[Defiance] The Used
Nov. 9th, 2020 07:13 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dracoqueen22Title: The Used
Universe: Transformers AU, Defiance ‘verse
Characters: Orion Pax, Hot Rod, Skywarp
Rating: NC-17
Content Warnings: Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Noncon/Rape
Description: For the sake of his family and his home, Orion is compelled to leave the safety of the mines, but one wrong step puts him in the path of a Seeker.
Commission for Jeegoo
“Don’t go.”
“I have to, Roddy.” Orion looks from one datapad to the other before deciding he needs both and shoves them into his pack. “We’re not going to survive down here forever. We need a better answer than to keep cowering underground, hoping the Winglord lets us live.”
Hot Rod frowns at him, his spoiler drifting downward with disappointment. “But why does it have to be you? Why can’t you just tell someone else about those dreams of yours? Like Springer? I could tell Springer and--”
“It has to be me,” Orion says gently, touching his brother’s knee to stop the ramble of unworkable options. “I wish I could tell you how I know that, but I can’t. It’s a feeling.” He touches his chassis with his other hand. “I have to find the answers.”
“It’s dangerous,” Hot Rod says.
Orion nods and turns away, crouching to yank out his storage crate from beneath his berth. All of the supplies he’s carefully gathered and hoarded are transferred from it to his pack.
“I know.” Orion tumbles mil-rats of coolant and high-capacity energon bars into the subspace pocket. “But you know if I tell someone, they won’t listen, and we can’t keep on the way we are. We’ll die down here, and I can’t have that.” He looks up at his younger brother. “I want a better life for you.”
“You can help me do that from here,” Hot Rod grumbles, arms folded, sulking and worried to every inch of his clamped armor.
Orion stands and slings the bag over his shoulder, reaching out to pull his younger brother in a hug. “You know why I can’t. It has to be this, and it has to be now. Before it’s too late.”
“I’m going to miss you,” Hot Rod says, muffled against his shoulder. “Please be careful. I can’t lose you.”
“You won’t,” Orion says. He cups Hot Rod’s face, offering his most reassuring smile. “I promise, I’ll come back. And when I do, it’ll be because I’ve found a way for all of us to live as freely as we deserve.”
Hot Rod rolls his optics. “You and Megatronus were made for each other.”
“You hush.” Orion kisses Hot Rod on the forehead before picking up his pack, slinging it over his shoulder. “And remember--”
“Not to tell Ironhide or Kup until it’s too late for them to stop you,” Hot Rod recites, hopping off Orion’s berth and following him out of the room. Luckily, both of their caretakers are out for the afternoon. “I know.”
“Don’t tell Megatronus either,” Orion says.
Hot Rod scowls. “I wouldn’t anyway.”
“Good.”
Orion pauses, hand on the door to the hallway. For a moment, he hesitates. Is he doing the right thing? Is he making a mistake? Should he turn around, forget about this foolish venture?
He takes a moment to imagine it. Spending the rest of his functioning below the surface, scrabbling in the dark, mining shoulder to shoulder with the rest of his kin, the threat of a cave-in always hanging over their heads. He’ll have Megatronus. They might even bond someday. Maybe they’ll adopt an orphan -- there are always orphans -- and someday, that sparkling will grow up and mine energon alongside them.
And always, always, the Seekers will soar freely in the sky above, while the grounders toil in the dark.
Nothing will change. It isn’t even guaranteed to be a safe life. It’s just a functioning one.
He has to do this.
“Stay safe,” Hot Rod murmurs as Orion opens the door.
“I will,” Orion promises, and hopes he can keep that promise.
Afterward, it’s a matter of slipping through the darkened hallways, a path he’s walked time and time again, memorized by rote. They’ve made it a point to dim most of the lighting to conserve energy, which works in Orion’s favor. He knows all the scanning rings to avoid, the motion cameras, the security checkpoints.
There’s no way to bypass the monitor on the Ramp, but by the time anyone reacts to someone leaving -- as opposed to a potentially invading force -- Orion will be too far gone to be stopped. It’s a terrifying thought, but one he tucks deep down inside. This is something that must be done.
He only wishes he could have spoken to Megatronus first. It feels selfish to slip away without a conversation, but he knows Megatronus would have tried to stop him. Not because he doesn’t believe Orion, but because he fears harm befalling Orion. It’s a noble concern. He’ll never understand why Orion has to take this risk.
The final checkpoint buzzes as Orion passes through. He glances up at the camera, a final goodbye, before he swipes the keycard he borrowed from his caretaker to let himself pass. The control beeps, the door swings open, and thin streams of sunlight paint the ground at his feet.
Orion takes a deep vent and steps beyond the threshold, the door banging shut and locking behind him -- inaccessible even with the stolen keycard. He tucks it into an arm panel and starts to ascend the Ramp.
Step by step, the darkness grows lighter and lighter, until Orion steps out from a rocky overhang to a bright world. So bright he has to shield his optics from the warm glow. It’s midday, and Hadeen is at the apex of its cycle, spilling warm light over everything.
Rolling hills in shades of gray take up the entirety of Orion’s vision. Brittle tangles of cabling give hints to what must be a lush cable jungle in the distance. There’s a road, or what used to be one, cracked and pale with age.
