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Fulgurite	By : Hambone Category: Transformers > G1 > AU/AR Views: 1150 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers or any affiliated material and make no profit off this writing

Chapter List
- 1-Fulgurite
- 1
Rodimus had been his usual game self at first. Though heavily restrained, guarded by a group so large that, in the chaos, Drift could not quite get a sure count, he held his head high, chest puffed. He had stumbled along proudly, asking questions and spitting threats with an increasingly fiery vigor. Until, that is, one of the pack detaining them, green and orange, the colors of sick, hit him, repeatedly, leaving his jaw hanging rent and leaking and his vocalizer fizzled as bits of metal caught in it. Still he had the audacity to smile.
That was what Drift admired about him.
Now, though, it was a struggle to hold himself straight as Rodimus did, knowing full well the name and nature of their true captor. They were dragged through a cargo bay and into the back of a small transport vessel, and when they were finally again pulled through the doors and hallways of yet another cruiser that struggle became a fight. Rodimus did not notice, leaning in close to pseudo whisper him an insult meant wholly for the audio receptors of their tormentors. He let out a harsh bark of laughter when they struck the wound in his side again, one that splattered his own energon across the walls.
“Always such an idiot,” said Lockdown, perched in the captain’s chair of a ship that certainly wasn’t his. Rodimus managed the first part of a curse before having to reset his vocalizer with a rattling cough. Their escort flicked about them with scanners, busy but for show. Of course they had already taken great care to remove all the weaponry or possible weaponry on both of them. When the performance was complete, they dumped their spoils in front of Lockdown’s feet, like garbage. Drift watched with quiet pain as the great sword was kicked beneath Rodimus’s rifle.
“If you’re collecting for Turmoil, fine. But leave Rodimus.”
“Drift, I got this,” Rodimus leaned towards him, only vaguely aware he should be lowering his voice. For once, Drift ignored him.
“He isn’t of use to Turmoil and he is not of use to you.”
Lockdown laughed.
“If you think there’s a bot within a three galaxy radius who isn’t interested in a former Matrix bearer, your idiocy roots deeper than his.”
Drift kept his gaze level, but his wrists twitched, hips shifting.
“They will look for him, but not for me. You can’t get away with us both.”
Something like concern just beginning to crest the edge of his voice, Rodimus started again, “Drift-”, but before he could get any further sharp hands and shoulders were cutting into their backs and they were both knocked forward.
Hitting the floor was a lot more painful for Drift than had been anticipated, mainly because the shin and knee joint of his left leg had been carved up badly beforehand. He doubled forward for a moment, trying his best to translate the building cry of pain into a snarl. Rodimus didn’t make any noise at all, though this was more uncharacteristic than impressive and it set off seventeen separate warning signs in Drifts meta-processor. He wanted to look, just to check, but as he raised his face Lockdown knelt before him and grabbed it.
“Deadlock,” he purred, “why did you have to run?”
Rather than answer him, Drift bucked forward and struck the point of his helm directly into Lockdown’s optic.
The room exploded into action, at least three of the guards falling down on top of him with fists and feet. He couldn’t turn his head to see, but heard Rodimus making muffled, angry noise beside him. Something jabbed into the coiling in the back of his neck, shoving, sharp and nasty, between the protective plating there, and almost instantly he felt pulses of some kind, crawling up his wires and darkening his vision. There was just enough time, though the reaction was neigh instantaneous, to witness Lockdown, still on his heels, swipe a thumb through the energon bleeding from his cracked optic and smiling.
Darkness.

Thirteen solar cycles passed and he did not see Rodimus for any of them. He did not see anyone. The room Drift had been tossed in (something he assumed had happened, but did not remember in his unconscious state) was little more than a storage closet. Perhaps, he thought with dark amusement, it still was one, in a way. Reinforced, of course, dark and unwelcoming, but a place to put things in transience nonetheless. That was what he was, at this point.
Hopefully, both of them.
It had been pitch black in the room, so when the door first opened he had to recalibrate his optics again, stiff but not resisting as they pulled him out into the hallway. One of the guards laughed at his fumbling attempts to remain proud. Energon deprivation left him shaking, mostly from the extensive loss he’d suffered out his leg. It was difficult not to lean towards the wall or the cruel arms that held him.
“Keep steady now, love.” The bot was jeering, his voice insectine and repugnant, but somehow it calmed Drift, allowed him hold his back straighter. It drew a line between them, the unwashed and the saved.
