, I think- I know- I can't live without it! I don't want to live without it!"

"I really don't know what to tell you, Red. If you and Inferno were able to keep your bonding a secret, that means you didn't go through all of the proper procedures. There's a reason those procedures are traditional. They strengthen the bond." Ratchet stood. "You stay there, I'm going to get my kit, to give you a good once-over, and while I'm doing that you can tell me about your bonding. An unstable spark bond can have serious consequences, and I want to know what I'm dealing with."

Red Alert nodded wordlessly as Ratchet moved away. He drew his knees up to his chest and hugged them, rocking back and forth in an attempt to soothe himself. When Ratchet returned, he moved Red Alert into a reclining position.

"I want you to keep your voice low, Red." Ratchet leaned close. "I'm not going to move you up to the repair berth, because I know Hook has a monitor that could see us there." Red Alert nodded. "I need you to open your chest plate and interfacing panel, Red. I want to make sure Hook finished up properly in there."

As Ratchet worked, Red Alert told his story.

"Inferno and I, we- we became...involved... prior to landing on Earth. After that, we both felt that we might as well spark-bond, because who knew what would happen the next orn?"

Ratchet let out a derisive noise from his vents, but did not interrupt.

"We bonded during that trip to the Cascades."

"And how long did you stay merged?"

"What – what do you mean?"

"How long were your sparks merged that first time?"

"Uh, I don't think it was very long." Red Alert tried to recall. "Maybe half an hour? It was summer, and the heat generated started a fire and Inferno had to put it out. Is... is that bad?"

"Well, it's not good." Ratchet picked up a small, fine file and began to work at the burrs that had been left on Red Alert's armor. "A proper sparkbond usually takes several terran-hours to fully solidify. And I don't suppose you were able to spend much recharge time together after that?"

"No," answered Red Alert. "Inferno was in the enlisted barracks, and I was in the officer's wing. I mean, Prowl already was unhappy that I was seeing an enlisted mech under my command – I couldn't very well have Inferno move in."

"I see. Go on." Ratchet finished with Red Alert's chest plate, and examined his spark once more. The blue ball of energy had been flickering a bit after the deep scan, but now it appeared to be stabilizing. He closed Red Alert's chest armor, and moved down his body. "I need to look at this." Ratchet indicated Red Alert's panel. "Is that all right with you?"

Red Alert nodded, a bit startled at actually having someone ask permission. As Ratchet went to work, he continued, "I did try to have him over as often as possible. Those first few nights, I – I thought my spark was going to rip out of my chest. It hurt terribly to be away from him. Inferno said it felt the same to him. But we had no choice, so we just... dealt with it."

"And how did you deal with it?"

"What else could we do? I admit, we interfaced in some inappropriate areas of the ship, but we never joined sparks outside of my quarters. It would have been too risky."

"Too risky? It would have been too risky to be discovered, but not too risky to jeopardize two lives instead of one on the battlefield?" Ratchet glared at Red Alert.

"I'm sorry." Red Alert said again, his voice quiet and cowed.

"I'm sorry too. I... shouldn't have spoken so harshly. What's done is done." Ratchet closed Red Alert's panel and pulled a small cube of energon out of subspace. "You should refuel. The stress has drained your reserves."

"Thank you, Ratchet." Red Alert accepted the cube and sipped at the glowing pink liquid.

"Well, that explains the odd readings Hook had. What do you feel from Inferno now?"

"I don't feel... anything. I mean, the bond is there, but when Inferno and I are far away from each other, it is harder to feel him through the bond. I felt it a bit... when I was first taken to Shockwave's rooms. But not anything... recently." Red Alert decided not to say anything about the strange presence he'd felt during the scan.

"A proper spark bond would not fade with distance. Because of the circumstances around your bonding, it would appear that it is weaker than usual." Ratchet began putting away his tools, and gave a decent approximation of a human-esque sigh through his vents. "I don't know whether that's good or bad. It probably means that if Shockwave does manage to sever it, it won't kill you or Inferno."

"I don't think that's good."

"Like I said..."

When Red Alert was fully recovered, Ratchet escorted him out of the building. They walked a ways, which was fine with Red Alert. Talking with someone other than Shockwave was a pleasant change. To avoid being separated, they walked arm-in-arm, heads together.

"Well isn't that precious!" a rough voice called out as they passed by a shadowed doorway.

Red Alert looked up in alarm, but Ratchet hissed, "Keep walking!" at him.

As they passed, several pairs of running pedes came up behind them.

"Don't you Autobots have any manners?" A large gray mech with a ground vehicle altmode said, coming up beside them.

"I thought Autobots were all about good manners and scrap like that," answered a deep green seeker on their other side.

A large blue mech stepped in front of them, forcing Ratchet and Red Alert to halt.

"Please, let us pass," Ratchet addressed the pavement.

"Aw, c'mon, lemme see those pretty blue Autobot optics of yours!" A large hand reached out and grabbed Red Alert's chin, forcing it up. He gripped Ratchet's arm even tighter, but refused to show fear. Bullies. Red Alert met the mech's gaze evenly. Although he had no power here, the habits of officership took over for the moment, even while his spark was pulsing with fear. What would happen to Ratchet and him? They couldn't fight, and Red Alert had no illusions about other Decepticons helping them.

"I am an official public medic, I belong to the Decepticon Empire and therefore Megatron himself, and you are hindering me in my duties!" Ratchet said, all trace of his earlier deference gone. He pulled out a card with several glyphs on it. "If you do not desist, this disrespectful behavior towards Decepticon property will be reported to my steward!"

The four Deceptions looked at each other warily, and drew back a little. The big blue mech regarded them for a klik, then looked at Red Alert. "He's not a medic." He again reached towards Red Alert, who drew himself up straighter and tried to pull away. Red Alert's arm was grabbed and he was dragged away from Ratchet's side. In the Ark, when troublemakers were insubordinate, he could always rely on his superior rank to command respect – but what did he have here?

Before it seemed that the idea had crossed his processor's circuits, Red Alert had grabbed the card Shockwave had given him.

"I'm personal property of Commander Shockwave!" Red Alert said in a loud voice, making two of the Decepticons step back in surprise. He shoved Shockwave's datacard into the mech's face. When he released Red Alert's arm, instead of retreating back to Ratchet's side, Red Alert took an aggressive step towards the Decepticon. "If you continue, I will report your actions to him!"

"Is he telling the truth?" The green 'Con asked Ratchet.

"Yes, he is telling the truth, and if you don't allow us to pass unmolested-"

"Problem present?" a distinctive monotone voice said.

As one, both Bots and the 'Cons turned to look at the newcomer.

Soundwave stood outside of the little knot, towering over even the tallest of the other 'Cons. Immediately all began to back off.

"N- no Commander Soundwave, sir."

"We were just making sure these two Autobot slaves weren't up to any mischief."

Soundwave looked from the Deceptions to Red Alert and Ratchet, and back again.

"Leave. I will provide escort for the slaves."

"Er, right." The four Decepticons beat a hasty retreat. Soundwave watched them go impassively. When they were out of sight, Soundwave turned to Red Alert and Ratchet.

"Continue."

"Yes, sir. Thank you." Ratchet grabbed Red Alert by the elbow and dragged him along, not slowing in his pace until they had made a few more turns and were on a much more open thoroughfare.

"Calm down, Red. You're alright."

Red Alert looked down at his hand which was still clutching Shockwave's pass card. It was shaking.

"R-ratchet? Can we sit for a klik? I n-need-"

"It's fine, of course we can, Red." Ratchet steered Red Alert to the side of a building where the footing provided enough of a shelf for them to perch. As he sank down, Red Alert let out a blast of air and hugged himself, his entire frame quivering.

Red Alert felt as if his internals were twisting and tightening, making it hard to bring air into his intakes. He kept remembering how it had felt to be surrounded and outnumbered in the mines when the guards had attacked him. He had felt completely helpless then, and that same feeling of desperation was surfacing. He did not know what had possessed him to react like that towards the 'Cons. If they had called his bluff, the encounter could have gone very badly indeed.

Ratchet put a hand on Red Alert's shoulder, but Red Alert shrugged it off and moved away.

"What are you feeling right now, Red?" asked Ratchet gently.

"What do you mean, 'What am I feeling?'" Red Alert said angrily. "I- I'm a slave, I c-can't even lock my own panel any more, and when those 'Cons grabbed me I thought – I thought-"

"All right, all right, we'll sit for a few kliks more, but then we need to move on." Ratchet looked up and down the street, but didn't seem to see anything worrying.

"I'm ready to go now. I just, I just want to go home."

"We'll be at the compound soon, Red."

"No, I want to go home, Ratchet. I want to go back to the Ark."

Ratchet didn't answer as he stood and helped Red Alert to his pedes. They continued the rest of the long walk towards the main compound in silence, keeping wary optics on all Decepticons they passed, but they were not harassed again.

Fortunately there was a passing Decepticon entering in the compound when they reached the gates, and Red Alert was able to slip inside behind him. He looked over his shoulder at Ratchet, who lifted his hand in farewell before the gates slid shut and blocked him from Red Alert's view.

Red Alert walked quickly to Shockwave's quarters, keeping his head down and trying to remain unobtrusive. He hadn't realized how quickly he had become used to following Shockwave, as he felt vulnerable and exposed walking by himself.

After a spark-stopping moment when he thought the data card Shockwave had given him was not working, the door beeped and opened to let him in. Red Alert dashed through and felt much safer when the locking mechanisms activated. He sank down onto one of the benches in the main area, trying to make his processor stop racing, and to cool down his substructure. What had Shockwave asked him to do? Prepare himself for service? Red Alert knew what that meant, but he did not really understand what Shockwave wanted him to do.

He sat in the gloom of Shockwave's quarters, and buried his head in his hands, unable to think of what to do.

"You must be Shockwave's new pet... project."

Red Alert squeaked in surprise when he heard the gravelly voice come from the hallway. He jumped off of the bench, but tripped and fell onto his skidplate as he tried to turn to face the newcomer.

Like some nightmare creature in a dark cave, Megatron stepped out from the deeper shadows in the hallway, both optics glowing a bright red. Red Alert opened and closed his mouth a few times, fear stealing his voice. He scrambled backwards until his backstrut hit the wall.

Megatron laughed cruelly. "An appropriate sound for someone as small as a glitchmouse." Megatron approached steadily, until he was standing, towering over where Red Alert cowered on the floor. He reached down and fondled one of Red Alert's sensor horns. "You even look like one. How very… Autobot to emulate such pathetic creatures."

Red Alert shivered at the touch. His systems were already revved up from the events of the day, and now the direct stimulation to his hypersensitive array was wreaking havoc on his sensor systems. He searched his memory files for what Shockwave had told him about Megatron.

"Are you dumb like a glitchmouse, too? What is your name?"

"Please, m-my Lord," Red Alert stammered, finally recalling how he was supposed to address Megatron. His spark twisted in disgust at having to demonstrate obeisance to the person he had spent so long at war with, but bravery was easy when you had an army on your side. When it was just him, alone with the Decepticon Slagmaker in a locked room; that was a different story. "M-my name is Red Alert."

"Red Alert, Red Alert," Megatron said to himself. "Ahh, I remember you." He released Red Alert's sensor horn and stalked around to Red Alert's other side, as if examining him. "I'm surprised that Shockwave chose to take you into his service. He normally doesn't tolerate mechs that are so deeply... flawed."

Red Alert had to bite back a retort. Besides... it was true. His glitch was a flaw.

"Hmm, hiding in the back of an army, scurrying around in tunnels, listening in on everything... yes, you really are a little glitchmouse, aren't you?"

Megatron didn't seem to expect an answer, so Red Alert remained silent.

"When will Shockwave be returning?"

"I – I don't know." Red Alert added hastily, "My Lord."

"Give him this when he returns." An encrypted datapad was dropped in front of Red Alert. Megatron moved away from him, and said, "Perhaps we will meet again, little glitchmouse. Yes, I think we will definitely meet again." Red Alert didn't even look up when the main portal opened and Megatron left.

He didn't move until Shockwave entered, some joors later.

"Slave Red Alert, what are you doing?"

Red Alert didn't answer. He didn't have an answer. He couldn't tell Shockwave that he had been frightened so many times that cycle that he finally just couldn't take it anymore, and had chosen inaction instead.

"What is this, Slave Red Alert?" Shockwave picked up the datapad.

"Lord Megatron l-left it, Master." said Red Alert in a whisper.

"When was Lord Megatron here?"

"He was here when I arrived, Master."

"What did he say to you?"

"He called me a glitchmouse, Master."

Shockwave was silent for several moments. Then, "I instructed you to prepare for service, Slave Red Alert. Why have you not obeyed me?"

Red Alert began to shake once more. "I-I don't know what you want me to do, Master."

Again, there was silence.

"When you are uncertain what is expected of you, Slave Red Alert, you should ask for clarification." Shockwave stepped away, and seated himself on the bench. "You will not be punished for seeking knowledge on how to fulfill your master's desires, unless you are being deliberately obtuse." Motioning Red Alert over, Shockwave looked him up and down.

"You will kneel," he said when Red Alert stood before him. When Red Alert obeyed, Shockwave said, "Place your hands on the floor in front of you, and touch your helm to them. This is the proper way for a slave to demonstrate respectful submission when making a request of his superior."

Red Alert couldn't make himself comply instantly. But as his backstrut bent, and he prostrated himself before Shockwave, his spark burned in humiliation. He wished he was stronger, braver, more clever, able to put up more resistance- but the events of the day had robbed him of any resolve he had possessed. Now all he wanted to do was recharge, and Red Alert was willing to do anything to hasten the moment when he could power down his systems for the cycle.

"When you are ordered to prepare yourself for service, you will clean yourself thoroughly, Slave Red Alert. When I call for you, you will present yourself for inspection. Of course," Shockwave's added, "you should always be prepared for service, and strive to maintain the best standard of care for your components at all times."

Red Alert's backstrut was starting to ache, bent into such an unnatural position.

"Of course, there are times when simple maintenance is not enough, when it is a slave's duty to be exceptionally pleasing to his master. I will tell you when they are." Shockwave paused.

"Yes, Master," Red Alert dutifully said into the floor plating. How long was Shockwave going to go on like this? Red Alert knew he was going to be 'faced sooner or later; why couldn't Shockwave just get it over with?

"You will now use the wash-rack, and then present yourself for inspection in my lab." Shockwave rose with a groan of servos, and clomped off. Red Alert stayed where he was until the tremors of Shockwave's passing faded.

With a shaky ventilation, Red Alert stood and made his way down the hall, trying to hurry as quietly as he could past Shockwave's office door. Once inside the wash-rack, Red Alert quickly shut the portal and leaned against it. There was no lock, but at least Shockwave seemed disinterested in disturbing him in here.

Like a drone, Red Alert palmed the controls, and stood under the spray, trying to both think and not think at the same time. The tantalizing flash of contact with Inferno he had experienced made him desperate for more. Red Alert's spark craved contact – he remembered how when they had gone a week or so between spark merges, Inferno confessed to feeling thin and strained. Now Red Alert was experiencing that.

With only a corner of his processor on what he was doing, Red Alert grabbed a scrubbing brush, and swiped at his chassis in a desultory fashion. He concentrated on his sparkbond, exploring it, until he could feel where his spark ended and the bond began, stretching off into the ether. It was still there, it was still strong.

Meticulously, carefully, Red Alert began forming a packet of emotions – concern, fear for Inferno's safety, love – and pushed them down the bond. He switched off his optics, waiting for a response. The little burst of energy felt dimmer and dimmer, until it was swallowed up.

Ratchet said the bond would be weaker because we didn't do it right, maybe Inferno has been responding and I just haven't given him enough time.

Red Alert ran the brush over his abdominal components a few times, and waited.

He must be doing something, and he can't concentrate enough to answer me right away.

Red Alert watched the lather swirl and eddy around his pedes, before being sucked down the drain in the center of the wash-rack.

He will answer. He must. I could feel him.

The bond remained inert, and the spray-head shut off.

"Slaggit!" Red Alert struck the wall of the wash-rack with his fist. Immediately he looked around, guiltily, worried that his outburst would be detected by Shockwave. He stepped over to the blower, and continued to turn the situation over in his mind, worrying at it, trying to find a solution.

What did Hook begin to say? Something about imposed states on a spark? But what could that mean? Worried anew, Red Alert exited the washing area, and approached Shockwave's office.

Shockwave did not look up immediately when Red Alert entered. After a klik or two, Red Alert cycled his vents.

"You will wait patiently and silently until your master chooses to acknowledge you, Slave Red Alert," Shockwave said instantly.

"Yes, Master. I'm sorry."

Shockwave continued to work, looking over datapads. Finally, he turned and stood, then approached Red Alert.

Keeping his optics on the floor, Red Alert tried not to react when Shockwave circled him. Suddenly a blunt digit inserted itself into one of his side seams, digging in deep, poking sensitive components. Red Alert shied away, but a firm hand on his shoulder prevented him from going anywhere.

"What is this, Slave Red Alert?" Shockwave held up a finger, the end glistened with old grease.

"I – what do you mean, Master? It's- it is grease," said Red Alert in confusion.

"You are being obtuse."

"No, Master, I don't know what-"

"When I send you to prepare yourself, you must be meticulous in your ablutions. Go, and try again. If you do not do a satisfactory job, I will be forced to accompany you until you do."

"Yes, Master." Red Alert dipped his head in submission and all but scurried back to the wash racks. He feared that if he dallied, Shockwave would decide to simply accompany him anyway. The only time Red Alert had to himself was in the wash-rack; he did not want to jeopardize it.

The second time through, Red Alert was more careful to remove every speck of grease and build up from his externally accessible components. When he left the wash-racks, Shockwave was waiting outside of the door. With no word or warning, he immediately inspected Red Alert's chassis, turning him this way and that. Red Alert waited anxiously for Shockwave's verdict.

"You have made a satisfactory effort, Slave Red Alert." Shockwave released him, and moved down the hallway towards the berth chamber. "In time you will become more adept at bringing your personal maintenance to an acceptable level."

Red Alert felt insulted. Shockwave was insinuating that he was dirty! It wasn't as if they were provided with appropriate facilities in the mines! However, he stifled his impulse to object to Shockwave's statement and followed his master without a word.

Maybe Shockwave had enough last night and he wouldn't-

But no. When Red Alert entered the room, Shockwave was again sitting on the edge of the berth, cover retracted and spike extended.

"Slave Red Alert, will you perform your duty to your master?"

Red Alert stood just inside the doorway, hesitating. He had thought he could hold strong after a restful period of recharge, but after all that he had been through that day, he felt off balance.

"Please," Red Alert whispered. "Master."

"The heating units have been activated outside, Slave Red Alert."

Red Alert shifted from pede to pede in anxiety. He wanted to have a peaceful recharge, he wanted to be protected. But in order to have that he had to submit fully to Shockwave, in the most degrading manner imaginable.

"Please Master, I'm so tired."

"The consequences for rebelliousness have not changed."

With a moan of dread, Red Alert gave in, and approached the berth. He knelt before Shockwave, still holding himself and shaking.

"Slave Red Alert," Shockwave said, reaching down and tilting Red Alert's face to look into his own. "You are still resisting."

"No, Master, I'm not, I-"

"As long as you approach your duties with apprehension you are resisting me, and you will be corrected."

"But Master-"

"What are you frightened of, Slave Red Alert?" Shockwave interrupted.

The question caught Red Alert off guard. He did not answer at first.

"Are you frightened that I will hurt you?"

Red Alert nodded.

"Then you must strive to do my will. You will not be harmed as long as you obey me, and accept your place." Shockwave's cold hand stroked along Red Alert's cheek plating in what he probably thought was a comforting manner. "Now perform your duty." He spread his legs slightly.

Red Alert felt as if he was in a trance. He leaned forward and took the cold spike into his mouth, completely disconnected from the act. Accepting more of the spike down his intake, Red Alert scooted forward a bit and brought his hands up to squeeze and stroke the base. This time, Red Alert noticed a slight warming of the spike immediately before Shockwave's release flooded his mouth. When the spike retracted, Red Alert stayed where he was, waiting for a cue from Shockwave that he was released.

Instead, Shockwave placed a hand on the crown of Red Alert's helm.

"When you show proper deference, you will be protected from all harm, Slave Red Alert."

Red Alert trembled, remembering the pain of the forced spark-examination.

"Why are you still frightened, Slave Red Alert? Have I given you any reason to doubt my word?"

Finally Red Alert found his voice, even though it wavered.

"N-not you, Master."

The hand on his helm tightened for a moment.

"Has someone threatened you?" When Red Alert nodded, Shockwave asked, "What did you do to make them threaten you?"

"I didn't do anything!" Red Alert looked up, before remembering to add, "Master."

"Tell me what happened."

"When Ratchet and I were coming back here, three Decepticons ...approached us. I thought- I thought they would attack us and I don't have any cams anymore, and if they did I wouldn't be able to make them stop and-"

"Silence, Slave Red Alert."

Red Alert's increasingly hysterical babbling ceased, and he pressed his face into Shockwave's leg. Even as he reproached himself for doing it, he couldn't help himself. Shockwave was the only stable thing in his new life, and Red Alert craved that.

"Decepticons would not accost two slaves for no reason. You must have provoked them."

"No Master, I swear we didn't-" Red Alert couldn't believe what he was hearing! Of course Decepticons would, they would take whatever they could get from the now-defenseless Autobots.

"What were you doing?"

"We were just walking, Master, and talking, and then they called out to us, and Ratchet said to keep walking and then they were all around us. Ratchet told them to leave us alone, because he's a m-medic, and then they tried to p-pull me away." Red Alert's trembling grew more pronounced as he recalled the feeling of vulnerability and sheer worthlessness that had overwhelmed him when the Decepticons had grabbed him. If he had fought and screamed, would anyone have come to his aid? Red Alert thought it more likely they would join in. "One said that I had pretty optics, and I showed him the datacard you gave me, and said you would be mad if I was hurt. Then Soundwave came up to them and-"

"Commander Soundwave was present?"

"I-I don't know how much he saw. I was only watching the others that had stopped us."

"I see. Continue."

"He t-told them to leave. They did. Then Ratchet and I continued on. I came directly here, Master, I swear, we didn't go anywhere else."

"But you see, Slave Red Alert? You had nothing to fear. Because you and Slave Ratchet were obedient, Commander Soundwave protected you."

"But M-master-"

Shockwave silenced Red Alert with a wave of his hand. "You will think about your actions which led to the confrontation, and resolve not to commit them again."

Red Alert bowed his head. "Yes, Master." A jolt of fear passed through him – would the 'Cons report how aggressively he had reacted? Would he be punished for that as well?

"Now it is time to recharge."

Relieved that it seemed that Shockwave would not require him to submit to an interface tonight, Red Alert immediately stood and made to climb onto the berth.

"What are you doing, Slave Red Alert?"

Red Alert froze.

"I – I'm going to recharge, Master," he said cautiously.

"Why are you getting into my berth?" Shockwave's voice and tone did not change at all. Red Alert again felt adrift. What did Shockwave want? Was he violating some unspoken rule?

"Because I thought…that's where you wanted me to recharge, Master." Slowly, carefully, Red Alert backed off of the berth, returning to his previous crouching position beside it.

"You may have forgotten your rebelliousness at the beginning of the cycle, and your unseemly behavior while being attended to by Constructicon Hook, but I have not."

Reeling with confusion, Red Alert tried to make himself as small as possible on the floor. What was this? He had done everything Shockwave had commanded!

"Master..."

"You also resisted me immediately after coming online, Slave Red Alert. Do you imagine your behavior entitles you to this privilege?"

Anger flared up in his spark. He had done his best! And instead all Shockwave would say was that it was his fault! But he had followed the rules! He had!

"I did everything you said!" Red Alert shouted, too angry for the moment to be cautious. "You lied, you-"

"Slave Red Alert, cease this outburst."

"No! I won't, you're not my Master, I'm not your slave, you can't-"

Shockwave stood, towering over Red Alert. When he leaned down to grab Red Alert's arm strut, Red Alert struck out at him.

Immediately the pacification programming tamped down his ability to put any real force behind the blow, but the momentum of his arm enabled him to give Shockwave at least one sharp slap on the side of his helm.

"You will submit, Slave Red Alert."

"Let me go, let me go, I won't-"

Holding Red Alert's wriggling chassis in one arm, Shockwave drew something from his subspace with the other. Red Alert recognized it: the collar from the mines.

"No, no, no!" Red Alert struggled as it was brought close to his neck, trying to push Shockwave's hand away. He jerked his head to and fro, but the outcome of his rebellion was inevitable. "Don't touch me, don't-"

The collar closed around his neck with a snap.

Red Alert's limbs went limp, and he sagged in Shockwave's arms. In contrast to his previous experience with the collar, he remained aware of what was happening to him. He was trapped, a prisoner in his own shell, his limbs and systems refusing to respond to his frantic command.

He couldn't even turn off his optics.

"You will learn that submission is inevitable, Slave Red Alert." Shockwave picked him up and carried him to the corner of the room. "You will experience no difficulty when you learn to accept your role in Lord Megatron's empire."

Red Alert was set on the floor, his head flopping to the side, so that he was looking at the base of the berth moorings. He couldn't move, but he could feel; he could feel Shockwave's cold touch, arranging him, moving over his plating. When Shockwave spread Red Alert's legs, his cold terror quenched his anger.

He cowered in his own processor as Shockwave slid his panel up, exposing his valve and interface array. The sensation of cool air against his valve sent a shiver up his backstrut, however it could not compete with the fear that slithered around his spark when he heard Shockwave's panel retract and his spike extend.

You can't do this. Let me fight, let me go!

"You will always submit, Slave Red Alert. Rebelling is futile," Shockwave said from above him. Red Alert could only detect a bit of purple armor out of the corner of his optic.

When Shockwave pushed into him, Red Alert tried to scream but the collar throttled it in his vocoder.

The cold spike felt longer than it had the previous cycle, and Red Alert wondered if it would ever stop sliding into him. He was helpless, a drone, a lifeless shell for Shockwave to manipulate.

Shockwave sat back, pulling Red Alert's pelvic unit up into his lap as he did so, never allowing his spike to slip from Red Alert's valve. The new position was awkward and uncomfortable, The superior ridge of Shockwave's spike dug into the upper plating of Red Alert's valve. When Shockwave moved, Red Alert would have writhed in pain if he could have.

Instead he lay limp and strut-less, held captive by the thin band of metal around his neck.

Shockwave remained silent as he pushed in and out of Red Alert's body. The only sounds in the quiet room were the creaking of Shockwave's joints and the soft scraping of Red Alert's plating over the floor.

The fire that had burned in Red Alert's spark was now cold and dead. He just wanted it to stop. He would have done anything to make it stop, to even be able to bring his hands up to hide his face.

Shockwave's rhythm was the same as the previous cycle; neither slow nor fast, and unvarying in tempo. Each thrust felt as if it tore away one more piece of Red Alert's tattered dignity. After too long, he stilled, and Red Alert could feel the hot rush of fluid in his valve. Shockwave quickly withdrew, and replaced his own panel. Then he moved away, leaving Red Alert exposed and defiled.

Inferno, you deserved better, he thought. Left in a shameful position with transfluid dribbling out of his valve, a feeling of worthlessness crushed him. I couldn't even fight. He doesn't care if I'm online or deactivated when he 'faces me. If I deactivate, will he notice? Will he care? Will he just 'face my shell until it falls apart?

After a long while, Shockwave's heavy pedesteps approached Red Alert, and they soon appeared in his field of vision.

There was a sharp tug on the collar, a twist, and then it clicked free.

Red Alert slowly brought his hands over his head, and curled up on his side. He shook and his vocoder emitted harsh bursts of static as he grieved.

"Slave Red Alert, you will apologize for your outburst."

Red Alert whimpered. He couldn't bring himself to look up at his tormentor.

"The environment outside this room is identical to last cycle."

Red Alert keened and shuddered. What did he have to lose if he obeyed Shockwave? Submitting and being permitted to stay was less degrading than being used and tossed away. He slowly righted himself, wincing at the pangs of discomfort that radiated from his valve. He tried not to shriek in disgust as the movement caused a fresh trickle of transfluid to wend its way down his thigh plating.

He placed his hands carefully in front of him, and bowed until his helm touched the floor. His vent filters picked up the unmistakeable traces of interfacing from where he had been laying, ozone, transfluid, fear.

"I-I'm sorry, Master," Red Alert said in a voice full of feedback. "I'm so sorry, sorry-"

"What are you apologizing for, Slave Red Alert?"

"I-I'm apologizing for resisting you, Master. For trying to hit you." A small flicker of indignation rose in his spark, but Red Alert brutally crushed it. "I ap-pologize for resisting you when you t-touched me. For resisting Hook."

Shockwave was silent.

Unable to stand the pressure of his gaze, Red Alert whispered, "Please don't make me go outside, Master, please. Mercy, Master, mercy."

Red Alert whimpered and trembled, trying to push his face further into the floor to demonstrate his submission. Every moment he dreaded that he would feel Shockwave's cold hand close around his axle, and he would be pulled to his feet and evicted.

"Please don't make me leave, Master. I'll submit, I swear I will Master, I swear-"

The dreaded touch came, but instead of pulling him to his feet, it stroked over his helm, and caressed his spoiler. Red Alert had become so used to touches being indifferent at best and hurtful at worst, found himself pressing up into the soothing sensation before he could stop himself.

"You will be still, Slave Red Alert."

"Yes, Master."

Red Alert quieted himself as Shockwave continued to touch him. Shockwave's gun hand rested on the back of Red Alert's helm, while his true hand ran down along his backstrut, leaving no seam or crevice unexplored. The touching made Red Alert feel uneasy, but the cumulative effect was relaxing. In his quest to keep himself from reacting, he found his processor drifting, dissociating from what was happening. The result was that soon the sensation changed from cold and foreign to something that felt warm and familiar. Red Alert could relax, and do what Shockwave said and he would be protected.

He couldn't protect me from those 'Cons.

He could submit, and not fear.

I'm so frightened when he's above me, in me.

He could obey and never be harmed.

It hurt so much when they worked on my spark.

Eventually Shockwave withdrew his hand, and stood. Red Alert waited anxiously, but Shockwave said nothing, instead he turned and went towards his berth.

When the berth creaked under Shockwave's weight and the lights were extinguished, Red Alert ventured to look up.

He had been permitted to stay.

Quietly, carefully, he stretched his aching leg joints, not wanting to make any noise as he settled himself on the floor to recharge. At first he felt profound relief that he would not have to endure Shockwave's cold bulk at his back, or the weight of his arm. But now he became aware of the remnants of Shockwave's transfluid in his mouth, clogging his intakes, and he had no coolant to wash it away. His systems would have to work through his recharge because he had no cool air being generated from the berth.

He was still alone. He had still been discarded.

He yearned for Inferno's warm frame and gentle touch, to be comforted by his lover; yet he didn't want Inferno to see him like this, to see what had been done to him, the pathetic plaything he'd become...

Alone is better.

Red Alert shuddered once, then held himself in a tight embrace as he faced into the wall, and powered down his systems.

Chapter Text

When Jazz rebooted, the first thing he saw was himself. He moaned quietly, and turned his face into the berth. Soundwave had recently had a long bank of mirrors installed on one wall of the berth room in their quarters on Cybertron. Jazz still found them disconcerting.

Why did I come out of recharge? I had scheduled another joor, at least. Jazz thought. He spent as much of his time as he could in recharge, now. When they had first landed on Cybertron, with the pacification programming freshly burned into his processor, Jazz had raged ineffectually against Soundwave, but now a quiet hopelessness had taken anger's place, and Jazz simply… existed. One day flowed into the next, unchanging, endless.

Jazz frowned as he noticed a message flashing on a datapad that had been left next to the crystal. He picked it up and read:

Sender: Soundwave
Recipient: Autobot Jazz

A meeting has been rescheduled. You will be in the crystal garden five breems early.

Jazz grimaced and threw down the datapad on the berth in disgust. He checked his logs – yes, Soundwave had overridden his commands and brought him out of recharge earlier for this. Soundwave thought he spent too much time inside of their quarters and was constantly prodding Jazz to explore their new home. He walked out of the berthroom and into the main living area, punching a button on the energon dispenser in their room. Energon was still a closely guarded resource, but at least Soundwave's status meant that Jazz never had to go low on fuel.

Picking up the small cube, Jazz approached the massive window that dominated one wall of their living area. Soundwave's quarters were high up on the central tower, and commanded a view of the gardens and wall that separated the command compound from the rest of the city.

When they had first arrived, and Megatron had chosen this site as the new seat of his rule, the grounds had been in disarray, rubble and out of control crystalline growth choking the walkways and making access to the living areas almost impossible. But the Decepticons had set to cleaning it up and clearing out the detritus of war and abandonment, and now most of the rank and file had been assigned quarters around the city. Jazz knew that more and more Decepticons were coming back to Cybertron as news of their leader's return and victory spread throughout the galaxy.

Jazz's gaze now went to the wall and city beyond. Large portions of the horizon were still dark, outlining sectors where the energy grid had not been restored. But every orn those sections shrank, and the parts that were bright with lights grew.

He turned away from the window, mouth twisting bitterly as he downed the energon.

We should have been the ones to rebuild Cybertron. Not the Decepticons.

Dispersing the cube, Jazz sank down onto one of the seating units in the living area. He still had a half-joor before he had to leave, and he didn't know how to spend it.

As Jazz looked around the room, his gaze fell on the photoharp resting in its stand in the corner. For a moment, he teetered on the edge of giving into the urge to pick it up.

Just a few phrases, he thought. Jazz looked around the room surreptitiously. None of them would know…

He quickly stifled the thought, shoving the urge to pick up the instrument down deep into his spark. If Soundwave found out Jazz was playing the photoharp on his own, it would be a defeat. As if Jazz had accepted Soundwave's little "gift". Jazz refused to give Soundwave the satisfaction.

Jazz turned back to the window.

His optics brightened when he noticed a large white mech making his way towards the garden, all attention focused on a datapad held in front of him.

Skyfire.

Jazz turned, crossing the room in quick strides. He had not had a chance to socialize with Skyfire recently. Soundwave allowed them to meet, recognizing that it was one of the few things that Jazz truly enjoyed, but Skyfire's duties under Starscream were time consuming.

Just as Jazz reached the door, it slid open, and Jazz pulled up short. Rumble and Frenzy stood just on the other side. Rumble was in the lead, and had to jump back to avoid being bowled over by Jazz.

"Glad to see us, Stripes? Just can't wait for us to reach the berth? Well, I suppose we could just do it right here."

Jazz schooled his features into an expressionless mask in response to Frenzy's leer and Rumble's goading. It was as puerile as it was unimaginative.

"Soundwave has asked me to meet him somewhere. I need to leave." The pacification programming held Jazz in place. He could move back, but he could not press forwards with Rumble and Frenzy blocking his path.

"Yeah? Well I know for a fact that it's not for two breems at least; I was the one who had to come and deliver the datapad."

Jazz's fists clenched in helpless anger. Slaggit, this was probably the last chance he'd get to speak with Skyfire for several planetary cycles! Jazz's spark ached with the need to talk to someone, anyone other than Soundwave or the cassettes.

"If it's all the same to you, I'd rather wait outside. Let me pass."

"Aw, what's the magic word, Stripes?" Frenzy leaned nonchalantly against the door frame.

"Please," Jazz said through gritted denta. "Please let me by, Frenzy."

"That's better," said Frenzy as he stepped aside. "Now if only you'd beg like that in-"

The rest of Frenzy's taunt was lost as Jazz stormed down the corridor outside of Soundwave's rooms. Jazz could guess what it contained, anyway.

He made his way quickly through the labyrinth of hallways, corridors, and galleries. When they had first arrived, much of the compound was in shambles, and all of the Decepticon forces were crammed into what few rooms were inhabitable, or recharging outside on the grounds. Soundwave hadn't allowed Jazz to go anywhere unaccompanied until most of the troops had been moved to other quarters, and the unstable parts of the structures were repaired.

Now, however, Jazz moved with ease around the compound, largely ignored by any Decepticons he came across. As he stepped into a lift, the two 'Cons already occupying it gave him the merest of sideways glances before continuing on with their conversation. Soundwave's reputation afforded Jazz some benefits.

He punched in the code for the ground level, and stood respectfully by the control panel, optics downcast.

"So, should I tell Thundertread that you're going to come?" asked one of the 'Cons, a hulking rust-red brute with a heavy build that suggested some sort of treaded, ground-based alt-mode.

"Nah, I'll comm him if I can. Battletrap has been bugging me to trade shifts with him, and I'm trying to get him to trade some of his high-grade stash for my trouble."

"I can't believe you pour that stuff down your intakes."

"Hey, it's-"

The lift stopped again, and the doors opened to admit another 'Con.

"You going to the grid reconstruction meeting too, Leozack?" asked the ground-mode Decepticon.

"No," growled Leozack. "I'm going to try to explain to Deathsaurus why I shouldn't have my wings nailed to the wall because Hellbat can't tell his nosecone from his afterburners." Jazz quickly reached over and punched in the code for the section where Deathsaurus' chambers were located. Leozack nodded and grunted through his vents in acknowledgement before turning back to the conversation.

"I heard about that," the other 'Con piped up. "Did Hellbat really collide with the nav beacon in Vos?"

"No, and it wasn't even active! He just clipped it! Sure, it was pretty clumsy, but it's not as if he collided with it when it was on."

The lift stopped and the doors opened, and the first two 'Cons disembarked.

"Well, good luck," the first 'Con said as they stepped off.

Leozack grunted in response, and leaned against the wall of the lift with his arms crossed as the doors closed and the lift box resumed its descent.

Jazz kept his optics fixed on the display that signaled which level they were going through. He could feel Leozack's gaze on him, however, and waited to see what the Decepticon would say.

"You're Commander Soundwave's little 'Bot, aren't you?" Leozack finally said. Judging from the direction his voice came from, Jazz knew he must have moved a step or so closer.

"Yes, sir." Jazz turned partway towards Leozack, keeping his helm bowed respectfully.

"He must take care of you good, to keep you so nice and shiny." Jazz was a bit surprised when he felt one thick digit tracing the crest on top of his helm. Normally the lower ranks weren't so bold. Sometimes the Decepticons in the main compound would tease him, but Soundwave's reputation allowed Jazz to roam within the walls without fear.

"Master Soundwave takes care of my needs, sir." Jazz stayed still, his voice respectful, and Leozack drew his hand away after a moment.

"Does he take care of all your needs?" Jazz didn't have to look at Leozack's face to know there was a leering grin on it. The lift changed direction, moving horizontally now, and Jazz grabbed the handrail to steady himself before answering.

"I don't know what you mean, sir," Jazz said coyly, while glancing up to meet Leozack's optics for a moment to signal that he did very well know just what Leozack was talking about.

"Oh, c'mon," said Leozack, placing a heavy hand on Jazz's shoulder plating. "Your cute little chassis is wasted on a cold drone like Soundwave."

"That may be, sir, but Soundwave is my master." Jazz was becoming annoyed. They were reaching Leozack's destination, but what if he didn't get out right away? Skyfire could be gone by the time Leozack became bored and left him alone!

"Aw, we could just-"

"Soundwave is not a mech you want to make angry, Leozack, sir." Jazz looked away, his smile fading as if fleeing some unpleasant memory. "Take my word for it."

Leozack leaned back, looking alarmed, but then gave a forced-sounding laugh, and stepped forward as the lift came to a halt.

"I guess you would know, little 'Bot." He gave Jazz a gentle chuck on the chin and stepped out of the lift, raising a hand in mock salute. Jazz smiled at him again and bowed his head as the lift doors closed.

When he was alone, and the lift resumed its descent, Jazz huffed through his vents and rolled his optics.

It was only a short distance to the ground level, and Jazz quickly darted out of the lift as soon as the doors opened, and headed for the central square, where he had last seen Skyfire.

After a quick glance around, Jazz's spark sank as he didn't immediately spy Skyfire. He broke into a trot, and rounded a corner. Maybe Skyfire-

"Oof!"

Jazz collided into someone, and staggered back, falling to the ground. He could dimly hear the clatter of datapads hitting the ground plating. Slag. Now I'll never catch-

"Are you hurt, Jazz?"

When Jazz looked up from where he sprawled on the ground he saw Skyfire leaning over him, a look of concern in his gentle optics.

"No, sorry," Jazz said as he helped Skyfire pick up his scattered datapads.

"It's been awhile since we've had a chance to talk… but I suppose you don't-"

"I was actually looking for you," Jazz laughed as he stood and rubbed at a scuff on his elbow. "I spotted you from the window, I was afraid I was going to miss you. But-" Jazz looked around quickly; becoming acutely aware of any Decepticons in his vicinity had become almost second nature by now. There was no one to hear him. "Soundwave ordered me to meet him in the central garden in a bit, so we should probably talk there."

Skyfire nodded, and the pair made their way along the winding path that led into the garden.