Orion’s tires ache to give it a try. He lurks in the overhang, however, just for a moment. The sky is terrifyingly large, giving him a sense of vertigo. He sees nothing to break up the open expanse, though he knows there must be Seekers somewhere. The sky is their domain after all.
He pulls out his holomap to justify his hesitation, consulting it. If his positioning system is at all accurate, the famous Nova Cronum Archives should be to the south. It’s the closest repository of knowledge, and the best place for Orion to start his research.
He can’t keep being a coward.
Orion squares his shoulders, puts away the map, swings the pack over his shoulder, and steps out onto a well-worn path. He turns to the south, keeping one optic on the sky, and one on the road. He’d transform if he didn’t think that might draw more attention than quietly walking.
He, like most of the other grounders, has a heavy-duty alt-mode. His engine is loud. Out here, it’ll echo. Draw attention. If he has any hope of getting to Nova Cronum without coming across a Seeker, keeping a low profile is his best bet.
An hour passes. The rolling hills grow taller, but the cable jungle vanishes behind him, leaving stunted growths of Cybertronian flora Orion has never seen before. He passes the occasional building, rusted and dilapidated, echoes of a long-lost civilization, coated in thick layers of corrosion. It’s eerily still and quiet, nothing like the constant thrum of noise in the mines.
Orion is abruptly aware of how alone he is.
And then there’s a speck in the distance. Orion freezes as the dark speck flitters in the sky, dancing through a few heavy clouds. It has to be a Seeker.
He darts toward the nearest shelter, a shambling mess of a building with just enough roof to hide him from anything overhead. His feet splash through a small pool of acid, and Orion hisses as his ankle cables start to itch. Frag.
He crouches down and peers through the window, watching the speck grow larger as it gets closer, flying in a seemingly erratic pattern. It’s not making a beeline toward his position, so Orion hopes that means he wasn’t spotted.
It’s a full five minutes before the speck vanishes from view, and another five minutes after that before Orion thinks it’s safe to emerge from his hiding spot. He steps back onto the road, even warier than before, and makes it a point to keep an optic out for potential shelters on the off chance he should spot another potential threat.
He watches the sky more intently before, ahead of him, behind him, above him. He tags potential shelters. He checks the map again, corrects his heading, and tries to ignore the anxiety knotting his back cables.
Whump.
“Well, what do we have here?”
Orion’s spark leaps into his intake. He startles backward as a black and purple Seeker flashes into view mere feet in front of him, appearing from clearly nowhere, looming impossibly large. He’s grinning, his hands on his hips, hovering above the ground with little puffs of his thrusters.
Orion doesn’t think. He drops to his knees, bows his head, and grovels, “Please, my lord, forgive me.” His vocals crackle as energon floods his lines in an icy slush. His pack drops next to him, and he prays the Seeker doesn’t give it any attention.
The Seeker’s thrusters hit the cracked road. He drops into a crouch in front of Orion, his shadow blocking out the sun because like all Seekers, he’s twice Orion’s size. “My lord?” he repeats, evident glee in his voice, his accent thick. “Ooo, I like that. Say it again.”
Orion dips his head further, baring the back of his neck, vulnerable. If he prostrates himself enough, perhaps this Seeker will be so disgusted he’ll leave Orion alone.
“I know I have erred,” Orion says, hands flat to the film of corrosion, sheer strength of will all that keeps his vocals study. “If you’ll but have mercy.”
The Seeker taps the top of his head, hard enough to make Orion’s audials ring. “That’s not it. Say it. Call me what you did before.”
“My lord?” Orion repeats. He looks up, confused.
The Seeker grins down at him, his wingtips fluttering in a mad dance, nothing in the press of his field to suggest anger. “Yeah, that.” He rests his elbows on his knees, fingers wriggling a nonsense pattern. “Only Star gets to be called lord, but I think I’m going to demand I get it, too.” He flicks Orion in the forehead. “Oy. Stand up. Let me look at you.”
Orion stares. He knows better than to disobey, but he’s not sure what’s going on either. Seekers are supposed to be violent, angry masters. Is this one a hatchling? Too young to know what Orion is?
He stands, careful to keep his hands at his side. The Seeker rises with him, towering over Orion. He snatches Orion’s chin in a taloned grip.
Orion flinches. He keeps his gaze safely lowered and to the side. Deferent. He’s only a grounder. He stays rooted to the surface, while the Winglord and his kin fly freely among the clouds. He is nothing to them.
“Huh.” The Seeker turns his head left and right. “You’re not half bad looking. Small like most grounders, but your aft isn’t too bad, and these look fun.” He flicks Orion’s windshield pointedly.
Fear rattles through Orion’s vents. “Please, let me go,” he says, begs, because Seekers are fond of grounders respecting their power, of grounders being afraid. “I promise you’ll never see me above the surface again.”
It’s a lie. The Seeker doesn’t know that, however. Grounder fields and Seeker fields, they’re so different they can only sense the obvious tells, the strongest emotions. Orion’s spent half his functioning hiding his true thoughts, and Jazz has given him more than a few lessons.
He can talk his way to freedom.
He hopes.