They led him into another small room, larger than his holding cell but still nothing more than an average living space. It was bizarre, how informal this all was. Cabinets and various chairs were strewn across the room, not haphazard but certainly not neat. The whole affair seemed almost false, like a play or a story, like the danger was only a warning, a show. Rodimus would have laughed.
Striding in from a different corner of the room, Lockdown said, “Please, sit.” Drift was pushed to the floor, again on his knees, hands heavy in their manacles behind his back. The guards removed themselves, waiting patiently by the door, as Lockdown swiveled one of the dusty chairs around and sat on it in front of him. Casual, leisurely, flaunting. Lockdown wasn’t vein or petty, but he was insulting Drift with every shift of his plating and he knew it well.
“My spark, you’ve gotten flimsy.” Lockdown tented his fingers before his nasal ridge, studying Drift, the collector at work.
“Perceiving me as frail has been the last mistake of many.” There were times when Drift surprised himself with how level he could keep his voice, his vision. Deadlock had never been so easily stilled.
“I see you for what you really are,” Lockdown said, grin in his words, “it’s a skill people in my business tend to pick up on.”
A commotion in the halls was slowly coming their way. Neither Drift nor Lockdown broke eye contact to acknowledge it. Lockdown split his lips as his smile grew, baring his teeth. Drift’s optics were cold and strong. That was how it should be, how they’d both imagined it would inevitably be.
The doors burst open and Rodimus was brought barreling in. It was clear that he had continued to give their captors trouble, because while Drift wore only the colors of battle, Rodimus was looking decidedly worse for ware, much more so since their last glimpse of each other. He was forced into a kneel beside Drift, whom he offered a half torn away smile.
That too was weaker than before, stuffed into some sort of gag, a bit, and Drift had to try very hard to keep his brows from knitting with concern. The chain dangling from Rodimus’s cuffs was, without regards to the ship’s integrity, bolted directly to the floor by the guards, keeping him there.
“Well,” Lockdown stood, signaling for the guards to leave with a soft gesture, “the gangs all here.” He made his way over to one of the cabinets, waiting just until he heard the guards exit behind him before opening it. It was filled to the brim with ordinance, likely all stolen. Against the back rested one of Drift’s swords, which he removed and inspected offhandedly before discarding.
Doing his best not to take his optics off Lockdown, mostly because he feared his eyes would betray his emotion, Drift leaned in close and spoke softly.
“Have they said anything to you? Done anything?” It was a polite way of asking whether he was alright or not. Rodimus shrugged, vents huffing a quick, disaffected burst. Only one of his shoulders raised, and Drift realized somewhat belatedly that the other one was dislocated, hanging from its socket.
“Always thought it was strange you’d wanna carry these things around. So weighty.” Lockdown was back again and he was holding the great sword.
“Seems it’d just make you an easy target. Guess it shows, hmm?”
The empty space between Drift’s shoulder blades ached with the lack of Wing’s presence. He swallowed it down like raw bile.
“Someone like you could never understand the importance of burden.”
“No,” said Lockdown, “I suppose I wouldn’t.”
His arm arced up, a sweep of mossy green in the low blue light, and with practiced precision Lockdown drove the great sword into the juncture of Drift’s injured knee.
It bit worse than Drift could have imagined and he bowed forward, howling. Rodimus jumped against his chains, legs scraping against the cold flooring as he tried, unsuccessfully, to stand. Patient, waiting, Lockdown held the sword in place and watched as Drift caught himself, his breath, and sat upright again.
“You…” Drift paused, gasping, “Turmoil gave you special instructions, this time? Or does your thirst for revenge take precedence over the pay dock you’ll get when you turn me over heavily damaged?” Lockdown shook his head, tutting.
“Turmoil, Turmoil, Turmoil.” He began to twist the blade in Drifts knee, slowly. Every move caught and broke new wires and tubing, a fresh flood of energon spilling down to the floor between his legs. Drift could not help but jerk away from it, gritting his dental grill as he tried to choke down little cries of pain, “Ah! Ah! Ah!”
“You know, you’re the only one who’s even mentioned Turmoil since coming on board, Deadlock.” Lockdown’s face was close to serene, a small smile reflecting the hunger in his eyes as he watched Drift’s knee come apart.
“Isn’t that always what you want…bounty hunter?”
