[AU] Oubliette - Chapter Eight

[dracoqueen22]

a/n: I'm going to say this at every chapter until it gets better. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK. NSFW.

Universe: G1/IDW AU
Characters this chapter: Megatron/Optimus, Shockwave/Optimus, Ratchet, Hook, Soundwave, Starscream, Stunticons, Mirage, Swoop, First Aid, Sunstreaker, Sideswipe
Rating: NC-17
Warnings this chapter: humiliation, depression/dark thoughts, weapons in uncomfortable places, sexual harassment
Commission fic for NK

Mood Music: "Head Above Water," Theory of a Deadman

Oubliette
Chapter Eight

Optimus onlined to a slate gray ceiling. A pang of longing struck him then, with a deep and abiding sense of loss.

Everyone had griped and complained about the color of the Ark. No one liked the orange. It was offensive to the optics. What was Grapple thinking?

Right now, Optimus would give his left arm to have woken from a battle to stare up at that offensively orange ceiling. He would love to chuckle at Sideswipe's attempts to make it more fascinating by emulating Michelangelo. He wasn't very good at it. His brother had shoved him out of the way and turned the scribbles into art, surprising everyone. The Protectobots, at First Aid's insistence, had banded together to scribble all sorts of uplifting messages. None of it had covered the orange, but it had helped to hide it.

Optimus missed that now, more than ever.

He shuttered his optics and turned his helm away.

Only then did he notice an absence of pain. There was a persistent ache, the discomfort of new equipment settling itself, but he didn't hurt. His shoulder had been slotted back into place. The virus must have run its course because his frame was a normal temperature. His energy tanks read a steady thirty percent, but that was typical now.

He wanted a bath with searing hot water, buckets of solvent, and a wire scrub brush. He'd been cleaned, but he still felt sticky. The taste of transfluid lingered. He swore that the stench clung to his plating.

Optimus shuddered, ill to his very core. He expected to feel more, but there was a strange sense of disconnect to his frame. Those memories were fresh, but distant. There was a lingering sense of hands on his frame, on his components, and then it was gone again.

How long had he been unconscious this time? He consulted his chronometer, feeling sick at the answer it returned. A week. They'd damaged him enough that he'd been in the medcenter for a week.

How close had he come to offlining?

“Optimus?”

He flinched as he felt the hand on his arm, until he recognized the light buzz of an energy field. His own all but dove out to return the familiarity, eager for comfort, for a spark of something that wasn't pain or fear or humiliation.

He onlined his optics and saw Ratchet standing at his berthside, face downcast, optics dim, a collar around his neck. But his paint was clean, if not a bit scuffed, and he didn't appear to be damaged.

“R-R-R--.” He stopped trying when all his vocalizer would spit was static.

“The new components are still integrating,” Ratchet said with a little squeeze. “Give it a few moments. Anything hurt?”

Optimus shook his helm. No pain, thank Primus.

“Good.” Ratchet ventilated and abruptly cast a nervous look to the side, his frame tense, before he looked at Optimus again. His let go of Optimus' arm and gripped his hand, tangling their fingers lightly together. “Optimus, I'm sorry.”

For what, he wanted to ask, but his vocalizer still wouldn't engage.

“I'm so sorry,” Ratchet repeated and his vents were hitching now, his grip tightening. His plating clamped tight to his frame.

Ratchet's sense of guilt had always rivaled Optimus' own.

He squeezed his chief medic's hand, trying to tell him without words that whatever it was, Optimus forgave him. Ratchet was only trying to survive. He couldn't be blamed for anything. It was all any of them could do.

“Slave!”

Ratchet jumped as though struck, tearing his hand free of Optimus. His optics brightened. “Master Hook!”

The Constructicon came storming into the room, optics bright and furious as Ratchet ducked his helm and headed for the door.

“You're not allowed in here!” Hook snarled, backhanding Ratchet solidly. It was a blow hard enough to echo in the room, but not send Ratchet to the floor.

He staggered, but kept his footing and his helm down. “I know. I'm sorry, Master. I just--”

He clamped his mouth shut as Hook raised his hand again and it hurt, to see his strong and stalwart CMO so cowed, his lips pressed together, optics shuttered. It hurt to see Ratchet submit, when he'd always been so indomitable, and all Optimus wanted to do was rise up from the berth and knock Hook aside.

But he was as trapped as Ratchet, as chained by the collar and the shackles. He could only watch as Ratchet lowered his helm again, looking small and meek beside the large Constructicon. His hands hung at his side, as though he'd forgotten how to defend himself, or maybe submission was the best defense.

“Get out!' Hook snarled and Ratchet all but leapt to obey, hurrying out of the room without lifting his gaze, without a second look back at Optimus.