The Seeker grunts, turns his head to the side again, and a finger caresses the curve of Orion’s neck, tracing one stretched cable. “I’ve never had a grounder before,” he muses aloud, as if Orion hadn’t spoken at all. “Hey, call me lord again. Oh, and use my designation this time. It’s Skywarp.”
Play along. Survive.
He can do this.
Orion works his intake over a frightened lump. “L-Lord Skywarp,” he says. “I mean you no harm. Please, let me be on my way.”
Skywarp’s other hand settles heavily on Orion’s hip, nearly large enough to span his entire waist. “Mmm. Not yet. I’m not a fan of wasting opportunities.” His thumb sweeps down, over Orion’s pelvic span. “Kinda curious if grounders are the same down here.”
Orion's spark stutters in his chassis, and panic rises up like gorge in his intake. He jerks back, away from Skywarp, away from the Seeker's lecherous touch to his closed panel. In a flash of movement, taloned fingers wrap around his intake.
Orion freezes.
"Oh, don't run," Skywarp purrs. "I'd hate to have to hurt you. Not when we can have fun instead." His other hand shoves between Orion's legs, forcing his thighs further apart, his thumb scraping over Orion's array panel. "Open up."
Orion grabs Skywarp's wrist, trying to push him away from Orion's array. "I don't--"
"Get your hand off me," Skywarp says, his words sharp, despite his smile, his fingers flexing around Orion's intake.
Orion yanks his hand away as if burned.
"Better." Skywarp’s thumb presses harder at Orion's panel, threatening to dent the softer metal. "Open or I'll do it for you. That's not a request."
Talons prick at Orion's intake. His knees wobble.
He obeys, heat burning at the back of his optics, his hands forming fists at his sides. He can't do anything to stop the fingers immediately scrubbing over his bared array, tracing the dip of his spike housing, retracted though it is, and circling the pleats of his valve.
"I can't see anything like this," Skywarp says with a huff. He straightens, inadvertently yanking Orion with him, head swinging left and right before he visibly perks. "Oh, that'll help."
Orion's world slides sideways, his vision a smear a color. His vents stall, and then there's a whump as the world clarifies once more.
They've moved. Teleported? Orion's head spins. His feet dangle, and he blindly paws for something to hold onto moments before he's placed down on something, aft scraping on rusty metal.
His pack. They’ve left his pack behind. Damn it.
Hands wrap around his knees, yanking his legs apart, jerking Orion onto his back. His head hits the surface with a bang, further dazing him. Air puffs over his exposed array.
"Huh. We are the same. You're smaller though," Skywarp says, wedged between Orion's knees now. A taloned finger nudges at his valve before pushing inside, a raw, scraping burn. "Much smaller. Frag, you're so tight, too. Will I even fit?"
"Please don't," Orion moans, but if the Seeker hears him or cares, he gives no indication of either.
"I'm sure I will," Skywarp mutters, as if to himself. "Valves stretch. I've seen a minijet take TC, so I'll bet I can fit in you." He grins and pushes his finger deeper into Orion's valve, curving it to stroke on a deepset sensor nexus.
Orion jerks, heat flushing his array, completely without his permission. The barest trickles of lubricant seep free, easing the way for Skywarp's lazy fingering.
"That's better," Skywarp croons and presses a thumb to Orion's external node. "Oy, say it again."
Nausea burns at the back of Orion's intake. His fingers dig into the rusty surface of whatever Skywarp threw him on.
"L-Lord Skywarp, you don't have to do this."
"I don't have to do anything. I just want to. So stop whining." Two fingers force their way into Orion's valve, abrading his lining.
He gasps, trying to squirm away from the hot burn of the abrupt, scraping stretch. His legs spasm, feet kicking out before reason tells him he shouldn't.
He never sees the hand, just the ringing in his audials, the abrupt reset of his visual feed, and the sharp sting of Skywarp's strike across his face.
"Oy, grounder, behave yourself," Skywarp snaps as Orion reels. "Who's the Seeker here, huh? That's me. And who's the lowly grounder, huh? That's you. So behave."
"You'll break me," Orion gasps, his thighs splayed wide around Skywarp's hips, his valve burning around the stretch of two fingers.
Skywarp rolls his optics, his face a blur to Orion's shaky vision. "Don't be stupid. Valves stretch."
The click precedes the emergence of Skywarp's spike. The head of it smears against Orion's thigh, firm and thick, and the first glimpse Orion gets sends panic through his lines. Skywarp is big, too big for Orion to take comfortably, his spike thick and ridged. He thrashes in Skywarp's grip, trying to push himself back and away from the Seeker.
Skywarp growls and drags Orion back across the platform, his armor scraping and shrieking on the metal. "Fine," he snaps, and flips Orion onto his belly, his chin banging down.
Skywarp yanks his arms behind his back so sharply, something in Orion's left arm pops, sending a stab of agony. He gasps, going limp, Skywarp immediately pushing back between his legs, his spike nudging against Orion's valve.
"Quit whining." Skywarp tugs on Orion's arms, sending a fresh stab of agony through the popped shoulder joint. "I'll fix it when I'm done."
Orion's ventilations whine. His hands are trapped, wrists easily encircled with one massive Seeker hand. Skywarp's got a grip on his hip, pulling him back toward the spike nosing at the pleats of his valve, a blunt pressure that promises pain. His head spins.
Skywarp hums to himself, a jaunty tune, and shoves into Orion between one vent and the next, his spike carving a path through Orion's resisting his calipers. He's too big, and Orion's vocals catch on a cry, agony slicing through his array. He's burning, raw and scraped, as Skywarp sets up a brutal pace, shoving into him, slamming him against the structure beneath.
Heat burns behind Orion's optics. He gasps for ventilations, his sensory net raw and vibrating from the pain. Skywarp's muttering to himself, but his words are a blur to Orion, who can only focus on the agony of his valve, the throb of his shoulder.
The regret.
"Frag, I could get used to this. You feel so good, so tight, and hot and nnnn--" Skywarp's bitten off groan precides the hot press of his field, drowning out Orion's senses.
Skywarp overloads, his transfluid painting Orion's already abraded valve lining, searing the raw nodes. He groans, optics shuttering, head bowed toward the structure, limp in Skywarp's grip as the Seeker grinds deep, moaning satisfaction.
"You know what," Skywarp says, his field brimming with an abundance of satisfaction. His free hand wanders over Orion's frame, touching him like one might a pet turbofox. "I think I'll keep you."
Orion spits static. He can't seem to make his vocalizer engage.
Skywarp hums to himself and grabs Orion's hips, flipping him over onto his back once more, and fresh agony spills from Orion's dislocated shoulder. He hisses, but Skywarp just grabs his thighs, pushing them apart and back, so he can openly stare at Orion's valve, at his own spill seeping from the swollen pleats.
"Heh. It's like I've marked you mine," he says, and dips one taloned finger in the dribbling spill, painting it over Orion's array as if it fascinates him. "TC and Star would never let me do this, you know. So if I had a pet..."
Orion groans, resetting his sensory feeds, trying to get some sort of clarity from his audials or optics. He paws blindly at his damaged shoulder, wincing as the strained cables protest the light touch.
"Oh, right. Your shoulder." Skywarp drops Orion's legs and sits him up, hooking one arm around Orion's waist as he grabs the injured arm with his free hand.
"Wait--"
Snap!
Orion wheezes, a starburst flashing behind his optics.
"Better?" Skywarp asks through the screaming of Orion's sensors and the throb of his shoulder, mobile once more, but sore and tender.
He sags in Skywarp's grip, struggling to ventilate.
"Hey." Skywarp pokes the injured shoulder. "I asked you a question."
Orion lifts his head, staring blearily up at the grinning Seeker. "Hurts, my lord."
"Grounders are so delicate," Skywarp scoffs as he drops his hands to Orion's thighs, his thumbs scrubbing along the inner plating of them. "Nice and tight though. I'm gonna bring you back to Star. He's gonna love this."
Wait.
Back?
Orion startles and tries to scramble away, despite the throbbing pain in his valve. Skywarp's hands clamp down on his legs, talons digging in, yanking him back into reach.
"Whoa, where do you think you're going?"
Orion clutches his throbbing shoulder. "Let me go, please," he begs. "You've had your fun."
Skywarp shakes his head. "No way. You came up here. That means you're in our turf now." He grins, and there's lechery in the curve of his mouth. "I wanna keep you. You're gonna make a great gift."
"You can't do that," Orion protests. "I'm not some... some pet you can just bring home."
Skywarp pats his cheek gently, and Orion jerks his head out of the way. "Silly grounder. I can do whatever I want."
He pulls back, and Orion tenses to make a break for it, but Skywarp flips him on his front again, grabbing his arms and winding some kind of strong cable around his wrists. Too strong for him to break.
Orion thrashes, throwing his weight around. But one Seeker hand planted in the middle of his back is enough to keep him thoroughly pinned. A fresh wave of agony flashes through his shoulder, and Orion goes limp.
“Close your panel, pet,” Skywarp says with a two-fingered tap to Orion’s raw valve. “I don’t want you leaking all over me.”
His talon scrapes Orion’s folds in warning, a promise of pain if Orion disobeys. It still takes two tries for Orion to engage his panel to close, having to force an override beyond the damage warnings.
“You’re learning. I like that,” Skywarp croons.
He trusses Orion up like one might a disobedient pet before tossing Orion over his shoulder. His abdomen smashes against a spiky pauldron, denting his plating. Orion’s tanks rumble, threatening a purge, but he swallows it down.
One massive Seeker hand curves over him, holding him in place.
"Don't squirm," Skywarp warns. "You don't want me to drop you."
Orion's tank sinks into his pelvis as Skywarp activates his thrusters and abruptly launches them into the air. Panic steals Orion's vents, and he tries to hold himself still as best he can, without hands to grip Skywarp in return.
The ground gets further and further away. Everything is a smear of color before whump -- another disorienting displacement of air sends Orion's sensory suites reeling. And another, and then another, the landscape changing beneath them in dizzying flashes.
In the distance, getting closer and closer, Orion can see the great, pointed spires of the Winglord's city, gleaming in the sun, far, far from the ground. One fall from the unrailed edges would kill any mech who had no wings or thrusters to slow his tumble. There was no other way off the floating city.
Orion shutters his optics and goes limp on Skywarp's shoulder.
