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Faded Blues

Chapter Text

Of Pride, Power and Pain,

A dark demon fell like rain,

Stealing the innocent and pleasure,

And dreams for the young forever.

Left in his blood and hate,

They gave in broken and afraid.

Sentinel didn’t know how it had come to this. He honestly didn’t like to think about it because, for once, he couldn’t blame it on anybot else. It also was best not to speak ill of the dead, or at least Jazz had better be dead. Yes, they were just some no name rookies, Optimus’ crew, but then again they hadn’t expected to be attacked by Megatron. Optimus had been lying, he had been sure before the grey mech punched him out, and that even if there were a few Con’s on the mud ball that there weren’t any truly dangerous ones.

He had been wrong… and was suffering for it now as the warlord’s captive.

Why hadn’t the grey mech taken someone else?

Because he was the highest rank there, he knew that.

Leaning his helm forward, feeling the cuffs tug around his wrists. He swallowed hard to keep from whimpering as two shadows overfell him again. He wished Magnus was here. This was supposed to be a routine check in, to check on the Allspark’s status and how many shards had been found.

He wasn’t supposed to be here, knocked out and dragged to some unknown location, gagged and bound like a common criminal.

Was he going to die like this? He had so many plans… he’d never get to be Magnus. He’d never get to prove that he was better than Optimus like everyone always murmur in their academy days.

“So tell me,” purred Megatron as he grabbed Sentinel by his chin and dragged the bound mech onto his knees as he pulled out the gag, “How many shards have the Autobot’s collected, where are they and does Ultra Magnus know I’m here? Will he be sending more men?”

The blue mech bore his dentals and stated, “I will not betray the Autobot cause.”

Nor my dream… a traitor cannot become Magnus. Thought the Prime to himself as a grey claw suddenly dug into one of his shoulders, drawing energon and making him whimper as the life liquid dripped down his back. He could take pain. He would have to know how to take pain if he was ever going to get everyone’s respect.

Everyone would see him when this was over. He’d get a medal and everyone’s aspirations. He just had to survive and keep his mouth shut. The latter … might be difficult to do.

“Well, I’m sure I can convince you otherwise,” purred Megatron, his clawed digits gleaming in the dull light. “I’m sure I can.”

Sentinel coughed up a little energon, the liquid running down his jaw. He had been half beaten and slapped around, shocks sent through his body whenever he said something that displeased the warlord. In truth, it could have been worse… they could crack his other optic and blind him entirely.

Megatron stared at the electro prod. In truth, he was great at torture and had been doing so for countless vorns, but he didn’t have time for this. He was truthfully bored. The youngling, if barely an adult, had been given interrogation training and his whimpers and barks were all practiced so well that this wasn’t as much fun as it might have been if the Autobot was untrained.

He wanted some real screams. In fact, the first time an armor panel had been ripped off, wires bore for claws to rip off… well, Sentinel barely gave a pathetic wail but it was mostly restrained. He was a Prime after all so he had practiced that kind of pain.

But that wasn’t as infuriating as the fact the blue Prime had a mouth on him. A cocky little bastard, spouting Autobot propaganda and that he would one day be Magnus and take revenge for this.

Unlikely. That would be the day, but at least it kept the warlord slightly entertained. At this point he just wanted to beat the brat into the rock bed because the Autobot was irritating more so for his back talk than for not giving Megatron the information he wanted.

“I-I barely felt that,” choked Sentinel holding back a shutter, the torture only going on for about an groon or two  now, some of his arm blackened where the prod had struck. “Y-you call yourself a warlord. Pathetic.”

Red optics becoming slits, the grey mech leaned down so his face was a few inches from the other, baring his denta as he stated, “You have a big mouth, Autobot. A cocky little bastard. I’m going to play with you until I get what I want. Spare yourself a painful death and TELL ME WHERE THE FRAGMENTS ARE!!”

Pressing down the fear and realization that he might deactivate here on this stone floor in a cave from the looks of it, burnt and bleeding and probably missing a lot more of his armored panels by the end, Sentinel did something he would regret for the rest of his life.

He spat at the warlord… right on the face.

Standing up quickly, lip raised in disgusted, the grey mech quickly wiped the energon and spittle mix off of his face and glared at it a moment before he whisked it away. Little slagger. Megatron knew he could torture the blue mech for days but he was sure he wouldn’t break the little Prime before he offlined being the frail Autobot he was. Pride for some mech’s was harder to break then paneling and melted wiring. This ‘Bot was cocky and big mouthed and upheld the Autobot’s beliefs to the last … the Autobot was prepared to be tortured and he was too proud to allow anything else.

Huffing, wondering what to do. He stared at the Autobot’s face wondering what would be deserving punishment for such a proud mech…  So proud that his face was still blemish free despite the cracked optic. There was not a scratch or dent there because the Prime had been protecting it while he was being kicked around. A proud and vain mech indeed. It was almost a shame he had to ruin that pretty face even though it did have a big mouth on it, a mouth he was going to break.

A thought, so hard and fast and dark hit the grey mech that his spike almost pressurized of its own accord under his cod piece. It was a big mouth… a really big, wet mouth, perfect for screaming and moans with that vocalizer and it had been a long time… fifty years, almost a full vorn, since Megatron had had any and none of his men were really that appetizing.

Smiling wickedly, Megatron grabbed the blue mech by his huge chin and stated, “I will only ask you one more time… where are the shards that have been collected and will Ultra Magnus be sending any more men? Speak or you will never forget what I’ll do to you next.”

“Frag you! No amount of torture will make me betray my planet or my Magnus,” or label me as a traitor thought Sentinel silently. If he let even an ounce of info out, he might be labeled as a traitor or lose his rank and if that happened… he would never be Magnus. He could fix his beaten in face after he was rescued… he would not be able to salvage a ruined reputation though.

Shrugging, a huge smile on the warlord’s face in a mil-a-second, the grey mech murmured, “No… I’ll be fragging you.”

The blue mech didn’t even get to digest the insult as he was punched in the face, right over the springs in the right side of his jaw. Sentinel couldn’t help but yelp, knowing it the jaw spring was broken before he even tried to move his jaw. He would still be able to throw insults, true, but the side of his jaw was probably hanging now and he would have no luck biting if any small limbs if they came to close to his face.


Yet, before the blue mech could even release another cocky insult, he found himself being dragged forward by his helm, almost tripping twice as he struggled to walk as the energon cuffs dug into his back with his wrists and sapped his energon so he couldn’t put up much of a struggle.

Not that that stopped Sentinel, “You hit like a femme.”

Megatron, who was heading towards his throne for some reason, stalled to glare at the blue mech for a moment before he stated, “We’ll see who is little more than a femme.”

Then, instead of being hit again, the Prime stared in confusion as the grey mech sat down, dragging a chain that had been attached to the cuffs forward until the blue mech slammed against grey legs. Sentinel immediately got a sick feeling when the chain was snapped into a locking mechanism on the throne and then with widening optics he watched as Megatron smile wickedly and then reach for his cod piece.

“I said you would regret this. A big mouth can be a bad thing and you are going to learn that the hard way,” purred Megatron as he pulled the cod piece away, revealing a half pressurized cock and dry port. He then smiled at the blue mech, loving the fear that appeared in those optics, even if one was cracked.

Sentinel yelped immediately, knowing what the warlord was going to do to get information out of him. He could not let this happen. This would ruin his reputation even more so than being a traitor. If people knew his mouth, for why else had the fragger ruin his lovely jaw, was anywhere near that spike… he’d never get the respect needed to be voted in as the next Magnus. Yet, just as he struggled to get on his knees and as far away as the chain would allow, two large hands reached out and grabbed either side of his helm and slammed the Prime’s face downward.

He couldn’t even close his mouth the whole way because of the damaged jaw, gaging as his lips were forced down onto that half pressurized spike, forcing them open a few more inches for the girth. He immediately yelled, the sound blocked by the offending spike in his mouth, the Autobot shivering at the thought of how big that spike must be when fully pressurized… half a spike was already heavy on his metallic tongue.

Megatron merely dimmed his optics, loving the wet hot feel around his mass and how that blue helm bobbed as the Prime struggled to pull his head away. Allowing the mech to struggle for a few more moments, hands securely keeping that mouth on his spike, Megatron listening to the muffled swearing and then … he thrusted forward.

He knew the blue mech yipped, stock still for a moment as his tongue unconsciously tried to push the offending object out which just made Megatron’s fans turn on. He was going to enjoy this. Pressing the helm downward some more so that those dirty lips rode all the way down to the hilt of his spike, the warlord shifted inside that wet crevasse with his slowly hardening mass, smiling when he knew what was coming next.

He was now fully aroused.

Megatron’s spike became fully erect, slamming into the back of the little Autobot’s throat-tubing. The Prime reacted immediately, choking, sputtering, his legs kicking out behind him as he struggled to get away, his vents gasping as they struggled to get air in without the help of the vent in the throat.

Megatron reveled in it, loving the struggling body between his legs and how the tongue was pushing against his mass desperately, the jaw pushed open widely to harbor his girth. He chuckled at Sentinel’s display, loving that he got his first cleaner-fluid tear as the mech continued to choke on his spike.

Laughing in his throat, the grey mech purred, “You can thank your big mouth for this.”

He then let the head free, listening to the mech spurt and gasp as he pulled away until the blue cocky mech finally was sitting on his knees, looking at the item that had been in his throat, optics big at its size, his mouth harboring not one insult. Megatron loved that look, as if he was fragging a virgin and she was scared of the thing. It was a cute look on that cocky face especially with spittle dripping down his jaw.

“Now be a good boy and use that tongue of yours… you had no trouble before,” chuckled the horny mech, revering in those blue optics.

Sentinel, realizing he was about to be pulled back down, cried out, “No, No ….ooooo, uhg, mmmm, uuuhhh.”

Megatron purred at the muffled sounds around his spike now ,those lips firmly around his girth as he started to shifted slowly upwards, watching his spike pulse as he pushed it in half way and then out most of the way, loving how it was now gleaming with the blue mech’s juices. Spittle wasn’t always a bad thing. It made a great lube.

Lounging back in his chair, comming his soldiers so they wouldn’t bother him for the next goon or two, Megatron kept a slow pace, loving that the cocky Autobot was still yelling or whimpering or cursing around his mass though it just sounded like muffled words of encouragement to him as the spittle rolled down his shaft. And so, he kept that slow steady pace until he was baring his dentas, his spike so hard and throbbing it felt like it was turning into stone. Keeping up this slow pace was almost torture by now, especially since every time he shifted his hips downward he met a wet puddle from oral fluid that had dripped down his shaft.

Deciding that he could get another blow-job later, and now had a reason to keep the mech alive for negotiations, Megatron pulled one hand away and used it to propel himself into standing position, the smaller mech giving a yip at the sudden change in position as the spike rolled against the top of the Autobot’s mouth.

Then, optics going wide as he realized what was going to happen, Sentinel offlined his optics feeling both hands grab the back of his helm as the Con started slamming in all the way, wildly, no rhythm or beat in mind. Just trying to get his spike to come as quickly as possible as it slammed down Sentinel’s throat.

And so, Megatron moaning like a bull as he humped that throat, came, pouring his hot cum into that abused mouth, slamming in once more and then twice more as his spike expanded and released its load. The recipient choked on the metal rich impregnators, spurting out small amounts of cum out the side of his broken jaw though most of it was sliding down his throat and into his tank.

Sentinel gagged at the thought alone, whimpering as those grey hands released his head. Taking the freedom to turn his head, the Autobot turned to the side and spit out as much as he could of the silver cum.

Megatron merely took a step back admiring the display of the blue Autobot choking on the hot fluids, little amounts still hanging to his lips and jaw. The warlord waited until Sentinel was done spitting on the floor before he came forward and grabbed that chin, smiling down at those angry, proud and defiant optics, “Did you like the taste of my metal, my spike? Did you learn a lesson?”

Anger, pure unadulterated rage that he might lose his status as Magnus if anyone ever got wind that he had been forced to suck Megatron’s spike outweighed any intelligence in Sentinel’s helm and he found himself… spitting upward again, Megatron’s own nanties suddenly running down that grey chassis.

The glow of red optics made it fairly obvious that Megatron was not amused.

Baring his dentas, his spark slamming upward in rage, Megatron barked, “Still cocky! Well, you need a harder lesson then little Autobot! You give a blowjob like a virgin! Let’s see if you are one!”

Not even given time to look deathly afraid, Sentinel wishing he could have taken his pervious action back, the Autobot was slammed against the thrown, head on the chair’s lap so his aft was elevated in the air. Pride was taking a step back as he thought of losing his rank as well as his port, the blue mech screaming, “S-stop! Stop! I’m sorry! I’ll keep my mouth shut! Please don’t … ahhhh!”

Sentinel screamed as his legs were forced open and a thick hand reached between them and roughly felt around for the cod piece’s seams and then, once he found it, the warlord ripped the piece of metal right off making Sentinel choke in pain.

“No! No! No! No! Not there! I’ll suck your spike! Stop!”

“Silence!” yelled Megatron as he backhanded the Prime, slamming the blue helm against the metal of the chair, Sentinel’s sight going black for a moment as he felt bulky hands on his aft, one dipping down and feeling for his port and the other undoubtedly getting that girth rock hard again for his … slightly damp port.

Sentinel immediately sobbed at the thought, hating himself for even being a little damp, Megatron’s slow blowjob causing his port to react only naturally.

Laughing as he stuck a finger in, grin going wide as Megatron pressed against a thin membrane inside the valve, he chuckled harder. There was the seal on the inside, Sentinel arching in sudden horror as he tried to wiggle away, still half out of his head from the slap against the chair.

Megatron couldn’t help but purr, “Well… what do you know, a tight little virgin. Maybe learning to scream like a femme will teach you how to be a little less cocky.”

“No… don’t! Please!” whimpered the still partially blind mech as he tried to rise to his knees only to be smacked back down by the larger form.

Megatron, only sliding his finger in and out a few times to get a feel of the tightness he would be exploiting, loving how the hole quivered in fear and anticipation of the hard frag it was about to get. He had waited enough… he needed to teach that big mouth what his mouth was really for besides a blow-job: screaming.

Stopping the pumping of his now hard rod, the large mech took a step forward and used his hand to guide the tip in of his spike into the quivering valve, not even allowing Sentinel to try and shift away as he grabbed those blue hips. Megatron smiled darkly. Then, he slammed in… the thin seal ripping open and the spike plowing in only half way. Sentinel, predictably, withered below him, legs kicking out as the youth’s engine stalled, Sentinel screaming, “AHHHHHH! STOP! Get it out! Uhhh! Out!”

Moaning, rolling his head back in pure bliss, the blow-job nothing compared to his, Megatron purred, “Uhh…. Primus… you are so tight I can’t even get my spike the whole way in. Guess… I’ll have to force it.”

Optics going wide, sight almost completely back, Sentinel tried to turn his head so he could see how much more had to go in. From what he could tell … Megatron wasn’t lying.

“Uuuuh, don’t … y-you-ah … too BIG! You’re ripping me!”

Ignoring the screaming and crying captive, Megatron lifted that cute aft up, watching energon bleed out of the edges of the too-stretched port, grabbed the front of the thighs. Loving the feel of the port trying to expel his mass and the shifting, the withering Autobot shaking in pain, Megatron pulled on those thighs as he slammed in with all the force he could. Sentinel actually arched halfway off the throne, his vocals screeching so loud that Megatron actually turned his head for a moment though he didn’t pull his spike out. He just left the girth in there, watching as the port shivered and struggled to expel the metallic mass, the blue body soon crying out as he tried to shift away which merely causing a rocking motion since Megatron was all but stuck inside the hot port…  which just aroused the warlord.

“Take it out! Take it out!” cried Sentinel as he tried to shift away, legs shaking in weakness as his knees threatening to give out which merely causing more thrusting motion as he tried to pull away only to slide back. Megatron merely moaned, loving the desperate action, his spike quite content buried so deep inside the virgin port, the mech below him probably too proud to frag anything but femmes.

“Oooh, keep moving… that’s good. Your tight port is too good to pull out. I don’t think I will,” moaned Megatron as he leaned forward, wrapping his arms around the blue mech’s waist and leaning his chassis against the back of the Prime, pulling the virgin port up due to the action. Sentinel merely collapsed against the throne, sobbing at the feel of the spike’s new position and how Megatron was now kissing the side of his helm.

“Uuuuh, oooh so good my little slut,” whisper Megatron before he shifted, rubbing seams and anything else he could reach while one arm remained wrapped around the Prime’s waist. “Just think … this could have all been avoided if you had shut up and gave me the shards.”

Standing up slowly, he pressed in a little more, making Sentinel shiver, “Glad it wasn’t… Now, enough of this waiting. I’m going to pound into you my pretty ‘Bot.”

Then, he began the rocking motion. Megatron just barely pulling out as he rocked his spike into the throbbing and painfully aching port that was disobeying its master and sucking once and a while on that metal rod, the reproductive system unfamiliar with spike penetration and trying to adapt.

Megatron merely sighed through his vents, loving the little port that was bleeding and ripped and too stretched, yet it was still trying to uphold its function to pull nanites out of the penetrating donor and into the birthing chamber for reproduction if spark merging followed. Unfortunately for Sentinel, the blue mech didn’t have a plug to stop impregnation … virgin ports never did. It was something that came after the first penetration.

Well, Megatron had no need for an heir though if he was bored, it would be a fun experiment. Not today though… unless the blue mech refused to stay quiet … except for those arousing sobs that is.

Picking up the pace, loving how the blue mech sobbed, shivering, Sentinel begged, “Uuuh … uhhh… stop. Please!”

Ah, an utterance.

That was a good enough excuse for him. Now pulling out half way, the grey mech grabbed the blue helm to pull Sentinel’s head back, growling, “What did I say about keeping your big mouth shut… Now I’m going to punish you!”

Pulling out, paying no mind to the energon dripping down almost the entire length of his spike and to the floor, the warlord suddenly flipped the smaller mech over so his back was now in the chair. Then, grabbing those legs and spreading them as he placed himself between them, glad for the new position, he chuckled darkly. Now, the little brat could watch him penetrate that bleeding port and he could also see the expression of fear and pain as Megatron did so.

… Especially when he ripped open that chassis!

“Ahhhh!” screamed Sentinel, sobbing, covered in fluids, Megatron’s spike rubbing against his port though not penetrating. He knew what was going to happen, why Megatron was ripping into his chassis now, metal screeching as the older mech tried to get at his spark. The metal was sliding and giving way to prying and damaging claws… soon he would be sullied completely.

“N-No! Don’t impregnate me! P-please! My life will be ruined!” cried Sentinel as he tried to kick out or wiggle out of the throne that was slowly being covered in various fluids.

Megatron merely chuckled at the feeble struggles from the beaten, cuffed, raped, and dishonored mech until he finally got  to the latch he wanted.  The ripped chassis finally slid open and bathed the warlord's face in a light blue light…What a fitting color for an Autobot. Sentinel, more in sorrow than pain, threw his head back with a wail of misery as his light reflected off the two of them, the revealed spark shivering in fear and perhaps arousal.

The titan merely admired it, thinking that it reminded him of so many other sparks he had crushed in the past as he stated, “Ypu should have told me what I wanted, Autobot.”

Then, ready for this, his own chassis opening and raining its light down on the blue mech’s who’s optics went wide at the size of Megatron’s red and silver spark. The warlord’s glowing orb was big… that’s how old sparks were. They expanded slowly… and were prime for impregnating with all that energy, especially with such a hard working port. It was just shivering as that spike slapped against it… trying to fulfill its purpose.

Back to business, thought the warlord as he watched a horrored gleam overcome Sentinel’s optics.

Rising those hips up, Megatron started to press his spike back in with far more ease now that the port was slightly broke in, Sentinel screaming and wiggling in desperation that hadn’t been there before. A mech could hide a rape… not a pregnancy. Yet, despite the struggles, an urgency now in the young body, Megatron still got back in. In fact, it was a little easier this time with all the lube, or energon to be exact. And then with that port firmly around his metal, he grabbed those legs on either side of his hips and started slamming in, his spike almost a blur, the blue mech almost convulsing around the slamming metal.

“Stoppp! Uuhhh, Uhh, Uuhh, Oooo!” whimpered the blue mech, loose tears streaming down his face as his valve started to respond. It was getting warm, and he was getting tight, a pulse of pleasure coming with the pain, the valve knowing its purpose to keep the carrier in somewhat pleasure to try and encourage future matings. “Uuuuh! Nooooo!”

Megatron merely moaned, loving that little valve. He needed to rape more virgins… because their valves would come on instinct alone, “Y-y-you like my spike, huh?”

Shaking his head, hating how his own breathing was becoming just as labored as Megatron’s and how his hips were now swinging with the grey mech, something coming, he shook his head, “Nnnno! Stop! Get it out… uuuuhhhh!”

The blue mech unable to stop instinct, threw in head back as he moaned, his hips now swinging of their own accord, his vents panting, “Uhhh, uhhh, uuuhh. Ohh. Oooh. Good. I-its … soo big… uuh, good … uhh... stop.”

Megatron merely moaned, spittle dripping down his chin, his spike feeling so tight and compressed in the valve that was about to come, whimpering, “Come for me, cc-come for me… Uhhh.”

All but slamming his hips against the other, the bangs probably audible in the whole base, Sentinel cried, “No! No! No! Uh. Uuuuuh, oooh Primus!”

His valve rippling, his hips still slamming and the spike still slapping into his valve as lube, pre-cum and blood dripped between both of their thighs… his first orgasm was coming. Megatron knew it and moaned without restraint as he pounded into the shivering valve until … Sentinel arched, gasping as every limb went tingly and his birthing chamber seemed to explode with inner pleasure, the valve walls squeezing in order to milk their prize. Megatron did not disappoint the reproductive system’s work, roaring as he came as well, ripping the blue mech off the throne and slamming Sentinel’s chassis against his chassis as their sparks met and sizzle. A second orgasm overcame Sentinel right after the first and making the Autobot scream as his hips still unknowingly road that rod, hot nanites spilling into him in what felt like hot gallon after hot gallon, Sentinel’s port sucking it up, sucking it into his birthing camber… readying itself for a probable offspring.

And then... nanites all sucked out, Sentinel panting, bleeding, burned, port still coming as an invitation to the pulling-away limp spike … Sentinel was laid in the throne as a hiccupping  shivering mass somewhere between bliss and agony. Sentinel couldn’t help but stare up at Megatron and note that the warlord was smiling, quite proud of himself and his huge spike.

“Came like a little virgin too,” purred Megatron as he leaned forward over the exhausted and smaller form, whispering to the other, “Now tell me… where are the shards?”

Still struggling to vent, knowing he was sullied in a way that could never be undone and that he only had one point of salvation left, Sentinel whispered, “No.”

Megatron … merely smiled and reached for his spike, “Another round then? Don’t mind if I do.”

Chapter Text

Megatron slightly rose up off of the little Autobot he had been pounding into the throne for most of the evening. The blue Autobot merely bit his lip and turned his head whimpering, cleanser tears threatening to spill. Megatron, still in between those luscious blue legs, shifted inside the port some more, gaining a cry of pain from the Elite bot.

That dry scream alone almost made the warlord hard again, but instead he smiled petted the uninjured side of the blue mech’s helm. Sentinel bit his lip harder, shivering, as if just waiting for the next assault to happen. Megatron could only smile at the reaction. This grounder was an incredibly resilient little Autobot. Megatron had taken him four times that night, half of them impregnation attempts because he found … he liked the little Autobot the most when he struggled against those attempts.

Especially, with such a resilient, vain, and proud spark in that chassis.

He also never gave up trying to get away if the opportunity presented itself.

Not that he would be taking those bindings off again anytime soon. His dented thigh was lesson enough.

Petting the blue mech’s face some more, smiling, Megatron purred, “My… a resilient little whore you are. My pleasure bots were lucky to last even one night, but you… I have a feeling I could take you night after night for a vorn and you would still fight me when you had the chance… I like that. In fact, I really like that idea.”

Sentinel shivered as Megatron placed a sharp talon under his aching jaw and titled his face up, those red optics shifting in their socket as if he wanted to take in every detail he could. The warlord even chuckled when Sentinel tried to shift his aching abused jaw away, merely to have it grabbed again as the titan purred, “Yes… I really, really like that idea.”

Sentinel, mentally preparing himself for another assault almost jumped out of his armor when there was a knock on the doors that led to the throne/control room. Frowning, Megatron turning his head from his cute little Autobot that was draped on his throne… cum everywhere it seemed. He chuckled, wondering who it would be and if they would blush … or ask for a try.

Not even bothering to cover himself, he walked up to the door and opened it, his smirk slowly failing at who he saw.

Yes, there was the blushing form of cold Blitzwing and surprisingly Strika and crew. For a moment, he almost covered himself, old programming telling him never in front of a femme. Then again… Strika wasn’t much of a femme. Though it was rumored she had carried twice … though one of the sparklings must have died, the little green one, because she hadn't carried since.

“Ah, Strika. I would have cleaned up if I was expecting … guests,” he said elegantly as he motioned towards the Autobot behind him, legs still spread wide… valve dripping for all to see. The blue mech, immediately looking up, whimpered in his throat and looked away, offlining his optics. He was mortified and weakly tried to close his abused thighs.

She raised a brow, confused, “I heard you were torturing an Autobot. This is not what I was expecting at all.”

Megatron chuckled, “He wasn’t screaming just right… so I took some liberties.”

“So… Instead you’ve chosen a mate?” suddenly came a voice from a generally silent source, everyone turning to look at Cyclonus.

 Features becoming harsh, Megatron frowned. He hated that word because it reminded him so much of his creator… a mad mech called Galvatron. He replied dryly, “Mate? An Autobot. Hardly. I merely took what I wanted.”

Looking confused, an expression that Cyclonus rarely used, the purple mech continued despite the glares he was getting from most of the group, “But then why are you letting us witness an ancient Decepticon tradition? You have taken a mech onto your throne and bred him… and from the look of it, many times.”

Megatron frowned suddenly gaining a look of realization as he recalled the ancient Decepticon tradition that was passed down to him from the Fallen himself. Frag, how could he forget that?

Expression grim, he replied, “Ah … yes, I ...”

He dared not say forgot for it may waver the beliefs of some of the more traditional Cons. Traditional Cons were mechs that were born from older Con families that came from the deepest reaches of space. In fact, some of these mechs were from the Ancient War, a time when there had apparently only been one Prime with his Matrix of Leadership. Strange fraggers, all of them, but he had enough trouble with Starscream trying to kill him. He didn’t need an assassin coming from the Fallen himself, so he replied, “… I liked his spirit, but I fear I have chosen badly out of instinct. Perhaps it is best if I deactivate him.”

Coming forward, a mech of old breeding, Cyclonus walked into the room, his large form stalling in front of Sentinel. He stared for about a klick before he walked around the throne as if documenting the shaking Autobot that was still defiant enough to glare at him and then even spit at him as he leaned down as if trying to look down into his ripped open spark chamber.

Strika actually grunted, expecting a hole to be created in her lord’s makeshift throne but instead Cyclonus merely stood up straight, wiping the spittle away as he added, “My lord … he is very spirited. Though, it is considered a bad omen to strike down a mate that might be with sparkling. You just popped him, yes? He is bleeding heavily.”

Sighing, walking forward to grab his cod piece, having a feeling that this was going to turn into a political nightmare, Megatron clicked it on and added bitterly, “Yes, he was a virgin which is why I initially thought taking him would be a good idea. He even came a few times for me, didn’t you?”

Sentinel bared his teeth, too exhausted from the assault to do much more.

“So, he hadn’t been corrupted by another spike, is young, and had no plug. His probability of becoming impregnated is not unlikely. The only way to know is to continue the breeding for another seven mega-cycles as per tradition. Then, when you present him to the Fallen, if he is not Heavy by then … you can deny him. To do so before then may insult our ancestors.”

Optic twitching, hating the old Decepticon beliefs and the cultural traditions that had developed over the millennia in the cold reaches of space even long before their last war to reclaim Cybertron, Megatron nodded. He had become the current war leader for his strength and unfortunately … as an heir himself of Glavatron, one of the Fallen’s eldest followers.

He was the Prince ... and things were expected of him.

Like an heir.

He had never wanted to reproduce just in spite of his insane sire Galvatron, but here he was … taking an Autobot no less.

Perhaps the blue mech would meet an unfortunate accident. Then again, having no responsibilities but coming inside of the little Autobot for the next seven mega-cycles sounded terribly pleasurable. He was getting sick of this mud ball and in the slight probability, an heir would rally enough Cons to enforce an attack on the Autobots … he was not against it.

He was sick of their people slowly being confused with Pirates and Neutrals in the outer territory. Perhaps creating an heir for his war campaign would reinstall fear like from the Ancient War.

Frag, how many generations had it been since a Con had been born on Cybertron … and not in a cell with his creator. They deserved Cybertron just as much as the Autobots did.

Soft smile forming as he took a rag and wiped his thighs, noting that some of the more forward Cons had walked past him to stare at the probable mate, Megatron walked up behind them and stared down at the exhausted looking Autobot, adding, “Perhaps you are right. I am getting older. An heir might be a good idea. I have timed this badly though. I need to destroy the Autobots on this planet and the irritating Prime that nearly offlined me.”

Strika, having walked up behind the warlord to look down on the blue Prime who was well built for an Autobot, added, “It would be an honor to take up the position of crushing the bots and reclaiming the shards of the All Spark for you, my lord!”

Optics shifting to look down at her bulky frame as well as her team, the warlord slowly nodded, “Yes, that will be reasonable. I will head back to the Lost Colonies to speak to the Elder Decepticons. During which… I will finish the seven days of breeding.”

Then, leaning in and grabbing a hold of Sentinel’s damaged jaw, he asked almost wickedly, “Won’t we?”

Sentinel, not liking the sound of this conversation nor that Megatron was leaning down to pick him up, suddenly kicked out, barking, “No! Don’t touch me! Don’t fraggen touch me! I am not going anywhere with you ”

The Con’s who had all been nearby the throne, took a step back, some of them laughing as the Autobot kicked out and tried to sit up.

Megatron, who looked slightly bemused, tisked and made a grab for one of those legs, catching one effectively. Sentinel merely twitched at this and the lecherous grin that covered the large mech’s facial plates. A tug nearly pulled him off the throne a nano-klick later as he kicked loose.

“I won’t go with you freaks! Just deactivate me! Torture me! I am not a brood mare! Let me go!” screamed Sentinel as Megatron came closer to him, dodging those kicking  legs, not wanting another dent.

Then, enjoying the Autobot’s renewed fight at the thought of being taken even farther by the Decepticons, backhanded the blue mech. Sentinel, pain biting through his jaw, disoriented, barely had time to look straight before he felt a large set of arms come under his legs and back, lifting him off the throne and into a bridal-like carry. For a moment, all Sentinel could do was blush, embarrassed and enraged at being treated like a femme after her wedding night … to sore to walk.

Something that the mad Con didn’t fail to notice.

“Look at the blushin’ bride, ha ah ha!” mocked crazy Blitzwing as he added. “Should ve get him a veil and throw some rice for vertility.”

Sentinel shrunk into those huge grey arms, blush burning his facial plates. He wanted to yell at the large Con and tell him to shut his insane mouth, but his jaw hurt and he knew he was in no position to be screaming. His vocals hurt from a night of Megatron’s attention. Instead, he growled, twitching when Megatron took his first heavy step out of the cavern.

Somehow Sentinel resisted the urge to jump out of the warlord’s arms. He had to think. He had to plan. Frag, he wished he was just as crafty as Jazz was, a smooth talker as well. Though he knew he was not a smooth talker. He was a straight forward rule enthusiast.

Frag, he had to think, but he ached, hurt and he felt sick, was hungry. H-he needed to recharge, but it wasn’t safe. He wasn’t safe, but the pain had finally stopped and his systems, though they ached, were also telling him that they were sated. He had been sated … it made him sick that Megatron had apparently sated him. Not that it wasn’t true. H-he came for the warlord more than once. Frag, he felt sick and numb … and his optics were dimming.

N-no. he had to keep them online.

But his optics kept slowly offlining and then onlining until all the stress fell from his limbs and he fell into recharge, having not heard a word as Megatron told someone to grab his pieces. He needed to be presentable. After all, his family would just love to meet him…

Optimus transformed in their base, his lip bleeding and his form looking terribly cracked and damaged, energon dripping onto the floor. Ratchet gave the young-mech a glare as he looked away from the surveillance feed, growling, “It has been nearly two mega-cycles, Prime. I know Jazz took most of the beating when Megatron attacked, but you took quite a beating as well.  Let me look over your wounds or … use Sari’s key.”

Noting the slight embitterment over the key, Optimus shook his head and murmured, “I just need some oil … or energon would be better. I-I can’t find a sign of the Cons. I need to find them… W-who knows why they took Sentinel and what they are doing to him.”

Ratchet, feeling his age, knew all too well what was happening. The young-bot was being tortured for information. He was a high ranking officer and even if he knew nothing of the All Spark shards location or Sari’s key, he knew secrets about Cybertron security and the Magnus himself.

Though how Megatron knew that Sentinel was so highly placed in the Elite Guard was beyond Ratchet… He could only fear that there was a spy in their midst.

Not wanting to upset the young-bot, he merely murmured, “Sentinel has been trained to be an Elite Guard… He knows how to deal with bad situations.”

Optimus, though definitely angry at Sentinel for his treatment after Elita’s apparent deactivation, did not hate his old friend. He still cared about Sentinel because the other Prime was still in pain. That was why, despite all the insults and basic jerkiness, Optimus never struck out. He couldn’t … he felt too guilty about what had happened on that spider planet.

Especially with … his later discovery that Elita wasn’t really as dead as everyone thought.

He hadn’t even got to tell the other mech.  With Sentinel’s fear of organics … it would just be cruel.

“I doubt it. He was in complete denial until recently that there were any Con’s on the planet and he’s scared of Sari, Ratchet. All organics… I… can’t just leave him. I know he’s a complete jerk, b-but he was also my friend once,” said Optimus, looking crestfallen.

Sighing, leaving surveillance for a moment, he took the taller Prime by the shoulder and slowly walked him toward what passed as a med bay in the building, speaking as they walked, “You’ve always been too loyal for your own good, but that is a sign of a good Autobot… so I won’t blame you for caring about the lunk-head jerk.”

Finally getting into the medical bay, throwing a brief look at Jazz who was still unconscious though repaired on a berth, he directed the Prime to another berth. Optimus, too exhausted from his two days of desperate searching, could not fight off the medic and lied down, fluid prickling at his optics.

“B-but … We are Autobots. We can’t just leave one of our own behind,” said Optimus almost desperately, twitching when he felt his wrist open and Ratchet find a line. He was going to get an IV, or at least the Cybertronian equivalent, with a dose of sleeping nanties probably as well.

Sighing, he was about to sit up and pull the line out, but Ratchet smacked him with a wrench in the forehead, growling, “Back on the berth. You … will be no use to Sentinel daft-in-the-helm if you are too tired to fight for him.”

Frowning, hating this feeling of helplessness, Optimus could only whisper, “I hope he’s okay. I don’t ... Elita, the old Elita, would never forgive me.”

Ratchet, Optimus having confided in him about the half-organic, knew all too well he spoke of the femme as she had been. The femme she was now … if she saw her old lover, for that was what they had been according to Prime’s observations, would she do anything at all?

“Primus … make it a quick death,” was all Ratchet could whisper to himself as the younger mech’s optics went offline, the old healer fearing he would soon be examining the offlined shell of Sentinel Prime. The kid was too young to survive the wrath of Megatron. He was good as deactivated … Poor, young-mech.

He just didn’t have the spark to tell Optimus that Sentinel was already as good as deactivated. Poor Sentinel. No young-bot, even one that needed some discipline, deserved to die that way.

Chapter Text

Sentinel shivered, moaning as his helm ached.

He didn’t indulge in high grade very often but when he did. Yeah, hangovers happened. He just figured it was a bad habit that drug over from his days in the academy before he became such a stickler for regulations.

Sighing, he yawned and pulled his aching body closer and into a ball. He immediately twitched as an sting came from between his legs. Frag, what happened? His equipment ached… his valve to be exact.

