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earthstellar · 3 years

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TFP Concept Essay: What if the bots had come to Earth and landed in Russia?

Almost a year ago, I posted about a jokey mental image of Ratchet having to wear a giant ushanka if they had landed in Russia because he’s an old bot and would be more prone to cold metal fatigue, but it got me thinking:

What if the Cybertronians had made contact on Earth in Russia, and not the USA?

Why Russia?

Both continents would be appealing from a landing standpoint; The USA and Russia both cover a massive amount of land, so even without knowledge of human national borders, it’s safe to assume that the areas on the globe that would look the most appealing may very well be:

-North American Continent

-Russia/Eastern Europe

-African Continent

Now, without knowledge of human national borders, many other parts of Europe, South America, etc. may have also seemed like good options at first, Brazil and Mexico come to mind, but we need to establish what Cybertronians would be looking at in terms of terrain and population risk.

We can assume that Cybertronians didn’t have prior information on the actual life, society, and general human construction on Earth because the bots (while they have been on Earth long enough to have at least cursory knowledge of humans) still act as though humanity is a bit novel to them.

A lot of information would not have been available to them outside of Earth’s orbit or atmosphere, and by the time they were in atmosphere, a decision would have to be made quickly based on relative proximity and what data they could scan for within that possibly very limited amount of time.

Nevada, USA likely seemed appealing because it has mountainous and flat terrain in large swathes, with few largely inhabited areas especially near old nuclear testing sites (some radiation may have appeared on any scans they were capable of performing once in-atmosphere and that ambient radiation may have obscured the radiation that they themselves generate as we know sparks emit radioisotopes), making it a good option if they happened to wind up over North America and had to make a quick call.

(All of this assumes that they had some control over where they landed; It may have been the situation that their ship was damaged enough that they just had to end up wherever they ended up, in which case, they just as easily could have wound up making contact in Russia anyway.)

This isn’t to ignore the suggestion that Cybertronians had prior, ancient involvement with Earth in some capacity. In fact, that’s a big part of why I think Russia is a reasonable place for them to go.

-We know Unicron’s energy was deposited into or directly forms the core of Earth. This is explained, albeit quickly, that at some point in Earth’s early history, when Unicron was expelled from Cybertron, his life force ended up on Earth.

-Would Earth have still been Pangea at that time? What did the continental layout of Earth look like when Unicron’s energy nestled into the planet?

-Assuming Unicron’s impact with Earth was not the meteor that killed the dinosaurs, which in the TFP universe it may well have been given the timeline of Cybertron relative to Earth, let’s instead assume continental drift had already occurred.

-Russia is well known for perma-frost and preserved biological life in layers going back centuries. I have a great visual concept of Unicron’s dark energon appearing as purple or black layers of ice, settled unseen and unnoticed under the ground.

-We also know energon is naturally occuring, in a crystalline, mineral like form. Just like Nevada, USA, many parts of Russia have a similar history of mineral mines and crystal mines, so the actual potential for energon crystals to grow is definitely equal if not arguably better in Russia as there is far more variety of geological conditions across Russia as a nation than there is across Nevada as a state.

-To better explain the above idea, Czech could also be an energon deposit area, as we know Czech crystal and mineral mines are very successful which is why they are able to produce so much garnet, and even garnet of different varieties. Red garnet and the rarer black garnet. We can assume energon and dark energon would form crystals similar, but not exactly the same, and we know that Central and Eastern Europe have very good geological conditions for this already in real life!

Compare red garnet with energon, and black garnet with dark energon; Similar structures but very different end results:

Notice also how energon crystals seem to form in clusters like plain quartz, which is the second most abundant mineral in Earth’s crust:

We can assume that because the crystal structures of quartz and energon are so similar, that energon may have the geological ability to thrive and be harvested from most areas on Earth in a similar fashion, so this doesn’t necessarily rule out other appealing continents/areas, either!

But it’s not unreasonable to believe that when coming into atmosphere, the Cybertronian ship tech would likely pick up recognisable energy signatures before managing to process other purely Earth-native data. In doing so, they may notice concentrations of energon and dark energon in Central and Eastern Europe, or perhaps contaminated dark energon from Unicron’s initial contact with Earth within the terrain or perma-frost areas (where applicable), and decide to head towards those regions as fuel will be easier to find and closer to any base they might be able to establish.

What if Decepticons land first?

The above section also assumes the Autobots are the first to reach Earth; If the Decepticons were to arrive first, I have no doubt that they would head for any concentrations of dark energon as commanded by Megatron. Countries with larger land mass and older long-lived terrain may have a higher concentration than other areas.

For example, Florida would be a bad place for them to look for energon or dark energon deposits in the USA as the state isn’t that far above seawater and erosion is a huge problem, so there is likely very little dark energon concentrated in the actual land. No significant deposits would be found as there isn’t enough actual ground to contain all that much, compared to other places that may have mountains, hills, ice, valleys, etc. that may accumulate such materials over time significantly better and with higher concentration/overall quantity. This is why other peninsulas, islands, or coastal/water heavy areas like the Mediterranean or Holland may not be as appealing to the Decepticons.

Back to searching for the right spot...

Looking for a place to land, Central Europe, although with good crystal potential, may not look like as good of an option, due to population density that would become evident once better scans were available. Rural areas in a lot of Central European countries are still relatively small in comparison to slightly more north on the map, where rural Russian areas may afford larger spaces to work with, proximity to a wider range of supplies, afford a degree of secrecy, and there may be complexes or materials that could be easily stripped or repurposed that wouldn’t impact on native human life or communities/wouldn’t draw much attention.

And remember what I said about radiated areas possibly affording cover for their own naturally emitted radioisotopes which may otherwise be detected by human instrumentation; Russia has a similar history of radiological site contamination to that in Nevada, USA-- And not just Chernobyl, which also irradiated Belarus as well as Ukraine, but there’s also Mayak/Kyshtym/Lake Karachay and the surrounding East Urals irradiation, among a few other sites. It might be an appealing factor for them to consider when choosing somewhere to land.

(I don’t want to skim over the fact that people do live in the these affected areas; I highly suggest you research into this if you’re reading this and have never heard of those sites. There used to be a fundraiser for people living in and around Mayak as well as an awareness effort, but I’m unsure of where that link/website has gone. If I find it again, I will link it. For now, here is a documentary/interview series with local people; Please be aware it may be upsetting, but their voices deserve to be heard if you think you can handle it.)

Once landed, they could also survey more, and consider their options. Russia has a lot of rural space in some areas, and plenty of very appealing abandoned sites that could possibly be converted into functional bases when supplemented with metal and other materials collected from other similar abandoned industry areas or factories etc., which would spare them the need to actually make their own; They could just re-use the raw material, whatever’s usable, and if necessary look for better cover.

Russia has tons of biomes/terrain types:

So they have options. We know in TFP that extreme cold does impact Cybertronians, so tundra and more northern arctic territory would be ruled out, but I can easily see them going for a rural abandoned industrial site in a forested area, which would provide significant visual cover, likely areas already cleared out by previous industry in a given area, and minimal chance of discovery by humans depending on specifically where they end up.

How would Cybertronian-Human alliances go down?

A big difference in approach to setting up a base would be the Russian government/forces, and the reaction to the Autobot arrival.

In TFP, the bots work directly with the USA Air Force/Army, and the base seems to be primarily US Army operated. Their existence and the operations at their base may well be hidden from the wider USA Federal government for the most part at least, possibly using the already secretive clustered Nevada sites as a cover and making the Autobots something of an internal local operation or “quiet site”, which would fit what we see on screen generally speaking. We don’t really get a lot of clarification on this part of things.

But what would the reaction of the Russian government/Army be to discovering the Autobots?

We know that Russian national forces are very, very capable of defending their air space. It’s unlikely if not impossible that a Cybertronian ship would go undetected or unnoticed, if not immediately then at least within. Seismic data is often monitored and reported as well, so the actual impact of landing may trigger an alert record to be sent to the relevant people, who can escalate those reports.

Think about Japanese tsunami/earthquakes or West Coast USA earthquakes, and how quickly public alerts and operations are put underway, even before physical effects are felt. Most nations have at least some similar system in place, sometimes to detect earthquakes, others to detect suspected weapons impacts.

We can safely assume that even if they were remote and under as much cover as possible, it wouldn’t be long before Russian forces were involved, and therefore the Russian government.

I won’t comment on the politics of other nations, although I am very open to hearing from Russian people about their take on this, but it is very possible that the initial engagement would go one of two ways:

1) Defensive Conflict

2) Attempted Diplomatic Resolution

I don’t believe conflict would be immediate, because of the sheer physical intimidation and surprise factors. Nobody expects to find giant robot aliens, and there may be immediate challenges surrounding basics like verbal communication (have the Autobots learned human language, in this case Russian, by the time of their discovery?) and so on. This may complicate first contact, as it would anywhere.

I don’t know if resolution would be reached, as I think it’s likely that the Russian govt would like to weaponize or manipulate the Autobots, use them to intimidate other nations (”look, we have giant robot aliens”), or upon learning of the Russian government or after becoming more aware of the political/social mood amongst Russian citizens if they encounter any communities and perform low key intelligence gathering for a better idea of the local humans, seeing material conditions in some of these more rural areas, after obtaining historical or current socio-political data, etc., Optimus or others may simply decide they don’t wish to work with the government and attempt to peacefully decline, thus issuing diplomatic ultimatums (similar to the back and forth that occurs when trying to establish treaty agreements).

I’d like to note here that I think the Autobots likely had to have a similar discussion with the USA govt, as I think the US Army would have initially had a very similar thought process. I get the feeling Optimus made it clear he wouldn’t be manipulated and wouldn’t be caught up in other conflict(s)/fight human battles.

However, this would be their first experience with human government, as this would be their first contact. They may well assume that this is representative of how things work on Earth until they have the chance to learn otherwise, and in an attempt to be diplomatic, Optimus might cooperate until it becomes clear that it isn’t a good fit, and how the Russian government would handle the subsequent conversation would be anyone’s guess. (Again, Russian people, please tell me what you think!)

Ultimately, either USA or Russian governments would likely want to at least not ruin diplomatic relations with a space-faring, seemingly extremely powerful alien species. Sometimes that’s what it comes down to, and that would be enough, although conflict could arise here and there, like when we see Agent Fowler have to defend the Autobots to his superiors.

Episode / Scene Concepts

I have an excellent image of further down the line, however, where things are smoothed over or at least tenuously managed with the Russian govt (perhaps an allotted small autonomous zone for the bots to create their base in with minimal interference, under certain conditions)... There could be so much potential for some great episodes with human interaction with the bots.

-A great episode of just creating the base, figuring out what’s around, gives us a look at where they are in Russia and who’s nearby, we could see some pretty beautiful shots of abandoned Soviet tech and sites being repurposed and revitalised (with Russian designs remaining evident in the final base construction, just with Cybertronian flair). Maybe within the Autobot Autonomous Zone we would even see locals engaging with the process after the initial shock...

I have an image of Ratchet arguing with an old Russian engineer, and it goes on for a while until the engineer explains to Ratchet that working with scarce resources in less than ideal conditions isn’t exactly new to them, and they might have some valuable tips for working under such conditions. Ratchet comes to respect the engineer after they work together to create a functional power network made from old factory components, a few turbines from an old textile workshop, power generators from abandoned Soviet sites, and power poles made from disused radar systems.

They relate to each other after they get to talking while cleaning up the rest of the work, and it turns out both of them have similar concerns about the futures of their respective peoples, and have some degree of depression over what they feel they may have lost forever to political games and wars beyond their control, sharing some memories with each other. The engineer is their first local human ally.

-Russian kids stumbling upon the bots! I’d love to see parallels to the American TFP kids. Miko from Yakutia would be the best, and I believe I talked about that with someone on here months ago. I still love the idea.

-Who would the Agent Fowler character be? He’s listed as being a US Army Ranger, and I’m not sure what the equivalent rank would be in the Russian Army. Google tells me that the equivalent would be a Spetsnaz role, but I am unfamiliar with Russian Army structure, or how personnel might be allocated to the proposed Autobot Autonomous Zone or “secret city” realistically.

It would be good to get an episode where the Agent or equivalent character first meets the Autobots, and how expectations differ from reality. Maybe over time we see a crisis of conscious with this character, where they initially start out as keeping an eye on things for the government, but slowly become friends with the Autobots and wish to engage more genuinely with them and the other humans who may be involved.

-An episode where Optimus realises they need to learn more about these humans to work with them more effectively, and sets everyone on tasks related to cultural reconnaissance.

Optimus studies the literature and history of Russia, and has perhaps some spicy takes. Arcee goes on a drive and has fun going up and down hills in Vladivostok, then races a Trans-Siberian Railway train back and takes note of what the people inside the train are doing. Bulkhead explores cultural identity with Yakutian!Miko.

Ratchet looks into human medicine and is fascinated by Russian folk medicine and goes on a rant about Soviet spa/sanitorium treatment programs. Ultra Magnus delves into Russian law and almost burns out his processor. Wheeljack explores some industrial sites and studies the detonation techniques of Russian construction workers, comparing their casual conversations to those between him and fellow Wreckers.

Bumblebee finds an old radio station and uncovers some extremely good bops. Smokescreen discovers Russian dash cam videos and gets pulled over for trying to recreate one.

Phew! Initial post done!

There might be more in the future as I love this idea, but I’d equally love to hear from Russian TFP fans: What do you think? What episodes or scenes do you think would be fun or interesting? Is there anything you’d like to add or change?