His whole face contorted with pain and anger, Drift barely growled out the words. Rodimus was moving beside him, orange and red swaying in and out of his peripheral vision, though whether his captain was still struggling to escape or simply expressing his agitation was beyond knowing.
Lockdown seemed to glean some amusement from his answer.
“You assume I’m always somebody’s dog, don’t you?” he craned his neck closer, not stilling his ever twisting hands. “Always think I’m just playing fetch. But consider,”- Drift’s head jerked back as an important strut inside him snapped, biting back a low moan of pain, and Lockdown had to grip him by the chin and pull him down to face him again –“consider that maybe this time I’m not running on someone else’s orders. Consider that this time, maybe, the bounty is the target.” His hands stilled.
Drift looked at him, optics unfocused, lips parted as he vented, heavy, quick breaths. The question came silently. Lockdown laughed.
“In short, I’m keeping you.”
The great sword, Wing’s sword, tore through what was left of Drift’s knee, severing his leg to an ugly gash. Drift bit his lip but the scream broke out anyways, tearing the mesh between his teeth as what should never be turned against him cut hot lances of agony up his thigh. Lockdown tossed the sword to the side with a loud, painful clang, bloodied, disrespected.
Rage and pain and a sudden fear he had not expected all burst forth in the form of a single syllable.
“No!”
Rodimus made a noise of his own, snarling like an animal. Oral solvent dripped from behind the bit as he dug his teeth into it, framing his broken jaw and making clear the stalk inside that extended down the back of his throat, scrambling his vocalizations.
“Oh, not you, Hot Rod,” said Lockdown, overly offhanded, “though I’m sure that’d be a trip in itself.”
“His name is not Hot Rod.” Drift felt, on either side of him, the burning presence of the two things he held most dear, and it lifted him until he could look straight into Lockdown’s face again. “My name is not Deadlock.”
The smile fell from Lockdown’s optics.
“Your name is whatever I want it to be.” He kicked Drift in the jaw, hard, knocking him onto the leg he’d recently cleaved. There was no time to recover before the next blow came from above, and then another. The world dissolved into nothing but sensation and light. Not chained to the floor, not held by anything but disorientation and pain, Drift was knocked about the room like a bag of bolts. His vision swam, white at the moment of impact with small glimpses of the world around him in between strikes; the grey floor, the edge of a cabinet, Lockdown’s sneer, the glimmering point of Rodimus’s knee, brave and resolute as always, even watching this, even knowing their situation as it was.
Eventually the room stopped moving. There was a loud ringing in his audios, reflecting the buzzing throb of pain that washed in slow waves over him. He lay still, trying to catch his equilibrium, trying to steady his mind so he could counterattack somehow, surge back, fight against the assault. He could see movement and it took him several kliks to recognize the vague, angled shapes he was seeing as Lockdown’s boots as he moved across the floor.
He was talking to Rodimus. The knowledge filtered in slowly as everything began to focus. Unfortunately, with that focus came the true weight of his injury, damage reports suddenly blooming all across his body. He exited all of them, trying to listen to what was happening outside and not the various alarms sounding in his head, but then Lockdown was already crossing the room again and grabbing Drift by his one good leg, dragging him back to the center.
Jerking upwards, Drift jammed what was left of the spike of his broken knee into Lockdown’s hip, knowing it would hurt and not caring. Lockdown hissed, jumped, and dropped Drift, kicking him sharply in the side and he rubbed the affected area. Drift slid a little, the ground beneath him wet with his own leakage. His helm came to rest a few spare inches beside Rodimus’s knee. For a brief moment, he was allowed a clean view of his captain’s face.
Rodimus looked upset. Genuinely.
That was very bad.
“Dang, Deadlock, you just won’t stay down, will you.” Lockdown knelt over him, blocking what little light was in the room until Drift’s face was illuminated by only the purple glow of their mismatched optics. He looked pleased, pleased to see Drift like this, on the ground, hurt and helpless. Aware Rodimus was seeing it too, Drift curled up his lip and spat.
Lockdown’s hook caressed his cheek.
“It’s cliché, I know, but I’m not lying when I say I’ve waited a long time to see this.”
Drift became aware then of the pressure on his chest. Lockdown’s other hand, his real one, was there, rubbing smoothly along the warped plating at the corner of his breast. Refusing to be intimidated, Drift held still. Rodimus growled quietly.