There's nothing else he can do.
****
Universe: Transformers AU, Defiance ‘verse
Characters: Orion Pax, Hot Rod, Skywarp
Rating: NC-17
Content Warnings: Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Noncon/Rape
Description: For the sake of his family and his home, Orion is compelled to leave the safety of the mines, but one wrong step puts him in the path of a Seeker.
Commission for Jeegoo
“Don’t go.”
“I have to, Roddy.” Orion looks from one datapad to the other before deciding he needs both and shoves them into his pack. “We’re not going to survive down here forever. We need a better answer than to keep cowering underground, hoping the Winglord lets us live.”
Hot Rod frowns at him, his spoiler drifting downward with disappointment. “But why does it have to be you? Why can’t you just tell someone else about those dreams of yours? Like Springer? I could tell Springer and--”
“It has to be me,” Orion says gently, touching his brother’s knee to stop the ramble of unworkable options. “I wish I could tell you how I know that, but I can’t. It’s a feeling.” He touches his chassis with his other hand. “I have to find the answers.”
“It’s dangerous,” Hot Rod says.
Orion nods and turns away, crouching to yank out his storage crate from beneath his berth. All of the supplies he’s carefully gathered and hoarded are transferred from it to his pack.
“I know.” Orion tumbles mil-rats of coolant and high-capacity energon bars into the subspace pocket. “But you know if I tell someone, they won’t listen, and we can’t keep on the way we are. We’ll die down here, and I can’t have that.” He looks up at his younger brother. “I want a better life for you.”
“You can help me do that from here,” Hot Rod grumbles, arms folded, sulking and worried to every inch of his clamped armor.
Orion stands and slings the bag over his shoulder, reaching out to pull his younger brother in a hug. “You know why I can’t. It has to be this, and it has to be now. Before it’s too late.”
“I’m going to miss you,” Hot Rod says, muffled against his shoulder. “Please be careful. I can’t lose you.”
“You won’t,” Orion says. He cups Hot Rod’s face, offering his most reassuring smile. “I promise, I’ll come back. And when I do, it’ll be because I’ve found a way for all of us to live as freely as we deserve.”
Hot Rod rolls his optics. “You and Megatronus were made for each other.”
“You hush.” Orion kisses Hot Rod on the forehead before picking up his pack, slinging it over his shoulder. “And remember--”
“Not to tell Ironhide or Kup until it’s too late for them to stop you,” Hot Rod recites, hopping off Orion’s berth and following him out of the room. Luckily, both of their caretakers are out for the afternoon. “I know.”
“Don’t tell Megatronus either,” Orion says.
Hot Rod scowls. “I wouldn’t anyway.”
“Good.”
Orion pauses, hand on the door to the hallway. For a moment, he hesitates. Is he doing the right thing? Is he making a mistake? Should he turn around, forget about this foolish venture?
He takes a moment to imagine it. Spending the rest of his functioning below the surface, scrabbling in the dark, mining shoulder to shoulder with the rest of his kin, the threat of a cave-in always hanging over their heads. He’ll have Megatronus. They might even bond someday. Maybe they’ll adopt an orphan -- there are always orphans -- and someday, that sparkling will grow up and mine energon alongside them.
And always, always, the Seekers will soar freely in the sky above, while the grounders toil in the dark.
Nothing will change. It isn’t even guaranteed to be a safe life. It’s just a functioning one.
He has to do this.
“Stay safe,” Hot Rod murmurs as Orion opens the door.
“I will,” Orion promises, and hopes he can keep that promise.
Afterward, it’s a matter of slipping through the darkened hallways, a path he’s walked time and time again, memorized by rote. They’ve made it a point to dim most of the lighting to conserve energy, which works in Orion’s favor. He knows all the scanning rings to avoid, the motion cameras, the security checkpoints.
There’s no way to bypass the monitor on the Ramp, but by the time anyone reacts to someone leaving -- as opposed to a potentially invading force -- Orion will be too far gone to be stopped. It’s a terrifying thought, but one he tucks deep down inside. This is something that must be done.
He only wishes he could have spoken to Megatronus first. It feels selfish to slip away without a conversation, but he knows Megatronus would have tried to stop him. Not because he doesn’t believe Orion, but because he fears harm befalling Orion. It’s a noble concern. He’ll never understand why Orion has to take this risk.
The final checkpoint buzzes as Orion passes through. He glances up at the camera, a final goodbye, before he swipes the keycard he borrowed from his caretaker to let himself pass. The control beeps, the door swings open, and thin streams of sunlight paint the ground at his feet.
Orion takes a deep vent and steps beyond the threshold, the door banging shut and locking behind him -- inaccessible even with the stolen keycard. He tucks it into an arm panel and starts to ascend the Ramp.
Step by step, the darkness grows lighter and lighter, until Orion steps out from a rocky overhang to a bright world. So bright he has to shield his optics from the warm glow. It’s midday, and Hadeen is at the apex of its cycle, spilling warm light over everything.
Rolling hills in shades of gray take up the entirety of Orion’s vision. Brittle tangles of cabling give hints to what must be a lush cable jungle in the distance. There’s a road, or what used to be one, cracked and pale with age.