Please add whatever you’d like, and if anything I said above comes across as uninformed, I encourage you to correct me or pitch other ideas if you would be so kind as to take the time to do so. :)

#tfp #transformers #transformers prime #optimus prime #headcanon #concept #tf #maccadam #maccadams #russian transformers #tf ratchet #smokescreen #arcee #bulkhead #miko nakadai #tfp miko #wheeljack #ultra magnus

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libermachinae · 4 years

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Tags: Teen and Up Audiences, Major Character Death, M/M, Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime, Dreadwing/Optimus Prime, Optimus Prime, Dreadwing (Transformers), Skyquake (Transformers), Post-Predacons Rising (Prime Movie), Canonical Character Death, dead characters meeting in the afterlife, Mutual Pining, Enemies to Lovers, speed version, First Kiss, DreadOP Day Word Count: 3148 Summary: Deep in the Well, Optimus runs into a familiar face. Twice over, in fact. Notes: DreadOP Day, you say? 👀 No way I wasn’t going to put something together for this.

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Heat.

Like the friction experienced by a meteor hurtling down, destined to expire, Optimus flew into the light at the center of his world and felt welcome.

His Autobots had stood under many foreign stars and held under lights curious, interrogative, and revealing, but he knew none would ever hold such presence or penetrate so deeply as the one they all emerged from. It sunk into the seams between plating, prying and leveraging until the gaps yawned and with a click, the excess plating fell away.

And he was a protoform again: delicate mesh and wires and struts exposed to the impossible light. It was in him, sinking between the atoms of his body until they shivered and shook, dancing away from each other. Metal melted, edges dulling and structures collapsing, and drop by drop Optimus felt it all fall away, one billion beads sprinkling away like shards of glass in a night sky.

There was no pain. Not here. Optimus stepped out of his body while it was still partially solid and let all of it fall away, into an abyss he could not see against the light.

And from there he had no way to tell which direction was which, or if he was still moving. All he knew was light, to such an extent that it took him another moment to realize he was seeing it, that even without a body the world around him persisted. He pressed in on himself, felt it out. He considered his name. Time passed, as he explored the boundless confines of his new existence, and he considered for a time whether he might try to close his eyes, or let the light pull him micron by micron into eternity.

As it turned out, he did not need to worry so much about his choice. Time finished passing (which, if he recalled correctly, was not in the nature of the thing, and yet) and he saw a point, what he could only describe as a single unit of contrast against the light. Its darkness grounded him, reminding him who he was and where he had come from (though not for how long he had been away) and he endeavored to draw himself to it by mechanisms it did not occur to him to consider closely.

It was a point, then a spot, then a dot. It developed variation in its tone, darker splotches on the bottom that developed into shadows, its squirming edges sharpening into corners. It took on dimensions, stretched, vertical expanding while the horizontal stayed squashed. Lighter grey tones highlighted the darker: reflections, though he could not tell their source, when every particle between here and there blasted the same white light.

Still, somehow, shadows slid and clipped together, and forming the façade of a simple Cybertronian house. Minimal decorations outside and the windows were closed, but still it had the appearance of a place lived in: a couple of oil cans sat on the front porch, behind two steps that led down to empty, and in one of the upper windows he thought he saw the shine of aged crystal growths. There was also noise coming from inside, voices too dulled to understand.

Directly in front of the building now, he could not see either side and so did not know how far back it extended. He had the impression, though, it was a comfortable size. Only as big as the space its occupants needed, no room for unwanted excess.

His momentum carried him the rest of the way, until he could place his pede on the first step and walk up to the door on his own. He did not need to send a ping, which was a lucky thing, since his comm suite had fallen away with the rest of his processor. The door slid open for him, and he stepped inside.

The gray shading of the exterior persisted inside, clear shadows that built around him the image of a home almost like what one would have found on Cybertron before the war. The metal walls were painted with a matte finish, the seams between them cut with delicate patterns of straight lines and right angles. Like the door, the entry way was large enough to accommodate him twice over, a feature of lower caste residences, but he could feel the hum of complicated circuitry throughout the foundation, optimization the caliber of which only the upper caste could have afforded.

“Optimus!” He startled at the noise. “Stop staring at my walls and come in.”

He stepped walked down the main hallway and turned at the first open door. Within was a sitting room, a couch on one end with a table and chairs closer. Two identical figures sat there, a cube of energon in front of each of them with a third before an empty chair.

“Well?” Dreadwing asked. Skyquake said nothing but stared at the intruder.

“Am I welcome?” He did not know what this place was or what it meant for him to have found himself here, but it clearly belonged to Dreadwing and Skyquake both. He had no wish to insert himself somewhere he did not belong.

“My brother has been waiting for you,” Skyquake said. “It seems that somehow, in the months I missed, you managed to gain his respect.”

Optimus glanced at Dreadwing.

“I would be honored if that were so,” he said.

Dreadwing’s lips twitched and his helm tilted to the empty chair. So much of the way they had spoken to each other in life had been based on the unspoken, it was no surprise it would continue here, where they were stripped to their purest elements.

Optimus stepped inside and took the seat. Sitting here, he faced the windows, but even through the cracks in the shade none of that overwhelming light came through. In here, it was peaceful, comfortable, like it had been designed with the intention that they might stay here for some time.

Dreadwing raised his cube to his mouth.

“How did it happen?” he asked around the rim.

“I sacrificed myself,” Optimus said. “The Allspark was at risk, so I drew it into my own frame and returned it to its rightful place.”

“Then the Well is back online?” Skyquake asked.

“Yes. Cybertron will awaken to new life once more.” He smiled, imagining new beings waking up, drawing themselves to the surface of a world that was theirs to build upon. He wished he could have been there to see it, but with his Autobots to guide them, he knew the next generation would be well looked after.

“And the war?” Dreadwing asked.

“Megatron followed your path, actually,” Optimus said, turning to his former assassin. “He renounced the cause and turned his back on his army. He will not be back.”

But Dreadwing’s lips curled down, and he set the energon back on the table with force. It seemed he had drunk none.

“Do not compare me to Megatron,” Dreadwing said. “He made a mockery of a cause we dedicated our lives to fighting for. I betrayed the Decepticons because to continue supporting them would have gone against my beliefs. If he simply left, then the Decepticons remain a flawed entity, and there is no honor in abandoning something one has the power to change.”

Optimus listened and nodded along.

“I will refrain, if that is what you prefer,” he said. “But if the Decepticons are as far gone as you say, are you sure it is still possible for anyone to change them from within?”

“Megatron could,” Skyquake said. “If any force in the universe were powerful enough, it would be him.”

And Optimus found he could not argue with that, so he nodded and attempted to take a sip of the energon he had been given. It tasted like energon, and he felt the impression of it moving down his intake, but the cube itself did not seem to drain. No matter how long he drank, it seemed to stay at the same level.

So curious he was about the phenomenon that he did not realize how long his silence had passed before he heard snickering. He lowered the cube and looked around: both twins were laughing at him.

“This place operates on its own rules,” Dreadwing explained. “Too many to bother explaining in detail. You will find discrepancies and you will adapt, and eventually it will become as natural as life once was.”

“So, this is death?” Optimus confirmed.

Dreadwing tilted his helm, first to one side, then the other.

“Something like it,” he said. “You will find the specifics don’t matter so much. We are here.”

“And occasionally we are not,” Skyquake said, rising from his seat. His cube, also full, remained on the table.

“You’re leaving?” Optimus asked.

“Stepping out,” Skyquake corrected. “My brother has been looking forward to your arrival.” He grinned, and Optimus turned to catch Dreadwing’s reaction. Too late: his expression had already shifted back to annoyed-neutral.

“I suppose so,” Optimus said. “Your revenge has been achieved, after all. though unfortunately not by your hand.” It was easier than he might have expected to make light of his own demise, or the effort both these mechs had expended to hasten him toward it. Perhaps such things dimply did not matter so much, here on the other side of the Well.

“You think my mission was for revenge?” Dreadwing asked, leaning forward on the table. “For what? Skyquake’s death was just another in a long line of our being separated by Cybertronians who thought themselves worthy of making such decisions. It was a question of honor, Optimus: Skyquake was denied an honorable death, and as his kin it was my responsibility to secure that honor in his name.” He traced patterns on the table as he spoke, like he was drawing the concept of honor and the way it could be passed around like energon siphoned between lines.

“In my estimation, you did,” he said. He glanced at Skyquake. “If you are unsatisfied, though, I would be willing to duel again.”

“Perhaps,” Skyquake said. “If Dreadwing decides you are worthy enough to stay.” He gave them a short bow, then ducked away, disappearing into the same hall Optimus had entered from. He heard a door activate elsewhere and was not sure whether it was to the exterior of the house. It didn’t seem there was anywhere to go out there, but then, he still had a great deal to learn about this place.

He turned back to his remaining host.

“He seemed to imply that I’m being tested,” he pointed out.

“Somewhat,” Dreadwing said, leaning back in his chair. Optimus didn’t think he had ever seen the Decepticon lieutenant comfortable before.

“What is your determination so far?” Optimus asked.

The corners of Dreadwing’s lips pulled up. A grin wasn’t the right work for it, nor a smirk; it was the attempt of a mech who had never tried to form a single cordial relationship in his life to look friendly.

“You are entirely too optimistic, Optimus,” he said. “Don’t you remember the last time we spoke?”

“You handed over the Omega Keys and offered us an opportunity to revive Cybertron under Autobot control,” Optimus said. He could never forget it: the memory often replayed in the last few moments before he fell into recharge.

“I also refused to join your cause or leave my own,” Dreadwing pointed out. “We were enemies for most of our lives, Optimus.”

“And now all those matters rest in our past,” Optimus said. He gestured to the window, though he had no idea which direction the living world lay in. “Cybertron lives again, headed toward a peace founded on the same ideals you fought for. We may not be able to witness it, but we can know that all of our actions, battles fought and sacrifices made, were building to this end.” He glanced to the hallway. “Perhaps it is bold of me to assume, but I feel it worthwhile to ask: have you found happiness?”

He looked back. Dreadwing was watching him, that forced smile eased into something more natural for his handsome face.

“There is no simple way to answer such a question,” he said.

“We have time,” Optimus pointed out. He stood from his chair, taking a moment to look around the room. It was a utilitarian space, but there were a few decorations that betrayed some sentimentality on the part of its owners: image displays on the walls, a mantle with a collection of = stones from other worlds, and a tin of wax that had been left out all contributed to a personal feeling that allowed Optimus to relax a bit more.

For Dreadwing and Skyquake, this place was home, and they had welcomed him into it. Whatever hostility might remain between them, nothing could overshadow that fact.

He made his way to the couch, its back against the windows, and sat down. It was comfortable, though he had no way to know whether that was because of the strange magic of this place, the make of the furniture itself, or the fact that he no longer had a body in which to feel discomfort. Dreadwing remained at the table, and he watched Optimus as he settled, helm rested on one hand.

“I wished to live to see Cybertron’s revival,” Dreadwing said. “I wished to watch if from the air once more, the way its inhabitants moved as if in a perpetual dance.” His hand moved across the surface of the table, imitating traffic. “I was assigned to energon drilling, and occasionally tasked with passing rapid communication between facilities. It was during my flights I started to get a sense of how truly large Cybertron is, and how much was being denied to me and others of my caste.”

“I had a similar experience,” Optimus said. “While working in the archives, I would receive data that indicated a much wider world than I had experienced myself. Until Alpha Trion’s intervention I had no means to reach beyond.”

“So, you understand what a gift it is to behold Cybertron as it lives,” Dreadwing said. “Not everyone does. But I digress, I did not live to witness it, and so in that way I do not know if I can call what I have here happiness. How can I claim a peaceful afterlife if I did not first achieve that which I desired in life?”

It was a valid question. But by the way his wings relaxed down, and how he gazed at Optimus with a look like a familiar friend, it seemed Dreadwing already knew the answer.

“I have spent more consecutive days with Skyquake here than I ever did in life,” he said, ducking his optics. His voice was gentler suddenly, as though speaking too loudly would make his joy obvious and break the spell. “It is what I imagined security must feel like. We part ways, and I know he will always come back; neither of us will ever be forced to choose to leave the other. Even if we had lived to see Cybertron again, any number of things could have intervened to separate us. To exist without that fear is, I believe, what happiness might feel like.”

“Then I am happy for you, old friend,” Optimus said. He smiled and hoped Dreadwing recognized his sincerity.

There was a beat of contemplation, and then Dreadwing stood and approached, broadcasting his movements before he made them. Optimus was not sure the sofa would be wide enough for both of them, but when Dreadwing sat the space was perfect, just wide enough that their knees could have touched, though Optimus kept his own drawn in for now.

“And you?” Dreadwing asked.

“Hm?”

“What will it take for you to find your happiness here?” He was facing forward, but Optimus still got the sense he was being paid attention to.

He turned over the question for a moment, inspecting it, though not too closely. He trusted the Allspark would do him no harm, which meant he trusted Dreadwing and his questions, and wanted to give them as honest an answer as he could fathom.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “It’s not something I’ve considered in a very long time.” This was a good start, though. Knowing that Dreadwing had made it here and found peace gave him hope. He had lived a long life and done so much; he was ready for a place where he could rest.

“If you leave here and wander a bit,” Dreadwing gestured behind them, toward the window, “you will find the Pious Pools, as they were before the channel was blown up and they were drained. Perhaps a walk will give you guidance?”

Optimus misunderstood him.

“Anywhere I could go with you would be a gift.”