Hook followed him to the door, bellowing out into the dark beyond. “Scavenger! If you don't leash the pet when it's your turn, you'll lose the next one!”

If Scavenger replied, Optimus couldn't hear it.

Hook trudged back into the room, grumbling under his breath, and then a full-force scan raked Optimus from helm to pede.

“Well,” he said, in a slightly better mood, “I'm a genius after all. You are one hundred percent back to capacity, full use even. Lord Megatron should be pleased.” He poked between Optimus' legs with a stylus and a penlight. “Full use indeed.”

Optimus' vocalizer spat static.

“Oh, hush. This doesn't even hurt,” Hook said, tone shifting back to annoyed. He peered closer, prodding at Optimus' valve cover. “You're lucky you get to keep your cover. Most of the other slaves don't. Though our pet gets to keep his. Too much of a distraction otherwise.”

A distraction. As if it was Ratchet's fault the Constructicons couldn't keep their hands off him or their spikes out of him. Optimus' tank clenched.

“Good as new!” Hook declared and drummed his fingers over Optimus' valve cover before he straightened. “I proclaim you fit for duty once more.” He reached for the many wires connecting Optimus to various machines throughout the room. “Now your master is far too busy to come collect you, but he's sent a substitute.”

The door slid open, and Optimus looked over. Soundwave darkened the frame. Well, he supposed Megatron would trust no one else but his most loyal soldier to escort his property.

“Punctual as always, Soundwave,” Hook said as he tugged and pushed and pulled Optimus off the berth, his hands far from professional. “You always seem to know the perfect moment to make an entrance.”

“Timeliness appreciated,” Soundwave monotoned, his visor turned toward Hook but Optimus suspected that he wasn't watching Hook at all.

The Constructicon chuckled and snapped the leash to Optimus' collar, handing the end to Soundwave. “Shall I cuff him for you?”

“Negative.” Soundwave gripped the lead firmly. “The Prime will be obedient.”

“And if not, you'll make him so, yes?” Hook leered.

Optimus shuddered, his armor clamping tight to his frame. He touched his intake, feeling around the collar, fingers grazing the recent weldwork. Speaking produced a few hissing sounds, but he could feel the component engaging. He rebooted it just in case.

“Now get going,” Hook said with a flick of his hands. “Megatron doesn't like being kept waiting and there's a slave in need of a reminder.”

“Affirmative.” Soundwave gave a small pull on the chain, urging Optimus toward him. “Prime will obey.”

Optimus' optics narrowed, but he did follow, albeit at a slow pace. He still ached. Refusal gained him nothing. Cooperation earned him less pain.

He would only lose what he could afford to lose.

Outside the room, Optimus tried to look for Ratchet, but he couldn't see his CMO anywhere. The only other Constructicon in sight was Mixmaster, standing over a table covered in various vials of brightly colored liquids. It also occurred to him that he hadn't seen Perceptor, though he was sure the Constructicons had claimed him.

Would they even answer him if he asked?

Optimus checked the status of his vocalizer as Soundwave led him out of the medcenter. Judging by their direction, they were heading toward the command center.

Dread curled in his tanks. His ventilations quickened. He felt, at once, both hot and cold.

His vocalizer pinged back full utility.

Optimus glanced around them. It didn't seem there were any potential eavesdroppers for once.

“Soundwave.”

The Communications specialist drew to a halt, half-turning to look at Optimus. His visor and mask betrayed nothing, his energy field as withdrawn as Optimus'. But he didn't speak.

There were a thousand questions Optimus could ask. But he settled for the one that worried him the most, the one that kept him moving when all he wanted to do was curl into a corner.

“I have heard that the Decepticons have ten Autobots. Do you know who?”

Something rippled across Soundwave's visor, a flash of color. “Negative.”

“Am I not allowed to know?”

“Affirmative.”

“Why?”

Soundwave's plating ruffled, lifting and settling around his frame. The lead, Optimus noticed, wasn't as tightly gripped as it should have been. “Lord Megatron's orders.” He turned back around. “Come.”

He started forward and Optimus followed after him, still moving stiffly. The ache of recent repairs lingered.

“Does he fear us?”

Soundwave didn't answer. Optimus should have expected as much.

Megatron certainly feared Jazz enough. If he were smart, he would have killed all the Autobots, rather than turning them to slaves. Not that Optimus wished death on his soldiers, but surely it was preferable to this.

They arrived in the command center which was in far more a flurry of activity than the last time Optimus had been present. Red Alert was still in his corner, tonelessly reciting a lack of activity, unchanged.

Megatron was sitting on his throne, but Starscream stood at his right hand. The two of them were talking and though Megatron registered irritation, neither of them seemed inclined to violence. Whatever had changed to prompt them to work together, it was still effective.