Orion’s tires ache to give it a try. He lurks in the overhang, however, just for a moment. The sky is terrifyingly large, giving him a sense of vertigo. He sees nothing to break up the open expanse, though he knows there must be Seekers somewhere. The sky is their domain after all.
He pulls out his holomap to justify his hesitation, consulting it. If his positioning system is at all accurate, the famous Nova Cronum Archives should be to the south. It’s the closest repository of knowledge, and the best place for Orion to start his research.
He can’t keep being a coward.
Orion squares his shoulders, puts away the map, swings the pack over his shoulder, and steps out onto a well-worn path. He turns to the south, keeping one optic on the sky, and one on the road. He’d transform if he didn’t think that might draw more attention than quietly walking.
He, like most of the other grounders, has a heavy-duty alt-mode. His engine is loud. Out here, it’ll echo. Draw attention. If he has any hope of getting to Nova Cronum without coming across a Seeker, keeping a low profile is his best bet.
An hour passes. The rolling hills grow taller, but the cable jungle vanishes behind him, leaving stunted growths of Cybertronian flora Orion has never seen before. He passes the occasional building, rusted and dilapidated, echoes of a long-lost civilization, coated in thick layers of corrosion. It’s eerily still and quiet, nothing like the constant thrum of noise in the mines.
Orion is abruptly aware of how alone he is.
And then there’s a speck in the distance. Orion freezes as the dark speck flitters in the sky, dancing through a few heavy clouds. It has to be a Seeker.
He darts toward the nearest shelter, a shambling mess of a building with just enough roof to hide him from anything overhead. His feet splash through a small pool of acid, and Orion hisses as his ankle cables start to itch. Frag.
He crouches down and peers through the window, watching the speck grow larger as it gets closer, flying in a seemingly erratic pattern. It’s not making a beeline toward his position, so Orion hopes that means he wasn’t spotted.
It’s a full five minutes before the speck vanishes from view, and another five minutes after that before Orion thinks it’s safe to emerge from his hiding spot. He steps back onto the road, even warier than before, and makes it a point to keep an optic out for potential shelters on the off chance he should spot another potential threat.
He watches the sky more intently before, ahead of him, behind him, above him. He tags potential shelters. He checks the map again, corrects his heading, and tries to ignore the anxiety knotting his back cables.
Whump.
“Well, what do we have here?”
Orion’s spark leaps into his intake. He startles backward as a black and purple Seeker flashes into view mere feet in front of him, appearing from clearly nowhere, looming impossibly large. He’s grinning, his hands on his hips, hovering above the ground with little puffs of his thrusters.
Orion doesn’t think. He drops to his knees, bows his head, and grovels, “Please, my lord, forgive me.” His vocals crackle as energon floods his lines in an icy slush. His pack drops next to him, and he prays the Seeker doesn’t give it any attention.
The Seeker’s thrusters hit the cracked road. He drops into a crouch in front of Orion, his shadow blocking out the sun because like all Seekers, he’s twice Orion’s size. “My lord?” he repeats, evident glee in his voice, his accent thick. “Ooo, I like that. Say it again.”
Orion dips his head further, baring the back of his neck, vulnerable. If he prostrates himself enough, perhaps this Seeker will be so disgusted he’ll leave Orion alone.
“I know I have erred,” Orion says, hands flat to the film of corrosion, sheer strength of will all that keeps his vocals study. “If you’ll but have mercy.”
The Seeker taps the top of his head, hard enough to make Orion’s audials ring. “That’s not it. Say it. Call me what you did before.”
“My lord?” Orion repeats. He looks up, confused.
The Seeker grins down at him, his wingtips fluttering in a mad dance, nothing in the press of his field to suggest anger. “Yeah, that.” He rests his elbows on his knees, fingers wriggling a nonsense pattern. “Only Star gets to be called lord, but I think I’m going to demand I get it, too.” He flicks Orion in the forehead. “Oy. Stand up. Let me look at you.”
Orion stares. He knows better than to disobey, but he’s not sure what’s going on either. Seekers are supposed to be violent, angry masters. Is this one a hatchling? Too young to know what Orion is?
He stands, careful to keep his hands at his side. The Seeker rises with him, towering over Orion. He snatches Orion’s chin in a taloned grip.
Orion flinches. He keeps his gaze safely lowered and to the side. Deferent. He’s only a grounder. He stays rooted to the surface, while the Winglord and his kin fly freely among the clouds. He is nothing to them.
“Huh.” The Seeker turns his head left and right. “You’re not half bad looking. Small like most grounders, but your aft isn’t too bad, and these look fun.” He flicks Orion’s windshield pointedly.
Fear rattles through Orion’s vents. “Please, let me go,” he says, begs, because Seekers are fond of grounders respecting their power, of grounders being afraid. “I promise you’ll never see me above the surface again.”
It’s a lie. The Seeker doesn’t know that, however. Grounder fields and Seeker fields, they’re so different they can only sense the obvious tells, the strongest emotions. Orion’s spent half his functioning hiding his true thoughts, and Jazz has given him more than a few lessons.
He can talk his way to freedom.
He hopes.