That wasn’t a bad thing, though.

By the time Optimus realized Dreadwing had meant for him to go on his own, the latter was already watching him with a smile on his face like it had snuck on and was hiding from him. He leaned closer, hand up to trace a delicate claw over Optimus’ audial.

“If we had lived,” he said, “would you have walked with me then? There was a trail from the lower end of Staniz that led up into the foothills, a dented trail formed by the weight of all the mechs who walked it. A mile out, the city disappeared, and the wind would blow so strong it would threaten to knock you over and send you tumbling back the way you had come. Would you have preserved that path while the rest of Staniz was restored? Would you have walked it with me, allowed me to hold you against the strength of our planet?”

“Why would it not have been me holding you?” Optimus asked, and then what must have been lips, warm lips, were pressed to his own.

He shut off his optics, leaned in, chased Dreadwing when he started to pull away. It did not matter that they were without frames: they kissed, held each other, phantom plating slotting together. Dreadwing had a scent and Optimus locked onto it, archived it, saved it to what might have been the fabric of the Well itself. He trailed his fingers along a ghostly wing and felt a shiver run through Dreadwing, strong enough to break them apart and force their optics back online.

They stared at each other, panting. Optimus did not know his mouth was still open and he wouldn’t have cared regardless.

“You’re beautiful,” he blurted.

And Dreadwing smiled, and there was no fleeing from it, no hiding. He smiled at Optimus, and happiness no longer seemed like such an unknowable thing.

“The wonders of life yet to be lived,” he murmured. And then he kissed Optimus again.

#maccadam #transformers #tfp #dreadop #optimus prime #dreadwing #my writing #oneshot #wanna share it with you #im gonna sleeb now

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the-odd-job · 3 years

Text

Harem AU Chapter 11 - How’s the Heart?

Rating: Explicit Warnings: Rape/Non-Con Category: Other Fandom: Transformers Relationships: Megatron/Sunstreaker, Megatron/Sideswipe, Sideswipe/Starscream, Sideswipe/Starscream/Megatron/Sunstreaker Characters: Megatron, Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, Starscream, Skywarp, Twin Twist, Topspin, Unnamed Characters Additional Tags: Hurt & Comfort, Referenced Orgy, Public Sex, Rape, Sticky, Deepthroat, Coercion, Mindgames, Sex Related Injury Words: 12857

Fair winds, my love Fly towards the calm Fly utterly lost Towards a beating heart, a beating heart

How is that heart Underneath the silence? How is the one Drowning in the mire?

— Nightwish – How's the Heart?

( Previous )

They’d found their way to their own cots at the back of the room at some point during the night. The memories were hazy, again, exhaustion muddling their thoughts, but it had to have happened after the damn signal was turned off.

At least… At least Megatron had somewhat lost interest in them after he’d come in Sideswipe’s mouth. He had waved them off to the side and called other, more obedient members of the harem to see to him—using their mouths, having them ride his spike, kissing them, everything and anything, and the lot of looked like they were enjoying themselves as they practically (and sometimes literally) kissed the damned mech’s pedes.

But somewhat forgotten, the twins had slipped off the berth, only to collapse onto the floor, unable to overcome the weakness in their limbs from too many overloads, from too great arousal, from too much emotion.

The other mates, not called to the dais, came for them, gently guiding them from the floor and onto the cots where they welcomed them with open arms, ignored Sunstreaker’s growls and Sideswipe’s pleas and used their valves, their spikes—relieved them with murmurs of how it was okay, there was no need to fight it, how they should just let go and listen to their crazed protocols. Because what else could they do?

There were overloads. So many of them, the stench of lubricant and transfluid so heavy he was surprised the air hadn’t dripped.

Primus. He wasn’t even sure which was worse, Megatron or the other mates. Megatron was cruel, uncaring, only interested in what they could give him and how he could have exactly what he wanted. The mates, they veiled their rape in kindness, like they were helping, guiding them into an awakening—and they had helped, because he wasn’t sure their systems wouldn’t have entirely burned out if they’d tried to fight their arousal, the protocols, for too long. The mates had helped them dispel some of that, enough of it that it didn’t straight up kill them.

But all of it had been… So unwanted. And after their frames had tired too much, it had turned into a dream, out of focus—or what he’d wished was just a dream. A very, very bad dream disguised in a good one, a pleasurable one, the kind that you could overload from without any external stimulus.

It wasn’t a dream, though, and he couldn’t deny it had happened—not with the harem wing still surrounding them with its warm colors, smell of all permeating interface, the berthroom with its many cots… And the other mates. There were contended rumbles coming from elsewhere in the room, satiated cuddling, quiet laughter… Everyone spent in the best—worst—of ways. Even the frag crazed fraggers the mates were, were calm for the time. No one was interfacing, just… Enjoying the afterglow.

And he couldn’t deny the afterglow himself. His frame was buzzing pleasantly, the damned protocols that had been so wholly turned against him now laying dormant, disinterested in the way of being fully sated, thanking him for all the attention he’d given them.

Without wanting to.

They sat on their cot, the one closer to the wall, their backs to the rest of the room, trying to forget everyone else and everything they had done to them. Sideswipe was fiddling with his servos, scraping his claws together, his spark spinning too fast.

Sunstreaker sat, elbows on his knees and his helm clutched in his servos.

It wasn’t fine. None of it was fine, no matter what the other mates said. Sideswipe was hurting so badly, unable to shake off the memories Megatron had brought to the forefront to break his resistance. My Lord.

Pits. Everything he’d been made to do under his own power, to show respect he didn’t feel, didn’t want to give. Made to wait there, in the solitude and quiet of Megatron’s berthroom for when the tyrant would come back and abuse him some more, never knowing when that would be or what it would bring.

Fuel and relative freedom dangled in front of him to force him to cooperate.

He couldn’t believe Sideswipe wasn’t crying as those memories spun around in his helm, joined by the ones from last night

Sunstreaker wasn’t sure he was feeling much better, even if tears were beyond him too. Everything Megatron had done… During the time he’d spent alone with him, then the relief of several days of nothing, only for that to be… Shattered.

Denied an overload, so aroused he thought he might die from it—denied, until he spoke the things Megatron wanted.

He couldn’t believe, now, that he’d given in so easily, that he’d thanked that monster, that he’d asked for his spike… How could he have been so desperate? The memory of the need in his frame surely didn’t compare to what it was like in the moment, but still he couldn’t believe it.

Never again. Could he promise that much to himself? Promise that he’d never again thank him, never again beg for him?

He wanted to, but his spark cracked with the almost certain knowledge that anything he would promise, any resistance he could offer… That Megatron would only break it, one way or another.

It hurt. It hurt in both of them, and the pain echoed between them, bouncing back and forth until it didn’t matter whose it was. It was theirs. Their pain over the hell they’d gotten stuck in.

How he missed Iacon and its gutters, the low life of scraping by—it was so much better than this.

But it had had its risks and its dangers, and they had fallen victim to those, only to end up in here.

They were rested now. Low on energon, but rested, and their fuel levels would be easily fixed if they dragged themselves to the dining hall. It was hard to find the will to move, though—easier to get caught up in their looping thoughts.

Starscream, too. He was a peculiar one. By all appearances… What? What was he? It was like he hated wasting time on them, but from the beginning he had taken the role of showing them around, showing them their place, telling them what they needed to do and how they needed to do it—performing the near administrative tasks like giving them their language files and asking what they were good for.

And yesterday… Acting as if he was keeping the harem itself safe, forcing them to please Megatron when they would have fought—why did he do that? Because Megatron was in a mood, and that made him more dangerous than usual?

What was Starscream’s role in all of this? It was like he was the secondary leader of the harem. Was there a pecking order, then, one that Starscream was at the very top of, only bowing to Megatron and… The other free mechs, probably. It didn’t look like Starscream was free in any shape or form. He lived and fucked in the harem just like the rest of them, only ever briefly leaving—always returning.

Did Starscream care enough, despite the appearance he put forth, that he was intent on keeping the harem members safe? And he was likely the one who had started the event chain that had led Sunstreaker to have his drawing tablet. Maybe Megatron needed to have approved that, but wasn’t it Starscream who had asked what they did, and said he’d made note of it?

The one who had likely brought it up with Megatron, made the request?

It was as confusing as the rest of what the mates did and how they acted.

Once again they could hear thrusters hitting the floor with every step, approaching them, but when they turned to look it was Skywarp, not Starscream. He was carrying two cubes and smiled at them when he had their attention. “I figured you’d be as hungry as the rest of us! Here,” he said, offering both of the cubes to them.

Sideswipe took them a bit automatically, blinking at them only after they were both in his servos already.

Sunstreaker could feel him shrugging mentally before he passed one of the cubes to him. It appeared their contents were identical, down to their warmth and flavor

“Thanks,” Sideswipe murmured quietly before taking a sip. As usual, the energon was fragging delicious, and as full of energy as midgrade just could be. Sunstreaker followed suit and began to drink his own, giving his frame the fuel it very much needed.

“You’re welcome! And thanks for last night, by the way. Megatron wasn’t in the best of moods, but you really took the edge off him,” Skywarp carried on, rocking on his heels and looking like he genuinely meant what they said.

Had they taken one for the team or something?

They were quiet for a moment, drinking their energon, trying to… Trying to forget Skywarp’s participation in all of last night, before Sideswipe spoke up with their question. “What could have happened, if he was in a bad mood?”

Skywarp glanced away from them, his wings flicking like he was… Uncomfortable. Well, that was a first.

But it probably said something about what Megatron could do when he was in a mood. “Nothing good,” Skywarp responded at length, shaking his helm. “He doesn’t always take it out on us or anything, but someone else out there might feel it before he comes to us.”

Out there. In the freedom.

And it was Skywarp admitting that Megatron sometimes mistreated them—by the sounds of it, even those that behaved themselves.

So had last night gone well, considering they hadn’t lost limbs or had any physical parts broken? That Megatron had just raped them?

The twins shared a glance. They’d known, at least on some level, that Megatron was dangerous. Of course he was! He was fragging strong in all ways, powerful, and far too good at twisting everything into his favor… But Free Cybertron painted him as temperamental too, on top of being cruel as he had already proven to be.

They, though, had mostly seen him smug, amused, in control. Very few traces of any temper, any anger, no matter how they’d pushed.

But it was still there, wasn’t it? Under the surface, all the time. Were they lucky they hadn’t come to the receiving end of it? Probably.

And… Now what? Was it their job to bring the tyrant down from his more dangerous spells? That of the mates? Just… Frag him until he had burned out his anger and frustrations?

Sideswipe bit his lip; Sunstreaker shook his helm. Some lot in life that was.

They had to get out.

----------------------------------------------------

They eventually dragged themselves to the washracks and took their sweet time making the most of the facilities provided for them, ridding themselves of the signs of the orgy, the countless pain transfers, scuffs, dried fluids inside and out. With the amount of imperfections it was going to be a long process anyway, but they lengthened it further for their own enjoyment.

They had no reason not to. Take what they could, use it to prop themselves up, until they were out of here.

Even if they were no closer to finding a way out. But it didn’t matter how long it took. It didn’t matter.

One day, they’d make it out.

In the meantime, in between working towards that one singular goal, they finished touching up their finishes until they were shining, glowing all over again—for themselves and for the joy of watching themselves from the mirrors, no one else—and then headed for the entertainment room, again, after a quick detour to their trunks for Sunstreaker to fetch his tablet. Pass the time with something pleasant, waiting for a chance to find a way out.

They sat themselves on one of the lush couches against the wall opposite the door, Sideswipe watching the show on the main screen, Sunstreaker burying himself in his drawing. He wasn’t going to let this one thing be taken from him just because it had been turned against him in short order.

He wouldn’t stop using it just because slagging Megatron had made him thank him for it. Megatron wouldn’t have that victory. He wouldn’t ruin this.

And… The other mates. Slag, this wasn’t even the first time they’d forced themselves on them. It should’ve been expected, after the first orgy. Some of them were already in the entertainment room and others trickled in slowly… It wasn’t comfortable to be around them, not really, but pits. There wasn’t really anywhere to get away from them all, unless they wanted to return to hiding in the library.

Wasn’t the best they could do just try to forget? They were stuck around the lot of them for now, anyway. They could hiss and growl at them all they wanted, but it wouldn’t change a damn thing.

He doubted it would make the other mates understand any more than slagging anything had so far. Anything they’d said or done, the others had only met with confusion. Why were the twins so upset, they’d wonder.

They were already too messed up to get it, so warped they couldn’t understand their position anymore.

And they had to live surrounded by that for now… Frag. He’d be so happy to get to return to the outside world where mecha actually saw this shit as unacceptable. Like it was. Where they’d be rightly horrified by it.

Instead of… All this.

Sideswipe was frowning at the screen, but from his own distraction, it took Sunstreaker a moment to notice his thoughts running onto new tracks. Once he picked up on it, he glanced up at Sideswipe, who, by now, was passing his optics over the room in search of one pair of wings.

As luck would have it, Skywarp was present, playing some board game with three other mates, laughing at whatever they were finding funny right then. Sunstreaker’s optics followed his brother as Sideswipe got up and wove his way past the furniture to them, seating himself next to Skywarp.

And tried not to think if any of them had fragged them last night, how many times, and in what ways.

“Hi, Sides!” Skywarp greeted him, as did the others, all offering smiles to him. “What’s up? Wanna join? There’s room for more!”