They noticed Soundwave's arrival and his cargo. Starscream promptly planted a sneer on his face, his arms crossing over his cockpit, but Megatron beckoned with one hand.

“Ah, thank you, Soundwave, you've brought me my property.” He snapped his fingers and his smile broadened when Soundwave placed the end of the lead on Megatron's palm.

The Slagmaker gave it a jerk, and Optimus stumbled forward, nearly tripping on his own pedes. Megatron's free hand gripped Optimus' helm, tilting it upright, as his optics raked over Optimus' frame.

“Almost factory new,” he mused aloud.

Optimus' engine growled, anger quick to take over the disconnect. Megatron's face was enough to incite fury.

“So that you can ruin it all over again, I imagine,” Optimus spat. “Do you pride yourself on wasting resources?”

Megatron tilted his helm, optics narrowing. “I wouldn't call it a waste, Prime. After all, you provided pleasure and entertainment to my soldiers. A waste would have been to kill you.”

He let go of Optimus' helm and pushed hard on his shoulders. He drove Optimus down to his knees, though his grip on the lead forced Optimus to look up at him.

“And that, my dear Prime, I am unwilling to accept.”

“Leader.”

Megatron's gaze drifted away from Optimus, his focus shifting to Starscream. The Seeker stood by a nearby console, staring at something on the screen.

“What is it, Starscream?”

“Motormaster just commed. They're on their way back.”

Megatron's engine growled an unpleasant note. “Their patrol is not due to end for another three hours.”

“They've found an Autobot. Estimated arrival, five minutes.”

Optimus stiffened, turning his helm as far as the lead would allow as he stared at Starscream. The Seeker's expression betrayed nothing.

Megatron chuckled. “Did they now?” He pulled on the lead again, dragging Optimus back to his pedes. “Then what a unique opportunity to prove to you, Prime, how I make use of available resources. Soundwave, take command.”

“Yes, Lord Megatron.”

Dread pooled in Optimus' tanks. He had no retort to offer Megatron, nothing that wouldn't inspire more humor. He could only stumble after the warlord as he strode from the command center, Starscream on his heels. He felt forgotten, incidental, as they carried on their conversation and dragged him along like unwilling decoration.

“Did he say who?”

“No, Master. He sounded proud, however. Claims he caught the mech responsible for raiding the storage in Protihex.”

The dread worsened. Optimus' tanks twisted into knots.

“I highly doubt that,” Megatron said.

“I only repeat what I'm told.”

They emerged from the command center and headed for the open courtyard. There they waited, Megatron shoving Optimus down to his knees next to Megatron, as though he were some obedient pet. Optimus half-expected to be ordered to perform for their entertainment, but it seemed Megatron was more interested in his conversation with Starscream.

“Rather than sound like a fool, you should consider verifying your information,” Megatron said, but it was a lazy drawl that indicated he wasn't as angry as he could be.

Starscream snorted a ventilation. “I'll keep that in mind for next time. But I no more think that team of idiots caught Jazz than you do.”

Megatron's gaze whipped toward him. “There is no proof that he's responsible.”

“We're all thinking it.”

Megatron's engine gave a telling rumble. “I don't care. I want proof before everyone starts jumping at ghosts.”

Starscream tilted his helm in concession. “Whatever you say, Master.”

The roar of high performance engines announced the Stunticons' arrival. Optimus watched with growing despair as they pulled up and transformed, looking none the worse for wear. Drag Strip and Dead End entered Motormaster's trailer, no doubt to retrieve the Autobot, and Optimus' ventilations stalled.

He didn't know who to expect. He didn't know which of his Autobots survived enough to guess, save that he'd be honestly surprised if it was Jazz.

It wasn't, he realized as the dirty, bleeding, and discolored frame was dragged out of Motormaster's trailer, giving him room to transform. Optimus still could not be more surprised.

Megatron roared with laughter. “The pet noble,” he said, throwing his arms wide in a grand gesture, dropping the end of the lead.

It landed next to Optimus and he stared dully at it. He couldn't even count it as freedom. Where would he go? What would he do? What would it gain him?

“Found 'im scraping around in Uraya's ruins,” Motormaster said with a grin, one hand gripping Mirage by the back of the neck as he thrust Mirage forward.

Mirage could barely walk. One leg was mangled and twisted and the best he could do was hobble. One arm had gone the way of his leg. Both optics flickered fitfully. Judging by the spatters over his frame, the Stunticons had taken advantage of their find in the same way the triple-changers had Optimus.

“Musta damaged his systems or somethin'. Fragger can't even go invisible.” Motormaster's grin widened. “We can keep him, right?”