The Seeker grunts, turns his head to the side again, and a finger caresses the curve of Orion’s neck, tracing one stretched cable. “I’ve never had a grounder before,” he muses aloud, as if Orion hadn’t spoken at all. “Hey, call me lord again. Oh, and use my designation this time. It’s Skywarp.”
Play along. Survive.
He can do this.
Orion works his intake over a frightened lump. “L-Lord Skywarp,” he says. “I mean you no harm. Please, let me be on my way.”
Skywarp’s other hand settles heavily on Orion’s hip, nearly large enough to span his entire waist. “Mmm. Not yet. I’m not a fan of wasting opportunities.” His thumb sweeps down, over Orion’s pelvic span. “Kinda curious if grounders are the same down here.”
Orion's spark stutters in his chassis, and panic rises up like gorge in his intake. He jerks back, away from Skywarp, away from the Seeker's lecherous touch to his closed panel. In a flash of movement, taloned fingers wrap around his intake.
Orion freezes.
"Oh, don't run," Skywarp purrs. "I'd hate to have to hurt you. Not when we can have fun instead." His other hand shoves between Orion's legs, forcing his thighs further apart, his thumb scraping over Orion's array panel. "Open up."
Orion grabs Skywarp's wrist, trying to push him away from Orion's array. "I don't--"
"Get your hand off me," Skywarp says, his words sharp, despite his smile, his fingers flexing around Orion's intake.
Orion yanks his hand away as if burned.
"Better." Skywarp’s thumb presses harder at Orion's panel, threatening to dent the softer metal. "Open or I'll do it for you. That's not a request."
Talons prick at Orion's intake. His knees wobble.
He obeys, heat burning at the back of his optics, his hands forming fists at his sides. He can't do anything to stop the fingers immediately scrubbing over his bared array, tracing the dip of his spike housing, retracted though it is, and circling the pleats of his valve.
"I can't see anything like this," Skywarp says with a huff. He straightens, inadvertently yanking Orion with him, head swinging left and right before he visibly perks. "Oh, that'll help."
Orion's world slides sideways, his vision a smear a color. His vents stall, and then there's a whump as the world clarifies once more.
They've moved. Teleported? Orion's head spins. His feet dangle, and he blindly paws for something to hold onto moments before he's placed down on something, aft scraping on rusty metal.
His pack. They’ve left his pack behind. Damn it.
Hands wrap around his knees, yanking his legs apart, jerking Orion onto his back. His head hits the surface with a bang, further dazing him. Air puffs over his exposed array.
"Huh. We are the same. You're smaller though," Skywarp says, wedged between Orion's knees now. A taloned finger nudges at his valve before pushing inside, a raw, scraping burn. "Much smaller. Frag, you're so tight, too. Will I even fit?"
"Please don't," Orion moans, but if the Seeker hears him or cares, he gives no indication of either.
"I'm sure I will," Skywarp mutters, as if to himself. "Valves stretch. I've seen a minijet take TC, so I'll bet I can fit in you." He grins and pushes his finger deeper into Orion's valve, curving it to stroke on a deepset sensor nexus.
Orion jerks, heat flushing his array, completely without his permission. The barest trickles of lubricant seep free, easing the way for Skywarp's lazy fingering.
"That's better," Skywarp croons and presses a thumb to Orion's external node. "Oy, say it again."
Nausea burns at the back of Orion's intake. His fingers dig into the rusty surface of whatever Skywarp threw him on.
"L-Lord Skywarp, you don't have to do this."
"I don't have to do anything. I just want to. So stop whining." Two fingers force their way into Orion's valve, abrading his lining.
He gasps, trying to squirm away from the hot burn of the abrupt, scraping stretch. His legs spasm, feet kicking out before reason tells him he shouldn't.
He never sees the hand, just the ringing in his audials, the abrupt reset of his visual feed, and the sharp sting of Skywarp's strike across his face.
"Oy, grounder, behave yourself," Skywarp snaps as Orion reels. "Who's the Seeker here, huh? That's me. And who's the lowly grounder, huh? That's you. So behave."
"You'll break me," Orion gasps, his thighs splayed wide around Skywarp's hips, his valve burning around the stretch of two fingers.
Skywarp rolls his optics, his face a blur to Orion's shaky vision. "Don't be stupid. Valves stretch."
The click precedes the emergence of Skywarp's spike. The head of it smears against Orion's thigh, firm and thick, and the first glimpse Orion gets sends panic through his lines. Skywarp is big, too big for Orion to take comfortably, his spike thick and ridged. He thrashes in Skywarp's grip, trying to push himself back and away from the Seeker.
Skywarp growls and drags Orion back across the platform, his armor scraping and shrieking on the metal. "Fine," he snaps, and flips Orion onto his belly, his chin banging down.
Skywarp yanks his arms behind his back so sharply, something in Orion's left arm pops, sending a stab of agony. He gasps, going limp, Skywarp immediately pushing back between his legs, his spike nudging against Orion's valve.
"Quit whining." Skywarp tugs on Orion's arms, sending a fresh stab of agony through the popped shoulder joint. "I'll fix it when I'm done."
Orion's ventilations whine. His hands are trapped, wrists easily encircled with one massive Seeker hand. Skywarp's got a grip on his hip, pulling him back toward the spike nosing at the pleats of his valve, a blunt pressure that promises pain. His head spins.