“Nah, I’m good just watching,” Sideswipe turned the invitation down with just a lopsided grin—not one his old, bright ones, full of zeal for life. Those Megatron had stolen from him, but… It was a grin all the same. He tried. “I was wondering if I could ask something, though.”

Skywarp looked at him curiously and the others followed suit, but the Seeker nodded. “Sure. Shoot away.”

“Okay, so, like half the stuff on tv and in the book files,” Sideswipe started, staring at the game board studiously, “the story ones, there’s almost always someone from Free Cybertron trying to get to or getting to Kaon, and then that’s like… The good ending. But I thought Kaon was closed to outsiders? Why does that theme just repeat?”

The other mates shared a few glances among each other, but Skywarp was the one who replied. “Well, that’s the dream, isn’t it?” he asked, and Sideswipe glanced up at him in confusion. Skywarp clarified, “To escape Unified Cybertron.”

Now Sideswipe frowned. They didn’t even call it Free Cybertron, although no one said anything to him for calling it that.

But they called it Unified Cybertron, just like everyone and everything else here. And while the word “unified” wasn’t necessarily or inherently full of negative connotations, in this context it absolutely was.

And what the pit was this about escaping Free—Free—Cybertron? Into fragging Kaon of all places?

The damn hellhole where they’d been raped way too many times to count almost from the moment they’d crossed its borders?

Sideswipe had a lot of things to say and a lot of anger to unleash, but instead all that came out was a quiet, “I don’t understand.”

Because he didn’t. He didn’t understand any of this.

“Kaon is free of the Prime’s influence,” another of the mates answered. Topspin, maybe? He seemed to remember someone calling him that.

And… That was all he said. As if that explained everything.

It didn’t. It didn’t explain a damn thing. Sideswipe’s frown deepened in even greater frustration and he scrubbed both of his servos down his face. And resisted the urge to just scream. Not even any words, just… Screm.

Screm.

That would’ve been real nice right about now, but at the same time, he didn’t really want to make a scene in the middle of the entertainment room. Who knew where that would get him. Maybe nothing would come out of it. At this point he doubted the other mates would’ve even understood why he was frustrated, why he was angry, why he felt fit to fragging explode… No matter how he voiced any of that.

They just lived their lives here, apparently happy to frag and get fragged and for some reason buying into this whole bullshit about Kaon being the Free part of Cybertron. That, despite the fact they were all trapped in the harem wing.

What was free about that?

“Anyway,” Skywarp spoke up again and Sideswipe peeked at him from between his digits, “It doesn’t happen a lot, that’s true. It’d be dangerous to let too many in, but they’re stories. Fantasy. Make believe. You know? You can toy with the best case scenarios there, no matter how unlikely they’d be in real life.”

Best case scenarios.

Sideswipe groaned. Pits, his helm was going to start hurting at this rate, trying to make sense of how these mechs had been twisted into believing all the garbage shot at them from every direction like from the barrel of a goddamn machine gun. It was all… Upside down. Everything here was. Wrong way around in every way imaginable.

“Thanks,” he mumbled before he slipped off the seat and wandered back to Sunstreaker. His brother was watching him, frowning like he was, equally disturbed by the answers he’d gotten.

Frag this place.

He flopped down next to his twin like he’d never left, but somehow he didn’t feel like watching the show as much anymore. Maybe he should play something instead. Sunstreaker had gone back to his drawing, happy to lose himself into his work, so he wasn’t going to be any entertainment.

Sideswipe turned on one of the smaller screens and browsed through the game library.

Someone noticed he was doing that. “Hey! Sideswipe– You’re Sideswipe, right?” a blue and white mech had turned around on one of the couches ahead of them and was looking straight at him.

“Yeah?” Sideswipe answered more than a little hesitantly. Had he… Done something wrong? He’d played the games before without anyone saying anything about it…

But no, it wasn’t like that. “I’m Twin Twist, nice to make our official introductions,” Twin Twist grinned at him before he gestured vaguely towards the screen Sideswipe had claimed for himself. “Wanna play Destiny’s Razor with me?”

Oh he liked that game, but he hadn’t tried its multiplayer property a lot yet.

It was an easy decision he came to after just a few seconds of considering it. Sideswipe grinned back and nodded. “Heck yeah.”

Twin Twist’s smile widened before he turned back around, picked the game and joined it, Sideswipe following suit—a bit of excitement curling in their spark.

Time to wreak some virtual havoc.

-----------------------------------------------

After a while of playing, Sideswipe took Twin Twist’s invitation to join him on the couch the other mech was sitting on, to better enjoy the game together. Sunstreaker didn’t mind being left behind to his art.

And Sideswipe knew him. If nothing and no one interrupted him, he could draw all day and all night, foregoing fueling and recharge if he hit the zone. And… There hadn’t been chances for that often, on the streets. They needed to earn their living, and it wasn’t safe to lose your focus of your surroundings like that.

Things were so different here. The only real threat was Megatron, otherwise they didn’t have too much to worry about.

But speak of the devil… Sideswipe didn’t pay much attention to the heavy pedesteps coming down the hall, too engrossed in shooting things, but the wave of arousal and excitement in the fields around them kicked both of the twins out of their tasks.

Their confusion only lasted a moment. One glance at the door and their spark shrunk in on itself.

Megatron was standing there, looking at the room at large like it was all there for him, and it was. It was all for him, every last one of them.

And there were so many to choose from and more crowded in the hallway behind him, fields all around them fluttering with hope that they would be picked to do whatever Megatron wanted of them this time.

Not the twins’ fields though, and yet Megatron’s optics first landed on Sunstreaker, clutching onto his tablet for dear life, and then that red gaze passed everyone else before zeroing onto Sideswipe, staring back at him like a deer in the headlights.

Megatron entered the room properly and walked over to one of the couches up front and center. Its occupants moved out of the way at once and the tyrant sat down on it, reclining on the assuredly comfortable piece of furniture. Everyone kept a respectful distance from him, despite the eagerness that was swamping the room.

There were only two little dots that didn’t join in on the sentiment, and it was them that Megatron focused on. “Sunstreaker, Sideswipe. Come here.”

Sunstreaker growled, in no way motivated to do as he was told. Twin Twist nudged Sideswipe, jerking his helm towards Megatron. It was clear what everyone else thought: the order had been given, thus it should be obeyed.

Without delay.

They delayed until Megatron’s optics began to narrow, and from there on… It wasn’t their choice anymore. Starscream was on the move again, first marching over to Sideswipe and grabbing by a horn. Sideswipe’s squawk went completely ignored as Starscream simply dragged him over to Megatron and shoved him onto the couch next to him. Sideswipe laid still where he landed, his spark pulsing and rotating too fast for comfort—staring up at Megatron who met his gaze with something… Dangerous dancing in those red optics.

Starscream fetched Sunstreaker too, and he was thrown onto Megatron’s other side. The other mates closed ranks around them. He couldn’t have run even if he’d wanted to.

And he wanted to. He didn’t want to be here, with his plating brushing against Megatron’s, the vibrations of the tyrant’s powerful engine traveling into him just so.

Megatron didn’t remove his optics from Sideswipe and Sideswipe couldn’t look away, not even when one of Megatron’s servos came to… Caress his cheek.

He shivered, from helm to pede. The touch was so unwanted, but fear rooted him in place.

He would’ve rather Megatron hit him. Not… This. Fake gentleness when he was sure Megatron didn’t have a gentle molecule in him. He was evil, rusted and rotten to his very core.

Megatron only went on to prove that much with his next words. “Coax it out, Sideswipe.”

There wasn’t exactly a reason to ask what he was supposed to coax out. Not when they’d been here before, when he’d been given that order before—when he’d resisted, so fucking hard, or, or… He thought he had, anyway, before hunger had driven him into cooperation.

“No,” Sideswipe said now, the shaking of his helm only stopped when Megatron caught a hold of his jaw—and that did nothing to stop the rest of his frame from shaking.

“That’s not what we say, is it, Sideswipe?” Megatron asked. Sunstreaker growled on his other side, but there was a flash of white, blue, and red, followed by angry cursing.

Starscream pinned Sunstreaker when his brother would have tried to intervene, would have tried to– To save him.

From this. From Megatron. Somehow. Could it have ever worked?

Shouldn’t they have tried anyway?

But they weren’t given the chance.

Megatron’s grip on his jaw tightened as his silence stretched on, but it wasn’t pain that had tears running down Sideswipe’s cheeks in rivulets. It was bad enough when Megatron told that to him in private, told him to do things in private, when there was no one to see Sideswipe’s disgrace—no one to see him fail in trying to remain the master of his own life, his own fate.

He wasn’t that anymore. Not when his opposition was Megatron.

But he wasn’t ready to just give up, especially not with everyone watching. The other mates, they were all rapt on them, quiet, but their hunger for Megatron’s attention reflected in their fields. A little more and they would’ve been downright jealous of the attention the brothers—Sideswipe—were getting.

He’d gladly swap places with any of them, right now.

Megatron’s thumb brushed across his lower lip, rough, then rougher yet on the second pass, but he didn’t repeat his question even as his grip began to tighten to an extent that was starting to threaten the integrity of his facial plates and all of the underlying structures. Sideswipe whined, but he wouldn’t say it, not again–

But then Megatron reached along the length of his far smaller frame, his claws brushing across his tightly closed valve cover, and then grabbing his aft. He remembered still. Of course he still remembered how much Sideswipe liked that. Pits, he was shaking so hard, and Megatron started to toy with his frame, fondling his aft, petting his valve cover, dragging his claws along the seams, but not so hard it would’ve hurt.

Just aroused. He was turning his frame on until Sideswipe had to keep his hips from dancing, until he was biting his lip to fight back his moans. Sunstreaker was growling, furious, but Starscream kept him down, kept him from being able to do anything as Sideswipe grit his denta and tried to deny his frame–

But he met Megatron’s optics, and although it came as a gasp more than anything else… “No.”

“Oh?” Megatron asked, raising one of his optical ridges at him. Then his gaze rose, looking at something—someone—behind him. “Were you sitting next to Twin Twist? Come here.”

At once Sideswipe could hear someone getting up and hurrying over until an all too eager field was lapping against his own. “Spike him,” Megatron said next, and the energon in Sideswipe’s lines froze for a moment before his fuel pump beat back into action.

“NO!” he said, shouted, trying to pull, twist, yank himself free, but Megatron’s grip on his jaw was unrelenting.

The servos that landed on his aft this time, the digits that started to play with the edges of his valve cover, they didn’t belong to Megatron. His frame was already running hot from Megatron’s all too knowledgeable touch, and Twin Twist wasn’t any less experienced. Sideswipe’s tears ran more numerous, but no one paid any mind to all the ways he phrased how he didn’t want this, didn’t agree to this, get the slag away from him–

Twin Twist only touched him until his frame reached a limit and forced his valve cover open despite himself. That was all the invitation Twin Twist needed, burying his spike into his valve at once. At least he was fragging well lubricated by now, and… Twin Twist wasn’t rough, or careless, like Megatron was, like none of the mates had been in the last orgy. It was clear he moved to enjoy himself too, but the way he circled his hips and alternated his thrusts, all the little tricks Sideswipe didn’t even know a name for… It felt good. It felt way too damn good, even without his interface protocols under an accursed spell. And Twin Twist wasn’t too big, especially not after everything his valve had already been through. It didn’t hurt at all.

He was moaning soon enough, squeezing his optics shut and focusing on fighting his losing battle against his frame. It didn’t matter how much he didn’t want this and it didn’t matter how much he tried to deny it, it was pleasure that started to course through him.

And when Megatron released his jaw, Sideswipe’s helm fell to the couch and he tried to silence his sounds into his arm.

With Sideswipe appropriately punished for his refusal, forced into enjoying all of this all over again, Megatron turned his attention back to Sunstreaker. Sunstreaker growled, a hard, deep sound when the tyrant’s optics fell on him, still expertly pinned in place by Starscream. Growling and glaring was all he could do.

But with one gesture from Megatron, Starscream released him. Sunstreaker raised himself up immediately, only for Megatron to seize him by the throat and pull him close, considering him for a moment before his gaze dropped to Sunstreaker’s groin. Sunstreaker snarled harder at that, for all the good it would do for him. Was there anything he could have ever done to discourage Megatron? He couldn’t rightly think of anything.

Rip off his spike, maybe. If he even could have with the damn thing apparently made from steel for all the damage it just shrugged off.

And that would have likely gotten him killed. Not the best of plans, no matter how satisfying it would’ve been in the last few moments of his life.

“Do you like your new gait?” Megatron asked him. Sunstreaker bared his denta, and tried to jerk free when Megatron’s other servo ran down his frame, to his hips, and then lower, stroking his valve cover. “Should we maintain it a little bit, hmm? It would be such a shame if you lost it.”

“Says you,” Sunstreaker growled past the constriction of his vocalizer. “My frame, and I don’t want it. Go die in the gutters, you fragging halfwit.”

“Your frame?” Megatron questioned, ignoring the insults.

But the tyrant’s fake confusion melted away very quickly, replaced by what looked a hell of a lot like genuine, restrained anger. “Don’t forget who you belong to, youngling,” he growled. And now Megatron’s grip tightened enough that he could say no more, only a burst of stating coming out when he tried. He wasn’t allowed to keep fighting, not even just verbally.

And then he was flipped about, onto his stomach across Megatron’s lap—with his aft presented to Sideswipe, who looked up in alarm. “Prepare your brother for me.”

Sunstreaker’s engine roared and Sideswipe shook his helm, even as he moaned from Twin Twist’s treatment, flirting with the edge of an overload.

Megatron didn’t waste time on trying to get him to do as he was told. “Topspin,” he said instead, without looking up. Topspin stepped up at once, ready for orders that came in short order. “Show Sideswipe how it’s done.” Sunstreaker’s valve cover earned itself a meaningful tap.

He tried to jerk away again, but Megatron gripped him tight and Topspin stepped over, angling Sunstreaker’s lower half until he had access to the junction of his thighs.

Then there were lips on his panel, and a glossa, these too knowing exactly what they were doing as they started to administer pleasure to his frame. Megatron kept Sunstreaker’s vocalizer quiet, but his frame revved hard, first from anger–

But then, when Topspin never once let up, the sound turned into reluctant arousal. He couldn’t stop his physical responses of his frame any more than Sideswipe could, and he wasn’t allowed to escape the mouth working insistently on his cover—until it snapped back with another burst of static from Sunstreaker.

A dexterous glossa slipped inside his valve at once, seeking out all the sensors in its reach in its first thrust in, pull out, another push inside, brushing against sensitive areas as if it had invaded his valve before and knew all of his ins and outs already.

But that could probably just be attributed to his valve being standard build.

It didn’t work in his favor, that was for sure. Sunstreaker tried to jerk his hips away, time and time again, but not once did it work, and with Topspin intent on his task, his vents were heaving hot air from his frame in far too short order. “That’ll do,” Megatron said at that point, and finally Topspin pulled back, as did Twin Twist leave his brother, although knowing what would follow… Sunstreaker would have rather had him than Megatron.

But he’d been prepared for Megatron. The tyrant pulled him by his throat until he was on his hands and knees on the couch. He was let go, but before he could even try to get away—as little as he expected the other mates would have let him—Megatron had already positioned himself behind him, one knee on the couch, the other on the floor, and rammed into his valve. Sunstreaker jerked from the pain that stabbed his internals, but snuffed the sounds that wanted to escape his vocalizer.

Megatron’s pace… Pits, he was getting some serious flashbacks to his very first interface with the tyrant. This wasn’t just Megatron taking his pleasure out of him. This was about making him hurt, for his insolence no doubt.

And Primus but it hurt. Megatron was again showing his strength with the amount of oomph he put behind each and every thrust, and he angled his hips in just the way to hit where Sunstreaker would feel it the most—Sideswipe said something, half scream, but then there was Starscream again, pushing his brother down and keeping him there.

Do not interfere. Not with anything Megatron saw fit to do.

Sunstreaker first groaned at a particularly hard entry into his frame, and then, when Megatron corrected his technique some–

He screamed. It wasn’t loud, and it was hoarse, but he couldn’t for the life of him keep quiet when Megatron hit something, and Sunstreaker didn’t know his own damn frame well enough to say what it was without reading the damage reports, but something buckled deep in him, then gave away entirely under the continued assault of Megatron’s goddamned spike.

He could feel wetness leak into his internals, meeting his armor and then seeping past the gaps—probably one of his tanks was what had gotten damaged, then.

How, how Megatron could break something like a tank with nothing but his spike… He didn’t understand. Spikes weren’t supposed to be able to break a damn thing.

But whatever modifications Megatron’s had, it spelled pain for Sunstreaker, right then and there. He didn’t look what color fluids were bleeding out of him, too busy gritting his denta, too busy pressing his face into his arm, shuttering his optics until there was nothing but black behind his HUD. Warnings were flashing at him and he let them blink away in the dark, trying to focus on the repetition of that rather than the repetition of Megatron’s spike hammering into his frame until he wasn’t sure his armor wouldn’t cave from inside out.

Pain.

Sideswipe was crying, begging for it to stop, curling in on himself from the phantom sensations he was suffering, too stubborn to pull away, too stubborn to not share–

But no matter what he said, Megatron paid him no heed, let nothing and no one distract him before Sunstreaker had fallen silent again—agony in his frame, in his valve, his midsection, until he couldn’t even make sense of the signals anymore, until he had no hope of keeping up with them. They drowned out everything else, even his vocoder.

Once he reached that point, then Megatron decided it was sufficient. The tyrant growled above and behind him, his transfluid pouring into his valve—and then past it. Last time he hadn’t been certain if it was real or imagined.

This time he didn’t imagine it.

His frame shook as Megatron finally pulled out and stood up. “The both of you will come to my wing tonight,” he said, and even to Sunstreaker’s hazy processors there was little doubt he was talking about him and Sideswipe. “Have Knock Out fix that first.”

And with those parting words, he walked out.

Sunstreaker couldn’t will his frame to move, not with the pain radiating from his core into every part of his frame. Sideswipe, unhurt as he was, scrambled to his side as soon as Starscream let him, his servos hovering over golden plating. Tears streamed down his face, but he didn’t know how to touch, where to touch without hurting him more. “Sunny…” he said so quietly, but it reached his audials all the same.

He could feel the question in them. Was it worth it? Was defiance worth it when it’d only leave them bloodied and broken, one way or another? Were those little moments of satisfaction worth this?

Sunstreaker forced his optics open when someone approached, and glanced up at Skywarp. The Seeker had a sorrowful look about his face, for once. Did even he acknowledge this much was messed up?

But he laid the blame at their pedes, not Megatron’s. “You really shouldn’t test him like that,” Skywarp murmured, and that… That was probably the overarching sentiment of all the mates, wasn’t it? That they had asked for this.

Their fault for pushing Megatron to a violent limit of his.

“Let’s get you to Knock Out.” Twin Twist. Sideswipe snarled at him, but it was without any real strength. Yeah, he’d just gotten raped by the mech, but what else was new? They’d all forced themselves on them at one point or other.

Sideswipe had gotten pleasure, unwanted. Sunstreaker had earned himself pain. Which was better? Which was worse?

Before, he would have said he preferred pain, no questions asked.

He wasn’t as sure anymore.

It was Twin Twist and Topspin that gently laid their servos on his frame, pulling him up and supporting him when the utter agony of his internals stole all steadiness from his legs. His helm hung, his vents heaved—but no longer from heat or arousal.

It just hurt, like getting stabbed several times over, aggravated by every move he made… But it wouldn’t get better anytime soon, not without Knock Out.

So he ground his denta together and tried to bear it, tried to ignore it enough to at least move his legs—even so, the other set of twins had to nearly carry him between them. Sideswipe followed on their heels, wanting so bad to help, but without the ways or the means to do so.

It was an excruciatingly long walk down the hallway to the medbay, but they made it, eventually. Topspin and his brother helped him onto one of the berths before Sideswipe took their place by his side, clutching onto his servo, his arm.

Sunstreaker squeezed his servo back, trying to calm their turbulent spark. Yeah, that had been bad, and yeah, he hurt now, but it was nothing that couldn’t be fixed.

He’d be fine.

Sideswipe found it hard to believe.

Knock Out walked over from wherever he had been—his quarters, maybe?—took one look at him, and shook his helm. “Now what did you do to earn that? Don’t answer, I don’t want to know. Especially not the details.”

He said all of that so casually, like this was no big deal, like this happened too often for him to give a frag anymore. If he ever had given a frag to begin with. Sideswipe growled again, but Knock Out fluently ignored him and merely scanned Sunstreaker. He sighed at whatever he found—annoyed, more than anything.

Not bothered.

Not feeling sorry for them.

Not thinking this was wrong.

Just Knock Out being Knock Out, the harem’s detached medic and bodywork miracle.

“I’ll put you to stasis for the repairs. This shouldn’t take too long. Are you..?” Knock Out trailed off, looking up at Sideswipe.

“I’m staying,” Sideswipe said firmly.

Knock Out shrugged. “Just stay out of my way and keep quiet. Now then!” Sunstreaker turned his helm to the side on the medic’s approach, let him plug in, and watched as Knock Out initiated medical stasis.

His frame slumped, fleeing consciousness leaving all systems lax and only the vital ones online. Sideswipe gave his brother’s arm one more squeeze before he stepped back to huddle against the wall. Out of the way, like Knock Out had told him.

And quiet, hard as that was.

Sunstreaker had been just like this, in stasis, helpless, out of it, when Megatron had used his frame only for him to come back online to the signs of what had been done to him.

Sideswipe couldn’t disagree that that was… Beyond messed up. What kind of a mech fragged a corpse?

The same kind of mech that would interface you to pieces if you showed disrespect.

He wasn’t even crying at this point, as much as old tear tracks had dried on his face. Megatron wanted them in his wing. Tonight. And he was bound to be displeased after what had happened, here.

He was too sore to hurt any more. Not… Not physically. His frame could still be made to suffer in ways he hadn’t even known about, he was sure about that much.

But he wasn’t so sure his spark could contain any more pain than it already did. He wasn’t sure his mind was ready to process anything more.

He felt about ready to stop feeling.

-------------------------------------------------------------

Unfortunately, he became less certain of his emotional immunity when they were led to Megatron’s wing that night. Fear was rising, quickly.

Knock Out had fixed Sunstreaker like he had fixed them every time before. Sunstreaker wasn’t in pain, anymore, aside from the little sting of fresh welds. Nothing he couldn’t handle.

But would it remain that way, or did Megatron have something painful in mind for them now? They had displeased him. In his twisted mind that probably earned them all sorts of awfulness, that Sideswipe wasn’t looking forward to one bit.

The doors to the wing closed behind them, and trapped they were. Sunstreaker was gripping his servo, trying to calm him, to build strength in him—but he wasn’t sure that, for once, Sunstreaker wasn’t equally trying to gather strength from him instead of just giving it to him. Things had… Never been this bad before. They’d gotten hurt before, pretty badly, and they’d struggled to get themselves the necessary repairs, but never before had anyone tried to systematically break them, inside and out.

That was what Megatron was doing now though, a-and… They’d acted out, and felt it, especially Sunstreaker, which could only be the beginning to the plans Megatron had for them.

But there was no running, not from this, so, together, they walked down the long hall, past all of the closed doors, and to the lounge where Megatron was already sitting, reading something. He glanced up on their arrival, and frowned. “Berthroom, you two.” His tone… Megatron was done playing around, wasn’t he?

Sideswipe swallowed hard, but after a glance at Sunstreaker that his brother returned, they slowly crept past the furniture of the lounge and to the doors of Megatron’s berthroom, and through them, and– Pits, what would happen now?

They could hear Megatron getting up behind them, walking after them until he was forcing them further into the room with the threat of touching them to nudge them in the right direction. They wanted as little of his touch as possible, as much as they expected there would be a lot of that tonight.

“Get on the berth,” came the next command, and ever hesitantly they did just that, hoisting themselves up and scooting somewhere off to the center. Megatron followed them, his optics severe. Not amused, not smug.

Just intent on making them do as they were told and exactly as they were told. The means he’d use to that end… He didn’t want to know, but he was sure they’d find out anyway.

“Make out,” Megatron said next. Sideswipe started, Sunstreaker growled—and they didn’t do it.

Megatron raised an optical ridge at them, unimpressed. “Don’t tell me you don’t know how. You’re brothers.” They were, and yeah, they knew how, they enjoyed it… But not in these circumstances.

Even Sunstreaker didn’t dare say anything, but they didn’t act on the order either.

And Megatron proved he just wasn’t going to wait for them, not anymore. He reached over, and before they could jerk out of the way, his servo had found Sideswipe’s valve cover, claws dug into the seams, and torn the entire panel off. Sideswipe was too unprepared, too surprised to even make a sound even as his sensors alerted him to the pain, just keeled forward into Sunstreaker’s arms.

Then three of the tyrant’s thick digits stabbed into his bared valve without any warning, any preparation. Now Sideswipe gasped when the sharp tips raked against his valve mesh, making his hips jerk in an attempt to get away—but that only dug Megatron’s claws deeper, and he had to stop, had to still himself lest he damage his equipment further.

Megatron began to move his servo, and this wasn’t about arousing him, no. He dragged his claws across sensitive sensors in a way that didn’t do anything more than hurt with sharp pains, and Sideswipe clutched onto Sunstreaker’s arms, closing his optics tight.

“Make out,” Megatron repeated, and now his digits slowed, the suggestion clear as day: do as they were told and it didn’t have to hurt.

Sideswipe glanced up at Sunstreaker, his brother staring back at him with a pained expression, but what could they do?

What could they do?

Sideswipe reached up now, and pressed his lips against Sunstreaker’s. They were unresponsive, but just for a second before Sunstreaker returned the kiss, almost desperately—wrapping his arm around Sideswipe to keep him close, to give and seek comfort from each other.

Because that was all they had now, wasn’t it? Each other.

Megatron’s digits abandoned his valve, blessedly, horribly—rewarded for something he didn’t want to do in the first place. He didn’t want to give in, but by the pits… What options did they have?

At least the press of Sunstreaker’s lips was familiar, when their glossae entwined, it was familiar, and the taste… It was his brother, there was no question about that. This was theirs, their… Their attempt to enjoy even something about this.

Megatron moved next to them instead of being mostly behind Sideswipe. A click had the both of them glancing at the tyrant, all to see his spike cover retract and his spike pressurizing already, readily. “Use your servo to pleasure me. Don’t stop kissing,” came the orders, tersely.

What was this? Putting on a show for Megatron’s benefit, while simultaneously pleasuring him?

When they didn’t move fast enough, Megatron reached for Sunstreaker’s valve cover and ripped that clean off too. His brother jerked from the pain, but didn’t voice it any more than Sideswipe had—but before Megatron had the time to do more than that, Sunstreaker had pulled him back against him, landing a kiss on his cheek before Sideswipe had the sense to turn his helm to face him.