Optics onlining, the Prime dizzily sat up and spread his legs. He noticed two things instantly. His cod piece was missing … and … and there was dried fluid between his thighs.

No, no, no! This was not happening! He had gotten so drunk last night that he had allowed some mech to take advantage of him! How could he be so stupid! He was an officer! He had a title to protect yet here he was covered in some other mech’s fluid and in a strange room from the look of it.

What had happened? Who had fragged him?

Scrap, he didn’t have a plug either. How far had it gone because his spark was twitching oddly. In fact, he could see it beating, its light raining over the walls. Which… would mean his chassis was open or … ripped open. Looking down, seeing the terrible shape his form was in, plating missing, wrists worn, energon dripping from his jaw line. He remembered.

“… It was Megatron…”

“Yes? My little Autobot?”

Jumping, nearly falling off of the large berth, Sentinel turned his head and cringed. There, across the room, was a large shadow. Then, if only for presentation, he watched as the large figure pulled something out of his subspace and then there was a flame … a cy-gar being lit. It was a faint light, shivering almost, but it was enough to illuminate the regal features of Megatron. The mech was just sitting there, in the shadows, watching him as he puffed away at the smoky pleasure.

Sentinel, still not fully of mind, made a fast jump to get off the berth. Yet, as his peds hit the floor and his face turned toward what looked like the door, a pinch occurred between his legs and his carrying chamber became tight … and sloshed. With a dry grunt, Sentinel quickly found himself grabbing onto the berth to remain upright, his thighs aching even more then moments ago.

Megatron chuckled darkly and sat there as if he was merely a spectator, taking a puff of his metal treat before he pulled it out of his mouth and looked at it almost questionably. His tone was almost mocking, “I know a lot of mechs think cy-gars are a nasty habits and bad for the vents, but they aren’t that bad. You certainly don’t have to run out of the room because of it … Not that you could.”

“My lock hacking skills are very well off,” growled Sentinel, glad he had studied it in the days when he was still a trouble maker. Though he would rather stand and fight … a good soldier knew when to retreat though.

Nodding, putting the treat back in his mouth, Megatron took another puff as it lit up his face, murmuring, “Well, I’m glad to know that, but … the door is opened.”

Sentinel looked at the door almost longingly until the warlord continued.

“Though… we are in space, which can be a problem for grounders I hear. No propulsion systems or anything,” he said with a dark smile, continuing, “You can certainly try though. I’d have to punish you for trying to escape afterward… I’ve never fragged in the void of space mind you, but it might be interesting.”

Frowning, holding back a whimper in his throat, Sentinel tried to pull his thighs closer together only to lose his balance completely and slide to the floor, a hand still gripping the top of the berth. It took him a moment to find his voice as he retorted, “I-I am not going to be your brood mare no matter where you take me!”

Taking another puff, Megatron shook his head, “Ah yes, I see you remember that. Trust me, it isn’t ideal for either of us.”

Optics going wide, Sentinel’s brow became creased as he glared at the large mech, asking, “Then let me go! You don’t need me! I don’t care if you leave me in the void of space!”

Looking slightly tired, Megatron shook his head. “It’s not that simple. I should have taken you to my berth, but I was horny and had … over looked that fact. So I ravished you there on my throne. Trust me, if you think some Autobot laws are odd, try some Decepticon traditions. I swear some of those beliefs were written down by mad mechs.”

Sentinel, knowing that he would rather have Megatron talking instead of touching him, thought it best to entertain the other, “I’m surprised that Cons have any beliefs. You are a backstabbing bunch.”

Sitting there a moment, staring at the blue bot, the warlord shrugged his shoulders slightly and murmured, “We trust others, not blindly like you Autobots do, but we won’t kill each other over nothing. Well, there are a few power hungry mechs but that is not considered a negative thing, but since the Ancient War when we were banished from our home world … my ancestors had to depend on each other to survive which required bonds and marginal amounts of trust … and spark reproduction if we were to continue. Thus, family units were created and with family units, predictably, comes culture and belief systems and traditions and I rather hate going home. Sometimes, half of me believes that I left to find the Allspark if only to get away from home, conquering Cybertron had seemed more like a musing for a later generation because I thought it would take vorns of my life to find that stupid thing. Part of me thought it was a fairy tale my sire had created.”

Blinking, confused, Sentinel found himself murmuring, “I-I don’t recall any of this in the Decepticon History Handbooks… You are warmongers, feeding off all who get too near.”

Shrugging, Megatron admitted, “Well, we do plunder from time to time, keeps us entertained, but mostly Autobot ships. We leave our Neutral Trade Routes alone.  We actually have a semi-decent relationship with the Outer Way Neutral Colonies.”

Sentinel, nodding, understood this too a point. The Outer Way Colonies were colonies that had formed during the Ancient War and kept to themselves. They still thought it wrong that they were not All One… whatever that meant.

Then, telling himself it was for intel more than curiosity, Sentinel asked, “So… what of these traditions?”

Blinking his optic, smiling down at the blue mech’s daring, Megatron leaned forward, taking his cy-gar from his mouth, “Oh, there are battles for mates and station and riches. There are positions of power, though have to be earned in the long run even if you are born into a Nobel family or the Royal family, but even those titles need to be earned. Starscream or a no-name could have easily gained my position in the war efforts, unlike you Autobots. You and your Tower mechs and your unmovable classes. Even today you have classes… the half-breeds have to come to us to survive. The mechs with purple optics.”

His glare softening as Sentinel shifted his legs, wincing; the warlord added, “I even earned the right to direct the war efforts towards Cybertron. Not that it was hard … as an heir to the original Megatron.”

Confusion and panic started overcoming his curiosity, Sentinel murmured, “I … don’t understand. Are you not the real Megatron? Who is this sire you spoke of? I know you have upgraded your form over the vorns to look younger but I’m confused.”

Chuckling, looking over Sentinel for every scrape and burnt feature, the flier coyly replied, “Autobots never do understand. So, let me explain this in the simplest way I can. After the Ancient War, there isn’t much to do in space but frag and the First Megatron took a liking to fragging in his throne. It is no surprise that he produced an heir nor the other old families like the Shockwaves or the Starscreams, unfortunately. Thus, where there are sparklings, roots must be laid. High positions then became powerful families and powerful families became lords and royalty.”

Optics going wide, titles that were more alien then Cybertronain in origin pulling at his spark and yet he knew the words meaning all too well as the word came from his vocals, “Y-you’re a King? B-but you are a monster.”

Standing up, walking forward as Sentinel twitched back because he was unable to defend himself in this state, Megatron swung on his legs lazily for a moment before he leaned downward and blew some smoke on the blue mech. Then, getting close enough that Sentinel could see the mechanics behind his optics, Megatron purred, “It’s Prince actually … but at least you are not as dumb as I thought.”

Then, hand shooting forward, he grabbed Sentinel by the helm and, Autobot wincing, he pulled Sentinel to his feet. Then, letting go of Sentinel’s beaten form, he looked him up and down, the prince grumbling, “But, as a Prince I was taught to keep my things nice. Now, stay on your feet. We need to clean you up and then take you to Oil Slick. He will repair any damage you have sustained. Come, to the wash racks.”

Knowing that if he was going to get out of here he had to be up to par, Sentinel slowly started forward toward the door, valve aching and his spark chamber twitching. At least his wrists were free but … frag, why couldn’t he just go to the medic first? Jaw aching, he found himself asking that very thing, “Why can’t I just … ugh.”

His valve gave a violent twitch, his whole carrying chamber becoming tight and Sentinel fell to his knees, grabbing at his middle. Primus, pit… frag, it hurt. It hurt so badly. What had that fragger done to him!

Smirking, Megatron got down on one knee, murmuring, “I penetrated you all the way to your carrying chamber, didn’t I? Didn’t help you were a virgin. A popping can be troublesome. I’ve heard of mechs that couldn’t walk for an orn, especially mechs. A femme has it off easier since they are specifically made to expand their valves and shoot out sparklings.”

So… that explained why he was having trouble while femmes seemed to have an easier time.

“It seems I will just have to carry you until your valve has healed,” smirked Megatron, his mind probably liking Sentinel so helpless. Then, leaning forward, he picked up a horrified Sentinel. Not even missing a beat, Megatron then started out into the hall.

Blushing, noting that Megatron’s hands were too close to his aft and his revealed valve, Sentinel barked, “Just take me to the medic then! That way I can walk on my own!”

Laughing, the warlord a little more tolerable admittedly when he wasn’t torturing or trying to kill you, added, “That would do little to help that condition. Have you never taken a mech before? It’s the rearranging of the valve and chamber, there is nothing to heal… though some of your soreness might be from your ripped peta-flesh though. I pounded into you a little too hard it seems.”

Frag, everything hurt. Everything. Not only had he been carried like a hapless sparkling, now he couldn’t even clean himself properly since his body ached. He didn’t even want to think about cleaning his port.  In truth, he didn’t even know how to properly clean his chamber. In fact, if he was alone, he would have rather taken this time to have a good cry. He had been tortured, raped, and then claimed … Was he really expected to just take this in stride? To bath next to his rapist as if it was any other cleaning? He didn’t care if Megatron was apparently a Prince.

This was wrong. This was so wrong!

Yet, there was no time for tears when suddenly there was a large hand wrapping itself around his waist and pulling him into the shallower water of the large pool Megatron had taken them too, the large mech purring in the echoing chamber, “Can you not clean yourself? I have almost finished my own form and you have barely even started. Do you need assistance?”

Shivering, despite the warmth of the cleaner they were in, Sentinel stumbled away and sat down on one of the underwater steel seats as the large grey prince stood over him. Sentinel tried to ignore the partially gleaming form of Megatron as cleaner fluid and bubbles dripped down the lord’s form, his cod piece gone and a limp spike being soaked. Despite pretending to not noticed the other’s intimidating stance, Sentinel couldn’t stop himself from glancing at it again and again and yet he nearly jumped away as a soapy towel was handed to him, the tall warlord leaning down with his own towel to start cleaning one of the Prime’s charred shoulders. Sentinel wanted to lean away from the large mech’s ministrations but reminded himself … the more docile he acted, the greater likability he would be underestimated and thus would be allowed to escape. Offlining his optics, Sentinel pretended that a pretty nurse was now assisting him in bathing and for a few cycles there was nothing but the sound of splashing and minor hissing from time to time when Megatron cleaned out an open wound or over a missing plate.

After a while, despite himself, Sentinel did have to note that Megatron had practiced hands and … it actually felt good to have someone cleaning at his plating and aching wounds. For being a fragger that had raped him, Megatron’s touch was a lot gentler than he thought. Which logically shouldn’t have been a surprise, Megatron was apparently cleaning him up for repair, but still … he was still worried about the discussion the Cons had had over him while he was on that throne.

It was foreboding. Then again, this could all be a prank or a ploy to try and mentally weaken him, but he had to be strong. He had to uphold some of his honor… even just an ounce of it.

He had to fight every inch of the way … despite his sullied body.

“You know,” said Megatron suddenly, nearly making the younger bot jump as a rag was moved down his spinal column coming near his aft only to go back up and start pressing at the seams of the back to clean any grit or oil out; the silence was broken. “You are not as lovely as the little Prime that nearly offlined me. Optimus I believe it was.”

Twitching as the towel moved down again, cleaning a lower seam in his back, Sentinel grumbled, “You mean porn face? At least that was the nickname Elita and I used to give him because of his lips.”

The booming laugh that escaped the warlord nearly made Sentinel jump away, but he needed to look submissive. It would mean less damage for him and more escaping. If he had to stand here and be scrubbed and make small talk with his bot-napper, then so be it. He was trained for torture … though he doubted his instructors had this in mind when they had put him through a battery of tests.

“Is that so? Well, he does have great features, big lips, slim form, and … a nice aft,” purred Megatron as his hand dipped under the water and the rag found itself rubbing Sentinel’s aft as it slid closer to Sentinel’s exposed equipment. Sentinel couldn’t help but twitch away, wondering if his valve would ever be covered again. Megatron, not dissuaded, pressed his hand down again between Sentinel’s legs … the cleaning apparently done as a claw pricked  as his hole in a taunting manner, Megatron grinning darkly.

Swallowing, figuring that Megatron was probably confusing submission for consensual, Sentinel found himself thrashing away and into a deeper part of the cleaning pool.

Megatron huffed slightly as if merely disappointed that this wasn’t going to be an easy lay. Then, smile still there, he chuckled at the thought of chasing Sentinel and lunged forward as if this was merely a pool game.

Sentinel, knowing that getting into the helo’s grasp probably wouldn’t leave him deactivated, didn’t want to know what was going to happen regardless. Though he had a good idea. So, despite his better judgment he lunged for the deeper water that was meant for bigger bots… only to fall under, a drop off apparently at this side of the pool.

Megatron stalled, surprised that the other had fallen completely out of sight before he bellowed at the hilarity of it. The warlord nearly fell into the pool when Sentinel finally struggled back to the surface, gasping since his vents had evidently been open. This Autobot, Megatron decided, was klutzy enough to at least be some fun.

Watching long enough to at least humor himself, Megatron finally moved forward and grabbing a flailing hand. The prince wasted no time pulling the blue mech to the surface, savoring how the Autobot grappled at his form in desperation as Sentinel struggled to kick water out of his vents. The horny mech merely chuckled at this, reinforcing his grip when the blue Prime finally noticed whose arms he was in.

“But … your frame is not uncomely either. I like your color and your hips and waist are far more suited for mating,” taunted Megatron as he started pulling the still-sputtering mech into the shallow water, until they came near a spout.

Ah, this was perfect.

Megatron then wasted no time it taking a longer rag from the side of the pool, his thoughts already going back towards that aft pressed again his crotch-area. Then, wasting no time, he used the towel like a rope, using it to tie the reluctant Autobot to said spout. He then wasted no time in pushing Sentinel onto the underwater seating, trying to spread those blue legs apart.  

Sentinel, finally finished sputtering water out of his vents, finally reacted as he choked and pulled on his restraints, crying, “No, no, no, no! You fragged me all night! Please don’t!”

Grinning, not wanting to be dented again, Megatron suddenly used his larger legs to pin Sentinel’s legs to the steel seat, purring, “Now, now… that was yesterday and today is today. This little game calls for seven cycles of breeding… that means at least one joining per mega-cycle. The less you fight, the more fun it will be for both of us … or you can just continue fighting and let me have all the fun?”

Struggling to not blubber though he felt cleaner already threatening to fall down his cheek, he almost wailed when Megatron put a hand between his legs. For a moment the large grey mech merely rubbed his hand against his neither regions before thrusting a finger forward in a small wet hole … Sentinel’s hole. There was a burp of air in the pool as a small amount of silver-grey cum came to the surface, proof of just how many times Megatron spilled his seed into the other.

“Primus … just how much cum did I spill in you? Ugh, Primus … I wonder if I could make your belly expand from being filled with nanites alone? Pit, that thought alone makes me … frisky,” chuckled the large grey mech as he leaned forward and placed his mouth in the crook of Sentinel’s neck, merely sniffing first before he dragged out a large tongue and started lapping at sensitive meta-flesh.

Offlining his optics and bidding his coolant tears not to fall, Sentinel only allowed one blubber to escape his throat as he felt a slowly hardening spike poke at his legs. Despite himself, Sentinel slowly onlined his optics and looked for the thing that was poking him. His vents actually stuttered in horror … that thing looked twice as big as it had been on the throne.

Smiling at the horror filled whimper that escaped the Autobot’s throat, still sucking on the Autobot’s neck cables, Megatron’s free hand felt for a rag on the side of the cleaning pool. He was only partially hard and the Autobot was already petrified. Well … the little slagger better get used to it … and Megatron knew the perfect lesson. Pulling back, the war-lord stood up straight and tilted his spine back so Sentinel had a full view of his family’s treasure, bring the cleaning rag down so he could start cleaning the large spike … and to arouse it.

Loving the terror-filled expression on the Autobot’s face as he started pumping with the cleaning rag, Megatron grunted, “Your valve will soon be getting another treat, little Autobot, and even if I put you to death … at least your last few frags were given to you by me.”

Sentinel, struggling against the spout, found his optics were unable to leave that grey spike and its faint dark grey line-work, the Prime whispering, “I will not let you put that thing in me. Not again! Not here!”

Getting harder quicker as he thought of the Autobot struggling, Megatron smiled coolly, “And how will you stop me? You are injured, low on fuel, and partially restrained. If you are a good mech you will get to be repaired and fed sooner.”

Putting the rag onto the side of the pool, leaning in as he grabbed that wide chin, the flier asked, “Wouldn’t that just be easier?”

Chin aching in the mech’s silver hand, a part of Sentinel really did want to agree, but instead his words were growled, “I’m an Autobot. I am proud … I will not make this easy for you.”

The larger mech merely smiled, leaning in closer and closer until he whispered back, “Good.”

Then twisting around, Sentinel’s optics went wide as he found Megatron sitting down next to him, grabbing him around the waist and by the hip. Then, not even waiting for Sentinel to struggle, the larger mech lifted the Prime up… and positioned him onto his own hips. The position was obvious. He was going to make Sentinel ride his spike. He was going to pound up into him and come again and again.

 … No.

“Primus! Please, not again! Just… ahhh!” Sentinel pleaded as he tried to jump out of that lap, but Megatron’s grip was assured despite the blue mech’s struggles. Megatron merely smiled wickedly as he kept pulling the Autobot down onto his lap, that hard spike poking against Sentinel’s inner thighs. And then, Megatron probably deciding he had played enough … the warlord grabbed those thighs and pressed down harshly, that hard spike finally finding a warm opening.

Sentinel merely leaned forward crying out and Megatron merely huffed his vents in appeasement, slowly grinding those hips down into his lap, spreading him. Megatron could only purr as tightness started to engulf his member, “Now, now. No need for melodrama. Just enjoy it my little popped mech. You’re body doesn’t know any different so I’m going to make you come for me.”

Shaking his head, trying to not blubber like a sparkling, Sentinel’s vents gasped as Megatron wrapped a hand around his waist and slowly started thrusting upward, working that spike into place, filling the Autobot up. Sentinel’s valve twitching in pain yet at the same time he felt it shiver in acceptance. He was going to come for Megatron, he knew he would. His body knew no different.

“P-please,” choked Sentinel as the spike was pressed farther up into his still-partially stretched valve, making him twitch. Megatron paid it no mind though as he took one hand and pulled Sentinel’s neck to the side, that warm grey mouth working on neck cables again, tasting energon from the re-aggravated wound.

It wasn’t long before Sentinel was wailing again in mental anguish, his vocals blubbering as Megatron picked up the pace, his full spike thrusting up hard again and again and again, re-spreading walls and forcing the valve to contract with sickening pleasure-laced pain. It didn’t help that the spike inside him felt red-hot and yet Sentinel found a part of his mind wanted it deeper and deeper with each penetrating thrust upward.

Unable to stop himself, Sentinel felt his valve start to get fuzzy, his whole carrier tank feeling bubbly, “P-Please stop! Primus, I can’t come for you again! Not again!”

Megatron, moaned at Sentinel’s words, his pace becoming erratic as he started to kiss the back of Sentinel’s shoulder struts, “Oh frag yes, come … come … come all around my big spike. I want your valve to suck my spike.”

Sentinel, bucking, whimpering and moaning nearly screamed as Megatron twisted inside him slightly still pounding into the stretched valve over and over again like a hot jack hammer. Then, arching, a part of him pressing down and trying to swallow as much as he could of that large spike, Sentinel came, wailing as his valve exploded in pleasure.

Megatron, moaning in satisfaction, kissed Sentinel’s neck in almost a mocking form of affection before he gave a few more good pounds and then threw his own head back in a roar, spilling deep into his little toy, pumping a few more times up to make sure the valve squeezed out as much as it could.

Then, the two of them panting, Megatron chuckled and grabbed for a rag, his limp spike being pulled out which was quickly followed with a blurp of nanites rising to the surface of the water. Then, placing a shaking Autobot on the metal seat, the warlord chuckled again down at the other, murmuring as he petted Sentinel’s cheek, “Pit … now you are dirty again, covered in my juices. No problem, I want to touch every inch of you, my little Autobot.”

Shaking but unable to pull away, Sentinel allowed the tears to flow freely in silence, Megatron picking up one of the Autobot’s metal feet and scrubbing it underwater as if this was just any other bath … as if the mech before him hadn’t just been raped.  

Chapter Text

Sentinel tired to keep his shoulder’s from shaking as the warlord finished his back. He had tried to stop the tears from coming, to tell himself to suck it up. He had been raped multiple times that first night, how was today any different? And yet that truth did not calm him and more tears poured from his optics, his glossa pinched between his denta and cheek to keep himself from blubbering. It was because he knew the truth. That second rape was like admittance.

He was going to die Megatron’s whore-bot, wasn’t he? He’d never become Magnus. He might as wells have died the day he had been captured.

Suddenly, as if interrupting Sentinel’s thoughts, a tutting noise pulled the Prime from his thoughts, the mech forcing himself to online his optics and face his torturer.

Megatron was now standing before him, gleaming and clean, a rag in hand, the warlord seeming almost smug with himself.

“Tears? Now, I thought you too proud for that?” the mech leaned in close, using his free hand to tilt Sentinel’s face upward. “And it’s also ruining my handy work. I’ll have to fix that.”

Then, before Sentinel could even think of pulling away, Megatron had slowly leaned forward and started to lick away the tears. That long warm offending glossa ran up his cheek and then with a wicked chuckle moved to the other cheek. Sentinel, optics wide, could only sit there is the water as horror filled him.

“There, all clean now,” purred Megatron as he pulled away with a dark grin, standing up straight as he waited for more tears to lap.

When none came, the warlord nodded, “Well, it seems there won’t be any more sweet tears from you today, but since they were so sweet,” Megatron leaned in and got close to the Autobot’s face, “and as a gift for being a good mech and not struggling as much as the first time I took you and making it better for both of us, I will be carry you to the medical bay … like a blushing bride. Though I doubt you will be able to walk well with that ripped valve anyway.”

Sentinel could only swallow and slowly look away in acceptance as the larger mech reached under his legs, hefting him up as if he was nothing. Sentinel, if only to keep from falling, reluctantly wrapped his arms around his torturer’s neck. He’d rather gnaw off an arm than touch the slagger willingly … but at least he didn’t have to walk there. Medics were a good thing … right?

“Well this is a fine piece of work,” murmured Oil Slick as Megatron walked into the room, Sentinel in his arms and shaking, his thighs squeezed tight as small traces of nanites dripped out of his exposed valve. “Am I supposed to put this piece of scrap metal back together, Lord Megatron? He looks half deactivated. And if it’s about the pain in his valve, there’s nothing I can do about a fresh popping. He will just have to sit funny for a while and bear through it. As for the rest of the mess, I don’t think even Knock Out or Flatline could put this back together. Plus … I’m a scientist, not a medic.”

Depositing Sentinel onto a nearby berth like he was nothing but a lifeless burden that would not try to creep away, the warlord turned and glared at the other, murmuring softly, “Are you against my choice of trying to procreate?”

They both knew it was a complete lie and the only one on the ship that would completely believe that sentence would be Cyclonus, but to deny the royal family the chance to procreate was just as good as treason and the Fallen himself would probably punish him.

Swallowing, resigning himself to the fate of wasting an afternoon on an Autobot, the mech bowed slightly and murmured, “Of course Lord Megatron. I will fix the Autobot.”

Megatron, smirking just slightly, stated, “Good, I will be back for him in a few groons.”

For a moment, there was silence in the medical bay as both of the bots watched Megatron leave, his heavy footsteps echoing until he was completely gone, the med doors closing themselves. Then, with a resounding grunt, the smaller bot started wandering around the room, collecting tools and placing them on a tray near Sentinel’s berth. Sentinel, watching the other with paranoid optics as he twitched at every sound the other made, was waiting for an opportunity to at least grab one of the scalpels. And when it seemed he would never get his chance, the small mech finally made his way towards the back of the medical bay, Sentinel grabbing one of the haphazard scalpels from the mech’s collection of supplies. He couldn’t help but wince as he looked at the tools on the tray. Most of them looked more like torture devices then medical tools, but given that it was an order from Megatron himself, Sentinel doubted there would be any torturing while in this room.

He doubted that there would be any numbing agents though.

“I see you are already cringing, Autobot,” said Oil Slick, coming over to the medical tray and noting that Sentinel was still looking at the haphazardly placed tools.

Looking at the scalpels for a moment, Sentinel silently praying that the other hadn’t noticed that one of his laser scalpels was missing, the blue mech almost screamed when suddenly there was a scalpel under his chin, the small mech having grabbed the back of his helm by his antennae. His words were cruel and cold, his tone showing no humor, “Don’t even think of messing with me Autobot. Megatron might think of you as humorous, but I do not. The only good Autobot is one being experiment on or better yet, deactivated. So, be a good Autobot or I will give you a lesson that you will never forget. Do not cross me.”

Sentinel swallowed at that, hating that he was being overpowered by such a small mech. It was so degrading.

“Do you understand,” growled the small mech, the scalpel being pressed into his neck cables slightly.

Finding his voice, hating how weak and pathetic it sounded, Sentinel slowly whispered, “Yes, I understand.”

“Good, now let’s get this over with,” grumbled the small mech as he stepped back, placing the scalpel back down. “I have better things to do with my time. And don’t talk to me or beg me for help or make any noise with your mouth unless I ask you a question. You’re voice is unpleasant and I like to work in silence. Do you understand?”

Sentinel, despite himself, could only answer softly, “Yes.”

Truthfully, he would have rather punched the irritating mech in the face, but he needed to be repaired and fed … so he would use this scalpel against the real problem.

“Well, it will have to do,” finally said the makeshift medic as he finished welding on the last piece of armor. It was blackened and ugly looking and in needed of a sanding and paint job, but Sentinel was thankful. Or perhaps he would be, after he stops shivering in agony. He had been right, the slagger didn’t believe in pain blockers. Slagger didn’t even think he deserved them.

“Finally,” croaked Sentinel in far too much pain to take the smaller mech’s irritated glare as a threat. “Can I refuel now? And what of my optic?”

Oil Slick wiped off one of the hooks he had used to fish out gravel from Sentinel’s wires before re-welding a seam. He evaluated the other for a moment, noting that Sentinel’s optic was still cracked and he didn’t have any white ones. He could have put in a red optic, that was true, but a slave with blue optics really showed a mechs power. Plus, he was rather sure Megaton was getting off on the blue optic thing.

“I don’t have the parts for the optic,” said the healer emotionlessly. “And because you kept whining during the repair when I specifically told you to be quiet, you will be punished and have to wait for energon until after I’m completely done with this waste of my time.”

Sentinel, lying there, concentrated on the scalpel in his subspace. He knew he could take this. He could wait a little longer to use it. Just a little -

“Now, sit up on the berth and spread your legs,” finished the disgruntled Con as he finished cleaning his last tool.  

Sentinel sat up quickly, recalling his bared valve, only to wince at the sore armor that had just been reattached, the pain far worse that he imagined. Quickly, despite his inner voice telling him to remain calm, he bore his denta and glared at the other, “No… You said yourself that there was nothing you could do for a popping.”

And I want to keep what little honor I have left thought Sentinel miserably. He didn’t need more Cons touching his valve.

The scientist, frowning heavily for he had better things to deal with than a disgruntle consort, grumbled, “True, but he wants to fuck you tonight most likely and though I’m sure he likes your screams I doubt he wants you heavily damaged. Megatron likes to keep his things nice. So, open up, I need to see how badly the peta-flesh is ripped.”

Sentinel glared hard even though his vents were panting in pain and growled sarcastically as rage bubbled to the surface, “Well, he could just not fuck my valve. Could you do anything about that condition, Doc? Anything to stop continued flare ups of forced penetrations?”

Oil Slick, his expression going flat for a moment, was suddenly on the table, an arm grabbing Sentinel’s neck before he could even blink. The smaller mech then slammed Sentinel’s helm into the berth, quickly standing up straight and placing a foot on Sentinel’s blue chassis. Slowly, the chemical expert leaned down and leered, “Don’t frag with me Autobot. I don’t want to hear your sob story. If you are sick of him fucking your valve than perhaps you should play house and ask to suck his spike instead. It’s that easy. You can let him forcefully re-penetrate you or you can open that big mouth of yours and do something useful with it besides bitch. That’s my advice to you if you want to ignore flare ups. Now stop talking, your voice is grating to my sensitive audios.”

Sentinel, feeling degraded, laid there a moment as the smaller mech started to get down. He did not want to open his legs for the greasy excuse of a medic. And so, despite his mind telling him to remain calm, the next thing he knew he was lashing out at the smaller mech’s legs with a scalpel he grabbed from the tray of tools, minding himself he needed to keep his hidden scalpel for more important things. Oil Slick didn’t even see the attack coming at first as the scalpel sliced into one of his legs, the mech grunting and falling to the floor in an ungraceful pile. And yet, as Sentinel sat up, ready to roll off the berth and fight, there was a well aimed gas grenade thrown at him. Then, too late to close his vents, Sentinel felt his body go lax as the scalpel fell out of his hand.

It was some kind of paralysis gas!

Usually, gas didn’t bother their kind, but if the right chemicals reacted with the energon in one’s body … Well, there was a reason Oil Slick’s bounty was so high.

Sentinel, trying to remain awake and fight, found his already weak body quickly unresponsive as he fell to the floor with a loud clang. Then, lying there, unable to move as he looked upwards, Sentinel inwardly cringed as Oil Slick suddenly stepped over him, the other’s words biting, “Oh, you are going to pay for that fuck-toy.”

And then the kick to the face was cruel and brutal.

Sentinel wasn’t sure how long he was out, but it was long enough to be strapped to the berth, legs spread and knees propped up. His valve lay bare like he was a whore-bot. Oil Slick, having patched the slice to his leg, had not been gentle with the rest of the examination. The valve examination had been painful and done with cold hands, a stretcher spreading him wider than Megatron’s cock had even dared just so the scientist could get a ‘good look’. In the end, because of Sentinel’s cries of pain from the stretching, a gag had been stuffed into his mouth, the chemical expert sliding the stretcher in and out of him a few times just to mock him. Then, part of him wondering when Oil Slick was going to just pull off his cod piece and fuck him for good measure, the examination ended with a grunt of ‘Megatron could have done worse’ and ‘you don’t deserve it slagger, but I’m going to stick this warm tube containing healing peta-nanites in your valve to encourage the knitting of your peta-skin so he can fuck you better. I’ll be back in a few groons’.

And so, Sentinel laid there, his arms tugging on his restraints from time to time, his legs uncomfortably spread wide, a warm tube pumping a warm ooze into his valve from time to time, and the metal ball gag in his mouth wouldn’t even allow him to whine in discomfort. Why there was a metal ball gag in the medical bay, Sentinel honestly didn’t want to know but he found himself slightly regretting hitting his assigned medic. Not because he had hit the mech and failed, but because he should have struck harder. At least that way … he wouldn’t feel so helpless.

Sagging into his restrained prison, Sentinel shifted a little as he could so he wouldn’t feel the healing nanites slosh inside of his revealed valve. It was a disgusting feeling because the peta-soup was thick and heavy and felt like warm globs of thickening energon. It was like someone had stuck thickening energon or a grease mixture down his valve. He hated it. He had even tried to squeeze it out, but his valve couldn’t push out the feeding tube and it merely started to arouse him so he stopped.  

Frag, this was horrible and Oil Slick probably wouldn’t be back for another groon if not the rest of the night. How could this get any worse?

“Well … what do we have here?”

Sentinel actually stalled the wiggling of his aft that was trying to become comfortable with the peta-flesh tubing inside him. Slowly, fear in his optics, he turned his head towards the now open med-bay door. There, to his dawning horror, was the one mech in all the universe he did not want to see, especially not in this position.

Choking on his gag ball, Sentinel suddenly found a vigor he did not have earlier, trying to at least close his legs so his valve wasn’t revealed and so ready for the taking. Yet, he barely even got the berth to wiggle before there was a warm hand caressing his knee and inner thighs.

“I was wondering what was taking Oil Slick so long. Little did I know he wasn’t just making sure you were fixed up right, but he was preparing you for me,” chuckled Megatron as he eyed the slippery looking valve, dripping with liquid metal peta-flesh. Apparently, the chemical expert wanted to make sure the valve was knitting together well with how much peta-flesh was stuffed into the other. He couldn’t wait to stretch the partially heal valve all over again. In fact, he could feel his metallic spike getting hard at just the thought.

Petting that revealed in thigh, loving how the Autobot’s squeal of terror was gagged by what looked like a ball gag, Megatron decided that it would be cruel to leave that tight little valve waiting a moment more. It looked so engorged with healing peta-soup and it did promise to be an interesting experience. The valve was technically lubed and yet kind of sticky with the texture of the peta-flesh medicine.

Ohh, he couldn’t wait to sink in.

Chuckling, Megatron placed himself between the other’s spread legs, loving how the valve was raised at just the right height as if Oil Slick had purposely planned this little rondevu.

“Well, it would be rude to deny such a wonderfully prepared gift don’t you think, my little Autobot,” purred Megatron as he pumped his warming crotch piece against the other and the peta-flesh tubing, hands slowly petting the curves and grooves of Sentinel’s legs. He dipped into seams and teased everything he could except for the valve since it was currently occupied by his medicine after all. Oh no. He left that.

And for what felt like a groon he taunted the muffled mech before him, shifting his cod piece against the other so that the Autobot was slowly being fucked by the medical equipment, being aroused despite himself. He just loved watching the Prime twitch and cry out when Megatron pretended like he was going to touch that now-engorged valve, the valve squeezing at the tool within it hungrily. It was almost too hot to deny just pounding into him there. But Megatron knew better than to use up his toys too quickly. As a child he was only given few in order to know how to use the resources available to him. Oh, the games he could play with just a dull sword. He could just practice impaling invisible enemies again and again and again.

Chuckling at the thought, he leaned down and pressed his hot body against Sentinel’s warming form, pressing the tool deep into the other, loving the other’s muffled cry as he purred, “I think that’s enough foreplay, don’t you?”

Sentinel, face turned to the side so he wouldn’t have to look his torturer in the face, could only wail against his gag as Megatron drew away, a soft hissing filling the room as well as a sigh as Megatron placed a hot cod piece covered in pre-cum on the top the berth.

“Well, my sword is now tall and ready,” joked Megatron, his inner thoughts the only one getting the punch line. “Let’s see where I can stick it.”

Then, so hot and tight and needing release, Megatron removed the peta-flesh tube and slowly guided his fat tool into his newest toy. He smirked hungrily as he watched that fine form buck beneath him as he push his spike deep into that valve, the valve’s edges welling up with peta-flesh, oozing between the two bodies and making a sticky hot mess. It was godly, mostly because he knew that what peta-flesh soup that was not welling out was being pressed deep, deep, inside his partner and slowly into Sentinel’s carrying chamber. For all he knew, after this the other would look swollen and that thought almost made him come right there.

At first the thought of being stuck with the Autobot was sickening, but now he found he liked the idea of filling the other every night and the thought of his belly expanding with his seed … it-it made him so hard.

Moaning at the thought of filling the other’s chamber until he swelled, Megatron started to buck, loving the popping sticking noise from the healing mixture as a muffled cry escaped the other. Oh how he loved the muffled exclamations of the other and how the peta-flesh goop made a popping noise, the pressure so tight Megatron was sure he would come from the sucking alone. He didn’t, of course. He only came once he had fucked that hole for a good half a groon, slow deliberate strokes of his spike deep into the other, grinding his hips to see how deep he could get inside. He wanted the other to swell with his juices… and so that was exactly what he did.

The rest of the night, whenever the quivering little valve seemed a little too loose or a little too dry, he would stall, his sword tall and quivering at the thought of fucking that hole until it was full, and he would fill the valve with more liquid peta-flesh. He did it again and again and again, until the Autobot was wailing below him, likely crying that his abdomen hurt and to please stop, but Megatron didn’t. No matter how many times he came his sex drive could not be quenched until the next morning, utterly exhausted from coming what had to be almost a dozen times into the other. And to his utter surprised he finally saw just the slightest bit of a bulge, the Autobot having passed out halfway into the marathon from what seemed to be hunger.