In contrast to the straight, efficient walkways of the rest of the compound, the central crystal garden was a place of swooping curves, each laid out precisely to force visitors to slow down, and choose their steps carefully. Not all of the paths were completely clear; left to themselves with no one to shape them for aeons, many crystals had overgrown their boundaries, twinned indiscriminately, and made the garden completely inaccessible. Inroads had now been made, thanks to the efforts of Decepticons who apparently had an interest. Soundwave had been one of those, which Jazz had somehow not found surprising.

They stopped next to a large blue crystal, where they would be somewhat shielded from prying optics. Skyfire set his datapads on a nearby bench, and sat, so that Jazz would not have to crane his neck strut to converse with him.

"How are you doing, Skyfire?" As soon as the question left his vocoder, Jazz wanted to kick himself. It was a meaningless platitude, uttered out of habit. How is he doing? He's probably being forced to berth just like I am!

Skyfire seemed to take it in stride, however. "I am…keeping busy. Star- Master Starscream and I have been going over our lab notes from-" Skyfire's vocoder hitched a little, and he cycled it. "Old notes. We're trying to figure out if any of our projects which were abandoned when I crashed on Earth are salvageable."

For a moment, Jazz experienced a pang of jealousy. Skyfire was able to continue to work, to be useful, to do something other than sit around, decorating his master's quarters.

"Where were you coming from? Do you and Starscream have a lab in the compound?" If this was so, perhaps he and Jazz could meet there, and not have to rely on chance to see each other. Despite the awkwardness, Jazz felt a profound sense of relief when he and Skyfire were able to meet and talk. He didn't have to monitor himself, he didn't have to remember to be submissive and timid – he could just talk.

"No, but there's a few storage rooms where I like to go and work when Master Starscream is away from the aerie. When he's gone…it…it can be hard to get work done there." Skyfire's optics appeared troubled. His wings slumped and he looked down at the ground, appearing very vulnerable for a mech that towered over Jazz. "I suppose you think I'm a coward," he said, softly.

"What? No!" Jazz exclaimed, nonplussed by the sudden change in demeanor.

"But it's true, Jazz. I – I can't help any of them, so I just run away and hide, and try to pretend-"

Jazz reached out, wanting to comfort Skyfire, who was already leaning forward extending his arm to draw Jazz into an embrace. But when their plating touched, they both flinched. Does he want me to touch him? Is it alright? Jazz met Skyfire's optics and saw the same questions. They were both afraid to move, each wary of compounding the pain of unwanted contact endured at the hands of the 'Cons.

They've made us afraid of ourselves, of each other.

Jazz grabbed Skyfire's arm, and pulled him close, wrapping his arms as far around Skyfire's shoulders as he could, holding him tightly. There was a moment of hesitation, and then Skyfire returned the embrace. For a few moments, Jazz simply held the large frame, rubbing his hand across Skyfire's back-plating when he began to shake minutely.

"I'd never think of you as a coward, Skyfire," he whispered into Skyfire's audio.

"I wish I could help, I wish I could do more, but I can't do anything."

"You're surviving, Skyfire. That's all-" Jazz cut off when he sensed Skyfire tensing against him. He loosened his hold just enough to turn and look behind him.

Soundwave stood there; face inscrutable behind the mask, giving no indication as to whether he was angry or not about finding Jazz with another slave. Jazz shot a look of pure loathing at Soundwave before turning back to Skyfire.

"I have to go," he said, giving Skyfire one more squeeze before stepping back. Skyfire met his optics and nodded, silently gathering up his datapads and standing. He gave a deferential nod to Soundwave before glancing back at Jazz and moving quickly off towards the aerie.

Jazz stood sullenly, head bowed. Soundwave wanted to talk? Well, Jazz wasn't going to make it easy for him. He waited for Soundwave to make the first move.

After a tense moment, Soundwave moved closer to Jazz, and reached out, cupping his cheek and tilting his head up to meet Soundwave's gaze.

"Punctual arrival: unanticipated."

Jazz huffed through his vents. Soundwave had become increasingly insistent that he spend time outside of their rooms, but for the most part, Jazz preferred to spend as much time in recharge as physically possible.

"Conversation, enjoyable?" Soundwave released Jazz's face, but continued to run his finger along Jazz's helm. "Demeanor indicates distress."

"Well I can't think of why that would be. Everything's just so wonderful I could scream." Jazz poured as much venom as he could into the words. Even as he did so, he could feel the pacification program working in the back of his processor, readying itself to damper any violent command his processor might send to back up his aggressive words.

For another long moment, Soundwave regarded Jazz with an inscrutable gaze. Then he said, "Fuel tanks, low?" Before Jazz had a chance to answer, Soundwave flipped open a readout panel on his arm and said, "Negative." Soundwave then said, "Injuries, neglected?" as he looked over Jazz's frame and plating. "Systems-"

"I get it, I get it!" Jazz exclaimed, batting at Soundwave's hand and trying to pull away. "I should be grateful that you don't slag me when you frag me, is that it?"

Soundwave ignored this outburst. "More association with Skyfire, desirable?"

Jazz was nonplussed by the question. "I – what? Would I like to spend more time with Skyfire?"

"Affirmative. Arrangement with Starscream, possible."

"You – you can do that?" Jazz looked down at the ground. "I would like that, very much." Admitting that he would enjoy something Soundwave could provide for him galled, but if the reward...

"Jazz: worth it."

Jazz didn't quite know how to respond to that.

"What is this?" Soundwave suddenly took hold of his arm, and turned it so that he could visualize Jazz's elbow joint. The scrape Jazz had suffered in the collision with Skyfire stood out in stark contrast to the rest of Jazz's flawless finish.

"Just a little bump, I'll fix it la…oh." Jazz huffed in annoyance as Soundwave drew a polishing cloth out from a subspace pocket and began rubbing at the scuff. Jazz had learned early on that if he didn't keep himself polished to a show-room shine, Soundwave would do it for him.

Jazz resolutely stared at the plating beneath his feet, kicking at a small crystal that lay there while Soundwave worked on the scuff. He ignored the way Soundwave's motions with the cloth slowed to a more leisurely pace. He didn't react when Soundwave reached inside of the joint to caress a hydraulic line.

"So why'd you bring me here?" asked Jazz, when he could take it no longer.

"Time spent in quarters: excessive. Diversion, offered."

Soundwave took Jazz's hand and placed it firmly on the crook of his elbow. Jazz stayed as far away from Soundwave as the position would allow, but he stiffly allowed himself to be lead down the path.

Eventually Soundwave drifted to a halt next to a large pink crystal.

"Reason for distinctive color: large amounts of chromium." Soundwave released Jazz's arm to kneel down and pick up a loose crystal that lay near the base of its parent. "Ready for twinning in appropriate conditions."

"Huh?" Jazz looked up at Soundwave. He hadn't been listening to the last bit of Soundwave's monotone treatise on crystals. "What was the question? My processor shorted out from ennui for a moment there."

"This color: pleasing?" Soundwave held the small pink crystal out to Jazz.

Jazz shrugged. "It's fine. I guess."

"Another preferred?" Soundwave looked out over the garden. "Specify favored color."

"Pink is fine." Jazz just wanted to get this over with. Was that what all this was about? Soundwave was going to start bringing his little crystal obsession inside and wanted Jazz's input? Did he want to play house?

Soundwave again took Jazz's arm and led him deeper into the garden. The evidence of recent care faded as they walked along, and the crystals encroached on the path. The path itself became uneven, with pieces of loose plating shifting under their pedes. Jazz tripped over a crystal spar that jutted out into the walkway. For a moment, he thought he was going to go sprawling for the second time that cycle, but a strong arm caught him across the chest.

"Jazz, unhurt?" asked Soundwave as he carefully stood Jazz up. Jazz shook his head, indicating that he was fine, and tried to pull away. Soundwave did not release him.

"Let me go, I'm fine." Jazz pushed at the glass that covered Soundwave's cassette compartment. "I can stand-" Jazz cut off with a gasp as Soundwave tightened his arm around Jazz's waist. Jazz set his mouth in a grim line, waiting for it to be over. It was all he could do when Soundwave got into one of his moods.

"Jazz: appealing when angry," Soundwave said, reaching up to caress his face.

Soundwave finally released Jazz after a klik. Jazz immediately tried to step away to the opposite side of the path, but he was kept close by Soundwave once again taking his hand.

The crystalline overgrowth eventually thinned as they came out of the untended part of the garden, and Soundwave paused by a secluded grotto where another bench was hidden. He took a seat, and tugged Jazz down to sit beside him. A large translucent crystal with what appeared to be threads of gold radiating through it was growing next to the bench. Jazz turned and looked at it, curious for the first time in the excursion. Was it an illusion? The thin threads glittered, and ran true through the crystal. Jazz was surprised when he noticed a small tuft of them poking out of the end of a crystal, looking for all of Cybertron like a clump of grass back on Earth. He reached out a hand to touch them.

Soundwave quickly grabbed his hand, and pulled it back.

"Rutiles: fragile."

Of course, it's the one interesting thing in this whole place and he won't let me touch it.

"Composition of acicular crystals: titanium dioxide." Soundwave bent, and took hold of a small protruding crystal near the base. With one quick movement he broke it off. "Ideal shape: hexagonal." He rotated the crystal so that Jazz could see the six-sided prism. "Terminal end: also six-sided. Rutile present." Soundwave held the crystal out to Jazz, but Jazz turned away.

When Jazz eventually glanced back, Soundwave had moved closer, and was looking at him. As always, Jazz felt a keen desire to move away, to flee from Soundwave's intense, unbroken gaze, but he knew better than to try. It was better to pretend that it didn't bother him, than to attempt to remove himself and be prevented. Jazz didn't know exactly how this would end: whenever they were in Soundwave's quarters, a look like that meant that Jazz would be 'faced in short order. But in public, as secluded as the corner of this garden was, Jazz was unsure how far Soundwave would take things.

A soothing chord began to play from Soundwave's speakers, so softly at first that Jazz wasn't quite sure when it had begun. It was a chord he recognized – almost all Cybertronian romantic compositions featured it. Its frequency and amplitude were calculated to match the internal resonance of standard circuitry components. Soundwave placed a large hand on Jazz's far shoulder, rubbing the plating and couplings he found there.

His touch was gentle. A lover's touch.

Slowly, Soundwave's hand moved down Jazz's back-strut, then to his side to complete the caress, ending on Jazz's hip plate, fingers straying into the seam there, tweaking and manipulating the wires they found.

Jazz found himself turned suddenly as Soundwave brought his hand up to the back of Jazz's helm and neck. He automatically brought his hands up before he was pressed against Soundwave's chest. Again Jazz tried to push away, and again his efforts seemed to go unnoticed by Soundwave. With a soft click Soundwave's mask retracted, he rocked Jazz's head back, and claimed his lips in a kiss.

Jazz tried to bite, but his attempt ended as it always did. The pacification program clamped down on his motor commands, and he could do no more than nibble gently at Soundwave's lip components. Soundwave took advantage of this, and slipped his glossa into Jazz's mouth. Jazz felt himself held even tighter as Soundwave readjusted his hold and pulled Jazz into the kiss.

The plating he found himself pressed against was burning. Soundwave must have been holding himself back this entire time, controlling his ventilation fans. For a moment, Jazz's spark fluttered in fear, worried that Soundwave's passion would drive him to take Jazz right here, in the grotto. Jazz immediately clamped down on the emotion. What did it matter if Soundwave 'faced him here, in his berth, or in front of the entire Decepticon army?

Still, Jazz gasped in surprise against Soundwave's mouth when his ventilation fan sprang to life. Soundwave emitted a low, rumbling tone, and shifted his grip again, bringing Jazz's legs up and across his own, and then pulling Jazz into his lap.

Jazz squirmed a bit; his ventilation ducts kinked by the odd, twisting position. Soundwave let him break the kiss, but prevented him from moving away. He rested the brow of his helm against Jazz's for a klik, before pulling Jazz close again.

This time, Soundwave turned his attention to Jazz's neck, ruthlessly running his lips and glossa over the sensitive metal. Jazz was held flush against Soundwave's chest, and he began to emit subsonic pulses from his speakers, which vibrated Jazz's plating. The hand that held Jazz's legs nudged them apart and moved between them. Jazz jerked in Soundwave's hold as the catch on the panel that covered his interface array was tweaked. He reached down, grabbing hold of Soundwave's wrist, trying to defend himself from further molestation.

However, instead of thumbing the panel open, Soundwave seemed content to simply allow his fingers to rest on the outer side, almost possessively. After squeezing Jazz again, Soundwave straightened, though he still supported Jazz's back-strut in a position that required Jazz to either accept it, or fall over backwards.

Jazz again found himself waiting and watching to see what Soundwave would do next. If a little walk to see some stupid crystals had Soundwave warmed up this much, Jazz wasn't sure what was in store for him when Soundwave started growing them inside.

Soundwave removed his hand from between Jazz's legs. Jazz immediately closed his legs once more, keeping his knees pressed tight together.

Soundwave reached into his subspace, and presented a small, glowing box to him. Jazz didn't reach out to take it, so Soundwave set it on his lap. The top slid back to reveal a small assortment of deep purple cubes.

Supercondensed energon.

It was a delicacy that had not been manufactured since the beginning of the war. Incredibly power-consuming to make, the cubes were of a gel-like consistency, and did not need an energy capsule like liquid energon to remain stable. They had even been used as currency at some points in Cybertronian history, and Mirage had once told Jazz about a box he had received from a wealthy and amorous suitor.

A lover's gift.

Soundwave picked one up, and held it to Jazz's lips.

It made sense now – the walk, the crystals, everything. This wasn't some passing fancy that had taken hold of Soundwave. He had planned it. Anger burned in Jazz's spark, replacing the cold complacency that had taken root there.

"What is this?" he asked incredulously. "What- do you think this is a date? That you just have to court me?" Jazz kicked, trying to knock the box off of his lap, but Soundwave caught it easily and set it on the bench, out of the way.

Soundwave grabbed Jazz, attempting to restrain his flailing limbs. Jazz struggled, even though he knew it was fruitless, attempting to wriggle off of Soundwave's lap.

"Be still."

Jazz pushed at Soundwave's chest again, grabbed at his hands, tried to break free.

"No, you think you can just give me flowers and box of chocolates and everything will be okay? You're revolting! I'd rather you just throw me over the bench and-and treat me like the slave I am instead of this farce." Jazz's voice became louder and louder in indignation and pique as he struggled with Soundwave.

"Jazz: be silent." Soundwave finally managed to cover Jazz's mouth with his hand, muting his vocoder. Jazz could feel the heat coming from Soundwave's plating – so he would 'face Jazz out here, but Jazz was going to make him work for it.

If Soundwave thinks he can woo me he's got another- Jazz broke off the thought as he realized what had made Soundwave try to hush him.

Jazz could hear voices and pede-steps coming along a path nearby.

Immediately it was as if the argument had never happened. Jazz slipped off of Soundwave to sit on the bench, hands clasped in his lap and helm respectfully bowed. Soundwave stood, and slipped the box of miniature energon cubes into Jazz's subspace.

"Lord Megatron," Soundwave said, hailing the Decepticon leader as he rounded the corner of the path. He moved towards the entrance to the grotto. Shockwave and Scavenger stepped out from behind Megatron as he turned to look at Soundwave.

"Soundwave, I am pleased to have come across you." Megatron stepped forward and put a hand on Soundwave's shoulder. "Scavenger's team has just completed the main gate reinforcements, and we are going to inspect his work. Will you join us?" Megatron then looked past Soundwave, catching sight of Jazz sitting on the bench. "…or are you busy with…other pursuits?"

Jazz stayed still, keeping his head bowed but monitoring the situation from under the brim of his helm. This was the first time he had come across Megatron since the Autobots had been captured and divvied up. Well, no – Jazz could vaguely recall hearing Megatron's voice in the orns that had immediately followed the landing on Cybertron. The whole time period was shrouded and hazy in his memory banks. As the pacification program had settled in his systems, it had corrupted his memory encoding systems, and Soundwave had kept him secluded for most of that time, so there wasn't much to remember any way.

"Negative. I will inspect the reinforcements." Soundwave turned and motioned Jazz over. "My slave will accompany me."

"Yes, Master," said Jazz as he stood and followed Soundwave out of the grotto. If Soundwave heard the sarcastic edge to Jazz's voice, he didn't say anything.

On the walk to the gate, Jazz had to be more mindful than usual – to make sure he walked a few steps behind Soundwave, kept out of the way of the rest of the Decepticons, and above all kept quiet. Several times he thought he noticed Megatron regarding him with an unreadable gaze, but Jazz couldn't meet his optics to find out. Megatron's gravelly voice brought back many painful memories, and made Jazz feel off-balance and skittish.

"As you can see," Scavenger said as they approached the imposing main gate, "the new actuators will-"

He cut off as the whine of speeding seeker engines approached from above.

Jazz looked up in astonishment, along with the rest of the assembled mechs.

"The trines are aware they are not supposed to fly at speed over the city center and compound, are they not?" Shockwave asked. Jazz suspected the question was rhetorical.

"Affirmative. Possibility: emergency."

The seeker came into view, his wing configuration and markings allowing Jazz to identify him as Dirge. The tension in the assembled mechs increased. Dirge was not prone to recklessness or bravado. He would have a good reason for breaking one of Megatron's rules.

Dirge was homing in on the central compound, and when above it, performed a wide sweep, dumping speed and performing sensor sweeps. He must have been looking for Megatron, because as soon as his scanning beam passed over the little group, he performed a neat, rolling turn and transformed immediately before landing in front of Megatron.

"Dirge. Report."

"Lord Megatron," said Dirge, voice staticky and hoarse from fuel depletion. "I was doing a standard patrol of the second moon, and I – I found something." It was clear that Dirge was at the end of his fuel reserves. He was swaying on his pedes, optics flickering.

"Slave," barked Megatron. "Fetch some energon for Dirge."

Jazz looked up, startled, but Megatron was not even deigning to look at him. He wasn't used to being given orders. He looked to Soundwave for guidance, but all of Soundwave's attention was on Dirge.

"There's a few cubes in the control room." Scavenger indicated an unobtrusive doorway set into the wall by the gate with a jerk of his head. Jazz nodded, and walked off quickly. Not because he wanted to obey Megatron, but because he wanted to hear what news Dirge had brought. He slipped inside of the doorway.

The inside was much bigger than the door would suggest, with a large bank of screens on one wall, so that the mechs guarding the gate could monitor it from all angles.

"Hey, what are you doing in here?" One of the mechs that had been sitting at a control panel got up and stalked over to Jazz. "This is no place for a slave to be poking around!"

"Lord Megatron sent me to get an energon cube." Jazz drew himself up indignantly. After so many vorns of serving in Spec Ops, looking like he belonged somewhere was second nature, even though he was a bit rusty. "I was told I could find one here."

The mech drew back, but then huffed his vents in derision. "Yeah. Lord Megatron sent you aaaaaall the way out here to get one energon cube. And I'm General Strika."

"Carnivac!" Another Decepticon called from his seat, spinning around to look at Jazz. "Lord Megatron is outside." He motioned to one of the monitors, and Jazz could just make out the little group talking to Dirge. "I think the slave is telling the truth."

Carnivac grunted, before turning back to Jazz. "Over there." He pointed to a large, unlocked storage container. "Don't break anything." Jazz nodded, and retrieved an energon cube from the container, and hurried back outside.

He walked a bit more slowly this time, not wanting to jostle the energon.

"…did well, Dirge. Have whoever is standing in for Starscream meet us in my council room," Megatron was saying. He then turned to Soundwave. "I want Deathsaurus there too. He wants to prove his loyalty? He can now."

"Suggestion: gestalt leaders should also be present."

"Yes, they will be able to help with troop mobilization."

Jazz approached Dirge, and held out the cube. Dirge took it without a word, and drained it in one long pull before handing back the empty cube to Jazz.

"Lord Megatron, I will take my leave, and let Thundercracker know to report to you."

Megatron dismissed him with a nod, and Dirge kicked off, heading for the aerie. Jazz dispersed the cube, and stepped back, trying to remain unobtrusive.

"Scavenger, we will have to continue this at another time."

"Yes, Lord Megatron, I understand. I'll go and tell Hook to report to you." Scavenger transformed and drove off.

"Soundwave, Shockwave, come with me."

"Yes, Lord Megatron," said Shockwave. Soundwave turned to Jazz.

"Jazz: retrieve datapad number 6742. Location: second compartment on workstation."

For a moment a sharp retort was on the cusp of escaping from Jazz's vocoder, and a stubborn smirk twisted his lip components. He wasn't exactly used to Soundwave ordering him around.

But he remembered the company they were in at the last nanoklik, and dropped his gaze submissively. If Megatron noticed the moment of rebellion, there was no indication.

"Yes, Master Soundwave." Jazz was rewarded by the light behind Soundwave's visor flickering, the only indication that his barb had stung Soundwave.

"Deliver datapad to council room. Do not delay."

Jazz nodded, and turned on his heel, walking away quickly before any more orders could be given.

He made his way to the nearest entrance to the compound – taking a lift would be much quicker than going on his own two pedes, especially as he wasn't allowed to transform without Soundwave present. Jazz paused, thinking. Why should he hurry? He had to obey, but being too quick about it could only help the Decepticons, and it might encourage Soundwave. Jazz had quickly learned that any action or response that wasn't explicitly hostile seemed to be taken as encouragement by his taciturn captor.

On the other servo, the faster he retrieved the datapad, the sooner he could get to the council room and maybe hear what it was that had Dirge so wound up.

Jazz continued to hurry on his way, reasoning that it was better to get more information than display a bit of futile rebelliousness.

As he approached the door to Soundwave's room, Jazz's audios picked up the distinctive sounds of Rumble and Frenzy talking inside. At first Jazz experienced a wave of frustration – the two little miscreants would likely find slowing him down to be the height of hilarity. But then again, Jazz remembered that Soundwave had left his workstation locked – he would need Rumble and Frenzy to open it for him.

He released a puff of air from his vents. Hopefully Soundwave had thought to let Rumble and Frenzy know that Jazz was on an errand, so they would comply with minimal fuss.

"Back so soon, Stripes?" called Frenzy from the couch as Jazz walked in and headed for Soundwave's workstation. "Just couldn't bear to be parted from us, huh?"

"That's hardly-" Jazz paused in mid-stride, registering what he had seen out of the corner of his viewfield. Slowly, he turned towards where Frenzy's voice had come from.

Frenzy was staring at Jazz, meeting his optics over Rumble's shoulder plating.

Rumble was sitting on Frenzy's…lap, and the rhythmic movement of their pelvic units was a good clue as to what they were up to.

Well, that and the fact that Rumble's spike was extended.

"Like what you see, Stripes?"

"Hey, don't you Autobots know it's rude to stare?" Frenzy said. "Unless you wanna join in of course." He punctuated his words with a sharp thrust that made Rumble give an obscene, exaggerated moan.

"Yeah, you wanna take a tumble with Rumble?" Rumble took hold of his own spike, pumping his fist over it several times. "Only fair, after you got Soundwave so worked up."

Jazz quickly recovered from his surprise, disgust replacing shock. He lowered his optics until he was staring directly at Rumble's interface array.

"It would be a very short tumble," he said scathingly.

"Oh ho!" Frenzy called out, apparently amused by the peccadillo.

"Hey, it's not the wavelength that counts, it's the amplitude," Rumble said, jaunty grin never wavering.

"And we'd like to amp your 'tude all orn long, Stripes! Unf!" Frenzy finished.

"What was that human jingle? 'Double your pleasure-'"

"Thank you, but I'll pass," Jazz said, looking away resolutely, refusing to be pulled further into their raunchy little game. "If you don't mind, Soundwave needs something from his workstation. Please open it."

"Little busy right now, Stripes." Frenzy gave Rumble a shove, pushing him forward onto his hands and knee-joints.

"Oh, yeah, that's the spot Frenzy." Rumble moved back and forth, pressing himself into Frenzy's thrusts. "Of course, if you help us hurry things up…" Rumble laughed when Jazz's mouth twisted in distaste. "If you wanna get in, you gotta put out, Stripes."

"Then you get to explain to Soundwave why I was unable to complete the task he gave me." Jazz continued studying a seam in the plating of the far wall, absolutely not looking at or listening to the pair on the divan.

"Aw, lighten up Stripes – yeah, you like that, Rumble – we'll get to it." The sound of a hand slapping an aft interrupted Frenzy's words. The sounds from the divan increased in intensity and volume.

"Yeah, give it to me, harder, harder, harder-!"

"Your valve is so wet! Take it!"

"Yeah, pound my aft! Damn, that's good."

Their words devolved into more primitive noises – bursts of static and feedback, with the occasional keen of pleasure – as the clanking of their movements became more and more frenetic.

Finally, thought Jazz as one of them gave a piercing cry and the sounds of their coupling slowed and then stopped, replaced by the soft whirring of ventilation fans. He risked a glance out of the side of his visor.

Rumble was draped over the arm of the divan, and Frenzy was slumped over him. Rumble reset first, thrusting an elbow back to poke at Frenzy. Frenzy simply moaned, and wrapped his arms around Rumble's waist.

"Gerroff." Rumble pushed himself up forcefully, and Frenzy tumbled off of both him and the divan.

"Hey!"

Rumble ignored Frenzy's groggy protest, and got to his pedes, attempting to affect his normal arrogant swagger. However, the effect was somewhat lessened by his bow-legged stance. Jazz tried to not notice that his spike was still extended and…dripping.

He had only minor difficulty climbing up onto the chair in front of the workstation, grabbing onto the work surface to steady his wobbling.

When Jazz heard the click of the lock disengaging, he bent down quickly to slide the compartment open. The datapads inside were neatly arranged, and Jazz began sorting through them, trying to work out Soundwave's filing system.

4000…5000…6000…6300…

Jazz was suddenly aware of Rumble leaning closer. He also became aware of the fact that in this position, Rumble's spike was exactly at his optic level.

"Yo, Stripes, while you're down there…"

"No."

Frenzy let out a guffaw of laughter from where he was reclining on the divan. "I don't think purple is his color, Rumble."

"But the top of your helm is so pretty, how about letting me see it more often-"

Jazz turned away, continuing to look through the datapads.

6400…6450…6550…

SLAP

Jazz's helm shot up in astonishment as Rumble said, "Your aft is pretty nice, too."

Rumble seemed unaffected by the look of disgust and loathing Jazz leveled at him. He had been pawed at enough this cycle, and now his aft plating stung from Rumble's slap!

"I'd sure like to go for a ride. Whaddaya say, car-bot? Gonna let us take ya for a cruise?" He continued on, undeterred by Jazz's incredulousness. "Do you like to go fast? Or would you rather have a long," Rumble thrust his pelvic unit forward, "…slow…" another thrust "…leisurely drive?"

"Don't be ridiculous."

"C'mon, baby, Rumble knows how to handle ya," Rumble said, leaning against the workstation and fixing Jazz with what he must have thought was a suave smile. "I'll steer you around the curves real smooth."

"Don't bother, Rumble," called Frenzy. "'Facing with the Ice-Mech would probably freeze your spike off. And besides-" Frenzy spread his legs, giving Jazz an optic-full before he managed to turn away. "…It's my turn! Get your aft over here and frag me, you slagger."

"Too late, Stripes; missed your chance!" Rumble called as he hopped down from the chair and ran back to the divan. Jazz went back to looking for the datapad, ignoring the eager grunt as Rumble tackled his fellow Recordicon.

Disgusting little slaggers, thought Jazz as he bent to complete his task.

"Your valve is so hot."

"C'mon Rumble, you know how I like it! Pound me into the floor!"

"Aw, yeah, pounding's what I do best!"

"Frag yeah!"

Jazz grabbed the datapad, and double checked the number. He did not want to have to come back to the room for a while. Confirming that it was the one Soundwave wanted, he turned and stalked towards the door.

"… fragging the Ice-mech wouldn't be worth it."

"Yeah, it'd take a whole orn just to thaw out his hydraulics-"

Frenzy and Rumble's final taunts were cut off as the door slid shut behind him.

As Jazz approached the doors that led to Megatron's council chamber he slowed. Although he had been in most public areas of the compound, he had never been in this room. What would be the best way to enter? The more unobtrusive he was, the more likely he was to be allowed to remain and observe the meeting.

He raised his hand, and pressed the button on the keypad by the door to request entrance. The large double doors immediately slid apart, moving silently on their tracks. Jazz entered, and they shut behind him.

Jazz found himself in a large, darkened room – the only light source was the large holo-projection of Cybertron's second moon, with several areas highlighted. The light of the projection glinted off the armor and red optics of the Decepticons seated around the table – optics which were now all fixed on him.

After a moment, they turned away, and back to the projection.

"As I was saying," Thundercracker said. "Dirge's scans show activity in these three sectors." He rotated the map, and the highlighted portions began blinking as information scrolled along the bottom of the projection. "However, he did not complete a scan of the dark side. As we have not picked up any activity before this, it is likely that the landing site is located there."

A movement caught Jazz's optic. Soundwave shifted in his seat, but did not meet Jazz's optics. Jazz hurried over, making his way carefully around the table and the other seated mechs. He placed the datapad face down next to Soundwave, and then retreated into the shadows behind Soundwave's chair. He dimmed his visor output, so none of the mechs across the table from him would notice it gleaming in the dark.

"Hypothesis: probable," said Soundwave. He appeared to be poring over the datapad Jazz had brought him. "Lord Megatron: closer analysis of previous patrols available. Intruders: present."

The image of Cybertron's moon flickered out, and was replaced by several frames of surveillance footage. Soundwave tapped some commands into his console, and the image was enlarged and re-focused.

Several non-Cybertronian ships were clearly visible, clustered inside of a large, flat crater.

"Ship design: consistent with Ilxian specifications."

"Those tentacle-heads have never interfered on Cybertron before," said Thundercracker. "Why would they start now?"

"Possibility: Cybertron assumed abandoned."

"Or they decided to wait until we came back, weakened from a long war, and started to rebuild," Megatron growled. "Decepticons have completed the resource-intensive tasks, and now they seek to take our planet away from us!"

An angry murmur rose in the conference room. Jazz's own spark flared in outrage. That's our moon! We can't just let them squat there! He felt an odd sense of solidarity with the Decepticons in the room. Cybertron and her moons were for Cybertronians, no matter which faction symbol they wore.

"So I guess the question is how far do we kick their sorry, squishy carcasses off the moon?" said Astrotrain. There were a few muffled exclamations of agreement, and Jazz could feel the heightened tension and excitement in the room. Was this what 'Con war councils were like? He could remember pre-battle strategy meetings with Prowl and Optimus Prime. They were calm, and reasonable. There was no instances in Jazz's memory banks of anyone amplifying their vocoders in agitation or eagerness.

"Patience, Astrotrain. You will have your opportunity to 'kick their squishy carcasses' soon enough." Megatron keyed some commands into his datapad, and the display changed to a troop roster. "However, first we will need to learn more about the strength of our enemies, and what resources we will require to utterly destroy them."

"My Lord Megatron, I do not believe an immediate full scale assault would be prudent," said Shockwave. "The miners have found several old energon deposits, but it is stale and inefficient. I have received more reports of Decepticon forces coming here, but they will be depleted and unreliable."

"Just what are you implying, Commander?" Leozack shot up from his seat. "Those of us who weren't fortunate enough to be on the Nemesis with Lord Megatron are still loyal! We-"

While Leozack continued on that vein, Jazz puzzled over what Shockwave had said. What did he mean miners. You don't mine energon, you refine it.

"That is enough, Leozack." Megatron's voice was quiet, but Leozack immediately ceased talking and sat back down, though he still glared at Shockwave. "Your loyalties are not in question."

Soundwave had turned in his chair to look at Leozack, and caught sight of Jazz out of the corner of his visor. Jazz watched him warily, worried that he might be sent away. He looked around quickly. A few mechanometers away, on a shelf sat a container of coolant. Most of the mechs seated around the main table had vessels in front of them. Shockwave's was nearly empty. If Jazz could make himself useful, perhaps he would be permitted to stay.

Quickly and silently he walked over to the shelf and retrieved the vessel. Jazz approached Shockwave with some trepidation, quickly calculating his best approach to be both graceful and unobtrusive.

"…have held off on some non-critical repairs," Hook was saying. "I'll need more mech power to get our fighting force battle-ready. May I have permission to pull slaves with repair experience off of other projects, Lord Megatron?"

"Permission granted."

Jazz leaned over Shockwave's shoulder, and filled his coolant container before Shockwave had even registered his presence. Shockwave's only reaction was a small, startled twitch, but Jazz had retreated to the shadows by the time his head turned. He snuck a look at Soundwave.

Soundwave held his gaze for a long moment, before giving an almost imperceptible nod and turning back to the main display.

Jazz would be allowed to stay.

For the next joor, Jazz hurried to make himself as useful as possible. The 'Cons' war councils evidently lasted much longer than the Autobots', and most of it was taken up by useless posturing and dominance maneuvers as far as Jazz could tell. Every time someone mentioned slaves as resources (and in some cases, liabilities) Jazz listened intently, but individual names were never used.

When Megatron's coolant ran dry, Jazz was surprised by how much nerve he had to work up to approach. During the war, he had faced Megatron many times. While spying on board the Victory, he had often been close enough to reach out and touch the Decepticon leader. Why was taking a few steps forward proving so difficult?

Megatron leaned away from his coolant vessel to confer with Soundwave for a moment. Jazz took the opportunity, spark pulsing in apprehension in its chamber. He filled the vessel quickly, and out of habit glanced over to Megatron's datapad, trying to catch a glimpse of any information that might be useful.

Megatron's hand was placed firmly over the screen. Jazz realized that the pricking, uneasy feeling crawling over his plating was the sensation of being watched. Although Megatron was ostensibly listening to Soundwave, his red optics fixed on Jazz, and an unmistakable smirk curled his lip components.

Jazz couldn't back away fast enough.

He was grateful a few breems later when a recess was called, and Soundwave dismissed him. He hurried out, all thoughts of gathering intelligence abandoned.

When Jazz returned to Soundwave's quarters, Rumble and Frenzy were in tape-mode on the desk, and the divan (mercifully) appeared clean. Jazz stood at the window for a few kliks, but instead of looking down at the compound grounds, he looked up this time, to the stars.

The second moon was completely hidden, and would be for a decacycle, but the first moon was just rising over the jagged horizon of the city. With no star to call its own, Cybertron's moons were dark and shadowy, with only the occasional glimmer of reflected starlight to denote any features. Jazz wondered if there were any 'Cons on the other side of Cybertron, and if the second moon was now lit by the lights of the invaders as well.

The curious feeling of indignation and comradeship flared in his spark again. For a moment, he wanted to beg Soundwave to take him along, to allow him to fight, to defend their planet. For a moment, he could almost envision setting aside the War to lend his skills and expertise on behalf of Cybertron.

Suddenly his viewfield darkened, and an oppressive vise seemed to tighten on his main processor, locking up all functions. Jazz's ventilations stalled, and his gyros slowed, throwing off his balance. As his hydraulics depressurized, Jazz sank to his knee-joints, reeling. The pacification program ruthlessly damped down every function in response to his thoughts of battle.

Stupid program, I wanted to help…

When he was allowed to move again, Jazz brought his hands up to clutch his helm, ventilations short and rapid. He trembled as one by one, the program relinquished control of his systems.

He could never help the Decepticons. If they lost Cybertron, then perhaps it would be easier to gain freedom.

Of course, if they lose Cybertron I don't think that making sure every last Autobot is brought along will be a priority, thought Jazz ruefully.

Slowly, gingerly, he stood, gripping the window ledge until he was certain that his leg struts would take his weight. It had been a while since the last time the programming had kicked his skid plate that hard. Once he felt steady, Jazz went into the berthroom, and lay down, settling into recharge.

Jazz was awakened by a large hand moving over his hood, and warm plating pressing into his back-strut. He moaned, and tried to turn away, to hide his face in the surface of the berth. This activity cycle had been more eventful than any in his recent memory cache. He just wanted to rest and recharge.

However, Jazz was halted by the hand on his front sliding up to his shoulder, holding him across his chest, effectively immobilizing him. Jazz allowed his struts to relax and his hydraulics to depressurize. Soundwave was in one of his moods and the sooner Jazz stopped resisting the sooner it would be over with.

In response to his surrender, Soundwave released his hold, but his hand continued to wander over Jazz. There was a soft hiss behind him as Soundwave's mask retracted, and an instant later a hot mouth descended on the join between his shoulder strut and his neck plating.

Jazz booted up his optical feed, visor brightening as it came online.

He wished he hadn't.

The large mirror was directly in front of him, his body lit only by Soundwave's glowing red visor as he gazed over the crest of Jazz's helm, watching himself as he pawed the still form of his slave. On the table next to the berth, two glowing crystals sat – one pink and one clear, shot through with gold. Jazz tried to turn his face away again, to hide against the cool plating of the berth, but Soundwave's hand slid up to cup his mandible, and held him in place.

"Mmmngh…no," Jazz whispered. He made one halting, abortive attempt to struggle.

"Silence." The words buzzed against Jazz's plating, and he ceased his futile attempt to escape. His helm dropped to the plating of the berth with a soft clank.

An arm slid under Jazz's helm, cradling it in a gentle embrace, curling up to fondle Jazz's headlight and trace over the racing stripes and human numeral that adorned his hood. Jazz remained pliant, but did not move on his own. He was accustomed to Soundwave's…style by this point in his captivity, and he settled down to wait until Soundwave was done and he could go back to recharge.

Jazz wasn't prepared for Soundwave's other hand suddenly plunging into his subspace pocket. Subspace pockets were meant to be accessed only by the mech they belonged to – even lovers would not consider groping about in one another's subspace without very good reason. Jazz squirmed against Soundwave; the odd sensation of invasion one he had never become accustomed to. Finally, Soundwave found what he was searching for, and drew out the box of energon goodies he had stashed with Jazz earlier. Jazz let out a huff of disgust.

"'M not hungry," he said, knowing how it irked Soundwave when he used human terms. Soundwave's only response was to lean forward and press a kiss to Jazz's sensor horn as he set the box on the berthside shelf.

As he settled back down, against Jazz's back, his hand dropped to the panel that covered Jazz's interface array. Jazz switched off his visor. Soundwave could not force him to watch this in the mirror.

Soundwave moved his hand slowly, down over Jazz's panel, and up to trace the crest of his pelvic unit. He traced the seams, paused over the catch, but never stopped completely. Eventually he continued his caress up over Jazz's waist, and down, past his aft, to fondle Jazz's pelvic unit from behind. The hand moved under, between Jazz's legs, and Soundwave's elbow nudged them apart, supporting the weight of the upper leg.

Jazz let out a small sound of discomfort as his leg was hiked into the air. Soundwave responded with a warm, humming chord from his speakers and a soft nip to Jazz's neck plating as he lifted the leg further.

When Soundwave's spike extended, rubbing against Jazz's interface panel, he did not flinch. The hot metal moved against the smooth armor of his panel as Soundwave pushed against him. The arm that held Jazz's leg pulled him tight against the thrusts.

A subsonic hum came from Soundwave's speakers, which vibrated against Jazz's plating.

Will he manage it this time? Jazz wondered. Early in his enslavement, Soundwave was able to manipulate him to overload with a minimum of trouble. As the orns had dragged on, however, Jazz had become increasingly unresponsive. What Soundwave was doing to him should have had him writhing in pleasure, internal temperature spiking and energy grid surging.

Now, the touches, the groping often failed to arouse Jazz's systems at all.

Has he broken something? If – no, when this is over, will I ever be normal again?

As he had in the crystal grotto, Soundwave's finger traced the catch to Jazz's interface panel, but this time, instead of simply teasing, he expertly undid it, and slid the armor panel up, exposing Jazz's interface array. Blunt fingers traced the rim of his valve, leaving no sensor un-stimulated. Soundwave pressed harder against Jazz's back and his arm tightened, lifting his leg still higher. Now ventilation fans kicked on deep inside of Soundwave's chassis.

Jazz remained cool, his systems responding to the touches and stimulation as if it were no more arousing than a routine maintenance check. He sighed through his vents.

Soundwave stilled behind him. Jazz could feel his spike pressed against his inner-leg plating, moving minutely in time with Soundwave's ventilations. He felt Soundwave shift, the thick arm under his head taking more of Soundwave's weight as he leaned up and over Jazz.

Another blast of hot air hit the side of Jazz's face. It was followed by the sensation of a mouth moving forward along the line of his mandible. He flinched away with a small moue of discomfort when Soundwave caught the edge of his face-plating in his denta, but the hurt was immediately soothed away by Soundwave's lip components and glossa.

Soundwave's spike poked at the entrance to Jazz's valve. Jazz turned his helm away from Soundwave, and pressed it into the plating of the arm beneath his head. A soft gasp was his only reaction as the spike slid smoothly into him. He barely felt revulsion anymore – this was just another chore that had to be done before he would be allowed to return to recharge.

Soundwave moved again after a klik of stillness, his arms tightening reflexively around Jazz with each thrust. For a surreal moment, an image of Soundwave as some sort of eldritch, betentacled leviathan from Terran folklore flitted across his processor.