And it was Sunstreaker’s servo that reached for Megatron’s spike and began to pump his servo along it.

Sunstreaker was shaking, but Sideswipe could feel his determination to keep Sideswipe safe. If that meant indignity, if it meant pleasuring their rapist… So be it.

As long as Sideswipe remained safe.

It was a sentiment that had the red twin crying in no time. Look at what they had been reduced to. Doing something that they’d always loved, but now involuntarily, left without choice, while pleasing the damn mech that had torn them from their humble but happy enough life, only to bring them here to endure things they hadn’t imagined even in their worst nightmares.

They weren’t ready for this, nothing in their life had prepared them for this—nothing could have prepared them for this. The cruelty, the immorality were on another level entirely.

It was too much, and yet they couldn’t but bear it.

Sunstreaker’s servo jerked Megatron to completion, the tyrant’s transfluid splattering onto his brother’s arm, on Megatron’s plating. “Lick that off, Sunstreaker,” he said, and the brothers parted ways to both stare at Megatron. Sunstreaker was shivering, Sideswipe’s armor was rattling—and they didn’t move fast enough, Megatron again jabbing his claws into Sideswipe’s valve.

This time he cried out.

That was enough to prompt Sunstreaker into action and he lowered himself onto the berth, in a position of true subservience neither of them could have ever wanted, and did as he was told. He cleaned, with his glossa, all of the transfluid that had landed on the tyrant’s plating, and all of what had remained on the tip of his spike and run down the length. Megatron’s digits left Sideswipe’s valve and he was rumbling, approving—and approving meant not physical pain.

Only pain of a spark forced into something it never wanted to do, never wanted to be. But they were stuck. They were so, so stuck in all of this, their way out still unclear. They would find it eventually, he just… He hoped it would be soon enough.

Megatron tapped Sunstreaker’s chin once he was satisfied with his brother’s work, and Sunstreaker eagerly pulled away.

Then it was Sideswipe who got the next set of instructions. “Lay on your back and spread your legs.”

He didn’t like where this was going, but under the gazes of both Megatron and Sunstreaker he nevertheless leaned back until he was laying down entirely, and let his legs fall apart, putting his coverless valve in perfect display.

If only Megatron had chosen to spike him then. That would have been familiar, that he could’ve… He could’ve handled that.

But instead Megatron’s optics moved to Sunstreaker. “Fist him.”

“What?!” they asked in unison, and Sideswipe shot back into a sitting position.

“You can’t be serious,” Sunstreaker continued, their disbelief quickly giving way to dry horror. They didn’t want to ‘face each other to begin with, not in any way, and… Frag, not in that way either. And Sideswipe didn’t particularly fancy finding out what getting fisted felt like in the first place. He hadn’t even entertained the thought before, no matter how much he had enjoyed interfacing.

But here they were.

“Oh, I’m very serious,” Megatron responded to Sunstreaker, and his voice left little doubt of that. But… Slaggit, better Sunstreaker than Megatron. Megatron’s servos were as large as the rest of him. That would’ve… He wasn’t sure his frame could’ve taken that in any shape or form.

But Sunstreaker… Sideswipe met his gaze. Sunstreaker’s face twisted with emotion as he tried to think of some way to avoid this, some way to spare them both this… He came out empty.

“Now,” Megatron said, without inflection, but there was threat in that one word all the same. What would he do if they didn’t? How would he hurt them? “On your back, Sideswipe.”

He fell back even more reluctantly than before, but Sunstreaker couldn’t will himself into motion.

Couldn’t, before Megatron gave him some more incentive. “Do it, or I will.”

He could probably survive Megatron’s servo if it came down to it. He didn’t think he’d die, but the amount of damage it would have caused…

The amount of pain.

It didn’t need to come down to it. Sunstreaker grit his denta, but moved between his spread legs and grudgingly, unwillingly, brought his servo to Sideswipe’s valve.

The sooner they were done with this, the sooner… They could move to whatever else Megatron had planned for them. And the sooner they got to all that, the sooner they would get out of here.

Even so, Sunstreaker wasn’t about to hurt Sideswipe if it could be avoided. He pushed two of his digits into Sideswipe’s valve at first, adding a third when he found it looser than he’d expected—but after, he sought out sensors, and not to scratch them, but to stimulate them, in the good kind of way. Pleasant way.

As much as Sideswipe didn’t want this, he wasn’t opposed to the slow start, the little act to make some lubricant gather in his valve. And, surprisingly, Megatron gave them the time to do that, watching, stroking his spike languidly, but not rushing them.

Sideswipe tried to relax, let his legs fall apart a bit further, tried to force away some of the tension in his frame, because that would only translate into tension in his calipers, and if… If he was supposed to take Sunstreaker’s whole damn fist, it would be best if he was relaxed. He hoped that would lead to the least possible amount of pain—and damage, if his calipers tried to stay in the way stubbornly.

Sunstreaker didn’t want to hurt him, but this might hurt anyway, no matter what they did. Best they could was try to reduce the chances of that.

To that end, Sunstreaker played with his valve until there was a decent amount of lubricant in place. Then his brother cycled one deep ventilation and added a fourth digit to very little resistance from Sideswipe’s calipers.

And that was maybe the worst part, how… Easy it turned out to be. It shouldn’t have been. Taking a whole damn servo up his valve was meant to be a struggle.

But with how large Megatron’s spike alone was, and how many times he’d gotten hammered by it already, Sunstreaker could easily slip four of his digits into his valve, and when pulled out, pushed in, pulled back, tucked his thumb against his other digits and pushed again… There was some resistance as the widest part cleared his rim, but it was still too easy. It stung, but it wasn’t outright pain. There was enough lubricant to ease the passage.

And his valve had just gotten forced too far out of shape by Megatron. Sunstreaker slipped his entire servo in, up to his wrist, and felt Sideswipe’s valve flutter and clench against the intrusion, unused to the strange shape.

Tears fell from Sideswipe’s optics and he stared resolutely at the ceiling. He didn’t need and didn’t want any of the reminders of how they were being reforged to their new role in life.

“Overload him,” Megatron said once they’d gotten to that stage. He didn’t need to specify that Sunstreaker was to overload him with his servo, like this, because that really was obvious enough.

It shouldn’t even be too difficult. It didn’t hurt, so… What else was there to feel but pleasure? Sunstreaker was slow and careful, mindful when he began to move his servo in and out, and with every pass it became easier and the resistance of his rim lesser. He made sure to brush against sensors, and it felt good. Strange, because it wasn’t a spike and didn’t have the shape of one, but pits, it wasn’t bad.

He didn’t want that. Primus, but he wished he would have hated it because it was Megatron that had ordered this. He wanted to hate everything even remotely related to the mech.

But instead his hips started to push into the thrusts of Sunstreaker’s servo and he had to bite back his moans. Sunstreaker didn’t slow down either, once it was sure he wasn’t hurting him, even by accident. The sooner they were done with this…

The better. And he was quickly, very quickly, driven towards an overload with Sunstreaker’s intent but gentle touch. He didn’t try to fight it. As much as he didn’t want the pleasure, he wanted this just over with.

It wasn’t his best overload ever, but it was far from being the worst, either. Sideswipe stiffened as he was pushed over that edge with one more entry of his twin’s servo, his valve clamping down until Sunstreaker had little hope of pulling back. Sideswipe moaned despite his attempt to keep silent–

Then there was a surprised gasp, from Sunstreaker.

Megatron had shoved his entire length up his brother’s empty valve without warning and that, that hurt. There was no lubricant to speak of, he hadn’t been prepared for it in any way…

But they still felt the sorrow over the fact it didn’t hurt as much as it once had.

Sunstreaker removed his servo once Sideswipe’s valve relaxed enough, and Megatron chose that moment to start moving in and out of his frame at a leisurely pace. “Sideswipe,” he said, and the twin tore his optics from the ceiling to glance down at him. “Get under your brother. On your back, helm to me.”

Now what? But Sideswipe moved regardless, turning around and sliding under Sunstreaker. Sunstreaker made the room for him, ending up straddling his shoulders, his servos propping him up on either side of Sideswipe’s hips.

They didn’t have to wonder what this was about for long. Megatron continued to rock into Sunstreaker, not so hard it would’ve been unbearable—nothing like he had earlier in the day—but it was far from comfortable either, no matter the lubricant that was slowly starting to gather in Sunstreaker’s valve–

Then, “Lick my spike, Sideswipe.”

...He was in the perfect position to do that, with Megatron’s spike disappearing into Sunstreaker’s valve right above his face.

He didn’t really want to, though. Pits, but he didn’t want to. He didn’t want to pleasure Megatron, and he didn’t want to be this close to Sunstreaker’s equipment either.

And he sure as pit didn’t want a front row seat to Megatron fragging Sunstreaker.

He hesitated for too long. “Lick mine or your brother will suck yours.”

Sunstreaker flinched at the thought, and at a thrust that jabbed into one of the recent welds of his. Megatron knew as well as they did how despicable the thought of doing that was to Sunstreaker, and… Sideswipe couldn’t put him through it.

Not again.

Sunstreaker did his best to keep him safe. He could return the favor. Sideswipe lifted his helm enough that his nasal ridge nearly brushed against Megatron’s groin and extended his glossa, letting it rubbed against the underside of Megatron’s spike on every pull out, every push back in. When Megatron’s engine rumbled a displeased note, he applied more pressure, moved his glossa a little more, put in a bit more effort just so nothing would happen to Sunstreaker—and that earned him a rev from the tyrant.

Good enough, it said.

He kept it up even as Megatron’s pace increased as he neared an overload, and… When he overloaded, he pulled out entirely, his come splashing on the outside of Sunstreaker’s valve and dripping onto Sideswipe’s face.

He hoped it was over at that, but it wasn’t. “Open your mouth,” Megatron said, and there wasn’t much question about who he was talking to.

And not too much question over why the order was given, either.

He didn’t want it, so Sideswipe shook his helm in denial. His quiet no, never spoken out loud.

It went completely ignored. Megatron shoved Sunstreaker off of him, his brother landing onto his side on the berth beside him, and then one of the tyrant’s servos came down, yanking his jaw open. Before Sideswipe could do more than squeak in surprise, Megatron had already aimed and thrust his spike into his mouth, down his throat.

Sideswipe’s wail was muffled even before the intrusion constricted his vocalizer into silence. It hurt. His valve might’ve gotten a little more used to things; his mouth, not so much. And Megatron didn’t go easy, he didn’t take his time, didn’t wait for him to adjust in any way before he was moving in and out of this throat too fast.

Sunstreaker moved to do… Something, anything, but Megatron merely backhanded him hard enough that his brother collapsed back onto the berth. Tears streamed from Sideswipe’s optics, not just over the treatment his frame was suffering, but also over the treatment Sunstreaker received, and the… Helplessness. There hadn’t been and there still wasn’t anything they had done that would have worked against Megatron. Megatron only got his way, every time. He got his pleasure as it suited him, he made them hurt just as he wanted to.

And they were powerless in the face of it all.

Bear it. Sideswipe tried, even as his frame arched off the berth, fighting with himself to not let every entry down his throat get to him... And he only succeeded because Megatron chased his completion fast, and reached it quickly. Before Sideswipe lost the battle with himself.

Before he would have expelled everything in his tanks like he already had too many times before in the past orns. Instead there was a spurt of transfluid that headed for his tanks instead of out of them, although Megatron pulled out before he’d finished coming, and most of the transfluid his spike was pumping out landed on Sideswipe’s face to join what there already was.

But… Nothing more came after that. Megatron left them laying there, used and abused while he moved to the edge of the berth and wiped himself clean in swift motions. “Return to the harem,” he instructed them, and then… Left, without a backwards glance, and despite the late hour.

Then they were alone, in Megatron’s berthroom, except this time they were together.

Sideswipe rolled onto his front, got on his knees, reached for Sunstreaker. His brother was dazed, dented, and he wasn’t sure about the continued integrity of some of his welds, but he was mostly fine. Physically, anyway.

In every other way… Sideswipe tried not to think about it. Not before they got the pit out of here, anyway. “Come on,” he said quietly, tugging and pulling until he had Sunstreaker to the edge of the berth and they both dropped down to the floor, then out the berthroom, through the lounge, into the hallway, and to the doors that opened to them for once. Skywarp was waiting on the other side, waving at them in greeting.

“Hope that went well. Do you need to see Knock Out?” he asked, giving each of them a once over, his gaze lingering on the side of Sunstreaker’s helm.

“Would probably be best to, just to be safe,” Sideswipe answered quietly, glancing at Sunstreaker. There probably wasn’t anything too dangerous going on, but it’d be nice to have a confirmation of that.

Skywarp nodded at that before he turned to lead the way back to the harem wing, the twins trailing behind him

“This is progress,” Knock Out noted on their injuries once he’d had a look at them. “So minor! My, if only you gave me this little to work on more often.” Sunstreaker growled at the suggestion behind the words, and Sideswipe couldn’t say he appreciated them a hell of a lot either. Do as they were told, please Megatron, and they wouldn’t get slagged every damn time.

“Wouldn’t you be out of a job if we did?” Sideswipe asked just a little sharply. Hadn’t Knock Out said that earlier?

...How much earlier was it? Pits, it was hard to keep track of time. It felt like an eternity with so much happening, but it couldn’t have been that long.

“True, that,” the medic conceded.

They were sent on their way once everything was back in order and they’d had a cursory cleaning. It was late, so the berthroom became their destination and they crept past the cots, many of them already occupied by recharging mecha. Some of the mates were still awake, and they got a few waves of greeting that Sideswipe returned before they made it to the very back of the room.