“Even someone as fragged as you has gotta see where I’m going with this.” He dipped his servos under the flap of Drift’s main chest plate, fondling the thinner armor beneath. Drift held his gaze steady.
“I don’t claim to understand your ulterior motives, but you will never own me.”
“Oh,” Lockdown laughed, “I already do.” His fingers pushed in deeper, uncomfortably deep, and then he gripped the plate and began to bend it up and back. Drift arched sideways on the floor, but Lockdown’s hook around his neck held him steady as the fingers unrepentantly peeled his chest plate clean off. A light flow of energon slicked the plains newly exposed, flexing as Drift vented and groaned, segments cut straight down to the wire.
The steely point of Lockdown’s hook wasted no time in diving between those plates, plucking against sensitive seams. Drift bucked, angrily, his good leg swinging in short sharp kicks that managed to plant at least a few good dents into Lockdown’s thigh.
“Slag!” Lockdown jumped away, almost laughing. Pulling his leg back up, Drift hunched his shoulders forward, defensive. The room felt colder than before, energon slick across his torso catching the chill air. Lockdown was rustling through one of the cabinets and came away holding a length of cord. Drift kicked at him again when he came back, but Lockdown grabbed his foot easily, anticipating his movements, sluggish from hunger and ill thought out.
Crouching, Lockdown brought Drift’s foot with him, pushing it up and flipping Drift back until he had his good knee pushed into his chest, calf flat against thigh. He again swung the stump of this left leg, but Lockdown was out of range and just laughed. Using the cord, he bound Drift’s leg together until he could no longer kick out, hobbled equally on both sides.
“You always did strike me as the type to be trouble till the end.” Lockdown sat back on his haunches and admired his work. “Nothing to lose.”
Drift tried his best not to tense. Rodimus shifted beside him.
“But really,” said Lockdown, trailing a finger down Drift’s waist, “that’s such a stupid concept, isn’t it?”
His hand stopped on Drift’s pelvic span, fingers spreading like a spider as he pressed down, cupping it.
“There’s always something more I can take from you.”
Rodimus lurched, making a staticy gagging noise. Frozen to the spot, Drift was only vaguely aware of the commotion as Lockdown leaned in closer. And closer still. And Drift realized that he was really, actually serious and that Lockdown was going to kiss him.
So he pushed upwards and bit him right on the mouth.
Lockdown reared back, hard enough to separate Drift from his face but also losing a good portion of his lower lip in the process. Yelling an unintelligible exclamation of surprise, he fell back on his aft. Drift landed on the floor, hard. Rodimus half laughed.
“Alright, alright,” Lockdown righted himself, jumping back just as fast as he’d fallen and grabbing Drift’s face, pulling him upright. He slammed the heel of his boot into Drifts wounded knee, crushing the peels of metal downward to hold him steady.
“You’re a serious kind of bot, no foreplay, I get that, but really, I would never have imagined a so called pacifist like you would enjoy playing so rough.” He ground his heel against the exposed piping and Drift cried out behind gritted teeth.
He pulled back, releasing Drift’s face just fast enough to catch it with his fist. The blow shattered his left optic, and as his face fell to the side he spat the piece of Lockdown’s lip that he’d severed. It landed several feet away in a small puddle of its own making.
“What, were you saving that for later?” Lockdown pushed him down, this time keeping alert and a safe distance from that vengeful mouth. Needle like fingers jabbed against his crotch plate again, looking for the manual release for his panel. He wasn’t going to look to Rodimus for help, he wasn’t, but-
“Don’t do this.” The words were out before he could stop them. The fingers at his crotch didn’t even pause, frustrated, unable to find what they sought. Whether Lockdown knew or not, Drift had had his manual catches removed, long ago, upon first joining the Wreckers. It was not safe, in the event of a medical emergency, born of a paranoia Perceptor did not understand but complied with anyway.
“Ah, that’s what I like to hear.” Lockdowns claws found purchase in the panel’s seam. “it’s alright to show your coward side, Deadlock. It is whey you’re here, after all.” He tugged at the panel experimentally. It gave a little bit and he smiled. “Let it all out.”
He tugged it, again, harder this time, and it began to pop up just a little bit. It hurt, horribly, intimately, as the latches and levers connecting it were bent. Drift thrust his hips up, trying to relieve the pressure, but Lockdown pressed his hook against his pelvis, holding him in place so he could continue the process of tearing out the entire cover of his array.