Soundwave's hand continued to caress the external sensors of Jazz's interface array. Even with the stimulation of the mechanoreceptors in the interior of his valve, Soundwave's efforts failed to arouse even a flicker on Jazz's sensor net. In and out, in and out; its movements facilitated by lubrication Jazz's valve produced in response to the physical forces.

Every few thrusts Soundwave held Jazz tighter to himself, so tight that Jazz's armor creaked. Soundwave moved his spike in an almost circular motion at the apex of these thrusts, stressing the plating around Jazz's valve entrance. The largest concentration of sensor terminals in a valve resided there, and Soundwave seemed determined to trigger every last one.

He might as well have been doing it to a drone.

You're wasting your energy, thought Jazz as he felt the temperature of the plating against his back rise a few more degrees. It's not going to happen. Not this cycle.

The kliks dragged on, as Soundwave seemed determined to bring Jazz to overload with him, but Jazz's internal temperature gauge remained stable, without a degree of variance. Finally, Soundwave seemed to resign himself, and pushed a final time into Jazz, held himself there, and spilled his release. As Soundwave's systems reset, the hydraulics in his arm slowly let Jazz's leg down onto the berth. Jazz winced at the feeling of Soundwave's spike jostling in his valve at the movement.

He listened to the pings of Soundwave's plating cooling while he waited. Then, unable to stop himself, Jazz turned on his visor. With Soundwave offline for the moment, the only source of light was Jazz's dimmed visor. He saw himself, a small smear of black and white, dwarfed by Soundwave's shadowed bulk in the mirror. Jazz imagined himself shrinking, growing smaller and smaller until nothing remained but Soundwave's darkness.

The thought of not existing was curiously soothing. Jazz allowed himself a small fantasy of what that would be like – no pain, no fear, no guilt.

Soundwave stirred, and the fancy evaporated from Jazz's processor. For a few kliks, Soundwave regarded Jazz in the mirror, the arm that had been holding up his leg withdrawing, only to again move across Jazz's face. Soundwave traced the seams and lines with no apparent purpose, his only sound a disapproving hum when Jazz pursed his lips in reaction.

Jazz turned off his visor again when Soundwave moved. His legs twitched when Soundwave withdrew from his valve, but that was his only reaction. He felt Soundwave lift himself, his arm struts creaking slightly as they took his weight. Jazz felt himself rolled away from the edge of the berth, then the closeness of Soundwave hovering over him. The weight was partially transferred from Soundwave's arms to Jazz's plating. Soundwave's internal temperature was still elevated, but it was no longer uncomfortable to be in such close proximity.

A soft snick indicated that Soundwave had retracted his spike. Jazz relaxed marginally. It was over, Soundwave was satisfied, and he could finally escape into recharge once more.

But the hand continued to caress his face and helm. Jazz switched on his visor, looking up at Soundwave warily.

Soundwave's visor was dim, only the barest red glow emanated from it.

"Recharge: entered immediately after returning to quarters?"

Jazz's spark sank. So they were going to have this discussion again, were they?

"Yes." He saw little point in lying to Soundwave.

"Excessive time spent in recharge: not conducive to optimal functioning. Your energy cells are capable of sixteen joors of activity."

Jazz shrugged and looked away. Soundwave turned his head back, forcing Jazz to meet his gaze.

"Maintenance, necessary? Unknown energy drain, possible? Fuel processing abnormality?"

"No."

Soundwave was silent then, and the look he gave Jazz was almost sad.

"Desired activities can be provided. Your satisfaction and pleasure: a priority."

Anger and disbelief surged through Jazz. He was lying on Soundwave's berth, Soundwave's transfluid seeping out of his valve, and Soundwave had the audacity to tell him that his pleasure was a slagging priority? Jazz began to laugh; his chuckles were quiet but tinged with desperation.

"Give me Megatron's head on a plate, and then I'll be as slagging happy as you slagging want."

"Response: inappropriate." Soundwave then waited in silence until Jazz's laughter died down. "During my absence, process possible diversions."

"Oh, I have ideas for diversions, but... wait, what?" Jazz looked up at Soundwave, focusing on him for the first time. "You're going away?" For a moment, Jazz didn't want Soundwave to go away – he was the only thing that kept the Recordicons even remotely in line.

"Affirmative. Immediately after recharge cycle completes, we will leave to retake the second moon."

We. Jazz thought. "So...that means... I'll be left alone here?"

"Affirmative. Unless you have objections. Other arrangements can be made."

"No!" Jazz cycled his vocoder – he hadn't meant to sound so eager. "No, no objections."

"Length of time away: anticipated to exceed two deca-cycles," said Soundwave. He suddenly leaned down, and pressed his lips against Jazz's, pushing Jazz's helm back against the berth.

Although he tightened his mandible against Soundwave at first, after a few nanokliks Jazz ceased his resistance and allowed Soundwave to part his lip components and enter him. Soundwave wasn't going to be put off tonight, not with his impending absence looming. Eventually Soundwave seemed to have had enough of moving his mouth against Jazz's unresponsive and passive facial components, and he pushed up again, rolling his frame off of Jazz, to end up on his other side, between Jazz and the mirror. Soundwave still did not allow Jazz to fall into recharge, but instead kept hold of his arm, alternately squeezing and rubbing the plating, obviously trying to get some sort of physical reaction out of Jazz.

Jazz withdrew further, trying to keep all of his focus anywhere but on Soundwave.

It was then that he realized they were no longer alone on the berth.

A quick glance confirmed what his proximity sensors had already told him. Rumble and Frenzy were also on the berth, but for once, their attention was not on Jazz. Instead of the manic, aggressive, and above all juvenile interfacing he had come to expect from them, their movements were slower, more measured and purposeful.

Jazz looked away, not wanting to focus on that either.

Soundwave's hand moved to Jazz's hip plate. Jazz could feel Soundwave's plating begin to heat up again.

"What was all that about miners?" Jazz blurted. Inwardly he cringed. If he showed too much interest in what had been said in the council meeting, Soundwave would never let him near one again. "I mean, you don't mine energon."

Soundwave's hand paused in its movements.

"Assertion: correct. Term is incorrect but preferred among Decepticons who oversee Energon salvage operations. More accurate term: sub-surface salvage teams."

"I thought there was no Energon left on Cybertron." Jazz steadfastly ignored the fact that Rumble and Frenzy's movements had brought them dangerously close to fetching up against his leg.

"Assumption: incorrect. Energon pooled in deep sub-surface conduits. With new resources, extraction is possible."

"...-uh, yeah, right there, Rumble..."

Jazz's spark felt as if it had dropped to his pedes. He thought about the energon he was provided, the energon he had consumed and fueled with since they had returned to Cybertron.

"New...resources?"

"Autobot labor groups have allowed..." Soundwave continued but Jazz did not hear the rest.

My friends. I've been living off the misery of my friends. Jazz glared up at Soundwave. "Did those goodies earlier come from 'Autobot labor groups'?" hissed Jazz.

Soundwave seemed taken aback by Jazz's sudden vehemence. "Origin of gift: irrelevant."

For a moment Jazz's anger burned white-hot; so hot that he thought he might be able to overcome the pacification programming and strike Soundwave. But when he sent the command, all of his rage and bitterness did no more than make his arm strut twitch. Soundwave immediately moved to rub and soothe the limb, as if he thought some minor irritant was responsible for the movement.

"Don't touch me," Jazz protested weakly. Soundwave merely made a soothing noise and held him closer, one arm supporting Jazz's shoulders, and the other moving slowly downward over Jazz's body, until it rested on his still exposed interface array. Soundwave made a few exploratory moves with his fingers, gently stimulating Jazz's anterior sensor node and tracing the rim of his valve. But Jazz stiffened and made a small noise of discomfort when one blunt finger slipped inside, and Soundwave withdrew.

"Suggestion, relax." Soundwave's monotone voice buzzed against Jazz's helm sensor.

"I'd rather be with my friends looking for energon," Jazz whispered, but his voice held no vehemence, and he made no move to push away Soundwave.

The hand between his legs moved up, and began tracing the rim of his spike housing.

"Your position: to be envied."

That's cheating, thought Jazz as Soundwave's hand became more forceful.

There was no point in overriding the commands to extend his spike – to do so would only prolong this.

After a few kliks, Soundwave had built up enough charge so that Jazz's spike extended, and slid smoothly into his palm. Another rumble from Soundwave's speakers signaled his pleasure with Jazz's compliance. His large hand curled gently around Jazz's spike, and he paused, simply holding Jazz close.

Jazz turned off his visor again as he was pulled into Soundwave's chest plating.

"Uh, yeah Frenzy, give it to me!"

The arm around Jazz's shoulders tightened spasmodically, crushing Jazz against the glass of Soundwave's cassette compartment.

Soundwave's hand moved up to hold the base of Jazz's spike, squeezing in a peristaltic pattern. A sensation of warmth began pooling in Jazz's pelvic unit.

A soft cry came from the direction of the Recordicons. Jazz tried in vain to shut off his auditory sensors, but the Decepticons' programming denied him access to his own functions.

Soundwave crushed his own pelvic unit against Jazz's for a moment, quivering minutely.

When he regained control, Soundwave ran his hand down Jazz's spike, trailing one digit over the sensors that lined the dorsal ridge. Jazz tried to control himself, but he made a small, abortive thrust into Soundwave's fist in reaction to the sensations produced.

His ventilation cycles were coming faster now as a little more heat built in his chassis.

"Aw, c'mon Rumble, I'm not done!"

Soundwave's thumb moved over the tip of Jazz's spike. A weak thrill wiggled up Jazz's back strut, and numbness was starting to take over his pelvic unit. He could feel the pressure of Soundwave's hand on him, but a diffuse, dull tingling was all he could feel around his interface array.

"You'll have to finish yourself; anymore and my tape will unwind all over the berth."

"Aw, frag you."

"You just did," was Rumble's tired reply.

The dull feeling spread up Jazz's plating, and he tensed against it, his lip components pressed in a thin line of distaste. Soundwave gave his shoulders an encouraging squeeze.

Suddenly the numbness overtook his whole frame, and Jazz stiffened, his backstrut tensing in a subtle wave. His pelvic unit gave two shallow thrusts into Soundwave's grip, and then the tension left Jazz's frame as quickly as it had come.

Was that it? Jazz thought.

Soundwave seemed similarly unsure – he held Jazz's spike loosely, seemingly watching Jazz closely for a cue.

Maybe he really has broken me. Jazz flinched away when Soundwave stroked his spike tentatively. The tell-tale uncomfortable sensitivity meant it really had been an overload, however unimpressive. "You can stop," he said aloud. "That was it. You got what you want-"

Jazz cut off in horror as he felt a warm rush of fluid splash over his heel tire. He switched on his visor, and looked down to find a grinning Frenzy staring back at him, spike retracting. Silvery transfluid marred Jazz's plating. His lip curled in disgust.

An outraged diatribe built in his vocoder, but then crushing weariness overtook him, and it died. Jazz allowed his head to flop back onto the berth. He just wanted to be allowed to escape into senselessness once more. To be left alone.

"Frenzy: cease inappropriate behavior."

"Aw, but Soundwave, it's your fault for gettin' us all worked up like that!"

"Retrieve cleaning square, then return to tape mode. Do not transform until recharge cycle has ended."

"Awww..."

Jazz flinched internally. The feeling of Frenzy's emission slowly seeping into his wheel well and congealing on his plating was repulsive. But he didn't want to be touched and fussed with. He didn't even want to have to touch himself.

He had half expected Soundwave to insist Frenzy clean up the mess himself, a task that the disgusting little mechanism was sure to make as perverse as possible. However, Soundwave was the one who ran the square of fiber mesh, pretreated with solvent, over Jazz's wheel and pede. Momentarily freed from Soundwave's arms, Jazz slowly lifted his hand and covered his visor with it. When Soundwave reclined by his side once again, he made a perfunctory attempt to uncover Jazz's face, but desisted when Jazz simply lifted his other hand to replace the one Soundwave now held.

A long, slow, rush of air escaped from Soundwave's vents, and he settled next to Jazz, who listened to Soundwave powering down. Even as the sounds of systems shutting off and entering recharge mode faded, Jazz kept his face hidden. He couldn't show it. No matter what happened, he couldn't ever show it again. Skyfire felt guilty, but Jazz was the one who had reason to be. He was living off of the back-struts of his fellow Autobots.

He was fortunate.

Chapter Text

…Nine, ten, eleven…

Red Alert stared up at the ceiling plates, waiting for twenty-six. Above him, Shockwave moved, his powerful frame intruding into 65% of Red Alert's viewfield at the apex of each thrust, and retreating to only 8% every time he withdrew.

Thirteen, fourteen…

Red Alert held himself as still as possible while still being compliant and yielding to Shockwave. He now always made sure to situate himself in the exact center of the berth, so that his spoiler would not be pinched or scraped on one of the larger vents that lined the edges. He kept his arms up, hands on either side of his helm. If he did not move them, Shockwave would not hold him down.

If he kept looking in Shockwave's general direction, he would not be forced to look.

Eighteen, nineteen, twenty…

It was almost over.

Red Alert resisted the urge to fidget and squirm as Shockwave's cold spike slid in and out of him. He tried to ignore the sensation of Shockwave's transfluid congealing on his oral chemoreceptors and intake filters.

Twenty-two, twenty-three…

Almost there.

Twenty-five…

Shockwave's struts stiffened for a brief instant.

Twenty-six.

The hot fluid spilling in his valve was a sharp contrast to the frigid spike it came from. Red Alert made a quiet noise in the back of his vocoder; he had never become used to the sensation.

Shockwave sat back, withdrawing from Red Alert's valve, and waiting expectantly.

"Thank you, Master." The words came easily to Red Alert now.

"Proceed with your duties."

Red Alert quickly rolled away from Shockwave, and went to retrieve a micro-mesh cleaning square from Shockwave's copious supply.

"Next cycle I will be accompanying Lord Megatron to Vos, Slave Red Alert," Shockwave intoned from the berth. When Red Alert turned, Shockwave had already poured out a measure of coolant. "During the time I am away, you will review the security logs from section 2779. Motormaster has reported possibly-seditious gatherings. You will flag anything that may be relevant."

"Yes, Master," Red Alert answered as he climbed onto the berth, and began cleaning Shockwave's spike. He found himself actually looking forward to the assignment. Shockwave's collection of drones maintained the living quarters, and Red Alert often had nothing to do other than sit and endlessly polish himself. He craved a task that wasn't in some way related to the berth. "Where will I find the logs, Master?"

"I will download them onto a datapad in my lab. You may use the monitors." As Red Alert finished, Shockwave brought the container of coolant up to Red Alert's lips. Many cycles of practice meant that Red Alert did not spill a drop as the cool liquid was poured down his intake, washing his filters clean.

As Red Alert settled next to Shockwave, he received a transmission from his master, which reset his internal chronometer to bring him out of recharge a joor early, presumably to help prepare Shockwave for his journey.

Shockwave no longer held Red Alert in place during recharge, as long as Red Alert did not try to escape to the far edge of the berth.

Red Alert could bear being close to Shockwave, as long as he wasn't forced. It was his only choice.

"No, no, no, don't, please don't…" Red Alert begged as Shockwave dragged him towards the berth.

Gleaming metal restraints lay open, waiting; while probes and scanners loomed overhead.

Hook looked up from where he was tapping in some last minute instructions on a keypad, and smirked.

The smile frightened Red Alert even more than the berth.

"You will cease this unseemly display, Slave Red Alert."

"Master please!" They were at the berth's edge, and Shockwave released Red Alert's arm. Before he became a slave, Red Alert would have bolted, fleeing as fast as his pedes and wheels could carry him. But now…

But now. He stood as if clamped to the floor plating, afraid of what was going to happen on the berth, but terrified of Shockwave's punishment.

"You are being rebellious, Slave Red Alert." Shockwave's voice was even and calm, but Red Alert shuddered in response. "The bond will be severed. But how …difficult the process becomes is up to you."

"Master, it…it hurts, please don't make me, please!"

"You will be corrected when we return to my quarters." Shockwave signaled Hook, who left the console immediately and came stalking towards them.

Red Alert gave a strangled yell as Hook's hand closed over his arm, and tried to twist away. But the two Decepticons were stronger than him, and did not have debilitating programming installed on their hard drives. He kicked out and thrashed with a desperation borne of abject terror. Shockwave and Hook remained grimly silent.

"No, no NO!" Red Alert twisted as Hook hoisted him onto the berth, the feel of Hook's heavy chassis pinning his leg struts sending him into a frenzy. "Please, no, please you're hurting me! You're hurting me! You're-"

Red Alert's vocoder cut off with a squawk as the metal bands snapped closed over his wrists. He opened and closed his mouth soundlessly, fear stealing his voice.

"Please," he finally said, quietly. "Please don't do this, Master."

When Hook finished securing his legs, Red Alert fell silent again, letting his head roll to the side, staring at the far wall. A low, throbbing hum came from above him as the machines and devices were activated.

Hook grabbed the edges of Red Alert's chest plate and forced them open. Red Alert stifled a whimper of hurt – he didn't even have locks anymore - Hook didn't need to be rough like that!

"The corona is slightly enlarged compared to last time, Commander Shockwave." Red Alert wanted to purge his tanks as he felt Hook's fingers palpating his spark. "But it doesn't appear to be anything more than normal fluctuation."

Red Alert gasped when Hook gave his spark chamber a sharp squeeze before withdrawing his hand. He shut off his optics, unable to bring himself to look at his tormentor.

"Then let us proceed. I have other duties to attend to later this cycle."

Red Alert shook as the cold whine of the device drew closer.

Please don't Master, please…

The humming whirr was directly above him now.

Master!

The pain began.

"Red? Red Alert, c'mon, you gotta reboot now…"

A familiar voice floated through the haze that clouded his processor. He fought to focus, to rise up from the fog that submerged him.

"Please, Red, turn on your optics."

Warmth surrounded him as his sensor feeds booted up. A tingling sensation, bewildering in its intensity surged through him. Red Alert frantically sought to gain control of his sensor feeds, to put them back in some semblance of order so he could cope with the sheer amount of feedback they provided him with.

As they took their proper place in his priority tree, the tingling and warmth coalesced into a soft, gentle touch on his faceplate.

And his processor felt like he had cracked a motherboard.

Red Alert groaned before he was aware of his vocoder coming online.

"That's it, come on now, it's time to get up."

His processor felt sluggish, and while the voice was familiar, Red Alert couldn't match it just yet – he had to get his optics online. Where was he? What was happening?

When his optical sensor feed initialized, he could only make out indistinct, blurry shapes hovering over him. He felt like he was spinning, but the pressure against his back plating told him that he was lying down, so that couldn't be right…

"Red Alert! Please!"

The tinge of desperation in the voice motivated him to push his optical focus subroutines to the top of the repair list.

The shapes sharpened, and Red Alert found himself staring into Jazz's visor. Next to Jazz, Bluestreak gazed down at him as well.

What…what happened? His processor hurt and all he wanted to do was curl up and recharge for an orn. Where am I?

Above Jazz and Bluestreak, others peered down at him, as he focused on them, Red Alert quailed.

Shockwave stared at them impassively; Soundwave was facing him, also looking at Red Alert. Blitzwing and Swindle were there and oh Primus Megatron appeared, looking over Shockwave's shoulder at him.

Red Alert whimpered and turned away. This hallucination had to be some sort of horrible new symptom of his glitch, why would so many Decepticons be staring at him?

As he turned, he saw energon pooling under Jazz, flowing over floor plating. For a frantic, panic-filled moment he thought it was his own, leaking out from his rent helm and CPU. Then he saw the tray. And the half full cubes scattered around, and the memory came crashing back.

He moaned again, this time in shame and embarrassment. He'd glitched. And everyone had seen.

"Slave Red Alert, you must rise."

Shockwave's voice was like an electrified prod, driving him up before his systems were fully ready. He staggered sideways but Bluestreak caught him, and gently lowered him down, helping support Red Alert in a sitting position.

He's going to think I'm rebelling but I'm not I can't walk I can't, not so soon-

Shockwave regarded the trio of slaves on the floor for a long moment, and then turned. "Lord Megatron, please excuse me while I attend to my slave."

Megatron said nothing, but gave a curt nod. Shockwave immediately leaned over Red Alert, who found himself being lifted bodily into Shockwave's arms.

"Master, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to, I'm sorry-"

"Be silent."

Red Alert shut down his vocoder, but he still trembled. What if Shockwave thought he was doing this to be disobedient? Would he be punished?

Soundwave turned to Jazz, who was already helping Bluestreak mop up the energon Red Alert had spilled. "Jazz: assist Commander Shockwave."

"Yes, Master Soundwave."

As Shockwave moved through a door and down the hall with Red Alert cradled in his arms, Jazz fell into step behind him. Red Alert felt sick and hot with shame – having a glitch in front of everyone was utterly humiliating. He curled in on himself as much as he could, and covered his face with his hands.

Within a klik Shockwave had entered the small room where Red Alert and the other Autobot slaves prepared the energon and coolant they served. Shockwave released Red Alert's legs, but Red Alert could not get his struts under him and clung to Shockwave for a few moments, until Jazz slipped in behind and took his weight, gently lowering him to the floor.

"Steady, Red, steady," he murmured in Red Alert's audio. "I've got you."

Red Alert sagged against Jazz, his gyros still reeling from the glitch. The whole room felt like it was spinning. He looked warily up at Shockwave as his master moved away from where he cowered on the floor, trying to control his trembling. Jazz embraced him, and he leaned into the comforting touch, while at the same time despising himself for doing so. He didn't want Jazz to see whatever punishment Shockwave was going to give him, but he didn't want to be alone, either.

Shockwave seemed intent on his task, however, filling a small container with coolant, and a bucket with solvent. He turned back, and regarded the two Autobots wordlessly for several long moments before approaching them and setting the items down on the floor. He knelt in front of them, and Red Alert found himself transfixed by Shockwave's unwavering stare.

"Master, I'm sorry," he finally whispered. "I'm so sorry, please, I'm sorry."

"Why are you apologizing, slave Red Alert?"

"I – I didn't mean to glitch in front of everyone, Master, I'm sorry."

"Did you do it intentionally?"

"No!" Red Alert practically shouted. "I'd never – I can't-"

"Did you have prior knowledge that you were going to glitch at this time?"

"I – I…" Red Alert thought back, and looking over the past few cycles he now remembered things, minor malfunctions, visual and audio disturbances that only occurred before a glitch. "Yes, Master. I mean, I didn't know when it was going to happen, but I knew it would be soon."

"Why did you not inform me?" Shockwave's monotone voice gave Red Alert no indication of whether Shockwave was angry with him.

"I didn't want you to think that I was trying to shirk my duties, Master."

"I see. In the future you will inform me of when you feel a glitch is coming on. I will excuse you from public duties during that time, so that an incident like this does not occur again."

This casual statement startled Red Alert so much that he closed his mouth with a snap, and stared up at Shockwave. Did this mean he wasn't in trouble?

"Are your legs operational?" Shockwave took hold of one and flexed it, as if to see if Red Alert was able to produce any tension in his limbs. The leg remained limp.

"No, Master. My motor subroutines are still offline." He clutched at Jazz more firmly, trying to stay upright as the lower half of his body was manipulated.

Shockwave did not respond, but reached into his subspace and drew out a program module. Red Alert felt Jazz tense against him, and his spark pulsed in fear at the sight – it was the same sort of self-executing module that had been used to install the pacification programming.

Red Alert flinched away with a gasp of fear when Shockwave reached for the access panel on his shoulder.

"Be still." Shockwave's tone did not vary, but Red Alert knew that such a curt command meant that he was trying his master's patience. He didn't know what was on the module, but it couldn't be anything good – it was probably some sort of punishment program…

Shockwave slipped the terminal end of the module into the appropriate port on Red Alert's panel. Red Alert trembled in Jazz's arms, fear strangling his spark. Whatever it was, he hoped it wouldn't be too humiliating.

POST-EM DISRUPTION PROGRAMMING PATCH INITIATING

What?

BEGINNING RECOVERY

Red Alert watched in astonishment as the program busily went to work on the programming that had been fragmented and damaged during the glitch. He shut off his optics, and let out a sigh from his vents in relief. It was just a repair module – and it was customized to his programming. Glit must have given it to Shockwave after repairing Red Alert.

When the program was done, the module beeped, and Shockwave unplugged it and once again stowed it in his subspace. Red Alert turned on his optics and watched the module disappear with a pang of loss – something like that, customized for him, would mean that he could go on indefinitely without major repairs because of his glitch. Usually, if he wasn't seen by a repair-bot after a glitch, his damaged programming and hardware would be more susceptible to them, and they would increase in frequency and intensity until he was at risk for a complete processor meltdown. Red Alert knew that he had never been closer to this fate while in the mines, and he never wanted to feel so helpless, so betrayed by his own hardware again.

"Move your legs, Slave Red Alert."

Red Alert obeyed. He waggled his pedes first, before extending and flexing his knee joints. Although he was able to move, he still felt weak and shaky, and did not know if he could remain upright if Shockwave ordered him to stand.

"Recite the prime factors of 165."

"Three, five, eleven."

Shockwave stood abruptly. "Return to your duties when you have fully recovered, and bring energon to replace that which was spilled."

"Yes, Master," Red Alert said to Shockwave's retreating back strut as he and Jazz were left alone in the small room.

For a moment both were silent, then Jazz released a long rush of air from his vents and rested his helm against Red Alert's shoulder tire. For his part, Red Alert slumped against Jazz, relief overwhelming him.

"All right, Red?"

"Yes. Yes, I'm all right."

"Then let's get you cleaned up." Jazz stood, keeping a hand on Red Alert's shoulder until it was evident that Red Alert was not going to topple over. He moved over to the same basin that Shockwave had used, and grabbed two rags that were hanging from the spigot before rinsing them in solvent and bringing them back to where Red Alert sat.

"Thank you." Red Alert accepted one of the rags and began working on the congealing energon staining his chest plate while Jazz rubbed at his shoulder wheel and hubcap.

After a few kliks of working silence, Jazz cycled his vocoder and said, "How are you holding up, Red? And don't give me any of that 'Don't worry about me,' slag. I want to know."

Red Alert's movements over his chassis with the cloth slowed as he thought. "I'm – I'm surviving." He began swiping at himself with renewed vigor. "Shockwave doesn't hit me, or anything. He's not…he's not violent. Not really. He keeps me fueled and maintained."

Jazz looked up, meeting Red Alert's optics with an intense gaze. "He took you from the sub-surface salvage teams, right?"

"Uh…yes?" Red Alert looked down nervously at Jazz's hand, which was now gripping his arm tightly.

"Is it bad down there?"

"What do you mean?" It was bad everywhere, surely Jazz knew that.

"Do they- did they give you enough fuel? That sort of thing?"

"Oh. Yes, they kept us fueled, and if you worked hard, they mostly left you alone. Inferno was flogged, once, for talking back to a 'Con. And…" Red Alert looked down, unable to meet Jazz's optics. "When I wasn't meeting quota, some of them – they separated me from the others and tried to- tried to – in front of everybody."

"Ah, Red," Jazz embraced him, gently resting his helm against Red Alert's. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"They didn't though, in the end." Red Alert shuddered once, and then took a deep ventilation to steady himself. "I glitched; it frightened them off." Slowly, little by little, Red Alert relaxed into Jazz's arms.

Jazz made a soothing noise as he held him close.

They remained that way for as long as they could before returning to the council chamber.

His whole world was pain.

The probe buried deep in his spark gave another pulse and a scream was torn from Red Alert's vocoder. His innermost being was flayed, torn apart layer by layer.

Then the frequency changed and Red Alert groaned as the bedrock-solid sparkbond caught him with a jerk. He clung to it, his only anchor in the maelstrom of torment that surrounded him. Shockwave's experiments would extinguish his own spark before the bond was broken – it loomed up, immutable, immovable.

Please, please make it stop, please Inferno, help me, I need you so much!

He could feel the instruments scraping and prodding his physical body, seeking a weak point that would cast him loose. It was agony.

Please, Primus, save me!

A sharp, hot line of searing pain cut through his spark, but it was halted as soon as it ran against the bond. Red Alert could vaguely hear muffled cursing above him, but he was too frantic with terror and hurt to understand the words.

Someone help me, please! Please!

Suddenly he felt a new kind of pain – pain that wasn't his own, coming from somewhere outside of his chassis. It was…it was…

Inferno!

Red Alert could feel the bond reacting, twisting like the trout human anglers caught in the river near the Ark. He was jerked to and fro by the violence on the other end.

They're hurting Inferno!

The heat against his spark increased, he tried to escape but there was nowhere to turn.

Except the bond.

Red Alert threw himself into it, seeking shelter, seeking stability, seeking…to not suffer alone. He could feel Inferno's pain, pain that he recognized as his own, reflected down the bond and back again. Inferno was being hurt because of him.

Another pulse ripped through his spark, causing Red Alert to cling more tightly to the bond. He could feel Inferno's spark writhing in reaction, seeking to escape.

I'm sorry Inferno, I'm so sorry, I can't do this alone, I can't I can't I can't-

Red Alert rebooted his optics as he came out of power save mode. Before his processor was fully online, he was reaching out, searching for the warm chassis that had always reclined next to him deep underneath Cybertron's surface. His only light in the darkness…

Inferno.

His spark clenched at the same time his hand encountered only emptiness.

Inferno's absence was like a howling, hungry maw inside of him, eating at him every moment. Suddenly he his spark gave a particularly sharp pang. Red Alert whimpered in pain and curled in on himself, shaking with the strain to keep from crying out.

The pangs were staying on longer and longer after every experiment Shockwave did on his spark. Red Alert rubbed at the Maltese cross on his chest absently, even though he knew it never helped.

Why did I boot up? Red Alert thought as he sat up in Shockwave's berth. He had finished all of his duties, and had decided to power down for a bit. But normally it was Shockwave himself who roused him; he didn't just online for no-

Voices floated through the open doorway, and Red Alert paused, his sensors turning up to their highest gain.

"…is useful for the moment, Shockwave."

Red Alert fought the compulsion to cower down as Megatron spoke. Megatron was here? Aside from the encounter after the first visit to Hook, Megatron had not returned to Shockwave's quarters, and Shockwave never had guests. Red Alert felt like their quarters were being invaded, violated by someone else's presence.

"Lord Megatron, I recognize Starscream's service during the war, and his part in the victory during the last offensive, but even that cannot excuse his behavior forever."

Slowly, reluctantly, Red Alert crept off of the berth and slipped out of the room. He was drawn by some irresistible compulsion to see the enemy with his own optics, to monitor.

A dark laugh rolled down the hall where Red Alert was hidden in the shadows.

"I understand your concerns, but you must trust your leader. Starscream is a fool and a thrice-over traitor, but he is also indebted to me in more ways than you know."

"My Lord, I only bring these matters up because I wish to see your glorious empire last forever-"

"I understand that. You are a loyal and faithful servant, Shockwave. Your constancy will be rewarded."

Red Alert took the few remaining steps to the doorway as Shockwave murmured his gratitude, evading the sharp slice of light that cut into the concealing darkness. He peeped around the edge.

Shockwave was standing, facing the doorway. For a moment Red Alert wanted to turn and dash back to the berthroom, but be he knew that Shockwave must have already seen him. Megatron had his back to Red Alert, casting a long, menacing shadow. Red Alert had never realized how small Shockwave's quarters were, but now they seemed barely big enough to contain the two large mechs.

"Slave Red Alert, bring energon for Lord Megatron."

Red Alert flinched at the order, but after living with Shockwave for so long, he was far beyond rebellion. No sooner had the transmission ceased than Red Alert was darting behind Megatron to carry out the task he had been given.

He punched in the rich energon mix he knew Megatron favored, and pulled a small cube. When he was called upon to wait at meetings Shockwave was attending, Jazz always took it upon himself to serve Megatron. Red Alert approached Megatron's elbow with trepidation, the cube held out in front of him.

Megatron took it without looking at him, drained it, and placed it back into Red Alert's hands for him to disperse.

"But enough about Starscream. I came here to discuss your latest breakthrough in your grid surveillance project."

"Yes, Lord Megatron. My slave will bring you the relevant data."

Red Alert moved away from Megatron's side, and hurried down the hallway to Shockwave's workroom. Once there, he quickly sorted through the neat stacks of datapads until he found the correct one.

"…development in sector beta-two-four-one is progressing at an acceptable rate, but unfortunately neighboring sectors are still experiencing power grid fluctuations," Shockwave was saying as Red Alert returned and handed the datapad to Megatron.

"And you are close to isolating the cause of the disturbances?" Megatron asked. As he glanced through the datapad, Red Alert noticed a slight scowl form on Megatron's faceplates. A small hiss, likely inaudible to Shockwave, came from one of the actuators in Megatron's legs as he shifted minutely.

Red Alert knew how complex the data was – he had helped compile it! And Megatron was giving the impression of someone who had expected to be given a brief, ten-klik update, but was presented with information that would require at least a joor of discussion.

Stepping back, Red Alert silently palmed a control on the wall, and the installed modular seating units glided out. He quickly pressed a specific sequence into the control panel, and the seating units formed an L – shaped alcove with a small, low table in the center perfect for collaboration between two mechs. It was the same configuration that Shockwave used when he required Red Alert to work closely with him.

Without word or acknowledgement Megatron and Shockwave moved to the benches, and began to go over the data. Red Alert quickly slipped back into the utility room, and prepared a large ewer of coolant and several smaller vessels. He also placed a cube of Shockwave's preferred energon formula on the tray – he knew Shockwave would not have had a chance to refuel this cycle. He placed the tray on the low table, not between the two Decepticons, but close enough for convenience.

As the breems ticked on, Red Alert continued to wait upon Shockwave and Megatron, fetching datapads and supplies, keeping the coolant filled, and clearing away unneeded items. If Red Alert had not been able to catch the quick stasis nap earlier, he knew he would have been swaying on his pedes. As it was, he only felt slightly lethargic by the time Megatron and Shockwave finally stood.

As soon as they were clear of the alcove, Red Alert gathered up the few remaining items and sent the seating units back into their docks in the wall. He hovered in the doorway of the utility room, uncertain whether he would be needed further.

"I am pleased with your progress, Shockwave," Megatron said as he made his way to the door. "Let me know if you require additional resources. I know there are those who say that I do not care about the Decepticons who have been placed in the outer sectors, and your diligence in solving their energy problems will assist me in battling that perception." Megatron glanced back down at the datapad still in his hand. "I thought the recursive algorithm used to distribute the load on the grid was an especially elegant solution."

"The algorithm is one of Slave Red Alert's contributions."

Red Alert froze. He had experienced a small thrill of pride when Megatron had complimented his work, but he had not thought that Shockwave would have given him the credit. In fact, he wished Shockwave wouldn't. Anything that called Megatron's attention to him couldn't be-

"Really?" Megatron turned his gaze to where Red Alert was hiding in the shadows. His red optics were unreadable, and a small, mysterious smile quirked the corner of his mouth. Red Alert was terrified. "Come here, slave."

Unable to disobey, Red Alert approached cautiously, keeping his optics low.

"Yes, my lord?"

A massive hand closed over Red Alert's shoulder wheel. It took all of his strength not to shy away from Megatron's touch. Slowly, it moved over his shoulder yoke and finally to Red Alert's neck, lifting his face until he had no choice but to meet Megatron's gaze.

Megatron's optics pierced him to his core, and he stood transfixed. A small tremor chased through his chassis, and Megatron smiled, pleased by his fear.

"Your slave is well trained, Shockwave," said Megatron. Shame and humiliation burned through Red Alert's circuits, to be discussed like some sort of mechanimal.

"Thank you, Lord Megatron."

"It is obvious that under your mastery he is serving the Decepticon Empire well." Megatron turned Red Alert's face side to side, examining his features critically.

Red Alert wanted nothing more than for the deck plating to open up and swallow him.

"Slave Red Alert is progressing at a faster rate than I had anticipated." Shockwave stepped closer to Megatron, joining him in his examination. "I had feared that being assigned to the sub-surface salvage teams before coming to me would present a hindrance to his training. But he did not acquire any undesirable habits, and he has handled the change of masters and environments with minimal confusion and difficulty."

"Really? Why was he assigned to the salvage teams? Such a… weakling wouldn't extract enough energon to make up for what he consumed."

"I do not know, Lord Megatron. I was not involved with the process of assigning slaves to work crews. If you would like, I can perform an audit of the slaves assigned to the heavy labor gangs, to ensure that no other…oversights have been committed."

"Excellent." Megatron abruptly released Red Alert's neck and turned away, striding purposefully towards the door.

As soon as his back was turned, Red Alert fled.

He only stopped when he was safe within the confines of the berthroom. For a klik, he stood trembling and holding himself. For the most part, Red Alert no longer noticed how small he was compared to most Decepticons, but the way Megatron had loomed over him, the power contained in the hand around his neck…

Pede steps in the hallway made Red Alert's spark clench in apprehension, and he quickly hurried to kneel next to the berth. He did not know if Shockwave would be displeased with his hasty exit, but appearing ready to serve couldn't hurt.

He kept his optics focused on the small patch of floor plating directly in front of him as Shockwave approached. He kept perfectly still, even when the tip of one giant, purple pede intruded into his viewfield. Red Alert's anxiety peaked as Shockwave continued to stand, looking at him with silent regard. It was past time for them to go to berth – Shockwave was supposed to sit down on the berth, and extend his spike, and Red Alert would put his mouth-

"Slave Red Alert."

"Yes, Master." Red Alert clenched his hands to keep them from trembling. He must have displeased Shockwave terribly for him to deviate from routine like this…

"You will kneel on the berth."

Red Alert raised his head, looking up at Shockwave in confusion. But Shockwave's featureless visage gave him no clues as to his purpose.

"Y-yes, Master." He rose to his pedes, his motions practiced and smooth, and mounted the berth. Still unsure as to Shockwave's intentions, Red Alert looked at him for more guidance.

"Face the head."

Red Alert turned, settling himself on his knees in the middle of the berth, facing the wall at the head of the berth. He clasped his hands in front of him. He had thought he knew all of Shockwave's rituals – but this was unexpected.

A cold, heavy arm pressed against the back of Red Alert's neckstrut. Red Alert tried to scoot forward, away from the pressure, but he was stayed by a warning touch to his hip plate. Slowly, gingerly, he yielded to the pressure, bending down until the brim of his helm was resting against the plating of the berth.

"M-master?"

"Be still, Slave Red Alert." Shockwave's hand tightened on his hip, lifting it. Red Alert could feel him moving on the berth, his incredible mass causing the plating to creak as he shifted, moving to press in behind Red Alert's aft.

Red Alert shut off his optics and spread his legs. He understood now. The shame that had flared during Megatron's examination burned even more fiercely now.

A chill settled over his plating as Shockwave leaned close. He wanted to tremble when his panel was manually retracted, but he had long since learned to remain motionless no matter what Shockwave did to him. A single cold digit poked at the entrance to his valve before sliding in smoothly. Red Alert's ventilations hitched for a moment as his valve walls stretched and adjusted to the intrusion. He held back a grunt of discomfort – usually Shockwave would spend just enough time to ensure his valve was in working order before jacking in. Now, however…

Red Alert did let out a groan when Shockwave suddenly curled his finger and pressed down on one of the sensor nodes that lined the anterior surface of his valve. He fought to keep his limbs locked, to keep from collapsing in reaction. It was so cold, so cold that it burned.

What was Shockwave doing?

He tried to lift his helm to look over his shoulder, but the firm press of Shockwave's gun hand against his neck put a stop to that.

You're not really here, Red Alert thought. You're back on the Ark, and this is Inferno, and he's so warm, and he'll never hurt you… Red Alert dredged deep into his memory banks, but the memories of Inferno's touch were getting harder and harder to recall. You're not on some slagging 'Con's berth, with some slagging 'Con's fingers stuck halfway up your-

Red Alert gasped and pressed his face into his arms as the digit was abruptly withdrawn from his valve. Shockwave grabbed his hips, steadying them, and Red Alert held himself rigid and still as the cold spike invaded him, a wave of disgust rippling through his fuel tank.

It'll just be twenty-six, it's only twenty six, he won't hurt-

The new position was uncomfortable, and Shockwave's spike was poking the posterior wall of his valve. As Shockwave pulled out and pushed in, Red Alert tried to relax into the thrusts, to ease the tension in his hydraulics. He knew it would be more comfortable, but getting his components to cooperate when every subroutine was screaming at him to run was next to impossible.

The spike slid in and out, its rhythm hatefully familiar. The most sensitive sensors, concentrated around his valve's entrance, kept up a steady stream of information to Red Alert's processor, informing him of every ridge and bump on Shockwave's spike.

He suddenly realized he had forgotten to start counting.

How many? How many was it? Red Alert desperately tried to start counting, but the continual adjustments he had to make in his position kept him from being able to concentrate.

Suddenly a cold hand closed over the front of his interface array. Red Alert cried out, startled; his hands scrabbling at the plating of the berth as he tried to escape the loathsome pawing. He was pulled back firmly, and Shockwave ceased thrusting, holding him tightly against his own hip plate until Red Alert ceased his movements and lay still and limp against the berth.

"Slave Red Alert, you will extend your spike."

Red Alert's entire frame shook.

"You will extend your spike."

Slowly, haltingly, Red Alert executed the required subroutines.

Shockwave's frigid hand closed around his spike, and Red Alert cried out and bucked at the shock of it.

He couldn't do this – he could take Shockwave 'facing him like a drone, but he couldn't take this, he couldn't take Shockwave's motionless spike, he couldn't take that hand on him for one more nanoklik. "Please, Master-"

"Be still."

Red Alert shivered as Shockwave resumed his slow, deliberate thrusts

"Your performance today was excellent, Slave Red Alert," Shockwave said, his motions faltering for a moment. "However, your non-compliance in other areas must be rectified before you will be ready to be placed with a permanent master."

Fear clutched Red Alert's spark as it always did whenever Shockwave brought up the fact that he was not planning on keeping him. Red Alert hated Shockwave with his entire spark, but…but the thought being abandoned to a new, crueler master was terrifying. He tried to answer Shockwave, but at that moment Shockwave gave his spike a firm squeeze and all that came out was a tiny squeak.

Shockwave's manipulations were ill-timed to his thrusts, making Red Alert unsure of where and how he should move in response. The hand on his spike was not just cold, it was rough - Shockwave was pulling him forward and down to the berth with his strokes, and the pressure was becoming painful to the sensitive circuits that supplied his spike. Red Alert bit his arm plating to keep from crying out at one particularly harsh tug.

"Slave Red Alert, you are resisting me." Shockwave's disapproving tone sent a thrill of fear up Red Alert's backstrut. It was the same tone that usually prefaced being sent outside. He whimpered and shook his helm.

What was taking so long? Twenty-six had come and gone, and he was still being fragged! For a brief, delirious moment Red Alert felt as if he had always been in this berth, in this position, and would always be a helpless vessel for Shockwave's lust.

"Please, Mast-ah-master, I don't know what…I don't know what you want!"

"You must cease your resistance, Slave Red Alert." Shockwave punctuated his words with a sharp squeeze to Red Alert's spike, sending a wave of sensation up his backstrut.

Oh. Oh.

For a moment Red Alert fought back a wail of frustration. He couldn't overload like this! Not with Shockwave's cold hand on his spike and what felt like a slagging icicle shoved up his valve.

Then, when he had control of himself and confidence in his vocoder, he answered, "Yes, Master."

This time when Shockwave began to thrust again, Red Alert forced himself to relax. It was difficult, but concentrating on finding the little knots and whorls of trapped energy in his circuits and releasing them methodically helped to take his processor off of what was happening to him.

As he relaxed, Shockwave's movements became…more tolerable. Less repulsive. In fact, as he completely separated Shockwave from the sensations, they became almost pleasant.

Red Alert pressed his chest into the berth as he allowed his backstrut to become loose and flaccid. As he did so, the angle of the spike invading him changed, and he cried out as it slid over a cluster of sensors nestled deep in his valve.

He whimpered as heat poured through his circuits, building quickly in the wake of Shockwave's aggressive stimulation. His processor swam, disoriented as sensations bombarded it. Red Alert felt like his vents were blocked somewhere deep in his substructure, overheat warnings were taking over his HUD and it was all becoming too much-

With a harsh cry, Red Alert bucked against Shockwave, pumping his hips into Shockwave's hand as his transfluid spattered the berth beneath him. He sagged, spent and shamed, as Shockwave continued to move in and out of his valve.

After half-a-dozen more thrusts, hot fluid flooded Red Alert's valve, and Shockwave finally withdrew. For a klik, Red Alert remained frozen, his joints and hydraulics too stiff from the awkward position. Then, slowly, he rolled to the side and collapsed.

His hands were shaking, and he stared at them, uncomprehending, while trying to regain some sort of equilibrium.

It's over.

"Slave Red Alert, you must attend to your duties."

"Yes Master. Thank you, Master," he mumbled.

After several false starts, Red Alert pushed himself up off of the berth, and made his way over to where Shockwave kept his supply of microfiber polishing cloths. As quickly as he could, he cleaned himself, and then came back to where Shockwave waited on the berth.

Shockwave was already holding the usual half-portion of coolant as Red Alert climbed up beside him and began working on the transfluid soiling the berth's surface. His transfluid.

Manipulating Red Alert to overload wasn't really anything new for Shockwave…but never before had it happened during an interface.

I'm so sorry, Inferno. I didn't mean to.

He accepted the coolant, even though he had no need of it, as Shockwave had not required him to use his mouth.

As he settled next to Shockwave's large, cold bulk on the berth, Red Alert held himself, and shivered.

Inferno, I'm sorry, he thought as Shockwave's ventilations slowed in recharge next to him. I didn't mean it, I didn't mean it, I swear…

Light pierced his optics, seeming to cut to the very back of his processor. Red Alert groaned and tried to turn away, but a cold hand grabbed his chin and turned his head back.

"Time to reboot from cessation of neutrino pulse was 5.6 kliks, Commander," said Hook's voice from somewhere above him. Red Alert had learned to not try and force his optics to focus immediately after rebooting from one of their sessions. It didn't change anything anyways.

"That represents a 0.76 increase from last time. The lengthening interval to full consciousness is…troubling. Have a report with possible solutions prepared by the next session."

"Yes, Commander."

Red Alert concentrated on making his ventilation system cycle fully. His chest and spark chamber throbbed horribly, making his vents stall. But if he could relax, it went away sooner. Well, it made the pain subside to a bearable level sooner. But it never really went away…

"I have business to attend to. I will return when Slave Red Alert has recovered."

There was a familiar clatter of tools to Red Alert's right. Hook was cleaning and putting away his instruments.

Don't leave me here like this.

"Understood. I'll monitor his spark for any side effects from the procedure."

Don't leave me here with him.

Shockwave's heavy pedesteps moved away, growing quieter until the soft hiss of a door sliding closed silenced them.

Hook continued to putter around the workshop, seemingly ignoring the restrained, immobile Red Alert on the table, his spark completely exposed.

But Red Alert knew better.

That's not for you, he thought desperately as Hook's steps paused by the berthside. It belongs to Inferno! You're not supposed to look!

Red Alert tried to cry out when a short, blunt fingertip poked his spark's corona roughly. All that emerged from his vocoder was a broken, static-filled whimper. Dimly, he could feel Inferno's spark react to the violation, trying to escape.

In a way, Red Alert cherished these sessions as much as he feared them. He could feel Inferno's spark, even if it was only in the throes of agony, and he craved its touch.

Guilt stabbed him. Inferno suffered during Shockwave's experiments. It was when he was suffering that Red Alert could feel him most. If he tried, he was certain he could block the pain from Inferno, certain that he could disrupt the bond and set Inferno free from this torment.

But he couldn't face it alone.

Forgive me, Inferno. Please, I'm so sorry. I don't know what to do.

The fingertip poked into his spark again, and he cried out. Above him, Hook laughed.

The corridor stretched into darkness, the air thick and heavy with poor circulation against Red Alert's vent filter sensors. He crept along, pede-falls light and silent. It wasn't that he wasn't allowed in here…in fact, the only place that Shockwave had expressly forbidden him from entering without special dispensation was the central building.

And even then, he was often in and out of the residential wing on various errands, so it wasn't like it was entirely forbidden.

It was just…Shockwave had probably envisioned Red Alert taking advantage of the crystal gardens, or the race track when he had given him permission to come and go from their little bungalow and move about the grounds as he pleased.

He had almost certainly not envisioned Red Alert poking around the access tunnels at the base of the seeker's aerie.

Never mind that Red Alert wasn't planning on doing anything…disobedient, he was just so slagging bored with the grounds. The crystal garden was fine, he supposed, but other than that, all of the interesting things were inside.

Like the generator for the communications array that was perched atop the aerie. He'd overheard there had been some trouble with it, and curiosity mixed with unbearable ennui had spurred him to check it out.

"Here's the datapad you wanted."

The voice came from up ahead, faint with distance but perfectly clear to his exceptional sensors.

"Task completed sooner than expected. In-compound speed limits: enforced for a reason."

Red Alert froze as he heard Soundwave's distinctive monotone join the first voice. From what he could tell, the conversation was coming from a small spur hallway two sections ahead.

"You know me – always one step ahead of the law. Besides," the voice took on a lower, more solicitous tone, "the sooner you're done here…"

That's Jazz! thought Red Alert. He moved forwards again, more confidently. If Jazz was here, it couldn't be a restricted area. And he would be able to speak to Jazz after he had finished with-

Red Alert stopped dead as he rounded the corner.

Jazz and Soundwave were standing at the end. Soundwave was leaning back against a wall-mounted control panel, and Jazz-

Jazz was leaning against Soundwave. He was pressed against Soundwave, his hands running up and over Soundwave's shoulders in a sensuous caress. Soundwave's hands were equally busy, one arm across Jazz's back, the other shamelessly groping his aft.

As Red Alert watched, Soundwave's facemask retracted, and Jazz wound his arms around Soundwave's neck before standing on his pede-tips, stretching up to place a kiss on the taller mech's lip plating.

Soundwave's arm rose from Jazz's back, his hand cupping the back of Jazz's helm, crushing Jazz to him as he deepened the kiss. The small, soft noises Jazz made tickled Red Alert's sensitive audios, with Soundwave's deeper rumbles of arousal a counterpoint.

A dark, ugly, desperate feeling rose up in Red Alert's spark as he watched them. How long had it been since Inferno had touched him that way? Memories of stolen moments in secluded sections of the Ark overwhelmed him, memories of gentle hands mapping every seam and curve of his chassis, insatiable lips against his…

He yearned for the intimacy he had shared with Inferno, for the feeling of being cherished, of being touched and held and loved. Red Alert's aching spark reached out, seeking its mate.

He found nothing.

The only one who touches me like that now is Shockwave, and he doesn't even have a mouth, said a small, sad voice in the back of his processor.

Jazz reached up to caress Soundwave's face as they broke apart, tracing a cheek seam and stroking his jaw. Soundwave covered Jazz's wandering hand with his own, turning his face into Jazz's palm and pressing a kiss into its center. He leaned forward once more, intent on stealing another from Jazz's lips.

That was when he saw Red Alert.

Instantly Soundwave straightened, his mask snapping over his face. Jazz turned, and his gaze locked with Red Alert's. For a moment his mouth worked soundlessly, horror clouding his features.

Red Alert turned and fled.

"Red! Wait!"

Jazz's running pede-steps echoed up the tunnel behind him, but Red Alert paid them no heed. He ran on, easily outdistancing Jazz.

"Red Alert! Wait! Please! RED!" Jazz's voice faded behind him as he burst out of the passageway's mouth and onto the main grounds of the compound. He ran recklessly, ignoring the curses and threats as he barreled by Decepticons going about their business.

He did not stop until he was safely in Shockwave's quarters.

"Slave Red Alert."

Red Alert straightened immediately, leaving his wiring repair half-finished as Shockwave's voice came from the workroom. He only paused to straighten up his tools, making sure that they were not in a position to be trod upon in his absence before walking briskly across Shockwave's bungalow to present himself to his master.

"Yes, Master?"

Shockwave was seated at his terminal, and turned to look up at Red Alert. When he did not speak for a few nanokliks, Red Alert realized that he hadn't been called to be sent on a trivial errand, and he slowly knelt in front of Shockwave, focusing his optics on the floor plating in front of him.

He remained still as a statue while Shockwave regarded him silently. Had he done something to make Shockwave angry? Red Alert searched his databanks, but he came up with nothing that could merit a punishment. What was going on?

"You have continued to resist all attempts to break your sparkbond."

At Shockwave's words Red Alert flinched, his hand coming up to clutch his chest armor involuntarily as his spark twisted and pulsed in remembered pain.

"Master, I don't mean to resist," Red Alert said. It was true! He hadn't had to be dragged to Hook's repair berth and strapped down by force in orns. It never helped, anyways, and only made him more tired. And the knowledge that Hook probably enjoyed the act of physically subduing him made Red Alert feel sick to his fuel tanks. It was better to go docilely, and try to pick up the pieces after.

"I have been pleased with your physical obedience. You have made great progress in that respect."

Red Alert could hear the un-spoken but on the end of the sentence, and remained silent.

Shockwave continued after a long pause. "I have been conducting extensive research, and our sessions have resulted in a vast leap forward in the understanding of the mechanics of spark-to-spark bonds. You should be proud of your contributions to the collective knowledge of the Decepticon Empire, Slave Red Alert."

"Yes Master," Red Alert murmured, bowing his head.

"After analyzing the data collected, Constructicon Hook and I have concluded that currently available methods are insufficient to disrupt a sparkbond without serious harm to one or both bondmates."

Fear and hope warred within Red Alert. Would Shockwave give up? Would he go ahead, and hope that Inferno was the one harmed by the severed bond?

"The only way we will succeed in severing your bond is if you facilitate the action."

Red Alert's helm jerked up as he looked at Shockwave in surprise. "I don't understand, Master."

Shockwave's vents gave a particularly heavy ventilation – the nearest thing to exasperation Red Alert had ever seen his master express. "I mean, Slave Red Alert, that you must want the bond severed. You must know that it is the only thing holding you back from fully realizing your true potential as a servant to Lord Megatron's empire."

He looked expectantly at Red Alert.

Red Alert stared back at him, bewildered.

"Are you willing to let go of this burden?"

Was Shockwave ordering him to want to break his bond?

"When you have done this, you will have completed all of the training I am able to provide to you, Slave Red Alert, and I will be able to place you with a permanent master. You will be suitable for service in the highest echelons of the Decepticon Empire. Is this not worth giving up such an inconvenient and obsolete indulgence for?"

Red Alert began to tremble. It wasn't. It never would be. Shockwave would be angry with him, but he couldn't lie.

"No, Master. I love Inferno. I won't break it," he said quietly, meeting Shockwave's inscrutable stare steadily.

There was another stretch of silence.

"I see." Shockwave turned back to his console. "You are dismissed. Return to your duties."

Red Alert hesitated, watching Shockwave warily. Wasn't Shockwave going to punish him? When Shockwave continued to ignore him, Red Alert slipped noiselessly out of Shockwave's workroom, and back to the panel wiring he was repairing. But his processor was no longer on his work. What was Shockwave planning?

Red Alert stared straight ahead and tried not to slip into a stasis nap.

He stood on the sidelines of a room filled with Decepticons. Although it still seemed slightly odd, the fascination of watching 'Cons talk and laugh like his friends used to had worn off, and it was now just boring. All he had to do was be still and unnoticed, until one of the 'Cons signaled that they wanted energon, or coolant, or perhaps spilled their energon and coolant. Dull, dull, dull.

Suddenly he stiffened as Jazz sidled up next to him. Jazz had been trying to catch him alone for a few cycles, but Red Alert had always managed to avoid him. But now, trapped at this function (celebrating some sort of milestone in the reconstruction of Cybertron, was all that Red Alert knew about it) Jazz had managed to corner him. Red Alert still stared straight ahead, but now he was more purposeful about it.

Jazz glanced around, and pressed closer, leaning slightly towards him.

"Red," he murmured.

"Jazz," Red Alert replied evenly, keeping his optics front.

A few moments of awkward silence passed. Jazz cycled his vents and continued.

"I want to explain…"

"Explain about what, Jazz?" Red Alert asked mildly, wishing Jazz would drop the subject. But Jazz pressed on.

"What…what you saw that night. In the underlevel of the Aerie. That was…it wasn't…"

"You don't owe me an explanation Jazz. There's nothing to explain." Red Alert still couldn't meet Jazz's gaze, and he pretended to scan the room, looking for anyone who needed their coolant topped off. "I…apologize for intruding."

"You weren't intruding, Red. I wasn't - it wasn't what it looked like. We- Master Soundwave and I-"

"I'm happy for you, Jazz." Now Red Alert did turn to look at Jazz, who was staring at him dumbfounded.

"What?"

"You're fortunate that you've found-"

"Slave Red Alert." Red Alert's commlink crackled to life as Shockwave summoned him.

"My master is calling me," he said in a rush, breaking away from Jazz and making his way through the crowd to where he had last seen the large purple chassis of his master.

His memory did not lead him wrong, and soon he was approaching Shockwave's elbow. Shockwave was deep in conversation with two 'Cons Red Alert had not seen before – one had an unusually white paintjob, for a 'Con, but the other immediately stole Red Alert's attention. Massive, jointed wings sprang from his shoulders, and the quality of his components immediately tagged him as a highly-ranked commander.

Red Alert remained silent, not wanting to interrupt Shockwave.

"...the process is simple, and I am very pleased with the results it has yielded to date." Shockwave indicated Red Alert with a sweep of his hand. "Slave Red Alert has responded well to my techniques, and is almost ready to be placed with a permanent master. Perhaps he is something you would be interested in, General Deathsaurus?"

"Hmmm," the 'Con with the unusual wing configuration said, turning to examine Red Alert. "He's pleasing enough to the optics, and Esmeral is leading her unit back to Cybertron. I'd been wondering what sort of gift I could present to her when she returns..."

Red Alert stood frozen with fear and humiliation as Deathsaurus scrutinized him. What are you doing, Master? What-

"Slave Red Alert is diligent in his duties, not inclined to laziness. He has a quick processor, can perform complex tasks independently, and is biddable in the berth."

A hot coil of shame twisted in Red Alert's spark. Shockwave really was serious about getting rid of him! Was he going to tell these strangers about everything? Make him spread his legs right here to show off his-

"Hmmm," Deathsaurus said, studying Red Alert critically. He held up one finger, and made a circular motion. Even through the haze of anxiety Red Alert understood, and slowly turned around in place, allowing Deathsaurus to examine him from all sides. When he was done, Deathsaurus took Red Alert's chin in his hand, lifting his head up to gaze into his face.

"Hmm, it is tempting, Commander Shockwave. But you said he's not fully trained and finished?"

"There are several issues that need to be corrected still," replied Shockwave. "And whoever claims him must be willing to deal with and treat his glitch..."

"He has a glitch?" Deathsaurus' upper lip curled into a sneer and he released Red Alert's chin. "I see that those pathetic Autobot fools would let just about anything into their ranks. No wonder they lost to Lord Megatron."

"Hail Lord Megatron," murmured the other 'Con, taking a sip of his cube.

"I don't have time to coddle a defective slave, and neither does Esmeral."

Red Alert wanted to disappear. He knew his glitch had sometimes caused trouble for the Autobots...but he'd been useful, he'd done his duty!

"As you wish. I am performing an audit of the slaves that were assigned to public work crews to determine if any would be more useful elsewhere. I'm sure more slaves will become available for personal use in time," Shockwave said aloud. Over Red Alert's comm he said, "Dismissed."

Red Alert bowed and backed away from the cluster of Decepticons. Almost on autopilot, he wound through the crowd, stopping occasionally in response to a 'Con catching his optic or raising an empty energon cube.

By the time he returned to his original position, Jazz was gone.

"…and so by overlaying the maps of all incidents each joor for the past sixty cycles, we can know where best to spend our limited security forces," said Red Alert, paging through the maps he had created. "With this status management system, forces will be redeployed every joor based on where incidents are most likely to occur."

"But won't troublemakers soon learn where our forces will be, and avoid those areas?" asked Cloudknife, leaning in close to examine the data read out. "It's a neat idea, but it won't last."

"That's where the SSM algorithms come in," Red Alert said, punching in commands eagerly. "I've written a program that will continually analyze and update ideal force deployment for a specified cycle or joor. Every disturbance will be logged and taken into account."

"It's not perfect, but it's parsecs beyond what we've been doing up 'til now," Grindor replied.

"Exactly." Red Alert continued to pull up maps. "No solution is perfect – even the most accurate data won't predict a truly random, one-off disturbance, and that can delay response time to those incidents, but as more and more accurate data is supplied to the program, it will eventually produce resource deployments that will be capable of responding to almost ninety-five percent of emergencies within seven kliks."

"Impressive."

Red Alert fought back a smile as a small glow of pride bloomed in his spark. It was impressive, he had to admit. Of course, the program was an old one that he had developed while working in Iacon's security forces, and he had continually updated and tweaked it, until it became truly modular, able to be adapted to almost any security or emergency preparedness task – whether it was guarding a large city or one small space ship with the most prank-happy crew in the galaxy.

He pushed back from the workstation, allowing Cloudknife to take his place. He still had to finish integrating the security drone protocols with the SSM programs, and install some new hardware, but if he continued to make progress at the same pace, it would be done by the time Shockwave arrived to take him home.

When Shockwave had first brought him to work with the newly-formed Security force, Red Alert had been apprehensive. Especially when he had discovered that Shockwave intended to leave him there during the course of each activity cycle.

But it had actually been…kind of nice. Sure, the 'Cons had grumbled when Shockwave had announced that an Autobot slave was going to be telling them how to run things, but resentment and animosity had slowly given way to grudging respect. He had come to look forward to his cycles at the security force headquarters. Being acknowledged and appreciated for his processor instead of…well. It was a positive change. In fact, he found himself unexpectedly saddened by the thought that this cycle would be his last here.

After Cloudknife had finished going over his data (Red Alert had to hide a grin – he knew Cloudknife likely couldn't understand the code, but it seemed like both 'Cons and 'Bots had supervisors that needed to review everything, even if they had nothing they could possibly contribute) he grunted in satisfaction and moved, allowing Red Alert to retake his seat.

"You said you'll likely have this done by the end of the work-cycle?"

"Yes, sir. I believe Smolder said he was expecting the required hardware to be delivered this cycle."

Another grunt was the only reply as Cloudknife sauntered off, doubtless to go bother some other underling.

The joors passed quickly, as they always did whenever Red Alert was absorbed in a task. He loved watching how the program changed its responses to the simulated security breaches as he manipulated the back-end code, tweaking it constantly, coming closer and closer to perfection…

A heavy hand landed on his shoulder, and he jumped and let out an undignified squeak.

"Woah! Easy there," Smolder said, backing up and holding his hands up. "You've been at that awhile – feel like a break? We can get a quick cube and then start installing the new circuit boards. They were just delivered. Chopster is checking them for defects right now."

Red Alert's circuits burned with chagrin. He knew he shouldn't be so jumpy, but being easily-startled seemed to be part of his base programming. "I...I'm sorry, I was just concentrating so much, you surprised me, sir."

Smolder threw back his head and laughed, but there was no malice in it. For a moment he reminded Red Alert of Inferno so strongly that Red Alert's vents stalled in shock and longing. He was painted the same shade of red, and his chassis structure hinted at a similar alt-mode – big and long and blocky.

"How many times do I have to tell you, Red – 'sir' is for the officers. Not an underling like me. Pit, we've worked together long enough for it!"

"I'm sorry," Red Alert looked down timidly. "It's just that Sh- my master told me to address Decepticons as-"

Waving his hand dismissively, Smolder pulled Red Alert to his pedes and began steering him down the hall to the energon dispenser. "Didn' t old one-eye tell you to do what we told you? And I'm telling you to call me Smolder. Let me hear you say it."

"All right," Red Alert said, smiling shyly. "Smolder."

"That's better. Pit, a whole orn and it's not 'til the last fragging cycle I get you to loosen up a bit. We'll have to have some sort of special celebration when we're done, before Commander Shockwave takes you away from us. Farewell to the only mech who does any work around here!"

Unable to help himself, Red Alert laughed at Smolder's teasing. For the first time in orns, his spark felt light and happy. He had forgotten how nice simple comradeship could be – working alongside others, being a valued contributor...

Being valued for something other than what's between my leg-struts, is more like it, whispered a voice in the back of his processor. He silenced it ruthlessly. He wasn't going to let thoughts of what awaited him back in Shockwave's quarters spoil his good mood.

"All right you lot, shove over!" Smolder bellowed as he plowed into the crowd around the dispenser. "Our dear little Autobot needs to refuel after doing all of your jobs!"

Red Alert flinched at first, in anticipation of hostility directed at him because of Smolder's words, but all that met them was some good natured grumbling as bulky chassis and wide wings were moved out of their way. Despite Smolder's firm, supporting hand on his back, Red Alert couldn't keep from cringing as he was pushed into their midst.

“Here you go, fuel up!” Smolder’s hearty, jovial voice commanded. Red Alert sipped timidly at the cube he was handed, acutely aware of all the optics on him. “Then if we can get the hardware installed quick, we can really have a good time before you have to leave.”

“That would be fun, Smolder.” Red Alert tried to hide his anxiety, but some of it must have shown through in his voice and posture, as Smolder quickly herded him away from the crowded area by the dispenser, and towards a deserted corner of the commissary. “What did you have in mind?”

“Nothing too fancy.” Smolder leaned against one of the tables while hooking a pede around a chair’s leg, pulling it over for Red Alert to sit. “Just some high-grade, and no talking about work. Maybe I can get you to crack a smile again before you leave.”

That did sound nice. A warm glow settled in Red Alert's spark. Being able to converse – to just talk freely with another was a luxury he had not possessed since he had been captured. Even when he was able to catch a moment to speak with Jazz or Skyfire in the compound, Shockwave's ubiquitous presence hung over all of them and they had to guard their words carefully in case someone was listening in.

“I think I'd like that,” replied Red Alert before he lifted his cube to take a small sip. “I, um, I don't get to relax much.”

“Aw, that's too bad.” Smolder clapped Red Alert on the shoulder. “Well I'll see what I can do about that. Doesn't old Shockwave let you have any time off?”

“I'm allowed to...to have some time to myself. As long as I've completed my duties and come right away when he calls, Master lets me move around the compound as I please.”

“That’s gotta be rough – always on call.” Smolder took another deep draught of his energon.

“Well, it’s not so bad…Master is a very…punctual mech. He has his routine, and I can usually plan around it.”

“Primus, no kidding! You could set your chronometer by ol’ Shockwave. I bet he even ’faces like clockwork.” Smolder laughed at his own joke, but sobered when Red Alert failed to join him.

Red Alert tried to say something to bring back the lightsparked mood, but all that came from his vocoder were a few clicks and bursts of static. Smolder had been able to make him almost forget that he wasn’t a free mech for a little while, but the crack about Shockwave’s habits in the berth had brought it all crashing down on him again.

“Aw, I’m sorry,” Smolder placed a hand on Red Alert’s back, rubbing it in small circles. “I guess it’s not as funny when you’re the one getting fragged by the Ice Mech.”

“It’s…it’s not so bad,” Red Alert said quietly, looking down at the floor. Smolder’s touch on his back was comforting, but it couldn’t erase the tension and shame Red Alert felt upon being reminded of his position. Suddenly, an idea bloomed in his processor. Smolder seemed sympathetic to his plight, would other ‘Cons, ‘Cons that hadn’t fought on Earth and hadn’t been awarded personal Autobot slaves be willing to speak up for them? “You…you could come see me, probably, the next time you’re in the compound,” said Red Alert in a rush. “If all of my duties are done and Master doesn’t need me, I can visit with other mechs.”

“Hmm,” Smolder made a noncommittal noise and stood, his hand brushing against Red Alert’s spoiler as he did so. “That’s a tempting offer, Red Alert. I don’t get to go to the central compound often, but maybe that will change. In the meantime, let’s get back to work.” He drained the rest of his cube and Red Alert did the same. “Most of the others should be finished in the main server room, so we won’t have any of the clumsy oafs tripping over our equipment.”

The main server was housed in a small room off the central hallway, with no windows and only one door. Aside from the large mainframes that took up the majority of the floor space, one wall housed a bank of consoles, and it was these that needed the new hardware installed. Grindor was working at one and looked up when they entered. The circuit boards and the tools needed to install them were already laid out in front of the foot well of one of the consoles.

“Are you going to have to cut power to install the hardware?” asked Grindor.

“I don’t anticipate needing to, sir, but if you have anything you are working on, it would be prudent to save it to an external drive while we are working,” replied Red Alert as he knelt down to examine the boards and tools.

Grindor grunted in acknowledgement and turned back to his work. “Almost done here, anyways.”

“We’ll try to keep it down.” Smolder squatted down next to Red Alert, and placed one hand on the console, motioning with the other towards the foot well. “In you go.”

Red Alert grabbed a circuit board and crawled into the narrow space, rolling onto his back and scooting the rest of the way under. He quickly pried off the large panel that covered the components they needed to access and handed it down to Smolder.

He heard Smolder set the panel against a wall, and then with a creak and groan of joints, Smolder’s bulkier chassis joined him.

“I’ll start from this end,” said Smolder, “and you go from that side, and we’ll meet in the middle.”

Red Alert nodded, and set to work.

As he worked, he frowned slightly, concentrating on the wires and circuit boards he was installing to the exclusion of all else. It was delicate work, but not difficult. The hubbub of the security center seemed distant, sounds muffled by the console he was under. For awhile, he almost forgot there was anyone else present.

Until a hand settled over his thigh, just above his knee joint.

Red Alert gasped and looked over at Smolder. Smolder stared boldly back at him, his optics dim with restrained passion. He squeezed Red Alert’s leg, and slowly slid his hand up Red Alert’s leg plating.

The movement jolted Red Alert out of the shocked stupor he had found himself in, and he gave a frantic little cry as he jerked away, trying to put as much distance between himself and Smolder as he could.

“Woah, woah,” Smolder said, backing away with his hands held up. “Easy, Red. I thought – I thought you’d want to -” His expression softened as he looked at Red Alert, huddled against the side of the foot well, holding himself and shaking.

“P-please, Smolder, I can’t-” Red Alert’s spark pulsed wildly in his chest. Fear was the overwhelming emotion present, but something else was taking a stronger hold.

“Shhh, don’t worry – I thought you’d want to. I won’t hurt you, it’s all right.”

“I – I…” Red Alert stuttered as Smolder cautiously edged closer. He turned his audios up to their highest setting, but there was no sound from the room. Grindor must have left; he was alone.

“I’m sorry, Red,” Smolder said as he reached out and placed a hand on Red Alert’s shoulder. “I didn’t mean to scare you…we don’t need to tell Shockwave about this, I won’t-”

“N-no, I – I’m sorry, Smolder,” Red Alert whispered, interrupting. “It’s just…you startled me.” He cycled his vents, trying to steady himself.

“Datapoint: Red Alert doesn’t like to be startled.” Smolder smiled, and Red Alert’s spark pulsed in a way that was not unpleasant. “I’ll keep that in my top directory.” The hand that Smolder had placed on his arm squeezed it briefly before withdrawing.

Before he thought about what he was doing Red Alert reached out and grabbed it. Smolder froze, looking deep into Red Alert’s optics, searching for an answer to an unvoiced question. Red Alert tried to speak, but his vocoder was silent, and the warring impulses within himself did not allow any commands to activate it.

A knowing smile, one that sent both anticipation and apprehension coursing through his spark, spread slowly across Smolder’s face.

Red Alert lay still, waiting and trembling, watching half in hope and half in apprehension as Smolder reached up and caressed his cheek plating. Red Alert held his gaze as Smolder’s fingers traced the lines and contours of his face. He knew he should jerk away, escape, but the touch sent frissons of heat through his circuits.

Primus, what am I doing?

When Smolder moved to rub one of his helm sensors, Red Alert gasped in reaction as the gentle stimulation sent a burst of pleasure across his sensor net. Smolder’s smile grew.

“I knew it,” he said as he slowly closed the gap between them. “I knew Shockwave couldn’t be giving you what you want. What you need.”

“I don’t…I don’t need-”

“’Course you do. Hot little number like you, you must be panting for a good ‘face. It’s a slagging shame, you having to be satisfied with a cold slagger like Shockwave.”

Red Alert held himself steady, and instead of merely tolerating Smolder’s touch, he found himself leaning into it. “I hate him so much,” he whispered.

Smolder made a soft noise in the back of his vocoder, before leaning down and pressing his lips against Red Alert’s. For a moment, Red Alert did not respond, then a hot, vicious wave of lust swept over him and he opened his mouth, allowing Smolder to deepen the kiss, rocking his helm back against the deck plating. Smolder shifted, sliding his arm behind Red Alert’s neck and lifting himself so that he hovered over Red Alert’s supine form. His plating was warm against Red Alert’s, and his weight settling against Red Alert’s plating made his circuits hum to life.

Red Alert gasped and pulled back, breaking the kiss and bringing up his hands to push against Smolder’s chest.

“I – I can’t, I have…I-”

“Frag him. Frag Shockwave.” Smolder buried his face in Red Alert’s neck, mouthing one of his cables. “I want you,” he said, pulling his head up and staring intently into Red Alert’s optics.

All of Red Alert’s hate for Shockwave coalesced into a hot ball in his spark. He could do this – Shockwave would never know…never know his precious, almost perfect little slave had ‘faced an underling on the floor of his own security center. He wrapped his arms around Smolder’s neck, pulling himself up to press his forehead against Smolder’s.

“I-”

Smolder didn’t allow him to finish; capturing his lips in a passionate kiss and bearing him back down to the floor. Smolder’s arm moved from behind Red Alert’s head, and then-

Red Alert interrupted the kiss to moan as Smolder’s broad hands grabbed his shoulder wheels and squeezed. Smolder was climbing on top of him, one knee pushing between Red Alert’s thighs. He tried to reach up, to caress the couplings on Smolder’s collar, but Smolder caught his hands pushed them back down. His face pressed into Red Alert’s neck, ardent lips tracing his sensitive cables and plating.

“…you’re so gorgeous…” Smolder ground his hip plate against Red Alert. “Your chassis makes my motor run red…”

“Oh, Smolder…I -oh,” Red Alert moaned. Smolder’s plating was heating up quickly, and Red Alert’s own core temperature was racing to match it. Smolder’s passionate words stoked the fire in his spark, and the flames of ardor licked through his system in response.

He gasped against Smolder’s plating as his door flaps were tweaked.

“Oh yeah,” Smolder growled into his audio. “I knew Shockwave wasn’t giving you what you need. He doesn’t know what to do with such a nice little -unh- Autobot.” There was a click and hiss as hydraulics pressurized and armor panels rearranged themselves. Red Alert felt something hot digging into his thigh plating.

“Smolder, I-”

“Yeah, you like that – I bet Shockwave wishes he could see you like this.”

Again Red Alert tried to reach up towards Smolder, but his hand was caught, and this time pulled downwards. Smolder’s spike slid into his palm.

“Feel that? Feel how much I want you? Oh Red, yes, that’s it-”

With Smolder’s first thrust, Red Alert’s resolve strengthened. Shockwave never looked at him like this, never spoke to him in the berth except to order him around, treated him like a drone…

“You’re so hot,” Smolder murmured as Red Alert’s hand tightened around his spike. His pelvic unit pumped back and forth slowly, causing his spike to slide in and out of Red Alert’s fist. He pressed another urgent kiss to Red Alert’s lips, his glossa slipping past them as he deepened it.

Suddenly Smolder broke the kiss, pressing against Red Alert and locking his struts. For a few long moments he ventilated heavily, and then resumed his assault on Red Alert’s neck with renewed vigor.

“I need to be inside you, Red.”

“I can’t -oh Smolder-”

“Open up for me…” Smolder’s hands were everywhere, leaving trails of heat behind wherever they touched, but his whispered words were doing more to heat Red Alert’s circuits than anything else. Before he realized what he was doing, a command to retract the plating over his valve executed.

The air caressing the outer sensors of his valve shocked Red Alert back to himself. For a moment dread took over Red Alert’s spark. This was such a bad idea, Shockwave was sure to find out-

So what? When is the next time someone will want you like this? The rest of them think you’re some kind of wind-up ‘facing toy. At least he’s using your name. Red Alert groaned as digits pawed at his interface array, replacing the cool of the open air with close, urgent heat.

I can’t do this. I can’t-

Smolder grunted in surprise as one of Red Alert’s hands latched onto his wrist, pushing him away as Red Alert desperately tried to struggle out of his embrace.

“Hey, what-?”

“Stop, stop, please stop, I can’t do this, please,” Red Alert babbled as he squirmed.

“Woah, wait Red, wait, hush,” Smolder easily kept Red Alert pinned beneath his bulkier chassis.

“Please, I’m not…I can’t…I…” Red Alert struggled to force words out of his vocoder. “Shockwave will find out, I know he will-”

“Easy, easy,” Smolder stopped groping Red Alert’s valve, and reached up to caress his cheek plating. Red Alert could feel Smolder’s spike digging into his thigh plating.

This was such a bad idea.

“Aww, you’re still scared, aren’t you? Don’t worry, don’t worry, I won’t hurt you.” Smolder’s words were whispered into Red Alert’s audio, accompanied by a soft scrape of denta. “I’ll make it good, you’ll enjoy it, I promise.” Smolder shifted against him, and Red Alert shivered as Smolder’s spike moved against the join between his thigh and pelvic unit.

“Do you feel that, Red?”

Red could only emit a small pleading whine in response.

“I want to be inside you so much. Please, Red, I can’t stop now, don’t make me stop now…” As he spoke, Smolder’s fingers resumed their exploration of Red Alert’s pelvic unit, and although he shook when Smolder rubbed a thumb over the sensor cluster above his valve, he didn’t protest.

Smolder lifted himself off of Red Alert’s chassis slightly, gently pushing his thighs apart with one knee-joint. Then he was lowering himself, and before Red Alert could react he felt Smolder’s spike breach the rim of his valve, and slide smoothly inside of him.

Red Alert’s backstrut arched in reaction to the warm, pleasurable invasion. He opened his mouth, but Smolder’s hand was instantly across it, smothering any sound he could make.

“Red…oh, Red,” Smolder panted against his shoulder plating. “You’re…you’re wonderful…so tight.” A deep rumbling groan emanated from Smolder’s chassis as he slowly pulled almost all the way out of Red Alert’s valve and pushed back in.

A wave of warmth rushed through Red Alert’s circuits, cresting higher and higher with each thrust of Smolder’s spike.

“Yeah…yeah…that’s it,” Smolder growled into Red Alert’s audio.

Red Alert’s optics flickered off as he began to lose himself in the sensation of the interface.

“No,” The hand across Red Alert’s mouth moved to his chin, Smolder’s rhythm not faltering. “Let me see your optics.” When Red Alert reactivated them, Smolder’s faceplate split in a wide grin. “Love those blue optics, I want to see them looking up at me.” He leaned his forehead down until their helms were touching, the intense red glow of his optics washing over Red Alert’s face.

“I…I…oh, I-” Red Alert struggled to find words, not sure whether he wanted to beg Smolder to stop or to keep going.

“Yes, yes,” Smolder growled, his engine revving deep in his chassis. “C’mon, give it up…I want to see you overload!”

Smolder’s spike pushing past the sensors in his valve made Red Alert’s processor swim as the signals they sent gained in intensity. The fire was now spreading through his pelvic unit, and he met Smolder’s thrusts with his own, throwing caution to the wind as he shamelessly pursued his own pleasure.

The knowledge that Shockwave would disapprove only intensified Red Alert’s desire; his actions a reflection of his hate and a rebellion against the mech that sought to control every aspect of his being.

The rhythm Smolder set sped up and became irregular. He pushed as deep as Red Alert’s valve would allow him to go as his movements became shorter and choppier, as if he was torn between generating friction and burying himself. A muffled knocking was the only indication that Red Alert’s helm was hitting the back of the foot well; his sensors too awash with sensation to register any discomfort.

“Yes, yes, please, yes!”

Then Smolder pushed hard against him and stayed there, his optics going dark as his vocoder emitted an almost comically high-pitched bleat of feedback. The first spurt of transfluid hit the back of Red Alert’s valve. Red Alert’s limbs curled around Smolder, and the next two rapid fire thrusts tipped him over the edge. His fingers raked Smolder’s plating as his overload crashed through him and bursts of almost unbearable pleasure originating in his pelvic unit and spreading outward made Red Alert buck and spasm.

Don’t stop don’t stop, more – more – please more -!

Then the tide of pleasure peaked, crested, and with a last surge, drained away. Smolder collapsed on top of Red Alert, his heated plating pinging as it cooled. Red Alert trembled beneath him, his over-stimulated systems struggling to right themselves.

Inferno.

Unbidden, Inferno’s face manifested in Red Alert’s processor and shocked him out of his post-overload daze like a bucket of cold solvent. Guilt crushed his spark and stalled his vents – Red Alert felt as if his whole chassis would shut down from the weight of it.

He stayed with you, even when you were glitching, and he never even looked at another ‘Bot.

His vents, blocked by Smolder’s chassis, choked and heaved with grief. What have I done? What was I thinking? Red Alert no longer spared any thought for Shockwave. Whatever punishment was meted out for this it would be inadequate to the betrayal committed against Inferno.

Inferno took care of me, and I’m on my back, rutting with some Decepticon-

Smolder lifted himself off of Red Alert, his optics emitting a sated glow.

“Red, that was – what’s this?” He ran a hand over Red Alert’s helmet as he looked at Red Alert’s stricken expression.

“Smolder, I shouldn’t have done this, I can’t-” Red Alert pushed desperately against Smolder, wriggling as hard as he could to get out from underneath him. Smolder immediately released Red Alert, and as soon as his spike withdrew, Red Alert rolled away, pressing against the far support pedestal of the workstation.

“Red, I – I thought you wanted to-” Smolder reached out to fondle Red Alert’s axle but Red shrugged him away and curled in more.

I don’t deserve to ever see him again.

“Please don’t be angry, Red. I – I thought you were having a good time!” The hand returned, this time squeezing a tire, and Red Alert didn’t move to dislodge it.

Maybe he doesn’t deserve you! Who did the leaving back in the lower levels?

“You…you aren’t going to tell Shockwave about this, are you? I won’t either – it can be our little secret, and neither of us has to get into trouble…”

Emotions continued to rage through Red Alert’s processor – hurt, despair, betrayal, guilt, and yes, lust was still there. Lust for the mech next to him that had reminded him that he still functioned, that his spark still pulsed.

He’s the one who gave you up to Shockwave – you wanted to stay with him! He knew what was going to happen to you. He knew he was sentencing you to being fragged by a ‘Con cycle after cycle after cycle…

Now anger gained a foothold. It wasn’t fair! He’d told Inferno what he wanted, and Inferno hadn’t let him stay. Deactivating down there, in the dark and dirty passages below Cybertron’s surface with Inferno would have been better than this!

“I...I wish I was in the Well,” Red Alert whispered.

“Hey! No, don’t talk like that!” Smolder grabbed Red Alert and rolled him back over, and Red Alert found himself in a position he’d never anticipated – being held closely and gently in a Decepticon’s arms. “It can’t be that bad, little ‘Bot.”

“I almost was, down in the lower levels,” Red Alert continued. “But Shockwave came and took me away and fixed me. I wish I had deactivated.”

If my spark was extinguished Shockwave wouldn’t be able to do those horrible things to it. I wouldn’t have cheated on Inferno. We’d be together in the Well. If only he hadn’t given me away to Shockwave!

“I’m glad you didn’t, little ‘Bot.” Smolder pressed a kiss to Red Alert’s lips, silencing him for the moment. “If you weren’t here, we’d still be working on those security protocols. We’d be way behind where we are now, and,” he pressed his helm against Red Alert’s, “I wouldn’t have known you existed.”

“Smolder…”

“Shockwave is a pompous idiot who doesn’t know what he’s got,” Smolder said firmly before lowering his head and pressing his mouth against a neck cable. “If you were mine, I wouldn’t treat you like he does.” Red Alert tried to response but he was muffled by more ardent kisses.

“You’d be executing a different line of code if you were with me.” Smolder’s voice lowered, he was almost purring. “I wouldn’t work you like Shockwave does. I’d keep you happy. You thought that overload was something? I’d top that every cycle.” He gave Red Alert a small push with his pelvic unit. “You’d never want to leave my berth, I’d keep you so satisfied…”

He continued to murmur against Red Alert’s lips and plating as their systems cooled. Red Alert allowed his hands to explore Smolder’s chassis, but the touches they exchanged were more calming than arousing. Red Alert shut the panel over his valve, and Smolder wiped him clean before they broke apart.

“You go on, little ‘Bot,” Smolder said with a smile, giving one of Red Alert’s helm sensors a tweak. “I’ll finish up here. I know you’ve got more programming to do.”

“Yes, of course, Smolder.” Red Alert slid and wiggled on his back until he was out from under the console. The change from the dark shadows underneath made him wince until he dialed down his optics’ sensitivity. As he gathered his tools and stood to leave, he stole a quick look back at where Smolder’s legs and pedes stuck out from the foot well.

Red Alert hesitated before stepping through the portal to the main control room. He felt as if his guilt was written all over his plating – and what if it was? What if there were paint transfers?

Red Alert moved quickly to his workstation and slipped into his usual seat. Grindor only looked up from his console for a brief moment before turning back to his work. None of the other Decepticons acknowledged his presence.

After several kliks, Cloudknife came back in and sat at his larger desk in the center of the room. When the Decepticon Supervisor didn’t say anything, Red Alert relaxed slightly. Maybe they would get away with this.

Will Smolder want to interface again? The thought flashed across Red Alert’s processor. He experienced a moment of dread which was quickly usurped by a flare of heat deep in his spark. That had been…nice. More than nice. Did he really want to take that risk again?

Yes!

No!

If Red Alert didn’t even know his own spark how was he going to answer Smolder if he asked for another tryst?

His processor brought up a memory file – the image of Jazz and Soundwave embracing in the tunnels below the walls of the compound. Red Alert’s spark hardened. Jazz has someone to care about him – why shouldn’t I? The immediate answer that rose in his mind was that Jazz didn’t have a choice in the matter, but Red Alert shoved it back down ruthlessly. Smolder is right, Shockwave frags like a drone. He might as well drill a hole in the berth. Why shouldn’t I have someone who wants me? At least Smolder cares that I’m attached to the valve he's ‘facing.

It was almost half a joor before Smolder emerged from the room that housed the main computer cores. Red Alert’s spark flip-flopped in his chest as Smolder walked across the room to speak with Cloudknife.

But Smolder gave no indication that he noticed Red Alert – instead after his conversation with Cloudknife was finished, he left the room. Red Alert couldn’t tell whether he was relieved or annoyed, and resumed his work.

The coding was finished even sooner than Red Alert had anticipated – partly because he did not leave his workstation to take breaks until it was done, calculating that the sooner the system was up and running, the sooner Cloudknife would comm Shockwave to come and collect him. He added a few more comments to his documentation, and gathered up his reports and datapads to present them to Cloudknife. Several other mechs were queued up, waiting to present their end-of-cycle reports to him as well. Smolder wasn't among them, for which Red Alert was grateful. He didn’t need the distraction.

"Did you finish?" Cloudknife grunted when Red Alert approached his work station.

"Yes, sir." Red Alert handed over the datapads. "I've programmed the first quarter-orn, and the documentation has instructions if the calculations need to be fine-tuned."

"Do you want to go get some energon?" Grindor asked Mindset behind him. "Something to celebrate finally finishing the slagging system."

"Don't have to leave," Skystalker, another 'Con that worked in the security center said, looking up from his station. "Sledge and Throttler went out and brought back some high grade. I guess they had the same idea."

"These look adequate," said Cloudknife after scanning the datapads. "If we have a problem in the future…"

"You can contact me through my Master.”

Cloudknife nodded, and looked down, tapping a command into his console. "I've sent him a message that you're done. I’ll be in my quarters if he has any questions." He looked over the reports he'd received from the others quickly. "You're all dismissed."

As the clatter and buzz of conversations, workstations being shut down, and data pads being stowed away filled the room, a hand descended on Red Alert’s shoulder, freezing him in his tracks.

“Cloudknife, Sir,” Smolder said as he stepped around Red Alert. “Commander Shockwave requested that I escort his slave to the elevated transit terminal on Route 34.872 when we were finished.”

Cloudknife looked up in confusion. “He didn’t say anything like that to me.”

“It was just as he was leaving, sir. I meant to tell you.”

“Hmm…” Cloudknife fixed Red Alert with a piercing stare. “Is this true, Autobot?”

For a moment Red Alert was frozen. If he didn’t go along with Smolder’s ruse, they would be exposed. If he did, it would be undeniable proof that he had been a complicit and willing participant in their coupling.

“Yes, Sir. It’s true,” he answered. “I was concentrating so hard on finishing the project it slipped my processor.” Smolder gave Red Alert’s shoulder wheel an almost undetectable squeeze.

“Very well. Give Commander Shockwave my compliments, Smolder.”

“Yes sir, I will.” Smolder snapped off a smart salute and turned, motioning for Red Alert to follow him. He waited at the door while Red Alert tidied his workstation.

“Smolder! Don’t take too long or all the high grade will be gone!” Skystalker called out as the rest of the Decepticons left for their celebrations. Smolder waved them on, then ushered Red Alert through a different door that would lead to the building’s exit.

As soon as the door slid shut behind them, Smolder grabbed Red Alert’s wrist and began towing him down the corridor, his long strides leaving Red Alert scrambling to catch up.

“Smolder, what-” Red Alert’s question was cut off as he stumbled when Smolder pulled him through a small, dark doorway.

The room beyond was small, windowless, and lit only by the glow of a bank of security monitors. Red Alert did not have much of a chance to observe his surroundings; as soon as the door slid shut behind him Smolder was pressing him against it, his vents hot against Red Alert’s plating, his lips and hands covering Red Alert’s body.

“Oh Red,” Smolder’s engine growled, its vibrations transmitted to Red Alert’s frame. “I can’t get enough of you.”

The feeling of a large, warm chassis and powerful engine pressed against him stirred Red Alert’s spark. The low, rumbling voice hinting at the raw lust and passion behind the words brought up memories he couldn’t suppress. Even the color of Smolder’s plating conspired to make him lose himself again.

“We shouldn’t –ah- shouldn’t do this, Smolder!” Even as he protested, his hands wandered up and over Smolder’s shoulder struts.

“That’s what,” Smolder paused to nip his way up a coolant line in Red Alert’s neck strut, “makes it so good. Say my name again, that’s so hot.”

“But Master Shockwave will be here soon! What if-” Red Alert’s voice trailed off into a squeak as Smolder deftly slipped a hand between his legs and thumbed open the panel over Red Alert’s interface array.

“What were you saying, my dear little Autobot?” Smolder’s voice was mocking but gentle as he mercilessly stimulated the sensor nodes around the lip and inner vestibule of Red Alert’s valve. Red Alert’s feed from his optics momentarily devolved into static as his processor was overwhelmed. He clutched at Smolder in a desperate attempt to stay upright, and his vocoder produced harsh bursts of feedback and static.

Smolder hefted him with ease, one arm supporting his back and the other hooked under his leg, with the digits still buried in his valve. He turned and sat Red Alert on a control panel, pushing his knees and thighs apart.

“Such a pretty little thing,” Smolder whispered against Red Alert’s helm sensor. Red Alert moaned as Smolder again ran his thumb around the lip of his valve. “Such a pretty little thing and you’re all mine.”

“Smolder, I - oh, please-!”

At the sound of Red Alert saying his name, Smolder revved his engine and pulled Red Alert close, grinding his panel against Red Alert’s valve.

“Don’t worry, little ‘Bot. I’ll give you something to remember – something to keep you warm at night while you’re in Commander Icicle’s berth.” With a last nip at Red Alert’s helm he lowered himself to his knees between Red Alert’s legs, leaving a trail of kisses and nibbles as he went.

Red Alert’s spark was pulsing so rapidly in its casing it felt like it was going to burst. The fear of discovery and lust for Smolder was a potent combination, making his systems energize more quickly than they ever had before. Red Alert could feel the energy coursing through his circuits, making his plating feel too tight and too loose all at once. His over-sensitized receptors overwhelmed him when stimulated, and yet he still craved more.

When Smolder scraped his denta along the inner seam of Red Alert’s thigh plating and a gentle draft from his heavy ventilations blew over Red Alert’s exposed valve, he cried out, jerking and kicking in reaction. Immediately he was held down by two strong hands holding his hips still, and a glossa working its way closer to the apex of his thighs.

Smolder finally reached his goal and the feeling of his mouth on Red Alert’s valve made him writhe, hands grasping at Smolder’s helm. His head fell back and he looked away.

The monitors on the wall showed feeds from around the local district, the cameras and sensors positioned to provide information about anyone approaching the building. Smolder’s glossa breached his entrance, and Red Alert moaned, still keeping his gaze locked on the monitors. He felt guilty and exposed, watching the mechs walking by the building, as if the screens were really windows, and that at any moment one of them could look over and see them, see what they were doing…

A dreaded, familiar blocky shape appeared, and Red Alert’s ardor drained away, leaving cold fear in its wake.

“Smolder, stop-” Red Alert pushed against Smolder’s head, trying to squirm away.

“Mmm, you taste so goo-”

“He’s here, Smolder! Shock- my Master is coming!” Red Alert’s voice rose to a panicked shriek as terror strangled his vocoder. Shockwave was certain to know what had happened – he knew everything that went on in the city, of course he’d know about this-

“Calm down, calm down…” Smolder took a quick look up at the feed. “He’s still half a level away. We’ve got time to get you fixed up.”

“He’s going to know!”

“Red.” Smolder stood, placing his hands on Red Alert’s shoulder tires. “He’s not going to know. Just follow my lead. Understand?” He waited until Red Alert gave a frightened little nod, then produced a rag from his subspace and cleaned Red Alert’s interface array with a few brisk strokes. “Do you think he’ll notice my transfluid from before?”

“No,” Red Alert shook his head, “He always makes me wash before-”

“Good.” Smolder slid Red Alert’s panel back into place, and gave the area a quick once over before rising again. Another look at the monitors told them that Shockwave was now on the walkway that passed the entrance to the security building.

“Come on. And remember, let me do the talking.”

They walked to the main foyer, arriving just a nanoklik before the doors hissed aside to reveal Shockwave’s blocky purple form.

Red Alert felt like his struts turned to water at the sight of his master. He’s going to know, he’s going to know somehow…

“Commander Shockwave, sir.” Smolder gave Shockwave a crisp salute as he approached them.

Shockwave paused, looking from Red Alert to Smolder. “Decepticon…”

“Smolder, sir.”

“Decepticon Smolder, what are you doing with Slave Red Alert?”

“Commander Cloudknife has retired to his quarters, sir. I volunteered to ensure that your property was returned to you safely.”

Shockwave’s optic dimmed and he stiffened. “It seems that Commander Cloudknife requires a reminder that despite his promotion, all his duties must be seen through to their conclusion.” He looked toward the hall that lead to the command room, and then back to Smolder. “I commend you for taking on this service on my behalf, Decepticon Smolder.”

“Oh, I’m sure the commander meant no insult, sir. He’s very busy with the project. We’re all very grateful for the opportunity to help you secure the Decepticon Empire, sir.”

With a curt nod of acknowledgement, Shockwave turned to leave, and Red Alert fell into step behind him, some of his tension leaving. It seemed that he and Smolder might remain undiscovered after all. As they passed through the portal to the outside, Red Alert stole a glance over his shoulder. Smolder met his optics and smiled. The flame that had been ignited in Red Alert’s spark bloomed for a moment, and a warm glow settled in his chassis. Red Alert knew, that no matter how cold and hopeless he felt in Shockwave’s possession, he wasn’t alone anymore.

Someone cares.

Then the doors closed, cutting off their gaze. Red Alert turned back, and followed Shockwave up the walkway, towards the main transit way and the Command Compound.

Someone cares about me.

Chapter Text

Red Alert's attention wandered as he stood at attention, waiting for one of the Decepticons to motion him over. The large decanter of high-grade energon he held was mostly full, but then so were the cubes of the mechs present. It would be some time before he was called upon to top off someone's fuel.

Jazz stood beside him, holding an identical ewer filled with coolant. While these smaller gatherings were less tiring to wait upon than large ones, any attempt at conversation would be noticed immediately; Red Alert and Jazz would have no opportunity to socialize. Jazz held himself somewhat stiffly – Red Alert had noticed Megatron gazing at Jazz throughout the meeting. It was no secret that Megatron often enjoyed the use of his Communications Officer's slave, and it was almost certain that Jazz would be called to Megatron's berth at the end of the evening.

Motormaster suddenly lifted his cube and drained the energon in one long draught.

Trust a Stunticon to try and get as much down his intake as he can instead of savoring it. thought Red Alert as he silently moved to refill Motormaster's cube. He poured until Motormaster grunted at him to stop, and then quickly stepped back into the shadows.

“Wish my slave was as attentive as yours, Commander Shockwave,” said Motormaster as the conversation flagged. “No matter how hard I knock his bucket he still dawdles.”

“What I have achieved with Slave Red Alert is possible to achieve with any slave.” Shockwave motioned to Red Alert, who quickly came to his side. Red Alert felt uneasy about the turn the conversation had taken. When Shockwave indicated, he moved to kneel in front of the chair facing him.

Megatron was sitting in a large carver next to Shockwave, and Red Alert did not like having Megatron’s full attention. He kept his gaze locked on Shockwave's optic. Being attentive to his master couldn't get him into trouble, but meeting Megatron's stare very likely would.

“Are you saying I don't know how to handle my slave, Commander?” growled Motormaster.

“I am certain you are able to attain an acceptable level of obedience with your... technique, Stunticon Motormaster. However, my experiments with Slave Red Alert have proven that obedience and submission can be achieved without the use of fear or violence. In addition, this approach creates a more mindful slave who will actively seek out opportunities to please his master, rather than focusing on avoiding punishment.”

“What's the difference? If my slave pleases me, he doesn't get punished.”

Shockwave remained silent for a long moment, and then placed his hand on Red Alert's helm. “I suppose for your purposes, Stunticon Motormaster, there is no practical difference. But I wish for my slave to be useful in all aspects of existence, not just in the berth.”

Even though Red Alert had his back to him, he could feel the tension and anger emanating from Motormaster at the implication.

“My slave is plenty useful.”

“In the end, if he is pleasing you, his master, that is the only matter of consequence. But I will send you my notes. Perhaps some of the techniques I describe will be beneficial to you.”

Motormaster answered through clenched denta. “Thank you, Commander. I'm sure I will find them...interesting.”

“I am very pleased with how well my theories have worked in practice. I was prepared for a much longer acclimation period with Slave Red Alert due to the fact that he has a spark bond. But the overall-”

“Spark bond?”

Every optic turned to where Megatron lounged in his seat. Up until now he had appeared wholly uninterested in the conversation between his underlings, but now his optics glowed as he fixed Shockwave with a piercing gaze.

“Uh, yes, Lord Megatron. Slave Red Alert is spark-bound to another Autobot. My calculations and measurements of the magnetosphere surrounding his spark indicate the bond was formed during the exile on Earth.”

Megatron remained silent, but he was now staring at Red Alert.

Wary and nervous about being the focus of Megatron's attention, Red Alert kept his gaze lowered, hoping the topic would shift soon.

“I-Is there anything else you would like to know, Lord Megatron?”

Hearing Shockwave caught off guard was unsettling. Red Alert resisted the urge to press into his master's leg struts in an effort to hide himself.

“No.” Megatron said no more, but Red Alert could still feel his intense gaze. “The Autobots were always arrogant and stupid, but I thought that even Prime would not have sanctioned spark-bonding during the war.” Megatron turned away, and Red Alert relaxed marginally.

Even after Shockwave quickly changed the subject and nudged Red Alert to rise and resume his place at the edge of the circle, Red Alert felt as if Megatron’s sinister red optics were following his every move. A few times he screwed up his courage and risked a glance at him – the first time he found himself caught out, as Megatron stared back. Red Alert quickly dropped his gaze in submission.

“Lord Megatron,” Thundercracker said, cycling his vocoder discreetly. “I would like to go over my proposals for the new navigation beacon in Vos. The current set up leads to inefficient patrols, and too many bottlenecks around the takeoff and landing zones. But my idea will result in a cube-consumed-per-flight reduction of 17%...”

For the rest of the meeting, Red Alert seemed invisible to Megatron, and Jazz waited upon him.

As the gathering wound down, and the Decepticons were starting to prepare to go back to their own domiciles, Megatron finished the last of the coolant in his flute, and held it out for someone to take. Jazz was across the room, gathering up the half-finished energon cubes. Red Alert had no choice. He approached Megatron. He was somewhat emboldened by the fact that Megatron appeared to have all of his attention on Swindle, who was talking to him in an urgent and wheedling tone.

When he reached out to relieve Megatron of the flute, his hand was grabbed in a viselike grip. Red Alert stood motionless, trying to quell his shaking. He stared at the large, black hand that held his forearm, willing it to go away.

When the grip tightened, he flinched and gasped in fear. Red Alert wanted to wrench his arm away and flee, but the pacification programming held him still, unable to make any sudden movements that might dislodge Megatron's hand. Slowly, dreading what he would see, Red Alert raised his optics to Megatron's face.

He was transfixed. Megatron held his stare, and Red Alert could not summon the will to look away, even as his processor was screaming at him to look anywhere else. If Megatron was angry about some perceived slight or insubordination, staring at him wasn't going to help.

“Shockwave.” Megatron's voice was forceful, but he did not shout. The conversations that were being conducted around them quieted a bit as every mech focused on Megatron.

“Yes, Lord Megatron?” Shockwave appeared at Megatron's side almost immediately. “Has my slave offended you?”

“No.” Megatron raised his free hand, and traced one of Red Alert's cheek-seams. Red Alert could barely suppress a shudder. “He has pleased me. Present him to me in my private chambers in one half-joor.”

For a moment Red Alert felt as if the floor vanished from beneath his pedes.

Shockwave's words thanking Megatron for the honor, and assuring him that Red Alert would be presented on time and ready for service were detected by his audios, but he could not process them.

He knew he was walking back towards the sideboard to place the flute in his hand back in its place, but only the fact that his destination was getting bigger and he could dimly feel the impact of his pedes hitting the floor plating indicated that he was in motion.

No, no, it's Jazz Megatron asks for, not me!

Red Alert tried to wipe the flute clean but his hands were shaking too much.

What does he want? What will he do?

Red Alert grabbed the edge of the sideboard to keep himself upright as a wave of terror engulfed him.

Jazz appeared next to him, and pulled Red Alert into a quick, fierce embrace. Red Alert caught only a glimpse of Jazz's face, but the sheer horror he saw in Jazz's expression caused a fresh, cold, stab of fear in his spark.

“Be brave, Red. Just do whatever he says. Don't fight. He likes it when you fight. You'll be fi-”

Then Shockwave was at his side and pulling Red Alert away. His processor was spinning. Megatron wanted him? What would Megatron do to him? With a great force of will, Red Alert pushed down the panic rising in his spark. Jazz had been called upon by Megatron, and Jazz seemed no worse for wear. I belong to Shockwave, Megatron won’t hurt me.

Soon they were outside, under the starry Cybertronian sky, and Red Alert realized that they were approaching the central crystal garden. Shockwave moved through the array of softly glowing crystals before guiding Red Alert into a small, secluded alcove next to a large blue crystal. As soon as they stopped Red Alert dropped to his knees.

“Master, I-”

“Be still, Slave Red Alert.”

Red Alert’s mouth closed with a snap, and he quieted against Shockwave.

“This is a tremendous honor, Slave Red Alert. To react with apprehension is unseemly.”

“Please, Master,” whispered Red Alert. “I – I can’t. Don’t make me do this.” Even as he spoke he knew that his words would have no bearing on his fate.

Shockwave sank down onto the bench, and to Red Alert's surprise, positioned himself so that Red Alert's face was pressed into his legs. Shockwave's cold hand was placed on the back of Red Alert's helm.

“You will comport yourself in a manner befitting a slave before Lord Megatron. You will remember that your actions reflect upon me as your master.”

“Yes, Master,” Red Alert murmured in submission.

He tried to reassure himself, reasoning that Jazz had been called to Megatron's berth several times, and he still functioned. Shockwave interfaced with Red Alert almost every activity cycle. How was this different? By the end of the cycle, it would be over and done with and he could purge it from his memory banks.

But why did Jazz look so sad? The unbidden thought rose in his processor as Shockwave stood and motioned for Red Alert to follow him. Fear started to worm its way into his spark as Shockwave led him down the shadowed paths towards the wing that housed the living quarters. He throttled it ruthlessly, mentally coaching himself into the wonderfully numb place he retreated to when Shockwave was ‘facing him.

What's going to happen to me?

Nothing. Nothing’s going to happen to you. It’ll be horrible, sure, but then it’ll be over. I belong to Shockwave, Megatron won’t hurt me.

Red Alert held onto that thought, keeping it in the forefront of his processor as Shockwave led him into the building. Very few lighting units were activated, but this was a common practice the Decepticons used to conserve energy. From the main foyer, Shockwave walked at a relaxed pace, taking several turns until they found themselves in a long gallery. There were a few doors, shut tight, on either side of the gallery, but the tall, dark portal at the end of the hall held Red Alert’s attention.

You’re almost there.

His sense of dread increased with each step towards the imposing doors, but Red Alert ignored it. He had never been down this corridor before, and each unfamiliar wall strut and statue seemed to loom out of the shadows to create an atmosphere of menace.

“Slave Red Alert,” said Shockwave, his normally even tone betraying a hint of impatience. “If you displease Lord Megatron, the consequences will be extreme.” He halted and turned Red Alert so that he was forced to meet his optic. “Do you understand?”

Red Alert's vocoder had shorted out from the strain, and he had to reboot it a few times before he could answer, “Yes, Master.” Shockwave turned to continue down the hall.

Over soon. It will be over soon.

Shockwave once again took Red Alert’s arm and continued marching him down the hall at a more purposeful pace. It was all Red Alert could do to keep his pedes under him.

“You will be silent in Lord Megatron's presence unless he gives you leave to speak.” As they stopped in front of the door, Shockwave turned to look at Red Alert, as if waiting for him to object.

Red Alert muted his vocoder. Better safe…

I'll be alright, Jazz is alright, this will all be over by next cycle...

Apparently satisfied that Red Alert would make no protest, Shockwave turned and pressed the entrance request button. A low chime sounded deep in the rooms beyond.

After a long moment, the doors slid open, and Red Alert was shoved inside.

His first impression was of shadows – a single lighting unit in one corner was illuminated, throwing a narrow swath of light across the floor. Shockwave continued pushing Red Alert until he stood in it, and then bore down on his shoulder axle, forcing him to kneel.

Megatron was seated directly in front of him, but his shoulders and head remained in shadow. Only his baleful, glowing optics gave any indication of where he was looking.

“My slave, Lord Megatron.”

Red Alert remained still where he sat, unable to bring himself to lift his optics from the floor, fearing that any move on his part would set free the fear that was coiling around his spark.

I’ll be fine…Everything will be fine…

When Megatron did not respond, Shockwave asked, “Will you require me to retrieve-”

“No. You are dismissed, Shockwave.”

Red Alert flinched when Megatron spoke.

Shockwave has always protected me. He wouldn’t leave me here if it wasn’t safe.

“Yes, Lord Megatron. Thank you, Lord Megatron.”

Shockwave's pede-steps retreated.

Master!

When the tumblers that secured the doors shot home, anxiety descended upon him like a shroud. He was trapped in a room with the Decepticon Slagmaker. And the Slagmaker wanted him.

He was alone.

In the quiet that filled the room, Red Alert's ventilations were obvious and loud. He tried to stifle them, to remain absolutely silent. He wanted to hide – being so exposed, so visible in the center of the room was wreaking havoc on his glitch, he was sure that there were unseen optics watching him, recording his every reaction.

Megatron remained silent.

Red Alert held himself more tightly, trying to bring himself some small measure of comfort.

“Look at me.” Megatron's command reverberated throughout the room. Red Alert shrank back, unable to comply at first. Finally he forced himself, only lifting his head for a bare nanoklik, before lowering it again to its previous defensive posture.

Megatron laughed.

He rose to his pedes with a tremendous hissing of hydraulics and groaning of struts – all reminders of just how strongly built Megatron was. Even without the pacification programming, Red Alert would have been helpless to resist him.

His every pede-step made the plating vibrate beneath Red Alert.

He'll crush me!

When Megatron stopped in front of Red Alert, he again waited in silence.

Red Alert could feel the EM fields from Megatron's components flaring against his own, he could hear the massive volumes of air that Megatron's ventilation systems moved.

He was so small, compared to Megatron. Remember, you’ll be fine. Don’t fight and it won’t hurt too much.

Whatever Megatron wanted to do to him, Megatron would, and nobody would care. Nobody would heed his screams or his cries for help.

“Still a little glitchmouse, cowering and squeaking.”

Red Alert flinched.

“You're frightened,” Megatron began to stalk a slow circle around Red Alert. “I can feel your fear.” He came to a halt where he had started, in front of Red Alert.

“That pleases me.”

Red Alert cried out as Megatron grabbed his neck and lifted him off the floor. In spite of his coaching from Shockwave, Red Alert struck out, trying free himself. Laughing, Megatron drew Red Alert close, a hot wash of air from his vents moving over Red Alert’s plating. The pacification programming had activated in response to his attempt at violence, and it throttled all attempts at movement. He could only hang in Megatron’s grip; motionless and helpless.

Why is he doing this? I’m not going to fight! I won’t-

“Do you have nothing to say?” Megatron lowered Red Alert slightly, so that his legs could take some of his weight, relieving some of the pressure on his vocoder. At first Red Alert could not produce any sounds, as he stared up at Megatron, transfixed.

“P-please, please don’t hurt me,” whispered Red Alert. “Please, my Lord, don’t-”

Without a word, Megatron turned as he shifted his grip to Red Alert's shoulder axle. Red Alert found himself being pulled through a dark door at the back of the room.

“Please, my Lord!” Red Alert cried out in shock, unprepared for the rough treatment. Megatron had not even given him a chance to comply! What did he want Red Alert to do? He tried to get his pedes under him, but Megatron's strength was far greater than his own, and his pace did not slow as they moved quickly down a dark, narrow passageway.

Megatron did not pause as he reached the end of the hall. The portal slid open with alacrity, but Red Alert was still momentarily stunned as he was knocked against the retreating door as they passed through. The room beyond was full of shadows, but the first thing Red Alert noticed was the massive berth that dominated it.

The second thing he noticed was the object mounted to the wall above the berth.

Optimus Prime's head stared down at him unseeing, gray and lifeless. Wires hung from its severed neck, and one optic was missing, replaced by an old smear of energon.

Red Alert keened as sorrow and loss stabbed through his spark.

The berth had several sets of chains coiled on its surface. Cuffs were laid open on them; ready and waiting.

What’s he going to do to me? I’m not going to fight, I’m not- A groan of fear escaped Red Alert’s vocoder as Megatron pulled him towards the berth.

Two figures huddled on the far side of the berth came into view as they approached.

Red Alert recoiled at the sight. Their slumped forms, dark optics, and dull plating were so different from the proud warriors he remembered.

Sideswipe and Sunstreaker leaned against each other, and gave no indication that they were aware of what was transpiring. Thick chains encircled their hands and feet.

Panic seized Red Alert, and he suddenly jerked in Megatron’s grasp, trying to kick out, to escape. Evil things happened here, he could feel it in his spark.

“No, no, my Lord, don’t-”

Megatron let out a deep rumble and shoved Red Alert forward, sending him stumbling across the room, fetching up against the berth. Red Alert spun, trying to get away, but Megatron was already much too close, trapping him.

“Please, don’t!” The only direction he could go to get away from Megatron’s inexorable approach was backwards, onto the berth. “Please,” he cried as he tried to crawl away. Scrapes and deep scratches marred the surface, the pain and despair of its previous occupants almost palpable.

Red Alert's ankle was seized in a strong grip, and he was yanked back down onto the berth. He tried to pull away, but the plating was smooth, the vents too small to gain a purchase. He whimpered in terror as Megatron's massive hands gripped his shoulders and bore him down, grinding his wheels into the berth.

“No, no, no, please, no,” Red Alert pushed at Megatron's chest, but Megatron was immovable. His weight was more than Red Alert could bear, crushing him, becoming heavier every moment.

A deep laugh rumbled through Megatron's chassis. He moved fully up onto the berth, all of his weight now pinning Red Alert. Red Alert struggled and writhed, but then a large, black hand closed around his throat and began to squeeze.

Red Alert went still, spark pulsing wildly in terror.

“You are so afraid,” said Megatron into his audio. “Such a tiny little glitchmouse…”

“No…no, please!” whispered Red Alert as Megatron moved over him, his massive chassis blocking the light, the shadows swallowing him. The weight on his neck combined with the darkness made Red Alert feel as though he’d been buried, crushed and trapped while still functioning.

He’ll kill me, he’ll kill me, he’s too big- As his thoughts raced in terror, a small corner of his processor remembered Jazz’s words. If I don’t fight I’ll be fine, I’ll be fine, don’t fight don’t fight! Slowly Red Alert lowered his hands back down to the berth, resting them on either side of his helm – the way Shockwave liked them. He couldn’t control their trembling, nor the tiny, staticky whimper that escaped from his vocoder as the pressure eased from it. Please just let me get out of this online.

As Megatron settled himself, Red Alert felt his legs falling open to their usual position for being ‘faced by Shockwave.

It’ll be over soon, it’ll be over soon, just like Shockwave…

A hot gust of air from Megatron’s vents rolled over his plating. Red Alert shrank back against the berth, his tanks roiling in revulsion.

…over soon, it’ll be over…

He turned away, unable to watch Megatron’s chest armor moving over him. The pressure on his plating increased as Megatron put more and more of his weight on Red Alert.

…soon…

Sunstreaker’s optics were just visible over the edge of the berth. Are their collars like the one Shockwave uses? Are they watching m-

Megatron’s massive hand closed over Red Alert’s chin and jerked his head back, forcing him to look up into his face. The grip on his jaw tightened as Megatron’s optics narrowed. Red Alert felt him shift his weight, his other hand closing over Red Alert’s panel.

His terror peaking, Red Alert pushed his hand between them, attempting to pry Megatron off. A deep rumble of amusement emanated from within Megatron’s chassis, making Red Alert’s plating vibrate.

“Don’t, don’t, don’t…” he whispered. He could only push weakly against Megatron, all rebellion quashed mercilessly by the programming lodged deep in his processor. “Don’t do that. Please, don’t do that-” His pleas cut off in a small shriek of pain as Megatron found the catch and jerked his panel open – obviously expecting more resistance than Red Alert’s disabled cams could offer.

Megatron grabbed Red Alert under his arms and heaved him up, pulling him more fully onto the berth so that their legs and pedes were no longer hanging off of the end. Red Alert groaned as his spoiler was scraped harshly across the metal surface.

No…no…

Megatron’s weight shifted to his elbows as he lifted himself off of Red Alert once more. Red Alert tried again to shut off his optics and turn away, but his neck was gripped from behind and roughly pulled forward so that he had no choice but to watch his own violation.

A wedge of light was just visible, framed by his spread thighs. Red Alert watched in horror as Megatron’s panel slid open and his spike slowly extended. Every moment he willed it to stop, to cease, to not really be that big, but his silent prayers were in vain.

Please someone help me! Anyone, please, help me!

A quiet, wavering cry started from his vocoder as he watched Megatron lower himself, closer and closer.

As the tip disappeared behind the swell of his pelvic unit and he felt nothing, for one wild, desperate moment Red Alert thought that perhaps Megatron had taken pity on him.

Then his valve was invaded, and his soft cry grew into a hopeless wail. Megatron pushed in, his progress measured in small increments as he forced Red Alert’s unprepared valve to accept his spike. Red Alert’s mouth opened wide and his optics flickered off as agonizing sensory input began to assault his processor. Megatron was too big. Red Alert could feel his spike grinding over the sensors lining his valve, feel the seams and plates protest as they were stressed to the very limits of their tolerances.

He’s going to split me in two, he’s going to kill me, please stop please stop please STOP-

He couldn’t feel the individual thrusts that marked Megatron’s forward progress or the rough surface of the berth beneath him; every part of Red Alert’s chassis felt cold and numb, save for the burning agony that was his valve.

After what seemed like forever, Megatron finally stopped pushing and lay still, his pelvic unit flush against Red Alert’s, his spike completely seated in his valve. Red Alert lay frozen beneath him, hardly daring to ventilate lest even the tiniest change in internal pressure or movement accidentally jar Megatron and cause him to move within Red Alert’s valve. His hip joints ached, his legs forced wider and wider by Megatron’s broad pelvic unit until he felt certain they were going to give way.

Megatron released his neck.

“Help me…help me please somebody…” Red Alert’s pleas began in a whisper, but soon increased in volume. “Help me, help me, please, Oh Primus, please save me…” Uttering the deity’s name opened a floodgate in Red Alert, and he continued, stumbling over the words of a half-forgotten plea to Primus he had once heard, “please Prim-mus, please deliver me, g-guide and protect m-my spark-”

So focused was he on the pain emanating from between his legs that the blow caught Red Alert completely off guard. He screamed as it caused Megatron to move in his valve, and cowered, hurt and bewildered, his processor reeling from the sudden violence.

“You dare,” growled Megatron, his deep voice experienced as vibration by Red Alert, trapped as he was against Megatron’s chestplate. “You dare to beg Primus for mercy?”

Red Alert looked up fearfully at him. Megatron’s optics were ablaze with fury.

“Primus has no say here! It is I who you should be begging, I who will decide whether you walk out of here or are carried when I’m done with you!”

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry, my Lord! Ahh!” Red Alert screamed as Megatron started to pull back. He felt as if his valve and its housing were going to be torn right out of his chassis. “Please! Please don’t hurt me, please, I beg you!”

“That’s more like it,” said Megatron, his words punctuated with a sharp thrust into Red Alert’s valve. “Keep going, slave.”

“You’re hurting me, you’re hurting me, please!” Red Alert tried again to push Megatron off, but his efforts went by unnoticed. His words degenerated into a mindless babble punctuated by feedback and static. He would do anything, say anything, if only it would make Megatron stop.

Please let it be over soon…

“Is that the best you can do?” Megatron’s hand again closed over his neck, and this time his finger tips sought out gaps in Red Alert’s armor, pressing down against key circuits and energon lines.

“Please, mercy, please my Lord, please!” he begged, staring up at Megatron, optics bright with fear. He moaned as Megatron pulled most of the way out only to surge back in roughly. “Don’t hurt me, I’ll do anything, please don’t hurt – ah! No, no, no no-”

His words cut off as Megatron increased the pressure against his neck, pulling out and pushing in several times in quick succession. For what seemed like an eternity, Red Alert was enveloped by darkness as Megatron rested his full weight on Red Alert, and began driving into him in earnest.

Don’t kill me, I don’t want to be deactivated…not like this…

Every time Red Alert adjusted to Megatron’s thrusts, thought that he could stand it for just a bit longer, Megatron changed his angle, or his depth, and Red Alert whimpered in anguish. He keened as he felt something buckle and give way, a tearing pain ripping through his sensor net.

He’s going to break it-

A deep growl sounded above him and the fingers around his neck twitched, tightening for a moment.

He’s going to break me, and he doesn’t care, no one will care! Red Alert gave another cry, and Megatron moaned again. He likes it, he likes hurting me! He’s going to kill me, and he’ll like it! He’ll just keep ‘facing me, he’ll never stop!

Now terror had as much of a grip on Red Alert’s spark as Megatron had on his neck.

I’m going to die here – I’m going to die and no one will care! Shockwave will just find another slave to train and start all over…

Megatron’s thrusts quickened, sped by a growing slickness between Red Alert’s thighs, a slickness he hoped against hope was lubricant.

…I’ll never see Inferno again.

“No…no…no…no!” he said, only able to voice his meager protest in between Megatron’s relentless motions. The pain was intense, unlike anything he’d ever felt. Even Shockwave hadn’t hurt him, and now his enhanced sensors were flooding him with data, damage reports, and above all the pain of the loathsome, intimate brutality Megatron was inflicting on his interface components.

Finally, after an eternity of torment, Megatron paused. Is it over? Is he done? Red Alert thought deliriously. But instead, to his horror, Megatron reached between them and began poking and prodding at the seams around Red Alert’s chest. “What are you doing? What are you doing to me?”

Megatron didn’t answer, but pressed on, and soon he had found the hidden catch that kept Red Alert’s armor in place.

“No, don’t, please-” Red Alert tried to push Megatron’s hands away, tried to hold his armor closed, but Megatron overpowered him with no effort. He’s going to kill me…he’s going to- He renewed his desperate pushing on Megatron’s chest, and looked up into the merciless face of his tormentor. “Please don’t kill me, please ah-!” he cried out as he felt his chest plates slide slowly open. “I’ll do anything, please! My lord, please, I d-don’t want to die-!” begged Red Alert. He groaned as his chest was opened to its full extent, his spark pulsing in the darkness beneath Megatron. All Megatron had to do was wrap one hand around it and squeeze…

When Megatron reached for his spark Red Alert screamed in terror and struggled desperately, but he was caught and pinned, impaled like a butterfly in a Terran insect collection.

Every moment Red Alert anticipated the sudden pressure and then swallowing oblivion as his spark was crushed in Megatron’s massive hand.

But when the touch came, it was a soft, gentle stroke along the edge of his spark chamber. Red Alert looked down, at Megatron’s hand disappearing into his chest, and then slowly looked up and met Megatron’s optics. Megatron was smiling maliciously, a cruel smirk twisting his faceplates. Red Alert whimpered as the caress moved around his spark. He tried to squirm, but Megatron shifted his weight and held him down. Suddenly the hand left his spark chamber walls and touched the spark itself.

Pleasure thumped through Red Alert’s chassis and for a moment his vision filled with static. His limbs jerked as the charge went through him; it felt good, it felt too good…

When his optics cleared Megatron was leering down at him, laughing at his reaction.

“No, no, not that, not there, don’t touch m-!” Suddenly his vision fuzzed over in static once more, but this time in reaction to pain. His spark was caught in a crushing vise, being twisted in his chassis. Red Alert screamed.

Then the pressure was relieved, and replaced by more sensual caresses. Red Alert gasped as the touches caused his circuits to flare in pleasure. Megatron was holding his spark, petting it, and Red Alert could do nothing to stop him.

Shame overwhelmed him – shame at his reaction, at his utter helplessness. No, not that too, please… Red Alert covered his face as he lay helpless beneath Megatron, completely open and vulnerable in every way possible. He’d felt exposed during Shockwave’s clinical experiments, but it was nothing like this fresh horror. Megatron seemed intent on violating him in every way possible, leaving Red Alert with nothing he could call private.

But whenever Red Alert made a move, or cried out, or otherwise tried to protest the molestation, Megatron’s touch would turn cruel, threatening to crush Red Alert’s spark in his merciless grip. So Red Alert lay still, staring unseeingly at the armor above him, waiting for Megatron to tire of this new torment. Megatron soon resumed his punishing rhythm within Red Alert’s valve, matching it to the gentle stimulation of Red Alert’s spark.

Red Alert tried to remember Inferno’s touch, tried to hold the feeling of his tender, reverent caresses firmly in his processor, but it was impossible to ignore the invasion. Megatron’s hand was different, foreign.

Suddenly there was a snap and a hiss of hydraulics above him.

A bright, glowing red line appeared in the middle of Megatron’s chest.

For a few moments Red Alert looked at it in disbelief, not understanding the input from his optics. Then Megatron’s chest plates started to part.

No! No he’s not- he wouldn’t! This can’t be happening!

Red Alert stared up in horror as more and more of Megatron’s spark was revealed. It was a dull, baleful red, with some parts darkened to purple. It looked revolting, swollen, and wrong. Megatron released Red Alert’s spark, and Red Alert renewed his desperate struggles as he tried to escape.

“No, I’m bonded! You can’t – you can’t – I’m bonded!” His cries gained in intensity as the perverse glowing orb that was Megatron’s spark came closer and closer to his own. He could feel its pull, painful against the corona, already abused by Shockwave’s experiments.

“Don’t do this, please don’t do this, I’m bonded, I’m BOND-!”

Their sparks met.

Immediately a jolt of energy thumped through Red Alert, and he was enveloped in a maelstrom of terror, rage, and pain. He lost awareness of his corporeal form, his entire world utterly consumed by Megatron.

Megatron’s hate and anger overwhelmed him, but there was no escaping it.

You’re killing me, you’re killing me! Red Alert’s fear was all-consuming and as he gave into it, he could feel Megatron’s pleasure surging.

Yes, little glitchmouse. Give it to me… A fresh wave of hatred tinged with disdain washed over him, and Red Alert could feel how much pleasure Megatron was deriving from his violation, from his fear and pain. He knew the lengths Megatron would go to experience Red Alert’s abject terror.

Suddenly he was assaulted by images; scenes of himself being tormented in increasingly creative and sadistic ways. Red Alert tried to scream, but he was muzzled, and Megatron’s arousal only grew at his reaction. He’d never experienced a spark merge like this! It had always been an equal exchange with Inferno, but Megatron was only taking.

Dimly, Red Alert was aware of Megatron slamming viciously into his body, but it was a strange dual sensation – the pain of the violation, the faint pressure of his shoulder wheel being gripped and used for added leverage, and the reflected sadistic delight and physical pleasure Megatron felt as he shoved his spike into Red Alert’s battered valve over and over.

Again came a feeling of internal invasion as Megatron delved deeper into his spark, dredging up Red Alert’s most treasured emotions and darkest fears. They were thrown back at him, one after another, and he was made to endure them for as long as Megatron wished to revel in them.

His fear that he had not really been respected on the Ark, that he was just an amusing sideshow to be humored was lingered over, his devotion to the Autobot cause superimposed with the image of Optimus Prime’s lifeless head.

Don’t, please-

Oh yes, I do please, little glitchmouse.

Trying to keep his thoughts and feelings shielded was impossible; Megatron pulled up new ones before Red Alert even realized they were there to be taken.

Red Alert’s spark called out in anguish as Megatron explored and probed his love for Inferno, and juxtaposed it with Red Alert’s shame over his submission to Shockwave.

His call was answered.

Inferno!

Something stirred at the other end of the bond. It was logy and dull, but unmistakably Inferno. And it was getting closer. Too close.

No, Inferno, you shouldn’t be here! This is a bad, bad place! Red Alert panicked as he felt Megatron becoming aware of Inferno’s presence. Go away! Get away!

Megatron’s pleasure grew, and as quickly as a striking razor snake, he ensnared Inferno. Red Alert could feel Inferno’s confusion and bewilderment, tried desperately to close off the bond, but it was no use. He was helpless as Megatron forced the bond open wide, and then poured all of Red Alert’s anguish into it. Then Red Alert was caught up too, and he felt Megatron’s abuse of his body and spark anew, along with Inferno’s struggles to escape the pitiless torment.

So glad you could join us…

A new image was forced down the bond, forced upon Inferno – an image of Red Alert as Megatron saw him, limp against the berth, legs and chest plates spread wide. A quick flash of the sensation of Megatron’s spike sinking into his valve accompanied it. The effect was immediate.

A wave of rage roared up from Inferno’s side of the bond, so hot Red Alert felt his spark would be burned to ashes.

Oh, Inferno, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t want to I swear! I swear I didn’t want to be unfaithful… Despair choked his spark. How could Inferno forgive him? How could Inferno love him after he’d been ruined like this? I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…

The anger burned hotter, brighter, and Red Alert tried to flee from it, but he was hemmed in by Megatron’s growing excitement and arousal, building in waves, each higher than the last. Red Alert saw his head and neck snap back and forth as Megatron’s motions grew ragged, irregular, and sharper.

Caught and trapped, unable to shield himself from the mental and physical assault, Red Alert gave himself over to gibbering, mindless terror.

I’m going to die, I’m going to die, he’s going to kill me, just make it stop please make it stop make it-

Megatron overloaded, his swollen spark pulsating and flaring against Red Alert’s.

For one brief, yet infinite moment, everything went white, and bits of himself were flayed off and went spinning into the void. When there were no pieces left, Red Alert fell into a howling darkness, and into the blessed arms of oblivion.

SYSTEM REBOOT COMPLETE

Red Alert hurt. He hurt deeply, as if something deep within himself had been wrenched free. The pain throbbed and pulsed, waves of it flowing down his…wait, did he have limbs?

MOBILITY SYSTEMS: ONLINE

Yes. His systems told him they were there, and by concentrating he could detect them. They were splayed out on…on... What was he on?

EXTERNAL SENSORS: ACTIVATING

A cool, hard surface. And why was it so hard to think? His processor was so slow…better to simply lay here and let himself slip into recharge. Maybe after a recharge he wouldn’t hurt so much.

No. No, I have to get out of here…

EXTERNAL SENSORS: ONLINE

Red Alert tried to scream, but his vocoder wasn’t online yet. His whole chassis twisted as he tried to escape from the searing miasma of pain between his legs.

OPTICAL SENSORS: ONLINE

AUDIOS: ONLINE

He was looking at a piece of floor plating. He could hear his own ventilation system working raggedly, trying to stabilize and return his core temperature to normal. Clasping his hand over his valve in an effort to relieve the pain, Red Alert lifted his head and looked around.

He was at the end of a long hallway, lying on his face next to a large pair of doors.

VOCODER: ONLINE

MEMORY BANKS: ONLINE

A deep moan, muffled against the floor, escaped from his vocoder as his memories of the past joor surfaced. Megatron had thrown him out like a piece of scrap, not bothering even to close his panel, to close-

Red Alert clapped a hand against his chest plate, but it was shut securely. It felt as if a long, raw swathe had been cut through his internals, through his spark. His ventilations increased as panic welled up inside of him. The pain was so all-encompassing he could not distinguish the spark bond. Had Megatron done what Shockwave could not? Had the forced merge torn the bond from him? Gritting his dentals, Red Alert concentrated, his spark flaring in pain as he explored the raw damage.

The bond was still there. Too tender to even think about accessing, but it was still there.

Again, Red Alert glanced back at the doors. He couldn’t stay here. He could barely move, but he couldn’t stay here. What if he comes out and finds me? What if…what if he wants to do itagain? The thought spurred Red Alert into action. He slowly pushed his chassis off of the floor, each movement of his legs causing shooting pains in his valve and hip joints.

I just need to get back to Shockwave. He’ll fix me. Just get to Shockwave.

He crawled along the gallery until he came to a small bench set into the wall between two support struts. Even the thought of sitting down made Red Alert wince, but he was able to pull himself shakily to his feet. Staying close to wall, reaching out to find handholds, he stumbled along the seemingly endless hall.

Keep going…Shockwave, I have to get to Shockwave…

His wounded spark continued to throb and roil. Red Alert tried not to remember the feeling of Megatron using the bond, of Inferno’s rage, but he couldn’t.

I’m so sorry Inferno, it’s all my fault. One of Red Alert’s legs buckled, and he grabbed a piece of molding to keep from crashing to the floor. The bond is ours, it’s private…

Or at least it had been. Red Alert leaned against the wall, a keen of longing and loss on his lips. The bond was a precious secret, something only for him and Inferno. To have something so intensely intimate and private violently trespassed upon hurt more than anything else.

Finally he reached the end of the long hall, and cast a furtive glance back, half-expecting the doors to burst open at any moment, and for Megatron to come out and grab him, dragging him back to that nightmare of terror and pain.

Shockwave…you’re almost home…

He stumbled through the twisting corridors, back the way they had entered. He knew there must have been a more direct route that would come out closer to Shockwave’s quarters, but the prospect of having to explore the tunnels made him so weary he wanted to collapse where he stood.

Finally he made it to the arched entryway, and he continued forward, trying to shuffle faster to get out of the oppressive building, but the pain hindered him, making each small step torture. A pair of guards making their rounds caused him to pause in the shadows just inside, holding himself and shaking as they passed. He couldn’t face anyone like this.

When they passed Red Alert slipped through the doorway and out into open air. He crept along the side of the building, every small stair-step and ramp in his path becoming barely surmountable obstacles. He knew it would be faster to go through the crystal garden instead of along the path, but a vision of tripping over a crystal and becoming stuck until someone came looking for him struck fear in his spark and kept him on the more even way.

Suddenly his pede caught on a loose piece of plating and sent Red Alert sprawling. His ventilation system stalled from the jarring fall, and he cried out as the movement sent lances of agony through him. For a few moments, the physical pain from his valve and the internal pain from his spark became indistinguishable, and he lay shaking, waiting for it to recede. He counted the nanokliks as they passed.

Selfishly Red Alert wished with all his spark that Inferno was there beside him, to hold and comfort him. He longed for any gentle touch.

Shockwave’s quarters…you’re almost there. Keep going.

Shaking with exertion, Red Alert slowly levered himself up, first maneuvering his knees under his hips and then slowly rising.

With his optics on the ground in front of him, he was almost startled when he rounded a corner and found himself outside of Shockwave’s bungalow.

It’s almost over, he’ll know what to do…

With one shaking hand, Red Alert reached up and palmed the door controls.

The doors remained shut fast.

Panic and despair welled up in him, and he let out a small, choked sob.

“Please Master, let me in,” he whispered. “Don’t leave me out here…”

He tapped in his code, but it wasn’t enough to override the door’s protocols. He pressed the button to request entry, but it remained silent. Red Alert rapped timidly at the door, but he knew in his spark it was futile. If Shockwave had set a lock that could only be opened in an emergency, it meant he had already initiated his recharge cycle.

“Please…please let me in! Master!” Red Alert called out as loudly as he dared. He couldn’t recharge out here, he couldn’t! Red Alert glanced over his shoulder. What if a Decepticon found him? What if…?

“Master!” he cried out again, pounding on the door. “Master, please!”

It was no use. There was no answer to his pleading, and eventually he slid down to lie in the deep shadows of the doorway, exhausted and hurt. He wanted a long session in the washracks, he wanted to curl up somewhere safe and warm and be left alone, but most of all he wanted to stop hurting.

I’m sorry, Inferno, he thought as his systems finally succumbed to the activity of the cycle and began powering down. I couldn’t protect you and I’m so sorry…

Chapter Text

The berth was empty when Jazz rebooted.

He sat up slowly, the fleeting twinge in his valve from the previous cycle’s activities failing to make him grimace. He heard voices in the other room, but could not make out what they were saying . The high, grating tenors of Rumble and Frenzy dominated, but every so often Soundwave’s monotone would take over.

For a moment, Jazz debated flopping right back down and continuing to recharge. He certainly didn’t want to see Soundwave off or anything like that. It would be like his vacation from the horde was starting early! But then heavy pedesteps approached, and the door to the berthroom slid open. Soundwave stood in the doorway, his scanning array on his shoulder, his concussion rifle in hand. He continued the rest of the way into the room when he saw that Jazz was online.

Jazz refused to meet Soundwave’s optics as he sat down on the berth, but Soundwave reached out and turned his face so that he had no choice.

“Time to departure: one joor,” said Soundwave, running his thumb along Jazz’s jawline. “Anticipated length of mission: an orn.”

Jazz did not react. What was he supposed to say? Did Soundwave expect him to simper ‘Hurry back soon,’ or ‘Stay safe for me,’ or some other nonsense?

“My group: departing first. Others will follow throughout the deca-cycle.” Soundwave paused, and then leaned closer to Jazz. Startled, Jazz focused on his face as Soundwave’s monotone became more urgent in a way that was impossible to pin down. “When non-compound mechs are present on the grounds: stay in quarters.” After a short pause, he added, “Indicate comprehension.”

“Yes! Yes, I won’t talk to strangers! Primus,” Jazz huffed. “You’d think you couldn’t trust anyone on your own team, Soundwave.”

Soundwave did not respond to the jab, but instead continued, “Your needs will be met. Adequate energon supply has been arranged.”

Jazz didn’t know how to respond to that – he had been so occupied with the prospect of a Soundwave-less orn that he hadn’t given much thought to insignificant details like how he was going obtain fuel while Soundwave was gone.

“Thank you. I suppose you’ll want me to water the plants while you’re gone, too?”

“Query: illogical. No botanical lifeforms present in quarters .”

Jazz released a frustrated huff of air from his vents and tried to turn away, but Soundwave pulled him back and leaned over him, holding him close. Jazz deactivated his visor and waited in the darkness for what he knew would come.

The soft sound of metal plates shifting was all the warning he had before Soundwave’s lip components pressed firmly into his own. Soundwave reached up, caressing Jazz’s face as he deepened the kiss and crushed Jazz to the glass of his cassette compartment. Jazz let out a small noise of protest as his front bumper was pinched, but Soundwave simply shifted his hold and renewed his ardor, manipulating him so that his mandible opened, allowing Soundwave’s glossa to seek entrance to his mouth.

“Hey, Boss, when you’re done with that could ya give me a hand? Rumble dropped one of my rockets and now I can’t get it on!”

“Did not!”

“Did too! You dropped it and then gave it to me ‘cause you thought I wouldn’t notice the dent!”

Soundwave broke the kiss, and released Jazz .

“Frenzy, come here.”

Frenzy marched over, holding his rocket pack out in front of him. Soundwave took it and examined it closely.

“Damage: superficial. Turn around.”

Still grumbling about the allegedly defective equipment, Frenzy obeyed. Soundwave carefully placed the rocket onto Frenzy’s shoulder, aligning it perfectly with the couplings that held it in place. When the last one was engaged, Frenzy straightened, and shrugged his shoulders a few times.

“Thanks, always feels like it fits better when you do it, Soundwave!” Frenzy looked up at Soundwave and smiled. With Soundwave’s faceplate back in place, Jazz could not tell if Soundwave was returning the warm expression, but for a moment he had the unsettling feeling of being an intruder, an unwanted observer of a private exchange.

Then the moment passed, and Frenzy marched out, calling back, “It’s almost time, Boss!”

Soundwave stood, and picked up his compression rifle from where he had placed it on the foot of the berth.

“Come.” The command was issued emotionlessly, but Jazz knew better than to be stubborn. After all, it was only a few more kliks, and then they would all be gone… He stood, and stretched out his limbs, wincing at the pops as his gears and struts aligned after so long motionless in recharge, and followed Soundwave out into the main room.

Soundwave stood in the center of the room, the Recordicons surrounding him in a loose semi-circle. Having them all in the same place at once made the spacious rooms feel rather cramped.

When Soundwave opened his cassette compartment, an almost undetectable wave of tension swept through the Recordicons.

“Ratbat, Ravage, Buzzsaw,” intoned Soundwave, and the named Recordicons immediately transformed and entered Soundwave’s chest in the order they were called. “Rumble, Frenzy, Laserbeak.”

As Laserbeak disappeared into the dark recesses of the compartment, Soundwave turned towards Jazz. Jazz looked away, affecting disinterest as Soundwave stepped towards him.

“Jazz.” The monotone voice was soft, and the touch to his cheek was gentle, but Jazz still jerked his head away. Soundwave regarded him silently for a moment, before dropping his hand back to his side. “Remain in quarters for the remainder of this cycle. Unfamiliar mechs: not to be trusted.”

Jazz remained motionless, his face turned to stare out the window. After a few nanokliks, Soundwave turned and exited the room. As the door hissed shut behind him, Jazz’s frame sagged in relief. Soundwave had actually left. For however long it took to kick those squatters in the skidplate. He had almost been convinced that it was some horrible joke, that his hopes for a few cycles of respite would be in vain.

Suddenly Jazz turned and stalked over to the window, half convinced there would be no means of transport outside, but Astrotrain’s shuttle altmode sat hulking and dark on the landing pad on the other side of the compound. Jazz palmed the control that retracted the transparisteel, and stepped out onto the balcony.

Below he could see several other Decepticons engaged in preparations: weapons checks, last minute maintenance, and of course obligatory roughhousing . For a moment Jazz’s spark tightened in grief. From this vantage point, without turning up the magnification on his optics, their activities were identical to the ones the Autobots used to engage in before a mission. He remembered joking with Mirage before a particularly delicate Spec Ops mission, and how Mirage had jumped in surprise when-

Jazz’s thoughts were interrupted when Megatron, Soundwave and Shockwave strode out of the main building. Jazz’s hands tightened on the balcony wall as he watched them cross the compound grounds towards Astrotrain. The waiting Decepticons snapped to attention as they approached.

From this far away, it was pointless to try and turn up the gain on his audios to hear what was being said, and Jazz didn’t particularly care to listen to whatever pep-talk Megatron had for them. If there was a briefing, it was short, and Soundwave stood back with Megatron and Shockwave as the small force of ‘Cons boarded Astrotrain. When Shockwave and Megatron turned to walk back to the main building, Soundwave raised his head and looked straight at Jazz.

Jazz froze, caught like the proverbial Terran rat in a trap. He couldn’t possibly pretend he hadn’t been watching Soundwave.

Slowly, Soundwave raised his compression rifle in a half-salute, and nodded.

Jazz spun away from the balcony wall and fled back into Soundwave’s quarters. He did not move even when he heard the rumble and roar of Astrotrain’s take off.

For joors he lay on the berth, staring at the ceiling, listening to the large main gate open and troops arrive. Large transports landed and took off again, their shadows cutting off the meager light of the stars. Jazz didn’t bother turning on the lighting units when the automatic motion sensors snuffed them out, but instead lay in the dark and listened to the whine of seeker turbines as they flew in formation over the compound .

I didn’t actually see him get into Astrotrain…what if it was all a lie? What if he comes back? What if…

Jazz jerked out of a recharge cycle he hadn’t realized he’d initiated. For a moment he was disoriented – his chronometer must have been malfunctioning, Soundwave would have never allowed him to recharge at this time of the activity cycle…

As his optics finished their calibration cycle and came into focus, he noticed the shadow cast on the wall by a tall figure standing in the doorway.

He gasped in surprise as he rolled over, scrambling up the berth to put distance between himself and the intruder.

Shockwave stood in the doorway of the berthroom, light from the main living area streaming in from behind him. Jazz stared at him, every strut tensing. He knew that there was no love lost between Soundwave and Shockwave, but he’d never thought Shockwave would-

“Slave Jazz, are you functioning within acceptable parameters?”

The question was completely unexpected, and Jazz found himself answering out of sheer surprise.

“Er…yes?”

“Do you have any regularly scheduled maintenance due to be performed?”

What was this?

“No,” he said, “sir.” Jazz relaxed slightly. As odd as Shockwave’s behavior was, he didn’t seem to be intent on attacking Jazz at the moment.

“Do you require anything other than a standard fuel ration to continue functioning within acceptable parameters?”

Jazz shook his head. Shockwave remained motionless in the doorway, staring at him.

Throwing caution to the wind, Jazz decided to try the direct approach. “Why are you here? Sir?” He took particular pleasure in drawing out the pause between the sentences.

Shockwave cocked his head slightly, giving a sense of puzzlement. “Commander Soundwave requested that I ensure you are consuming your required fuel and see to it that you remain at optimum function while he is away. Your energon dispenser is functioning properly. I will return every activity cycle to ensure your continued…wellbeing.” With that, Shockwave turned and left, his pedefalls disappearing after the outer door opened and shut.

Oh. Oh. That was what Soundwave had meant by saying his needs would be looked after. He just hadn’t expected it to be Shockwave. Jazz cycled his vents and wandered over to the window, overlooking the grounds.

They were deserted. The main gate was once again shut fast.

Everyone must have gone, he thought. Well, at least it means I can get out of here.

Normally he would have washed and waxed himself before venturing out of his quarters, as Soundwave insisted he remain pristine at all times. But he felt a special thrill of satisfaction in going out a bit dingy. Too bad, Soundwave, your reputation might get-

Jazz walked into the door hard enough to be bounced back a few steps. Rubbing his nasal plating, he looked up at it in confusion. Was it malfunctioning? He entered the code into the keypad.

ACCESS DENIED

He stared at the message for a few moments, not quite believing what his optical sensors were telling him.

Did I enter it incorrectly? He tried again.

ACCESS DENIED

Had Shockwave done something to it? Fuming, Jazz stalked over to the transparent door that led to the balcony. It too was sealed.

That slag-sucking sycophant! He locked me in! For a moment, all Jazz wanted to do was scream. He can’t do this! I’m allowed out, he knows that! But he held it in, barely. He could explain everything to Shockwave when he showed up again. He couldn’t be kept here for the entire orn.

For a few nanokliks Jazz considered returning to the berth, but he was surprised that he felt no desire for the soothing oblivion of recharge. At a loss, he drifted back into the main living area and sat down. While not large, without Soundwave's brood filling up the space with their activity and noise, it felt…hollow. Looking around, Jazz realized he had no idea what most of the consoles and equipment contained in their quarters were.

The photoharp rested on its stand in a corner.

No. Jazz pushed the thought of picking it up away as soon as it surfaced. Soundwave still made him play it, but he was never going to pick it up voluntarily.

He waited in silence as the kliks passed.

By the time the joors had cycled around and Shockwave once again entered the quarters, Jazz was pacing. He halted immediately as the doors slid shut behind Shockwave.

“Slave Jazz. Are you functioning within acceptable parameters?” Shockwave asked as he set the energon ration down.

“Not quite…sir.”

Shockwave paused, his processor obviously switching datatracks as his anticipated line of questioning was derailed . “Elaborate.”

“I was…accidentally locked in last cycle. My code didn’t work on the door.” Jazz forced himself to keep his tone mild. He wouldn’t get anything from Shockwave if he became accusative and combative. “I would like to go out, please.” The obsequious words were bitter in his vocoder, but Jazz forced himself to say them.

There was another long pause, as Shockwave regarded him impassively.

“Your request is denied, slave Jazz.”

“You can’t keep me in here like this!” Jazz shouted, losing control.

“You will find that I can,” Shockwave said, his voice not changing from his customary monotone. “Commander Soundwave has charged me with your safety. In order to ensure it, you must remain in his quarters.” He turned and opened the door to exit .

“You can’t do this!” Jazz yelled at his retreating back. “You can’t do this!” He rushed the door, but it was slammed shut in his face . “You can’t do this!” he repeated again, bringing his fist up to pound on the inside of the door. Immediately the pacification program throttled the violent impulse, and he sank to his knees as a dark cloud obscured his vision. Jazz screamed in frustration, channeling all of his helpless rage and pain into it.

There was no answer.

After five activity cycles Jazz found himself before the photoharp’s stand, looking it over.

He was going to get a processor glitch if this kept up much longer. Why fight it? he thought. It’ll help pass the time. He slowly reached out and grasped the neck of the instrument, lifting it from its stand. “I can stop whenever I want .”

Jazz was surprised to find that he did want to. Without Soundwave’s brooding presence, he felt free to play what he wanted. He seated himself on the floor, and picked out a wandering, tuneless melody. He began to lose himself in the chords and harmonies, which eventually coalesced into a song he had last played before the war. It was a cheerful tune, with simple fingering suitable for a beginner just starting to explore musical programming.

As he played the song over and over again, he added counterpoints, harmonies, and syncopation, exploring the musical style of his Terran namesake. Soon he became so absorbed in his effort that he surprised himself when his lip curled in the barest hint of a smile .

It was fourteen activity cycles before Jazz stopped counting them. He’d cajoled, begged, and bargained with Shockwave to let him out, to the point where Shockwave refused to even respond. He had continued to play the photoharp every moment that wasn’t spent in recharge or refueling, but the astrosecond he heard Shockwave’s pedes outside of the hallway portal, he put it away quickly. Jazz didn’t know how much Shockwave was reporting back to Soundwave, but he didn’t want to take a chance.

It was during one of these extended playing sessions that he noticed his digits were catching as he played. It wasn’t something that would have been noticeable to an amateur, but Jazz could tell that his fingers weren’t responding with their usual alacrity.

A quick examination showed a minute amount of greasy buildup in the couplings and relays of his hands and arms. Jazz ran through his logs quickly, and realized it had been several activity cycles since he’d last visited the washracks.

“That’s embarrassing,” he said as he racked the photoharp and stood. “Without Mr. Tall Dark And Silent here to tell me to bathe, I completely forgot .”

Jazz palmed the controls for the washracks as he stepped through the doorway, but he took his time gathering his supplies before stepping under the cool spray of solvent. No hurry, he thought as he picked up a small stiff-bristled brush and made a few desultory swipes at his digital joints. I wonder what Soundwave would say if I stayed in so long that the solvent dissolved all my paint. He started to chuckle to himself at the image, but then sobered. “Fragger would probably repaint me some tacky color.” Jazz scowled and his strokes with the brush grew more forceful for a few kliks.

However, his anger couldn’t sustain itself, and blew out, leaving Jazz once again feeling empty and listless. Having finished with the gunk between his finger joints, he selected a larger, softer brush and began to work on his main chassis.

Jazz stared at a corner, unseeing, as his strokes slowed. He was soon lost in memory, remembering the happy banter and ribbing that would always take place in the ‘racks after a successful spec-ops mission. How they would strive to make Mirage crack a smile, Bumblebee’s silly acrobatics...and that time Optimus Prime himself had walked in on a full-blown water-fight and taken a sodden sponge right in the faceplate-

Jazz gasped in shock as a wave of pleasure surged through his sensor net, thrown out of his memory. He ventilated heavily as he slowly moved the brush away from the node he had accidentally stimulated.

Haven’t felt that in awhile.

He tried to regain his previous mindset, but the memories that were called up were decidedly more passionate in nature. He remembered blue and white plating moving under his hands, reacting to his touch… despite how reserved Mirage appeared on the outside, in the berth he was an amorous and unpredictable lover .

The brush slowly circled around one of Jazz’s headlights, adding a pleasurable, teasing undertone to his recollection.

Mirage’s blue plating was replaced by the red and white of Tracks’ wings. Jazz remembered how much fun he’d had exploring those, how much he’d enjoyed having his frame explored in turn. How Blaster had eventually joined them, and well – Jazz could tell when he wasn’t needed anymore. A fond smile appeared on his face. None of his lovers among the crew of the Ark had ever been serious, but he’d cared for them all.

When the motion of the brush along his front bumper made him shake, Jazz gasped and pulled his hand away, startled at how his internal temperature had risen. But…he didn’t want to stop.

“Too bad, Soundwave. I’m in the mood, and you missed it.”

Jazz continued touching himself, more purposefully now, feeling almost smug. He leaned back against the wall of the washrack and continued to stimulate the sensors under his bumper, while his other hand drifted down over his abdomen, and his processor drifted back to its previous musings.

Despite having been in the berths of half the Ark, Jazz had never met that special mech. All of his partners were lacking…something. Mirage was often aloof, giving Jazz the impression that he was never paying full attention to him when they were together. Tracks, while brave, could be a bit self-centered. Blaster had a transparent chestplate and helm finials, which if Jazz were being perfectly honest really revved his engine, but his need to always have a witty or sarcastic retort for everything meant it was nearly impossible to have a serious conversation with the mech.

Jazz’s ventilations increased as the armor over his interface panel slid open. He switched off his optics as his spike slowly extended, surprised at how much he relished the sensation of it sliding into his palm.

Jazz could never fall for a mech he couldn’t talk to when he was worried, or just feeling blue. Sure, Blaster would try to cheer him up, but he never really listened. That was something Jazz couldn’t see him getting over, no matter how attractive his partner was.

A flush of heat bloomed up from his interface components as he slowly moved his hands over his spike. The motion felt odd at first – it had been so long since he’d even thought about this – but soon his hand and fingers fell into a familiar rhythm..

As he worked his systems higher and higher, Jazz remembered some of his more torrid partners. Wheeljack had been adventurous, up for anything in the berth, and he had that faceplate…Smokescreen was unpredictable, with a lovely blue helm with a front chevron that Jazz could never get enough of, but...

But both of them had been lacking in some way, and he’d moved on.

Maybe that was my problem, Jazz thought, moving his hips with the rhythm of his hand. I was holding out for someone perfect…someone strong and kind, who always knew the right thing to say…

An involuntary groan escaped his vocoder as his thumb moved over the tip of his spike.

…a real one-of-a-kind mech. He’d have an optic-catching paintjob, something with both cool and warm colors, like red and blue with silver details, a broad chassis that housed a powerful engine…

Jazz imagined that engine –not a high-performance one like he possessed, but one that was built for real work- rumble against him as his pretend-lover held him. His knee joints started to buckle as he felt the first wash of energy from an impending overload move up his chassis.

His own hands were small, made for skilled tasks, but what moved over him were the strong hands of a dock worker. Jazz switched off his optics to lose himself even more in his carefully constructed fantasy. He attempted to separate the streams of sensory input, so that the data from the nodes in his hands and from the nodes in his plating would be processed by different parts of his CPU, heightening the illusion.

The error message informing him that he didn’t have access to those protocols had barely flashed across his HUD before he cancelled the attempt.

Jazz resumed his daydream, imagining his hands exploring a broad red chassis, tracing the outlines of a windowed chest, as the other mech’s blue hands were doing to him. He lifted his helm, parting his lips in invitation.

Optimus Prime stared down at him, his unmistakable voice purring “Jazz-”

A strangled cry, generated more by pain than pleasure, tore itself from Jazz’s vocoder as he overloaded. Hot transfluid spilled over his hand, and he snatched it away from his spike as if he had been burned.

Slowly he allowed himself to slide down the slick wall to the floor, where he pulled his knees up to his chest and buried his face in them.

He was so perfect…and I never even realized…

Guilt and pain pierced his spark – pain for the grief of losing so many friends and lovers, and guilt over using their memories for such a base activity.

They’re either dead or getting fragged by ‘Cons now – and you use them to blow your own miserable circuits.

Jazz remained in the washracks for the rest of the cycle, allowing the sound of falling water to swallow and drown the soft sounds of his mourning.

The low rumbles and high whine of a ship touching down roused Jazz from a power save mode. He listened for a few moments, and then rolled over on the berth and reinitiated his recharge.

It wasn’t until the familiar roar of Astrotrain’s landing thrusters reached his audios that Jazz finally sat up, and moved over to the window.

Astrotrain’s shuttle mode was once again squatting on the landing pad with ‘Cons scurrying to and fro, preparing to assist with the disembarking as soon as Astrotrain’s external plating had cooled.

Jazz suddenly felt a small thrill of apprehension – what if Soundwave had been deactivated? He scanned the line of ‘Cons walking (and the injured ones being carried) out of Astrotrain. What would happen to him? Would he be stuck in here…forever?

A jolt of fear hit him when Thundercracker, one wing a twisted and blackened ruin strode out…carrying Buzzsaw. Soundwave would have never allowed anyone to touch one of his Recordicons like that if they were damaged, which meant–

Soundwave followed Thundercracker closely, walking under his own power. Except…

It took Jazz a few moments to realize what was wrong about Soundwave’s bulky form – where one arm should have been, a hasty, unpainted patch job gleamed silver in the starlight. A movement down by Soundwave’s knee joints caught Jazz’s attention – Rumble and Frenzy were dutifully lugging the severed limb, terminal wires trailing, down the gangway.

Megatron was at the bottom, waiting to greet his returning commanders. Starscream stood with him – undoubtedly he and the uninjured seekers had returned to Cybertron under their own power.

Jazz turned away from the window, feeling a rush of apprehension. Would Soundwave be able to tell that he had been playing the photoharp? That he’d blown his own circuits? Jazz knew he was being ridiculous, but the idea of Soundwave having the satisfaction of knowing that Jazz had used Soundwave’s favorite toys while he was away was galling.

It seemed like forever before Jazz finally heard muffled voices and pedesteps outside of the door. He stood, not out of any sense of respect, but because he wanted out.

“-then we can hit up the Combaticons, they always have the best high-grade!” Frenzy was saying as they strode into the room, completely ignoring Jazz. Soundwave’s arm was nowhere to be seen – and it wasn’t on Soundwave, either. The field patch had been replaced with a much neater one – Hook’s work, undoubtedly.

Soundwave paused in the entryway when he caught sight of Jazz.

“Jazz,” he said, but his normally unchanging monotone had a weary quality. “Functioning within normal parameters?”

“Yes.” Jazz lifted his head and looked defiantly at Soundwave. “But next time you’d better get a different pet-sitter. Shockwave locked me in here. I haven’t been out since you left. I want to go to the track.” Jazz tried to stand still, but he shifted his weight nervously from pede to pede. It shouldn’t be a hardship to wait for Soundwave to complete a recharge cycle before going out, but Jazz found the thought unbearable.

He expected a fight, but Soundwave merely turned away and said, “Rumble. Frenzy. Accompany Jazz.”

“What?!” “Aw, come on!” Rumble and Frenzy cried out in unison.

“We practically win the battle for everyone, and instead of a well-deserved rest we have to babysit the slave?”

“Proceed to track. Expected return in one joor.”

“Fine, fine,” grumbled Frenzy. “C’mon, Stripes.”

“Don’t even get to refuel…”

Jazz listened to the enthusiastic chatter of the cassettes as they made the trek back from the track. He felt much more settled, and Rumble and Frenzy were only too happy to regale him with stories about what heroics they’d performed in battle .

“And then one of the little tentacle heads tried to hole up in a cave, and shoot at the mechs that came to get them out. But Rumble made the cave collapse, and as soon as they came scurrying out, bam! They ran right into my fists!” Frenzy mimed the series of blows he claimed felled one of the invaders’ commanders.

“It seems like you two had fun, at least,” said Jazz.

“Oh yeah! This is what it’s all about, you know? Repelling scum-sucking organics who want Cybertron for their own. Not fighting pathetic Autobots on some foreign dirtball. No offense.”

Jazz rolled his optics.

When they reached their quarters, Soundwave was sitting alone on the divan, a datapad propped up in front of him against an empty energon cube. He was rubbing his empty arm socket in a distracted manner. He looked up when they entered, then stood.

“Jazz, your assistance required.” Soundwave turned and walked out of the room, his strides purposeful. Jazz trailed in his wake.

When Soundwave entered the washrack, Jazz’s task became clear. With one arm missing, Soundwave could not adequately clean all of the nooks and chinks in his armor. Jazz sighed through his vents and picked up a brush. The sooner he got this over with, the sooner he could recharge and then finally, finally go out and wander the compound to his spark’s content.

He started with Soundwave’s front, frowning slightly as he worked the lather up, the suds and bubbles stained a dingy brown from the grease and dirt that had built up during Soundwave’s absence. So intent was he on his task that he didn’t notice Soundwave’s increasing core temperature until his fans kicked on, their soft whir barely audible over the sound of the water hitting their frames.

Jazz forced himself not to react – he had hoped he would get out of that particular duty while Soundwave was injured.

He soon got his wish – Soundwave’s fans could not sustain the effort and sputtered out. Jazz enjoyed a private smirk. But as he moved around to do Soundwave’s back, Soundwave reached out with his arm and caught Jazz. When Jazz was still, Soundwave released him and brought his hand up to trace the lines of Jazz’s face, tilting his head up to stare into his visor.

“Jazz’s presence: missed. Absence…too long,” said Soundwave, breaking the silence. When Jazz didn’t respond, he leaned forward and retracted his face mask. Jazz switched off his visor as Soundwave’s lips pressed against his.

He focused on remaining perfectly still. He had found that this strategy, even more than outright resistance, worked the fastest to make Soundwave desist .

This time Soundwave was not put off so easily – his hand moved over Jazz’s chassis, seeking out gaps in his armor where sensitive components were exposed and stimulating them as they were discovered. Jazz gasped against Soundwave’s mouth when he slipped his fingers into the gap above his pelvic unit, and Soundwave instantly surged forward, his glossa invading Jazz’s mouth. Jazz made a small noise of protest as he tried to squirm away, but Soundwave’s arm held him captive.

Again Soundwave’s fans tried to come on, and again they sputtered out after a few revolutions. This time Soundwave released Jazz and stepped back.

“Continue.”

“Yes sir, Master,” Jazz said, putting as much venom into the word as possible. He was rewarded with an almost imperceptible flinch from Soundwave. “So,” Jazz continued after a few moments of scrubbing. “How’d you manage to lose an arm up there? I wouldn’t have thought some organic could have gotten the drop on you like that.”

Soundwave looked at Jazz for a few moments before answering. “Injury, result of sabotage. Ilxian operatives infiltrated communications center…” Soundwave’s voice trailed off.

“…And?” Jazz asked, when his curiosity became too much to bear.

“Operatives: set explosive device. Detonation: upon console activation. Buzzsaw: also injured.”

“Hmm.” Jazz grunted noncommittally.

Soundwave seemed to expect something more, and reached up to fondle his shoulder and neck plating.

“Protecting Cybertron: worth any injury. Protecting Jazz: likewise .”

Jazz flinched and moved away from Soundwave’s touch. With only one arm, Soundwave didn’t make any effort to keep Jazz in his grasp.

When the suds bubbling up from his plating were snowy white, Soundwave turned off the wash rack and took Jazz gently by the arm, guiding him into the berthroom. Jazz did not resist, but when Soundwave released him he drifted to a halt.

If you want anything from me you’re going to have to work for it, Soundwave, he thought. And I don’t think you can right now.

Soundwave caressed Jazz’s arm and shoulder wheel, but did not make any further advances. He dropped his hand from Jazz’s shoulder and climbed into the berth, leaving room for Jazz. “Less than 12% of invaders left functioning. All spare fuel reserves destroyed or confiscated. Chance of survival in deep space: Less than 0.6%.”

Jazz looked up, startled when Soundwave volunteered the statistics, but then he smiled. “Good.”

He followed Soundwave, but settled himself on the berth far enough away that Soundwave had to resettle himself before he was able to drape his remaining arm around Jazz’s shoulders. Jazz tensed, but didn’t pull away before initiating his shut down sequence.

The following cycles passed quickly for Jazz. It seemed like Soundwave and the Recordicons were always in and out of their quarters, and Jazz found the constant low-level noise irritating after the endless silence during his imprisonment. He often escaped to explore the compound, but Soundwave was loath to let him wander too far – in the aftermath of their victory, there were many strange Decepticons on the grounds. Jazz had hoped to spend some time with Skyfire, whom he had seen from his window loitering around the central crystal garden often, but Starscream appeared to be keeping him inside as well.

He and Soundwave seemed to reach an uneasy and tenuous truce – aside from frequent but ambiguous touches and occasional demands for Jazz to play his photoharp, Soundwave was almost chaste in his manner towards Jazz. Once, when they were preparing to retire for the cycle, Soundwave grabbed Jazz by the arm strut, and Jazz had stiffened, not resisting, but resolutely not yielding. Soundwave had seemed to realize that he would face difficulty manipulating and forcing Jazz into interfacing with only one arm – not that there was really any hope of Jazz being able to successfully deter his advances, but he could certainly make it more trouble than Soundwave was up to dealing with.

So Jazz tolerated the caresses and Soundwave didn’t press the issue.

After ten cycles had passed, Jazz emerged from the berth chamber after recharge to find Buzzsaw perched next to Laserbeak on the balcony, and Soundwave sitting and reading an official-looking datapad. Buzzsaw had not left Soundwave’s chest since they had returned from the moon, but his injuries were gone, with no trace of repairs.

Soundwave stood, and set his datapad down. “You will accompany me outside of the compound.”

Jazz whipped his head around to stare at Soundwave in astonishment. “Outside? You mean outside the wall?”

“Affirmative.”

For a few moments Jazz simply stared at Soundwave in shock. He hadn’t been outside of the compound except for the very brief excursions to the track.

“…you’re not blowing smoke up my tailpipe, are you?”

“Query: nonsensical. No smoke present in quarters.” Soundwave moved towards the door.

“We’re going? Now?”

“Affirmative.” Soundwave exited their quarters, and Jazz jumped to follow.

Jazz stared around the small antechamber in astonishment. Soundwave had led him out of the imposing main gates, and into the city beyond. The change from the last time Jazz had seen the place was dramatic.

When the Decepticons had first landed and Megatron had set up his base and eventual seat of government, the city surrounding it had been nothing but a cold, lifeless, bombed out husk. It was still something of a slag heap, but evidence of industriousness was everywhere, from the repaired buildings now alight with power, to the very fact that mechs thronged in the streets.

Jazz had stayed close to Soundwave, not wanting to become separated. He hadn’t seen any Autobots in the crowd, and that fact alone made him wary about his chances if he had been out and about alone.

Now they were standing in the entryway of one of the buildings that had lined the street. From the outside it looked no different from any of the other dilapidated apartment buildings, but inside it showed evidence of quite recent repair. Nothing compared to its former glory, or even to the central compound, but it had been cleaned and patched and the lighting units were bright.

“Commander Soundwave!” A Decepticon Jazz did not recognize swept into the room. “Punctual, as usual.” His frame was large compared to an average Autobot, but not as imposing as some. A smaller, discreet Decepticon emblem graced one shoulder fairing. “Thank you for choosing to patronize my establishment.”

“Civilian services: required for successful renewal of urban centers. Civilian services managed by decommissioned Decepticons: first option for consideration .”

“Thank you, Commander,” the Decepticon acknowledged Soundwave’s words with a sort of half-salute. “Axle! Your appointment is here!”

You can take the Decepticon out of the military, thought Jazz. The thought vanished when another mech stepped through the doorway at the back of the antechamber.

He was much smaller and slighter than the proprietor; Jazz even half-suspected he might have a fair number of mechanokilos on the new mech. The mech was painted a flat green, with hardly any variation except for his faceplates. And his build seemed…off somehow. But what really caught Jazz’s attention was the small, rather shoddily painted Autobot symbol above Axle’s hip.

That red is all wrong. It must have been damaged and he tried to fix it himself. Jazz felt a poignant pang that an anonymous Autobot, separated from the main force on Earth (he was no one Jazz recognized) still felt loyal enough to the cause to try and keep his insignia in good repair.

“Time to completion?” Soundwave asked from behind Jazz.

“Three joors. Any less and Axle won’t have time to give you your credits’ worth.”

If Soundwave replied, Jazz didn’t hear him because Axle had crept up and grabbed his arm, escorting him into the back room.

“You know, I don’t think any ‘Con has ever purchased one of these for a slave. You’re really quite lucky.”

Jazz stared at Axle, and allowed himself to be led along the hall. Of course, act like everything is fine – then we’ll get the privacy needed to talk. Jazz smiled blandly and followed him into a small room. Various buffers, polishers, and tools lined the wall, along with containers that Jazz assumed held various polishing compounds.

Oh, Soundwave. A professional polishing? Do you really think that’s going to work?

“Stand in the middle, please – I’m going to touch up your paint before we really get started.”

Jazz obeyed, and glanced around to ensure they were truly alone before speaking. “Axle…which unit were you with?”

Axle stopped, his hand frozen in the act reaching for a jar on an upper shelf. “Unit? What…what do you mean?”

Why was he playing coy? Was the shop actually under surveillance? But surely the information about which units various Autobots had been part of was common knowledge.

“Your unit. Who was your commander?”

“Commander? What, like…military? I’m not in the military.”

Now Jazz was beginning to grow frustrated.

“What did you do before the ‘Cons picked you up?” Jazz pointed at the insignia on Axle’s hip plate. “You’re an Autobot, aren’t you?”

“An Autobot? Oh, no, no no. I’m not one of them. I was scraping by out on an asteroid when Shakedown and his crew came. And, well, I couldn’t exactly refuse the offer, you know? How about you? Where’d you get picked up?”

Jazz paused, choosing his words carefully. “I’m not sure where I was,” he murmured. That’s the truth, at least.

Axle laughed. “I know how that goes. Anyways, Shakedown’s ship found me, and he gave me…the terms.”

“Terms?” Jazz turned and presented his back plating to Axle as the other mech approached with a few of the jars and some clean rags in hand.

“Oh, you know – the old, ‘Come back to Cybertron and work for me for 10 vorns, then you’ll get full citizenship. Or you can refuse and we’ll capture you and bring you back to work anyways,’ line. Though I have to tell you, they didn’t need to tack on that threat for me. I was tired of always being on the brink of deactivation, not knowing if the next ship was bringing traders or a raiding party…even having to pop my panel for Shakedown is better than living like that was.” Axle fell silent as he began to work on Jazz’s plating, applying a stripping compound with brisk, efficient strokes .

“How do you know they’ll keep their promises?” Jazz asked. “I mean, what’s preventing them from not letting you go?”

He didn’t miss the hiccup in Axle’s smooth motions.

“I guess I don’t. But like I said – this is better than what I had before.”

“Mmm,” Jazz sighed, allowing his plating to relax into Axle’s firm strokes. His CPU continued analyzing what Axle was telling him. They’ve turned our symbol into a slave brand, he thought. The idea of neutrals who hadn’t even had a stake in the war wearing the Autobrand was galling enough, but the Decepticons slapping shoddy facsimiles on everyone who served them made his tanks roil .

“Are you looking forward to the Honoring?” Axle’s voice suddenly went low and conspiratorial. “I’d guess that your master is, considering he paid for my services for you.”

“Honoring?” Jazz lifted his helm slightly, confused. Axle placed a placating hand on the crown, urging his head back down to the berth.

“You know, the festival. We did just win a war, you know.”

Jazz’s spark went cold and it twisted. How are the ‘Cons going to celebrate defeating us? And he’s happy about it!

“Really? They’re going to have a party?” Jazz said aloud.

“Of course – our military just kicked some squatting organics off our moon! Didn’t your master tell you anything about it?”

Oh.

“I wouldn’t really call that a war, but yes, I was aware.” Jazz relaxed minutely. At least that reason for celebrating seemed less likely to turn into open season on anyone sporting an Autobrand. “But he didn’t tell me about the…Honoring.” The words stuck in his vocoder.

“Oh, it’s going to be so much fun, we’ve been quite busy ever since it was announced, everyone wants to get polished up for it,” Axle said, warming to the subject. “It’s an ancient custom that Lord Megatron is reinstating, it’s to honor the mechs that fight Organics and keep Cybertron safe.”

“Is it really?” Now Jazz was becoming uninterested again.

“Yes, apparently it’s from the Golden Age, before Lord Megatron overthrew the corrupt senate.”

Jazz debated switching his audios off – he could guess at what sort of pro-Decepticon propaganda was going to be forthcoming, he’d heard it often enough since Soundwave brought him back to Cybertron.

Axle finished stripping off the old coat of wax, and gave Jazz a quick rinse, before leading him to a maintenance berth and beginning the task of priming and polishing Jazz’s plating. Axle's voice became a sonorous hum as Jazz's processor began to drift, lulled by the gentle vibrations of the automatic buffer moving over his plating.

After the buffing, Axle began the tedious and delicate job of stripping and repacking the bearings in Jazz’s joints, starting with his shoulders and arm articulation. Usually Jazz had to dampen his sensors for this sort of work, but the buffing had relaxed him enough that he found the usually irksome sensations pleasant.

Axle moved to his pelvic unit and leg struts, meticulously working into every crack and crevice, so focused on his task that even his vocoder was silent now.

Jazz drifted, allowing his spark to release the anger he had felt at Axle, falling into a state of practiced blankness easily. He observed what his sensors told him was going on, but he was removed from the situation. Warmth suffused his systems as Axle continued to work – the light from his visor was dimming…

At first Jazz didn’t notice the gentle touch that traced the outlines of the armor panel that covered his interface array. Then when his processor realized what Axle was doing, his visor flared to full strength and he jerked away as if Axle’s hand was an electrified prod.

“Hey!” Jazz said angrily as he scrambled away. “What’s the big idea?!”

Axle backed up quickly, his hands held out in a placating gesture.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry – did I hurt you? I tried to be as gentle as possible! I’m really sorry, I thought it would help you relax. Please, tell me how you like it and I’ll do it that way. Whatever you like.” Axle stared at Jazz, optics wide, clearly as startled by Jazz’s reaction as Jazz had been by Axle’s actions.

Jazz tried to calm his laborious ventilations, which were coming hard and fast as his system tried to expel heat, generated from both alarm and…something else. He shoved that thought away.

“I don’t want you to,” Jazz said. “At all. And I don’t think my Master would really appreciate you touching me like that.” Jazz hated to bring Soundwave in like this, but he was caught off guard – he’d thought he could relax and lower his defenses in the presence of a non-Decepticon!

“But…but it’s included in the price of the session.” Axle was now wringing his hands nervously, shifting from pede to pede. “Shakedown told me I had to make sure Soundwave was satisfied with his purchase. If I leave this out and your master finds out…”

Jazz relaxed marginally. “Axle, I swear to you, I won’t tell Soundwave if you leave this part out. I don’t think he would be pleased if he knew this was part…part of the package.”

“But what if Shakedown finds out…”

“I give my word as an Autobot, I won’t tell any-” As soon as the words left Jazz’s vocoder, he realized that had been the wrong thing to say.

Axle stiffened, his optics flaring and lips pressing together. “You’re an Autobot?” He said the word as if it was something small and nasty to be scraped off the bottom of one’s pede.

Jazz met his glare with a cool, impassive expression. “Yes, I am.”

The stare down lasted for another klik. Jazz observed Axle carefully, noting the soft sounds of his weight shifting over his pedes, his heavy ventilations, the way his optics were bright…

He’s scared of me.

Then Axle straightened, and lifted his chin. “I should warn you, Autobot, if you try…anything, I have an emergency channel. My master won’t let you hurt me.”

He’s bluffing, Jazz thought. He was certain that Axle did have an emergency channel installed, but something about the way a hint of static crept into his voice made Jazz believe that Shakedown had indeed let customers hurt Axle.

His anger was replaced by pity.

“Don’t make me laugh,” Jazz growled, and swung himself back up on the maintenance berth, and settled on his front.

He glowered at Axle until the other mech finally overcame his fear and began his task once again. There was no more conversation.

Axle was finishing up polishing Jazz’s chrome when he stiffened and stood up quickly.

“Your master is here. It’s time for you to leave.”

Jazz couldn’t get out of the room and down the hall fast enough, but he held himself to a dignified pace, but the sight of Soundwave brought Jazz up short.

Once again, Soundwave had two arms, and had obviously been partaking of similar treatment as he had bought for Jazz. Every bit of metal gleamed, the glass over his chest was unscratched and so clean it was almost invisible. His paint had to have been new – the matte military grade paint was gone, replaced by glossy enamel that looked almost liquid.

“Jazz, follow.”

Jazz nodded slightly and fell in behind Soundwave. He risked a glance over his shoulder wheel to see if Axle was watching, but the doorway to the hall was deserted.

Soundwave swept out onto the street, trailing Jazz in his wake. But when he reached the street, he stopped.

“Activity cycle, late,” Soundwave said after a pause. “Pedestrian mode of travel: inefficient.”

“Oh good, I agree, Master,” Jazz shot back. “That means we can go right to recharge when we- hey!”

Before Jazz had a chance to react, Soundwave had scooped him up in his arms, and kicked off, firing his thrusters. The sudden acceleration to cruising speed crushed Jazz against Soundwave’s chestplate.

I really hope he remembers I’m not reinforced for pulling this kind of gravity! Jazz wanted to moan as his plating was stressed, but before he could force the sound out of his vocoder, Soundwave leveled off, and inertia took over, the force against his plating abating.

And somewhere in there, Jazz had wound his arms around Soundwave’s neck and shoulders, clinging to him for grim death.

If he thinks this is supposed to be romantic, he’s got more screws loose than I thought. Jazz frowned. It would actually be useful to see the layout of the city from an aerial perspective, but like this, all he could visualize was Soundwave’s shoulder, helm, and a small sliver of star-filled sky.

Finally, a lurch in his fuel tank and sickening feeling of weightlessness told Jazz that they were descending. Then a wall was rushing by entirely too close, and a bump and pull of extra gravity against his plating signaled that Soundwave had landed.

Soundwave released Jazz’s feet, allowing him to swing down and stand on his own. They had landed on the balcony of Soundwave’s quarters. Buzzsaw and Laserbeak were nowhere to be seen. Jazz remained where he stood, not wanting to go inside. Soundwave kept an arm around Jazz’s shoulders, and turned them until they were looking out over the compound. Jazz tolerated it for a few nanokliks before he spoke.

“You know, if your quarters were further up the tower, the view would be much more romantic. All I can see from here is Aerie and the gatetower, and those are boring when they’re all you’ve been looking at for-mmph!”

Soundwave had turned Jazz to face him in one quick motion, and then claimed his lips with his own .

Jazz brought his hands up to Soundwave’s chest and tried to push away, but it was futile as always. Soundwave’s speakers emitted a low, resonating tone…one meant to stimulate Jazz’s plating sensors, no doubt.

When Soundwave pulled away, Jazz could detect the faint sound of fans activating deep in his chassis.

“Why don’t you just get on with it?” Jazz hissed.

“Jazz: patience,” Soundwave said into Jazz’s audio before ducking his helm and pressing his lips into Jazz’s neck cables. When his strong hands squeezed Jazz’s shoulder wheels, they wrung a gasp from Jazz’s vocoder. Jazz’s hands trembled against Soundwave’s arms. Encouraged, Soundwave redoubled his efforts, thumbs tracing Jazz’s rims and hubcaps, lips and denta gently exploring all of the sensors that lined Jazz’s jaw.

Pleasure lit up Jazz’s sensor net and warmth licked out over his plating from where Soundwave was stimulating him. His mouth fell open, giving a wordless cry of grief to the stars that watched overhead.

As if his sob had reminded Soundwave that they were in semi-public view, he released Jazz’s neck, and guided him into their quarters.

When they entered the common area, the lighting units only came on to half-strength, casting deep shadows in the corners. On the low table in front of the divan, an impressive array of softly glowing crystals was flanked by two energon cubes, and Jazz’s photoharp completed the tableau.

For a moment Jazz stiffened, preparing to struggle, to resist as much as he was able to when Soundwave’s ridiculous fancies took him.

Then he slumped, all resistance draining from his frame. What was the point? It would take longer and he’d end up fragged just the same in the end.

Let’s get this over with.

Soundwave guided him over to the table, but instead of the divan, assisted him to recline on the floor. Before he reclined himself, Soundwave paused, kneeling over Jazz. He reached out, and caressed the side of Jazz’s face, before tracing the crest of his helm and then running a palm over Jazz’s newly polished hood.

“Jazz…pleasing,” he intoned as he ran his index finger down the stripes adorning Jazz’s chest.

Jazz cycled his vents slowly, switching off his visor. He didn’t want to watch this.

He could hear Soundwave’s plating groan as he shifted closer. A gust of warm air from Soundwave’s vents washed over Jazz’s faceplates a nanoklik before his lips were claimed once again. At first Jazz resisted, keeping his mouth shut tight against Soundwave, but then he relented, remembering his earlier resolve to just get it over with.

Soundwave, for the most part, seemed to be taking his time. When Jazz relaxed against him, he deepened the kiss, his glossa sweeping into Jazz’s mouth leisurely as he lowered Jazz’s frame towards the floor, until he was fully supine. Soundwave reclined next to him, propped up on one arm, his restored limb caressing Jazz’s plating.

The floor. The floor is the best you can do, Soundwave? For a brief moment Jazz attempted to transmit his scorn to Soundwave, but Soundwave was quite distracted.

He had moved his attentions from Jazz’s mouth to his neck, tracing the seams and wires he found with his denta and glossa. Jazz gasped when Soundwave encountered a sensor cluster and emitted a low bass tone in response, his closeness making the subsonic vibration move through his chassis .

When Soundwave’s hand cupped one headlight, Jazz couldn’t restrain himself any longer. “So you’ve decided to take the new arm out for a test drive already?”

“Affirmative.” Was the only reply, spoken against his collar plating.

Suddenly a tingling fire erupted underneath Soundwave’s hand. Jazz cried out in shock, his ventilations coming hard and fast as his sensors assaulted him with intense, conflicting sensations. Soundwave moved his hand to Jazz’s hood, and the feeling moved with it. Jazz’s limbs contracted spasmodically as the feeling coursed through him, hitting him in waves.

Even when Soundwave removed his hand, Jazz could only lay still beneath him, his vents heaving and processor swimming. When he reactivated his optics, his viewfield was clouded with static for several nanokliks.

“Apologies. Settings on modification unfamiliar as of yet.” Soundwave reached towards Jazz’s face, and Jazz flinched away, expecting another painful and overwhelming sensory assault, but this time, a warmth with just the slightest bit of pins-and-needles bloomed over his plating where Soundwave touched. This close to his audios, Jazz could detect the faint buzz-snap of electromagnetic energy transfer .

The sensation was intense, but not overwhelming. Jazz found himself gasping and writhing in Soundwave’s hold, trying to escape, but at the same time his internal temperature climbed steadily in response to the stimulation.

“This setting, preferable ?”

Jazz opened his mouth to give a scathing retort, but at that moment Soundwave swept his hand along the sensors lining Jazz’s collar armor and all that came out was static.

He must have had them add this when they were fixing his arm!

Soundwave continued to paw at Jazz, holding him close, occasionally emitting low notes at frequencies designed to resonate with his structure. His internal temperature continued to rise in response to the electrical stimulation, and as much as he tried to quell the response, he was soon squirming in Soundwave’s grasp. Finally, through the haze of sensation that was clouding his processor, Jazz detected Soundwave making as if to climb fully atop him, and he steeled himself.

Couldn’t wait, eh, Soundwave?

But to Jazz’s surprise, Soundwave lifted himself partially off of Jazz and leaned over, stretching out an arm and grabbing one of the cubes that had been sitting, forgotten on the table. Jazz could feel the heat emanating from Soundwave’s plating, and Soundwave’s internal fans were whirring at a high speed .

Soundwave offered the cube to Jazz, but when Jazz lifted his hands to grab it, pulled it away.

Oh, so it’s going to be like this, is it?

Jazz dropped his arms, and yielded – the will to fight having fled completely. Soundwave made a pleased hum, and lifted Jazz’s torso to lean against his own, before bringing to the cube to Jazz’s lips.

The high grade slid smoothly over his glossa, lighting up his sensors. It was very pure, it slipped through his filters cleanly, and Jazz’s sensors informed him that it wouldn’t take much to get him thoroughly overcharged.

That’s probably for the best. He tipped his head back more, and would have drained the entire cube had Soundwave not pulled it away. Jazz watched Soundwave finish off the energon that was left, and disperse the cube listlessly, savoring the numbness and dissociation that was creeping over his processor as the high grade spread through his systems.

When Soundwave again guided him to the floor, Jazz didn’t protest. He stared at the photoharp on the table, ignoring the sensation of Soundwave moving over him, how the already dim light was further shut out by Soundwave's bulk. His circuits were still humming with charge, and the addition of the high grade made it impossible to think.

The light brightened, and Soundwave drew back. Jazz still kept his gaze averted from Soundwave's actions.

A soft movement of air over the armor panel that covered his interface array was the only warning Jazz received before Soundwave retracted it and his lips and glossa descended upon Jazz.

Jazz bucked, crying out, and at first shied away, the sensation too intense with his charge as high as it was, but Soundwave easily held him, and Jazz could only push weakly at Soundwave's helm as the pacification program drained his strength. Waves of liquid heat rolled up his backstrut as Soundwave's glossa caressed his sensor nodes, and teased his valve entrance. Jazz's vocoder produced bursts of static as his subroutines executed and aborted in confusion as his sensor feeds were overwhelmed with input.

Soundwave continued building up his charge, and Jazz tossed his helm, moaning in reaction. Then for a bare moment the torment ceased and the light dimmed once more, and there was the familiar, loathsome feeling of a spike sliding into his valve. A scream of pleasure was ripped from Jazz's vocoder as he was filled, his sensors registering that hated yet desired stretch. Going so long without when Soundwave was away had reset their tolerances, and Jazz moaned and shuddered beneath Soundwave's bulk.

As Soundwave began to move he lost all ability to process anything beyond heat-movement-pleasure-heat, only minimally aware of his back plating scraping along the floor as Soundwave moved above him. The fire in his pelvic unit blossomed and overwhelmed him and Jazz opened his mouth to cry out, but his overload stalled his vents and shorted his vocoder. Lips devoured his own as his chassis was rocked and buffeted.

Then darkness claimed him and blanketed him in merciful senselessness.

Chapter Text

Jazz followed Soundwave obediently, his head bowed, his pedes heavy, and the photoharp a burden securely fastened across his shoulders and back. His processor felt jumbled and sluggish, as it always did after an insufficient recharge cycle. Usually he would have run a quick-and-dirty defrag and manual reboot if (as so often happened during the war) he had been roused from his berth too early, but Soundwave now had sole access to those systems, and Jazz would sooner pour denatured energon down his intake than request that of Soundwave.

The night before was a vague blur in Jazz’s processor; the clearest memories were from when Soundwave had finally managed to get him into the berth—after rutting Jazz against almost every flat surface and wall on the way there.

Glancing up at Soundwave, Jazz wondered, How does he do it? Perverted fragger isn’t even tired, and he was the one doing most of the work.

As they moved through the residential wing, Jazz was startled to see so many mechs in the halls. It wasn’t crowded, but it was unusual. In the time Jazz had been here, he had never seen more than two or three mechs moving about this area at a time. Indeed, most of the quarters stood empty, and only served as temporary housing for visiting officials and other Decepticons. Soundwave was one of the few who lived permanently in the ruling compound.

I wonder if we disturbed anyone’s recharge last cycle…he certainly wasn’t worried about the noise level.

Soundwave had been determined to put his new modification through its paces, bringing Jazz along with him to overload most of the time, though he had desisted somewhat when not even the high-grade consumed could bolster Jazz’s overtaxed systems and he went into a forced shutdown.

The first sensation of which Jazz was aware upon his systems resetting was a spike digging into his thigh plating, a body pressed against his back, and a pair of immovable arms encircling his chassis. As soon as Jazz groaned and attempted to pull away, Soundwave had been surging up, pulling his legs apart, and sinking his spike into Jazz’s valve.

He had brought Jazz out of recharge again, ignoring Jazz’s growled, “No more, let me recharge for Primus’ sake,” but didn’t immediately make a move towards continuing their earlier activity.

Instead, once Jazz was sitting up, looking around blearily after resetting his optics a few times, he said, “Recharge cycle sufficient. Punctuality imperative.”

Jazz had been startled to find, upon accessing his chronometer, that it was late in the cycle. Soundwave made him take a quick trip through the washrack, but had not answered Jazz’s questions about just what was so time-sensitive that it necessitated an aborted recharge cycle. Instead Soundwave ordered Jazz to touch up his polish, pack up the photoharp and follow him out of their quarters.

Now they were traversing passages Jazz hadn’t even been aware existed in the main building. One lift ride had them walking along a long gallery, with a bank of transparisteel windows looking out over the city. Jazz paused for a moment in his steps – more lights than he had seen since before the war blazed across the city, and energy pulses exploded in bursts of color (and sound, he presumed) over the scene.

“Megatron has ordered a celebration.” Soundwave had come up behind him, and joined him in surveying the bright city skyline.

“So I heard.” Jazz shrugged off the hand that had come to rest on his shoulder plating. “Where are we going?”

Soundwave regarded him for a moment, then turned and resumed walking down the corridor.

“Celebration for officers: in central stellarium.”

That answered that.

“I suppose you’re expecting me to serve the refreshments, fetch and carry, that sort of thing?”

“Affirmative.”

“That explains the photoharp, then. Is Megatron trying to class up your little shindigs? I don’t know, Master, without the copious quantities of inexpertly distilled high-grade, the fights, and the ever-present possibility of getting stabbed in the back with an energy blade, it just wouldn’t seem like a real ‘Con party.”

“Experience with Decepticon…celebrations…extensive?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

The rest of the journey was conducted in silence, as they continued moving to higher and higher levels within the central structure.

When the two doors that marked the entrance to the stellarium slid open, noise and light spilled out into the dark and quiet hallway. Jazz paused, but Soundwave placed a firm hand on his elbow joint and pulled him inside.

At first Jazz had to dial down his audioceptors’ sensitivity – there were Decepticons everywhere, talking, laughing, dancing, moving and jostling him. Since most were at least a head and shoulders taller than him, Jazz would have been lost almost immediately if not for Soundwave keeping hold of his arm.

“Follow me. Do not wander,” Soundwave said over his internal comm, not even making the attempt to be heard over the noise.

They moved around the perimeter of the room. Progress was slow, as Soundwave often paused to return greetings from various mechs. Jazz did not recognize most of them. During one of these stops, Soundwave released him and he stole a glance up at the ceiling. High above a crystal dome separated them from the stars, and lightglobes hung from the support beams, illuminating everything. However, even here traces of the war could be seen – a large section of the crystal was gone, patched up with a shiny new metal plate, and girders, twisted by missile fire, were buttressed with new supports.

A sharp piercing scream, cut off almost as soon as it was uttered, sounded behind him. Jazz whirled around, looking for the source. He knew that voice… None of the ‘Cons present seemed to have heard the cry, or if they did, were not concerned about it.

Jazz made for the shadowed entrance of a small alcove. He slipped inside, allowing his optical apertures time to adjust to the low light.

“Please, please, don’t, you’re h-hurting me!”

The unmistakable heavy thud of a blow being struck and a cry of pain sounded from the center of a small knot of Decepticons.

“Quiet, you little whelp!”

“Aw, don’t hit him too hard. I like it when they squeal.”

“Just get on with it, I want my turn.”

There was a low growl, and Jazz’s spark froze in his chest as a rhythmic clanking—accompanied by growls of pleasure and whimpers of fear—came from the gathering.

The mechs in the center of the room shifted, and Blitzwing appeared. Astrotrain was facing him, and between them were a pair of silver doorwings, twitching in time to Astrotrain’s motions.

All thought for his own safety fled his processor as Jazz let out a yell of rage. He tried to charge the group, which had turned to look at the interloper. But the pacification program arrested his movement, and one of the mechs on the outskirts easily caught and restrained him.

Now Jazz could see clearly. Bluestreak sat on a tall table, between Blitzwing and Astrotrain. Blitzwing held Bluestreak’s hands behind his back, while Astrotrain moved between Bluestreak’s legs.

“Stop! Stop! Let him go! Jazz struggled in the arms of the ‘Con that held him, looking up and meeting Bluestreak’s terrified optics for the first time.

“Jazz! Jazz!” Bluestreak’s optics switched off and his helm fell back as his mouth opened in a scream of pain while Blitzwing twisted one of his doors. “Please Jazz, please help me, please,”

Astrotrain landed another blow that rocked Bluestreak to the side while Jazz howled with fury and the gathered ‘Cons laughed. Suddenly he was released, and tried to move forward again when a familiar blue hand grabbed his arm in an unyielding grip.

“Jazz: be still.”

“No, no! They’re hurting him, they’re hurting him!”

“C’mon, Commander, your slave wants some too, bring him over!” The suggestion was met with some shouts of approval.

When Soundwave spoke his voice was like ice. “Jazz: mine. Not for general entertainment.”

There was some grumbling about that, but the attention of the group reverted back to Astrotrain’s activities. Jazz shut off his visor, unable to look, but his audios brought him enough information – Bluestreak’s whimpers, Astrotrain’s moans, the creak of stressed metal and the comments of the onlookers.

But Soundwave’s silent, watchful presence had a chilling effect on the group. A few slipped back out of the doorway quietly, and when Astrotrain finally withdrew from Bluestreak, only he, Blitzwing, and two bombers with minor officer wing markings were left.

“Good as ever, Autobot,” Astrotrain said as he closed his panel and put himself back in order. “Give your master my compliments.”

When Bluestreak didn’t respond, Astrotrain backhanded him with a blow that even rocked Blitzwing, who still held Bluestreak upright. Astrotrain grabbed Bluestreak’s neck and pulled him close, forcing Bluestreak to look into his blazing red optics.

“What do you say, slave?”

“Y-yes, sir! Thank you, sir.” Bluestreak barely managed to choke the words out of his stressed vocoder.

“Anyone else up for a turn? Blitzwing?”

Blitzwing took a careful, sidelong glance at Soundwave and Jazz before answering.

“Maybe later…I feel like some high grade right now.” He released Bluestreak’s arms, and stepped away from the table. The two bombers murmured their agreement and began moving away as well.

“Ah, might as well get to it before it’s all gone.” Astrotrain gave Bluestreak a hard shove and he toppled off of the table, hitting the floor on the far side with a clang that made Jazz wince. “Commander,” Astrotrain said as he passed Soundwave, throwing him a sketchy salute before he followed the others out of the doorway.

Soundwave’s hold on Jazz eased and he stumbled forward, focused only on the figure huddled on the other side of the room. Jazz dropped to his knees beside Bluestreak, and reached out, placing one hand on a battered door panel.

“Bluestreak?”

Bluestreak raised his head and stared at Jazz for a few moments. “…Jazz? Is it really you?” He extended an arm, and ran a shaking hand down Jazz’s face.

“Yeah…yeah, it’s me, Blue.” Jazz captured the wandering hand and pulled Bluestreak into a close embrace. “It’s me.”

Bluestreak’s entire frame began to quiver, and a harsh sob of static escaped from his vocoder. His hold on Jazz tightened until Jazz’s plating began to creak, but Jazz only redoubled his own grip on the shaking chassis in his arms.

“Jazz…oh Jazz…”

“Shh, I gotcha, Blue. I gotcha.”

“I thought I’d never see…it’s bad, it’s been so bad…they, they-” Bluestreak’s words were punctuated with sobs and feedback.

“It’s ok, Blue, it’s all right. It’s over now,” Jazz whispered, stroking the back of Bluestreak’s helm in a pitiful attempt to bring him some comfort.

“No, no…” Bluestreak drew back a little and looked earnestly into Jazz’s face. “It’s never over. It never stops.”

Jazz’s spark twisted in grief, and the only reply he could muster was to hold Bluestreak even closer. He couldn’t even offer any words of comfort that wouldn’t sound horribly hollow and be utter lies.

“I thought I was the only one left,” Bluestreak murmured against Jazz’s shoulder plating. “I thought everyone was dead.”

“You haven’t seen any of the others?”

Bluestreak shook his head.

“I wondered why – why they didn’t just kill me when they were done with me. I-I begged them to.” Bluestreak’s vents hitched and Jazz made a comforting noise. “I wanted to be with everyone, in the Well. I wanted it so bad.”

Jazz felt like a vise was slowly crushing his spark as he listened to Bluestreak’s words.

“Not everyone is there, Blue. Not everyone. I’ve spoken with Skyfire, and I know there are ‘Bots working below the surface, salvaging energon, and there are some under control of the science division-”

Bluestreak looked up suddenly. “Do you know who? Did-” he fell silent, his words stopping as if cut off with a knife as he gazed up, past Jazz. A mask of fear fell over his face as he cowered down in the shadow that had suddenly fallen over both of them.

Soundwave had approached silently, and now stood looming over Jazz and Bluestreak. “Jazz: assistance required?”

“I think you ’Cons have done enough,” Jazz hissed through gritted denta.

Soundwave did not move.

Jazz gave a tight little shake of his helm. "Just go away."

Still Soundwave hesitated, and Jazz’s shoulders slumped. “Please, Soundwave. You’re scaring him,” he said in a broken, pleading whisper.

This time Soundwave stepped back, and after a nanoklik, turned towards the doorway. “Send location beacon when finished,” he said before exiting the small chamber.

Jazz continued to caress Bluestreak’s helm until his shaking subsided. They stayed huddled on the floor, silence stretching between them, taking comfort from their closeness.

The small measure of peace they were able to secure for themselves was shattered before long. A quiet noise at the doorway and another shadow falling across the swathe of light coming in from the main room made Jazz look up.

Two of the neutral servants leaned into the alcove, staring at them. One turned to the other and said, in a voice dripping with disgust, “Autobots.” The other nodded as if that was all that needed to be said.

“Cubes out there are looking pretty empty, Autobot,” the taller of the two finally said.

“So go fill ‘em, Neutral,” Jazz shot back.

Bluestreak gasped, and shrank down in Jazz’s arms.

Jazz stared defiantly back at the pair in the doorway before turning back to Bluestreak. “We’re busy.” He could sense the flurry of short-range comms they exchanged before they disappeared back into the crowd, but without access to his decryption protocols, he couldn’t tell what they were saying to each other.

“Don’t worry, Blue. It’s OK. We can just stay here.”

“N-no, no.” Bluestreak pulled away, shaking his helm, optics focusing on a spot on the floor just to Jazz’s left. “I can’t stay in here, I’m s-s-supposed to be advertising, I’ll be in so much trouble…”

“I’m sure your master won’t be mad that you didn’t go right back out there once he finds out what those thugs were doing to you.”

Bluestreak looked up at him, an incredulous look on his face. He opened his mouth to reply, but then there was a commotion behind them.

“There you are, you lazy creature!”

Bluestreak jerked in Jazz’s arms as Swindle’s voice came from the doorway. “Master Swindle, I-…”

Swindle strode over to the pair, completely ignoring Jazz, who found himself shoved aside as Swindle grabbed Bluestreak’s arm and hauled him to his pedes.

“You’re supposed to be mingling! There are mechs with a lot of credits out there, and no slaves to waste it on - get out there and convince them to spend it on you!” But when Bluestreak ducked his helm and made to move past Swindle and back into the main reception area, Swindle snagged his arm and pulled him back. “Wait.”

“Master Swindle?”

“It’s not time for a dropoff yet, but let’s see what you’ve managed so far.”

“Yes, Master Swindle.” Bluestreak lifted one arm and half turned away from Swindle, who immediately thrust out a hand and began to dig around in Bluestreak’s subspace. He pulled back a small handful of credit chips.

“Huh.” He snorted, sorting through the paltry amount. “Cheap. You give mechs something for free, and they think they don’t have to tip on it. Typical.”

Bluestreak remained silent, staring at the decking in the same position.

“All right, you can go,” Swindle said, and Bluestreak lowered his arm. “And try to smile more. You’ll get more tips if they think you’re enjoying it.”

“Yes, Master Swindle,” Bluestreak said in a voice so quiet Jazz’s audios could barely pick it up.

“Here, you’re getting scuffed already,” Swindle pulled out a polishing cloth and rubbed at a few of the more obvious scrapes and blemishes on Bluestreak’s finish. “These are powerful mechs of discriminating taste; they’re not going to want something that looks shabby.”

If Bluestreak replied Jazz didn’t hear it.

“There!” Swindle stepped back to examine his handiwork. “Good enough. You look great. Now get out there and make me some credits!” He gave a hard slap to Bluestreak’s aft, propelling him towards the doorway. “And remember…” Swindle gestured towards his own faceplate, baring his denta demonstratively as he followed Bluestreak out. “…to smile.”

Jazz’s tanks roiled. He’d expected the Decepticons’ innate greed and possessiveness to give some small measure of protection to their Autobot captives, but Bluestreak didn’t have even that.

He cautiously stuck his head out of the alcove, but Bluestreak and Swindle had already been swallowed by the crowd. He sent a ping to Soundwave’s frequency, and received an immediate response with navigational coordinates. Moving around the outside of the main hall, he made his way back to Soundwave. Various halls, niches, anterooms, and other spaces radiated out from the spacious center of the Stellarium, and most were occupied by smaller groups of Decepticons.

When he had traversed about a quarter of the circumference, Jazz sighted an archway, much bigger than any of the others and shielded from visual and proximity sensors by a shimmering, opaque forcefield. Soundwave’s navigation beacon had come from inside.

Jazz cycled his vents to steady himself and was about to start towards the archway when someone plucked gently at a door panel. He spun, opening his channel to Soundwave and ready to send a distress signal should the need arise.

A very startled neutral jumped back, miraculously not spilling the large cube of energon and ewer of coolant balanced on his tray.

“What?” Jazz asked, testily.

“Are you following your master into…there?” the Neutral asked indicating the archway with a tilt of his head.

Jazz nodded stiffly.

“Then take this.” The Neutral handed the tray to Jazz. “They’re probably running low in there, but they won’t lower the forcefield or turn it transparent so we can see when they need more. And of course it’s then our fault when their cubes run dry.” The mech didn’t wait for Jazz’s response, but turned away and walked off muttering.

Jazz had a sinking feeling in his spark that he knew who “Them” would include. Cautiously, he ascended the wide steps to the shrouded entrance and stepped inside.

The forcefield was cool as he passed through it. Immediately the hubbub from the main area was muffled, and the temperature dropped. Jazz paused as his optics adjusted to the dimmer light inside.

His first impression was a ring of red optics, all fixed upon him. Then he picked out the single yellow optic, two purple ones, and Soundwave’s red band, and then others as his optical apertures dilated to take best advantage of what little light there was.

Megatron sat at the very back of the room, on a much grander seat (not quite a throne, in Jazz’s opinion) than any of the others. Soundwave was seated next to him, and Shockwave was next to Soundwave. Motormaster accounted for the set purple optics, and three more Decepticons that Jazz recognized by sight (but not by name) as high-ranking generals in the Decepticon forces.

“To answer your question, Lord Megatron, I do not yet have an estimate when Esmeral’s forces will return to Cybertron,” said one of the generals, a large slate-blue mech with two wing-like projections jutting from his back. “Other units have carried messages from her, but I have not been able to establish direct communication.”

Jazz relaxed slightly and moved around the room, filling empty cubes and topping off coolant flasks. When he was done he retreated to a corner where he placed the tray on a low side table and awaited further instructions.

“That is unfortunate, Deathsaurus,” Megatron said. “Esmeral’s troop is a valuable and formidable force. Her return will be a significant step towards restoring Cybertron’s defenses.”

Movement at the edge of Jazz’s visor made his head snap up. A Decepticon, smaller than the others, with white and silver armor and a helm decorated with striking finials was standing just inside the entrance.

“My lord Megatron.” The newcomer stepped forward and gave a graceful salute. “Commander Turmoil is unable to answer your invitation and has sent me in his place. He also sends his regards and his gratitude.”

Tension moved through the room, and Jazz shrank back into the shadows. Megatron gave no outward indication of what he was thinking, and he remained silent for several nanokliks, his piercing gaze locked on the Decepticon.

“Deadlock,” he finally said. “It is unfortunate that Turmoil is unable to join us.” He nodded towards an empty seat. “However, if the reports I received are accurate, you acquitted yourself…surprisingly well in the final offensive.”

Deadlock stiffened, but bowed his helm before murmuring, “Thank you, my lord,” and seating himself where Megatron had indicated.

“Slave! High-grade for Subcommander Deadlock,” Megatron barked, making Jazz flinch. He hadn’t expected to be addressed so directly by Megatron when he was holding court. He rose to his feet quickly and filled a cube. Deadlock took it with a small nod of acknowledgement.

Jazz was just turning to go back to the shadows in the corner, when the Decepticon Megatron had called Deathsaurus spoke. “Soundwave, does your little mech know how to play that thing, or is he just for looking pretty?”

Jazz froze – he had forgotten about the photoharp clipped to his back.

“His repertoire: extensive,” came Soundwave’s monotone reply.

“Well then, let’s hear something!” Deathsaurus growled.

Jazz looked at Soundwave, who looked at Megatron. Megatron nodded, gesturing to the steps in front of Soundwave. Jazz kept his gaze carefully lowered as he approached. He unclipped the photoharp and activated it, queuing up several pieces that sounded impressive, but with fingerings simple enough that he would be able to allow a subroutine to execute them.

“You will kneel before Lord Megatron, Slave Autobot.” Shockwave’s reedy tone cut across Jazz’s thoughts and he looked up.

Megatron was silent, but he held Jazz’s gaze, his optics dimmed to a dull glow. The corner of his mouth lifted in a subtle smirk as Jazz slowly lowered himself to sit on the steps at Soundwave’s feet, arranging his legs and pedes awkwardly beneath himself.

Shockwave settled back in his seat, and somehow managed to look smug despite his lack of facial features. Jazz concentrated on the patch of flooring in front of him as he played the opening chords to his first piece.

In the center of the circle, it was impossible to ignore how massive the ‘Cons were compared to him. Their heavy armor creaked when they moved, their hydraulics hissed, and their ventilations were slow and deep, moving massive quantities of air in and out of their combustion chambers.

How can they stand to live with themselves? My processor would fritz from that racket!

Eventually the ‘Cons returned to their conversation, and Jazz shifted to quieter, less intrusive melodies, built on simple algorithms to allow the music to fade into the background. When he was certain Megatron’s attention was elsewhere, he settled into a more comfortable position on the steps, but one that was hopefully still deferent enough for Shockwave.