In mutual understanding they laid down on their joined cots, Sunstreaker onto his back, and Sideswipe stretching up along his side, pressing the side of his helm to Sunstreaker’s shoulder and letting the sounds and vibrations of his brother’s frame surround him.

That had been one of their most pathetic showings with Megatron. They’d barely even resisted, but… Primus, it was getting hard to keep up the will to fight, knowing it was futile, that Megatron was inevitable in everything he did… And knowing they’d get hurt, one way or another, every time they didn’t do as they were told. Not always physically, but the emotional hurt could be just as potent, if not more so.

And Megatron had apparently never even heard the word “mercy”. He had none to give in any damn situation.

But if they did as they were told… It wasn’t tolerable, it would never be fucking tolerable, but it wasn’t as bad. Was that the best they could hope for in this situation? Not as bad?

It felt like that.

They were going to get out eventually, it was just a matter of time until they found the way, but until then… Would it be worth it to not earn themselves as much pain? Go a little easier on themselves?

Even if it meant… Even if it meant pleasing Megatron.

But it was only temporary. This was only temporary. They’d have the last laugh still, when they walked out of here, ran away. Back to the freedom they deserved. The other mates, they might’ve been so brainwashed they were fine with this, but him and Sunstreaker would never be. He didn’t understand how the others had ever gotten used to all of this, how they’d grown so desensitized to it, but it was easy to count on himself to never gain that understanding.

This was just… Too fragging awful to ever get used to.

Not forever. They wouldn’t be here forever.

They just had to stay strong and rely on each other until they found their way out of this fucking hellhole.

Easy, right?

They could do it.

-------------------------------------------------------

There were a few quiet days again, time to rest and recuperate and… Try to put everything behind them for a while, even if they knew it would come back to haunt them still, somewhere in the not too distant future.

Three days later, it did.

They were in the entertainment room again, Sunstreaker drawing and letting the curious gawk his work over his shoulders, Sideswipe playing some manner of shooter game with Runamuck and Runabout.

They really loved their shooter games. Sideswipe’s argument was that you couldn’t beat virtual violence. It was a good way to work out their frustrations too, in a very bloody manner.

Those games were too damn realistic for anyone’s good, the next thing he knew his brother would be a trained soldier. Great entertainment, though.

The peace of it was broken when there was the faint sound of the main doors opening and closing coming down the hall, followed by unmistakable pedesteps. Starscream left the entertainment room to greet their mate even as the twins’ fuel pumps froze.

They hoped, ardently, that Megatron was here for someone else, that he just wanted to disappear into the room at the very end of the hallway with someone that wasn’t them. The chances would’ve been good for something like that, right?

But they weren’t so lucky. Megatron walked to the entertainment room’s door, had a look around, confirmed they were both present, and called them both by name.

Just so there was no question or misunderstanding of who he wanted.

Like last time, Megatron sat down on one of the couches where everyone could see him.

Then came the order. “Come here.”

Sideswipe swallowed hard, clutched onto Sunstreaker through their spark, but… Disconnected from the game he had busied himself with and slowly walked over to the tyrant. Sunstreaker set down his drawing tablet, cycled several steadying ventilations, and followed Sideswipe—holding just as tight onto him as he was being held onto, even if not physically.

Moment of truth, wasn’t it? They had displeased Megatron last time. What about this time?

Starscream was standing in the doorway, wings spread, arms crossed, watching it all sharply. The other mates didn’t have the same scrutiny about them, but they were all watching, all as eager for Megatron’s attention as ever, and… Curious. Over how this would go, most likely. Last time hadn’t been so great, not to be on the receiving end of, and probably not so fun to witness either.

It was in their hands how this time would go. What would Megatron ask of them?

They came to stand in front of him, Sunstreaker meeting his burning gaze, Sideswipe staring at his pedes. Their spark was spinning wildly no matter how Sunstreaker tried to calm it, but he couldn’t exactly deny his own distaste and nervousness of the situation. How bad would Megatron make this?

“Sideswipe,” Megatron said, patting the space next to him. Sideswipe hesitated for a few precious seconds, but the moment Megatron’s optics began to narrow, he hurried over and sat on the couch next to the tyrant, stiff as they came.

Next, “Coax it out.”

Sideswipe started crying on the spot. Not out loud, he made no sound, but tears began to run down his cheeks. “How?” he asked for clarity’s sake despite that, even with the risk of Megatron taking it as too much dallying.

He didn’t. “As you see fit,” was the answer he gave. Sideswipe nodded silently and reached over Megatron’s thigh to press his servo to his codpiece. More tolerable than using his mouth, and easier with the angle he was in, unless he wanted to get between Megatron’s thighs. But that wasn’t where he’d been told to go, and he wondered why–

–Up until Megatron addressed Sunstreaker. “Prepare your brother for me. Take Topspin’s cue.”

Using his mouth, in other words. And then… Sideswipe would get to take Megatron’s spike.

Their spark fluttered with utter desperation, but there was no way out of this, was there? They could refuse, like they had last time, and then Megatron would hurt them all over again… Likely find even worse ways to do so, either in public, or in private.

Or they could just do this, get it over with, and not suffer through any of that.

Indignity and crushed pride, or defiance at the price of pain and suffering.

Sunstreaker’s next exvent shuddered, but under the optics of what felt like absolutely everyone, he got on the couch behind his brother. Sideswipe was shaking, as much as he didn’t forget to stroke Megatron’s spike cover just to keep him satisfied… But he lifted his hips for Sunstreaker and retracted his valve cover.

It was just Sunstreaker. No one else.

They could do this. It was better than the alternatives.

Sunstreaker knelt there, between Sideswipe’s legs, and brought his mouth to Sideswipe’s valve. He hadn’t done this often—had he ever?—but he relied on Sideswipe’s memories and his sensation to guide him as he slipped his glossa into the opening that felt like it was perpetually gaping now, and hunted for sensors the same way Topspin had. He didn’t have the experience, but feeling what Sideswipe felt… He found his way, and slowly but steadily lubricant began to gather in his brother’s valve.

He would be as prepared for Megatron as Sunstreaker could make him, if that would just ease the second part of this even some.

But it wasn’t just him. Sideswipe was shuddering, but he couldn’t allow himself to be distracted from his task of getting Megatron’s spike out. He’d gotten the cover to open for him with enough teasing of its seams. Part of the tip had revealed itself too, by now, and he worked it in his servo diligently, in all the ways that had… Pleased his past partners.

The partners he’d had in the life he would still get back to, one way or another.

This was just another step on the road to that end. He worked the spike until it had reached halfway out of its housing, at which point Megatron told him to get his mouth in there. That was… Actually sort of doable now with enough of the spike out in the open, even though he had to lean over Megatron’s thigh to do so.

But he did, even as his hips began to move on their own, hitching back against Sunstreaker’s glossa, his mouth—as Sideswipe took the tip of Megatron’s spike into his own, as he licked along the length of it, still worked his servo around it…

Until it reached full pressurization. “Enough. Get on your back,” Megatron said at that point, and Sideswipe pulled away to force himself to lay down on the couch, even knowing what was coming.

He was crying, he was terrified. Did he have any good reason to be? But Megatron was… He was evil, just plain evil. What he could do if he thought he was given a reason…

He’d have bad memory purges of that for the rest of his life. Wasn’t it reasonable enough to fear him?

But he laid down and let his legs be spread when Megatron’s servos landed on his thighs. One of the tyrant’s pedes went to the floor again, like he’d done with Sunstreaker, and would he do it again? Destroy his internals because he could, despite them doing as he wanted?

He didn’t. Megatron’s spike pushed into his valve, surprisingly slowly. There was some stretch, his calipers forced apart by the massive length, but there was also plenty of lubricant.

It could’ve been… A lot worse.

Even when Megatron started to move, his pace wasn’t hurried in the slightest, and it didn’t start hurting—wouldn’t stop feeling good.

Was that better than pain, though?

“Sunstreaker.” The golden twin looked up from his trance of watching Megatron’s spike disappear into Sideswipe’s frame time and time again. “Straddle his chest.”

He did, carefully climbing on top of Sideswipe.

What then? “Get his spike out and pressurized.”

Sunstreaker looked down at the closed cover, but Sideswipe opened that one for him too. His spike pressurized partially on its own, because it wasn’t as if his frame wasn’t responding to Megatron’s use of his valve—that had, once upon a time, not too long ago, inherently hurt because of their sheer difference in size.

Not so anymore.

...Not so anymore.

Sunstreaker wrapped his servo around the emerging spike and tried very hard not to think about how much he didn’t want to be touching Sideswipe’s equipment. Instead… Focus on the task at hand. Stroke, brush his thumb over the tip, make Sideswipe feel good no matter how neither of them wanted to be in this situation.

He wasn’t left alone to it for long before one of Megatron’s servos came up, a digit hooking under his chin and tilting his helm up. He knew what was coming even before Megatron’s lips descended on his, glossa pushing into his mouth—taking his enjoyment from it just as he was taking it from Sideswipe’s frame.

Sunstreaker’s touch faltered on his brother. Megatron noticed; there was a growl of warning that had him focusing back on what he was doing, and… Not on what was being done to him.

Megatron picked up his pace until Sideswipe was groaning despite his attempts to stay quiet, but pleasure was building in his frame under the use of his valve and the touch on his spike. He was moving restlessly under Sunstreaker, hips tilting into Megatron’s thrusts and jerking up into Sunstreaker’s servo, up until he bucked with a strangled sound and came, spike and valve both. His transfluid landed on Sunstreaker’s servo, some of it onto his chassis, and there was no doubt in Sunstreaker’s mind that Megatron let himself be pulled into an overload by the clenching of Sideswipe’s valve, instead of being pushed into it involuntarily.

He painted the inside of Sideswipe’s valve with his own transfluid and bit down on Sunstreaker’s lip, but then… Then there was nothing but a possessive parting peck on Sunstreaker’s mouth before the tyrant pulled away, pulled out, stood up.

Tucked his spike behind its panel and left.

Sideswipe started sobbing the moment he was out of sight, a mess of transfluid and lubricant slowly leaking from his valve and his spike quickly depressurizing back into its housing. There were revving engines all around them, their brethren turned on by the show they’d received—and humiliation burned. Maybe it shouldn’t have. Hadn’t they already interfaced with this lot? Hadn’t all of them already seen them losing control of their own damn frames during the orgies?

But this was different. This wasn’t a signal turning them aroused beyond belief, and this wasn’t them forced into something.

This was them voluntarily giving Megatron what he wanted, voluntarily doing as they were told.

This was them giving up their fight in the sight of everyone else. It wasn’t them losing the fight in Megatron’s wing, out of sight.

It was them surrendering in public.

Sunstreaker glanced up when a shadow fell over them. Starscream met his gaze. “Welcome to the harem.”

( Next )

#transformers #maccadams #megatron #sideswipe #sunstreaker #starscream #skywarp #twin twist #topspin #megasun #megaswipe #megatwins #fic #2020 #harem au

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agathaarts · 4 years

Text

TF: Toku - The Weirdest Day

When Orion is kidnapped by the Decepticons- he expects the worst. Instead, he gets the strangest.

THE WEIRDEST DAY A short story from Transformers: Toku

-----

Orion had seen miracles. He had spoken with the first Primes, touched technology so ancient as to be magic, stood before the light of Vector Sigma. He had experienced things so unique he doubted any being save for Ariel and Dion would believe him if he told them, about Predacon Kings and leaping across the surface of Luna One as no-one had in decades.

So it was no small feat that this?

This took the oilcake for the weirdest day of his life.

By far.

First had come fear. The Seekers who had taken him must have been laying in wait, hidden in the ruins he'd been spending the past week exploring, and they'd struck when he was alone- guard down, distracted, Ariel would've admonished him but no one was ever prepared for a streak of blue and a streak of purple to hit them simultaneously. They’d dropped out of nowhere and yanked him up off his feet and into the air so fast the wind had been knocked from his vents. Even with all the practice he’d been getting flying in the armor lately, the whole world had flipped upside-down and a mix of disorientation and surprise left him flailing uselessly.

The Seekers (dangling by his ankles from their hands, it was easy enough to recognize them- Starscream’s lieutenants, Thundercracker and Skywarp, and he thought about the fights they’d had with them. About their powers- to stun and to teleport and, wait, to teleport!?) were saying something that he honestly couldn’t focus on, spark going so fast he was hearing static and watched helplessly as a smattering of purple sparks flickered across Skywarp’s armor- and then Thundercracker’s, and his- and-

VWOP

Oh. Teleporting like this sucked.

At least he was spared the indignity of screaming by the fact that he had to keep his mouth pressed shut to avoid purging his tanks when all momentum and gravity twisted and vanished and then came back in a godawful rush. Suddenly, he understood why Ariel had hated fighting this guy so damn much. He hit a purple, metal floor and struggled for air as he pushed himself to sit up, realizing that his vents were steaming in cold, cold air.

Skywarp collapsed into a heap next to him, and it all came together quite terribly.

The teleporter’s sudden exhaustion (Skywarp moaned pitifully as Thundercracker tried to pull him back upright with a curse), the sudden piercing cold- he looked up at a sky pale with clouds and rippling with electromagnetic bands of color, and found snow drifting down through the fog of his breaths. It hadn’t been the cold season, in the Iaconian territories. Not for a while, yet.