“Lord Megatron, I must protest!” Starscream said, storming up to join them. This left Optimus kneeling on the ground, practically alone. “Bad enough that we keep the Prime alive, but this spy as well? Surely it's not coincidence that he should appear within a week of the Protihex theft.”

Megatron turned his helm toward Starscream, his optics narrowing. “Do you think we can't handle one Autobot, especially a damaged one?”

“Of course not,” Starscream scoffed, wings arching up high. “But this is not some random footsoldier. Even Soundwave had trouble keeping him out of the Nemesis. At the very least, you can't leave him with those idiots.”

“Hey!” Motormaster swelled up and his subordinates crowded around him, all five pinning the Seeker with a baleful look. “We earned 'im. We caught 'im, we keep 'im. That's the rules.”

“The rules are whatever I say they are, Motormaster,” Megatron corrected and he turned back toward the Stunticons. He stalked toward Mirage, grabbing the noble and yanking him away from Motormaster. “And I decide where the Autobot belongs.”

Motormaster frowned. His subordinates deflated, but not without a sullen look Megatron's direction. This would be the second Autobot Megatron had taken from them, if Optimus remembered correctly. Even the most loyal could be lead to contempt. Megatron better be careful.

“But--”

Megatron held up a hand, silently cutting off Motormaster's protest. He gripped Mirage's shoulder, tight enough that the metal audibly buckled, though Mirage made no noise of pain. Those fitfully blinking optics couldn't focus.

“I allowed you to play with my pet,” Megatron reminded him. “Do not forget that honor.”

“Surely you don't intend to keep Mirage for yourself,” Starscream said, his fists planted on his hips.

“Of course not.” Megatron dug his thumb into Mirage's collar fairing, lips pulling into a smirk as Mirage winced and his engine raced into a high pitch. “But I do think Shockwave will find his electrodisruptor a useful item to study.”

Motormaster muttered something, his hands forming fists at his side.

“And in the meantime, Motormaster, you can have one of Shockwave's Autobots,” Megatron said. “There are a few that no longer interest him.”

“But those are all used up!” Motormaster protested.

“Then you can go without,” Megatron said in a mild tone. His free hand started petting Mirage's helm, fingering one crushed helm projection before moving on to the other. “The choice is yours.”

Some of the tension eased out of Motormaster's frame, though the rest of the Stunticons grumbled amongst themselves. “Any one of them?”

“Any that Shockwave is willing to part with. You can go choose now if you want. Tell him I sent you.”

More grumbling ensued but at least now it sounded pacified. One Autobot for the five of them? Optimus shrank into himself. He didn't dare contemplate it. No matter who it was, the Stunticons would ruin him.

Motormaster dipped his helm in a semblance of a bow and took his leave, teammates trailing along behind them. Wildrider giggled, already babbling about the type of slave they hoped to find.

Starscream watched them go as well, his expression inscrutable. “You are going to run out of Autobots, Leader,” he commented before his optics shifted back to Megatron. The agitation in his stance had not faded.

“I have enough for now,” Megatron said dismissively and he thrust a thumb into Mirage's mouth, smearing energon around. “This one can become a service to all my soldiers.”

Mirage's optics flickered fitfully, and Optimus could see him trembling. Whether it was from fatigue or energon loss or Megatron's implications, Optimus didn't know.

His Autobot was a few feet in front of him, in the hands of the enemy, and there wasn't a Primus-forsaken thing Optimus could do about it.

“Not Shockwave?”

“Shockwave first,” Megatron mused aloud, idly molesting Mirage with lingering sweeps of his hand. His fingers flirted over the ruin that had become Mirage's interface array. “Have him remove the electrodisruptor. Then put him in the pen.”

Starscream's optics narrowed. Optimus expected him to bristle. Starscream never followed Megatron's orders without a snide comment.

Instead, Starscream visibly reset himself and made a grab for Mirage, though not before Megatron shoved the spy his direction.

“Whatever you say,” Starscream said, and he tossed Mirage over his shoulder, an easy thing for a Seeker to do. His gaze shifted past Megatron, briefly resting on Optimus, before he activated his thrusters and shot into the air.

Optimus was left alone with Megatron.

Megatron approached Optimus, cannon gleaming in the streetlight. “You didn't run,” he observed, bending to sweep the end of the lead from the ground. “You waited for me.”

Optimus looked up at him. “Where would I go?”

“Where indeed.” Megatron stared at the end of the lead, turning it around and around in his fingers. “You are finally recognizing where you belong.”

He didn't dignify that with a retort. “Who else have you given to Shockwave?” Optimus demanded instead. He could argue with Megatron until his vocalizer shorted out, but they both knew who had the upper hand here, and it wasn't Optimus.