He had let his processor wander—picking out patterns in the flaws of the metal finish on the flooring, or wondering when he’d next see Skyfire—when his audio programming picked out a phrase and flagged it for attention from the conversations flowing around him.

“…really is quite talented, Commander Soundwave,” Deadlock said from behind him. “I have not heard a photoharp played since before the war.”

“Jazz,very talented. Pleasing in many ways.”

“Both audially and visually.”

There was a round of laughter, and Jazz’s spark faltered with a sudden surge of fear. But Soundwave was here, and had said he wasn’t to be used for…that sort of entertainment. Jazz was uncertain what Soundwave’s rank was among these new Decepticons, though. He was seated next to Megatron, a potent symbolic position, but would it really mean anything among Megatron’s elite?

“Correction: audially, visually, and tactilely.” Soundwave’s heavy hand rested on his helm as Jazz’s circuits burned in humiliation. It wasn’t enough that Soundwave had brought him here to perform for his former enemies, now he was making jokes about forcing Jazz to berth?

The ‘Cons present laughed harder, probably as much from the novelty of Soundwave actually joining in as from the actual content of the riposte. The hand on his helm caressed his crest a few times, then withdrew.

“It is a testament to your guardianship that your slave is so tractable, Commander Soundwave,” said Shockwave. “Such is the proper relationship between Autobots and Decepticons – one where the protected serve their protectors without defiance, and the protectors do not do them needless violence.”

A memory of Bluestreak’s tormented scream flashed across Jazz’s processor. His fingers faltered for a moment, but recovered.

Soundwave’s touch returned, this time moving down Jazz’s cheek plating before tipping his chin up and back, so that Jazz was forced to look up into Soundwave’s face.

“After pacification program installed, resistance was minimal,” Soundwave said, still holding Jazz’s face and caressing his cheek. “Violence became unnecessary.”

I hate you.

Soundwave allowed Jazz to turn away with a final, gentle pat on the helm.

“…and just let me say, Lord Megatron, how honored and grateful I am that you invited me to attend such a gathering of esteemed mechs as my team’s representative,” Swindle said, for (by Jazz’s count) the fourth time since Megatron had emerged from the private alcove to make an appearance among the crowd. Soundwave and Shockwave had remained with him, and Jazz had kept to Soundwave’s side, holding a ewer of coolant and refilling their vessels as needed.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Megatron said mildly. “I accepted your offer of providing some entertainment.”

“And it has really added the finishing touch to this soiree if I do say so myself, Lord Megatron,” Swindle continued without missing a beat. He must have sent out a summons on an encrypted channel, because Bluestreak materialized at Swindle’s elbow. He carried a cube of energon, the scintillating purple hue indicating that it was very pure highgrade, and stepped forward, offering it to Megatron.

Megatron waved it off with a bored expression. Jazz did not miss the way Bluestreak flinched and his doors drooped as he backed away. Nor did his fail to notice Swindle’s optics flash and narrow for a nanoklik before the smooth salesmech’s mask slid into place again.

“Err, of course, my lord.” Swindle jerked his head at Bluestreak, who backed further away from the group before turning and scurrying into the crowd. “And if you yourself desire use of my slave, you have only to comm me and he will be at your pedes in a matter of kliks.”

Megatron only spared Swindle an impatient glance before turning back to his conversation with Shockwave.

Jazz craned his neck to try and catch another glimpse of Bluestreak, but was unable to before Shockwave emptied his cube and held it out to be refilled.

After the mechs at the gathering began to drift away, and Megatron had left, Soundwave too took his leave. He chose a different route back to their quarters, one that took them out onto the grounds, and he paused by the entrance to the crystal gardens.

Jazz braced himself, thinking that he would be subjected to another attempt at romance, but when after a breem two Decepticons had passed them and entered, and several more pairs had exited, it was clear that the gardens were a popular location at the moment and Soundwave moved on.

When they returned to their quarters, Soundwave started to lead him to the balcony, but Jazz, weary down to his smallest relay, turned and made a direct vector to the berth.

Primus, I’m tired. He curled up on his side, trying to shut out the humiliating memories of what he’d just been put through. For once his processor cooperated, and he felt the heavy darkness of recharge begin to settle over his consciousness.

A hand caressed his hip plate.

That’s it.

Jazz slapped his hand down on the surface of the berth with a clang, activating his optics and glared up at Soundwave. Soundwave snatched his hand back, visor brightening in surprise.

“Really?” he said. “Really? You’re thinking about fragging me now? Do you think being forced to stay quiet and listen and play music while you ‘Cons sit around and laugh, and serve refreshments to the mech who is responsible for it all spun my engine?!” Jazz’s voice had crescendoed to a shout and broke with a hiss of static. He shut his mouth with a snap, and held Soundwave’s gaze, half-reared up off of the berth and vents heaving in impotent rage.

They stayed that way for a klik, before Soundwave broke the silence.

“Anger, unnecessary. You are unharmed.”

For a moment Jazz thought his plating would start to smoke because of how white-hot his spark burned. But as angry as he was, he could not fight back, or resist, or do anything. The program humming along in the back of his processor, throttling any violent act or thought took care of that.

“You know what? Fine.” He threw himself onto his back. He opened the panel covering his valve, put his hands behind his helm, and spread his legs. “Just get it over with.”

Soundwave hesitated, but then mounted the berth, leaning over Jazz, his bulk cutting off the dim light that came through the window.

Jazz resisted the urge to look away and shut off his visor, but instead kept his gaze steady up at the ceiling as Soundwave settled over him.

There were a few attempts at foreplay. Soundwave fondled Jazz’s bumper and tweaked a few wires in his neck, but did not attempt to use his new modification. Then he was reaching between Jazz’s legs, there was pressure, and Soundwave’s spike filled Jazz’s valve.

He ignored the sensor feed coming from his interfacing array, and focused on remaining limp and unresisting. The object pushing in and out of his body elicited no reaction, the warm heavy chassis on top of him stirred nothing in his spark, not even despair.

Bluestreak’s pained cries and frightened optics loomed up again in Jazz’s processor. This time there was no twist in his spark, no pang of fear and grief for his friend and comrade.

Soundwave shifted, changing his angle so that when he withdrew, his spike’s superior ridges stimulated Jazz’s external valve sensors. At the deepest point of his thrust he directly contacted the metal wire coils that encircled Jazz’s valve.

Jazz grunted once, then fell silent.

I’m sorry, Blue. It should have been me.

The invasion between his legs continued, but Soundwave’s movements were slowing. As multicolored light from the celebration displays flickered over the walls of their quarters, he stopped, staring down at Jazz.

I suppose I should be glad he didn’t put the Pit-damned mirror on the ceiling, Jazz thought as he kept his gaze fixed on a point just past Soundwave’s shoulder.

Without a word Soundwave suddenly withdrew and rolled off of Jazz, swinging his legs over the edge of the berth in one motion before standing. Jazz’s vents hitched at the sudden withdrawal of the still-extended spike from his valve, but otherwise gave no reaction, even when Soundwave turned on his heel and strode out of the room.

Wonder what silly gadget he’s going to come back with this time. He remained in position, certain that Soundwave would return with something new with which to force compliance on his chassis and systems.

Jazz could hear Soundwave moving in the next room, and the door to the workroom open and shut. Then there was silence. After several kliks, he risked lifting his helm and craning his neck to see if there was any movement in the darkness of the main room.

As the kliks stretched into breems, Jazz slowly relaxed, pulling his legs closed and shutting his panel. He thought about getting up and sneaking out to investigate what Soundwave was up to, but quickly discarded that idea. Instead he rolled over, facing towards the door and away from the mirror on the wall.

He turned his audios up to the highest gain the pacification programming would allow him, straining to detect the stray pedesteps or hiss of vents that would signal Soundwave’s return. Several times he had to abort a shut-down sequence, but soon inadequate recharge coupled with the events of the day won out and his systems slipped offline.

The next cycle, Jazz rebooted to deserted quarters. There was still no sign of the cassettes, and Soundwave’s workroom was locked tight. Jazz could not hear any sounds from inside, but he still half-expected Soundwave to emerge at any moment, and was careful to stay as quiet as possible.

After refueling and a quick trip through the washracks, he ventured out with a vague plan of visiting the crystal garden, but the corridors and halls were still filled unfamiliar mechs, and after a few unsettling encounters he retreated back to Soundwave’s quarters. He satisfied himself with standing out on the balcony and watching the activity below.

As the breems passed by, Jazz became more uneasy. He had defied Soundwave…and Soundwave had backed down. What did that mean? Would Soundwave come back more determined to bend Jazz to his will? So far he had seemed loath to use physical discipline, but Jazz was not so naïve as to think that couldn’t change.

By the time it was customary for Soundwave to return, Jazz had worked through various contingencies, and gone to the main room to lounge on one of the divans.

When the door hissed open and Soundwave’s heavy tread entered, Jazz didn’t bother to look up from the datapad he was reading. Soundwave stopped a few paces inside, and the door hissed shut.

“Jazz.”

Jazz turned, but the insouciant remark he’d planned died on his lips. Bluestreak stood next to Soundwave, his doors held low and his helm bowed, optics fixed on the floor.

All Jazz’s carefully constructed contingency plans shattered in an instant. He rose to his pedes, optics fixed on Soundwave’s face.

“Soundwave, please, you don’t have to do this,” he said. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry – I won’t do it again, I’ll do whatever you want, please.” He stepped forward, ready to drop to his knees if that was what it took. His spark pulsed wildly in its chamber, and his world narrowed to the two figures standing just inside of the doorway. “I – I can give you what you want, please don’t do this-”

“Enough.” Soundwave raised his hand and Jazz immediately fell silent. Motionless, Bluestreak continued to stare at the floor, his doors held tense and trembling behind him.

You can’t do this. You can’t do this to him, he’s been through so much already, Jazz thought. You can’t do this to me. I can’t watch you hurt him, I’m not strong enough. I’m not strong enough.

Chapter Text

Starscream resisted the urge to preen as he led his new slave through the corridors of the Decepticon flagship, the Doomsday. The Decepticons had finally been able to track down the group of Autobots that had been harboring Skyfire, and now Skyfire was his. Starscream glanced over at the Autobot following him, the chain running from Skyfire’s collar and between the manacles on Skyfire’s wrists clutched tightly in his hand. He felt a swell of pride over how well he had slagged Octane and Blitzwing for daring to even look at Skyfire.

Skyfire, despite his size, seemed small and timid, his head turning to and fro, shying away from any other Decepticons the pair passed. Starscream frowned. Why was Skyfire reacting that way? He should be grateful, and proud. After all, he now was the consort of the best-looking mech in the Decepticon army; they were together again now that those pathetic Autobots were out of the way. They could pick up where they left off: scientifically, and …otherwise. Of course, there would be some changes. It was unfortunate that Skyfire had chosen the wrong side of the war, but that could not be helped now.

Pausing in an empty corridor, Starscream pulled Skyfire into an alcove. He slowly wrapped the chain around and around his hand, forcing Skyfire’s face closer. Finally Skyfire was forced to kneel before Starscream. Starscream liked the way that looked, even if he still had to crane his neck strut to look into Skyfire’s face.

As Skyfire drew close, Starscream could hear his ventilation system speeding up, and Starscream’s sensors told him that Skyfire’s plating was heating. Of course, it had been vorns for Starscream since their last true partnership, but for Skyfire it had only been several short Earth-years. Starscream fully intended to use that fact to his advantage.

He gave another jerk on the chain, grabbed Skyfire’s helm and kissed him passionately. He tried to remember what had really turned Skyfire’s turbines in the past. He vaguely recalled Skyfire liking a bit of ferocity in the berth, so he kissed, nipped, and licked his way around Skyfire’s larger mouth.

Suddenly he stopped. Skyfire wasn’t responding at all. Starscream felt like pouting. He seemed to remember that pouting had often worked on Skyfire. However, he controlled himself. Such things were beneath his position as Decepticon Air Commander. At least until he had to resort to truly desperate measures. Starscream pushed back, and looked at Skyfire searchingly. Wide blue optics met his gaze, and he could see that Skyfire’s wings were trembling.

Oh. Skyfire was frightened. Of course he would be, he had always been somewhat timid, hanging back when Starscream wanted to charge ahead. A twinge of guilt surfaced in Starscream’s spark – if the universe was a just place, Starscream would have been the one to have been trapped on their last scientific mission together, not careful, cautious, Skyfire.

He’s just worried now, but he won’t be for long. I’ll show him that he has nothing to fear from me. He’ll be in a lot less danger now than he was with the enemy. Skyfire flinched as Starscream’s other hand reached up and touched his cheek plating. “Skyfire,” Starscream purred. “What’s the matter?”

A more pronounced shudder ran through Skyfire’s frame. Starscream frowned. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be going at all.
“Please, Starscream, don’t hurt me,” Skyfire said softly.

“I’m not going to hurt you, Skyfire,” said Starscream. “Nobody else will, either. I’ll see to that. You’re mine now.”

“Am I?” whispered Skyfire.

Starscream was about to retort when the sounds of heavy pedes in the corridor caught his attention.

“Follow me,” he said brusquely, pulling away, and giving Skyfire’s chain a sharp tug.

Most of the Decepticons were either on duty or attending the claiming of the captured Autobots; the hallways outside of the seekers’ quarters were mostly deserted. Starscream felt a swell of pride in the fact that his position afforded him private quarters big enough to accommodate Skyfire. If they weren’t, he would have been hard pressed to commandeer an area for Skyfire where he would be safe.

Skyfire had to stoop and pull his wings in tight to fit in the door, even though it was of a dimension to accommodate Starscream’s own impressive wingspan. Fortunately his head had enough clearance that he could stand up straight once inside.

Starscream surreptitiously entered a code on the pad by the door, ensuring that only he would be able to unlock it. He eyed Skyfire appraisingly. This would have to be handled… delicately.

He slowly walked around Skyfire, taking note of every laser burn, every dent, and every sign of battle. Someone was going to pay for each of them. He had given explicit instructions on how to engage and capture Skyfire, and they had clearly been ignored.

Skyfire had stayed in one spot, not turning to look at Starscream. Only the slight angling of his wings indicated that Skyfire was tracking his progress through the room. Starscream had thought that Skyfire might relax once they were in private, but his wings were still tense and twitching.

“Skyfire,” he purred, draping his arms over Skyfire’s shoulders. He was rewarded by a sudden spasm, as Skyfire attempted to overcome the energy dampening collar. “You’re going to blow a hydraulic line if you don’t relax. You’re safe now.” Starscream ran a single blue digit along the leading edge of Skyfire’s wing, frowning a bit at the built-up grime he found.

“Starscream.” Skyfire’s vocals sounded strangled. “What…what do you want? Why are you doing this?”

“What’s that supposed to mean, Skyfire?” whispered Starscream in Skyfire’s audio. He felt a thrill of exhilaration as Skyfire trembled. Now, if he remembered correctly, these grooves on Skyfire’s helm were particularly sensitive…

Ah, yes. Starscream preened as a more violent shudder moved through Skyfire’s frame.

“Why shouldn’t I be doing my best to keep a dear friend out of harm’s way? You’re acting like you think I have some ulterior motive.” Starscream continued to kiss and lick along Skyfire’s mandible, moving down his neck cables, until - slag.

He encountered the heavy electrum collar around Skyfire’s neck. It was getting in the way. With a few muffled curses, Starscream fiddled with it for a klik, trying to figure out how in the Pit one was supposed to get it off. Finally he found the hidden catch; a quick scan revealed that it would only move for an operator with a Decepticon energy signature. Starscream placed his fingertip on the catch, then paused.

Perhaps…not just yet. A small, secret smile ghosted across Starscream’s lips as he contemplated how to put Skyfire at ease, how to make Skyfire understand that he well and truly belonged to Starscream now.

“Skyfire, say something.” Starscream was growing impatient with his friend’s resolute silence. “What do you want? More energon? I can get some high-grade. Do you want to get cleaned up? You won’t fit in my ‘rack, but we can work something out.” He looked at Skyfire expectantly, waiting for an answer.

“Starscream, don’t play this game.” Skyfire bent his knees, almost falling into a sitting position, as if he were tired. Starscream ran a quick scan, and confirmed that Skyfire’s fuel levels were well within normal limits.

“What game?” Starscream couldn't keep a hint of peevishness out of his voice.

“You know what I mean.” Skyfire reached up and held a blue hand still when Starscream reached to rub at a scuff on his shoulder. “I can't believe you'd think that- no, I can believe it. You've changed so much, and so little at the same time.” Skyfire sounded wistful.

Starscream shook his hand out of Skyfire's grip and stroked the leading edge of Skyfire's wing. Skyfire's shoulder struts slumped, and his head was bowed. Starscream frowned again, irked by the persistent melancholy.

He moved around to Skyfire's front, and reached out to cup his face. With Skyfire sitting, they were at least on equal optic-level. Starscream tilted Skyfire's chin up until Skyfire was forced to meet his gaze.
“Skyfire,” he crooned. “I know you're unhappy about losing the war, but -”

“You left me.”

The three little words made Starscream's spark flare and pulse in pain. How dare he! After all I-

“You shot me,” continued Skyfire. “Now... you've enslaved me.” Starscream was taken aback at the fury contained in the quiet words.

“I- I tried to find you, Skyfire! I tried to reason with you, but you gave me no choice! You betrayed me!”

“Yes, I suppose you would see it that way, Starscream.” Some of the tension left Skyfire's frame, and he lowered his gaze to the floor.

“It doesn't matter now,” said Starscream hurriedly. “I know that most of the blame lies with those accursed Autobots, telling you all sorts of ridiculous things to make you join with them. But that’s all in the past. We need to look to the future. All that matters is that you are with me again.”

“Then why am I in chains, Starscream? Why am I in a dampening collar? I’m a prisoner.”

“That’s temporary.” Starscream turned away from Skyfire, unable to meet his optics. It would have been bearable if Skyfire would show just a little anger! Starscream knew how to handle that. But this quiet, calm questioning was a sky Starscream didn’t know how to navigate. He walked across the room and stooped to rummage through a case of maintenance supplies. He dialed his audios up to their highest gain, to pick up any sound from Skyfire while his back was turned.

When Starscream returned to Skyfire’s side, he held two cleaning rags, pretreated with solvent.

“This should make you feel better. It will do until I can get you down to the third deck. The starboard ‘racks there have a tall enough ceiling.” Starscream handed Skyfire one of the rags, and then moved around to Skyfire’s back plating.

Skyfire started to swipe at his plating, processor clearly not on the task at hand. Well, Starscream would have to change that. He ran the cloth along a wing stripe, and allowed himself a small thrill of satisfaction when a tremor chased its way through Skyfire’s chassis. Skyfire mastered himself then, and began to clean himself in earnest, clearly trying to ignore Starscream.

That was fine. It would make Starscream’s victory all the more satisfying. He moved the cloth up over Skyfire’s wings, moving in sure, deliberate strokes. He paid very close attention to several scorch marks that came close to a main sensor nexus that supplied Skyfire’s aileron.

Just a few more centimechanometers, and he could have lost all use of this wing! Starscream frowned. Skyfire should be brought in as undamaged as possible! As he created a reminder in his task queue to find out which Decepticon had been manning the weapons of the ship when Skyfire’s group was captured, Starscream resolved to make sure no one dared disobey him again.

When Starscream gently flexed the aileron to access the joints and couplings that held it to Skyfire’s wing, Skyfire gasped and flinched away.

“Does that hurt?” Starscream’s voice was businesslike now, with none of his earlier teasing. Wings were serious.

“Yes,” said Skyfire, turning his head to peer at Starscream. The sight of Skyfire trying to see the back of his own wing would have been outrageously amusing in different circumstances. “When you were looking for us in sector 673, in the binary system with the comet, I hid behind the coma, but a bit of ice tagged me before I could get away.”

“Mmm,” Starscream said absently as he examined Skyfire’s wing. “Stop tensing. I need to look.”

Gradually Skyfire relaxed his hydraulics, allowing Starscream to gently manipulate the aileron, and take note of the damage. A bundle of wires had been crimped, their insulation worn thin. Starscream didn’t have the expertise to splice them, but he was able to move them into a more comfortable position where they would not be aggravated by normal movements. Starscream added ordering Hook to make a house call to repair Skyfire to his agenda for the next cycle.

“Thank you,” said Skyfire, when Starscream finished.

Starscream just grunted in acknowledgement. “Any other injuries the Autobots neglected that I should know about?”

Skyfire stiffened for a brief moment, but then answered, “I – I was hit with a compression rifle on my upper leg strut.” He rubbed a faintly discolored spot on his outer thigh. “I think it knocked something out of alignment. It’s been painful to walk on, and…and with this collar I can’t access my controls to turn off my sensors.”

Starscream immediately walked around to Skyfire’s front, and knelt to examine the leg strut. A section of the plating was slightly warped, and a cursory scan revealed several microfractures along the supporting strut.

He finally lost his temper. “Those slag-sucking bolt-buckets! I told them to not hurt you, and what do they do? Shoot you! The sheer enormity of the ineptitude I’m supposed to deal with is absolutely outrageous!”
“You…told them not to hurt me?” asked Skyfire, quietly.

Looking up at him curiously, Starscream said, “Of course.” He studied Skyfire’s uncertain expression more closely. “You thought I’d ordered them to hurt you, didn’t you?”

“I thought you hated me.” Skyfire met Starscream’s optics. “I thought you wanted me destroyed.”

Reaching up, Starscream cupped Skyfire’s face in his hands, the familiar contours bringing an uncomfortable, warm feeling into his spark.

“I’d never destroy you, Skyfire.” Starscream leaned close, allowing his vents to blow softly against Skyfire’s face. A tiny, almost inaudible moan came from Skyfire’s vocoder. “You were my partner.” Starscream brushed his lips lightly across Skyfire’s. “When I thought I’d lost you, it nearly destroyed me.”

For a brief moment, Starscream stilled, his mouth curled in an inviting smile, just out of contact with Skyfire’s lip plating.

He wasn’t sure which one of them moved first, only that his mouth was suddenly crushed to Skyfire’s and that desperate hands were scrabbling at his chassis even as he wound his arms around Skyfire’s neck.
“Starscream,” said Skyfire in between fevered kisses. “I missed you so much.”

Starscream could only moan in response as he was pressed close against Skyfire, his mouth busily tracing the line of Skyfire’s jaw.

When a large digit pressed into his shoulder fairings, Starscream reared back, arching his back-strut and shuddering in response. Skyfire surged forward and claimed his lips, rocking Starscream’s head back. Skyfire carefully slid his hand behind Starscream’s neck as he pushed even more firmly against him.

Starscream smiled against Skyfire's lips as he felt Skyfire’s internal temperature climb steadily. He deepened the kiss, relishing the feel of the other's larger mouth against his. Skyfire made a small, needy sound.
Yes,I did miss those wonderful noises you make. He slowly, carefully ran his hands over Skyfire's helm and down to his neck, stroking the sensitive disk-shaped audio-receivers on the way. Skyfire shuddered and gasped against Starscream's mouth, murmuring something that could have been Starscream's name.

Moving from Skyfire's mouth to the line of his mandible, Starscream continued to lick and nip his way along, only stopping to cry out in pleasure when Skyfire fastened his mouth over a particular sensor nexus on Starscream's neck and sucked. He writhed shamelessly against the large hands that were exploring his chassis. They were at once familiar and yet made new by time.

Starscream pressed himself against Skyfire, leaning in as close as possible to run his glossa around an audio, one hand dropping to tease the seam of Skyfire's canopy, the other reaching around to undo the catch on the collar. As the catch on the collar was released, both manacles sprang open as well. He pulled them away from Skyfire by their chains, and set them aside, all without breaking contact.

Starscream moved to the area of Skyfire's neck that was revealed by the removal of the collar, but pulled back with a groan when one of Skyfire's hands explored his air intake. His optics flickered off for a moment, so that he could enjoy the sensation.

When he turned them back on, Skyfire was staring at him with an unreadable expression.

“Skyfire, what's wr-”

Skyfire moved more quickly than he had anticipated. Suddenly he was on his back, with Skyfire's weight bearing down on his neck. All of the air was knocked from his system as his backstrut hit the floor, and his turbines slowed as he tried to maintain combustion.

He struggled for a moment, batting at the hand that held his neck, and trying to push Skyfire off of him, but he quickly gave that up – it was like trying to move a mountain. So he ceased his struggling and stared up at Skyfire, meeting his optics calmly.

Skyfire stared back.

“If you wanted to play rough, all you had to do was ask.” Starscream let one corner of his mouth twitch up, and ran a hand solicitously up Skyfire's arm.

“Don't.” Skyfire gave a hard little shove against his neck. “I'm going. Don't – don't try to stop me, or I'll hurt you.”

“Really?” Starscream let his hand fall back to the decking beside his helm. “I don't think you will.”

“Don't test me, Starscream! I'm not joking!”

“Neither am I.” Starscream lifted his free hand, struggling not to wince at the way his shoulder joint caught against its housing, deformed with Skyfire's weight on it. He let one finger trail gently along Skyfire's mandible, and smiled when Skyfire shuddered in response, a ventilation fan kicking on deep in his substructure. “I would never joke about this. About us.”

“There's no us. Not anymore.” Skyfire's larger chassis took some time to become hot, but Starscream's sensors detected a minute rise in Skyfire's core temperature, belying his words. “I'm going to go.” His vocoder wavered a bit, and Skyfire reset it.

“Where will you go? Even if you manage to get off of the ship, Megatron wouldn't hesitate to order you shot down. The Doomsday is faster than you, and you have no weapons.”

“I-I'm big. I can fight. I will fight.” Skyfire sounded uncertain now.

“Oh, I'm sure you will, but it won't make any difference. And then, when you are captured, I won't get to keep you.” Starscream frowned, and his tone became slightly petulant. “I don't know what Megatron will order done to you, but I can assure you it won't be as pleasant as what I have in mind.”

“I don't want what you have in mind!”

“Your internal temperature gauge says differentl-ack!” Starscream's voice was cut off as Skyfire bore down on his vocoder.

“Shut up!”

Starscream stared up at him guilelessly. Skyfire's pacifist tendencies would win out over this little display of assertiveness. Then they could get back to business.

Soon, Skyfire's grip on his neck once again lessened. Starscream cycled his vocoder a few times, but remained silent.

“Don't just stare at me like that!” hissed Skyfire.

“You told me to shut up... and just when I was getting to the good part, too.”

Skyfire's wings dipped down in a slump and his voice was heavy with weariness. “Please... Starscream. Let me go. Please. Don't go along with this.”

“But just think of what we could accomplish!” Now Starscream ran his hand up and over Skyfire's canopy, relishing the little shiver the touch produced. “We'll have unlimited resources! Just think about the research we’ll be able to accomplish! Megatron has promised me oversight of all scientific pursuit on Cybertron! Please, Skyfire, stay. If not for me, then for the future of our planet.”

Starscream waited, watching intently, looking for signs that Skyfire would agree and go along with what he was proposing.

Finally, Skyfire's optics dimmed, and he removed his hand from Starscream's throat.

Success.

“I- you're right.”

Starscream allowed himself to preen at that. Of course he knew he was right, but it was always nice to hear someone else say it.

“I just don't know what to do. The other Autobots – they're my friends and they're being hurt. Please, Starscream. Please do what you can to help them. I'll beg, I'll do whatever you want, just, please-” Skyfire made as if to lift himself off.

Starscream immediately grabbed his wing, and hooked one leg over Skyfire's thigh.

“Skyfire-” He let his voice dip low, a tone that very few mechs had ever been privileged to hear. “I didn't say I wanted you to get off of me-” he lifted himself up, pushing his panel against Skyfire's, “-just yet.”

Trembling harder now, with his temperature climbing steadily, Skyfire said, “Please, I can't-”

“Why not? I know you still want me, and I still want you... Oh, Skyfire.” Starscream moaned shamelessly as Skyfire carefully lowered himself, hovering bare centimechanometers above him. Skyfire was ventilating heavily now, his obvious desire inflaming Starscream’s passion more than anything else.

“Starscream-” said Skyfire weakly, trying to push himself away.

“I've missed you so much.” Starscream leaned up, kissing along Skyfire's shoulder plating. If he could just move a bit higher he could reach what he was after... “I missed your touch.” Skyfire groaned as Starscream ran a finger along one arm's plating. “Please tell me you missed me, too.” He was almost there, now, if only Skyfire hadn't made too many changes to his frame while on Earth...

“Starscream, I – I...”

“I missed you in me. You're so big, you feel so good, please, Skyfire-” Starscream reached his goal. He bit down gently on the leading edge of Skyfire's wing, just behind an air pressure sensor.
Once again he was suddenly pushed down to the floor plating, but this time instead of going for his neck, Skyfire seemed to be going for everywhere else.

“Starscream, Starscream, Starscream-” Skyfire chanted like a litany as he groped and kissed and fondled Starscream's chassis. “I missed, you – mmph- missed you so much.”

Starscream managed to push Skyfire's face away from his wings for just long enough to maneuver himself so that he could kiss Skyfire deeply. Up next to Skyfire’s head, he couldn’t reach Skyfire's interface panel, so instead he drew up a leg and ran one pede along Skyfire's iliac joint, between his leg strut and pelvic unit. Skyfire gasped against his mouth, and grabbed the wandering extremity, stilling its progress. Starscream was about to shake it free, when Skyfire ran one digit along the outside rim of his heel turbine.

Oh. Oh yes. He had forgotten about that little... quirk Skyfire had.

“Skyfire, that tickles,” he said, breaking the kiss and smiling coyly.

“Mmm, you know you love it, Screamer.”

“Don’t call me that.” But Starscream laughed as he spoke, the sound pure and easy, simply happy that Skyfire had finally relaxed enough to joke a bit.

Skyfire pushed himself off, kneeling at Starscream’s pedes. “Primus, you're so beautiful... I had almost forgotten,” he said in a hushed whisper.

“Well, I’ll have to make sure you never forget again.”

“Mmm.” Skyfire lifted a pede gently, and set it in his lap. He ran one digit over the blue dorsal surface. Starscream gave a quiet little cry – mostly for Skyfire's benefit. It did feel good, but he wanted to make sure to reward Skyfire for making the right decision after all. “I missed these, too.” Skyfire leaned down and placed a kiss where his finger had been stroking.

“I still don't see what all the fuss is about,” Starscream teased.

“That's because you've been around seekers all your life. These aren’t anything special to you.” Skyfire lifted the pede again, and kissed the inside of the ankle joint. With a firm touch, he traced over the seams on the pede-plating, making Starscream writhe.

“Skyfire, please,” begged Starscream. He wasn't above a little shameless pleading if it would get the job done. “Please, just do it-”

“All right, if you're that impatient,” said Skyfire. He bent his head and slipped his glossa into Starscream's heel thruster, tracing the inside of the rim.

Starscream shrieked. He had forgotten how good that felt. “Mmm, Skyfire, yes! More!” He almost kicked Skyfire in the nasal plating as he tried to shove his pede closer, to experience more of that wonderful glossa.

“Demanding as usual.” Skyfire's voice was slightly muffled against the bottom of Starscream's pede.

Starscream's other leg kicked out as his sensor net became overwhelmed at the sensations. Now it was no act: he flicked off his optics and tossed his head back and forth, losing himself in the sensations. Every stroke of Skyfire's glossa sent tendrils of energy up his leg strut, which seemed to pool in his pelvic unit. He bucked his hips, but Skyfire quickly grabbed his hip plate with his free hand, stilling him. Skyfire’s fingers delicately stroked the dorsal plating of the pede he held, his large hands able to wrap completely around it, squeezing it in long strokes that started from the top of the arch and continued to the very tip. Starscream’s backstrut arched off of the deck, his mouth open in a soundless cry of pleasure. He switched off his optics, unable to concentrate on his visual feeds while Skyfire was doing that. He raised his other leg and Skyfire caught it, holding both of his pedes effortlessly. Starscream gave a few desultory kicks, but his spark wasn’t in them – and he moaned in pleasure again when they failed to dislodge Skyfire.

Now a blunt thumb was tracing the inside of his other heel, pressing against sensors meant to register minute shifts in air currents and temperatures. The overwhelming sensations coursed upwards along Starscream’s leg plating.

“Skyfire…oh, Skyfire!” he whispered, bringing his hands up to rub at his own wings. He had never met another mech with that obsession, and no other berthmate had ever been able to elicit such sensations just from a little pede fondling.

He gazed up at Skyfire through half-dimmed optics, caressing his own wing-mounted pressure sensors. Each time Skyfire caressed his pede, a wave of sensation and warmth swept over his frame.
This was going to be so much fun.

According to Starscream’s infrared sensors, Skyfire’s core temperature was steadily rising. Every few kliks a shudder would surge through his frame, belying his calm countenance.

“Skyfire,” Starscream said, and reached down to him. Skyfire gently set the pede and leg strut he was working to the deck and leaned forward. As soon as he was within range, Starscream dug his fingers into the seams of Skyfire’s chest plate and tugged.

Skyfire obeyed the implicit command, and moved forward on all fours until he was hovering over Starscream’s chassis. He allowed one arm and leg to fold, so that he could lean over Starscream from the side, his bulk pinning Starscream to the floor, but mostly supported by the deck so that Starscream wasn’t crushed.

Now, plating to plating, Starscream could feel the effect his display had been having – the frame against him was hot, fans and ventilation system working overtime to dump heat, but it wasn’t enough.

Of course it’s not enough. Nothing is enough when it’s me.

Time had not dimmed the memory of how to trigger the armor that protected Skyfire’s interfacing components to retract. The pleading noise Skyfire was making spurred him on, and when he finally released the last catch and slid the armor panel aside, Skyfire’s spike instantly extended into his waiting hand.

“Please, Starscream, please,” Skyfire said, his words muffled against the top of Starscream’s helm.

Starscream gave the spike in his hand an experimental squeeze. Skyfire shouted and bucked. Starscream increased his movements, hands working Skyfire’s systems expertly.

He turned off his optics, reveling in the feel of Skyfire surging and shuddering against him, of the hot metal in his hands, in the knowledge that it was him alone who was bringing Skyfire to this frenzy of passion.

“St-Starscream…you – I c-can’t…I’m going to-”

“Hush.” He reached up, grabbed a pressure sensor on the underside of Skyfire’s wing, and twisted.

Skyfire cried out in pain, and the heat in his hand abated for a moment. This had always been one of Starscream’s favorite games – keeping Skyfire walking the ledge between pleasure and pain, always bringing him back from the brink of overload. Perhaps if he-

“I need you, please.” Skyfire thrust into Starscream’s hand again. “Please, I need you, it’s been so long…”

But there would be plenty of time to play those old games with him when they reached Cybertron. For now, Starscream heard the desperate, lonely, yearning tone in Skyfire’s voice, and he relented.

The latches on his panel snapping open seemed loud, even over the sound of their ventilation systems working at full capacity.

Skyfire groaned and pulled Starscream close, crushing him to his chassis. Then with trembling hands he moved over Starscream, one massive hand wrapped around Starscream’s leg, spreading him wide as he positioned himself.

Starscream lay back, unresisting, allowing himself a lazy smile as he watched Skyfire’s face, watched the emotions chase themselves over his open, guileless features.

“Stop.” The quiet command was all it took. Skyfire froze instantly. No questions asked, no begging, no pleading. The only thing that betrayed how much he wanted Starscream was a quiet, needy noise from his vocoder.

Starscream reached up, caressing the broad face that hovered so close to his own. Skyfire’s blue optics gazed back at him guilelessly. Skyfire had always been trusting and caring; a gentle spark.

He could feel a subtle tremor deep inside Skyfire’s frame. Oh, the waiting was costing him. Even though Starscream was second only to Megatron in power, this sort of power, the power to control such passion was heady. It inflamed his already aroused state to a new intensity. He drew Skyfire’s face even closer to his own.

“’Face me, Skyfire,” he whispered into Skyfire’s audio.

Skyfire made a strangled sort of sound, and suddenly his spike was invading Starscream’s valve. Starscream’s mouth opened in a silent scream. Oh, how he’d missed this!

The stretch was exquisite as Skyfire sank into him, the massive shuttle blocking out the dim light of his quarters. Skyfire’s spike was impressive mostly in girth, and it was able to stimulate all of Starscream’s valve-rim sensors as it moved over them. He allowed his hydraulics in his legs and pelvic unit to depressurize, making his thighs open even wider to completely accept Skyfire between them. He writhed and moaned. Skyfire stopped his movements, completely seated in Starscream’s valve.

“Am I hurting you?”

He felt the question more than heard it, Skyfire’s deep voice resonating through his chassis.

“No, no, keep going…”

There was no more talking – only heat and pressure and Skyfire’s hands everywhere on his body. Starscream chased his own pleasure selfishly, moving his pelvic unit in a rhythm that suited him, knowing that Skyfire would always allow him to take control whenever he demanded it.

Soon the waves of pressure started building up deep within his internals, and his movements grew faulty, but Skyfire’s hands were now beneath him, continuing the rhythm when Starscream could not. He arched beneath Skyfire, hydraulics pressurizing in one long convulsion as energy coursed unrestrained through his systems. Skyfire followed him over the edge a moment later.

They lay quietly together, waiting for plating to cool and internal systems to wind down. Every so often one or the other would shift minutely and then settle, as wings and flaps and ailerons and limbs were arranged into a comfortable position for both.

Skyfire ended up on his back, with Starscream tucked in tight against his shoulder, whispering quiet endearments into one audio. Starscream remembered how much Skyfire had loved this sort of post- coupling silliness, and he found himself wanting to indulge his slave –no, his lover.

“Starscream...” Skyfire said, interrupting. “What now?”

Starscream lay quiet in the dark for a klik, before answering with a lazy lilt to his voice, “What do you mean, 'What now'?”

“What- where do we go from here? What do I... do? I know you want me to, but I won't defect. I'm not a Decepticon.”

“I don't want you to do that.” Starscream folded his arms over Skyfire's chest and cockpit, and rested his head on them, gazing lazily up at Skyfire. “You'll be my slave, of course. In public, at least. I know it's not ideal, but that is what we have to work with right now . And it's only in public.”

“How should I act?”

“Oh, just call me 'Master Starscream'- don't laugh!- and you'll probably have to call other Decepticons 'sir' or something, but it really shouldn't be too onerous. After all, we'll know the truth.”
Skyfire was quiet for several long kliks.

“Do you really think that, Starscream? Do you really think only we will know?”

Starscream lifted his head, frowning. “What do you mean? Why shouldn't it work? Besides, once Megatron sees what a brilliant scientific team we make, he won't care what anyone says about us.”
Skyfire let out a gust of air from his vents. “Cybertron may be altered irreparably, but rumor circuits last forever.”

Starscream experienced a twist of unease deep in his spark as his memory cache immediately supplied him with examples of exactly what Skyfire was talking about. He shoved it ruthlessly down. That wouldn't happen this time.

“But you are forgetting one very important fact, Skyfire.” He lowered his head back down to his arms.

“What is that?” Skyfire's voice was staticky with weariness, and his optics were dim. He was clearly on the cusp of slipping into recharge.

“This is me you’re talking to. I practically won the last battle for Megatron all by myself! I’m second in command of the entire Decepticon army! If anyone says anything, I’ll turn them to slag! That will stop vocoders from getting too loose.”

“If you say so, Starscream.”

“I do say so. And now I say that I want to recharge.”

Starscream’s recharge cycle aborted suddenly. He experienced a moment of disorientation when he felt the large chassis underneath him, but as his memory core rebooted, he relaxed. What had roused him? Then he noticed Skyfire's chassis shaking.

“Mmm, what's wrong?” Starscream and moved up to wrap his arms around Skyfire's neck. Immediately Skyfire turned and held him in a powerful embrace, tucking his head under Starscream's chin. His shaking grew more intense.

Stroking Skyfire's helm grooves in an effort to soothe him, Starscream tried to figure out what was causing this sudden distress. Then it hit him – a noise that he had become accustomed to over the last few orns, that was now ubiquitous in the areas where the Decepticon troops were quartered.

The sound of screaming.

Even though it was likely next door, it was faint, as the plating was very thick between the rooms. Skyfire groaned.

“Please, Starscream, please help him, please-”

“Shush, Skyfire. I can't.”

“You're second in command! Please, please-” Skyfire's voice grew desperate and he clutched at Starscream's chassis.

“I can't do anything right now. Just remember: that won't happen to you. You're mine.”

Skyfire was silent for a moment, but his shaking intensified.

“If – if I ever meant anything to you, if what we had ever meant anything to you, please, please, help him! They’re hurting my friends-”

Cycling his vents in exasperation, Starscream disentangled himself from Skyfire's embrace and scrambled over to the wall in the direction the sounds were coming from. He pounded his fist against the plating three times.

“Hey! Keep it down over there; some of us are trying to recharge!” Starscream heard Skyfire give a strangled little cry behind him. Honestly, what was his problem?

A few nanokliks later the screaming cut off abruptly. Starscream waited, but it did not resume. He made his way back to Skyfire and settled next to him. “There, see? Problem solved.”

Skyfire didn't answer, but as Starscream slipped back into recharge, Skyfire was still shaking.