Megatron, just looking at the slightly swollen metal (though the peta-flesh was likely to be cannibalized for the nutritional metal and disappear in a solar day or two), felt himself getting hard again and though he was exhausted and tired and barely felt he could stay online another groon, he stuck his cock back into the other, fucking the unconscious bot to his spark’s content, Sentinel’s unconscious body shifting up and down on the berth.

Chuckling at the sight, Megatron thought for a moment that perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad to have a fuck-toy around after all.

Chapter Text

Sentinel slowly online his optics, his mind fuzzy and thick, his whole form feeling beaten and sore and just too full. He laid there a moment, metallic-like fabric wrapped around him lazily and almost erotically.

Offlinging and onlining his optics a few times, he tried to gain his senses. He tried to remember what had landed him here, sore and aching and hungry.

The medical berth came to him in a flash, horrific realization hitting him as to why he felt so full and stretched. Wiggling slightly, he twitched as he felt something shift in his abused valve, something to keep the revulsion that was last night there, still inside of him.

The blue mech laid very still for a moment, the situation truly dawning on him. Plugs were used by mechs trying to carry.

Sitting up, ignoring the sting of a slightly bulging abdomen and light headness from low energon levels, his fingers were quickly between his legs, trying to get the plug out, only to stall in complete stillness, a figure in the corner of the room like a haunting shadow. Megatron was sitting in his chair again … just watching him.

Hand coming away from his plugged valve, part of him already knowing the truth, he croaked, “It's a locked plug, isn't it?”

Smiling, his optics barely offering even enough light for that feature, Megatron chuckled and got to his feet. Then, with slow practiced ease he made his way to the berth and sat there on the corner for a moment as he looked the other up and down. He could already see the bulge was decreasing, the mech's systems eating away at Megatron's hearty donation, not that he minded. Knowing that he was preparing Sentinel's form for carrying almost made him hard on the spot. After last night, watching that belly expand, even so slightly, he knew he wanted a sparkling in that bellying even if he had to beg the Fallen to keep his little Autobot.

Hand coming forward and placing itself on Sentinel's belly, he rubbed it back and forth, still grinning as he purred, “Probably, Oil Slick was the one who gave it to me.”

Sentinel tried not to twitch, tried not to cry out and flail as Megatron's smile became a lecherous leer, said hand slowly moving under the sheets and between a pair of sore blue thighs. The warlord wasted no time in finding the plug and then ever so mockingly started rubbing circles around it.

Hitching in a vent, Sentinel shook for a moment, tears suddenly forced to the corner of his optics. He wanted to lash out and fight and scream and kick and get that fucking thing out of him, but he still recalled Oil Slicks words from last night. If he didn't wants Megatron in his valve, he needed to … use his big mouth.

Swallowing, not wanting to do that quite yet, he shifted away slightly, placing a hand on his head for the dramatic, “P-please don't, I'm light headed and my energon levels are low. I-I haven't refueled s-since the … first time.”

He hated how weak he sounded, how there was a shake in his voice. Megatron actually frowned at that though, a hand coming up and placing himself under Sentinel's chin and tipping it up. For a moment, he saw a flicker of worry in the warlord's optics, but only a flash before the larger mech sighed and turned his large legs, placing them on the floor.

“I suppose we should do something about that, shouldn't we? I want you fat after all,” joked Megatron, recalling some cultural tidbits from his time on Earth.

Walking smoothly and swiftly across the room, he tapped at the wall and a storage unit appeared, a few cubes of different types of energon on the shelves. Besides himself, Sentinel couldn't help but stare at the orange one and soft green. That was … different. There were different types of energon those colors?

He didn't dwell on it long though as Megatron turned back around with a glass of deep purple energon in hand. Sentinel automatically frowned. That was some potent hi-grade he had there. A little bit would easily fuel him and Megatron. It also had this electric sweetness that could easily press a mech's systems into being overcharged and drunken. He could not afford to have his decision making altered right now. He had to think. He had to outwit the hellion and not overpower him. He had the scalpel, true, but that was only thing going to take him so far.

Swallowing, mentally telling himself to only sip and take a little, he reached his hands outwards only to watch almost with a hurt expression as Megatron opened the cube and took a mouthful. Then, if in almost a mocking manner, he sat down on the edge of the berth and tapped his lip components. Sentinel immediately recoiled. No, surely not. He would not do that to him, would he?

Megatron tapped his lips again and smiled almost wickedly leaning forward. When Sentinel finally shook his head, deciding death was easier, Megatron swallowed and sighed through his vents, his frown almost mocking as he brought a hand forward and ran it almost lovely over the blue mech's chin.

“I thought you said you were famished, my little Autobot? Unless...,” Megatron stated before his hand snaked back under the metallic-like sheets, rubbing inner thighs.

Swallowing, hating himself, Sentinel telling himself this was a fight he had to loose, that he had to eat and fight another day, he hiccuped, “I-I am.”

Tilting his head, still rubbing that inner thigh, Megatron's smile grew and he huskily whispered, “The price is a kiss then … and no biting or you'll see my kindness is limited.”

Trying to keep from screeching at the other, Sentinel slowly nodded and watched almost hungrily as Megatron put another sip into his mouth and leaned forward. There was no way the warlord really wanted to kiss him. He only wanted a frag. Kisses … they were something that real lovers did, that real mates did. Not rapists. Almost as if bashful, hoping a peck would suffice, he leaned forward and quickly pecked those lips before pulling back.

Smiling, chuckling at the peck as if he had thought of it as adorable, the larger mech tapped his lips again.

That wasn't good enough.

Spinal strut going tense, Sentinel considered punching the other in the jaw and just licking up the spilled energon later, but he knew that he would just be fragged merciless for that. He needed to get the energon and somehow ignore getting fragged … He couldn't take it again.

Feeling coolant form in his optics, he leaned forward again and placed his lips on the other, gingerly kissing the other. He couldn't help but squeak when suddenly a large grey servo lashed out, cupped the back of his head and pressed their lips together, opening his mouth so that warm energon and an even hotter glossa filled his mouth.

Struggling for only a moment, Sentinel told himself to stop, he needed the energon. And so he allowed Megatron to kiss him, the large mech loosening his grip on the Prime's helm when he realized he wasn't struggling. Instead, he just moved his lips hungrily as he allowed the last of the energon into the other's mouth before slowly pulling away, small traces of energon dribbling down Sentinel's chin. Chuckling, deciding he liked this game, Megatron took another swig and leaned forward, having no trouble capturing the hungry little Prime's lips again.

Sentinel, finally realizing how hungry he actually was, found his mouth actually mouthing hungrily against the other's, swallowing as he felt Megatron pressed his glossa into his mouth allowing a stream of warm energon forward. He knew he should be disgusted, that he should pull back and stop, he had enough fuel. This stuff was strong. He'd be over-energized in no time if he continued this. And yet, when the kiss finished, for that was what it was despite how much Sentinel wanted to say it wasn't, the blue mech was breathless, his vents panting and his … valve twitching.

F-frag, what was wrong with him?

Megatron merely chuckled though, wiping away a slight dribble of energon from the side of Sentinel's mouth as he purred, “Hungry, aren't we? Now, there is no need to act so famished. We can kiss as many times as you want, my little Autobot.”

Reeling back slightly, his pride stinging, he wished he hadn't swallowed all of it already or he would have spit it back in the other's face, but he nearly jumped out of his armor when Megatron put a supportive hand against his lower back and pulled in closer so that their chassis bumped against each other. He then took another swig and leaned in closer, grinning as he waited for Sentinel to cover the distance.

Sentinel hand's curled into fists, hating how the warlord was mocking him, but he knew he had to intake … he didn't know the next time he would get a chance to eat after all.

Slowly, nervously covering the distance now that he wasn't so famished, he allowed Megatron to cup the back of his helm with his other hand as they pressed their lip components together, the large mech moaning into Sentinel's mouth as he kissed him deeply, his tongue tasting ever inch of Sentinel's mouth as the Prime swallowed greedily.

This time Megatron pulled away slowly, pecking Sentinel's lips once more before he planted another kiss on Sentinel's cheek, smiling wickedly.

“Now see how much easier things go if you are agreeable,” crooned Megatron as he took another slip and leaned forward, lips plump and hinting at the treat that laid within.

Sentinel sneered. Agreeable? Agreeable! It was either kiss him or starve! Why did the sick fagger want a kiss anyway? It did not make any sense.

Swallowing the want to grab the scalpel out of his subspace and slice at the fragger's throat, Sentinel resisted. He needed energon. Even if he did manage to cut the warlord's throat deep enough and the mech bled out fast enough before he pinged for help, he didn't have the energon left to run or remain awake in the void of space before help came.

He needed his strength … and he needed a plan.

Swallowing, hating himself as he told himself not to sob, he leaned forward and allowed the warlord to grab the back of his helm again and kiss him, warm energon dripping down his throat's tubing. He wanted to sob, especially when the kiss deepened, Megatron suddenly leaning forward while cupping the younger mech's back, suddenly pushing him down to the berth almost gently .

Sentinel could only squeak in the other's mouth as the larger mech took another hurried mouthful and positioned himself over the smaller frame, grinning as he suddenly was above the smaller form, kissing him again.

Not knowing what else to do, spark now hammering in his chassis. A part of him wondered if he should struggle. He had energon now and even though Megatron was filling his mouth with sweet sweet energon, a large hand had once again started towards his … valve. It was feeling down his side, and cupping at his hip and rubbing small circles on his outer thigh plating.

No, not again. He couldn't take more nanites in him. He didn't want to get … get sparked! … by this monster. Even if he did get away, what would he do if he was heavy or what if … Megatron kept him long enough to … to kick a sparkling out.

Despite himself, despite his want to remain strong and fight and struggle and kick every inch of the way, a sob choked itself out of his throat and into Megatron's mouth. The warlord, allowing the last of the energon in his mouth to poor into the other, pulled away and perched himself over the other. For a moment he just frowned before he sighed and grumbled, “Now, as sweet as your tears are, little Autobot. A night without sobs would be appreciated. It will ruin the mood. If you are good, I'll make it gentle and soft and slow until you are ravished in pleasure … or I can make it hard on you. It's up to you, little Autobot. I just want to enjoy your body for the rest of the day and if you enjoy it too … well, it will be easier on everyone.”

Sentinel wanted to sob. He wanted to wail and cry in complete helplessness. He wanted to weep until his engine hiccuped in a pathetic manner.

It seemed a kiss had brought him to his first breaking point. Something soft and nonthreatening and almost touching had his engine three nanoseconds from wailing like a lost sparkling.

A bing at the door was the only thing that kept him from choking on his sorrows.

Megatron, tilting his head slightly towards the door, opened his mouth as if he was going to ask again, when the door bingged again, more insistent.

Sighing, he waved his hand, sending a signal t the door. It slid opened with a swish, and a purple flier stalled in the door or a moment, Cyclonus mid-word. Clearing his throat tubing at the sight of the warlord mere moments from taking his cod piece off and fragging his little Autobot trophy, the flier spoke, “Lord Megatron … sorry to interrupt during your ceremonial breeding, but he was rather insistent that I interrupt whatever you were doing.”

Sighing, sitting on Sentinel's thighs as his vents whining in irritation, remembering why he never went home to begin with, he asked, “Is it my sire?”

Standing stiffly, the flier murmured, “No, Lord, I mean Prince. It's the King … It's you're grand-sire.”

The grey mech suddenly looked much younger as he looked at Sentinel and frowned for a moment, before getting up and leaving his treat to his own devices. He was only called Prince when they were within the Lost Colonies boarders where his power was lesser only to a few … the grand-sire being one of them.

Wiping off his armor on the walk to the command deck, he stalled when he noticed an old grey mech on the screen, optics red and foreboding. It was obvious, just looking at the large grey mech that was sitting in some type of throne, that Megatron was related to hm.

Straightening his posture, he walked into the screen's view, bowing slightly as he spoke.

“Greeting's grand-sire,” said Megatron bitterly as he sat down in the decorative chair in the command deck, Cyclonus disappearing into the background as he paid attention to the spacecraft's systems.

The older mech, much bulkier than Megatron while sporting a long goatee, frowned deeply, his red optics dimming. Megatron, as if knowing what was going to be said, he quickly corrected himself, “I mean Lordship Megatronus Megatron, the first of the Megatrons, humble grand-sire and current keeper of the Decepticon throne.”

“Magnetron,” came his grand-sire's voice, deep, powerful and obviously annoyed; Magnetron Megatron tried not to twitch at the use of his secondary name but he still thanked the cosmos his carrier got a say in his name and he hadn't been called Junior. “I hear that you are headed home? Have you completed your mission and taken hold of the Allspark? You have been searching for it for quite some time. I was starting to think you were using it as an excuse to ignore the Lost Colonies.”

Frowning, twitching at just how right his grand-sire was, Magnetron grimaced and murmured, “No, my lordship … I have not recovered the ancient device. In fact, it has been disassembled into may shards which are currently being collected by Strika and her team.”

Megatronus frowned at this and leaned back into his own grand throne, the design that of a thousand swords and maces and axes, all collected from his defeated foes as a gladiator in a barely recalled golden age and arranged in a frightening and yet beautiful display.

“And, why may I ask, grand-creation, are you coming home when success lays so near? Do you not want to present it as a warrior should a gift before his Lord Grand-sire and the Fallen?”

Fingers digging into the captain's chair, Megatron frowned, hating that the old mech just knew how to dig in failures, “Apologies grand-sire, its just that I had to make a choice of finishing my mission first or insulting the Fallen. He is our connection with our ancestors as well as the brother-gods, Primus and Unicron. So I felt his approval or disapproval was … required.”

Seemingly more interested now as he ran his fingers over his long goatee, the elder mech nodded and asked, “Well, don't keep me in suspense. What was so important that it needed the Fallen's approval so suddenly?”

Lip twitching, part of him unsure if this would get him a private beating when he got home or not, Megatron carefully answered, “About a vorn ago … I nearly met my death, grand-sire.”

Megatronus frowned at this but said nothing.

“I was little more than a head,” admitted Magnetron grimly, “Bit I regained my form with the assistance of the All-Spark. Yet, upon capturing a high ranking Prime, I found myself …” he knew there was no point denying it, his grand-sire always seemed to know things as if he had done it all before,“aroused by my captive's spirit and before I knew it I had claimed him upon my makeshift thrown and had pressed our sparks to try and create new life.”

Megatronus was silent for a moment, his glare critical and threatening and before Megatron could wince his grand-sire had started laughing, chuckling to himself, “Apparently rash love making runs in the family. I bedded your grand-carrier the same way. How he hated me through your father’s carrying. His failed escapes were particularly amusing especially with his large belly.”

Megatron frowned a little deeper at the name of his sire, Galvatron Megatron, but said nothing.

“Regardless, I suppose it was bound to happen. An Autobot I take it since you said captive. It's not what I expected you to bring home and then frag for the next few cycles until something was popped out, but some fresh CNA in the colonies will be welcome … if the Fallen does not kill him that is. You know how he is about fates. He barely even allowed me to keep your grand-carrier.”

Lip twitching, recalling Galvatron's blind obedience to any vision or legend that came out of the Fallen's lip components, Megatron growled, “How could I not recall?”

Fingers stalling in their movement, the original Megatron sighed like the old mech he was, “I know you hate the legends and the religious aspects that come with our title and family line, but as it is your responsibility to continue the line … so is it to serve the Fallen and his beliefs.”

“To bad it drove my sire crazy,” growled Magnetron, his fingers digging into his chair.

The first of his line frowned deeply and might have slapped the youngest of his line if they had been in the same room. Instead, he waved his hand, murmuring, “I think the lack of responsibilities has gone to your head, youngling. Show some respect to your creator. “

Magnetron twitched at the comment but said nothing.

“Regardless, you are getting up there in age. Solarus Starscream and his younger sibling Winddrag have both offered a brood to their line. You haven't even treid to woo or kidnap anyone until now.”

Magnetron huffed, but said nothing at all. The Starscreams fragged anything with a port and spike. He was not surprised and yet kept his glossa. He needed to prove to his grad-sire that he was no longer the youngling he was when he had wandered into the cosmos.

Instead, he merely nodded, “I understand, my lord and king. I will work hard to honor the line.”

Suddenly smiling wickedly again, laughing loudly, his elder commented, “I'm sure that you are working that wet little valve very hard … and you better have it full and heavy if you plan on keeping your Autobot. The Fallen does not just let anyone into the family.”

Then, gaining almost a soft expression, he then added, “It is good to have you coming home regardless. You have done well.”

The screen going dark with some curt farewells, Megatron sat there a moment, still not believing that the first of his line, Megatronus, had compliment the grad-sire he had never seemed to care for. Smiling softly, mind set, he promised himself that he was going to fill that little valve with an heir and honor his line. It was no longer a mad folly to mess with his captive, Magnetron would have an heir.


Chapter Text

Strika laid there on the makeshift berth hidden away on the third planet from the star, her mate beside her. Lugnut ran his bulky claws up and down her chassis, the two silent. Lugnut personally wanted to pleasure her being her consort, but he let her be. It wasn't that their relationship was exactly on the rocks, it was just that she was in mourning … had been for a long time. Generally, a Con would deal with this by going on a battle-raged fit or a claim for revenge, and she had done that. She had been doing that for a long time now, but she still felt hollow.

He had tried multiple times to make her forget, to get her to try again. He had tried to convince her that they … could have another.

Lugnut knew his words were not as eloquent as his partners, but he doubted that that would have convinced her otherwise. After all, her second born had been snatched from her, likely offline when the warship had crashed into an Autobot colony during a battle. He hadn't even been old enough to have normal energon. Lugnut was sure that was why it bothered her so baddy … she had never emptied her energon pouches completely as if she could still feed him, keeping the equipment online. Personally, Lugnut almost wished that he had been the carrier, Strika did have a spike installed after all, but she was far more fertile. Femmes always were … yet she refused to try again.

Lugnut, personally, after seeing how his Lord and taken the little Prime, how he had ravished him … he wanted to do that to his mate or at least have her do that to him.

“Strika … we have had a successful mega-cycle. If it were not for the ninja-bot we would have even killed their little Prime. I wish to … take you, spark and valve,” he said carefully, correcting his words as she vented heavily, her optics still on the ceiling. “Unless you want my valve. It is yours to take.”

She turned her head to her mate and frowned, her words deep and as lovely as usual … or at least Lugnut thought so.

“He is his age … and his color,” said the femme, her optics dimming as if she was going to cry though Lugnut knew she would not. She had only cried twice in her life that he had seen: the birth of their first born and the loss of their second son.

“What do you mean, my love? Who?” he asked, worried about her. Ever since she had taken up Megatron's mission to retrieve the Allspark from Earth, she had been acting odd. Well, that wasn't entirely accurate. She had been acting odd since the first battle with that scruffy little team of Autobots. He had heard that she had even frozen up in battle … and stared until the stupid little yellow one tripped into her.

Younglings … they had no place in a war.

“The green one, the hard hitter,” whispered the femme, her vocals glitching if only for a moment, “The young mech would be his age, and their colors are so much … so much alike.”

Her next words were almost a whisper, “He looks like my lost sparkling, my little Wreckingball.”

Lugnut, leaning forward to kissed the femme on the head, whispered, “I do not think so dear. He … he is not here anymore, but perhaps if it will settle your worries. I can call in a family favor. The Shockwave's owe us one. We can have him double checked to show you that it isn't our mechling. Our second son … is gone.”

“Are you sure?” said Ultra Magnus as he stood before his desk, looking at a digi-file before him that showed a picture of slightly smirking Sentinel Prime, MIA blinking on the file.

Seemingly, out of nowhere, a voice murmured, “Yes, I am certain. Our … inside source … confirms that Sentinel Prime was taken upon the ship, Hammerfield. For what purpose, I can only guess he would not talk and they are taking him for a more … exclusive attention.

Magnus, despite his age and knowing, sighed. He knew not if he should be glad or horrified that his second was alive … because being alive meant that much more pain for the young mech. It would have been easier if the young mech had offlined.

Turning around, not the least bit phased as a sleek blue and white form seemed to twinkle into being from thin air, he frowned.

“I do not wish to ask, but do you have any idea why Mirage? If its for the Allspark's location, it is the first thing I had moved when arriving on Earth following Jazz's distress call,” admitted Ultra Magnus as he looked his spy up and down. “Sentinel's information would no longer be of any use to Megatron as well as any security codes. Megatron is no fool. The moment I stepped onto this planet and found out about Sentinel Prime's fate, I had the codes changed.”

“No, sorry, sir. I have no information except for they are heading for the … Lost Colonies,” said the spy carefully. “And as you know … we've never been able to get a mech in there. Too many Cons … To many secrets.”

Beside himself, beside knowing the young Prime's many faults, his spark throbbed slightly as his hand slowly pulled into a fist, his voice soft, “You must find out what they want with him and if possible … recover him.”

His next words actually made the usually stoic mech twitch, his optics dimming at the Magnus' words.

“If not … stop his suffering.”

Shockwave or Longarm Prime as he was currently known, watched the blue speedster nodded and ran off with his current assignment. He watched longingly for a moment. He wanted the speedster, wanted to pin him down and have him bear his heirs because a skill like … his speed ... that would be invaluable to the bloodline. He did not dare act out though. He did not reach out and grasp the small mech though and press him onto the desk and frag him into oblivion. There would be other chances though. Perhaps a mission to close to the Lost Colonies and a called in favor or two and then he would fill that belly.

Today was not that day though. Instead, Shockwave had other missions. A simple one and not as complex as the fake skin he now wore or the slow planning for a kidnapped mate.

Look into the one called Bulkhead. It had been a simple request, called in by Lugnut as a family favor who surprisingly had more favors than one would expect. What he was looking for Shockwave did not know. They just wanted to make sure there were no lies in the young mech's origins.

Locking the door to his office, part of him scanning the room to make sure someone like Mirage was not there though he had not seen the other in mega-cycles, he headed to his computer and with lithe fingers he went to work. He was at first surprised that despite seeming an ignoramus, the young mech had outstanding test scores in research and spaceship development. He had never seen scores so high.

The thing that was odd though was that the young mech had been adopted and had to have a creation certificate created for him.

Frowning, a sinking feeling in his spark as he noticed the location the certificate came from and the date … which sickeningly reminded him of a dark day in the Strika family. The feeling only grew worse with the notation of a major optic surgery on the young mech that seemed to conveniently leave out what the damage had been to begin with … and code removal? What codes needed to be removed? Yes, sometimes sparklings needed their battle protocols locked if their were prematurely running in young Cons, but what kind of codes needed to be deleted for an Autobot? Any protocol removal could cause the slowing processors and damage to the memory ...

His fingers stalled, rage bubbling to the front of his spark.

No, no, no! That was a rumor. Magnus was too soft sparked to actual take Decepticon sparklings and … reformat them enough to make them believe they were Autobots.

Pulling up medical files as quickly as he could, looking for the one thing that he knew Lugnut had been looking for and he quickly found it. A picture of the young mech's spark for medical reason to notate any changes. The spark chamber had an extra layer of glass … as was customarily added shortly after birth or creation per Decepticon tradition. It slid to the side, of course for maintenance and interfacing, but otherwise served as an extra defense to the spark.

And Bulkhead had one. He fraggen had one. He was a Decepticon. This young mech was a Decepticon that thought he was an Autobot.

Had he … just found Strika's lost son? Had he just found her Wreckingball?


Chapter Text

“He's lying. He's slaggen lying … I … I can't take any more false truths!” said the femme, her shout echoing over the cavern. Lugnut merely stood in the middle of the wide room before the throne that had served as Sentinel's deflowering seat. It had long since been cleaned, of course, but sat there as a testament.

The femme took a few more threatening steps towards her mate, the large mech allowing her to rage at him as he stood there, ready to take her hate and sorrow.

“You have seen the data Shockwave has offered on the one called Bulkhead, and even if he is not ours … he was someones,” said Lugnut truthfully, his engine rumbling slightly.

The femme, face twisted in rage, raised a fist and before the consort knew it he was slugged, yet, before he could even stumble, a moment later he was embraced, her form shivering against his chassis in a clatter for armor.

Cheek plate dented and lip component bleeding down the side of his jaw, Lugnut slowly wrapped his arms around the bulky femme, feeling his spark press against his case's glass in a wish to join. It had been a long time since they had shared sparks … too long, but now was not the time. She needed comfort, emotionally. Not a good frag.

“But he could be ours, couldn't he?” she asked, her tone almost begging, one of her servos suddenly petting her lover's lower back. “In fact, I couldn't look away when I saw him in person. He looked so much like my sire.”

“So … what should we do?” he said, grunting when he suddenly was pushed away, tripping into the throne rather ungracefully. He was about to get up, not wanting to desecrate his lord and master's throne, only to have the powerful femme push him back down, her hands suddenly pressing his legs wide.

Oh … oh.

“I will take back what is mine … I'll take everything that is mine,” purred the large femme as she started to move downward, her large engine rumbling as she started to lick the sides of Lugnut's cod piece. Said large mech could only throw his head back, his legs wobbling of their own accord as his cod piece clicked open. “Now, I have a hole to claim … and then I'll claim that youngling. If he's mine. I want him back.”


Though not even Megatron would admit it, when Strika took her mech's valve, everyone in the base knew it. Lugnut's cries for deeper, deeper were not something that could be ignored … nor the puddles leading from the throne room to the pairs personal quarters, especially since some poor sap would end up slipping in it the next morning.

Megatron's peds sounded heavy as he made his way back to his room, his sword feeling tighter and tighter behind his cod piece. He now was feeling better and better about his decision to make the little blue Prime his lover, his consort. Grand-sire all but approved of the pairing and if he managed to press a little sparklet into that belly, the Fallen probably would approve as well.

Now, hopefully, his little Prime was energized and wet.

Opening his door, wanting to see that embarrassed yet defiant look on his little lover, he was surprised to see that not only had his little lover energized … he looked over energized. He had left the cube thinking that the mech would know his limits. Instead, he had finished off the entire cube. That was something that would have made Megatron tipsy and here was his Autobot giggling and tangled in the metallic blankets from the berth and now on the floor.

He actually chuckled slightly at the display, a smile pulling at his lips as he squatted in front of his drunk little toy, noting that Sentinel was trying to lick at the empty cube. How it came to this, he could only theorize but seeing that mouth so wanting, he could only purr, “Now look at you. Aren't you delectable.”

Sentinel only giggled up at the other as the larger mech started to untangle him as if he was so out of it he did not know who was before him, “I fell … I think I might be half flier. It took forever to get to the floor.”

“Yes, yes. I'm sure you are,” said Megatron, loving how the other grappled at him as he tried to help him to his feet and into the berth, nearly dropping the giggling and ticklish mass. It took about several cycles of this and a few drunken pokes at his mouth and face before Megatron finally managed to get the other on the berth as a snorting mass of metal and blankets. Sentinel, despite being all but straddled with his hands held above his head, only squirmed and giggled, lazily kicking out. Nothing like a sober Sentinel would be in this position.

“B-but I want more treats,” slurred the wasted Prime, his optics bright and disoriented.

Megatron, finding that he liked that cocky grin on the blue mech as well as his squirmy tendencies when drunk, could only smile in turn as a thought overcame him, “A treat huh? Oh, I know just the thing, little Autobot.”

Tilting his head, looking adorable, he smiled drunkily, “What kind of … treat? Aluminum coated rust sticks?”

Smiling almost wickedly, Megatron purred, “No, something better, but I will get you some of those if you are good. Now … stay there and I'll treat you with some more high grade energon. You'd like that, wouldn't you?”

Nodding almost excitably, Megatron crawled off of the giggling and surprisingly willing lover and back to the energon cabinet, grabbing another cube like the one before. He was quickly back to the berth, glad for a wanting lover … even if the Autobot could barely could sit up straight. He wanted to fill that little valve and hear the other moan under him.

Kissing the other on the chin, he quickly sat back against the headboard of the decorative berth, opening the high-grade. Sentinel, wanton drunkard at this point, gave a goofy smile and actually came to him, stumbling over to the older and larger mech's legs. It was almost kind of funny … his little Autobot was definitely a lightweight and in the future he would have to make sure to get him over-charged more often.

Before he knew it, the younger mech was quickly kneeling before him waiting more kisses likely with the way he was leaning forward, lips making a drunken kissy face.

Smiling, making sure to keep a mental image for later, Megatron opened the cube and took a sip, wanting to be pleasantly buzzed for what promised to be an enjoyable evening. Sentinel leaned in more, offlining his optics as he readied himself for a kiss. Megatron, feeling naughty, swallowed quickly and leaned forward, placing a hand behind the other's neck as he took part in a quick fevered kiss, allowing the other a taste of the energon he had just swallowed.

Sentinel, as if still starving, deepened the kiss as if trying to get water from a dry well. When it became obvious that nothing was to be had, he pulled away and gave the other a confused and hurt expression.

Megatron, almost feeling bad for denying the other, reached a hand forward and petting the mech's cheek as he purred, “Don't pout … you'll get some as well ...”

Titling the cube under the other's nose, he suddenly dripped energon onto his cod piece while pulling the other slightly forward. Sentinel at first frowned, slowly-slowly going down until he was mere inches from the heating metal. He nearly fell off the berth, if it wasn't for Megatron's mostly-steady hand, when that grey cod slid to the side, a large spike proudly revealed to the air partially hard.

Sentinel, for his part, did not look happy at all. What did this have to do with energon? He was mostly mentally gone at this point, probably still thought it was in the academy for all Megatron knew, but soon his point was made when he tipped that cube and slowly poured the glowing liquid all over his proud sword, his tool twitching at the electric contact.

Sentinel, as if still hanging onto his last few moments of metal dexterity, lost his train of thought when Megatron pumped his hips up once while pulling the others helm down slightly, “What? Aren't you thirsty anymore?”

Frowning for a moment, as if his higher processing skills were trying to come online, Megatron purred against the other's audio, nipping the sensitive tool on that blue helm as he asked in a sultry voice, “How about in return I give you some more kisses … right … down … there?”

Megatron, at this time, had allowed one of his hands to creep beneath the sheets, patting the blue mech's aft playfully. He could already tell the little Autobot's equipment was heating up as he dipped his fingers downward toward the other's revealed equipment. Oh, frag, the mercy of high grade, getting mech's laid and valves popped since before anyone could properly remember.

Nonetheless, Sentinel's engine gave a roar and then a hiccup as he chuckled, “S-sure … b-but let me ask you a question first?”

Megatron, now kneading the back of Sentinel's valve a little more erotically as he started towards the plug in the other, looked the other in the optic and purred, “And what is that?”

“Ugh … What's your name?”

Stalling in surprise, actually flabbergast, he sat there a moment before he threw his head back with a roaring laugh. His little Autobot was truly adorable when he was drunk. He was so fragged he didn't even know who he was about to be fucked by. Frag, he was going to enjoy tonight … if the mech didn't pass out after sucking him off that is. That was some potent stuff.

Bulkhead didn't know if he should have been thankful or not, that they finally got communication up. A team of Elite Guard was heading their way, to Earth, especially since the Magnus had been attacked and Sentinel Prime was gone. That was a can of oil no one wanted to bring up in front of Optimus. Regardless, the next highest in the chain of command was one Kup Prime. He was an old mech, older than Magnus they say, and he was a retired General that had trained many of the Primes around today. He had come out of retirement when it was discovered what had happened to Sentinel. A deep suspicion about Earth having a connection to Decepticon command had formed and two teams were sent Earth's way to secure the search for the Allspark and to try and disassemble the growing Decepticon force in the area.

And it seemed that the Cons had figured that out and called in a few more soldiers themselves … and they had gotten to Earth first. The Decepticons had also found where they had hid the Allspark shards that they had collected so far and a grueling battle was occurring … or more specifically, a high speed chase through Detroit and into the slowly cascading country side.

Optimus had given each member a few shards in order to keep as many as they could safe. If they just ran far enough and fast enough, perhaps they could keep the extra Cons at bay until their own Autobots got to Earth. If any of them were still alive by then.

Bulkhead, personally, didn't know if he was going to survive the first night outside of Detroit. For some reason, he felt a larger number of mechs had chased after him as if he was just a little more important than any of the other bots. In fact, he probably got less shards then some of the faster bots like Bumblebee or Prowl or Jazz.

And yet, he was now cornered by two large mechs, Blitzwing and a large mech he believed to be called Blackout. And if things were not bad enough, he now heard the distinctive roar of a large engine to one of his most well know adversaries. In a blink of an optics, Lugnut's large feet were plowing into the ground as he landed, one large optic falling on the young Autobot.

Swallowing, telling himself to remain calm, Bulkhead decided that there would not be backup in time for him and he was going to do the honorable thing for any Autobot: offline defending his cause.

And yet, as he took up a pose to defend himself, Prowl influenced, he was not automatically rushed by the three large adversaries. Instead, they all stood there a moment looking at him in an awkward way. Blitzwing even started picking at his arm, Icy surprisingly keeping his other parts cool and collected like this was serious matter until Blackout spoke; obviously a lot younger now that Bulkhead heard him speak.

“I don't get it. He doesn't look like anyone in the family … and he's kind of puny,” said Blackout as he eyeballed the green Autobot. “Is Strika sure.”

“Don't question the team commander,” bit back Lugnut, ever-loyal. “Scalpel will perform a full examination and even if we are wrong, we can use him as a bargaining tool.”

Lugnut, who had been somehow managing to keep a stony reserve up until this point, almost tripped over his own feet, his face covered in shock, “W-what! I don't … I don't … You are going to capture me?”

The three Cons suddenly looked at Bulkhead directly, staring at him as if it were the stupidest question in the universe before Random switched into the scene and laughed, “Yah, did yah zink we was here inviting yah to tea? Because I want to sing the unbirthday song. Hahaha!”

“Yeah, tea,” said the younger Con, eying the eccentric mech now dancing behind him wearily before he took a step towards Bulkhead. “Now, either come all gentle like or get the slag beaten out of you. We need to get off this mud ball before all them Auto-scraps show up, and even if we don't get all the shards, we'll make sure you Autobots don't get all of them either … and at least we'll get you. Those Autobots have had you long enough. Even if you aren't Strika's I can tell that you don't belong with them even if you are nothing more than a lost half-breed.”

Bulkhead, not liking the sound of this conversation and the sinking feeling he was getting especially with the strange longing silent glances Lugnut kept giving him, swallowed and murmured, “I-I don't know what's going on and I'm sure I … uh … don't want to know, but I'm not … uh … giving up with out a … a ... fight.”

The other two large mechs actually seemed pleased that he had said that, that he wanted to fight. It was like they didn't expect any less of him, though as they slammed him to the ground a few cycles later and placed stasis cuffs on him, he couldn't help but feel that they had gone easy on him, especially Lugnut who all but helped him limp up the ramp when the Con's ship came to get them. In fact, when the large femme commander, Strika, came up and touched him on the face plate it like she was greeting a long lost child.

The sinking feeling grew worse, but that was nothing compared to her soft, almost sad murmur as she rumbled, “Please be mine.”

And right then and there, being all but dragged to what the large femme was saying was the ships med-bay, Bulkhead just knew whatever was ahead of him, there was no going back.


Sentinel was bobbing between his legs, making sultry sucking noises as Megatron leaned against the headboard of his fancy berth, moaning as he jabbed his hips up from time to time. Frag, this was soooo good. Even partially disoriented, Sentinel was good with his mouth. Oh, so good even when he nibbled and used his denta.

Petting the other's helm, he allowed the Prime to pull up with a hiccup, the blue mech's jaw stained in energon, oral fluid and small amounts of pre-cum. He gave Megatron a dopy smile and the larger mech couldn't help but pant and lean forward, grabbing his drunken and wanting lover by the back of his neck while pulling him forward for a kiss. Sentinel, returned it though it was sloppy. Not that Megatron minded as the blue Prime pulled away in a stumbling way, optics aglow as he waited for more of his treat.

Megatron did not disappoint, grabbing the now half empty cube. Taking a small sip himself, he then tipped it back over his spike, allowing it to dribble over his tool. Sentinel didn't waste any time giggling and then leaning back down, one hand pawing at Megatron's chest as he leaned back again, loving the feel of tentative licks which were quickly followed by a warm encasing heat as the Prime's mouth started to suck on his spike like it was a energon lollipop. Megatron's vents stuttered at the feel of it, his optics brightening and then dimming in the mostly-dark room.