“Does it matter? You can't rescue them.” Megatron paused for dramatic effect, his lips curling back to reveal his sharpened denta. “You can't protect them.”

“I still want to know.”

“And what do I get in return?”

Optimus' optics narrowed. He pressed his lips together, affixing Megatron with a glare.

The warlord raised his orbital ridges. “Come now, Prime. You ask for information knowing that it doesn't come free.” He tossed the lead from one hand to the other. “What do you have to offer me?”

“Nothing you can't take for yourself,” Optimus spat, the bitterness rising in him all over again.

Megatron chuckled. “You are wrong. I can force you to do many things. But I can't force you to do them willingly.”

Ice dripped like tiny shards through Optimus' lines. What more could Megatron take from him? What did he have left to give?

“What do you want?”

“Mmm. I already have you on your knees.” Megatron walked a slow circuit around him as though examining him from all angles. “Too bad we don't have an audience.”

Optimus gritted his denta. “What do you want?” he repeated.

Megatron's smirk sent ripples of irritation through Optimus' field. Especially when Megatron dragged his fingers across the crown of Optimus' helm. “What you don't want to give me. Your submission, Prime. I want you to show me the proper respect.”

“Clarify.”

Megatron stopped in front of him, close enough that Optimus was faced with his pelvic array and interface panel. Which was nothing new. This Optimus had done before.

“Appreciate me, Prime,” Megatron said, one leg sliding forward, his pede coming to a rest between Optimus' knees. “Tell me you are grateful for my mercy,” He purred, engine revving, his optics darkening to a smolder. “Thank me for my kindness. For giving you the opportunity to serve.”

Optimus' palms scraped the length of his thigh. “How do I know you'll hold up your end of the bargain?”

“You'll just have to trust me.”

Optimus' frown deepened.

“I'll even up the stakes,” Megatron said and he allowed a bit of slack in the lead. “I'll not only tell you, I'll take you to them.”

“Out of the kindness of your spark,” Optimus said flatly.

“Because I am that generous.” Megatron's pede forced Optimus' knees wider, the edge of it scraping the inside of Optimus' thighs. “Now. How does a slave show his proper gratitude?”

Optimus' hands pulled into fists where they rested on his thighs. He bowed his helm, feeling a rage unlike any other boiling within him. He weighed the possibilities.

Megatron's pede nudged him again.

“I'm losing my patience, Prime,” he said.

His joints creaked. His hydraulics hissed. His frame bowed forward with achingly slow motions until his palms flattened and his helm was bent before Megatron, forehelm pressed to the ground. His vents expelled a slow rush of air.

He had to reset his vocalizer twice before he could force the words to emerge.

“I am grateful for your mercy,” Optimus said, and his spark seemed to shrink into itself.

Had Ratchet done this, too? Had he bowed and sacrificed every ounce of his pride for the slimmest hope of survival? Had he weighed his pride against his spark and realized which he valued more? Was that why he apologized?

Megatron's frame hummed above him, the trickles of his field suggesting approval. “Of course you are,” he said, and his pede nudged into Optimus' field of view. “Show me.”

The plating on Optimus' back reshuffled with revulsion. His engine whined an uncomfortable pitch.

The matrix remained silent. It offered no counsel and no comfort. It had not spoken to him in so long, Optimus was certain that meant he was no longer worthy of it.

Optimus lifted his helm and obeyed. All he had left was his Autobots and it was a special kind of agony to not know their fate.

A days worth of grit and dust clung to the silvery-gray pede. He felt it against his lips as he brushed his mouth over Megatron's pede, his faceplate burning and his audials spitting humiliated charge.

Megatron's raspy chuckle only made it worse.

“Continue,” he ordered as the lead rattled in his grip. “A slave must show the proper deference, Prime. And your master is dirty.”

Optimus' tank gurgled. He glared at the ground and steeled himself. It was a petty thing that Megatron did.

He parted his lips and licked a thin stripe across the tip of Megatron's pede, shuddering as he did so. The taste was not half as unpleasant as the shame gripping his spark. Compared to all the Decepticon transfluid he had consumed, Optimus preferred the road grit.

Megatron's approval radiated in his field, trickling down over Optimus like a soft caress. His engine purred.

“For this, I think I will keep my end of the bargain,” he said. “Get up.”

Optimus dragged himself to his pedes, the taste of grit heavy on his glossa. He couldn't seem to lift his optics. It felt like a physical weight was on his shoulders, dragging him down.

Megatron snatched his jaw, dragging him close and Optimus lifted his arms at the last moment, keeping their frames from colliding. He didn't want even the semblance of intimacy.

“Keep fighting, Prime,” Megatron purred, his denta teasing at Optimus' audials. “It'll be all the sweeter when I finally break you.”

Optimus shuddered.

He said nothing in return and Megatron released him, taking up the lead again. “Now I believe you wanted a tour of Shockwave's facilities, and I am a mech of my word.”

Optimus was beginning to believe this was less a generous act on Megatron's part, and more an attempt to prove a point.

He followed the smug warlord across the courtyard, between several buildings, through a section of Iacon slotted for eventual rebuilding, and toward a long, squat structure with a single tower. Optimus was surprised that Shockwave had deigned to relocate. Though perhaps Megatron had not given him the choice.

Shockwave's laboratory was a building of sharp angles and few, if any, windows. It looked like a prison, a place criminals were taken to be forgotten. Optimus felt an unprecedented urge to change his mind, to turn back, but Megatron's pace didn't falter and he was pulled closer to the darkness.

The doors opened as Megatron approached, sliding aside for his entrance. Inside it was much cooler than outside, as though Shockwave pumped refrigerated air throughout the entire structure.

The halls were long and empty, devoid of decoration. A few mechs stood at spaced intervals but even Optimus could tell with a glance that they were drones. Megatron hung a left, heading toward a massive set of double doors at the end. These, too, opened for him and they stood in a large, circular room, multiple doors in sight. Each was marked with a number. There was a control console of some kind in the center, surrounded by holographic screens, and here was where they found Shockwave.

“Lord Megatron,” he greeted and a wave of his hand dismissed two of the screens before he came out from behind the console. “To what do I owe the honor?”

“A demonstration,” Megatron explained and he dragged Optimus forward, planting a hand on Optimus' shoulder. “My pet would like to see all of yours.”

Shockwave's single optic brightened. “I see. But, my lord, one is at a delicate stage in the experiment and--”

He quieted when Megatron held up a second hand. “Spare me the explanation. I'll see the others.”

“Your commander took one, under your orders, I am told,” Shockwave said, and there was a hint of something in his tone, irritation perhaps.

“Motormaster didn't lie. He was only to take what you could spare.”

Shockwave's plating rustled. “The mixed breed was no longer of use to me. But I could have found another purpose given time.”

Mixed breed?

“And if you do, Motormaster will relinquish his pet.” Now Megatron was the one who sounded frustrated. His grip on Optimus tightened. “Show me the monitors.”

Shockwave hesitated before he dipped his helm with a little sigh from his vents. “At once, my lord. Step this way.” He gestured with his true hand.

Megatron followed, pushing Optimus ahead of him. Optimus braced himself for the worst as he was shoved onto the platform, coming within sight of the multiple monitors. They all showed various readouts, scientific jargon unfamiliar to Optimus, but Shockwave stepped past him and pressed several buttons. The images fuzzed out, replaced by a live feed of several cells.

Optimus' ventilations stalled.

He counted four.

First Aid looked as well as could be expected. He was in decent repair, and the only testament to his captivity was the collar around his intake. He didn't bear the wrist and ankle cuffs like everyone else. He sat at a desk, fiddling with some object, perhaps fixing it. Occasionally, he would pause to rub his chestplate.

Optimus did not know what happened to the rest of Defensor. He suspected they had not survived. Not if First Aid was here on Cybertron when Optimus had left the Protectobots on Earth with the Dinobots.

Speaking of Dinobots, one resided in the next cell over. Swoop paced back and forth across the floor, a slow and steady pace that spoke of his agitation. His plating was a lot dingier than the others, though he was not dented. His restraints were heavier and he was missing pieces of his armor, but the worst of it was the section missing from his helm. Something was plugged into it, not that Optimus could identify it.

The last two were Sideswipe and Sunstreaker and Optimus did not know what Shockwave had done to them, but he did know that there was no better torture than to separate the two. Which was exactly what Shockwave had done. They were in separate cells, each of them smaller than the ones given to the others.

Their heavy battle armor was gone, leaving only the thinnest outer frame to protect their substructure. Their chestplates had been replaced by a transparent panel, giving view to the frenzy flicker of their sparks beneath. Both of them, like Swoop, were dripping in chains.

Though they had berths, both of them opted to sit on the floor, backs pressed to the wall. Given the placement of the cells, Optimus had to wonder if they were in cells side by side, and it was the closest they could get to one another.

“I have to thank you, Lord Megatron,” Shockwave said, his tone ripe with flattery. “Acquiring Mirage for my collection ensures that I can find a way to duplicate the electrodisruptor. With any luck, we can begin outfitting an entire unit with the modification.”

Optimus couldn't see Mirage on any of the screens.

Megatron made a thoughtful noise. “And the others?”

“All useful in their own way,” Shockwave answered, all too pleased with himself. “I'm getting closer to understanding their various anomalies. The medic has been a helpful acquisition. Without him, I might have been forced to call upon the Constructicons more often.”

“We can't have that.” Megatron stared hard at the screen. “Good work, Shockwave.”

Optimus sucked in a horrified ventilation. “Good work,” he repeated, drawing both of their gazes his direction. “How is any of this good? What in Primus' name are you doing to them?” His hands pulled into fists.

Swoop's pacing had devolved to scratching at his helm, not touching whatever was crammed into his processor, but all around it. As though whatever Shockwave did to him was an itch he couldn't scratch.

Optimus was glad, in that moment, he wasn't within field range of any of them.

“That is none of your concern, Prime,” Shockwave huffed, bristling with menace.

Megatron chuckled lowly and moved to Optimus' side, pressing up against him. “Of course it isn't. But Prime is still learning his place. Aren't you?” He nuzzled against Optimus' helm, a parody of affection, one arm curling around Optimus' waist to brush a hand over his interface panel.

Optimus cringed, tilting his helm away from Megatron even as he tried to twist out of the warlord's embrace. Megatron pinned him further in place, venting hot air against Optimus' collar fairing.

“Perhaps if I was allowed to take another look at his processor?” Shockwave asked, clicking his claws together.

“Maybe another time.” Megatron groped harder at Optimus' panel, fingers rubbing against the seams in a manner that would have usually been pleasant. “You look as though you could use a rest, Shockwave.”

Optimus went cold.

The scientist tilted his helm. “I receive the optimal amount of recharge every cycle, my lord.”

“Of course you do,” Megatron purred and he turned Optimus toward Shockwave, free hand rising to wrap around Optimus' intake. “And I know you don't take advantage of any of your subjects.”

“Oh no, my lord. I would never think to disrupt the integrity of my experiments.” Despite his vehemence, however, Shockwave appeared to finally be catching on. “I have so much to do that I simply don't have the time--”

“Come now, Shockwave,” Megatron interrupted, fingers pushing hard at Optimus' panel, threatening the thin metal, until Optimus took the hint and triggered it open. “You deserve a reward.”

Optimus' intake worked, his vocalizer buzzing, unable to initialize with the pressure of Megatron's fingers upon it. His valve spasmed as two fingers shoved into it, prodding around the minimally lubricated walls.

“You are generous,” Shockwave said and his fingers clicked an off rhythm over his console.

It had nothing to do with generosity, Optimus seethed. It was about proving a point.

“I am,” Megatron said, and he released Optimus, shoving him forward.

Optimus stumbled, hands moving to catch himself against the console. Megatron's hand landed against the back of his neck, pushing him down until he bent over. A kick between his pedes encouraged his legs to spread, his aft pushing out, his bare valve on display. A clear invitation.

All Optimus could see were the monitors, his Autobots suffering under Shockwave's ministrations.

Optimus braced his hands on the console, tried to push himself upright. Megatron pressed harder on the back of his neck, keeping him pinned. Optimus' engine gave a tired growl.

Megatron leaned over him then, his vocals a whisper against Optimus' audials. “Shockwave might not choose to take one of his pets, but a single word from me and he'll have one of them up here. Do you want to be responsible for that, Prime?”

Optimus froze and shuttered his optics. He flattened himself against the console, frame going limp.

“I thought so.” Megatron nipped his audial and drew back, though he left his hand on the back of Optimus' neck. “Shockwave?”

Optimus heard the scientist move, and felt Shockwave get closer. His energy field was drawn tight, but there was something in the tentative drag of Shockwave's hand down Optimus' back that spoke of unpleasant things.

“I admit, my lord, that I am not one inclined to interface,” Shockwave said, but then his hand traveled lower, fingers tracing the rim of Optimus' valve. The touch was clinical, exploratory. “I do not understand the appeal.” His thumb brushed Optimus' anterior node and Optimus shuddered. “Though testing reactions to stimuli does have a certain appeal. Are you opposed to an object outside of my interfacing equipment?”

Megatron chuckled. “Do not damage him. I have plans and don't want to have to return him to Hook's care this evening.”

“I wouldn't dare. But I am curious.” Shockwave's fingers flitted around the rim of Optimus' valve as though measuring it. “Certain frequencies are said to cause immediate and intense arousal and I--”

“Spare me the explanation, Shockwave.” Megatron sounded bored. His fingers flexed on the back of Optimus' neck. “Just do it.”

“As you wish.”

Shockwave's fingers poked into Optimus' valve, prodding around, pulling at the rim. It was all scientific curiosity that shouldn't feel as violating as it did. By all accounts, it was almost preferable.

“He is insufficiently lubricated,” Shockwave lamented, like one might a piece of equipment lacking hydraulic fluid.

Megatron chuckled and shifted beside Optimus, a second hand joining Shockwave's, only Megatron was a lot more deliberate. He stroked Optimus' internal sensors, his thumb providing a light touch to Optimus' anterior sensor. The touch was just gentle enough that Optimus' valve translated it as pleasure. A low heat built in his internals.

“Will that suffice?”

“It'll do.” Shockwave cycled a ventilation.

Megatron withdrew his hand and Shockwave's fingers departed as well. Optimus didn't know what to expect. He didn't want to online his optics to find out. He cringed, lubricant barely slicking his walls, and then something cold and hard pressed against his valve. It had no give, but it let off a low level of vibration. A sex toy?

“Do not damage my Autobot, Shockwave,” Megatron warned.

“The safety is engaged, my lord,” Shockwave replied and the low level vibration cycled into a higher setting, sending low, pulsing waves through Optimus' valve.

He swallowed down a moan even as shards of ice dripped through his internals. He had the sinking feeling that it wasn't a toy or Shockwave's spike in his valve.

The object – Shockwave's blaster – pushed deeper, the smooth barrel gliding effortlessly against the mesh of Optimus' valve. His calipers cycled down, clutching at the polished metal, his nodes singing with the stimulation. It grew hotter, as though cycling into readiness, the heat almost pleasant against Optimus' recently repaired mesh.

“After this, we will return to my quarters,” Megatron said against Optimus' audial, the sibilant hiss a horrifying promise. “I have plans for you, my pet.”

Optimus' fingers scraped the console. “Are you trying to frighten me?” he forced out.

He drew in a sharp ventilation as Shockwave's blaster pushed so deep that the end lodged against Optimus' ceiling node and his valve stretched wide around the base of it. There was a click as the vibrating increased in intensity, dragging a small cry from Optimus' vocalizer.

“Hmm,” Shockwave said. One finger traced Optimus' stretched rim, poking it with another thoughtful hum.

Megatron bit down on his antenna, the scrape of his denta jarring compared to the smooth push of Shockwave's blaster. “Merely giving a warning. A reminder that the worst, my pet, has yet to come.”

Shockwave withdrew and thrust in, more forceful this time, rocking Optimus forward on the console. His windshields scraped across the top. His valve pulsed, calipers squeezing tight, pleasure blooming through his array. The nodes sang, charge ramping higher with every touch of Shockwave's blaster. Lubricant liberally soaked Optimus' valve.

“Messy,” Shockwave observed, an edge of distaste to his vocals.

Megatron laughed. “Interfacing often is.”

“How wasteful.” Shockwave pushed harder, grinding the open barrel against Optimus' ceiling node.

Optimus' hips squirmed. His pelvic array rubbed on the edge of the console, sending reverberations through to his spike. He groaned and clamped his mouth down his arm, trying to stifle the noises.

There was another click and then a whine before electrical discharge suddenly coursed through his valve, lighting up every sensor node in an abrupt burst. Optimus writhed, pedes scraping at the floor. His hips danced in place at the unexpected overload. Heat surged in the wake of the discharge, his sensors throbbing. Oral lubricant dribbled from his mouth.

Optimus sagged against the console, his valve quivering around Shockwave's blaster. His vents sucked in some of the frigid air, his fans whirling.

“Curious,” Shockwave said. He removed his blaster with a slow slide of the barrel.

Optimus bit down a moan, his sensitized nodes responding to the stimulation.

“How so?” Megatron asked. His hand slipped over Optimus' aft, fingers plunging into his valve and swirling through the lubricant. He pinched Optimus' anterior node, making Optimus jerk.

“Close up,” he said, and then his hand removed itself.

Optimus snapped his panel shut so quickly Megatron would have lost a finger if he hadn't already removed them.

“The reaction was stronger than I anticipated.” Cloth rustled as Shockwave withdrew something to wipe down his blaster. “I may have to adjust my hypotheses. Sensors in the receptive equipment appear to be far more elaborate than I realized.”

Megatron patted Optimus on the aft like one might a pet who had served his master well. “Theories are only as good as practice, Shockwave. Contact me should anything change with your toys.”

“Of course, Lord Megatron.” Shockwave dipped his helm in a bow.

Megatron gripped Optimus' lead and gave it a tug. “As for us, we have an appointment to keep.”

Optimus stumbled after him, array still tingling, as dread settled in his tanks.

***
a/n: The calm before the storm that is chapter nine and ten and two chapters that I personally consider to be rather terrible (though we all have different ideas of what can be considered worse). Either way, be prepared.

As always, feedback is welcome and appreciated.