“Kaon.” He breathed, finally managing to swallow half-digested bile. Kaon, seat of the Decepticon empire, situated in Cybertron’s arctic circle. Skywarp had just teleported him a quarter of the way across the planet without using a groundbridge.

He turned to look at the Seekers again, and found himself face to face with a charging cannon.

A quarter of the way across the planet, directly to the Decepticon stronghold, by the looks of things. Mostly, now, he was focused on the glow of the cannon in his face, and then up to the huge violet mechanism it was attached to. “Rise.” Shockwave ordered in a wheezing growl.

Orion had been Optimus Prime. Primus-appointed warrior, a myth of power and nobility, he had fought dozens of Decepticons, Insecticons, Predacons, he had fought Shockwave to a standstill and assisted in even more battles. Optimus Prime would have said something defiant, noble, something to show that the mechanism was incapable of fear.

“‘Kay.” Orion squeaked, getting to his feet, clutching at his own arms as a cold wind picked up, suddenly wishing he’d at least bought along insulated armor. He’d seen images of this place, albeit from outside, studied possible defenses in the event that they ever found a weakness in this fortress. Like he hadn’t agreed with Ariel and Dion that an assault on the Decepticon stronghold would have been suicidal. Still, he recognized the jagged shapes of the towers, the high, reinforced walls, and his spark sank with the thought that no-one was reasonably going to come for him.

Shockwave prodded him, and he walked mechanically, past the Seekers (Thundercracker now having given up and just poking the snoring Skywarp with his foot over and over) under Shockwave’s directions and into a set of huge, carved doors.

Orion felt spectacularly small, in the huge, empty halls. At least it was warmer inside, but the walk was just slow enough to make anxiety creep in and knot in his gut, and just fast enough that keeping pace in front of Shockwave’s long steps was uncomfortable. He expected to be guided to some sort of holding cell, a brig, his processor conjuring up images of torture chambers and gallows for execution, between half-formed thoughts of how did they find out? How did they know? Are they going after Ariel too? Are they going after Dion? Where did we slip up?

And he thought about the communicator in his subspace.

If they left him alone for a moment, maybe he’d have time to get a message out before they noticed, warn them, somehow-

He was not taken to a cell. Or a small dark room. The throne room was, somehow, bigger than it looked on Decepticon broadcasts, and on the broadcasts it had looked enormous. It wasn’t...opulent, no, but something about the sheer size of the arched ceiling, the huge crystal screens along the walls, a space big enough to fly in (in fact, a few fliers hovered overhead, guards with heavy energy rifles who were tracking their progress) and big enough to pack in a few hundred Decepticons. The walk went from uncomfortable to downright agonizing when he realized who was waiting at the far end, standing up on the raised platform that held the nightmarish throne.

Even from this far away, Megatron and Starscream looked larger than life, without the benefit of the Optimus armor to raise him up and shield him. Orion had thought he felt small and undefended before, but every step closer to them was like shrinking, like his spark was falling through the floor. His standard armor may as well have been tinfoil for how vulnerable it felt.

Don’t cry in front of Megatron. He tried to berate himself, internally, in Ariel’s voice. Baby. It was already bad enough that he couldn’t keep an optic on them and had resorted to watching his feet, ventilations ragged and too-hard. Hyperventilating probably wouldn’t be a great response, either, but hey, it wasn’t breaking down. And it let him focus on other things, like the unsettling quiet of the throne room. Especially given the usual interplay of sharp arguments he’d been personally witness to between Megatron and Starscream. He really was slagged, if they were both staying quiet just to wait for him.

“My Lord.” Shockwave rumbled as they came to a stop. Orion kept his helm stubbornly down. “I present to you; Orion Pax, of Iacon.”

There was silence for a moment, before Starscream sucked in a loud ventilation and Orion winced. “Pax. That’s ironic. Peace.”

“It is the order most responsible for taking in war-orphans. The Order of Pax accounts for nearly sixty-seven per-cent of orphaned sparkling care among the Autobot territories.” Shockwave drolled out. True enough. Orion had known dozens of other Paxes, most of them without creators like him. He counted his ventilations, and looked at where the deep, grey-purple floors were scuffed by countless pedes before his own.

“You are certain this is him?” Megatron finally spoke up, voice low and smooth and Orion felt dizzy. It hadn’t been easy to fight Megatron, but it had been so much easier as Optimus Prime. Armored and armed and he was certain if he tried to get his utility axe out here and now he’d be dead before he even finished drawing it from subspace, but Optimus Prime would have stood a chance. “If there is any room for error-”

“There is not.” Shockwave put a heavy set of claws on Orion’s helm, and he let out an undignified whimper. Ariel would’ve been yelling at him, he just knew it. “My tests were extensive. His genetic coding is a perfect match.”

Oh Primus. Oh Primus, had they gotten ahold of his energon as Optimus? He thought of every time he’d been injured in the armor. Where could they have gotten a clean sample? Testing spilled energon was tough, the code degraded so fast when exposed to air or the surface of Cybertron, and it wasn’t like he hadn’t spilled energon in turn to further complicate things- had they somehow gotten into the Iaconian databases to read his own coding on file? He realized after a moment that he wasn’t even ventilating anymore, holding a breath hot in his chest. Did they have samples of his friends? Maybe it was just him, maybe they were still safe-

“As if any more testing is needed.” Starscream cut in. “Look at him! Look at that!” Starscream’s clawed hand came into Orion’s downturned gaze and talons pressed to his chin and tilted his head up, and he wondered if he was in shock, given how easily he let Starscream move his head up, and then tilt him side to side.

Megatron was looking down at him, but his expression was...inscrutable. No smug smirk of victory, or grit teeth of anger (he thought about the absolute rage Megatron’s face had held when he’d defeated him, when Optimus Prime had beaten him and then been refused the killing blow before he’d had to retreat.) Lips pursed tight, optics intent as if studying him. Trying to rationalize the adolescent who didn’t even have his final armors with the warrior who’d bested him?

Starscream turned his face the other way, and the Seeker locked eyes with him- their expression far more obvious and unguarded and...well, unsettling. Starscream was smiling, wide and wide-eyed and the smile split into a grin. “Will you look at those eyes.” The Seeker breathed, oddly quiet and soft given their usual harsh voice. Not a hint of malice or manic violence in that face, not like the fights he’d seen through Dion and Ariel’s eyes.

“Uhm.” Orion was rapidly realizing that, maybe, he didn’t know what was going on, here. This didn’t feel like an execution. Or an interrogation. Something was missing, something obvious to everyone else in the room. Starscream released his chin and he worked his mouth for a moment, but couldn’t find a word to say, instead glancing side to side. Maybe he’d hit his head when the Seekers grabbed him? Jarred his perceptive circuits.

Megatron was kneeling down, between his own height and the raised platform still more than large enough to be looking down at Orion from this position, but closer. Way too close for comfort, enough so that Orion could have reached out and put a hand on his helm with room to spare. He tried to look anywhere but Megatron. Up at the ceiling, to one side where Shockwave waited, to the other, where Starscream was still grinning and doing some sort of shuffling step side to side while those wings bobbed and flicked up and down in excitement.

Megatron cleared his vocalizer and Orion’s optics snapped back to him unwillingly. Say what you would of the warlord, but he had a presence that filled the room and demanded attention. “You know who we are?” He asked, and Orion mused over how very quiet his voice could be, when he’d only ever heard him barking order or bellowing promises of violence.

Orion gulped and nodded, unable to break focus with the burning red eyes of Megatron.

“Of course you do. I suppose it would be impossible not to, no matter who has had you.” Megatron’s gaze dropped to the autobot sigil on Orion’s chest. “Tell me, what do you know of your origins?”

Too confused and startled to do much of anything by way of resistance, Orion blinked a few times. They’d obviously had access to some form of his records, they must’ve known- Starscream’s shuffling half-dance of anticipation was growing louder the more he fidgeted. “Uhm.” He started. “I was raised by the Order of Pax, uh, when I was a mechlet, and then I was taken in by an archivist?” Something held his tongue on Alpha Trion’s name. Maybe his caretaker would be safe, still. Boy, he hated the sound of his voice, right now. Wavering and pitched with fear he was trying not to show. “And, uhm. That’s it. That’s all I know.”

Internally, he was screaming. WHAT?! WHY?! WHY DO YOU CARE WHY AM I HERE WHAT DO YOU WANT?!

It must have been obvious on his face, given the way Megatron’s expression quirked to something almost like amusement. A crooked sort of smile. “So you know very little. Perhaps nothing.”

“Uh.” Orion shrank down a bit. Because if the fear and confusion weren’t enough, he needed to feel a bit embarrassed for how little he knew, even if that wasn’t...atypical. It wasn’t as if he’d ever felt the need to look, not when he’d had Alpha Trion to care for him, to reassure him that no matter how he’d wound up in the care of the Order of Pax, he was wanted and loved at the archives. But the question caught in his throat until he croaked it out, voice breaking with a crackle of fearful static. “Why?”

Megatron rested his chin in his hand, elbow propped on his knee, thinking. “...You really do have his eyes.” His smile grew, and his expression was downright relieved. The warlord turned to his second, and Starscream only grinned wider if that were possible. “I suppose there is something to be said for a seeker’s genetics, even if he is wheeled.”

Orion silently mouthed ‘what’, because his processor’s frantic theorizing ground to a halt so abruptly that his vocalizer couldn’t quite function.

“Of course there is!” Starscream swooped around him and there were clawed hands on his arms but they were so careful, downright gentle in how they squeezed him and how Starscream peered over his shoulder with a crooning hum. “Thank goodness my coloration bred true, the poor boy wouldn’t deserve to be as dull as you!” Starscream grasped one of his wrists in a hand and it occurred to him that Starscream’s arms weren’t just blue, they were the same rich matte blue, a perfect match to his own.

“what” Orion whispered, choking on the word. Oh, the dizziness was back, and he was having trouble focusing his gaze. In fact, thinking about it, Starscream’s vibrant red plating would have been just about the right shade too. Red and blue were hardly rare colors, especially amongst Iaconians, but Starscream was certainly far more primary than most Seekers.

“Don’t mechhandle him-” Megatron sighed, rising back to his feet and gesturing for Starscream to shoo off. “Give him space, before you terrify the poor boy. Orion-” Starscream released him with a grumble, and swept forwards to stand beside Megatron, and the two of them were every inch the tall, proud, terrifying warlords who had swept across Cybertron. Made all the more terrifying by how they looked at Orion like...like...well, certainly not like an enemy, like a captured soldier. Hopeful. Relieved. Adoring. “-we have much to tell you.”

Megatron extended a hand down to him, open and palm up. Orion stared at it, mute with confusion. “what?” He mumbled, again, and tried not to think about those huge, powerful hands crumpling his armor, trying to beat him to death as Optimus Prime.

“Beginning with your heritage.” Megatron flexed his fingers, and Shockwave nudged him in the back with a sharp prod of a claw, startling him into placing his own small, unarmored hand in Megatron’s palm. He was held, and pulled up onto the raised platform before Megatron and Starscream, barely keeping his pedes under him in the process with a yelp. “You are not of Iacon, Orion.” He rolled Orion’s name smoothly, as if testing it, as if appreciating it. “You were created in Tarn, born in the great southern fortress at the border of Vos.”

Huh, thought Orion, caught in a dreamlike state where nothing quite seemed real. Maybe he really had hit his helm back there. Maybe this really was some sort of hallucination. That would have been the heart of Decepticon territories, decades ago. All that made it out of his mouth was another “w-what?”

“Orion Pax of Tarn.” Megatron practically purred it. “We believed you lost, a war was no place for a sparkling-”

“-And our fortress was destroyed-” Starscream interjected, claws on Orion’s arm again on one side, and then Megatron’s heavy hand on his other shoulder. So very trapped.

“-but fate has brought you back to us.” Orion could feel some sort of glitch turning into a cascade failure. Dizzy. Trouble focusing. Trouble moving. His body felt fuzzy and far away. “My son.”

“Our son.” Starscream added. And they looked at him like he was pricelessly important to them, unguarded and honest.

It would’ve been better if it didn’t make sense. As it was, Orion gawped, and managed to not simply say another confused ‘what’ or choke out another senseless ‘uhm’. He actually managed a full sentence, through the shock. Unfortunately, that sentence was “I’m sorry, I’m going to crash.” followed by his vision cutting out. There was a distant awareness of someone, multiple someones yelling and he didn’t fall far before there were arms around him, catching and supporting him, and then…he was out.

Megatron carefully arranged the adolescent in his arms, ignoring Starscream’s shrill cries, very aware suddenly of how small Orion was, in nothing but basic armors and without so much as a weapon on him, frowning at the autobrand that looked up at him. “Stop that.” He growled at Starscream, who whined. “He is fine, I can hardly blame him for glitching.”

“Be gentle with him!” The Seeker hissed.

“He is fine.” Megatron reassured. As it was, Orion simply vented soft and slow in his arms, slack and unconscious but unharmed. “Shockwave, have a medic sent to his quarters. I-”

“We!” Starscream added.

“-will bring him there.”

“At once, my Lord.” Shockwave would have sighed if it weren’t unprofessional. Ah, well. He could endure the inefficient softness Megatron was going to display around this...mechlet for now. If it pleased his Lord, he could see the benefit of having kidnapped his offspring. And one had to suppose, better than waiting for an Autobot to find out...and make their own plans for him.

#my writing #tf: toku #transformers: toku #warlord bastard dads au #now with some context #yo pray for Orion #Orion Pax #Megatron #Starscream #guest appearances by Shockwave Thundercracker and Skywarp #poor baby......

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