Frag, this was so good. He swelling and so hard and … what was that?!

Hips twitching of their own of accord, he suddenly felt what had to be fingers, previously on his shaft, now poking messily for what he could only guess was his valve's entrance. He almost gasped when that clumsy servo found his valve, a lone finger suddenly rubbing around the rim, an electric shock of surprise and pleasure suddenly running up the large warlord's spinal column.

No one touched Megatron there … at least not in a long, long time. Since … the Fallen.

For a moment, he considered pushing the other off and violently striking him, but the moan that escaped his little lover stalled his hand, especially when his valve onlined due to that moan, a slow trickle of fluids suddenly being produced.

Looking at the door to his suite as if to make sure that no one was watching, he slowly leaned back against the headboard again, telling himself to relax and enjoy how hard his little lover was working on both his spike and valve. Generally, he would never let another mech touch his valve without a grueling battle where he would have to be dominated and all but rapped then ad there on the battlefield as was a normal Decepticon custom, but the little mech was his … so if he wanted the other to touch his valve then he would allow it.

Nonetheless, it wasn't like anyone was going to know anyway. He doubted that the Autobot would even remember anything with how intoxicated he was. Gasping when he felt a finger enter him, nodes coming online from long disuse, Megatron nearly squirmed. Primus, the little Autobot knew what he was doing even though he was a little sloppy from the energon. It made sense he supposed. Just because Sentinel's valve was untouched, didn't mean the Prime didn't like spiking valves. Not that he was going to allow it to get that far.

Regardless, a squeak escaped the warlord suddenly, a second finger suddenly added and now scissoring him. The smaller mech sure knew what he wanted and frag he was starting to drip like a little slut-bot. Oh, Primus he was being stretched. The little Prime really thought he was going to get into his valve tonight!

Suddenly a pop filled the room, Sentinel raising his head and before Megatron could even grab his cube the blue Prime was down on him again, this time his lips coming in contact … with Megatron's valve. Gasping, moaning at the rare touching. Megatron could only grab onto the others helm and buck upwards, venting heavily. Frag, he was farther gone than he thought … maybe he should mind his valve more often. He was sure that he was given a false spike as a gag gift once. Perhaps he could stuff it into himself and then frag his little Autobot, feeling oh so full while his spike was pleasantly being squeezed and milked.

He moaned at the thought, grumbling, “That's good, right there. Right there. That's a good Autobot.”

The Prime could only moan in acknowledgment, his tongue diving into the other, lapping away at his juices like a famished mech wandering in from a rust desert. Soon, there was a wet sucking noise, Megatron's gestation tank quickly feeling warm and tight, another fingering slowly being pressed into him as Sentinel lapped at the rim. Megatron merely widened his legs in reaction as he started to pant openly. Frag, he was sensitive down there, he was feeling so tight and just moments for the edge. He nearly cried out when Sentinel's mouth moved from his valve and back onto his spike, three fingers starting to thrust deep into Megatron's wet and squelching valve. Frag, it was here. It was here. He was going to come. Finally, Sentinel thrusting in hard a few more times, stretching unused capillaries, Megatron pressed that helm deep onto his spike, making his Autobot choke as his valve suddenly rippled in the first valve orgasm he had had in vorns. It was probably only the third or fourth in his entire existence … and Megatron was almost disappointed it was fingers inside him and not a hot spike as he nearly spasmed in pleasure..

Riding his orgasm as he thrust his valve onto those knowing fingers, his spike coming hard as his engine roared, the Autobot struggling to swallow the nanites bursting forth from Megatron's tool.

Bucking a few more times if only to drain himself into his lover, Megatron collapsed against his headboard, hands falling to his side he allowed the Autobot to lap at the fluids from his spike and then his over-sensitive valve.

For a moment, he lounged there, almost raw with pleasure, his whole middle feeling wonderful with release and tingly, his spike twitching. Frag, he came fast … maybe he should let the Autobot's mouth work on him a little more often, but not too often. Megatron still had a responsibility. If he wanted to keep his Autobot, he had to put a sparkling in that belly.

Panting a moment more, part of him noting that the little Autobot was now smiling at him, his fingers moving back down to work on his valve again likely thinking he was going to get his spike in that hot mess, Megatron vented a moment more before he grabbed the other, pulled the smaller mech over his hips. The Autobot squawked slightly at the new position, Megatron's hardening spike meeting another small hard spike.

Megatron actually chuckled, “Oh, look at that proud little thing. It thought it was getting lucky, did it not?”

Hand reaching downward and giving the proud little spike a few pumps, he squeezed the tip hard enough to make the smaller mech squeak slightly and yet it got harder nonetheless. Purring into the other's neck, he reached underneath that proud little metallic cock and pinched the plug. It register to his touche and came out with a slight gush of nanites. Megatron felt his spike twitch just at the feel of the warm mess running over his fingers. Then, ignoring he smaller mech's drunken refute and squirming he grabbed a kiss from the other and lifted those blue thighs up, directing that dripping valve over his proud sword.

The surprised gasp that escaped his little toy was just too perfect.

Tasting the other for a moment before he pulled out of the kiss, Megatron looked at his over-energized Autobot. Just lovely. Then, grabbing those hips as he started a fair pace, Megatron started bouncing the other up and down on his tool. The whimpers of a squirming but still drunkenly willing partner allowed him at least three hard frags that night, his Autobot … crying out his name a their sparks separated, Sentinel passing out on top of his lover.

No, lover was too weak for a term. Now it was mate.


Chapter Text

He had had a dream.

Dreams were rare for Sentinel. It wasn't that he didn't want to dream. Most mechs didn't dream very often and mechs that lacked flexible trains of thought didn't dream at all. He used to dream a lot when he had been young and hungry for the world and success … when he had been hungry for a single femme. He used to dream of her … all the time.

Then she was gone and the place in his spark that he had created for her was empty, needing to be filled.

He didn't know when it happened, but he started filling that hole with memorized rules and regulations. They covered the hole fairly well, loosening the sting of a life not lived. And before he knew it, he no longer dreamed. He didn't dreamed of her slim yellow form nor the way she entwined with him so perfectly.

The dreams went with her, Elita-1, down into that cave.

But now he had one. He had one after so many vorns of there being nothing, not even a dream about his goals in life.

This dream made his spark skip though. It made him moan and shiver under large and prying fingers. Those hands were sturdy, yet demanding and passionate. He cried and wept under those caresses, but then he was held when they were done. Those hands pulled him in so close that he felt dwarfed by the other's intensity and form. He had been wanted and needed somehow. Most of all, they fit together perfectly like two forgotten puzzle pieces that now had a pair.

Despite himself, despite part of him knowing he was in the arms of the enemy, he felt free to weep. To weep for a hole long ago formed in his spark … and the new thing, this bond, trying to fill it.

Just how many times had they combined sparks last night?

He felt tingly and tight and too full yet enlightened at the same time. It was the kind of sting someone had after pulling out a sliver so the wound could heal.

Sentinel choked at the thought and tried not to whimper as a large frame stirred next to him, only to huff tired vents and pull him close, whispering, “Shh, shh. It's too early for that my little Autobot.”

There was the purr of a large engine on Sentinel's back, a pair of wanting lips kissing the back of his helm. “Did you not like last night? You were so willing to please.”

His engine hiccuped again, the blue mech admitting, “I had a dream about a past love … she offlined a long time ago.”

Megatron hummed in his audio, a thoughtful noise. He kissed the back of Sentinel's helm again, whispering, “Then let me chase away old pains.”

Sentinel's next hiccup was stalled when his chin was tilted toward Megatron's face, a large pair of lips meeting his. He could still taste the lingering traces of the high grade from last night. Despite himself, despite knowing he was going to hate himself for it later, he allowed his sob to turn into a soft moan as the larger mech started to finger a hip joint. He didn't even fight as the larger mech pull himself towards his form and pressed their bodies together. The large mech grinned somewhat at Sentinel's placid behavior.

It was then and there that Sentinel merely decided that he wouldn't care this morning. He would allow Megatron to make love to him. He wouldn't put up a fight. He would just allow himself to feel something besides that ache left by a lost lover. He would allow himself to be … loved.

And Megatron was taking full advantage of that. He had turned his attention to kissing the back of Sentinel's neck as he pulled him into a spooning position, grinding his hips into Sentinel's aft. He hadn't taken that little aft port yet, but given how complacent his little Autobot was being this morning, he didn't want to disturb that with an unneeded stretching. Besides, he needed to put a sparklet in that belly and though a tight aft port sounded good, he needed to put some nanites into that valve.

Rubbing that aft, he snaked a hand between those thighs and slowly lifted up a leg. He was already hard this morning and Sentinel was still wet as well from all the fragging last night.

Purring into the smaller mech's audio, he slowly pushed his length into the other's port, shifting his hips as he started to slowly fuck the other. He then went back to kissing the Autobot on the back of his neck. Soon, the blubbering was soft whimpers of pleasure, the larger mech coaxing an orgasm out the little bot with no plans of coming until the Autobot was all but begging for his seed.


“On the berth,” commanded Lugnut surprisingly softly for a mech that usually had a booming voice.

Bulkhead, looking at what obviously was a medical bay of some kind in the large ship, Fortforth, dug his peds into the floor the moment he saw a tray full of rather sharp tools next to the berth.

No way. Nope. Not gonna happen.

Not that Lugnut and a ruined hip joint delayed the trip onto that berth, Lugnut practically picked him up and placed him on the berth. Metallic restraints clicking into place a moment later.

Swallowing, hating the larger mech's intense gaze, Bulkhead awkwardly tugged on his restraints . They luckily were not the kind that put mechs in full body locks, but he felt with the number of Cons surrounding him, it wouldn't matter anyway. It might as well have been a full body lock. There was no way he was getting out of this.

Swallowing, Bulkhead refused to look around the medical bay anymore. They had always secretly frightened him. He had gone temporarily blind after one visit as a sparkling and had never quite liked the dark or medics after that. Not that he minded Ratchet. He just didn't care for his occupation.

Looking at his claws once more, noting that any passing Cons would stop and stare before whispering something and moving on, Bulkhead swallowed and turned his attention to his observant guard. “What-What are you going to do with me? I know … I know they won't trade the shards for me. I'm just a repair bot. You won't have any … leverage.”

Lugnut was silent for a moment before he nodded slowly, adding, “That's because Autobots don't know value when they see it … But you are very valuable to us.”

Squirming on the berth, feeling even more uncomfortable with Lugnut's surprisingly evasive language, he gathered the wit to speak. “Is that why I'm in a med bay and not ah cell? And … um … what did she mean … the large femme … by: I hope you are m-mine?”

He had never really though much of the femme on the battle field, Optimus or Jazz always tried to deal with the dangerous femme on the few encounters they had had with her. She had touched him once though and something had squirmed deep in his spark. He couldn't quite place it. It was like a partially deleted memory that he wanted to opened so badly, but could not repair. If anything, a younger part of his mind might have even called it longing.

He had felt something akin to it the first time he had met Lugnut. He had merely thought it was some post battle stress afterwards, but now. He wasn't so sure.

Looking back up at Lugnut, trying to ignore the large optic that seemed to bore into him making the young mech squirm, Bulkhead considered asking another question. Then, when it seemed Lugnut had finally opened his own mouth to speak, the medbay doors from the opposite side finally opened … revealing nothing.

Bulkhead almost sighed when no medic walked through. He was already unnerved by everything. The Cons had went easy on him even though his frame ached and his spark was just so jittery he really couldn't deal with anymore stres-

“Yaaa!” cried Bulkhead, nearly rearing off the berth when something small and metallic suddenly jumped onto the edge of the berth. The first thing he had said, and he personally blamed Sari for this, was,“Giant spider! Get it away! Get it away!”

Scalpel barely had time to squeal and jump out of the way as a green foot slammed down where the small spider-like bot had just been standing. Instead, he was now on the tool tray, his optics bright red as his many little legs twitched.

Blackout, who was guarding the door, burst out laughing while Lugnut put out a hand to keep the youngling from trying to squish the ship's medic again.

“Calm down,” ground out the large mech as he frowned at the young-bot. Not that he should have been surprised. Animal-form mechs were common enough in their ranks, the Soundwaves had a small army that had been under their house since the Ancient War. There was even that techno-organic, but Autobots had little to none in their population.

“This is the ship's medic, Scalpel. Youngling … you are to go through an examination.”

Bulkhead frowned at this, swallowing hard. “Examination?”

“Yes, now hold still or you will be forced still,” added the large mech, his expression more stern than angry.

Bulkhead frowned and sank into the berth somewhat. He hated medics the way it was, but a Decepticon one? Swallowing, he tried not to jump out of his armor when the small mech jumped back onto his form, crawling over his body and scanning each limb as he went. He stalled a moment longer and scanned the hip joint, tisking as he murmured, “That's going to have to be fixed.” He then moved upward and checked joints, sticking small limbs under armor as he grumbled about undersized joints.

Stalling on Bulkhead's chassis, looking at Lugnut for a moment, the medic murmured, “Well, he has been malnourished since he was a wee thing. Not enough energon or additives. His joints were especially malformed, probably making him clumsy. They will have to be forcefully upgraded. I don't even want to think of the weapon's systems … if the Autobots didn't remove them completely. It will take vorns to get the CPU running properly if that's the case. Either way, he is definitely one of ours. We just need to do a parentage test.”

Lugnut nodded as the two Con's turned to look at the steadily panicking youngling, his fans already running on high as the medic's words started to sink in as well as the large femme's words. No. No, there was no way. He … couldn't be.

“Now, now. Don't look so panicked youngling. It's just a pinch to test parentage. Even if you are a half-breed, with your form, age, and knowledge, it will be easy to find you a caretaker,” said Scalpel as he tapped one of his legs on a seam to Bulkhead's chassis. “Now open up. I don't want to use medical codes to get it to pop open. Unlike an Autobot medic's codes … mine will sting.”

Swallowing, knowing there was nothing to be done about it. A soft click of shifting metal filled the room along with a small sob. Lugnut offered a small pat on the young-bot's helm in a comforting manner before he graciously turned his optic elsewhere as the metal parted. Scalpel didn't even waste a microsecond before he was using his little legs to push the chassis open the rest of the way, revealing a green-ish yellow spark.

It's color was even reminiscent of Strika's.

Somehow, Lugnut held his hands at his sides and resisted pulling the young bot close into a crushing embrace. H-he had no proof the child was his. At least not yet.

“Now, that looks nice and healthy at least,” murmured the medic as he dipped down somewhat into Bulkhead's chassis, making the young mech hiccup in sorrow. The only ones who ever were really in there were two people: the family medic and Ratchet. It was unnerving to be showing his most delicate equipment to a Con.

“There is going to be a small jolt, but first let's slide this second layer up,” said the small medic as he crawled into the Autobot's open chassis, making him twitch and reel slightly especially when he felt something internal shift. “Yeah, some medic is going to have his hands full here. Never had this second layer cleaned. Disgraceful Autobots. Don't know the first thing in raising war models. Now lets see. Needle please. The horrible looking one.”

Bulkhead actually whimpered when Lugnut offered a large needle from the tools table. T-that was not going in him? Frag, frag, frag.

“Alright, on three.”

Bulkhead stiffened when he felt something sharp poke at his main internal power regulator which was connect to his spark. It felt utterly wrong. He almost screamed and struggled against his restraints, but he quickly felt a heavy claw from Lugnut place itself on his shoulder. Bulkhead merely swallowed and offlined his optics, telling himself to remain calm as he felt the pinch increase until it started to become an unbearable itch. Just when he felt another sob start to enter his vocals though, the needle pressed the rest of the way in … a dry choke escaping his vocals before his entire form went lax and his optics black.

Lugnut started, surprised. He quickly glared at Scalpel as the medic crawled out with a large needle, a soft glow inside it.

“I thought you said it would be put a prick. He offlined,” growled the large mech.

Scalpel merely shrugged his small form as he headed to his tool tray. “Well, it was just a pin prick … before he passed out from the spark-shock. Most younglings struggle if they find out there will be a jolt of agony before ultimately going offline for a cycle or so. So I generally omit that part.”

Lugnut, optic dimmed, finally nodded in acknowledgment.

“Well then. How about you take that berth over there. We can set a wager to see if you pass out as well. After all, I need another sample to compare it to,” mocked the medic as he headed over to another needle-like tool.

Lugnut merely grunted in irritation before heading over to a spare berth without complaint. He needed to know if this youngling was his. No amount of pain would keep him from that. But either way … He probably could convince his mate to keep the little green war model. He still was a youngling by Decepticon standards after all.

“Ahhh .. ugh … ooooooh... ummm … please … stop … I mean don't … I … want … thicker … please.” Sentinel was panting, fans so hot that coolant was all but dripping from between his seams. He was so close to another overload that it wasn't even funny. He had had five in the last groon and the way things were going, it didn't seem Megatron was in any mood to stop soon. After all … this was his treat to Sentinel for being so good this morning.

Sentinel whined again as Megatron's helm shifted between his legs, large hands pulling the blue mech's hips closer to the edge of the berth so the warlord's metallic tongue could get deeper inside that wanting valve.

Grabbing onto the metallic sheets on the berth, Sentinel whined as he finally came, his whole form falling back into the berth in a limp mass.

Megatron, still lapping at the squirting valve, took his time lifting his head from between those lush legs, lips kissing up from the valve to the inner thigh until he finally ended at Sentinel's knee. Sentinel merely laid there, panting. He still couldn't believe he was allowing this to happen. He had decided to permit Megatron to fuck him this morning. He didn't once complain or fight. He knew it was because he didn't want to think about Elita … or getting Heavy. He decided that perhaps the best way out of pregnancy was to play along. As Oil-Slick had so eloquently stated: he could use his big mouth. So far, Megatron hadn't come inside him, so he still had time to hold off. He still wasn't quite ready to stick that big rod on his mouth, but he was preparing himself for it. Either way, Megatron must have figured his current behavior was complacency and was awarding him generously for it. He had even promised him a dozen valve-gasms … by oral.

Frag, it was never going to end. This was going to last groons … which if it kept that spike out of him, he would moan like a whore if he needed to. Not that he had to really pretend. Megatron was surprisingly a thoughtful lover when it came to oral.

Chuckling at Sentinel's dazed expression, Megatron purred and kissed that knee joint again before speaking, “You liked that, didn't you? I promised you a dozen though, didn't I? Ready for another?”

Sentinel whined, biting his lip, his whole form exhausted. He needed rest. He could only stumble, “B-but I'm so tired. Can I rest. I can't even feel my legs.”

Kissing Sentinel's leg, he smiled almost wickedly at his Autobot. “Well, at least I know you will not be leaving my berth anytime soon. Let me get something to drink. I can't have you offlining from hunger. Then we can … get you something a little thicker.”

Sentinel swallowed thickly and managed to hold back a frightened look. H-he could do this.

Standing up, Megatron slowly made his way across the room and to his personal energon dispenser-bar, the large mech mixing a drink of high energons and different metal shavings. He then smirked as he made his way back over to Sentinel. Sentinel tried not to cringe as the large mech crawled into the berth with him, taking a sip of the drink before offering it to the exhausted looking Autobot.

Sentinel bit back his pride as he took it, even going so far as to allow Megatron to sit there and finger his ear-fin as he drank.

Megatron couldn't help but hum to himself before he asked, “You said you wanted something thicker, didn't you?”

Sentinel almost choked, hating himself because he had said that. He knew what Megatron was going to ask now and he knew that the more he kept Megatron out of his valve, the more likely he was going to escape this not-Heavy.

He didn't want to loose the mech's trust though either. Who knew a little lustful moaning when he was rutting him was all he needed to earn the larger mech's favor. If he kept this up, maybe he could escape with far more ease than he thought.

Swallowing, hating himself for taking the medic's advice, he whispered, “Y-you have been very good to me all morning. I-I can suck you off, if you want?”

Megatron, seeming even more pleased than he had most of the cycle, actually smiled before he spoke, “Well, my spike has been very hard all afternoon. It was starting to feel ignored as I gave you overload after overload.”

Nodding, feeling sick to his tank, Sentinel hoped a good blow job would be good enough and then he could rest. He was so fraggen tired. Last night had really taken it out of him. Putting the rest of the energon on the berthside, he tried to gather some courage. Getting onto his knees, allowing Megatron to lean against the headboard of the berth, Sentinel made his way between the warlord's big legs. He tried not to look at the spike he was about to put into his mouth, but finally he found himself just staring at it, unable to move.

Frag. What was wrong with him? He couldn't do this. He had to fight not play house. Frag. Frag. Frag!

“Is something wrong?” said Megatron, his voice carrying a tone of warning.

Swallowing, not wanting to loose what little carelessness he had acquired from the warlord, Sentinel stumbled, “I-its just I'm not very good at this. I haven't given many blowjobs.”

Raising a metallic brow at the admittance, Megatron chuckled, “Well, you did fine last night. Do you want me to pour some energon on it first?”

Blush crawling over his facial plates, parts of last night still hazy, Sentinel swallowed and nodded, “S-sure.”

The large mech didn't waste a moment grabbing the open cube from the berthside table, pouring a little of the energon on his proud and tall staff. He then leaned back, optics half powered. Sentinel knew there would be no more stalling and so leaned down, two hands shaking as he grabbed the bottom swollen part of the spike. Frag, it was so engorged. How was he going to swallow this? How did he even get that thing into his valve? No wonder he cried so hard during the first … fragging.

Deciding to just get it over with, he open his mouth and stuck the tip of the proud member into his warm folds.

The moan from Megatron was almost a compliment and it drove him to take a little more into his mouth. Offlining his optics, part of him trying to recall what he loved about his own blowjobs, Sentinel did his best to reenact that. He started to grow more daring nipping and moaning and wringing his hands over the lower mass, fingers barely brushing over the valve below. Megatron seemed to be loving it, optics dim and vents panting. Sentinel just kept on going with grim determination, even when his newly welded jaw started to ache.

“There you go little mech. Right there,” drove on Megatron as he moaned, thrusting up into that warm mouth only to get a cringe from the blue Prime. He immediately stalled, murmuring, “Come now. I know your jaw must be hurting. How about you sit on my lap instead.”

Shuddering, wanting anything but that, Sentinel decided he had to bring this home. Now. One of the things he loved the most was when a femme would gag on his thickness. Some mechs found it disgusting, but he found it to be a compliment for them to want to take all of him into their mouth. Deciding it was now or never, Sentinel relaxed his jaw as much as he could and then went down, feeling the spike slam all the way into the back of his throat. He gagged, hard. His optics even went offline for a moment. When he came back up, he was panting and shaking slightly. Frag, how did femmes do that repeatedly? He was sure he was going to damage some throat tubing.

Megatron, watching the mech pant, smiled and reached a hand forward, petting the side of the blue mech's face. He was about to lean forward and just drag the squirming mass into his lap, but then the mech went down again. He swallowed even more this time, gagging repeatedly, but still keeping a determined pace. Megatron actually swore at the sudden onslaught. Sentinel wasn't well practiced, but he sure knew how to use his mouth.

Soon, Megatron was moaning with abandon, his edge coming closer and closer. He knew he should be spilling into that mech's valve instead of his mouth, but Sentinel was behaving sooo well today. He would just let the little mech be.

Not able to take the torture much longer though, Megatron finally grabbed that bobbing head and decided to end this. He fucked up into that mouth with abandon, a choking noise escaping his little Autobot as oral fluid went everywhere. He wasn't sure how long he fucked that hole, but finally he came, slamming into that mouth so hard that a squeal escaped his Autobot. Yet, when he released that helm, already regretting being so forceful, the Autobot didn't pull away. At least not completely. He gagged some more but surprisingly did his best to swallow every ounce of cum he could.

Frag, he almost got hard again at the sight especially when the little mech sat up, nanites spilling down the corners of his mouth as he noticeably swallowed the last of it.

Smiling, bringing a thumb forward to wipe away a little of the cum, Megatron's next thoughts stalled when there was a knock on the door. Sentinel almost fell off the berth in a hurry to turn his head, but Megatron quickly grabbed ahold of his arm to steady him.

“Sorry to interrupt my lord,” suddenly came the voice of Cyclonus through the doors intercom. “I know you are busy preparing your chosen mate, but I felt the news was urgent.”

Sentinel, once again, almost fell off the berth at the word mate. Fuck toy was more like it. Frag, he needed to get out of here.

“Just a moment,” called Megatron, the mech fingering Sentinel's aching jaw, part of him not blind to the younger mech's slight cringe of pain. “Go to the shower unit, Sentinel. I will speak with him while a drone changes our bedding, yes?”

Nodding, hating how cordial the warlord's tone was, he slowly got off the berth. He tried not to wince or sway too much as he made his way to the cleansing station. Maybe if he was quiet he could throw up all the nanites as well, but first he was going to clean his valve as well as he could. After all, Megatron hadn't put the plug back in … yet.

Megatron, meanwhile, wrapped his exposed interfacing equipment with one of his metallic sheets, a part of him pinging a cleaning drone as he made his way across the room while dragging the sheet after like a robe. Three little roller bots came out of the walls immediately, getting to work on spilled energon and other fluids before the warlord even made it to the door.

He couldn't help to glare at the other both as the door slid open, his tone clipped, “My Autobot had been rather accepting today. You better not be wasting my time.”

Despite himself, Cyclonus couldn't help but ask, “Accepting? What do you mean, sir? Is he Heavy?”

Shaking his head, tugging his sheet from a cleaning drone that was trying to collect it, he grumbled, “Doubtful. He's most likely trying to gain my trust so he can make an escape attempt. Not that I'm complaining. I like him somewhat complacent.”

Cyclonus nodded, adding, “We will keep an extra optic on him when he is about.”

“See that you do,” agreed Megatron. “I've just started to like him. I would hate for him to try to escape and then have to punish him. Now, what is so important that it required my attention?”

Wings falling slightly, Megatron already caught on that it was bad news. The mech still offered him the digi-pad though, giving a quick verbal review, “Strika's team … was forced to retreat.”

Megatron couldn't help but growl his engine, but waved his hand in a signal to continue.

“It seems several Autobot ships came to assist the Autobot team on Earth after they found out Sentinel Prime was detained. She did manage to get some of the Prime's shards though before leaving so it would be easy to say that thought we may not have the Allspark … neither do they have all the pieces.”

Sighing, his arousal nearly dead at the troubling news, he couldn't help but grumble.

“Is that all?”

Looking over his shoulder, then looking back at his Master with a hopeful glimmer, the flier then added, “Well, there is one good bout of news. I suppose.”

“And that would be?” said Megatron in a dry tone, part of him wondering what could possibly be considered good news unless that pouty lipped Prime or Magnus were deactivated.

“I am sure you were aware that Strika had to two creations. One was thought offline. They thought he went down with the ship as a sparkling when the vessel was attacked,” said Cyclonus, noting the curiosity now in his superior's face. “Well, it seems that green lug from the Autobot Earth team … was something more than a repair-bot. Strika found out her sparkling wasn't as dead as she thought he was. He is being brought home, along with the shard we did collect.”

Despite himself, despite the bad news, Megatron offered a small smile. It was no secret that she had been mourning for vorns over the sparkling's loss. It seemed her mourning could finally end as well as the broken marriage agreement they had made.

Subspacing the data pad, planning to read over it thoroughly after he fragged his Autobot into recharge, he nodded and dismissed the purple mech, a glimmer in his optics again as he heard the shower turn on. Well, there was no better cure for bad news then tapping a little aft. They hadn't done it in the wash racks yet after all.

Dropping his metallic bedding to the floor, his spike already repressurzing, Megatron chuckled as he made his way to his favorite little Autobot. He hoped for this Autobot's sake that he was actually becoming complacent because he didn't need any more bad news. He needed some good news. He needed an heir.

Chapter Text

Sentinel tried not to weep and cry like a sparkling when he finally managed to turn on the water in the cleansing unit, cold water pounding down on him. He could barely turn the water on, his hands were shaking so hard.

He still couldn't believe he had done that. He had taken that spike into his mouth willingly and even swallowed, but he knew he had to. That always satisfied him to see a femme swallow his seed, but now he just felt disgusted with himself. Right now there were nanites, fraggen nanites, swirling around in his tank tainting his energon!

Sentinel gagged at the thought and put a hand over his mouth. True, digesting nanites wasn't going to hurt him. His body would just absorb the extra nutrients. He just wanted to purge it thought, empty his tank all over the shower floor like the gagging little whore he was!

Resisting the urge to press a finger down his throat and force up what little energon he had been able to consume today, Sentinel decided to focus on his opportunity. He was alone and he didn't have a plug in him. He needed to clean out his valve. He didn't know when he was going to get another opportunity like this. He would just have to stomach it, literally.

Hands shaking less, Sentinel pulled out the cleansing shower seat from the wall. Most mech stood under the shower head, but for deep cleans that require the use of small brushes between plating, most mechs would sit down and do so. It was a lengthy task and was only done every few orns or once a steller-cycle if your occupation kept you from the grime of the world. Even though Sentinel honestly didn't need it every few orns, he still did. He wouldn't admit it, but he did treasure his time in the cleansing shower. He had all manner of waxes and buffers and soaps.

If he manage to get out of here alive and not Heavy … he would give all those fancy waxes up just to feel clean again.

Swallowing a blubber that wanted to escape his throat, Sentinel told himself to focus and instead reached for the removable shower-head. He obviously had never cleaned his own valve before, but he knew the theory. Basically you used the removable shower head, put it between your legs and up into your valve, let the hot solvents fill you slightly and then squat for optimal drainage.

Looking at the door to the shower warily, Sentinel spread his leg and nearly jumped when the feel of warm water and solvents spread against his over-used equipment. He even squeaked in surprise. He had not been expecting that. It actually felt really goooood.

Pressing the shower flush again his valve, Sentinel had to stop a whimper at the feel of warm fluids rushing into him. Biting his lip component, he sat himself on top of the tool a little more, optics dimming in pleasure. Pit, this was nice.

Frag, wait? What was wrong with him? Enjoying this?! Was he supposed to be … this sensitive?

Shaking his helm, part of him trying not to note that he was pressing down into the round shower head, he eyed the coarser solvents and soaps. Should he stick one of them up there as well? He didn't know much about valve cleaning. Would it hurt him?

Picking up a solvent that looked like it was for chopper-blade care, Sentinel couldn't contain a moan as his valve gave a mighty twitch. He even dropped the soap, the silvery cleanser spilling into the drain. Whimpering as his valve twitched again, Sentinel looked at the door before picking up the container and returning it to the shelf. He didn't know what was safe. Maybe it was best to forgo soap for now.

Okay, he was starting to feel kind of … full. Should he squat? Should he wait? Should he lean his hips forward or touch himself to encourage draining?

Frag! He didn't know how to do this. At this rate his over-sensitive valve was going to come before he even tried squatting. Or maybe -

The mech didn't even get to dwell on the question further when he heard a rap on the door, the door opening a moment later. Sentinel quickly removed the spray from his equipment, cursing his lack of time. He hung up the shower head in time to see Megatron enter, water and cum traces dribbling down his legs as it started to drain from the sudden movement.

He prayed that Megatron wouldn't notice.

“Haven't gotten very far, I see,” said the grey mech as he stepped into the cleansing shower, the large mech chuckling. “Haven't gotten far at all. You barely look wet.”

Swallowing, hoping that the mech didn't notice that his thighs were wet while his helm barely had any water on it, nodded. “Yeah, I couldn't decide what soap to use.”

Chuckling, picking up a black and grey container along with a mesh towel, Megatron walked behind his little toy and kissed his shoulder. He then dribbled some soap onto the towel and onto the Prime's back. “Here, let me help you. Just stand right there.”

Sentinel continued to stand under the spray as directed and Megatron purred into his back, kissing his shoulders, helm and neck. It was the pool all over again except this time it was Megatron's words kept him still instead of rope.

Offlining his optics, telling himself not to whimper or cry out, Sentinel intertwined his fingers so hard he could barely feel them. It did not ease what Megatron was doing to him one bit though.

Towel covered in solvent, Megatron seemed to worship the blue Prime's body. Wiping down his helm, pressing at his shoulders, and running soup down the grooves in his back. It was like getting molested. The worst part had to be when Megatron got to his chassis and belly though. He just kept wiping Sentinel's abdomen back and forth, cupping it and purring like he was just begging for it to expand so he would have more to wipe down.

Sentinel was also not blind to the fact that, standing behind him, Megatron's rod kept getting more and more aroused.

Swallowing, part of him glad the shower was on so the mech behind him wouldn't notice his tears, he accepted that he would have to take Megatron's spike in his mouth again … or maybe his aft-port.

“Oooh, your body needs more weight to it. Not enough to wipe down,” joked Megatron. “Now that you are all clean though … how about I make you dirty all over again? I could fill you right up? You would like that, wouldn't you?”

Hips now grinding again his aft, Megatron purred into that audio, “Mmm, look at that aft. I'd love to press so deep into it, but your valve is feeling lonely, isn't it? Gotta fill you up tight, don't we my little Autobot?”

Feeling large hands suddenly snaking between metallic thighs and suddenly being lifted up, Sentinel knew he was going to be fucked against a shower wall if he didn't do something now.

Hating himself, hating the next words even more, he whispered, “W-wait. H-how about taking my a-aft port instead? I think I … want to try it.”

Stalling in his kissing of Sentinel's sensitive audio receptors, Megatron looked at the aft again.

Sentinel honestly didn't want that huge spike anywhere near the tiny rear port, but he needed to keep Megatron out of his valve as much as possible. If he had to suffer thought a stretching again … then so be it.

Pulling away, Megatron looked down at the mech that was refusing to meet his gaze. Oh, that the expression. It was adorable and shy. Honestly, he hadn't expected that from the Autobot. Rear ports were small in nature and painful if a mech wasn't properly aroused and lubed.

Not wanting to deny the request though, part of him just glad he wasn't currently dealing with a blubbering raped mass, he slowly nodded.

Denta going after that neck once more, Megatron pulled his fingers away from the main valve and towards the rear aft-port. Most mech's never even used theirs. There really was no purpose to it unless you were something akin to a seeker and were always fragging two or more mechs at once. It was for other mechs pleasure more than the owners. There just weren't as many sensors in the aft as their were in the valve. It didn't lube either.

Oh, but they could be tight the first few rounds.

Slowly, only one finger pressed itself into the tight little hole, the blue mech gasping and shuddering at just one finger. Megatron worked that port for few klicks, listening to Sentinel's fans kick on and shudder. It was so small and tight even with one finger. He really didn't want to hurt his little Prime. He wanted him to moan below him and beg and weep for more. He wanted Sentinel to place his hands on Megatron's aft and hang on, whimpering for him to go deeper.

Pressing a second finger in, Sentinel shuddered and gasped, his form going stock still.

No, no. That wasn't good. If he tensed up, a new penetration would be even harder. Perhaps that would be it tonight for the little aft-port. He was honestly glad the little Prime offered, but maybe it was best to forgo it. Aft ports just lacked a luster that valves had … and lube. Primus did aft-ports rip and bleed without the constant assistance of fake lubes. In other words, they were a lot of maintenance when taking them with a spike. Sticking a bullet or pearl vibrator in them though … he heard lovers would squeal and cry in pleasure as a spike pounded their main valve at the same time.

He'd love to have Sentinel squeal up at him as something vibrated in his aft while his tummy was filled with hot nanites. His little Prime would come again and again to the point that he went offline from the pleasure of it all.

He was sure he could dig up a mini-vibrator or pearl somewhere for this little aft, but first … he wanted to get a cry of strained pleasure out of the other. Even if he decided to not take the aft port tonight, he might as wells start stretching it.

Being as gentle as possible, trying to calm his lover with gentle kisses to his sensitive audios, Megatron slowly started to press in a second finger, part of him now noticing that Sentinel's legs were shaking.

Stalling, third finger just teasing at the small entrance, Megatron asked in s husky whisper, “You will tell me if it hurts, won't you? I don't like to damage my things.”

Nodding his head, trying to press a fake moan out of his mouth, Sentinel found he couldn't.