Rodimus had been, for the most part, very patient with this. Very calm, for him anyways. Level headed. But the game he did his best to turn every skirmish into had long ago grown dull here and now Drift was lying on the floor with his head rolled back, trying to look like he wasn’t panicking as Lockdown pulled away the last piece of his interface cover and Rodimus was at the end of his rope. He chomped down on the bit in his mouth, hard, snarling. His servos balled into fists behind him.
Lockdown’s hook hand whirled a bit, transformation cog activating with a low whine. The tool he produced was a long, thin appendage, with a small flame lit at the end. A torch.
“You won’t be needing this anymore.” He brought the flame down close, touching it to the outside of Drift’s upper secondary panel. Drift hissed, jerking in Lockdown’s hold. His spike cover was thick enough to keep the flame from being anything more than uncomfortable, but he could feel the heat all the way down through his equipment. Maneuvering it to the side, gently, a lover’s caress, Lockdown began to weld the cover shut.
“Suh-slag!” Drifts head whipped back and he shuttered his optics, blocking it out. It was just a small point of damage. Easily fixed. He would be fine.
The heat stopped, with just enough time for Drift to catch his breath before sharp claws were again pawing at him, shoving bluntly between the petals of his lower secondary panel and prying them apart with ease. The metal buckled, bent, and he was exposed.
“Mm hmm…” Lockdown licked his thumb briefly before running it down the cleft of Drift’s valve. Rodimus growled lowly, and Drift all but seized under the touch. Shame, white hot, shot through him in glowing bursts, and he began flailing, trying to keep Lockdown’s hands off him, to catch him with the point of his knee, anything.
Lockdown held him down and began punching him in the face in earnest. Already aching from the earlier assault, partially blinded and tied, Drift could do nothing but accept it. When Lockdown finally stopped he was twitching and gasping, his own energon slicking his lips and chin. Lockdown shoved two of his fingers into Drifts mouth, gagging him.
“That’s right, stay down.” He wriggled them around a minute before ripping them away, wet. With no precursory warning he rammed them inside Drift’s valve. Gasping, Drift arched back, a perfect bow. Thighs tied and spread, arms behind his back. Lockdown thumbed his exterior node.
“You look like a whore.”
Drift laid his head to the side and stared at the great sword. He recalled, in an odd moment of peace, Wing’s face as he taught Deadlock meditation. The way he had smiled, always serene. Drift felt the desecration of his own body ebb away, the fingers inside him like a distant and unpleasant memory. He did not think of Rodimus.
He didn’t want to think of Rodimus, behind him, watching this.
“Shape up, soldier!” Lockdown slapped him across the face. With one bad eye, the other covered in energon that had run across the bridge of his nose, face full of dents and paint scratched, Drift looked at Lockdown, expression unreadable. Lockdown sneered.
“’Seems we have to loosen you up a bit more.” He moved to stand, paused a moment, then crouched in front of Rodimus.
“Enjoying the show?” Rodimus lunged at him, ineffectually, as if somehow the chain would be weaker this time than all the last. “I thought you would be.” He reached up and smeared the energon and lubricant that had accumulated on his fingers across Rodimus’s face.
Drift was mortified. Was that why Lockdown had brought Rodimus here? For the simple pleasure of shaming him? Rodimus wrinkled his nose in disgust and Drift looked away.
“I’m really surprised though,” said Lockdown, again rooting around in one of the cabinets, “you feel like you haven’t been touched in years.” He looked over at Rodimus. “Didn’t wanna frag an ex-Con, huh? I don’t blame you.”
Drift slid his thighs together unconsciously, horrified that even here, under these circumstances, the thought still excited him. But Rodimus had never shown interest, not any more than he did with everyone else. That kind of absolute confidence just made him all the more appealing.
Lockdown turned away from the cabinet holding a small box with several wires of varying size hanging out of it and another object that took both the prisoners a few moments to recognize, unfortunately, as a false spike. A large one.
He set the objects down in front of Drift, whose squirming was quickly quelled by a firm hand on his thigh.
“I’m betting you don’t know what this is,” said Lockdown, focused on the spike. Up close, it became clear that there were three metal bands wrapped around the rubberized surface, one nearest the wide bottom and the last just behind the head. He was attaching the wires from the box to these bands, very carefully.
“I would tell ‘ya, but I think it’ll be more fun just to show you.”
Once he had finished, he hauled Drift to his knees. Drift grunted in pain as his exposed wiring scraped against the floor, but otherwise refused to acknowledge the manhandling. Or the fact that now he was lifted in such a way that Rodimus had a very clear view of his exposed array.
Holding him up with the hook, which dug painfully into Drift’s spinal struts, Lockdown fiddled for a moment with the controls on the box. Then he lined the spike up with Drift’s valve. It suddenly seemed larger than it had at first. Very much so. Drifts ventilations began to quicken despite himself. He couldn’t close his legs so he spread them wider, attempting to adopt a harder stance.
He did a novel job at withstanding Lockdown’s heavy pushing, particularly for someone as damaged as he was, but it was only a matter of nano kliks before the head was kissing the rim of his valve, pushing between the soft white folds easily.
“Stop. Wait, wait – stop it!” and then his legs gave, sliding through the congealing puddle of his own energon, and he was forced down over the bulbous tip and onto the wide girth. He threw his head back, hyperventilating as inch by inch he sank, the knobbed surface rubbing against his nodes in a manner as painful as it was terribly arousing. Finally his joints met their flexibility limit, just a few sparse inches from the floor. The spike was too wide, agonizing, nestled roughly against his ceiling node.
“Oh, Primus…” he tried to catch his breath but his vents seemed stuck on full flare, quick and shallow. His calipers trembled desperately around the spike, little beads of lubricant running down the connected wires.
Relinquishing his grip on Drift’s helm, Lockdown turned again to the box. Drift slumped forward, instantly regretting it as the spike shifted inside him. Smirking, Lockdown rotated the box to face him. On the front was a small digital display, set to one klik. As Drift watched, squinting through the pixilated haze of his damaged eye, Lockdown pressed a button on the top, and the klik began to count down.
“We’re gonna play a bit of a game, now.” Lockdown returned, for the first time in their session, to the chair Drift had found him in and sat heavily upon it. Eyeing the receding seconds, Drift managed to find his voice.
“I-I refuse.”
Finding this more than humorous, Lockdown grinned.
“We’ve already started. Wait.”
The clock struck zero. Instantly, Drift’s entire form went ridged as a powerful shock shot through him. Bursting white hot, straight up from his valve, it burned through his circuits with an intensity he was wholly unprepared for. Arcs of charge danced across his armor plating, his system unable to handle the large amount of power and forcing him into multiple, excruciating overloads, trying to alleviate the strain before his internal circuitry combusted. His head snapped back in a soundless scream as the heat became unbearable-
The nano-klik ended, and so did the stream of current. The clock reset to one and began again to count down.
Ventilations coming in small, smoky gasps, Drift collapsed, unable to do more than wheeze painfully as the spike ground against his insides. His valve felt like it was burning, melting. Lubricant, normally so good at collecting pleasurable energy, now turned against him, dribbling out around the spike like liquid magma. Condensation instantly began to form on his thighs.
“Ha! You like that, huh?” Lockdown was reclining lazily, watching pleasantly as Drift tried to collect himself.
“Y-y-yoouu…” his vocalizer was shorting, excess charge crackling from the burnt out circuits in his throat.
“Alright,” said Lockdown, relaxed, “it goes like this: I want you to beg for my spike. Beg. And every klik you don’t, well…”
Drift convulsed again as the current ran through him. This time, some noise did manage to escape him, a continuous, high whine. The exposed under plating of his chest seemed to spark, extra drops of energon, fizzling with static, spattering across the floor as he thrashed.
Though it only lasted a nano-klik, it felt like an eternity before the charge cut out and he slumped back down. His brain seemed to rattle around in its casing. Coherent thought was almost as agonizing as the shock.
Rodimus was frothing, enraged, pink energon tinting his oral solvent as it bubbled from behind the bit. Drift was swaying where he sat, kept upright only by his impalement on the false spike, crude as any instrument of torture. Even now his calipers twitched, half from the lingering electric overload, confusing his sensors, and half in a desperate attempt to expel the source of torment. A rank burning smell emanated up from between his legs.
Lockdown hummed, flicking a flake of dried energon from his hook. “I could sit here and do this all cycle, really, but I doubt you can. Pretty soon, your circuits are gonna pop.” His fingers flexed in an exaggerated demonstration.