Skywarp hums to himself, a jaunty tune, and shoves into Orion between one vent and the next, his spike carving a path through Orion's resisting his calipers. He's too big, and Orion's vocals catch on a cry, agony slicing through his array. He's burning, raw and scraped, as Skywarp sets up a brutal pace, shoving into him, slamming him against the structure beneath.
Heat burns behind Orion's optics. He gasps for ventilations, his sensory net raw and vibrating from the pain. Skywarp's muttering to himself, but his words are a blur to Orion, who can only focus on the agony of his valve, the throb of his shoulder.
The regret.
"Frag, I could get used to this. You feel so good, so tight, and hot and nnnn--" Skywarp's bitten off groan precides the hot press of his field, drowning out Orion's senses.
Skywarp overloads, his transfluid painting Orion's already abraded valve lining, searing the raw nodes. He groans, optics shuttering, head bowed toward the structure, limp in Skywarp's grip as the Seeker grinds deep, moaning satisfaction.
"You know what," Skywarp says, his field brimming with an abundance of satisfaction. His free hand wanders over Orion's frame, touching him like one might a pet turbofox. "I think I'll keep you."
Orion spits static. He can't seem to make his vocalizer engage.
Skywarp hums to himself and grabs Orion's hips, flipping him over onto his back once more, and fresh agony spills from Orion's dislocated shoulder. He hisses, but Skywarp just grabs his thighs, pushing them apart and back, so he can openly stare at Orion's valve, at his own spill seeping from the swollen pleats.
"Heh. It's like I've marked you mine," he says, and dips one taloned finger in the dribbling spill, painting it over Orion's array as if it fascinates him. "TC and Star would never let me do this, you know. So if I had a pet..."
Orion groans, resetting his sensory feeds, trying to get some sort of clarity from his audials or optics. He paws blindly at his damaged shoulder, wincing as the strained cables protest the light touch.
"Oh, right. Your shoulder." Skywarp drops Orion's legs and sits him up, hooking one arm around Orion's waist as he grabs the injured arm with his free hand.
"Wait--"
Snap!
Orion wheezes, a starburst flashing behind his optics.
"Better?" Skywarp asks through the screaming of Orion's sensors and the throb of his shoulder, mobile once more, but sore and tender.
He sags in Skywarp's grip, struggling to ventilate.
"Hey." Skywarp pokes the injured shoulder. "I asked you a question."
Orion lifts his head, staring blearily up at the grinning Seeker. "Hurts, my lord."
"Grounders are so delicate," Skywarp scoffs as he drops his hands to Orion's thighs, his thumbs scrubbing along the inner plating of them. "Nice and tight though. I'm gonna bring you back to Star. He's gonna love this."
Wait.
Back?
Orion startles and tries to scramble away, despite the throbbing pain in his valve. Skywarp's hands clamp down on his legs, talons digging in, yanking him back into reach.
"Whoa, where do you think you're going?"
Orion clutches his throbbing shoulder. "Let me go, please," he begs. "You've had your fun."
Skywarp shakes his head. "No way. You came up here. That means you're in our turf now." He grins, and there's lechery in the curve of his mouth. "I wanna keep you. You're gonna make a great gift."
"You can't do that," Orion protests. "I'm not some... some pet you can just bring home."
Skywarp pats his cheek gently, and Orion jerks his head out of the way. "Silly grounder. I can do whatever I want."
He pulls back, and Orion tenses to make a break for it, but Skywarp flips him on his front again, grabbing his arms and winding some kind of strong cable around his wrists. Too strong for him to break.
Orion thrashes, throwing his weight around. But one Seeker hand planted in the middle of his back is enough to keep him thoroughly pinned. A fresh wave of agony flashes through his shoulder, and Orion goes limp.
“Close your panel, pet,” Skywarp says with a two-fingered tap to Orion’s raw valve. “I don’t want you leaking all over me.”
His talon scrapes Orion’s folds in warning, a promise of pain if Orion disobeys. It still takes two tries for Orion to engage his panel to close, having to force an override beyond the damage warnings.
“You’re learning. I like that,” Skywarp croons.
He trusses Orion up like one might a disobedient pet before tossing Orion over his shoulder. His abdomen smashes against a spiky pauldron, denting his plating. Orion’s tanks rumble, threatening a purge, but he swallows it down.
One massive Seeker hand curves over him, holding him in place.
"Don't squirm," Skywarp warns. "You don't want me to drop you."
Orion's tank sinks into his pelvis as Skywarp activates his thrusters and abruptly launches them into the air. Panic steals Orion's vents, and he tries to hold himself still as best he can, without hands to grip Skywarp in return.
The ground gets further and further away. Everything is a smear of color before whump -- another disorienting displacement of air sends Orion's sensory suites reeling. And another, and then another, the landscape changing beneath them in dizzying flashes.
In the distance, getting closer and closer, Orion can see the great, pointed spires of the Winglord's city, gleaming in the sun, far, far from the ground. One fall from the unrailed edges would kill any mech who had no wings or thrusters to slow his tumble. There was no other way off the floating city.
Orion shutters his optics and goes limp on Skywarp's shoulder.
There's nothing else he can do.