It hurt. It fraggen hurt! He didn't like it. Not one bit. He'd rip and bleed. It would be so much worse than his valve. At least his valve could lube itself. The third finger pushing in was almost too much. The pain growing to the point he wanted to start whimpering, teeth gritting. He … didn't want the pain. He didn't want pain again like that night on this warlord's throne.

And so a sob escaped his throat as he begged, “Please stop. I-it hurts. It hurts.”

Sentinel hated himself immediately. True, he knew he was unable to take anymore finger's inside him without crying out, but his pride still stung. He knew he was right to stop it though. How was the little port supposed to take a whole spike? Something would certainly break and not just rip if Megatron tried to get that spike into his rear port. “Ppplease s-stop. I-I don't like it.”

Sentinel couldn't stop the tears after that, his whole form shaking at the confession. How could be be so weak?! He needed to have Megatron come in his aft or mouth if he wanted to keep his carrying chamber leech-free.

Megatron stopped almost immediately, the large mech suddenly pulling out his three fingers, the faintest traces of energon already on them. Megatron immediately frowned as he watched the little port dribble a single droplet of energon. Oh yes. He wasn't getting into that little aft anytime soon. Not a problem though. He was more than happy to have that main valve sucking on him, begging for more from his girth.

He would get a little bullet for that aft though. He would get it a treat later for even trying. He promised.

Kissing the back of that neck for what felt like the hundredth time that night, he whispered huskily, “There, there my little Autobot. Another time perhaps. I'd rather give you some more kisses instead.”

Trying to keep the mood alive, knowing there would be no more love making tonight if Sentinel started to full out sob, he quickly started to kiss all the way down the mech's spinal strut. He was on his knees before he knew it, lip components now gently kissing that little overstretched aft-port. He kissed it a few times before he started to suck on it, trying to turn those pain sobs into pleasured whimpers.

It took several klicks but finally the sobs dispersed into little whines of pleasure. Smiling as he continued to taunt the little port with his mouth, Megatron brought two fingers up to the main valve and slowly pushed in. The gasp and needy little hip jerk were almost too perfect. Wonderful, he had saved this evening. He had forgotten to put the valve plug back in though. Frag, how much had dribbled out? It needed to be replaced.

He really needed an heir.

Suckling the aft port more, he slowly stuck a third finger inside his little Autobot, part him noting that Sentinel had regained his footing and was now swaying on his fingers, obscene squelching noises now filling the cleansing room. In fact, Megatron encouraged the Prime to fuck himself on his fingers. In fact, his little Prime was so wet that a fourth finger all but slipped in. Megatron made no move to hurry the fragging along though. If Sentinel wanted to come … he'd have to cox it out himself.

“Come on,” purred Megatron as he jabbed up a little, getting a hearty uuugghh noise out of his Autobot. “Fuck those fingers. Fuck them as hard as you want.”

Sentinel, hating himself for acting like a whore-bot and giving into a little oral so easily while hoping it would be enough tonight, nodded his head as he look back with dazed optics. He … it was good. His aft still stung a little, but he was setting the pace and he liked that. He liked having this moment of control over his own body.

He liked those fingers.

Pace now picking up, his vents stuttering, part of Sentinel's mind reminded him to milk that spike now before it was pushed inside of him. Sentinel moaned and stalled at the thought, turning to face Megatron. Then, finding the right line of code, he released his own spike. Ignoring Megatron's look of confusion, he slowly aided the large mech to the shower seat, moving those large limbs like a puppeteer. He then sat on those two large legs, pressing their cocks together. He didn't miss Megatron's confused expression until Sentinel took both of his hands and wrapped the two cocks together like two swords trying to share one sheath.

Megatron moaned immediately at the strange feeling, the grasp tight as the little Autobot's small hands fought to contain two spikes. Sentinel moaned as well. A real moan. Frag, his poor little spike. He almost forgot how good it felt to be touched and caressed. Strangely, even Megatron's spike felt sooo good and hot rubbing against his own. His helm collapsing onto Megatron's chassis, he started moving his hands up and down, choking as he wigged his aft.

The words came out of him before he knew they had been said, “F-finger fuck m-me, Megatron.”

Megatron was glad to oblige.

Soon, Sentinel was riding those fingers, back arched and only kept in Megatron's lap by the warlord's spare hand on the low groove of his back. It was all sooo wonderful. There spikes created such a friction that it almost burned, the cleansing fluid keeping them lubed and cool.

It was coming soon though, his hands rubbing the two cocks together faster and faster. Whining, Sentinel noted that there were once again four finger's now inside him, drool dribbling out of the side of his mouth. Sentinel moaned, “I'm about … I'm about to c-come.”

Megatron, dazed as he looked at the unadulterated pleasure on his Autobot's face, came out of it slightly. No. He couldn't waste more nanites this way today. Growling, fucking that valve harshly with his fingers, Megatron said, “Let me see you. Open your chassis.”

Only giving him a look for a moment as if uncertain, slowly the blue mech nodded and opened his chassis. Then, right when the valve started to twitch, Megatron opened his own chassis, spark light blinding the small Prime. That moment of distraction was all Megatron needed though as he lifted up his Prime and then seat him in one false swoop on his proud spike. Sentinel actually screeched as he came around the sudden girth pressed into him. Megatron, seeing his Autobot come, Sentinel's spike spraying them both in nanites, came himself hot cum spraying up into a wanting valve. Then, before their high could even disperse, he pulled Sentinel into a hug and pressed their sparks together. Sentinel cried again in pleasure, valve having another orgasm before the first could even finish, the little spike spraying again. Megaton, roaring as well, came once more, his nanites feeling endless from holding them in all day.

Then, slowly, they parted their sparks, both panting and in pleasure … Sentinel's cum over both of their chassis.

Looking down at that dazed little face, a dripplet of his own nanites on his cheek plate, Megatron decided he wanted to see that expression again and again. This bot would always be his. Slowly leaning forward, he stole a kiss.

This bot was his.


Strika found herself wandering into the medical bay as often as she could. She knew that personal matters shouldn't affect her command, but she had wanted this for so long. She had dreamed of things like this. That her son would somehow come back to her. She had recalculated that horrible battle a thousand times, the calculative mind of a General always behind her thoughts. Her logic center had always told her to give up hope.

She still had one son.

She could also have another or perhaps Lugnut could try to carry this time if she could get the sparklet to latch onto her spark over his.

But now she didn't have to think about replacing her second son. She now had him, and how her spark sang whenever she would touch his face or pet his helm. Her beautiful, beautiful child. Looking at his optics though, their cruel blue, she had to pull her hands away from the young bot on the medical berth or risk denting his delicate armor. Rage was still overcoming her.

If she ever found the medic that did this to him … she'd torture them.

Primus, the medical treatment he would need just to overcome the simple negligence of the Autobots. He hadn't gotten enough of anything. He should be so much bigger at this age, his armor thicker, but there was still time. She still had time to coddle and care for him since he still considered a dependent by Decepticon standards.

She would reform their bond.

Slowly, those blue optics coming online, the femme signaling for Lugnut to get his lazy aft off that berth and greet their son.

Optics coming online after being offline for more than a joor, Bulkhead in took air in a frightened way as took in the image of two huge Cons standing over him. The large femme was smiling and stating warmly, “Hello, sparklet. You're alma and sire … have been waiting for you.”

Before Bulkhead could even react to her words, he was being pulled into a hug by the large femme, Lugnut following suit. He should have been horrified. He should have fought and pulled away, calling them both mad, but for the first time … his spark sang, greeted by those of his creators.

There was … there was already a bond there, weak though it may be, but already trying to reconnect itself.

Feeling his spark sing, Bulkead suddenly felt calm and … at home.


Meanwhile, in the cargo hold not far from an alma and sire greeting their long lost creation, a form huddled into itself as it tried to keep its voice down.

Wasp knew he shouldn't be in here. This was a Decepticon ship. He knew that was bad. He knew that he shouldn't have been with the Con, nasty-nasty Con ship … but the Autobots didn't want him. They … they ruined him somehow. He couldn't remember how, but they ruined him.

Did something to his head.

The science-bots, when they couldn't get him to confess, when they didn't believe him that Bumble-bot was a liar, they messed with his head.

They knew he was a sleeper agent they said. Found other uses for him they said.

He hated the Autobot science-bots almost as much as Bumble-bot. He hated Bumble-bot the most though. He still wanted his revenge, but there were too many Autobots coming to Earth. They'd catch him again, and hook up his helm again and make him … scream and cry again until his vocalizer continually buzzed.

He had to get off of the horrible organic planet … even if he had to hide on a horrible Decepticon ship. He just had to stay silent.

If only he could keep his vocalizer from buzzing.


Chapter Text

Bulkhead had been … overwhelmed when the two large frames had dragged him into a hug when he had finally been allowed to sit up on the berth. He hadn't known what else to do but to let the two larger frames hold him. His spark had swam, ebbed and fluttered with some unknown joy, and then they had pulled away to speak with him. The femme's guttery voice was almost soothing … if he hadn't been utterly terrified by this point.

The young mech didn't know how else to react. He had sat silent the whole time, too shocked to speak, especially when the femme continued to tell him that Lugnut (fraggen Lugnut of all mechs) was his sire and that she, Strika, was his alma. She had even shown him the results of a parentage test.

It had been … overwhelming. He felt he was still in recharge or this was some kind of torture technique meant to break down his mental reserves. So, not knowing what else to say, he let his Autobot upbringing do the talking. “Y-your lying. Y-you're Decepticons. How do I know you aren't try to trick me? ”

He had expected the game to end there, for a strike to come or for one of the lumbering titans to snap at his words of disbelief. If anything, the femme chuckled, patting Bulkhead's helm even though he twitched away under her touch.

“Oh, so smart. Just like me and your grand-sire. It is best to be caution when seemingly surrounded by enemies, but tell me young one … a CPU can be tricked, yes, but can a spark be fooled?”

Turning his optics on and off, unable to look Lugnut in the optic as he felt something pitter-patter in his spark, a foreign feeling of reassurance coming from an unknown source, Bulkhead asked, “Even if this … all of this … is true. Um … w-why would you want me? I have been fighting you this whole time.”

At that the femme smiled, a bulky servo petting down his neck. Bulkhead, despite himself, didn't twitch away this time. In fact, it took all that was in him, not to leaned into the femme's touch.

Strika, not the least bit dissuaded by Bulkhead's reservations, spoke once more, “For being a repair bot, your fighting has impressed us, little one. It has made me proud. Are you as good as your older brother? No, but when we return to New Kaon and the Lost Colonies, I'm sure you will be a quick study.”

Bulkhead, looking down at this chassis again and the strange warmth there, started. What? He had a brother? And what were these Lost Colonies? No. No, this wasn't right. He had to go back to Cybertron. That was where he belong. He was an Autobot. A loyal, loyal Autobot.

And yet, there was a whisper in the back of his CPU, like some dark thoughts had been planted there the moment the felt the long lost bond. They were simple words that stung: But aren't you actually a Decepticon?

Swallowing thickly, his mind finally caught up with the parentage test he had been shown. If it was true ... He wasn't an Autobot at all, was he?

It would explain a lot of things.

He had been passed around from caretaker to caretaker as a sparkling, seemingly unwanted. No one had ever been cruel, per say, but he had always been too clumsy or too hungry or too something. No one had ever kept him long enough to form at least a caretaker bond. He had finally been dumped in a youngling care center without any personal contact. It had hurt.

It had hurt to be disregarded and it chased him right into the Autobot academy as soon as he was able to sign up. Anything had to be better than that cold indifference of … of nearly everyone on Cybertron.

Why had he never noticed it before? Perhaps he had just enough true friends not to care about the cold distance directed towards him and his bulky form. Optimus' team and meeting Bumblebee, even if they were nobodies, was one of the best things to ever happen to him.

Swallowing thickly again, coolant starting to gather in his optics, a sickening thought hit him.

Would anyone on Cybertron even care he went missing? Would anyone besides his team even care that he was captured and taken? Would he matter even and ounce? Or would his file simply be labeled MIA, his name forgotten by his superiors.

Seeming to sense his shock over his new thoughts, a lone coolant tear dripping down a green cheek, Strika reached out a large hand and wiped the single tear away. Bulkhead, couldn't help but look her directly in the optic, his bottom lip trembling for a moment.

Strika, making optic-contact, could tell her little Wreckingball was two klicks away from having a breakdown. She wanted to talk to him more, assure him that he would be taken care of properly now, but instead she looked Lugnut in the optic, pulling at his bond for a moment.

He nodded in agreement, no words needed between them.

“I think our little Wreckingball has had enough shock today, hasn't he? I have cleared the room next to ours so you can rest. Come now, let's get you to bed and get some of that medical grade in you. Yes?” she said softly, placing a sturdy hand under his arm. She basically lifted him off the berth at that point, Lugnut rubbing his back for a moment before they started down the hall.

His mind was in a daze during the whole trip, especially as they passed Con after Con. Most nodded at Strika and Lugnut thoughtfully, not one glaring at him or growling at him. If anything, they looked at him sympathetically. He didn't … he didn't know how to react to that. The lack of violence in those red optics was more concerning than if something stalled them in the hall and threatened him.

He was so distressed by the time they got to his suite, he was half leaning on Strika just to keep up right, his CPU threatening to glitch. Strika, for the most point, didn't seem offended by his weakness. She just held him closer and basically carried him to his berth. Lugnut then all but lifted him up and placed him on the berth. The large mech's engine then purred as he petted the side of Bulkhead's helm.

Lugnut's next words then sent the young Autobot over the edge because he had always wanted someone to say it to him when he was still a youngling, but no one ever had.

“We are so glad we found you, youngling.”

A whine finally escaped Bulkhead after that and the coolant started to drop freely from his optics, blinding him with its flow. He expected for them to at least be disgusted in the show of weakness, but neither seemed bothered by the display. If anything, Lugnut rumbled thoughtfully, trying to press into the weak bond and Strika, she merely pulled her creation into a hug, holding him as he wept.

Bulkhead, in turn, hugged her back, crying even harder as his engine started to hiccup. He just couldn't stop thinking of when he was a youth … wishing and praying to Primus that someone would come and take him away, loving him indiscriminately.

He knew he should hate himself for holding into her and sobbing like a lost sparkling, but he couldn't stop. He couldn't hate her like his Autobot upbringing demanded. Then again, he wasn't really an Autobot, was he?

And so he cried harder, allowing the femme to run a servo down his back as she clicked and whispered into his audio, telling him everything was going to be okay now. Everything was going to be fine.

How he wished he could believe her words for he had always wanted to hear them.

The Magnus was riding him hard. Yes. Yes that was it. Each thrust of his big spike was going in deep and hard. He had messed up some filing and the Magnus had wanted to punish him. A-and he wanted it. He wanted it. He w-want that spike in him.

Sentinel choked back a sob as he shook his helm. N-no, he didn't want this. It wasn't the Magnus that was currently pounding into his valve, but he didn't know what else to do to keep himself from breaking into a blubbering mess. The fragging, t-the rapes, were getting worse.

Not to the point of terrifying, brutal rapes of pain and blood, but more frequent and far more intimate. They were merging all the time now, and he couldn't keep that horrible grey spike out of his valve. He tried sucking it off time and time again, he even offered up his aft port again, but Megatron would not be dissuaded.

He was always coming into his valve.

The plan he had formed a few mega-cycles ago, as weak as it was to begin with to keep nanites out of his valve, wasn't working. Being complacent had made Megatron seemingly even hornier, desperate even to make the both of them come as many times as he could in a mega-cycle. Part of him wondered if it had to do with the report from Cyclonus about being an orn out from the Lost Colonies. Wherever the frag that was. Either way, it felt like a deadline … for them both.

Wherever these Lost Colonies were, they were friendly to the Decepticons and he didn't want to be there.

Offling his optics, praying that Megatron was getting tired, he once again imagined a mech that he had at least found handsome. Ultra Magnus just wasn't doing it, but Jazz. He could have seen Jazz taking him doggy style in a berth. Jazz may have acted laid back, like he didn't have any fetishes, but it is hard to hide ones dirty digipads when they were all on one small ship.

Moaning at the thought of Jazz being behind him, pounding into him, he tried to hold onto that image. H-he had been snooping on the Steelhaven. Yeah, yeah, that was it, and he found one of Jazz's digi-pads. Jazz, walking in, smiled and asked if he wanted to try that position. It being a long trip, he had said yes and now Jazz was taking him.

“Oooh, mmmhhhh,” moaned Sentinel, the fall coming soon if Megatron's increased pace was anything to go by.

Oral fluid dripping down his chin, part of his body really liking this position as he was rode like a filthy turbo-fox in the wilds. He tried to weakly save himself though. “C-come on my aft. I-I want to feel it there.”

Frag, that was so obscene. He was now really glad that he actually read some of those articles out of Jazz's burrowed digi-pads. He had never been really good at talking dirty. It was femmes moans that turned him on after all, especially the little half-moans before they came withering below him. Those sent him over every time.

Megatron didn't seem to hear him though, vents panting, hips slamming into each other and finally he came, slamming hard and deep into those hips. Sentinel immediately lost his grip, going chest first into the berth's soft padding. The new angle and the spray of hot fluids inside his valve, caused him to come a nano-klick later, wailing in ecstasy.

He hated himself for it to … because in his mind it had been Megatron that came into him, not Jazz. At least if it was Jazz he wouldn't feel so bad … about enjoying it.

Frag, what was wrong with his body? It was coming more and more often. His spark seeming to sing whenever Megatron would open his chassis. His body wanted this. It wanted all of this. He couldn't even sob right anymore because it was coming out as pleased little moans.

He had to get out of here!

“S-sorry? What did you say,” said Megatron, optics half glazed over as he pulled out, nanites dribbling down Sentinel's thighs. The large mech then was lying down next to him, pulling Sentinel into a spooning position, kissing the back of the exhausted Autobot's helm.

“N-nothing,” choked Sentinel, squirming as he tried to think of something to say. “I'm just … tired. Can we recharge for a bit?”

Sentinel could feel the nod from Megatron as the large mech kissed his helm again. “Of course, you've done well today. We shall rest … but first-”

The large mech then proceeded to grab something off one of the berth-stands, lifting up Sentinel's leg and pressing a plug deep inside him. It locked into his over-sensitive valve a second later causing the Autobot to shiver.

He hated that thing. He fraggen hated it! If he could get the nanites out, maybe he wouldn't be so desperate but it was like the fragger was determined to have him heavy before they even got to these Lost Colonies.

Whimpering slightly as the plug burrowed into place in his sensitive lining, Megatron kissed his helm again as he laid the leg down. “Sorry, you were still sensitive, weren't you? Sleep well, my little Prime.”

It felt like groons later before Megatron finally fell into recharge, his vents huffing out air slowly as his systems cycled down further and further. Sentinel, even though he was terrified, tried to mimic the large mech's venting.

He had to do this today, right now. There was no more putting it off.

Megatron, perhaps underestimating Sentinel, had become someone lax with his digi-pad security. He had always kept it in his subspace, reading over reports whenever he thought Sentinel was in recharge. For the last two solar cycles though, he would merely roll off of Sentinel's body and sit up in the berth, reading it a moment later. Sentinel was then forced to lay there, panting, swollen and exhausted, watching the mech read over reports like he hadn't just forcefully taken the mech right next to him.

Sentinel had never been in the communications department, but even he knew how valuable that digi-pad was. He had even memorized the keystrokes Megatron used to sign in.

It was today or never. A digi-pad like that would likely give him a lot of information. And more than likely, the ship's outline. Swallowing, feeling the bulge of a plug in his valve as he shifted, Sentinel slowly moved the sheets off of his body … as well as Megatron's arm that had been slung lazily over him. He cringed at every sound as he moved that servo, looking at the slowly venting war model in a terrified manner. He nearly shorted out when Megatron groaned and rolled over.

He nearly had a spark attack again when he got out of the berth and his legs gave out. His servos were the only thing that had stopped him from falling to the floor in a devastating clang. Instead, he slowly lowered himself to the floor, vents panting.

F-frag. He knew he was barely let out of the berth anymore, but Megatron hadn't been fragging him that hard, had he?

Shaking off the thought, his legs now obeying him, he decided it was best to stay on the floor anyway. Just in case Megatron did wake up for a moment.

Crawling as quietly as he could around the berth, Sentinel looked up at the berth-stand and bit his lip component before staring at the one grey hand that was now hanging off the side slightly. It would be so easy for Megatron to grab him if he woke up … then again, it wasn't like he could go anywhere anyway.

Reaching upward, optics darting wearily between the digi-pad and Megatron's offline optics, he finally got a hold of the pad. He turned it on quickly with shaking hands, feeling the pad was far to bright in the gloom, but it couldn't be helped.

A moment later, he was in, his guess of the code perfect. Then again, sitting there panting, he hadn't had anything better to do than memorize Megatron's keystrokes.

Staring at the pad, he immediately noticed the ship's route and landfall estimation. F-frag. A little under a orn until they got there. Okay, okay, no time to panic. There was the ship's outline and its crew. There were less mechs on board than he thought. That was good, but he needed to plug in to get this ship's blueprint.

Unspooling a jack, he quickly plugged in, downloading information straight to his CPU. He knew that was a risky move given the risk of viruses and protected files on the digi-pad, but he would take his chances. He nearly dropped the pad thought when one unsecured file was downloaded.

W-was that his Autobot personnel file? Frag. When had they gotten that? How had they gotten that? That was protected information. Unless … unless, his engine whined at the thought. D-did they have an information leak in the Autobot Headquarters?

Megatron, hearing the little whine, shifted. Sentinel all put dropped the pad in shock, finger's unplugging the jack and placing it back up. In his hurry to place the pad perfectly on the berth-stand thought, he hit the stand a little too roughly … the whole thing flopping over.

The crash was devastating, the pad falling and cracking in a rain of glass while cy-gars and everything else fell to the floor in metallic clangs.

Megatron was sitting up in a nano-klick, cannon all but whining as it came online. He even pointed it around the room until he was looking down at Sentinel, the weapon folding back into place as he groggily asked, “Sentinel … why are you on the floor?”

Sentinel, looking up at the grey mech that was groggily looking down at him, metallic sheets flowing off the berth and revealing his limp spike (he never kept it covered anymore when he was in the room, Sentinel wasn't even sure where his cod piece was at this moment), couldn't help but cringe. He was entirely on the wrong side of the room to claim that he had rolled off. So, swallowing, he thought of a quick lie, his tank rumbling in agreement. “Um, I was … was hungry. I was going to head to the dispenser.”

Megatron raised a brow, looked at the dispenser that was indeed on that side of the room, and then frowned down at his little Autobot. “Why are you crawling then?”

Optics going wide, the blue mech thought for a moment before weakly saying, “... My peds gave out …?”

Megatron continued to stare at him, optics going bright like he didn't believe him.

“And my valve … aches. I-I think you put the plug in wrong and i-its rubbing wrong,” he confessed. Thought, truthfully, it always felt like it was put in wrong … not that Sentinel was sure there was a right way to put those horrible things in.

The warlord sighed at the news, nodding before he sat up and careful got to the floor, minding Sentinel's body.

Sentinel, stiff as a board, couldn't even guess what was going to come next or if the mech even believed him. The next thing he knew though was that he was being picked up into a bridal carry by the larger mech. He wasn't placed squarely on the berth though. No, no, Megatron sat back down on the berth with him. He then wordlessly pressed Sentinel against his chassis so that the little mech was reclining against the warlord.

“You should have woken me if you were hungry or in unneeded pain,” rumbled the larger mech as he reached for a subspace in one of his thighs. He then pulled out a cube, metals and additives swirling about it like a metallic little galaxy in a cube.“Given we in-took before the last round, its odd that you are already hungry. Unless … you are already carrying. Weakness in the servos and increased intake are always the first signs. Followed by a stupor of course, when the most delicate systems form and the sparklet drops into the carrying chamber. ”

Sentinel, immediately felt sick to his tank at the warlord's words. He didn't even want to know how the mech knew so much about carrying, but he nearly sobbed when the large mech placed the cube into his hands. The warlord then placed almost a chastised kiss on his helm near his ear fins, mumbling softly, “If a stupor doesn't occur in a day or two, I'll take you to Oil Spill to do a double check. Less and less nanites are spilling out when I take out the plug, so something must be happening. If not, maybe Oil Slick can recommend something to force you carrier codes online. It may force a sparklet to latch on.”

The young Prime would have dropped the cube if Megatron wasn't already taking it away from him, opening one of the corners slowly.

“Now, intake. I made sure it had aluminum in it, just like you like,” said Megatron, having the cubes specially mixed that way after he found out the little Autobot like aluminum coated rust sticks.

Sentinel nearly dropped the cube again. When had Megatron found that out? He wanted to ask, but he didn't trust his vocalizer. T-there was no way he was carrying. No, no. He wasn't that hungry and mechs could generally feel a stupor coming on, exhausted to the point of weakness. He didn't feel weak. He felt beat up, but not weak.

Swallowing thickly, more than aware that Megatron was watching every twitch, he slowly brought the cube to his mouth and meekly sipped. Megatron's engine purred in appeasement before he started kissing the Prime's shoulder and neck, one hand cupping Sentinel's slight distended abdomen while the other hand reached for the valve. The mech almost carefully took out the plug, a finger slipping into the Autobot and making a lazy circle as if to sooth the aching valve.

And so that continued, the kisses and body worship until Sentinel finally finished his cube.

Then, spike hard klicks ago, Megatron finally shifted into his little lover, fucking him slowly from behind as he continued to hold that belly and kiss that neck. It was a slow pace, caring even. In fact, it was almost torturous in its patience.

Sentinel hated himself when he finally came, whimpering a name he knew he should hate. “M-megatron.”

Megatron had never been so proud of his spike, taking his little mate's spark a moment later.


Chapter Text

Sentinel tried not to whine as he got to his feet, his helm swimming from the sudden movement. He nearly fell back to the berth for support, but Megatron surprisingly grabbed him first to keep him steady. It was almost honorable how patient the grey mech had been the last two days … especially when Sentinel had started feeling sick.

“Steady,” said Megatron as he grabbed Sentinel's elbow, his other hand automatically cupping the slightly swollen belly on the Autobot. It was a frighteningly possessive grip. Some might have even called the act gentlemechly if it didn't belong to a blood thirsty tyrant. After all, this was the very mech that had made him swollen. He had been relentlessly pounding his valve for the last two days and had all but forced Sentinel to drink cube after cube of nutrient-rich energon. Cube after disgusting cube. He wanted to gag at the thought, but he had managed to snag a few for his subspace at least. After all, Megatron was praying he would go into a stupor soon and was basically downing him in the stuff. The warlord wouldn't notice if a few of them went missing.

Nonetheless, even with Megatron's devotion, Sentinel had managed to grab enough time to himself to review the files he downloaded from the warlord's digi-pad. He honestly felt like a starved archivist with how carefully he read over them. He especially went over the ship's schismatics with obsessive determination, routes and sub routes forming in his mind like life lines. He also kept looking at … his personnel file. He knew there was a spy now. He knew there was one in his countryman's midst and it only served to drive him harder to escape.

He had to tell his Magnus.

He had to get out of here.

“Sentinel, are you listening to me?” said Megatron with a soft growl of his powerful engine as he opened the door to the suite, one hand still on the small of Sentinel's back.

Sentinel, starting, realized he hadn't been listening at all, swallowed and carefully asked, “W-what?”

Huffing out of his vents, tone surprisingly tolerant, the prince petted one of Sentinel's vents, feeling how hot he was. Not that Sentinel was surprised by the action … or the sickness. Shortly after he gotten the outline from the data pad, he had started feeling weak. At first Megatron was ecstatic, thinking it was the start of his stupor, but when Sentinel fainted midst a fragging … they were both proven otherwise.

Thank Primus, he had been terrified.

So now, for entirely different reasons than Megatron originally wanted, they were going to the medbay.

Megatron humped, taking his hand away from the vent. “I said we are going to the medbay this morning. No more putting it off. You are getting hotter. This isn't mere exhaustion. Its best we do this now.”

The warlord then made to pick the smaller mech up, but Sentinel sidestepped and bit out, “I can walk. I don't need to be fraggen carried!”

Sentinel knew he shouldn't test the warlord right now, especially given he was being rather tolerant, but he was sore and tired and … angry. He knew the sickness probably had to do with a lot of it, but he flared his plating in warning nonetheless.

The metallic titan snorted at the pathetic display, thinking the flared plating was cute. Then before the blue mech could protest again, he was being forcibly picked up and pressed close to a large silver chest.

Sentinel couldn't help but yip in surprise at the larger mech's speed … especially when he felt the plug shift in his valve, his legs kicking out. He didn't get another moment of protest though before they were heading to the door, the larger mech's form sending vibrations through his sore frame.

Grabbing onto the larger mech's neck, Sentinel reluctantly buried his helm into the mech's neck noticing how cool Megatron's form felt against his own. Pit, he really was hot. He was getting sick. Frag, he couldn't afford to get sick right now. His plan was just coming together … and he was running out of time. He had to get over this. Fast. It was just a digi-pad. How bad could the virus be?

Frag. Why was so … so dizzy?

“Put him here. I'll plug him in. Its good you brought him in before he got any hotter, my lord. He can't afford to be sick right now. If he gets too sick, it will offline his carrier protocols,” said a familiar oozy voice. It echoed through the half haze Sentinel didn't remember falling into.

Was that Oil Slick? Frag? When had he offlined his optics? Were they already in the medbay? Pit. He had wanted to document some of the halls for his escape route.

Sentinel, even though he knew it would hurt his optics, tried not to cringe as he onlined them. His vision was staticy and painful as he struggled to focus. He nearly yelped when the light of a scan fell over his form, especially his optics.

Feeling his form finally shift as his sore struts met cool metal, Sentinel was greeted by the image of the small chemist turned medic leaning over him. There was surprisingly a deep scowl on the smaller mech's face plates. He might have called it worry, but doubt that was the right emotion.

Decepticons didn't have sparks after all.

“Well, do something about it. He's close. His gestation chamber barely leaks, his protoform is swelling along with his abdomen, and his spark keeps pulling more and more of a charge off of mine. His body wants to spark,” said the warlord, his scowl deep-set before he brought the back of his knuckles to Sentinel's face. He softly touch his cheek plate without a second thought.

The warlord didn't miss how Oil Slick watched the movement though, optics bright and calculating.

Meeting the large mech's gaze, Oil Slick quickly looked away. He wanted to bite out that this was a waste of time, that he should just get to cut the Autobot up … but this was the first time he had seen the Autobot since his initial repairs. He was practically bloating with pre-carrying minerals. Megatron really wanted to keep his Autobot. Honestly, it was the first consort the Prince had ever taken. Oil Slick knew, loyally, he should just be glad his lord finally chose someone, even if it was a weak Autobot. So, though it felt out of character for him not to at least handle the Autobot roughly, Oil Slick stated, “I'll hook your Autobot into the medical berth. We'll start with a system scan and go from there. While that's working, I'll check his spark chamber and gestation chamber as well … see if we have any latch-ons.”

Nodding, red optics turning to the smaller Con, he ground out, “Well, what are you waiting for?”

Nodding in turn, Oil Slick walked around to Sentinel's helm, tilting it to the side before pulling a impute jack from the berth. Then, in one smooth motion, he quickly plugging it into the uplink on the back of Sentinel's neck.

The Prime jerked in response, medical berth barraging his fire walls before finally winning out. Sentinel couldn't help but moan, his body suddenly feeling numb and violated. Generally, medical berths only forced walls in extreme medical issues, like if the mech couldn't give active consent to lower his own fire walls. It seemed that Decepticon tech was just as volatile as the mechs that used it.

Oil Slick, meanwhile, watching the blue mech's limbs all go lax as the medical berth offlined all uneeded systems. Silently, mind his burden with the thought that this was Megatron's consort and not just any Autobot, he walked around to the chassis. Watching as the reluctant consort's optics go dim, the chemist reached for the chassis latches. The medical berth's programs would keep that young bot's mind busy as he struggled to keep up fire walls. This would give Oil Slick more than sufficient time for a spark examination that didn't require sedatives.

Thin scientific fingers danced over the chassis testing seams until they finally found the right latches, the chassis popping open. The motor-cycle made a note to the young Prime's growing medical records that the locks needed to be removed. A prince's consort had no need for such things. He or she was to be ready whenever their spark or valve was need. Nonetheless, blue light greeted him a moment later, the small Con taking out a scanner. He allowed it to shed light over the blue spark, scanning it before stepping back to read the scanner's findings.

Megatron, still in the room, stepped forward and looked down at the squirming blue spark. His spike went partially hard just looking at it, his own spark swirling in want. That spark was his … all his, and how he wished to take it again, right here on this medical berth. Despite himself, his EM field let out a small burst of lust.

Oil Slick … couldn't help but look up, but said nothing.

Megatron, in turn, felt he needed to fill the silence, especially since he was becoming uncomfortably hard behind his cod piece. “Do you see anything?”

Still reading the scanner, dexterous fingers typing away from time to time, the smaller mech slowly shook his helm behind its thick glass casing. “No. I'm sorry Lord Megatron. I don't see anything. Then again, if its younger than a joor … sometimes its hard to pick up with a normal scanner. A medic's chevron would be better suited for such readings.”

Frowning, disappointed at the chemist's report, the prince grunted, “I understand … unless it dropped already?”

Oil Slick sharply looked up, optics dimming in thought before he added, “If so … that would be unfortunate. If it drops before he goes into a stupor … it might abort, but I will check just in case.”

Putting down the EM scanner on a nearby tray, he instead walked towards Sentinel's legs. He quickly put those lush legs in the stirrups and this time Megatron's engine couldn't help but give a small roar, remembering the night he had fuck Sentinel unconscious on this very table.

Oil Slick, looking up, couldn't help but smirk wickedly … remembering all to well how he had tied the Autobot to the berth for his Prince's pleasure. “I take it you approved of my berth-gift?”

Megatron couldn't help but smile wickedly. He gladly admitted, “One of my favorite moments with the Autobot. If he is well enough, do leave him there for me. I … would like to take him that way again.”

Chuckling, the makeshift medic locked Sentinel's legs up like last time, restraining his lower half. The blue valve cover clicked off a moment later, the medic humming in thought. “I can see the valve is slightly engorged and irritated. If you weren't planning on breeding the Autobot, I would say let it be, but you might have to take a joor off. Its best you don't rub him raw, my lord. Valve injuries can cause internal rust infections and that can kill a sparklet if not noticed in time.”

Pressing his fingers in a klik later, worry about a rust infection coming to the surface, the mech stalled when his fingers were met with resistance. “Ah, I see you have been using the valve plug as well. Keeps those fluids in. Generally, it would just be locked to your CNA to get it open, but since I gave it to you …”

Pushing his fingers in deeper, the valve clenching around him for a moment, the plug out with the wet pop, a small amount of nanites dribbling out of the Autobot and onto the medical berth. Oil Slick nodded in approval at the dribbling sight, taking a wand in hand. “You are right, my lord. The Autobot doesn't seem to be leaking all the nanties his valve is taking in. A good sign. Lets just put this scanning wand up into that nice little hole and do an internal scan for a moment and then,” the mech grinned, “I will leave you to him if the other scans come back clear.”

Sentinel, meanwhile, might have been paying attention to the wand Oil Slick was lubbing or Megatron's approval of fucking locations, but he was too busy coming out of a battle with a medical berth. The berth, of course, won and was now painful running around in his systems, poking at everything. It was … disturbing, but when he came to himself he wasn't entirely disappointed. There, right next to him, was a small medical EM scanner on the tool tray … along with a rather sharp looking set of needle tips. He'd seen Jazz do it once. He could, in theory, jimmy-rig something with just those two things to get doors open, overriding pin pads. He could even use it as a weapon if need be. Now, if he could just get a hold of them without anyone-

“Ue-ah!” cried Sentinel, arching as a cold wand was suddenly pushed into his sore yet well-spread valve. He even bucking into it a few times before Oil Slick put his hand on a thigh, pushing the now panting Autobot down.

“Woah! Watch the equipment, Autobot. Just hold still. Just vent. Its almost the whole way in there,” said Oil Slick grumpily as he continued to push the tool pass Sentinel's rim and into his inner founds, the valve walls constricting in confusion. Every part of Sentinel's lower loins was telling him this thing was wrong. It was too cold, too lifeless. Where was its warm spike, big and perfectly fitting to him now? Where was it?