“P-please,” Drift breathed, “please, please, don’t, wait-!” His voice increased in pitch as he began to regain his mind, just in time to watch the counter reach zero again.
Lockdown reached down, palming his own panel with a slow intensity as he watched.
Drift was still screaming after the current stopped. Smoke, thick and dark, drizzled out of his mouth and eyes, the seams in his hips.
“Please!” he cried, voice ragged and high, “please! Please, I want, I want…” he was unable to finish, shoulders sagging down. Rodimus could feel the heat rolling off him even from his position a few feet away. It seemed enough for Lockdown though, who moved to crouch down in front of Drift.
“Mm, I’m not quite convinced. What do you want?”
The counter was nearing the bottom again. Wide eyed and desperate, Drift barely managed, “spike! I, spike…”
Lockdown grunted, reaching over to flick the switch. The timer stopped at six.
“Spike, you say? But whose spike is that?”
Drift said nothing, panting hoarsely. Drool ran slowly down from the corner of his mouth. Lockdown grabbed his shoulder and pushed him back slightly, reaching down to pet the false spike still stuffed inside him.
“Do you mean this? You want me to turn it back on?” he closed his hand around the base, pushing it out a bit before shoving it back in.
Frantic, Drift spat sparks as his vocalizer shorted again. He shook his head vigorously.
“No? Huh. Must be one of us then.” Lockdown looked at Rodimus, who was finding the situation far less amusing. With a twist of his wrist, Lockdown ripped the toy out of Drift’s valve, a small arc of lubricant following his movement. Drift jolted and cried out again before, without any further support, falling hard on his back.
Lockdown turned to Rodimus.
“Now, I’m not sure, but I think he means you.”
Rodimus champed at his bit and glared.
“You got somthin’ to say?”
The moment the gag was removed from his throat, Rodimus launched into him.
“You sick slag-sucking fried out shaft guzzling glitch!”
Stepping back before he could be bitten, Lockdown held up his hands in mock defensiveness.
“Whoa-ho! Calm down.”
Drift twitched at the sound of his captain’s voice.
“Get the frag away from him!”
Lockdown laughed.
“So I take it this means you don’t wanna frag him? Like I said before, can’t blame you.”
“I’m not playing into whatever the slag this is, and I’m sure as the Pit not going to help you!”
“What a shame,” Lockdown mused. “I guess it’s up to me then.”
He turned back to Drift, grabbing him by the uninjured knee and dragging him a little closer. Drift let out a painful moan as his thighs were again spread.
“Don’t touch him!” Rodimus jerked and snarled. Lockdown rolled his optics, overdramatic.
“Look, you said you didn’t want him. Change your mind?”
“No!”
A grin.
“Then I’m helping myself.” He pulled Drift forward, roughly impaling him on his fingers. Drift barely moved, a low noise, almost a sob, catching in his throat.
Rodimus baulked.
“Wait! Wait.” Lockdown looked over at him, triumphant.
“I’ll do it, fine, I’ll do it. Just get off him.”
Rodimus knew he was merely holding off the inevitable, on the inside, really he did, but outside Rodimus was still telling himself that nothing was ‘inevitable’ and this was time he was buying to use against their captor. It was stupid, yes, but stupidity had gotten him out of more scrapes than could be chalked up to dumb luck. Even if this did count as a little more than a scrape.
As Lockdown reached for the chain binding him to the floor, he simultaneously activated his t-cog. Just as soon as Rodimus felt himself free, a blaster was tapping at his forehead, mounted cleanly inside Lockdown’s right arm where the hook had once curled.
“I wouldn’t normally have to tell a prisoner something like this, but you seem pretty stupid and I’m not taking any chances with my credits.” The chain slipped off Rodimus’s wrists, but he held still, sneering up at Lockdown as best he could. “You try anything funny, you lose a limb. You keep trying, you lose more. That doesn’t motivate you, fine, he loses one.” Lockdown gestured to where Drift lay shaking. “You think I’m not capable? You’d be wrong. But just in case I’ll mention that every other bot on this ship would enjoy seeing you with half a brain casing and none of them are quite as nice as me.” He chuckled a bit. “None of them are getting paid like me either.”
With that he released him and stood up. Rodimus rubbed his wrists, glaring right at him. An impatient gun waved towards Drift.
“Go on.”
Lockdown remained standing, so Rodimus crawled. Drift was lying still, looking away with a dull expression, panting. