[TFP] Entitled Final Part
Sep. 22nd, 2016 07:40 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dracoqueen22Title: Entitled
Universe: TFP AU
Characters: Knock Out/Sunstreaker, Vehicons/Sunstreaker, Megatron, Breakdown
Rated: NC-17
Warnings: NonCon/Rape, Gangbang, Noncon use of toys and bondage, torture, humiliation
Description: Sunstreaker crash-lands on Earth, but the Decepticons find him first, and quite a few hold a grudge. All that's left is to suffer.
Part Seven
His energy levels were at eleven percent. The taste of transfluid was sticky on his glossa. He couldn't move his lower extremities, but his frame shifted nonetheless, back and forth, responding to the buzzing device in his valve.
He'd lost count of the number of overloads it had wrung from him. Each more painful than the last, to the point it was no longer pleasure, just agony. A few of the sensors in his valve had long since burned out.
He couldn't cycle down into recharge. Every time he got close, the toy jerked him out of the sequence, dragging him back to consciousness.
Sunstreaker floated, delirious, trapped between reality and the memory purges cropping up. The roar of the crowd. The feel of the arena beneath his pedes. The thrum of the clapping and stomping. The scent of fresh-spilled energon. The cheering. The taunting.
His pedes hitting scuffed metal. The pain of his missing arm, wires spitting sparks into the open air.
His opponent shoving him down, kicking his legs apart. The humiliation burned through his spark. Hands grasping his thighs, spreading him wide. The blinding pain of the victor slamming into him, punching through his interface panel, spearing his valve.
The contractions as his valve tried to resist the intruder, shoving something too-large into a space too-small.
The humiliation. It burned more than anything, like acid in his spark.
Another overload fizzled and popped through Sunstreaker's valve. He shuddered, feeling the lubricant dripping from his valve, sliding down his thighs. His vocalizer emitted static, not a scream, but dangerously close to it.
A sound in the silence. Pedesteps.
Sunstreaker's optics flickered on. Hazy shapes in the shadows coalesced to several mech forms, one he recognized, the rest indistinguishable from each other.
Knock Out grabbed his chin. Sunstreaker didn't have the wherewithal to resist. His tanks churned on empty.
The Decepticon pried his mouth open and poured a rather generous portion of energon down Sunstreaker's intake. It was thick and oily, the worst sludge that Sunstreaker wouldn't even put in a shuttle much less a sapient being. It slunk down his intake and left a gritty aftertaste.
The energon seeped to his tanks, not so much giving him a burst of energy as slowly filtering it to his frame. His levels grew to a paltry thirteen percent, and continued to climb, albeit at a crawl.
Someone spoke. The words were garbled, static to Sunstreaker's audials. The ground shifted. No. Wait. He was moving.
Hands on his plating. Chains loosened.
Now was the time!
His legs weren't working.
A pained groan escaped Sunstreaker as his arms fell limp, wrists still encircled but no longer bound above him. His legs wouldn't obey his commands. His HUD returned error messages. The motor relays had been fried, frag it!
The world spun. His hands slammed against the floor, knees clattering on lubricant-slicked metal. The toy buzzed away, battering his overwrought sensors. Someone manually manipulated his legs, forcing his knees to bend, forcing him to hand and knees. His engine gave a half-sparked rev.
His energy levels stalled at twenty percent.
Sunstreaker rebooted his input systems, audials, optics, everything. When everything came into focus, he wished he hadn't.
Sunstreaker was surrounded by no less than six Decepticon drones. Standing in front of him was Knock Out, looking thoroughly amused, his energy field buzzing hunger.
“I see that you enjoyed my toy,” Knock Out said and a hand grasped Sunstreaker's aft. “I brought some others for you to play with.” He made a vague gesture to the drones surrounding them.
Sunstreaker's fingers dragged scratches into the metal floor beneath him. He tried to speak, but all that emerged was a humiliating burst of static. Frag Knock Out to the Pit!
One of the drones behind him peeled off the sloppily welded plate covering Sunstreaker's valve. The pain was a nuisance compared to everything else. Sunstreaker barely twitched when a taloned digit probed into his valve, extricating the buzzing device.
The calipers in his valve cycled down, too used to the sensation of being filled, clenching on empty air. More lubricant gushed forth, spilling out of his valve and dribbling to the floor in a noisy squelch.
Sunstreaker felt filthy.
The device was gone, but the fingers returned, two plunging into his valve and pumping in and out, sliding easily thanks to the overflow of lubricant.
“As it turns out,” Knock Out said, shifting aside so that one of the drones could take his place directly in front of Sunstreaker. “I'm not the only one interested in the show you're about to give us.”
Sunstreaker's helm whipped up, glaring at the Decepticon.
Knock Out cocked a hip and gestured to the corner, where the light of a camera blinked at them. “You have an admirer.”
The sound of an interface panel snicking open echoed like a gunshot to Sunstreaker's audials. But it hadn't come from Knock Out.
He whipped a glance over his shoulder. The drone behind him had unsheathed his spike and guided his unadorned tool to Sunstreaker's valve.
Sunstreaker wanted to move, screamed the commands to his processor, but again and again, his HUD relayed errors. It was one thing to play shareware to the Decepticon medic. Quite another to be a berthtoy for a drone. Why were they equipped with spikes anyway?
The drone pushed into him, slow and methodical, a slick slide that was careful to alight several sensors around the rim, untouched by the glitched toy. Sunstreaker swallowed down a pathetic moan, his helm hanging.
A hand grasped his chin, lifting his helm again. Sunstreaker's optics flickered, looking up into the blank band of another drone. Without a faceplate, with only the barest nudge of an energy field, it was like staring at a machine.
The grip was firm, unyielding. Another panel snicked aside, a spike jutting toward Sunstreaker's mouth.
“Don't make me remind you of the rules,” Knock Out said from somewhere beyond Sunstreaker's sight. “So much as dent his spike, and I'll yank yours off.”
As if to prove his point, one of the drones grabbed Sunstreaker's spike, squeezing it. His hips jerked at the unexpected stimulation.
They crowded around him.
The one in his valve started a measured rhythm, in and out, pushing hard against the deepest wall of Sunstreaker's valve.
The other probed at his face, digits forcing Sunstreaker's mouth open, pushing his spike inside. The drone's tool was cool on Sunstreaker's glossa, so different from a fully-sparked mech. His spike was also unadorned, a smooth slide into Sunstreaker's mouth, pushing toward his intake.
Behind him, the drone withdrew.
In front of him, the drone thrust.
Behind him, the drone shoved.
In front of him, the drone receded.
He felt suspended between them, aching arms trembling, numb legs locked into place. His spark was leaden in his chassis, his tanks ticking toward twenty-two percent. Whatever sludge Knock Out fed him refueled him at an agonizing pace.
The hand on his spike started to stroke and arouse Sunstreaker's systems. He'd thought himself numb to it, but only his valve seemed uninterested. His spike, however, was pressurized and eager.
“I think I'll keep you,” Knock Out said, again from beyond Sunstreaker's direct sight. “I could use a new berth toy.”
Sunstreaker's engine revved angrily.
Knock Out laughed. “If you'd prefer, I could let Lord Megatron have you. But he has a nasty habit of breaking his toys, and that would be such a waste of good shareware.”
The drone overloaded into Sunstreaker's valve, a weak blast of transfluid that mingled with the lubricant coating his lining. The spike withdrew, air wafting across Sunstreaker's exposed valve, the mix of sticky liquids oozing out of his valve with wet plops to the floor.
One of the drones jostled his frame. Sunstreaker growled around the spike in his mouth, heard the scrape of metal against metal before hands landed on his hips. Ex-vents ghosted across his ventral armor before the hands pulled him down, splaying his thighs further, the head of a spike nudging the rim of his valve.
Sunstreaker's elbows wobbled. He drooped, spike sliding out of his mouth, smearing across his cheekplate. His helm dipped, his optics meeting the narrow band of another drone. The cool spike pushed up, sliding into him, quick to replace the one who had already overloaded.
Sunstreaker snapped his optics shut, not that it made a difference. Hands grasped his helm, jerking it up, a spike pushing back into his mouth. It struck the back of his intake with each thrust, jabbing into his mouth with a mindless pursuit toward overload.
Desire slapped Sunstreaker like a physical blow. It couldn't have come from the drones. He could hear pedesteps pacing around him and he onlined his optics, catching a glimpse of Knock Out, the fragger circling Sunstreaker with measured steps. He was staring, smirking, watching with darkened optics as the drones pounded into Sunstreaker.
“Do you understand yet?” the so-called medic purred, his vocals a throaty hum. “You were built for this, Sunstreaker. And you perform so beautifully.”
Hands once again landed on his aft, smoothing over the thick plating. Fingers dragged down, tracing the rim of his valve. The drone beneath Sunstreaker stilled in his thrusts, shuddering as the finger stroked both the base of the drone's spike and Sunstreaker's rim.
Unease filtered into Sunstreaker's spark. He didn't have to see the mech behind him to read the intent of that finger. Or the mech it belonged to.
“You're so slick,” Knock Out commented, vocalizer edging toward static, the lust in his energy field a hot pulse against Sunstreaker's own. “Dripping, really. I'd wager that this drone's spike isn't enough for you.”
Sunstreaker's engine rumbled, resonating through his chassis.
Knock Out chuckled. “Oh, you'll get what you want soon enough.”
A panel snicked, overbearingly loud to Sunstreaker's audials. The finger disappeared but a hand returned to his aft, stroking over to his hip, holding him in place. Beneath him, the drone shuddered, struggling to stay still though the urge to thrust must have been pinging his systems desperately.
The blunt head of a spike pressed against the rim of Sunstreaker's valve, sliding slickly over the transfluid and lubricant both. Sunstreaker cringed, spark spinning wildly in his chassis, fingers scraping against the floor.
He was trapped, helpless, with no way to stop what was coming next.
Sunstreaker groaned, the vibrations traveling over the spike in his mouth. The drone above him grunted, pumping harder.
The second spike at his valve pushed, prodding insistently, forcing its way inch by terrible inch. Sunstreaker's frame arched, and he lurched forward, unsteady, servos wildly grasping at the drone in front of him.
He tried to force out the spike with his glossa, throwing his weight forward as much as he was capable, though his legs still refused to obey. His energy levels hovered around twenty-seven percent and that was enough in Sunstreaker's opinion.
Someone shouted. Hands grasped at him from all directions. More than one battle system hummed to life, the sound of weapons charging a welcome relief from the rhythmic ventilations of an aroused mech.
Two sets of hands grabbed his arms, yanking them back, straining the mechanisms in his shoulder with a painful screech of metal on metal. He gasped a ventilation, the sharp pain rippling through him.
They jerked him backward, nearly upright on his knees, deepening the one spike still settled in his valve.
One of the drones snapped a pair of cuffs around Sunstreaker's arms just above his elbows, clasping them together behind his back and putting undue pressure on his shoulder joints. He winced, chassis thrust forward, as though offering his spark.
“Ah, ah,” Knock Out chastised with a burr of gears grinding together as he circled around to Sunstreaker's optical view. “Don't make me sever all your motor relays now. It's much better when you can squirm.”
Sunstreaker gathered up his strength for the fiercest glare he could muster, even as the hands returned to his hips, the second spike pressing against his strained valve.
“Frag you!” he snarled, and a pained cry escaped him as the spike pushed through the resistance, forcing into his valve alongside the other.
Knock Out's optics brightened with lust, his glossa snaking out over his lips. “Mmm. That was a good sound. Got any more for me?”
Static erupted from Sunstreaker's vocalizer. His helm hung, his valve spasming, clenching tightly on the impossible width shoved into it. There was plenty of lubricant, but the walls of his valve were stretched to the max. Capacity warnings flashed on his HUD, but it wasn't as though he could do anything about it.
He tensed from helm to pede, couldn't force himself to relax, and the hands grasping his hips trembled. The drone let out a heavy and hot ventilation. Beneath him, the drone shuddered, a binary click of need falling from its vocalizer.
Two pairs of hands grasped Sunstreaker's hips. Beneath him, the drone gave a tentative push, shifting the pressure of the spikes within Sunstreaker's valve. His ventilations hitched. It was too much, far too much!
“If you'd give in, you might even enjoy yourself,” Knock Out crooned, stepping forward and caressing Sunstreaker's faceplate with his digits.
Sunstreaker jerked his helm away. It was all the freedom of movement he had left.
Knock Out laughed. “Suit yourself.”
From his peripheral vision, Sunstreaker watched the medic step back and gesture openly at Sunstreaker. “He's all yours, boys. Make it a good show.”
Permission given, the drones wasted no time in taking advantage.
The two spikes in his valve started to move, counterpoint, one thrusting, the other withdrawing. Sunstreaker clamped his mouth shut, ground his denta together, swallowing down every pained sound that tried to escape. Half-numb sensors responded to the onslaught, some of them sparking to life.
His entire frame pitched and heaved at the force of their thrusts, but the two pairs of hands kept him in place.
A hand grasped his face, forcing his helm to turn, forcing him to face another spike, which pushed into his mouth with no prelude.
Sunstreaker felt Knock Out watching him, the lust in the Decepticon's energy field a heavy blanket in the room. Hatred boiled up in Sunstreaker's spark, his frame trembling from the force of it.
Pain and fury and disgust, it all churned nastily inside of him. He could feel every minute shift of the spikes in his valve, the tepid huffs of every drone's ventilation. The splatter of transfluid on his plating as one of the drones overloaded over his chassis, globs clinging to his chestplate.
Sunstreaker's hands formed fists, the sharpened tips digging into his own plating, haptic sensors screaming their anger.
The drone overloaded into his mouth, transfluid pouring down his intake.
One of the drones spilled transfluid into his valve. Sunstreaker didn't have so much as a klik for respite before another drone was there, filling him again, two spikes pushing and shoving and filling his valve.
Knock Out watched, engine revving, hand on his own spike, delighting in the show.
Sunstreaker growled internally.
The Decepticon would make a mistake. And when he did, Sunstreaker would get free, and then he'd rip the slagging sadist's spark from his chassis. Feed him his own spike first, maybe. Whatever it took to make the rage feel satisfied.
He was not going to break. Sunstreaker would slag well prove it.
Knock Out's days were numbered.
****
a/n: And that's the last of it!
As always, feedback is welcome and appreciated!
Universe: TFP AU
Characters: Knock Out/Sunstreaker, Vehicons/Sunstreaker, Megatron, Breakdown
Rated: NC-17
Warnings: NonCon/Rape, Gangbang, Noncon use of toys and bondage, torture, humiliation
Description: Sunstreaker crash-lands on Earth, but the Decepticons find him first, and quite a few hold a grudge. All that's left is to suffer.
His energy levels were at eleven percent. The taste of transfluid was sticky on his glossa. He couldn't move his lower extremities, but his frame shifted nonetheless, back and forth, responding to the buzzing device in his valve.
He'd lost count of the number of overloads it had wrung from him. Each more painful than the last, to the point it was no longer pleasure, just agony. A few of the sensors in his valve had long since burned out.
He couldn't cycle down into recharge. Every time he got close, the toy jerked him out of the sequence, dragging him back to consciousness.
Sunstreaker floated, delirious, trapped between reality and the memory purges cropping up. The roar of the crowd. The feel of the arena beneath his pedes. The thrum of the clapping and stomping. The scent of fresh-spilled energon. The cheering. The taunting.
His pedes hitting scuffed metal. The pain of his missing arm, wires spitting sparks into the open air.
His opponent shoving him down, kicking his legs apart. The humiliation burned through his spark. Hands grasping his thighs, spreading him wide. The blinding pain of the victor slamming into him, punching through his interface panel, spearing his valve.
The contractions as his valve tried to resist the intruder, shoving something too-large into a space too-small.
The humiliation. It burned more than anything, like acid in his spark.
Another overload fizzled and popped through Sunstreaker's valve. He shuddered, feeling the lubricant dripping from his valve, sliding down his thighs. His vocalizer emitted static, not a scream, but dangerously close to it.
A sound in the silence. Pedesteps.
Sunstreaker's optics flickered on. Hazy shapes in the shadows coalesced to several mech forms, one he recognized, the rest indistinguishable from each other.
Knock Out grabbed his chin. Sunstreaker didn't have the wherewithal to resist. His tanks churned on empty.
The Decepticon pried his mouth open and poured a rather generous portion of energon down Sunstreaker's intake. It was thick and oily, the worst sludge that Sunstreaker wouldn't even put in a shuttle much less a sapient being. It slunk down his intake and left a gritty aftertaste.
The energon seeped to his tanks, not so much giving him a burst of energy as slowly filtering it to his frame. His levels grew to a paltry thirteen percent, and continued to climb, albeit at a crawl.
Someone spoke. The words were garbled, static to Sunstreaker's audials. The ground shifted. No. Wait. He was moving.
Hands on his plating. Chains loosened.
Now was the time!
His legs weren't working.
A pained groan escaped Sunstreaker as his arms fell limp, wrists still encircled but no longer bound above him. His legs wouldn't obey his commands. His HUD returned error messages. The motor relays had been fried, frag it!
The world spun. His hands slammed against the floor, knees clattering on lubricant-slicked metal. The toy buzzed away, battering his overwrought sensors. Someone manually manipulated his legs, forcing his knees to bend, forcing him to hand and knees. His engine gave a half-sparked rev.
His energy levels stalled at twenty percent.
Sunstreaker rebooted his input systems, audials, optics, everything. When everything came into focus, he wished he hadn't.
Sunstreaker was surrounded by no less than six Decepticon drones. Standing in front of him was Knock Out, looking thoroughly amused, his energy field buzzing hunger.
“I see that you enjoyed my toy,” Knock Out said and a hand grasped Sunstreaker's aft. “I brought some others for you to play with.” He made a vague gesture to the drones surrounding them.
Sunstreaker's fingers dragged scratches into the metal floor beneath him. He tried to speak, but all that emerged was a humiliating burst of static. Frag Knock Out to the Pit!
One of the drones behind him peeled off the sloppily welded plate covering Sunstreaker's valve. The pain was a nuisance compared to everything else. Sunstreaker barely twitched when a taloned digit probed into his valve, extricating the buzzing device.
The calipers in his valve cycled down, too used to the sensation of being filled, clenching on empty air. More lubricant gushed forth, spilling out of his valve and dribbling to the floor in a noisy squelch.
Sunstreaker felt filthy.
The device was gone, but the fingers returned, two plunging into his valve and pumping in and out, sliding easily thanks to the overflow of lubricant.
“As it turns out,” Knock Out said, shifting aside so that one of the drones could take his place directly in front of Sunstreaker. “I'm not the only one interested in the show you're about to give us.”
Sunstreaker's helm whipped up, glaring at the Decepticon.
Knock Out cocked a hip and gestured to the corner, where the light of a camera blinked at them. “You have an admirer.”
The sound of an interface panel snicking open echoed like a gunshot to Sunstreaker's audials. But it hadn't come from Knock Out.
He whipped a glance over his shoulder. The drone behind him had unsheathed his spike and guided his unadorned tool to Sunstreaker's valve.
Sunstreaker wanted to move, screamed the commands to his processor, but again and again, his HUD relayed errors. It was one thing to play shareware to the Decepticon medic. Quite another to be a berthtoy for a drone. Why were they equipped with spikes anyway?
The drone pushed into him, slow and methodical, a slick slide that was careful to alight several sensors around the rim, untouched by the glitched toy. Sunstreaker swallowed down a pathetic moan, his helm hanging.
A hand grasped his chin, lifting his helm again. Sunstreaker's optics flickered, looking up into the blank band of another drone. Without a faceplate, with only the barest nudge of an energy field, it was like staring at a machine.
The grip was firm, unyielding. Another panel snicked aside, a spike jutting toward Sunstreaker's mouth.
“Don't make me remind you of the rules,” Knock Out said from somewhere beyond Sunstreaker's sight. “So much as dent his spike, and I'll yank yours off.”
As if to prove his point, one of the drones grabbed Sunstreaker's spike, squeezing it. His hips jerked at the unexpected stimulation.
They crowded around him.
The one in his valve started a measured rhythm, in and out, pushing hard against the deepest wall of Sunstreaker's valve.
The other probed at his face, digits forcing Sunstreaker's mouth open, pushing his spike inside. The drone's tool was cool on Sunstreaker's glossa, so different from a fully-sparked mech. His spike was also unadorned, a smooth slide into Sunstreaker's mouth, pushing toward his intake.
Behind him, the drone withdrew.
In front of him, the drone thrust.
Behind him, the drone shoved.
In front of him, the drone receded.
He felt suspended between them, aching arms trembling, numb legs locked into place. His spark was leaden in his chassis, his tanks ticking toward twenty-two percent. Whatever sludge Knock Out fed him refueled him at an agonizing pace.
The hand on his spike started to stroke and arouse Sunstreaker's systems. He'd thought himself numb to it, but only his valve seemed uninterested. His spike, however, was pressurized and eager.
“I think I'll keep you,” Knock Out said, again from beyond Sunstreaker's direct sight. “I could use a new berth toy.”
Sunstreaker's engine revved angrily.
Knock Out laughed. “If you'd prefer, I could let Lord Megatron have you. But he has a nasty habit of breaking his toys, and that would be such a waste of good shareware.”
The drone overloaded into Sunstreaker's valve, a weak blast of transfluid that mingled with the lubricant coating his lining. The spike withdrew, air wafting across Sunstreaker's exposed valve, the mix of sticky liquids oozing out of his valve with wet plops to the floor.
One of the drones jostled his frame. Sunstreaker growled around the spike in his mouth, heard the scrape of metal against metal before hands landed on his hips. Ex-vents ghosted across his ventral armor before the hands pulled him down, splaying his thighs further, the head of a spike nudging the rim of his valve.
Sunstreaker's elbows wobbled. He drooped, spike sliding out of his mouth, smearing across his cheekplate. His helm dipped, his optics meeting the narrow band of another drone. The cool spike pushed up, sliding into him, quick to replace the one who had already overloaded.
Sunstreaker snapped his optics shut, not that it made a difference. Hands grasped his helm, jerking it up, a spike pushing back into his mouth. It struck the back of his intake with each thrust, jabbing into his mouth with a mindless pursuit toward overload.
Desire slapped Sunstreaker like a physical blow. It couldn't have come from the drones. He could hear pedesteps pacing around him and he onlined his optics, catching a glimpse of Knock Out, the fragger circling Sunstreaker with measured steps. He was staring, smirking, watching with darkened optics as the drones pounded into Sunstreaker.
“Do you understand yet?” the so-called medic purred, his vocals a throaty hum. “You were built for this, Sunstreaker. And you perform so beautifully.”
Hands once again landed on his aft, smoothing over the thick plating. Fingers dragged down, tracing the rim of his valve. The drone beneath Sunstreaker stilled in his thrusts, shuddering as the finger stroked both the base of the drone's spike and Sunstreaker's rim.
Unease filtered into Sunstreaker's spark. He didn't have to see the mech behind him to read the intent of that finger. Or the mech it belonged to.
“You're so slick,” Knock Out commented, vocalizer edging toward static, the lust in his energy field a hot pulse against Sunstreaker's own. “Dripping, really. I'd wager that this drone's spike isn't enough for you.”
Sunstreaker's engine rumbled, resonating through his chassis.
Knock Out chuckled. “Oh, you'll get what you want soon enough.”
A panel snicked, overbearingly loud to Sunstreaker's audials. The finger disappeared but a hand returned to his aft, stroking over to his hip, holding him in place. Beneath him, the drone shuddered, struggling to stay still though the urge to thrust must have been pinging his systems desperately.
The blunt head of a spike pressed against the rim of Sunstreaker's valve, sliding slickly over the transfluid and lubricant both. Sunstreaker cringed, spark spinning wildly in his chassis, fingers scraping against the floor.
He was trapped, helpless, with no way to stop what was coming next.
Sunstreaker groaned, the vibrations traveling over the spike in his mouth. The drone above him grunted, pumping harder.
The second spike at his valve pushed, prodding insistently, forcing its way inch by terrible inch. Sunstreaker's frame arched, and he lurched forward, unsteady, servos wildly grasping at the drone in front of him.
He tried to force out the spike with his glossa, throwing his weight forward as much as he was capable, though his legs still refused to obey. His energy levels hovered around twenty-seven percent and that was enough in Sunstreaker's opinion.
Someone shouted. Hands grasped at him from all directions. More than one battle system hummed to life, the sound of weapons charging a welcome relief from the rhythmic ventilations of an aroused mech.
Two sets of hands grabbed his arms, yanking them back, straining the mechanisms in his shoulder with a painful screech of metal on metal. He gasped a ventilation, the sharp pain rippling through him.
They jerked him backward, nearly upright on his knees, deepening the one spike still settled in his valve.
One of the drones snapped a pair of cuffs around Sunstreaker's arms just above his elbows, clasping them together behind his back and putting undue pressure on his shoulder joints. He winced, chassis thrust forward, as though offering his spark.
“Ah, ah,” Knock Out chastised with a burr of gears grinding together as he circled around to Sunstreaker's optical view. “Don't make me sever all your motor relays now. It's much better when you can squirm.”
Sunstreaker gathered up his strength for the fiercest glare he could muster, even as the hands returned to his hips, the second spike pressing against his strained valve.
“Frag you!” he snarled, and a pained cry escaped him as the spike pushed through the resistance, forcing into his valve alongside the other.
Knock Out's optics brightened with lust, his glossa snaking out over his lips. “Mmm. That was a good sound. Got any more for me?”
Static erupted from Sunstreaker's vocalizer. His helm hung, his valve spasming, clenching tightly on the impossible width shoved into it. There was plenty of lubricant, but the walls of his valve were stretched to the max. Capacity warnings flashed on his HUD, but it wasn't as though he could do anything about it.
He tensed from helm to pede, couldn't force himself to relax, and the hands grasping his hips trembled. The drone let out a heavy and hot ventilation. Beneath him, the drone shuddered, a binary click of need falling from its vocalizer.
Two pairs of hands grasped Sunstreaker's hips. Beneath him, the drone gave a tentative push, shifting the pressure of the spikes within Sunstreaker's valve. His ventilations hitched. It was too much, far too much!
“If you'd give in, you might even enjoy yourself,” Knock Out crooned, stepping forward and caressing Sunstreaker's faceplate with his digits.
Sunstreaker jerked his helm away. It was all the freedom of movement he had left.
Knock Out laughed. “Suit yourself.”
From his peripheral vision, Sunstreaker watched the medic step back and gesture openly at Sunstreaker. “He's all yours, boys. Make it a good show.”
Permission given, the drones wasted no time in taking advantage.
The two spikes in his valve started to move, counterpoint, one thrusting, the other withdrawing. Sunstreaker clamped his mouth shut, ground his denta together, swallowing down every pained sound that tried to escape. Half-numb sensors responded to the onslaught, some of them sparking to life.
His entire frame pitched and heaved at the force of their thrusts, but the two pairs of hands kept him in place.
A hand grasped his face, forcing his helm to turn, forcing him to face another spike, which pushed into his mouth with no prelude.
Sunstreaker felt Knock Out watching him, the lust in the Decepticon's energy field a heavy blanket in the room. Hatred boiled up in Sunstreaker's spark, his frame trembling from the force of it.
Pain and fury and disgust, it all churned nastily inside of him. He could feel every minute shift of the spikes in his valve, the tepid huffs of every drone's ventilation. The splatter of transfluid on his plating as one of the drones overloaded over his chassis, globs clinging to his chestplate.
Sunstreaker's hands formed fists, the sharpened tips digging into his own plating, haptic sensors screaming their anger.
The drone overloaded into his mouth, transfluid pouring down his intake.
One of the drones spilled transfluid into his valve. Sunstreaker didn't have so much as a klik for respite before another drone was there, filling him again, two spikes pushing and shoving and filling his valve.
Knock Out watched, engine revving, hand on his own spike, delighting in the show.
Sunstreaker growled internally.
The Decepticon would make a mistake. And when he did, Sunstreaker would get free, and then he'd rip the slagging sadist's spark from his chassis. Feed him his own spike first, maybe. Whatever it took to make the rage feel satisfied.
He was not going to break. Sunstreaker would slag well prove it.
Knock Out's days were numbered.
a/n: And that's the last of it!
As always, feedback is welcome and appreciated!