Sentinel hated himself immediately for even thinking about missing a warm spike inside him. Instead, he moaned as the tool finally stalled, fully seating inside him. The next thing to happen nearly caused him to bark in pleasure though … the tool was clicked on, the small scanning engine cause a slight vibration.

Both of the Cons chuckled as the blue Prime arched and released a pathetic whine, shifting his hips in natural reaction to orns of fragging.

“Wanton little thing, isn't he, my lord? You have been training him well,” said the chemist as he walked away from those spread legs and to a holo-screen at Sentinel's head, Megatron chuckling in agreement as he watched his little Autobot buck. Oh … he was certainly going to take his Autobot on this berth. There was no doubt in his CPU now. That wand was also perfectly sized … to go up Sentinel's aft port.

Oooh, his Autobot was in for a treat.

“I certainly have been trying. He was rather stubborn … until recently. Sucks me off like a hungry little thing almost every few groons now,” admitted Megatron as he watched those blue hips rock uselessly. Poor thing was never going to overload like that.

Oil Slick … gave him a curious look, but said nothing. He was almost smirking to himself.

“Now, enough taunting my little consort, have the readings picked anything up?” asked Megatron, coming forward and standing near Sentinel hip. He ignored Sentinel whine for a whole five kliks before he reached a hand between those legs, his thick fingers quickly searching out those wet folds. He was not going to merely watch as Sentinel was denied overload. The wand was not vibrating entirely enough to call one forth. So, caring little what the motorcycle thought, he started to thumb the tip of Sentinel's spike which had yet to rise. It was like rubbing a clit and soon, little whines of pleasure instead of just frustration were filling the room.

Oil Slick … said nothing. He was still reading the screen before he grunted.

“Well .. it could be worse, my Lord,” said the small mech, ignoring how Sentinel as was now meowing, Megatron's large hand barely visible from this angle but definitely hard at work.

Frowning, rubbing the spike tip with his thumb while his pointer finger made its way to Sentinel's valve, the warlord nodded for the makeshift medic to continue. He was going to see if he could get his finger into that hole with the wand … the little valve seemed more than willing.

Ignoring how Sentinel's free hands were now latched onto Megatron's gauntlet as if willing him deeper, Oil Slick continued, “Since the wand is still inside the little Prime … and being hindered currently … Lets go over the berth scan.”

Finger no longer rimming, but pushing into his little consort, Sentinel whimpering as he hung onto his gauntlet for dear life, Megatron growling, “Out with it Oil Slick. I am in no mood for games. And what do you mean the wand is hindered? I need to know if an heir is on the way.”

Ignoring the now semi-thrashing, white-opticed Autobot who now had his mouth open and was panting slightly as Megatron continued to finger him into overload, the chemist comment, “Well, I can't comment on a sparklet yet … because the charge from a coming overload is messing with the wand. It will probably take twice as long with you overloading him …”

Mgatron stalled, hand stopping completely before Sentinel could reach overload. Sentinel, though he hated himself for it, meowed in regret. The medic quickly put up a hand though, waving it off. “No, no, my lord. Go on. I would hate to have him wanton for the rest of the night. After all, he will not be going anywhere for at least a joor.”

Frowning, his spike feeling hard and disappointed behind his cod piece, Megatron grumbled, “A joor? What is wrong?”

Typing away at the screen, looking for the right program to download into the Autobot, he shrugged slightly, “A C Grade virus. Nothing dreadful. His system honestly could probably clear it in time … after making him painfully sick for an orn.”

Megatron, rearing back slightly in confusion, looked down at his own hand as if it had been the cause of the virus before he looked back at the makeshift medic. “A virus? But he hasn't had access to any files on the ship, and I certainly haven't shared hard data uplinks with him. In fact, there has been no reason for a data up-link.”

Plus … Autobot viruses were notoriously irritating. He needed his Autobot cleared before he dared try anything that kinky. Oh, the data files he would download into his consort when they got home.

Giving his Lord almost a bored look, the chemist finally nodded. “However it happened, Lord Megatron, it doesn't matter. Feel free to finish off your Prime while I go and get some viral patches ready. When you come back tomorrow, I will let you know the status on the wand scan as well.”

Nodding, watching the chemist walk away, he turned back to his slightly overheating Prime. Little thing looked adorable right now, panting with his glossa lulling out of the side of his mouth.

Chuckling, glad it wasn't terrible news and was just a system bug, Megatron leaned downward and captured himself a kiss.

Sentinel, still hot, whine at the feel of the cool metal on his own … and the feel of cooler air coming from the warlord's mouth-vents. Beside himself, he tried to suck cooler air from the large mech's ventilations, deepening the kiss. Megatron, catching on, gladly allowed him to, his large hand moving back to his earlier ministration. The little spike was now starting to pop out, nearly fully pressurize, and though Megatron found he didn't mind the cute little thing and its constant eagerness for attention, he pushed it back down slightly. He figured he was already walking on thin ice with the chemist. He didn't need the Autobot's nanites everywhere. Oil Slick really was more than a chemical terrorist than a nurse so he likely hated messes, but he still knew the Cybertronian form … so he would have to claim the responsibility for now.

Large finger now rimming the valve again, he rubbed the spike tip with wide arching circles until he slowly pushed the finger back in. Sentinel's hips quickly arched up, EM field bursting with pleasure. Frag, it was beautiful, fucking his little Autobot like this. He had even pulled out of the kiss because he could take no more of those whimpering little moans, his spike so hard. Megatron didn't even bother showing a lick of hesitation as he popped open his own cod piece, spike proud. Luckily, the berth was the perfect height … for a face fucking.

Smiling wickedly at the thought, the warlord grabbed Sentinel's helm, mouth open and panting, and quickly forced his heavy length inside that gasping little mouth. Sentinel choked at first, but didn't resist. He never really did when it came to blow jobs. So, engine grunting in pleasure, Megatron started out with a vengeful pace. He fucked that mouth hard as his little Autobot choked and whined around his length, trying to suck and shift his hips at the same time. Probably turned on by the spike down his throat, his little Autobot quickly came around the warlord's finger, lubricants seeping around the still vibrating wand.

Megatron came a klik later, forcing a choking Sentinel down onto his entire length … forcing him to swallow it all as he exploded in that wet mouth. Sentinel swallowed quickly and almost greedily even half restrained to berth. It was a skill his little Autobot had picked up quickly and he quite liked it. Yes, Sentinel obviously wasn't entirely willing about his place in the universe quite yet … but he was getting there. One fuck at a time.

Pulling his now semi-soft length out of Sentinel's mouth, the little bot gasping for air, Megatron smiled at the small silvery nanite-cum that was dribbling down sides of his little lover's jaw like little streams. Engine humming in approval, deciding to leave it there if only to visually claim that Sentinel was his, Megaron patted that blue cheek. “Just a small gift to keep you company tonight, my little Autobot. I would hate for you to be hungry. Now, be good.”

… Not that Sentinel was going to be. To busy fucking his mouth and fingering his valve … Megatron had offlined his optics when he came. And Sentinel, even pleasure hazed as he was, had taken the chance to grab the EM gun, needles and all. His subspace hiding the tool well. He was getting out of here tonight. He had to.

And so, he allowed Megatron to kiss him one last time.

It was a kiss goodbye as far as Sentinel was concerned, and good riddance.


Chapter Text

“All right, Megatron's little whore-bot,” purred Oil Slick about a groon after Megatron had left, the make-shift medic coming up to Sentinel's berth side. He took a languid limb in hand as he looked for a wrist port. “Let's finish you up so I can get to more important things.”

Sentinel glared, hating the small mech especially when the mech purposefully patted his slightly bulging stomach, stating, “Megatron is really driving for that sparkling, isn't he? Frag. I was sure he was going to get bored of you, space you, kill you, fuck you to deactivation … but look at you, swelling like a first time carrier.”

Sentinel swallowed, hating the oily bot … because he was entirely right. It bothered him even more right now because the mech was almost being gentle with him compared to last time.

And that terrified him even more.

Not just Megatron wanted him heavy.

“Well, I suppose it was bound to happen. The Megatron line seems to like their pretty little Autobots. Personally, its probably for the best. The prince would have fought tooth and nail against any arranged bond … and the older families would have tried assassinating each other for even a chance to get into the royal line. So, picking a consort from a conquest, was for the best … unless your sparklings are weak.”

Swallowing, trying not to cringe as the chemist clicked a small impute virus patch into place, the code raced into Sentinel's system like a cooling salve. Nearly sighing in relief, already feeling cooler, Sentinel couldn't help but bite out, “Well, there aren't going to be any sparklings . So you don't need to worry about that.”

Oil Slick merely laughed, deep and robust. Sentinel hadn't thought the motor-cycle knew how to laugh, yet here he was … actually amused.

Patting the swell of Sentinel's tummy, rubbing it in a too-friendly manner while smiling with a chiding grin, the smaller bot asked, “Really? Have you looked at yourself? The only reason you probably don't have a brood in you right now is because you caught a virus … said virus that looks entirely too much like a security worm if I do say so myself? Hmmmm?”

Sentinel tried not to recoil as he played dumb. “What does a security worm have to do with me?”

The make-shift medic continued to smile though the hard glint to his optics had returned. “Don't play dumb, mech. It's an insult to my intelligence and yours … Nonetheless, on to wetter things, hmm? Shall we?”

Settling between Sentinel's legs a klik later, spreading them wide in a mocking manner, the chemist reached for the scanner inside the blue mech's vavle. He even rolled in a few times as if stretching the Autobot before pulling it out. He plugged into the small device and stood there a moment, optics flickering as they went over the data readings from the device. He even hummed to himself slightly before placing the wet tool into the tool tray … only to stall. The small Con stared at the tray as if confused.

Sentinel swallowed praying the make-shift medic hadn't noticed, but when Oil Slick's cold optics met his … he knew that he had already noticed what was missing.

“Where is my EM gun?”

Deciding it was now or never, Sentinel reached for his subspace just in time for Oil Slick to launch himself forward, trying to stop him. He might have been sick and dizzy, but Jazz had beaten this one trick into him … they had had nothing but time the Steelhaven.

Pulling the EM gun out , one of the needles already in place, he was just fast enough … to get punched in the face. Sentinel reeled back with a dry shout.

Oil Slick, personally, didn't care if the Autobot was now Megatron's consort, he unceremoniously punched him in the side of the head again. Hard enough this time to make Sentinel see static.

Sentinel, now desperate as he felt fingers roughly trying to pry the tool from his grasp, managed to tilt the tool in the right direct and with a struggling digit ... managed to turn in on, a charged needle hopefully making contact and pushing the guns usually harmless electromagnet field into a fine point of electricity. He prayed that the medical bay had soundproof walls for the oily bot's scream was echoing … the thud following after just a loud. Yet, at the same time, that thud was the most wonderful sound the Prime had honestly heard … and then he remembered, “Frag, how am I getting out of these stirrups?”

It took Sentinel longer than he'd like to admit to get out of those things, but he entirely blamed the energon bleeding into his optics.

“Slagger! That slaggen hurt,” grumbled Sentinel as he wiped energon out of his optics again. Oil Slick had created a good dent to his helm, opening plating even! Nonetheless, it was nice, after being degraded again and again these last few orns, to finally get the upper hand over somebot. It seemed his Elite Guard training wasn't completely useless. Though, admittedly, it had been Jazz's craftiness that had saved him.

Strapping the unconscious medic to a medical berth while putting the mouth gag in, Sentinel felt it was fitting that the medic was strapped to the berth this time. Nodding at his work, he almost walked away but then an unforgiving part of him stirred. The angry vindictive side that always rose its ugly head when it he wanted petty revenge.

Looking back at the smaller mech, Sentinel decided that the slagger deserved to understand how helpless it felt to be exposed and vulnerable in this medical berth. To be open for every passing mech to see and use.

Hands stalling on the smaller mech's wrists, he turned his attention to the side of the berth and the controls for the stirrups.

He smiled almost wickedly as he quickly set to work, strapping the smaller Con's legs up and open like a slut-bot. He even managed to pop the mech's cod piece from vorns of being a ladies-mech … and then he reached for the scanner.

Looking at the unconscious mech, Sentinel couldn't help but sneer, “Lucky you, this is still wet from when it was inside me. You don't even deserve the lube. Enjoy slagger.”

And with that he pressed the scanning wand deep into Oil Slick's unconscious form, the tool sliding in smoothly thanks to Sentinel's wetness and yet … Oil Slick was surprisingly tight. Not that he was too surprised, war models probably hated using their valves. Rolling it around a few times, part of him wanted to fuck the mech with the tool until his cycle-bot's unconscious form came, but Sentinel decided he didn't have time for that and walked away.

No one called him whore-bot.


A few kliks later, after raiding the medical bay for a few more supplies, Sentinel stopped at the door of the medbay when he realized how vengeful his actions had been towards Oil Slick. A deep part of him was pleased as energon-pie … the Autobot part of him was disappointed. How could he do that to another mech, even if they were a Con?

Shaking his head, Sentinel tried to shake it off as he quickly got to work hacking the door. It didn't matter now anyway. All that matter was that the greasy little mech was restrained and that he had to get out of here. He was … slowly turning into a Con at this rate and he would be smelted before he let that happen.

And yet a part of him whispered back in question: hadn't he always been kind of cruel? Maybe this was where he belonged.

He bit his lips and promised to himself that that wouldn't happen. He was a good mech. He was. He really was! He obeyed the rules! After all, if he was a monster, a Con, how could have a beautiful femme like Elita-1 ever have loved him?

Swallowing, he fought back his sorrow and worked far more diligently at the problem at hand, a 3D lock shifting like a light show before him.

Frag, he hated these things.

Finally, after what felt like forever, the door clicked open and, despite a slight waddle, Sentinel made it to the small escape ship in what had to be record time. He even managed a few stealth roles as he hugged himself against the halls walls. Luckily, not a bot seemed to be around. Not that he was surprised. There were apparently only four Cons on the small craft.

Looking back one more time, he hacked the controls to the small escape vessel … and then he was gone, bursting away through the fliers' exit like a ghost to the night. The blackness of space swallowing him up like a dot, hopefully to never be seen again.

For, if Megatron ever found him, he would be lucky to last five kliks under that warlord's punishment.

Wasp was hungry. He was so hungry and his tank felt like it was rattling his very frame in demand. Silent it wouldn't be. No, no, no, it would not. So Wasp had little choice, little choice he did, but to move.

The vents. The vent were small, so fine and small. Perfect for Wasp. A few times he would clang, yes he would, but the mechs -filthy, filthy Cons!- would look up and merely think it was the ship's hull being dinged by space rocks. Yes, yes, and so Wasp looked for fuel.

“Now, where should Wasp go? Frag, was Wasp talking to himself again?” said Wasp, stalling in his shuffle through the vents. He decided to at least peek through one if the grates to get an idea of where he was. Huh, these were just habitation suites.

Nodding, struggling not to whisper to himself again, the small green mech made his way to the next grate. The small mech stalled again, optics dimming as he looked through the thin sheets of metal. He tried not to squeak when he caught sight of a very familiar figure, two familiar figures in fact. “Oh, no no no! What kind of ship of Cons had Wasp crawled onto. That was … that was the General Striker and the infamous Lugnut!”

“Frag, did Wasp speak out loud again?”

Panic overcoming him, Wasp tried to shimmy out of this vent as quickly as possible, but instead he hit the siding causing a horrible bang. Immediately, the two large frames looked up, stalling in whatever conversation they were having. Wasp, dimming his optics as much as he could, covered his mouth so he wouldn't talk to himself and prayed they stopped starring.

It seemed to take forever until Strika turned away, grumbling, “We need to check for scraplets before landing. Several mechs on board have heard slight banging this morning.”

Lugnut, staring a moment more with his single horrible, optic finally turned away much to Wasp's relief and looked at his mate. He couldn't help but grumbled, “I agree, my glorious mistress, but back to the matter at servo … should we wait to call our eldest about Wreckingball's survival?”

The large femme sighed and leaned up against a table in the room, shaking her helm and crossing her arms over her chassis. “I want to call him, consort, but I feel it would be unwise. The bonding arrangement we made with the Megazarak family will likely be back on and Breakdown will be most disagreeable. You know how hard Megazark the First pushed for his heir Smokejumper and his mate Dreadwind to bond into our family with their twin offspring. Plus, the King agreed with the arrangement so we could keep an optic on Megazark the First. Aged he may be, but he is still not a figure to be trifled with.”

Lugnut hummed in agreement. He didn't care for politics, neither did Strika, but she knew to mind them. And mind them she did. He still didn't know how he had caught such a beautiful and intelligent femme's optic.

“Hopefully, he doesn't catch wind of the news. He has had his optics on that flashy red race car for a while now, and I worry he would run off and breed with the pompous mech to break the bonding agreement we made for him and Wreckingball. Bah,” grumbled the femme, frowning. “I dislike the little medic. He doesn't even have wings. I still don't know how both of my creations got my sire's recessive grounder CNA.”

Lugnut chuckled, glad to hear his femme grumble again. He loved serving Lord Megatron, but Strika made his spark pitter-patter in a way his lord's presence never would.

“Dreadwing and Skyquake Megazark would be much better mates. I doubt Breakdown would win a courtship battle to be a sire though, and Wreckingball will be lucky to get any bigger. Poor sparklet. I fear both of our heirs are doomed to be carriers and carry the Megazark name.”

Staring at his femme, hating how much thought she was putting into this, he lumbered over and placed a claw on her hip. Lugnut then rubbing his helm against her's in a show of affection. He couldn't help but vocally remind her of a promise she made, his valve twitching in need. “You said you would take what was yours an orn ago, my endura. Is that still not true? My valve yearns for you to put a new heir inside it. My carrying camber hungers for your fluids inside it. You bested me in the battlefield vorns ago and took my valve then. It is promised that you may mate me as much as you please … So we can try for another heir. One I will carry.”

Strika lifted her helm and looked her big mate in the optic. It was true, she had best him in a courtship battle and ravaged his valve that day for all to see, claiming him as the carrier in their coupling. Unfortunately for her, femmes sparks were denser and had the natural quality that made sparklets usually attach to them during a spark sharing. So sparklets would usually leach onto a femmes' spark. She had carried both of their heirs for that very reason, but Lugnut had not yet spilled into her. Not in many ages. Her carrying chamber was all but offline right now and didn't have any prepped nutrients to support a sparkling.

Lugnut though … She had just thought he had been needy, demanding she come into him every night cycle since she found her youngest heir, but now … now she wondered.

How long had he wanted to carry an heir for her?

Probably always, since she sunk her spike into him for the very first time.

She smiled and reached up a servo, gently cupping his helm. Her next words were a purr, a promise, “Then get on the berth.”

Lugnut was barely allowed a grunt as he was pushed across the room by the large femme and onto the berth. He barely had time to get onto the berth and onto his knees before she pushed his helm into the mesh and bedding of the berth, aft up in the air. He was only allowed a grunt before she was taking off his cod piece and pushing her spike deep into him in a single downward thrust. She then ravage him, pounding into him much like she had during their first forced coupling, grunting and growling her engine, telling him she was going to frag him so hard he would carry twins for her.

Lugnut merely moaned and sputtered in appeasement, his pleasured noises almost drowned out by the harsh clang of Strika trying to get deeper and deeper into her mate.

Wasp, who had watched the whole thing, almost couldn't look away. He had never seen a femme with a spike. Most femmes didn't go after that type of upgrade … at least not the femmes he knew. And yet … and yet he felt his valve twinge and tinge and request to come online at the mere sight of the two coupling Cons.

Wasp finally looked away, knowing he could make all the clanging he wanted in the vents with the way those two were going at it. He decided he had to get out of here because this was wrong! Wrong! Wrong! Wasp knew he had … he had to take many, many Cons spikes in prison, that it kept Wasp alive and fed. But that didn't mean Wasp … that didn't mean Wasp wanted a Con spike in him ever again.

No, no. Wasp wasn't a Con lover … and he certainly wasn't a Con. No matter what those nasty Autobot interrogators and coding mechs said.

He didn't have a string of coding that was Con inside him.

No. No. No.

“This is Sentinel Prime? Is anyone out there, over?” said Sentinel again a few groons later, his small escape pod hid in an asteroid field. He hadn't wanted to stop, he wanted to run forever, but he knew the small ship wouldn't make it anywhere near Autobot territory with the fuel it had. Plus, if a Decepticon cruiser was looking for him, undoubtedly very soon if it wasn't already, he would never be able to outrun it.

He needed to hide.

He needed to make contact.

He also needed … to hide the proof of what had been happening to him.

Pressing his legs together, trying not to look at his swollen belly, Sentinel almost wept for the empty feeling. He couldn't have escaped at a better time in that regard. He hadn't had the plug in him and he got to punch that sleazy Oil Slick in the face.

That really had been too satisfying.

Smiling bitterly at that one memory, part of him still afraid of the smaller chemist's threats nonetheless, Sentinel tried again on the encrypted Autobot channel. Well, it had been an encrypted channel, but the channels were likely changed after he was captured.

“Please, any Autobot, come in,” he nearly sobbed the next part. “Please, somemech help me.

It almost felt it was a play on his audios when finally, after nearly a cycle of desperately trying to reach out for help … somebot replied.

“T-this is the L-los-zzz zzzzz-ght. Rodi-mzzzzzz Pr-mmmmmmm speaking. Who is this? This is not a channel for civ—zzzz---ians. Over,” came a garbled response.

Sentinel almost wept … especially when a familiar face started to appear. He almost laughed in felicity until he realized he had stood up in his excitement … belly in full few. Forcing himself to sit down quickly, he slowly watched the face of Rodimus Prime come into view. He honestly hadn't liked the mech. He was … well, gorgeous … and if he wasn't so addicted to adventure and unknown space, Rodimus would have provided an actual challenge for the position of Ultra Magnus' Second.

Despite all that though, he was just glad to see another Autobot. He could even feel fluid gathering in his optics. He was just so relieved and tired and despondent. It could have been Optimus' face and he would have been thankful.

When the screen finally came into view, Rodimus was obviously surprised as much as Sentinel was, the red mech reeled back as if hit.

“S-sentinel? Sentinel Prime,” finally said the red mech, pushing away Hot Shot as the young mech, along with half of the rest of his crew, tried to get into the viewing screen. “Is that you? I … how … what?”

Sentinel had tried to compose himself, really he had, but he was just so glad to see another Autobot. He couldn't contain himself. Instead of words escaping his mouth, a sob did … and then he just couldn't contain himself. He started bawling, heavy vented sobs worthy of a lost sparkling.

Rodimus, pushing his crew out of his captain's chair, stood up and waved his hands, tone soft and gentle. “Hey, hey, now. Come on Sentinel Prime, keep calm. None of that. Just vent, okay. Everything's alright now.”

Swallowing, Sentinel nodded. He knew Rodimus was just using the textbook rescue protocols, perfectly by the book if not a little improvisation, but it calmed him nonetheless. It took a few kliks, but Sentinel finally reset his vocalizer enough times that he could get something else out beside sobs.

“W-what are you dddoing out this far, R-Rodimus Pppp-Prime? H-H-How long have … I've been-been gone … I was ssssss-sure that … nnno one cared. No ransom. No rescue team. I-I had to s-survive … I had to escape on my ownnn,” tried to speak the blue Prime between sobs. He was really starting to hate the pitying look on the other Prime's face, but he didn't care right now. He was a survivor. He had survived being taken by the Cons, raped repeatedly by Megatron, and then forcefully integrated by the Cons. He was strong … He was so very strong. He had nothing to be ashamed about.

Trying not to look at his belly, Sentinel corrected himself … he almost had nothing to be ashamed about.

Rodimus' frown grew stern as he watched Sentinel struggle to speak and, despite himself, he couldn't directly meet the blue Primes gaze. He honestly was looking for wounds. Where were the scars and the wounds and signs of torture. Yes, he saw a cracked optic and a few weld lines but … Sentinel looked like he was in good condition given the amount of time he was gone.

Pushing off his calculative thoughts, rescue programs screaming at him to mind the blue mech's mental status right now, Rodimus spoke carefully, “They had … everybot thought you were deactivated, Sentinel. We looked for a while, even took back Earth from the Cons there, but we all thought you were gone Sentinel. Plus, the Cons never even offered a ransom. We were sure they had offlined you.”

Sobbing again, covering his mouth with his servo to try and gather himself, Sentinel swallowed the bitter pill for what it was. If he hadn't gotten away: no one would have come looking for him. He would have merely been filed as MIA, forgotten by all … except for the Con that was trying to put sparklings in his belly.

Pushing away the dark thought, accepting it for what it was, he nodded in understanding. It had been Megatron that had grabbed him after all, and Megatron rarely kept prisoners.

Swallowing thickly, Sentinel gathered himself and sat up a little straighter. “I … understand.”

His next words were mostly from paranoia … he still had no idea how Megatron had gotten a hold of his files. There was a spy in Autobot command. There had to be, and Rodimus was awfully far away from Autobot space. Oddly so, this far off in space.

“W-why are you out here a-anyway Rodimus P-pp-prime? If you weren't looking for me?”

Frowning, optics critical, it was almost as if Rodimus was keeping something to himself until he sighed, “We are looking for an escaped convict. A spy called Wasp. I don't know what he knows, but some big wigs on Cybertron want him back. You … haven't run across him, have you?”

Swallowing, almost relieved with the answer, part of him now wondering if this Wasp had somehow leaked his files after escaping, Sentinel shook his helm, “N-no, but I w-wasn't allowed out of the room m-much.”

An awkward silence suddenly filled the line, the red Prime still looking Sentinel up and down critically. Thankfully, Rodimus made no comment to Sentinel's strange wording. The red mech probably thought Sentinel meant a cell … and in many ways it had been a cell. If not worst. At least a cell doesn't pretend to be something its not.

“I … see,” finally said the red Prime carefully. “Lets get you out of here Sentinel. We have a medic. Get you some medical care, energon … somewhere safe to rest. We will be glad to have you. Now, give me your coordinates and I will get you out of here.”

Sentinel, trying not to sob again, could not give the coordinates fast enough. He was almost home free. He was almost home.

He was almost free.

Looking down at his belly, the mech swallowed. Now … if only he could get rid of this before the other Autobots showed up. There was a small emergency cleansing station for accidents. It had a removable spout … maybe this time when he squatted, he could get it all out.

He had … he had to get Megatron out of him … and yet his spark throbbed in loss.


Chapter Text

“Wasp doesn't like disgusting Con spikes. No, no, no. He just … he just interested and watched. Yes?” said Wasp to himself as he continued to crawl through the ducts. His vale was twitching still from the faint moans he could still hear echoing through the vents.

Again his tank grumbled in answer.

“Yes, Wasp is right. Energon is more important than … femme spikes. This, this looks like a good place,” said Wasp to himself as he peaked out a vent, seeing boxes and boxes of supplies. They were the type of boxes that were meant to take a beating, likely to cushion the volatile nature of energon … especially hi-grade.

In the depths if his scattered, infected and broken mind he recalled the electric slap in the back of his throat, the taste of hi-grade burning all the way down. He was in a building. A … bar. Sitting next to orange mech. His friend … A rumbling engine above him, pleasuring him. Not a friend. A lover.

Lover, lover, noooootttt lover. Left him in there. In the cell, in their grasp. Didn't defended him. Didn't even … come to his trial.

Wasp felt a sob try to gather in his throat, straining to escape and bound down the stuttering vents.

“Wasp … can't even remember h-his name. Only Bumblebot. Only him,” said the small green bot, sob nearly choking him. “Wasp no longer cares about eating … Wasp … Wasp wants to weep.”

And so he did. For a life he lost. For a lover he barely recalled, for a mind so broken and filled with secrets he didn't even understand any of it. He wept so hard he fell offline in that vent, mind grasping at straws and so many infected lines of code. Both Autobot and Decepticon coding were warring inside him.

For he was both. Always had been … regardless of what his carrier claimed.

“Spittor still can't believe it … an Autobot? They seemed to be coming out of the metalwork. Strika's sparklet and now Megatron choosing an Autobot consort through a claiming?! What next?” said Spittor as he followed after Blackout, whining as usual.

Blackout merely frowned as he waved the heat detector around, scanning the area. Strika had sent the two of them to search the ship for scraplets. She had heard something in the walls and the ship did not need to bring those parasites into the colony … or near her returned youngling. She would have a fit if the green little oaf even got a ped nibbled on.

They, being the two youngest of her crew, had gotten the grunt work.

Not surprising … no less degrading though.

“Quit bitching … at least the Prince finally sunk his spike into someone and, honestly, Strika's less of a gear now that she has her green sparklet back. Wrecking Ball honestly has a nice aft. So I can't say its too disappointing,” added Blackout as they wandered towards the storage area of the ship.

“He does have a nice aft. He'll make a pretty carrier,” chuckled Spittor. “No way he's getting on top.”

Blackout shrugged. “You never know. Some mechs surprise you … but I think he's already spoken for. He was barely out of the birthing canal when his bond arrangement had been decided for him I believe.”

Spittor cringed slightly and hopped forward, sniffing as he headed for storage room one. “Don't remind Spittor. Alma can't keep his business to himself.”

The larger flier snorted, knowing all to well how pushy creators could be. Not surprising. Birth rates in war models were much lower than that in Autobots. Thus, the Autobots had spread over Cybertron like a plague. Well, at least he felt it was a plague, but now he wasn't so sure. Maybe instead of finding another Con to dominate … he sound find an Autobot. The rumor was that Megatron had barely had his consort for a few orns and he was already swelling, prime for impregnation if he wasn't already heavy.

Yes, you would have to be a little gentler with an Autobot mate, but their valve would probably always be tight. Then again, there was the problem that sparklets would have a probability of being born without war programs and purple optics instead of red. That was something that could be added, but if a creation had too much Autobot programming he probably would have to bend over early in life and take it in the valve.

Not a good prospect for the family name, but if the chosen Autobot was fertile … it hardly mattered.

“This place is musty and smells like your aft,” grumbled Spittor. “See anything?”

Frowning, waving the scanner around, “I don't see … oh, frag ... There's a warm spot in the vent above our head. Looks like a nest.”

“Shredded gears! Spittor doesn't want to deal with this! This is Oil Slick's job. He's good with chemicals,” whined Spittor, taking a step back from the vent above their heads.

Blackout threw the frog-former mech an irritated look, before he messaged his commander, letting her know they found something … and would deal with it shortly. He pulled out some cooling spray, used for chemical fires and … scraplets. It cooled them long enough to stomp them to death, melt them down or blow them up.

A fine past time if you didn't get bit.

“Okay, lets get this over with. Our real shift is going to start soon and I want to get in a snack. I'll cut the vent down with my copter blades and you spray the foam on them or spit your numbing agent on them so they collapse. Then we squish them and throw what's left into the smelter,” said the lumbering mech as he walked forward almost in a fearless manner. He had personally never been bit by one … but the heat signature was small. It was just the beginning of a nest. It was good Strika caught on quickly.

Gulping, not liking the idea of being bitten like he had been when he was a youngling, the shorter mech slowly nodded. It was best to do this while they were obviously recharging. Nozzle ready, he grumbled, “Ready … Spittor better not get bit.”

Without a nanosec's wait, a blade was slicking through the vent on both sides and then it was falling … a pile of green screeching, tumbling towards the both of them. Both Cons screamed in turn as something far heavier than scraplets fell toward them. They both rolled and leaped out of the way, Spittor screaming in an undignified manner.

Blackout at least had a mechly scream.

But neither scream compared to Wasp's cry as he slammed shoulder first onto the floor, his helm hitting the flooring hard with a sickening smack, stunning him.

For a few kliks, all the two Cons could do was sit there panting. It wasn't scraplets. It wasn't scraplets. Thank Primus it wasn't scraplets, but the next heavy question hit Spittor before Blackout could even gather his voice.

“Is … that an Autobot?”

The two mechs were then scrambling forward, trying to grab the little thing. It took a few kicks to each of their faces and some warbled cursing, before Spittor managed to pin the smaller mech against his chassis like an over sized doll, the Autobot squirming against him like a rabid thing.

“Let go of Wasp! Let go!” said the green mech, his legs trying and failing to aim for Spittor's knee joints. The truth was he was too tired to fight and … he never finished his boot camp training. He was … He was barely a tier above a civilian. Wasp was going to die … he was going to die.

Ignoring Wasp's cry, Spittor took a moment to look over the small mech. Yes, they might fight again Autobots from time to time, but it was rare to get a close look at one. Usually they would offline first before being caught. Little slagger looked like a civy. He hadn't try to shoot them once. He probably didn't even have weapons.

“Spittor doesn't get why an Con would want one,” said Spittor as he continued to observe the squirming thing. The poor bot had actually cursed himself into a fit. So much so that his vocalizer basically gave out. “They are so small. You would break one in half.”

“Small and tight,” added Blackout.

The Autobot squirmed against him again, bumping against his cod piece. Well … maybe there was some truth to that. Plus, there was nothing wrong with a trail run, right?

Beside himself, he gave his fellow Con a sheepish look and then almost meekly asked, “You … you won't tell Strika if I … if I take the Autobot … just to try him out.”

Standing there a moment, looming over the smaller mechs, Blackout knew it was a terrible idea. Strika would most certainly find out, but the words escaped him nonetheless. “Only if I get to watch.”

Wasp was barely allowed a screech of terror as he listened to the two mechs' words before he was slammed against a crate, aft in the air. He then cried out as a wet warm tongue started pressing against his cod piece. It was drenched in spittle in a matter of kliks, the fluid seeming to get behind his very cod piece almost immediately. The small mech howled at the indignity of it, jerking his hips as he tried to escape. His nether regions were all but being devoured.

“Wasp says stop! Stop! Wasp, doesn't want this and you don't want Wasp! Wasp is broken and full of bugs! Glitches and stitches and b-bb---broken things! You don't like Wasp!” cried the little mech as he regained control over his vocalizer, clawing at the storage crate he was propped up against.

“Well,” said Spitter, pulling away with a chuckle, spittle dripping like a bridge between his lips and Wasp's thighs. “I like bugs … and Wasp t-tastes so good. Now, open for Spittor or I start lubricating you with something other than spittle. You don't want explosive jellies on your aft, do you?”

The frog-former then chuckled darkly, not missing how Blackout shook his helm at the puns. Not that Blackout was too surprised. When Spittor and his brother Slapper met up, that was all the two spoke in, puns. The stupidity was somewhat overwhelming.

“Just rip it off. That's what Megatron apparently did. Good old classic claiming. Rip and rut as they say,” said Blackout with a grumble. “I wouldn't come in him though … Strika might make you keep him, especially if your creator found out. You know how he has been on you and your brother's backs about reproducing.”

Spitter just huffed, slowly losing his erection as he grumbled in a gurgling tone, “Don't go and ruin it by bringing my creator into this … and Spittor would like to point out that almost everyone's creators are on them to reproduce, including yours, but no one is willing to spread their legs for the d-deed.”

“Including you,” chuckled Blackout as he sat down on a storage container. It was not a secret that Spittor had all but joined Strika's team to escape one of the arrangements his creators were trying to force him into. He was smaller than his sibling Slapper and somewhere along the way it had been decided that he would be a carrier where his brother would be a sire. Not an odd arrangement, quite common actually. Given most Decepticon's reluctance to bare their valves and carry. What warrior would want to? It could ruin the form and softened one's reserve.

Luckily, many families had more than one creation, and so such arrangements were easy to make. One creation would be a sire and the other a carrier to the other family's creations. Thus the two families bonded their children to each other. How the sire or carrier was decided in a family differed, but usually it was decided in battle. Some families would even allow the four younglings to fight and which ever two made it on top (both physically and literally) would be the sires even if that left the other family with two carriers. It was all about numbers in the end.

Spittor crinkled his nose, hating Blackout for the reminder. He purposefully tried to be as disgusting as possible if only to press off perspective mates, but he knew one day that wasn't going to work.

“Well, best I enjoy this now. Y-yes?” gurgled the frog-former.

Blackout shrugged, opening his own cod piece as a thick spike jutted forth, bio lights illuminating the semi-dark storage room a bit more. “I suppose … you don't mind if I jack off, do you?”

Spittor merely shrugged and turn his attentions back to his whimpering bot. “Now, Autobot. You e-either open all nice like and I will be nice in turn … or I r-rip you open and stuff explosives in y-your belly. I-its up to you.”

Whimpering, tears starting to stream down his cheeks, Wasp slowly nodded. He knew how this work … this dominance dance. He had been bent over in a shower more than one time … and at least this time there was a lot of lube.

Sobbing in his throat, Wasp opened his cod piece with a click, the metal sliding to the side and baring a slightly swollen valve. He hated himself for it, but his body … was becoming aroused.

Spittor grinned in his alt form, purring, “Look at that pretty hole. Starting to leak and s-swell for me, is it?”

Wasp invented roughing, biting out weakly, “Y-you were molesting Wasp. What else would Wasp's body do?!”

Humming in agreement, Spittor took a step forward, “That's alright … Spittor will reward it and you. Now scream Spittor's praises.”

The little green bot nearly jumped off the crate when he felt one of those thick tentacle-cable-tongues suddenly press flush against his port, fluid immediately dripping down the folds of his valve and between his thighs. His body, only naturally, pressed back in reaction. He even gasped as he clutched at the crate.

Spittor's engine merely purred in praise. Frag, he was a excitable little mech. He couldn't wait to hear all the sounds this little green mech could make.

A single tongue coming forward, he decided to work all of them into the Autobot one at a time instead of shoving them all in and causing damage. The Autobot really was small, and he really wanted the mech to sing his praises at the end of this. Yes, yes, Spittor certainly did.

Not wasting any time, knowing that their shift on deck was soon, he slowly started pushing a thick tongue into his partner. Wasp immediately cried not, clutching harder to the storage crate. “Please! Wasp doesn't want it!”

“Your valve says otherwise,” slurred the mech out of the side of his mouth, the little valve already clenching and trying to pull him in deeper. He was glad the little valve was so willing and yet he was a little disappointed. A mech this small should be tight-tigh-tight even for his tongue, but it was looser than he thought. And not just in a well-used sense. This little mech's valve seemed wide like it was used to big thick spikes.

Well … maybe he would have to test that out after he got a few overloads out of the little bot.

Tongue still sliding in, twirling in deeper and deeper like a lust filled hurricane going hundreds of miles and hour, Spittor nearly moaned as his tongue finally hit the back of little little mech's valve, pushing flush against the entrance of the carrying chamber. Wasp shrieked at this, kicking out, especially when Spittor forced it, the entrance surprising wide as if many large spikes, too long for the little valve, had been forced pass the iris of the carrying chamber and deep inside. And with a little surprise on the Cons part, his tongue slipped right into the carrying chamber with a wet slurp. Everyone, even the bot being fucked, was surprised when Wasp gurgled and seemed to seize, drool running down the side of his mouth as he collapsed onto of the crate in a shivering panting mass.

Wasp had come, already, his optics blinking in overload as he laid his cheek against the crate.

Blackout spoke before Spittor could even find the words. “Frag … that was hot.”

Spittor could only only nod in agreement, feeling the little valve try to milk his tongue for all it was worth. He could only nod. Frag it, he was going to stick his spike in the little bot no matter the consequences. It wasn't like he could press enough charge though just his spike to impregnate the Autobot. Generally, spark contact was needed.

Generally …

Still wasn't going to stop him.

Not even giving the little bot a break, he brought his next tongue forward, swirling it around the valve entrance. A klik later the second tongue that was deep inside the grasping little valve. Wasp, chassis now flush against the crate, could only wail and rock into the motion as the tongue set to the task of slowly working itself inside.

Not that that was the least of Wasp's problems. The next thing he knew there was suddenly a mass of black armor in front of him, hulking and large. He even towered over Spittor as he rutted into the little bot. Even with his blurred vision from his overload, another building quickly, Wasp could see the red bi-lights of a spike head.

There was no way that was going to fit into his mouth. None at all. The size difference was too great. He wouldn't even be able to get his mouth around the head. Nonetheless, even though they both knew he wouldn't be able to do much in the way of orally pleasuring such a big bot, Blackout still rumbled, “Suck.”

A sob echoing in the back of his mouth, Wasp slowly opened his mouth and started to … suck, just the very head with its tiny hole for transfluid. He knew he didn't have any power in this situation and when it came to Cons and fragging, if you were good and obeyed the first few claimings, they became surprisingly gentle with you. He didn't understand it, and he didn't want to understand it. He just knew that if he was a good frag and opened his legs when asked, he would get treats and small gifts. Said gifts were usually made in their cells or were smuggled in. Some Cons had even tried to save him … from the mnemosurgem.

Yes, yes. He knew it was a mnemosurgem even if the mnemosurgem tried to make Wasp forget. He remembered. Wasp knew why he was broken.

They wanted something in Wasp's head. Kept calling him a sleeper agent. Kept ripping and ripping down walls to personal memories and then, when they claimed they were right about Wasp, they started putting things in Wasp's head.

Wasp still didn't know what they did to Wasp. Wasp didn't want to know.

Frag! Why did Wasp need revenge?! Why? Why? Why?! He should have ran. Ran far away, he should have. Then he wouldn't have ended up on that dirt planet and then forced onto Con ship and finally on his belly for Con spikes!

This was Bumblebot's fault! All this! This was all Bumblebots fault that Wasp was raped again and again in the stockades until he learned to like it! It was the only pleasure in Wasp life in that hell. To be fragged and then held close. To have a semblance of warm comfort before the scientists and mnemosurgem came to rip at Wasp's mind again!

Tears now rolled down Wasp's cheeks as he recalled and tried to push away the memories of his imprisonment. Instead, he tried his best to suck the huge spike. He knew that he was unlikely to get the large mech off with his little glossa, but that was the least of his concerns as Spittor finally managed to wiggle the next tongue inside.

“Gyahhh!” cried Wasp, followed by a short moan.

Yes, Wasp best enjoy it he supposed. He had done this before. If Wasp was going to die for sneaking onto the Con ship, Wasp would accept this pleasuring first before Wasp go.

Frag Bumblebot.

Blackout frowned as the little green bot gave up entirely on him. He didn't even give a weak lick from time to time as Spitter made him a whimpering pleasure filled pile of ooze. It, honestly, was quite astonishing how quickly the little bot gave in and just accepted what he was being given.

Honestly, it was astonishing that Spittor was able to work all three of his tongues into the little Autobot without ripping something. He had made the poor little thing come at least three times now. He didn't know if the little Autobot was naturally sensitive or maybe Autobots had no stamina like warmechs and had to come and spill fast. He wouldn't be surprised if both were the case.

Nonetheless, it made for a magnificent sight. A sight that Blackout wasn't going to get to enjoy. Even after the tongues stretched the little Autobot and then most likely Spittor's spike. He … wasn't going to fit. He was just too big.

He frowned hard watching the Autobot and Spittor for a moment, the Autobot coming once more with a dry cry. He wasn't surprised at all when Spittor finally pulled his tongues out, a spike at the ready … and just below that, a nice primed valve. It was practically dripping.

He couldn't help but stare at the much larger valve.

No … he shouldn't. This was Spittor he was talking about. Then again, spike deep in the Autobot now, how was he going to stop him?

Spittor did have a nasty habit of squinting his optics as he fragged … enough that Blackout could slip right behind him and then in. Why should Spittor be the only mech spike-deep in somebot today?

Trying to keep his smirk under wraps, his spike perking up even more against his belly given what he was about to do, Blackout slunk into the shadows stepping away from the panting Autobot's face. Spittor didn't even notice, so lost to his new pleasure as he worked his width into the whining Autobot. He didn't even feel Blackout stalking him, bent over the crate and now spike deep in the nearly comatose Autobot. It wasn't until the black hulking mech was directly behind Spittor, having enjoyed the view of that aft bouncing as it plunged again and again into that green little valve, that the frog-former noticed someone was behind him. Mostly because Blackout had grabbed Spittor's hips, pulling him back as a hard and ready rod pressed against the smaller Con's aft-plating.

Spittor immediately sputtered, his hips stalling in the Autobot, his Autobot groaning in relief.

“W-what the f-frag are you d-doing?!” croaked Spittor.

Leaning onto the mech's shoulder, grin just within the corner of his peripheral vision, Blackout rumbled his engine, “Why … I am just taking advantage of the situation. Besides, its not like I can fuck the Autobot with you inside him. I wouldn't even fit. I wouldn't even have time before our shift, but your valve is basically dripping and on full display. Only seems fair, no? Incentive, if you will, to keep my mouth shut in front of Strika.”

Croaking as Blackout pushed forward a little bit, spike now taunting his soft folds around his valve, Spittor sputtered, “Y-you are b-blackmailing Spittor, aren't you?”

Chuckling, Spittor felt more than saw Blackout nod.

Fingers digging into the nearly comatose Autobot's hips, Spittor frowned. Either way he was fucked, literally or figuratively. Strika would punish him for not bringing a stowaway directly to her attention and also for fucking it all willy nilly. A battle had to be won against the Autobot before you took them forcefully after all. Even Megatron's new consort had fought before he was taken and strapped down.

Angry for thinking Blackout would have been happy just watching, Spittor sighed and then swallowed. Well, it wouldn't be all bad. He had seen Blackout's spike (though limb probably was a better term with how hulking it was) and Spittor had been … a little entranced with its handsome bi-lights. Being pleasured from both ends might be good.

Slowly nodding, Spittor stated, “F-fine, Spittor will allow it if no mech ever finds out. Just lube Spittor first before you try to rip Spittor in two.”

Swallowing at Blackout's happy chuckle, Spittor's valve was already feeling raw.

Blackout, glad there wasn't much of a fight, nipped at the frog-former's shoulder before he pulled away, elation coming from his EM field in waves. It really had been too long since he had been in another bot's valve. Strika didn't give into needs like most so they rarely stopped at any neutral colonies to fuck around in. And no Con just bent over given how important breeding had becoming in their culture.

Reaching down between Spittor's legs, patting that aft for a moment, Blackout wrapped his fingers around Spittor's spike which had stopped moving inside the Autobot. He pumped it a few times playfully before he collected some of the dripping mess there. Frag, the Autobot was just flowing from Spittor's tongue work.

Finger's now dripping with the mess, Blackout reached down and gave his spike a nice priming. The tool was now glistening and ready, pre-cum already dripping from the shaft in little beads. Turning his attention to the next prize, the hulking mech got on his knees and eyeballed the valve. Spittor looked … tight. Not too surprising, the average Con just didn't bend over and take it. In fact, during a battle for dominance, alot of younger Cons turned out to be valve-virgins during the forced coupling. He doubted Spittor was a virgin given how he gave in so easily, but he hadn't been with many partners if any at all. Some war models only allowed fake spikes into their valve after all.

So, in a way, he could be taking Spittor's first time.

Blackout grinned at the thought. He doubted it, but frag, if it was possible … he just got harder at the thought. Nonetheless, he stuck one finger than two into Spittor loving the way the other Con hissed. He kissed that aft-plating before him in a playful manner and then started scissoring the other bot. He even used his other hand to help bounce that aft up and down so that Spittor would push into his Autobot and then come down onto Blackout's fingers, whimpering each time.

It took a little time, and much scissoring, but soon little croak-whimpers of pleasure were escaping his reluctant partner. Satisfied, Blackout pulled his two fingers out and stood, lining up. He kissed the top Spittor's helm as if giving him warning and then started to guild his mass inside the other Con.

Spittor whined and bucked, his spike almost forgotten as another spike pushed deep into his warm envelope, stretching him even more than the scissoring had. “Fr-fr-fr-frag! Ugh, uuuuuuuuungh, mmmmmmh. Frag. Frag. FRAG! S-slow down!”

Blackout moaned, forcing himself to slow his penetration even though he just wanted to ravage that valve, but he knew better. You just didn't ruin and rip a freely given partner's valve … unless they liked it that way.

Nonetheless, never would he have imaged that Spittor could make better noises than the Autobot, but he was. Soon, he was slowly bouncing Spittor on his spike in short shallow thrusts as he slowly made his way completely into that deep valve, getting a little deeper with each plunge. He was large, he knew this. It was kind of hard to find partners honestly. Most Cons that were willing to spread their legs were smaller models and he wouldn't fit. Honestly, Spittor was even a tight squeeze, but this was … frag, he was glad the Autobot sneaked onto the ship.

Blackout's spike now plunging in a little faster over and over again in penetration, Spittor found he couldn't do much more than moan and grappled at the Autobot he was still inside of. He wasn't even fucking the Autobot anymore. In essence, Blackout was doing all the work, plunging Spittor's spike into the Autobot for him. It was … it was overwhelming being inside some mech while another large and to-to-to big mech was inside you … especially when that thick base kept going deeper and deeper and stretching him.

Oooh, oooh!

“Fragggggg!” cried Spittor when Blackout finally got fully seated inside him, pushing up against the entrance to his carrying chamber and pushing in slightly. In fact, he couldn't fully comprehend the feeling. His own toys were unable to get that deep and before Spittor knew it … he came.

Wailing he pressed as deep as he could into his Autobot, spilling his own seed as his own valve came hard around the girth inside him.

Spittor withered and whined, hips unknowing slamming up into Blackout's spike as he tried to milk it. Wasp, in turn, merely whimpered, his little valve and carrying chamber being filled with hot transfluid. Blackout merely chuckled at the two mech's below him, shifting his hips slowly as he felt Spittor's EM field purr in pleasure.

Oh yes, this had been a wonderful idea.

“Liked that, didn't you?” said Blackout a few moments later after allowing Spittor to collect himself.

“N-no,” lied Spittor as he tried to online his optics. In truth, he almost went offline in pleasure. F-fuck his valve. Why did it like such things?! In fact, his first overload had been from his valve, not his spike. He had been so embarrassed as a youngling that he hadn't wanted to play with his newly onlined equipment for orns.

Blackout merely chuckled, his frame rumbling the two mechs beneath him. “Well, that's too bad because … I'm still hard.”

Spittor whined, valve oversensitive, but that didn't stop Blackout from slowly shifting inside him again with gentle and shallow thrusts.

Beside himself, Spittor cried out in bliss, optics nearly going white.

“There you go, Spittor. Just enjoy it. I'll make you come again. Just … enjoy it,” grunted Blackout as he started to pick up the pace. “Cry for me as you come.”

Spittor hated himself as he cried out during the first deep plunge, thick long spike pressing into his carrying chamber. He kicked, whine, whimpered and, he would never admit, wept. Tears of pleasure ran down his face and he did all that was in his power not to let Blackout see. It was just … Blackout was getting in long, deep hard thrusts nearly hitting his chamber's entrance every time. He didn't know bottoming could be so good. So wonderful.

Maybe he was meant to be a carrier, like his creators said.

He shook his head. No, he wanted to wander space, fight Autobots and gain a warrior's reputation. He didn't want to swell with sparkings one day. This was just a one time thing. Just a -

“Fffffffrag,” whined Blackout's, the pace now driving Spittor into his Autobot, Spittor's legs kicking out as the larger mech drover deep and harder into him. He was going to come. And he was going to come fast.

“D-dont spill into me!” croaked Spittor, part of his mind terrified that he might like it, that his body might like that heavy warmth in his chamber, but it was too late. Blackout was grunting deeply, lost to his haze. Then, he slammed in deep, pressing the tip of his spike's head completely into Spittor's carrying chamber and released.

Spittor, despite trying to offline his vocalizer, yipped at the pinch of pain from his carrying chamber, but came a nano-second later as Blackout's warm and plentiful nanites spilled into him.

And for a moment, neither Con could do much more than pant, it seemed to be an eternity before Blackout had the sense of mind to be able to pull out, nanites pooling out of Spittor's overstretched valve immediately after.

Smiling at the sight, Blackout patted Spittor's aft in a show of spirit. “Come now. Lets clean up and drop this stowaway on Strika's peds. He's scratched up enough that she will think we roughed him up trying to catch him … not because he was fucked into a near comatose state.”

Spittor, still panting, grit his denta and glared at the larger Con. “You mean you will. Spittor will be lucky if he can walk. You penetrated Spittor's carrying chamber.”

Blinking, surprised and a little bit flattered he had actually gotten that deep, the larger mech chuckled and actually picked the slightly smaller mech up. Spittor yipped, but did not protest as he was seated almost gently on another storage box, valve now dripping down onto the box's cool metal.

Spittor couldn't help but frown and look down at the mess. His valve was still twitching, wanting more. He frowned deeply. Frag, he had really liked that, hadn't he? What was wrong with him? Spittor wasn't a wanton Neutral that bent over for any Con, yet here he was … dripping probably a bucket load of reproductive nanites out of his valve.

He should have fought instead.

Blackout, who had taken out a rag and was wiping the Autobot down, couldn't help but look over at the frowning Spittor.

His shoulder's slumped at the other mech's now tight EM field. He … he had liked that field. It meshed so well with his. Pouting wasn't a good look for it or Spittor's face. “Oh, don't be like that. We both enjoyed it and it will just be between us. No one needs to know I stretched your valve or that you took the Autobot … Just relax. I'll make up some excuse to get you out of your shift.”

Going back to work on cleaning the green little mech's form, Blackout couldn't help but mutter, “Looked like you enjoyed it if you ask me.”

Despite himself … Spittor couldn't find the words to disagree. He just hoped this stupid Autobot was worth it. He sounded glitched to him.


Chapter Text


Sentinel sat there in his nearly dark escape vessel, staring at the dimly lit buttons. For some reason his hands kept ending up on his belly, idling tracing his abdomen with his fingers when he wasn’t paying attention. … and he hated himself for it. That slimy wanna-be medic was right. He was so close to impregnation that it wasn’t even funny. His body was even preparing for it, forcing his body to be protective of his belly. Even his valve was dripping, prepping itself for the large warm spike that always seemed to be deep inside it every night-cycle. He had to wipe the control seat down almost every groon and he hated his little valve for it. He swore he would get the fraggen thing removed when he got back to Cybertron. He was never letting anyone frag him again.


Primus, why was his body betraying him in this way?

Burying his helm in his hands, telling himself he was not going to start blubbering again, he tried to keep it together. He was not going to break down like he had when Rodimus had been on the screen. They were coming for him. They would be here soon. Rodimus promised. Rodimus would make sure he got home and then he could forget all of this.  

It honestly shamed Sentinel, but he had been terrified when Rodimus wanted to end the transmission. He had been petrified that he would never see another Autobot again, that this was some kind of fever dream or that he was already in his stupor, building a sparkling inside himself as his imagination ran away without him. He had almost, almost, begged the other Prime not to hang up. If Rodimus understood, he didn’t say anything. Either way, it took nearly a groon for Sentinel’s engine to stop whining after the flame-colored Prime smiled at him and told him to hold tight.  

Yeah, tight.

Looking at his belly again, Sentinel wondered if there was any way to get rid of this bulge before Rodimus’ team got here … but he already knew the answer. The plug was no longer in him, yet there was barely even a dribble of nanites down his leg. His body wanted to keep Megatron within him as long as it could. He’d have to absorb the nanites naturally into his body over time. Sentinel could only shiver, hoping the medic could do something more.

He could … he couldn’t take this much longer.

Sentinel’s legs were shaking as he squatted there, cleanser dribbling out of his valve. W-why wasn’t this working?! Nothing was coming out and if he kept trying to clean his gestation tank out, he was going to rub his valve raw.

Collapsing in the small cleansing station, his hand going for his belly, the Prime swallowed the need to sob. Okay … Okay, he wouldn’t be able to hide this. Maybe there was something he could at least cover himself with or …

Suddenly there was a hailing chime from the controls, the voice of Rodimus Prime echoing in the speakers, “Decepticon escape vessel, this Rodimus Prime. Please respond or we will dock and take the vessel by force. Please respond.”

Swallowing, part of him now comprehending that he would have to tell them everything, especially their medic, that happened. He rose to his feet, hand still cupping his belly almost protectively despite internally telling himself to stop it. Sentinel sat down with a wince, hating his bare valve, and answered the hail. “This is the Decepticon escape pod. Sentinel Prime speaking. I am unarmed and surrendering.”

He knew he didn’t have to say all of that, but protocol just felt so … safe.

Rodimus, thankfully, almost looked relieved that Sentinel had answered. That this wasn’t a trap. Not surprising. After all, Sentinel had turned off all the systems he could to make the vessel looked dead in the water. He needed to remain hidden after all.

“Good, you are still there. I was worried for a moment. Now, we’ll have to check for traps. I’m sure you understand. So, I need you to remain seated at the pilot’s seat and keep your head low. You know the regulations when entering a Decepticon vessel,” said Rodimus carefully.

Nodding, part of him thinking it was a little ridiculous because there were only two rooms in the small vessel, he swallowed thickly. Medics were not the first to enter a ship … so, all the combatants would see … his shame.

He … would not cry. He would not.

Staying in his seat, Rodimus’ ship quickly docked with his, and Sentinel listened to the lock being forced. He even felt a multitude of scans for explosives run through the room before three sets of peds entered the vessel, scanning it for Cons. Mind you the escape pod was probably large by Autobot standards, but there really wasn’t much room for a Con to hide or spring a trap.

Nonetheless, Sentinel gathered his nerve to speak to another Autobot before Rodimus finally came up to him … He didn’t miss how Rodimus’ peds seemed to trip over themselves for a nano-klick when he caught sight of … him and his stomach. It took everything in him not to suddenly sob when the younger Prime carefully murmured, “Oh Primus, what did they do to you, Sentinel.”

Hot Shot, already bored with this whole situation because there wasn’t even one Con around, perked up at the comment and suddenly skipped over to two Primes. Rodimus tried to step in front of the young bot and shield Sentinel but the mouthy mech already saw. “What the frag is wrong with his stomach? Wait … wait … Ewwwww.”

Sentinel immediately wanted to offline and covered his face in his hands, unable to look at his fellow countrymen … though he did see Ironhide’s pitying glance before he tried to block the world out. Part of him was wondering if he wasn’t better off dead. That’s what everybot was probably thinking right now.

“Hot Shot,” almost snapped Rodimus. “To the command deck with Brawn, now.”

The young mech jolted, surprised by the harsh tone from his usually collected commander. “But, Rodimus, his stomach … and is his cod piece missing? Why doesn’t he-”

“I said now, before I call Brawn in here to get you,” barked Rodimus, his voice rising.

“Okay, okay,” said Hot Shot. “Sorry, I’m going.”

Even after he listened to the younger mech’s footfalls disappear, Sentinel didn’t remove his hands from his face … he was about two klicks from sobbing. He couldn’t do this.

“Sir,” finally came the voice of Ironhide through the din, careful and soft like they were dealing with an injured mech animal. “Should I get a hoverchair from the medbay? We probably … shouldn’t have him walking.”

“Yes, please … and make sure Red Alert is properly informed,” said the red Prime carefully before he slowly placed a hand on Sentinel’s shoulder, the touch predictable and careful so that Sentinel could pull away if he wanted. Instead, Sentinel started to stutter, then his fans started to whine, and finally he started to sob.

Not knowing what else to know, having heard of Con Claims as they were so painfully nicknamed but having never seen the … effects, Rodimus did the only thing he could. He slowly pulled the bulkier Prime into a loose hug, his words soft. “You made it. You survived. There is nothing to be ashamed about. You’re safe now, Sentinel. You are safe.”

Rodimus wasn’t sure how long he stood there holding the other bot as he shuddered and wept, but before he knew it Ironhide was standing next to him with a hoverchair at the ready. He was uncertain as to how much Ironhide saw, but there was this angry flicker in the bulky mech’s face like he was going to crush the first Con that he saw.

So, with careful hands, they both helped the still sobbing mech into the hover chair, Sentinel still too ashamed to remove his hand from his optics even though they both could clearly see cleanser dripping down his face. Rodimus couldn’t help but give Ironhide a thankful smile when the shorter mech even covered Sentinel’s lap with a metallic blanket, concealing his belly and hiding his bare valve. They both then shared a knowing look, understanding exactly why Sentinel had been in such good condition during the first transmission. Once claimed, far different from just a rape, most Con’s kept their breeders in pretty good condition.

Taking up the handles of the chair, Rodimus allowed Ironhide to lead the way to the medbay. It was almost protective how Ironhide acted. Not surprising. They had known each other before this whole … mess. If it had been a good relationship or not, it obviously didn’t matter to Ironhide now.

“It’s alright, Sentinel. You’re safe now. Red Alert will take care of you. Just … remain calm,” said Rodimus as they left the escape vessel behind. He doubted Sentinel believed him, though.

Red Alert was extremely glad for her poker face as she waited in her medbay. She stood there like a sentry, hands folded in front of her. When Ironhide had come by, he had babbled something about Sentinel obviously being raped and that he was just swelling and that he would get those filthy Cons for this.

She had no idea how bad it was. If his valve was a bloody mess, if his rear aft port was destroyed if his chassis was ripped open so that his spark could be taken as much and as often as the filthy Con’s pleased. She had no idea. Mind you, if Sentinel had a bolt, there was likely no risk of pregnancy, but with the way Ironhide growled, Sentinel was apparently two klicks from popping out a litter of half-bred Cons.

She rather doubted that, though. Sentinel hadn’t been gone long enough for a full gestation to occur.

Nonetheless, when Sentinel was finally carted in by a grim looking Ironhide and Rodimus, she couldn’t help but notice the significant budge of his belly even with the blanket offering him some modesty. Though it may have been true that a full gestation couldn’t have occurred … impregnation was another thing.

Faintly, she wondered if Sentinel had had his bolt removed or if he had even had one. Valve virgins didn’t have bolts. She vaguely wondered if he had to lose his valve virginity in such a terrible manner. She was leaning towards: yes. Sentinel had even hit on her once and was known as a ladies mech.

Coming forward, noting that Sentinel had covered his face as cleanser freely dripped down his cheeks and chin, she threw a scan over the mech. She could already tell by the nice sheen of his plating that he had been well fed. Not surprising. Autobots that were being bred were generally well fed. After all, a stressed carrier is less likely to spark than a well fed and fucked one. There were a lot of underground colony romances about being claimed by a Con, fragged every night into oblivion. Personally, Red Alert now wondered how many of those crappy romances were backed by facts.

“Hello, Sentinel Prime. I am Red Alert, the ship’s medic. Let’s get you onto a berth. Rodimus, Ironhide, thank you. You may leave,” she said, taking the hover chair from the two and drawing nearer to a berth.

Ironhide and Rodimus both stood their awkwardly for a moment before Rodimus nodded and said simply, “Please report to me after your examination is done.”

Or, in oh so many words, tell me if he’s with spark or not. Red Alert merely nodded before helping Sentinel out of the chair and onto the berth. She couldn’t help but notice that Sentinel was protective of his belly … which was concerning. Mechs only started doing that once they were heavy or slightly before a stupor. She hoped it was the later.

Nonetheless, she got him onto the berth without a word and plugged him in, the medical berth whirling to life as it started system checks and virus scans. His systems were all coming back with warnings of stress, but physically healthy. She could also see recent welding on plating and even a cracked optic when he finally looked at her, but overall, he seemed well cared for.

Red Alert … didn’t know how to feel about that.

Regardless, she put off the obvious questions until all the normal tests were done. That left the glaring bump under the blanket and the likely bared valve. She hadn’t yet checked, but it was best to get it over with. So, she looked him in the optic and asked calmly, “Sentinel, all the other tests are coming back normal if not stressed. That leaves your gestation tank. You are obviously swelling with nutrients and your carrying chamber has even started to distend, meaning it is preparing for a carrying. For medical reasons, I must ask … have you already fallen into a stupor? If so, I must exam your valve for the bitlet’s health and ask you the … size … of the mech that bred you.”

Sentinel swallowed. He didn’t want to let the blanket go despite Red Alert tugging on it lightly. “What? No, no. I didn’t fall … into a stupor. And … why does it matter what mech it was? J-just get h-his slaggen nanites out of me. I tried to drain them. I did, but they just wouldn’t come out. And he just kept fragging me and fragging me. It didn’t matter if I fought or not. It was like my valve was never empty and then he kept putting this plugin and-“

Sentinel slapped a hand over his mouth to keep from sobbing or shaking any more than he already was. He was not going to tell anyone that it was Megatron that had fragged him. He’d rather say it was that purple mech, Cyclonus or some of the other crew members on Megatron’s ship. He … he could still keep some semblance of his life … as long as no one knew the Con was Megatron specifically.

He was strong. He … could do this.

“Sorry,” he added, trying to keep it together. “I … I didn’t mean to … rant.”

Trying to work on her bedside manner, Red Alert cupped one of his hands in hers and said encouragingly, “You can say anything you want, Sentinel. The mind is just as important as the body. Now, I know it's going to be hard, but … you obviously are close to sparking. If the nanites aren’t draining, it’s a sign that the nanites are starting to bundle in the carrying chamber and are readying to shape a body. So, when a sparklet drops, there is enough bundled material to quickly make a spark chamber and umbilical wire.”

She saw the terror in Sentinel’s optics and immediately the medic chided herself for not using more tact here. She knew she was a bit blunt about things, Rodimus always said so when she sent one of the younger bots running from the medbay, so she quickly added, “But if you haven’t fallen into a stupor, it's just a mass of metal and materials. Given your … size … I was sure you were already heavy. That is unless your partner was large?”

Swallowing, still refusing to name his unwanted partner, Sentinel swallowed and then whispered, “He … was very large, all of him. He … ripped me up badly the first time. I could barely walk.”

He wasn’t going to say he was a virgin. No, she didn’t need to know that. He was already ashamed enough the way it was.

Frowning, Red Alert asked, “Are your valve walls still bleeding? If so, I definitely need to do a valve exam. Rust infections can occur if left untreated.”

Shaking his head, part of him almost wishing that Megatron hadn’t gone through leaps and bounds to patch him up after bedding him, he admitted, “He … he had this chemist, basically the ship’s medic … squirt meta-flesh goop up there. He also had my plates reattached … and my bolt removed.”

He never had a bolt, but only virgins didn’t have bolts. He was taking that to the grave.

Optics going dim for a moment, the berth beeping that it was done with its main scans, Red Alert merely nodded. Such behavior in Cons had been noticed when they kept a bot. Many thought it was some kind of sick mind game while others believed it was just concern for their future offspring. Many theorized, given very few if any mechs ever escaped after birthing a sparkling, that the Autobots were killed. It was unproven either way, of course, but neither thought was pleasant.

“I understand, but either way I need to have a look at your valve now, Sentinel Prime. I need to check for damage. Come now, scoot down and I will help you get your legs into the stirrups. I will try to be quick and will try not to be as invasive,” she said softly, already helping him slide down on the berth. She didn’t say she was also doing a pregnancy test in case of a latch on.

She felt like she was walking on glass as she put his legs into the stirrups and spread his thighs, the blanket acting as a type of curtain so he wouldn’t see her between his legs. Surprisingly, optics lighting up as she got her first glance of his valve, it looked healthy despite the walls being gaping wide. She tried not to wince as she thought of the spike that had been raping that poor valve. Sentinel was already big. Whatever monster spike that had taken up residence there would probably have ripped a smaller mech in half. Regardless, she could see light scaring and that he was dripping wet in preparation for a partner. His body really wanted its partner back, so it could kindle a new life.

They barely got him back in time if he wasn’t already gravid.

Noting how he twitched when she finally slid a scanning wand inside him, she stood up and wiped off her hands, saying carefully, “Your valve has healed well … considering. I’m just going to have this wand scan internally to see if there is any deeper damage. It shouldn’t take long.”

“And the nanites? What do we do about them?” he asked, his hands sheltering his belly again. Probably, unknowingly.

Frowning, the femme admitted, “Well, usually, if there is no sparklet created from the couplings, your body will absorb the nutrients naturally in time.”

Sentinel had a full body shudder. “And … there’s no other way? I … don’t want him in me any longer. I-I want him out.”

Not wanting the mech to start crying again, Red Alert admitted, “Well, we can chemically abort it if there is no sparklet in there. The procedure is fairly simple. I would spray a light acid into your gestation chamber, freeing the umbilical wire and forcing a false … delivery, if you will. Given how big you are already, you probably would have contractions and everything. I … do not recommend this.”

The horrified look that covered Sentinel’s face wasn’t any less terrible when he finally noticed he was holding his belly again. He stared at it, even though it was covered with the sheet, like a mutation he wanted cut off as soon as possible. Then, hands dropping to his sides and away from his bloated belly, he asked, “And … would I absorb the metal quickly? Like, before we get back to Cybertron?”

Red Alert stared at his belly, the sweeping bulge unignorable as if a Con himself was standing in the room. Slowly, she shook her head and stated, “I’m sorry, there’s just too much mass to fade quickly. Plus, your body, being as prepped for carrying as it is, will try to hold onto it as long as it can. As far as it's concerned, its ready to procreate and it's not going to give that up easily.”

Sentinel’s optics were gathering cleanser again. “Oh … I see … Can I be alone for a while? To … to process.”

Nodding, she stated simply, “I will be back in a groon for the wand’s readings and a spark casing check. And if its any consolation, I might be able to find you a temporary cod piece in storage. It won’t match, but at least you can cover yourself.”

Sentinel, obviously needing that groon to cry, nodded as cleanser started to stream from his face. Red Alert, trying to not make it painfully obvious, nearly ran to the exit of the medbay. She had never been chased out of her own sanctuary before, but it just felt wrong seeing that once-proud mech weep like that. Everyone always joked that he needed to be taken down a peg or two … well, whatever god had been listening, was a cruel god indeed.

Leaning against the wall outside of her medbay, Red Alert almost found herself running down the hall when the weeping finally bled through the ship’s walls. She was cold for a reason. It was so her spark wouldn’t bleed for every broken soul that came through her medbay doors. Whoever that mech in her medbay was, even she could tell it wasn’t exactly Sentinel Prime anymore.

Megatron tossed and turned, the smooth sheets on his berth curling around his legs. He could not recharge. His spark just kept hammering in want, wondering where its little blue spark was. It had been getting that little spark almost every night-cycle since this whole escapade had started. It was fitful and wanted to merge. Megatron hated his spark for its neediness. It was weak and sentimental, but he also knew it was to be expected. Bonds were supposed to form over time. It took vorns, mind you, but it was normal especially with a bitlet on the way … his spark nor his sire programing would let him rest.

Now, that was entirely a different can of worms, as the humans say. Sire programming. The programming that encourage him to protect any creations. Apparently, it didn’t fully online until an orn or two into the carrying cycle when the carrier started giving off certain EM pulses, but he swore that it was trying to online now. He wanted to pace outside the medbay until his little Autobot was returned to him.

Frag, he felt like an idiot, but after basically dying and being revived, there were few other options. He needed an heir and with that were expected changes.

Rising, deciding there was nothing to be done about it, Megatron figured the best thing to do was to check on the Autobot just to satisfy his spark’s paranoia that his Autobot was gone. And yet, as he walked closer and closer to the medbay, the more the dread settled in his spark.

The door was slightly ajar like its internal mechanisms had shorted out. And so, his spark now twisting in terror that it had lost its little blue mate, Megatron jimmied his claws into the slight space in the door and slowly pried it open. His spark immediately skipped a beat when he saw a body on the berth, still.

His steps were quick and before he knew it, he was looking down at an unconscious Oil Slick strapped to the berth, his legs in the stirrups. And from first glance, the scanning wand was even stuffed up the mech’s valve.

Well, his little consort was a vindictive thing, wasn’t he? He might have found it funny and enduring that his little Prime tried to escape …. If he knew how long he had been gone. He had been recharging after all and they weren’t nearly far enough from Autobot territory yet not t worry.

“Frag!” hissed Megatron as he turned on his commlink, stepping away from the unconscious mech and leaving him that way as punishment. “Cyclonus. Come in. Cyclonus!”

“Yes, my lord,” quickly came a reply.

“He’s gone. My little Prime is gone and I have no idea how long. Oil Slick is unconscious and can’t even have him explain his incompetence,” barked the warlord, his plating flaring in rage before he added, “And didn’t I tell you to up the security? I suspected he was playing a ruse.”

“Yes, sir. Of course, I put trackers on all of the escape pods. I will check to see if any were disturbed. If not, he is still on the ship,” said the purple Con evenly.

Megatron stalled, brightened his optics. Part of him was now wondering if this was going to be a fun game of hide and seek on the ship or a race to catch his little mate before he got into Autobot territories. “Well, which is it?”

He could almost hear Cyclonus typing away and checking the records, before he came back online, his tone as sullen as usual. “I am sorry, my lord. It appears he hacked into escape pod six. I will send you the tracking signal and join you. It seems that he is disturbingly near the Outer rim our space. Autobot ships sometimes do transverse there.”

Growling, heading to one of the small attack fighters, he barked, “Head to the small fighter: Ripper. It is the fastest we have. I am not losing him … not when he’s so close to sparking. I need an heir, Cyclonus. And I will not be denied.”

“Of course, my lord. I will be at your side in a klick,” and with that, two powerful warriors blasted off from the main ship, the engine their small fighter burning hot and trying to outpace fate.


Chapter Text


It was of little surprise for Red Alert that almost immediately upon leaving the med bay’s doors, Rodimus found her and the first words out of his mouth were, “How far along is he? Will we … be delivering a half breed on the ship? I mean I heard about this claiming thing that sometimes happens, the sick fraggers, but I thought it was super rare. But for it to happen to Sentinel Prime? I don’t … how do I act around him? All I can look at is his belly and all I can think of is … how did it fit? Cons are huge! And then I-“

“Rodimus, calm down,” finally said Red Alert, walking to a nearby storage room. She had to find a codpiece for Sentinel. Given the mental inventory she had, she was probably going to have to jimmy-rig something. “The scanner is still running to see if he's gravid. He said he didn’t go into a stupor so it’s highly unlikely that he is with bitlit, but even if he is gravid, it hardly has been long enough for full gestation.”

Suddenly feeling like a fool, Rodimus shifted awkwardly on his peds and then, before he could stop himself, blurted out, “Who is the sire - I mean Con?”

Crossing her arms over his chassis, the femme gave him a look, “You know that’s confidential, Rodimus.”

Rolling his optics, the captain groused, “Oh come on. Everyone’s going to know sooner or later. A larger bounty is likely going to be added to the fraggen Con’s head when this is all said and done. Besides, Ironhide won’t stop pinging me, asking. I think Sentinel and he knew each other in the training academy or something.”

Reaching up to pinch her nose bridge, knowing all to well that the flame colored mech was correct, she grumbled, “Sentinel Prime wouldn’t tell me, alright, but whomever it was they were a big fragger. Sentinel was lucky to be a larger frame and that’s all I am going to say. If you want to know more, you are going to have to get if from Sentinel himself. And honestly, it's going to have to wait, I’m going to sedate him here shortly after this. He needs the rest.”

Putting his hands up in surrender, the Prime stated, “Okay, okay. You finish your scans. I’m going to call Cybertron and let them know about the situation.”

“What?! You found Sentinel Prime? Everyone thought he was offline! They even started looking for a new Second,” blurted out Blaster a few klicks later, leaning back in his chair.

Rodimus had been rerouted at least thirty times during his hail, he fraggen swears it. Finally, he was given to Blaster to give his report.

“Yes, he was on the edge of the Del-Rota Quadrant in a small Decepticon escape vessel. And quite honestly, I’m glad we found him instead of the escaped convict, Wasp. Sentinel Prime … he wouldn’t have lasted much longer in the Decepticons’ clutches,” said Rodimus, running a hand down his face.

Blaster straightened his spinal strut, his face taking on a hard expression as it lost its usual playful grin. “How bad is the damage? Should I send a medical ship to meet you?”

Shaking his helm, his vents noisily kicking out hot air like a sigh, the Prime sat back in his chair. He really didn’t want to be telling other mechs this, but he was reporting to Blaster so it was best to get it out of the way so the proper treatment would be waiting for Sentinel when they got back to Cybertron. “No, Red Alert has it handled at the moment. He … will need rehabilitation though.”

Blaster quirked a metallic brow in confusion.

“You see. How do I say this? Well, Sentinel was … claimed … for breeding,” said Rodimus, wincing as he watched a horrified expression descend upon Blaster’s face. And after that, it was like word vomit. “He was swelling when I found him Blaster, like a crypto-melon that’s about to burst. Frag, I couldn’t even look him in the optic. He is just so broken. He just keeps sobbing and he doesn’t even have a codpiece. I don’t know what to say to him and Red Alert failed Berth Side Manner 101 like eight times so she can’t deal with it from an emotional standpoint. And I don’t know what to do for him mentally until we get home.”

His expression now hard and his visor over his optics, Blaster put up a hand to stall the red Prime’s word vomit. “I’ll send you some tutorials on how to deal with traumatized mechs, Rodimus, but tell me, did he say which fragger claimed him? I can make two calls and have the fragger’s bounty tripled before the day is done.”

Shoulders slumping, Rodimus shook his helm, “Not yet, but as soon as we find out, I’ll give you a call back.”

Nodding, Blaster ended the hail shortly after. He sat there a moment, processing what he had just learned before he rose to his peds, sending a ping to Kup's secretary. He had to report this immediately. Some mech was going to pay for this.

“What do you have here?” was the first thing out of Strika’s vocals as Blackout carried a half-conscious Wasp into the control room. The little bot had been wiped down for any paint exchanges and even his valve had been quickly rinsed. Blackout had had to do it alone. Not that he had minded. At the same time, he had watched Spittor wince and wipe at his own gapping and still revealed valve, Blackout’s nanties still staining the other Con’s hole. That had been payment enough as he took care of the little Autobot. If Spittor still couldn’t walk by the time he was done with the little stowaway, he was going to carry Spittor back to his berth and eat him out. Nothing cured an aching valve faster … or led to another round of fragging more successfully.

“A stowaway,” came Blackout’s deep vocals as he sent a command to keep his spike from going hard again. “He was crawling through the vents.”

The large femme raised a brow. “He seems catatonic.”

Blackout’s rotor’s twitched, before he shrugged, “He was rather squirmy and would not remain still. We had to rough him up. Perhaps we roughed him up too much.”

“We? Where is Spittor?” asked the large femme as she stepped out of her captain’s chair, walking up to the black copter. She then put a finger under Wasp’s chin and forced his helm up. The little mech tried to focus on her, but could only groan in exhaustion as he let his helm lull to the side.

Tensing, Blackout stuttered, “He’s … around.”

“… Around?” said the large femme, suspicion starting to radiate through her EM field.

Coughing, rotors twitching again, Blackout’s engine revved as he struggled for a reply. He probably could say he fragged the other mech into the floor and he couldn’t walk straight, but neither of them wanted that getting back to their families. So, he sputtered, “He-he … got kicked in the codpiece. He was bitching about being unable to walk so I left him there. I was going to go check on him after dealing with this Autobot.”

The femme raised a metallic brow. Young soldiers were always such sparklings about everything. “Tell him to suck it up. As for this little bot, take him to Scalpel to have him checked over. He looks like he is the same age as my little Wrecking Ball. It is a long trip back and it might help my creation settle a little if he has a friend for company.”

Shuttering his optics, surprised by the femme’s words, he nodded, “Of course, right away General Strika.”

Then, before the femme could ask any other questions, he was stiffly exiting the room. He didn’t want to be in there anymore. The way the femme kept looking at him was as if she knew what had happened. Frag, his codpiece felt so tight. 

“I couldn’t find a codpiece in storage. I’m sorry, Sentinel Prime. I will try to have one built for you before we get back to Cybertron,” said the femme carefully as she stepped up to his berth.

For a moment there was a hanging silence between them before she added, “Are you ready for me to check the wand’s results?”

It went unsaid, but Sentinel knew she had done a pregnancy test. If she hadn’t, it would have been surprising. Slowly, he nodded, following her with his optics as she settled between his legs. He tried not to sob as she lifted up the blanket, likely to see the mess he had made. His valve was charged and wanton, dripping as if the scanning rod inside him was a little bit of forepay and soon it would be getting a nice big fat spike.

Thankfully, she made no comment about the lubricant dripping out of his valve and down his aft like a pleasurebot. She merely walked to a nearby storage cabinet and got some absorption rags. She then removed the wand and carefully wiped him down. Sentinel at least was proud to say he only jerked away from her touch once. She then walked over the medical computer and plugged in the wand, standing there for a moment as she read the results.

It felt like an eternity before she nodded and came over to the worried looking Prime. She even tried to be comforting as she placed a hand on his shoulder. “The results are done. Sentinel, a protoform has started forming in your gestation tank. A very large model,” Sentinel felt a sob escape his vocal processor, until the femme added, “But a spark isn’t present. Currently, its just an empty protoform waiting for a spark to drop. Its not a sparkling. It is complete enough that we might have to birth the protoform to remove it because your body is unlikely to absorb it anytime soon.”

He almost sobbed in relief at this point, but then the femme continued.

“But … I need to check your spark chamber first, to make sure there isn’t a latch on. Sometimes it takes a few days for them to separate from the carrier’s spark and make their way down to the gestation tank,” she added, her EM field trying to convey comfort even though she knew she was completely failing. “So, I need to do a quick spark casing check. If you will open your chassis, I can do that now.”

Sentinel … felt his tank lurch. He wanted to puke. He wanted to lose his medical grade all over the floor. His body was primed. If she … if she found a latch on, would he have to carry it to full term? Would he have to spend orns watching his belly expand with Megatron’s spawn, and then scream and wail as he had to push the big fragger out of his tiny valve? And worst of all, then everyone would know. They would all see him swelling with Decepticon spawn. He would be a Con whore and everyone would know. Even worse, he would have to keep the little monster. He would have to raise it at least long enough for its spark to not be dependent on a creation bond, and that could take … vorns.

“Sentinel Prime, vent. Calm yourself. You are going to overheat. Just vent … just vent,” suddenly came Red Alert’s voice through the din. “Its just a quick casing check. No need to panic. There’s probably nothing there. Just vent.”

“O-okay,” Sentinel gasped, his chassis popping open with far too much ease, his valve already wetting itself as if getting ready for a frag and bond. “P-please, check. I-I can’t take t-this.”

Nodding, the femme stepped forward carefully as the room was met with blue light, Sentinel’s spark revealed. It only took a few breems, his spark lurching at her fingers every single time they touched his crystal casing. It was terrifying and yet his valve was sopping wet again by the end of it. Finally, his chassis clicking shut, the femme looming over him. Red Alert’s unreadable expression immediately set him on edge.

“No, no, no, no,” started sobbing Sentinel, shaking his helm. This wasn’t happening.

She quickly put a hand up, trying to calm the larger bot. “Calm yourself. It’s not a latch on … but you are not going to like it.”

It wasn’t a latch on? What could be worse than a latch on? Nothing, as far as he knew.

“Whomever had claimed you,” said Red Alert, the femme wincing as she spoke, “Must have had a very compatible spark because I can see traces of a bond starting.”

Sentinel was still for a moment, shock taking over. It felt like this all was happening to somebot else, that this wasn't happening to him. “Y-you mean like a Conjunx Endura bond?”

The femme solumley nodded.

Almost immediately all of Sentinel’s emotions overcame him. He barely had time to turn his helm and lean over the berth’s edge, losing the contents of his tank all over the floor. W-wasn’t it supposed to take vorns of bonding for that to happen, for a spark bond to form, to becoming official Conjunx Endura? It was something he had dreamed of doing with Elita-1 once upon a time, but not this. It was supposed to be his perfect end.

And with that, he puked again. Red Alert’s EM field was immediately trying to be comforting and to wash over him even as her peds stepped around partially digested energon. It didn’t help though. He just sobbed harder and harder, even as red warnings popped up on his HUD.

He was trapped. Even after he absorbed or birthed the thing inside him, Megatron would always own him. Megatron would always have a part of his spark. He would never be rid of that fragger.


Megatron’s finger joints seemed to crack as he continued to stare out into the darkness of space, one hand gripping the chair arm while the other came up and rubbed his chassis absentmindedly. Cyclonus shifted his optics from the small ship’s controls and watched for a nano-klick. The movement was right over Megatron’s spark chamber.

“Are you alright, my Lord?” he asked carefully, turning his attention away from the controls. They were mostly driving on autopilot right now anyway. The escape pod was dead in the water, still and unmoving from what he could tell from the tracer. They both were hoping that the small escape pod’s engine had given out, but there was tension in the cabin regardless. Megatron was worried that his little consort had already been discovered and the pod had been abandoned.

“I will be better once I get my little Autobot back,” groused the Warlord, his optics becoming slits. “Can this vessel not go any faster?”

“No, my Lord. We don’t want to burn out the engines,” said Cyclonus without a second thought. “Are you sure you are alright? You keep rubbing your chassis.”

Optics going wide, as if he hadn't noticed he had been rubbing his chassis, the grey mech dropped his servo back to his side. He completely dismissed his underling’s comment as he asked, “Has there been any movement from the pod’s location?”

Optics dimming for a moment, part of him mentally deciding to keep a closer optic on the Prince, he turned his attention back to the long-range scanners. Immediately, his plating pulled closed. Megatron, noticed the action instantly, sitting up.

“What is it? Has the pod started moving again?” he asked, claws digging into the chair’s armrests.

Optics becoming slits, Cyclonus was silent as he read over the readings. Without even needed direction, he was suddenly flipping switches, the cab going red to show the ship’s engine stress as it suddenly kicked up the speed. “No sire, the pod hasn’t moved, but an Autobot ship has jumped into its space. I’m going to push the engine’s sir, but I don’t know if we will get there in time.

The roar of rage that filled the cab would have made a lesser mech than Cyclonus wet themselves. Not Cyclonus. He had more important things to waste his energy on ... like a pending battle. He could already feel the battle lust in his lord's EM field. There was going to be a fight for his lord's little consort and Megatron was already up to the challenge. Nobot took what was Megatron's. 

Chapter Text

Ironhide offlined his optics as he heard a dry cry echo from the medical bay along with the begs of, ‘No.’ A few klicks later, Red Alert was running from her quarters and into the medbay. There was some more sobbing and then some whispering from the femme, trying to comfort the distraught mech inside.

It was five mega-cycles until they got to the nearest space-bridge and Ironhide desperately wanted to say something to his old instructor, but at the same time, he couldn’t see Sentinel like this. He didn’t want to see the swell under the blanket. He might have hated Sentinel during boot camp, the mech was a jerk, but to see him like this. It … wasn’t right.

“I’ll kill the fragger that did this to ‘im,” growled Ironhide as he turned and punched a wall, hissing in pain almost immediately. Brawn, who had been walking down the hall, stalled in surprise. The gruff bot stared for a moment as Ironhide shook his hand in pain.

“Fraggen idiot, let me see your hand,” grumbled Brawn as he came forward and took his compatriot’s servo, looking at the joints of the hand. “You’re only impenetrable when you have your ability activated, ya know.”

“Yah,” Ironhide grumbled, both mechs trying not to twitch as an extra-large sob echoed from the medbay. “Its just … every time I hear him cry out. I just get so angry. Sentinel was a prick during training, but to see something like this done to him … I hate the Cons so fraggen much.”

Nodding, looking over the hand once more, Brawn groused, “I think you dislodged something in your hand, Ironhide. Now, instead of guarding the medbay like a turbo-hound, you’ll have to go in there.”

Shaking his helm, Ironhide grumped, “Nah, it's fine.”

“No, it's not. Come on. Maybe if you actually go in there and talk to him, since he knew you, we can find out that Con’s designation and bust his face in. Rodimus and Red Alert have both been asking, but Sentinel still hasn’t said anything,” continued Brawn before he shrugged and added, “And if your hands damaged, how can you go and break in any Con faces?”

Grunting as the other mech poked around at his servo, Ironhide’s shoulder’s sagged, “Frag … fine.”

“Kay, I’ll go to the bridge with Rodimus. He’s on edge and I don't blame him,” said Brawn as he nodded, standing there for a klick more before he added. “… It's rumored that a Decepticon will stop at nothing to get their claimed breeder back. Sentinel Prime isn’t safe until we are deep in Autobot territory. So, I’m going to help him keep an optic on the radar and you can distract Sentinel from that fact. He’s had it hard enough and doesn’t need to be worrying about it for the next five mega-cycles.”

Sighing out of his vents, Ironhide nodded before the two bots separated. Ironhide then stood outside of the medbay doors long after he heard Brawn’s pedsteps depart, listening for even the slightest of sobs. He wanted to spare the blue Prime anymore discomfort. After all, the medbay was small. It only had two med-berths. In fact, he actually stood outside the doors, plating pulled close until Red Alert finally opened the door from the inside. She didn’t look impressed or surprised, “How long were you going to stand out there?”

Grinding his denta, Ironhide grumbled, “It’s not important. I’ll come back later.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” said the femme as she threw a scan over the orange bot. “Congratulations, you dislocated a joint. Come sit on a berth.”

::You can still talk to him. He’s still a bot. Besides, I doubt he’ll be recharging much tonight.:: she added in a quick commlink.

Following the femme into the medbay, the orange bot immediately was directed to the second berth. “I’ll get some deadeners for the pain and then I’ll set those joints. I’ll be right back.”

Nodding, Ironhide got on the berth. He tried not to stare at Sentinel, he tried not to notice that the mech was draped in blankets, or that there were still traces of cleanser on the mech’s cheeks. He tried to keep quiet and keep looking ahead, but his jaw physically ached from keeping the words in. Before Red Alert could even open any of the cabinets, Ironhide blurted out, “Give me the fragger’s name, Sentinel. Give me his name and I promise I’ll offline him. I will rip out his spark and give it to yah.”

Sentinel, who had been pointedly laying on his side and looking away from the other berth, sighed. He slowly rolled over and looked at the orange mech. Ironhide was almost shaking in rage, his vents running hot. The blue Prime, glad for the blanket over his belly, moved his jaw twice before he was able to whisper, “I’m … I’m not ready … to talk about it.”

His plating loosening slightly, not wanting to distress Sentinel now that he had seen how downtrodden the poor mech was, Ironhide added, “… Is there … is there anything you want to talk about then?”

The only sound in the medbay was their venting until Sentinel seemed to ball up into himself slightly, the mech shuttering his optics. The silence seemed to reign over the room forever until Ironhide ran a hand down his face. His words were softer this time, calmer, “Look, I don’t know if ya remember me. You were a Minor at the time and I was in boot camp. I was a smart aft and –“

“They had my Autobot personnel file,” suddenly said Sentinel out of nowhere, his voice muffled by the blanket that was hiding half of his face.

Irohide shuttered his optics in surprise. “W-what?”

Shifting under his blanket again as if looking for the right words, the Prime added, “The … Cons. They had my Autobot personnel file. That type of file should only be accessible by Autobot High Command. It had my entire serial number, my mods, my military records, and training … everything. They shouldn’t have had it.”

Ironhide felt his vents stall, the implications of what Sentinel was saying chilling him to the spark. “…Are ya sure?”

Sentinel shifted again as if thinking before he added, “Yes. I think … I think that there is a mole somewhere in Autobot High Command.”

The orange mech couldn’t help his jaw from dropping, “Frag me sideways. That’s not good. We’ll have Rodimus report it immediately. Was there anything else yah noticed that we should tell Intel?”

The blue Prime never got to answer when suddenly there was a jarring feeling like the ship had just been hit. Ironhide was sitting up straight and Sentinel nearly fell off his berth. A klick later, Red Alert was stumbling over to the berths, her optics painfully bright.

“W-what’s going on?” said Sentinel, sitting up as the ship shook again. “T-that feels like we are taking gunfire. A-are we being attacked?”

The femme stepped forward as if to calm Sentinel, only to nearly lose her footing as the ship lurched to the left. She nearly slammed helm first into Ironhide’s berth but somehow caught herself. She then gave Ironhide a quick ping that made the orange mech go stiff. She finally turned her helm to Sentinel, stating calmly, “Sentinel. Get off the berth. I need you to hide.”

Metallic brow furrowing, Sentinel choked, “Hide? Why –“

It hit him hard, the truth of what was happening, and he immediately started shaking his helm.

“No, no, no. We are under attack, aren’t we? H-he’s come for me. H-he’s-“

Ironhide, jumping off his berth, carefully reached over and squeezed one of Sentinel’s servos. His voice was calming and yet demanding, “Vent Sentinel. We ain’t gonna let them have yah. Right now, we need yah to hide and we are going to shake them off our back. Come on. Get off the berth and we’ll hide yah.”

Red Alert nodded.

Vents hiccupping, two klicks from a full-on panic attack, Sentinel nodded his helm slowly and allowed the shorter mech to help him off the berth. He was careful to take the blanket with him to hide his still revealed valve and belly. Ironhide wasn’t looking at that thought, he seemed to be listening to the team’s internal comms.

“Come on, now. We’ll hide yah,” repeated the orange mech as he started leading Sentinel towards a small storage closet. It was kind of hidden in a corner and at first glance, not even Sentinel had noticed it.

“Get in,” said the femme as she opened the small door. She tried not to note how Sentinel was holding his belly and shuffling the whole walk. His body was subconsciously trying to protect his gestation tank. Normal … for a carrying mech. By the way Ironhide was staring at the belly as Sentinel settled on the floor behind a spark monitor in the back corner, he noticed too.

“We’ll be right outside,” tried to comfort Ironhide and then the door was shut, the small room falling into darkness. The only light in the small storage closet was Sentinel’s blue optics. Besides himself, Sentinel pulled the blanket closer as he put a hand over his mouth to keep from making a sound, the ship rocking as it took more gunfire.

Rodimus had his bow out, he could feel Hot Shot’s panicked field behind him. The poor kid was terrified, but this was no longer a ship battle even though Brawn was still at the controls … Something had forced one of the port doors open. They had been boarded.

“D-do you think a-a Con has g-gotten aboard?” whispered Hot Shot, the young bot nearly running into the taller mech as Rodimus stalled and peaked around a corner.

The red Prime wanted to say, ‘Yes’, but Hot Shot was terrified. This was the first battle he had ever been in, being the youngest crew member. So, instead, he was going to say that they were about to find out when a deep voice rumbled behind them, “Oh, I can most assuredly confirm that they have.”

The two Autobot’s turned in time to see a tall purple mech with horns … and behind him was the slag maker himself, Megatron. Neither Autobot could even gasp in horror before a purple ped was coming their way, immediately kicking Rodimus in the chest. Both Autobot’s went flying down the hall from the impact, their forms tumbling away in a screech of metal.

Megatron, seemingly bored with this already since it wasn’t his Autobot, growled, “Take care of the stragglers, Cyclonus. I’m going to find my Autobot.”

Watching the red Prime shake the small unconscious one, Cyclonus tilted his head in question as the ship rumbled again. “Do you even know where to start looking, my lord?”

Looking down at his grey chassis, a clawed hand almost gingerly being placed over his spark, the titan nodded, “I believe so. Find the engine room and set it to blow. If you find communications first, destroy it.”

Megatron was about to step away but stalled as he watched the flame-colored Prime rise to his feet, his bow being drawn as a look of determination covered his faceplates. “Oh, and Cyclonus, if you want, you may take a prize for your service. That is if you fancy any of the Autobots on the ship. I can attest that Primes are quite satisfactory.”

Raising a metallic brow, sidestepping an arrow as it narrowly missed his helm, the purple mech nodded and turned his attention back toward Rodimus. “… I will see if any attracted my fancy, my Lord.”

And with that, Cyclonus headed towards the Prime, his hulking form seeming to dwarf the archer.

His pedsteps echoed down the hall. Distantly, Megatron could hear the flame-colored Prime crying out and grunting. He didn’t know if it was because Cyclonus had bent that pretty aft over and was taking him long and hard or if he was merely beating the Prime into slag. Either was fine, but given that Autobot population greatly outnumber their own … any new bitlets, even half breeds, were welcome to the ranks.

Rubbing his chassis again, he offlined his optics and tried to feel where his Autobot was. He had a suspicion as to what was going on, but he wouldn’t know for certain until they got to New Kaon and the Lost Colonies. Oil Slick wasn’t a real medic. He was a scientist and knew the basics to medical care, but he still wasn’t a replacement for the real thing.

If he was right, it was both concerning and relieving at the same time. If there was a bond forming already, it meant he would likely get to keep his Autobot regardless if Sentinel was Heavy or not. Though, honestly, if a bond was forming and the Prime was gravid, there would be no denying his claim.

Heavy peds turning the corner, Megatron almost walked past a boring looking door, only to stall. Slowly, he turned his helm and pulled his swords out. He then slid into a kata and slashed clean through the door like it was paper. The door’s two halves fell almost comically apart and to the floor. Megatron might have even found it amusing if he wasn’t immediately shot at.

Grunting in surprise as he took a shot to the shoulder, Megatron slid back and against the outside wall for cover. He then glared at the singe mark on his shoulder plate. Oh, somebot was going to die today.

“Get off our ship, fragger!” came a masculine voice from inside what was obviously a medical bay. “Before I throw ya off.”

Cannon starting to hum, not really in the mood to play with Autobots, Megatron waited until the potshots had stalled, likely for reloading. He then was rolling back into the door frame, his cannon pointed. The orange mech inside immediately lost his cocky expression as horror covered his face. If it was because there was cannon pointed at him or because it was Megatron looking at him, the slag maker really didn’t care. Both were equally amusing.

“Goodbye, Autobot,” was all Megatron said before he fired his cannon.

Ironhide, who had choked when he had seen Megatron in the doorway, barely had time to bring up his hardening ability before the cannon fire slammed into him. He barked in pain, his hard-metallic shell cracking as he went flying into the opposite wall. Red Alert, who was taking potshots as well at the grey titan, looked between the gun in hand and then at Ironhide as the mech’s orange form returned. He coughed up what was obviously energon, meaning he had internal damaged, and yet he was alive after taking a hit like that. An interesting skill to say the least. Not that Megatron much cared as he stood up tall and started flaunting into the room.

Red Alert, swearing softly to herself, jumped from behind her cover. She immediately grabbed the dazed security officer under his armpits and started dragging him towards her cover behind one of the berths when Megatron was finally upon them. Optics going wide, her CPU only thinking of her patient, the femme used her body to physically cover Ironhide’s helm and spark as she waited for the Decepticon to backhand her.

Surprisingly, she felt the whoosh of his powerful servo fly over her helm and then there was a crash, the berth she had been hiding against slamming into the opposite wall. Yet, still she remained, protecting Ironhide’s body with her own. When she still didn’t feel the slash of claws into her form or the hum of the warlord’s cannon, the femme dared to look up, her optics a hard glare.

“Spirited for a little medic, aren’t you,” asked Megatron, looming over her like Unicron himself, his red optics glimmering eerily in the now flickering lights of the medical bay. “Now tell me, where is my Autobot?”

Ironhide, now choking for her to run, was shocked when, instead, Red Alert rose to her feet and straightened her shoulders. It was a show of defiance. “We have nothing that you want here. Leave.”

Raising an optic as if amused, Megatron titled his head toward the femme as if congratulating her for her spirited proclamation before he suddenly lashed out, a hand going around her throat. Ironhide cried out and was about to try and get up when the titan slammed down a foot on top of him, his hard shell barely being raised in time to save him from most of the impact. Ironhide still cried out, but his fear was nothing compared to the EM field now escaping Red Alert as she was raised up off the ground via nothing but the hand around her neck.

She sputtered and gasped, the lack of energon to her CPU already causing her to kick out her legs in distress. Ironhide, in turn, started shoving at the foot on top of him, baking for the monster to let her go.

Bringing Red Alert close to his face, hot air from his vents raining over her, Megatron’s engine rumbled in threat as he asked again, “Where … is … my … Autobot. Where is Sentinel Prime?”

Red Alert, even though her CPU was being starved, stilled as if surprised. Ironhide, in turn, felt his jaw drop before his EM field was awash with rage. He immediately started pounding at the foot on top of him, caring little that his hard shell was cracking even more with the movements.

“I’ll fraggen kill you! I’ll kill you!” roared Ironhide.

Raising a brow, as if the slowly forming dents on his ped were meaningless, Megatron started slowly grinding down on the orange mech. Ironhide, in turn, finally let out a pained choke and stopped beating his fists against the warlord, more energon dribbling from his mouth. He was slowly being crushed.

“N-no,” struggled Red Alert. “S-stop.”

His red gaze drifting in close to the femme’s face again, Megatron rumbled, “And I will stop when you tell me where my Autobot is.”

Surprisingly, even though he was being crushed, Ironhide managed to choke out what both Autobots were thinking, “N-nnnn-never.”

Sentinel, listening to all of this, had his own ideas.

Plating shaking, terror racing through every circuit, part of Sentinel just wanted to find a way to get under the floorboards and disappear forever. The Autobot part of him though, the part that wanted to be a hero, to be seen, to be beloved and respected … would never allow it. He didn’t have a gun. He had no weapons in the closet except for some laser scalpels. And, for all intent and purposes, he was useless to the two Autobots dying right outside the door.

Swallowing, hand instinctively cupping his belly, Sentinel looked down … a dark thought occurring to him.

Grabbing a scalpel, the Prime stood up, and even though his plating was shivering in terror, he stepped out of the closet. Immediately, all three sets of optics were on him. Red Alert looked like she was about to lose consciousness and Ironhide was already shaking his helm in horror while whispering, “Fraggen fool.”

Scalpel in hand, pointing it in Megatron’s direction even as an amused smirk covered the tyrant’s facial plates, Sentinel found himself stating, “Put her down and get off him. You will not harm them further.”

Raising a brow, Megatron shook his helm, “Oh no, little Prime. You have no say in this situation. You ran from me even though I rightfully claimed you. I should kill these two to punish you.”

Optics going dim, even though his slowly onlining carrier protocols were starting to scream at him when they realized what he was up to, Sentinel turned the scalpel towards himself … towards his belly to be more exact. Megatron’s amused EM field quickly soured.

“You wouldn’t dare,” he growled, his voice barely a whisper. “That’s your sparkling as well.”

Swallowing heavily, his hand shaking as his programs clashed, Sentinel ground out, “Put her down … and get off of him or I destroy the protoform.”

EM field going silent, Megatron’s lip plate twitched before he immediately dropped the femme like a stone, her form slamming into Ironhide’s body below just in time to watch the bulky Autobot’s vents wheeze as Megatron’s silver ped was removed from his chassis. Immediately, even though she was struggling to invent herself, the medic turned Ironhide on his side so the energon in his vents wouldn’t suffocate him.

Megatron, in turn, now was only looking at Sentinel, scowling at the predicament. He quickly put his sword away and put out a hand, his EM field pushing what had to be concern towards Sentinel. “Sentinel, give me the scalpel. You aren’t thinking straight. Listen to your carrier programs.”

When Sentinel didn’t immediately drop the scalpel, the warlord’s EM field grew bitter and the hum of a warming fusion cannon started to fill the room. He then turned said fusion cannon toward the two other Autobots in the room, Red Alert immediately throwing herself over her patient again. His words were like ice as Megatron rumbled, “Drop. The. Scalpel. Or. I. Kill. Them. Two Lives … for two lives.”

Red Alert’s and Ironhide’s optics both widened as Megatron’s words hit every mech in the room. Ironhide, ever the Autobot, ground out, “Don’t you dare, Sentinel Prime. Run.”

“Sentinel,” interjected Megatron, his vocals a dangerous warning purr as the rim of the cannon started to glow red. “Listen to me.”

Swallowing, looking between the scalpel and then the two Autobots, the Prime struggled. He … had wanted so many things. He wanted to be a beloved Prime. He wanted to be Ultra one day. He was meant to be something great.

Looking down at his belly, at its swell, he knew that would never happen again. He’d had Megatron’s seed in him. He was defiled. He’d be honorably discharged; he’d never be Ultra … And forever he would be known as Megatron’s whore.

His gaze found Ironhide’s and Red Alert’s blue optics. He could see both of their resolve, their readiness to die for another Autobot, but … with this thing growing in him … he wasn’t worth dying for anymore. He had been too weak to fight Megatron off on Earth. Thus, he was too weak to be an Ultra. He … was too weak to even be an Autobot at this point. He wasn’t worth bleeding over, dying over, but at least he could do one last thing for Autobot cause.

Servos falling to his sides, hand still wrapped around the scalpel, Sentinel’s shoulders wilted, “Megatron … I … I … will go with you. If you … spare this ship … and all the bots on it.”

The humming started to die down from the cannon, Megatron’s glared fading slowly, “Drop the scalpel and surrender to me Sentinel, and I will give you what you ask.”

“No, don’t!” cried Ironhide even as energon dribbled out of his mouth, only to have Megatron place a heavy foot onto one of the Autobot’s peds in a warning.

“Hold your glossa if you want to live,” growled Megatron down to Ironhide before he started walking forward, motioning for the scalpel to be dropped.

A sob already in his throat, Sentinel squeezed the blade one more time before dropping it. Megatron’s ped pointedly stepped on it a klick later as he towered over the smaller mech. That EM field was heavy and Sentinel felt like it was crushing him … especially with that smug expression returned to the warlord’s face.

A grey hand then came forward, carefully sliding a hand onto Sentinel’s lower back before pulling the Prime towards him. The warlord then used his spare hand and cupped Sentinel’s chin, forcing him to look up. There was still anger there in those red optics as he squeezed that jaw, Megatron’s vocals resonating, “Remember … you surrendered.”

And with that, the warlord leaned down and captured Sentinel’s lips in a hungry kiss. Soon, his glossa was deep in the blue Prime’s mouth, dominating the smaller glossa and successfully smothering the sobs now escaping the smaller form. Then, wanting to claim his prize and remind the Autobots that Sentinel was his, he released the kiss and flipped Sentinel so that his chassis was on the edge of the berth and so that his still revealed aft was in the air.

Sentinel was already sobbing, burying his face in the berth so that he wouldn’t have to see the other Autobots’ expressions as they watched Megatron take him.

“Tell Ultra Magnus that his little protege is mine,” growled Megatron to the two other Autobots in the room. And, with that said, he started fingering that lovely blue valve, the entrance immediately wetting. He then squeezed those hips and that was the only warning Sentinel got before Megatron lined up and slid into him with a single thrust.

Sentinel gasped and clawed at the berth, his vocals whining as he struggled to … hold in a moan. His body was hungry for that stiff rod, ready for it, valve walls hugging that spike like there was no tomorrow. His body was so wanton, see needing of Megatron’s seed, that he was dripping. A wet sound soon filled the medical bay and it wasn’t from Sentinel’s tears as they flowed freely.

Red Alert actually looked away as the coupling sounds grew, grunts and wet smacks echoing throughout the room. Ironhide didn’t look away though. There was rage in his optics … and his glare never once left Megtron’s face even as the pace picked up and Megatron’s vents started to stutter. All Sentinel could do so he wouldn't make a sound was bite his bottom lip harder and harder even as the pace picked up. His body was getting ready for the edge, in tune with Megatron’s heated thrusts and EM field. He hated himself when he finally came first, gasping as cleanser dripped down his cheek plate and drool down his chin.

The Prime didn’t know if it was tears of self-loathing or pleasure that now streamed down his face. Regardless, he hated himself for it, especially when a small moan escaped him when Megatron's nanites finally spilled into him. The whole act felt like it had lasted groons, but truthfully it was probably a quickie and was over in a couple of klicks.

Pulling out, vents panting for a moment as his flaccid spike was revealed for all to see, Megatron looked at the two Autobots in the corner. “This … is … mine. I claimed him via combat and he will bear the heirs of the House of Megatron. Let your Ultra know that.”

And with that, he put his cod piece back on and pulled Sentinel to his unsteady feet, the wetness of their coupling dripping down his thighs for all to see. Megatron even let the two Autobots stare as he leaned in, whispering, “If you think that was your punishment for running away … you are sorely mistaken.”

Then, satisfied with his statement, Megatron tugged Sentinel out into the hall, Ironhide screaming that they would kill him for this while Red Alert tried to shush him. Megatron could care less about the orange Autobot’s threats. He was already on his comm, growling, “Cyclonus, we are done here. You better be on the ship when I get there or I’m leaving you behind. Also … spare the Autobot ship, but cripple the engine.”

There was a moment of silence before the mech replied back, “Affirmative, my lord. I take it you found what you were looking for.”

Looking down at a mostly complacent Sentinel Prime, Megatron stared at the Prime’s belly a moment. “Yes, I’ve found more than you know.”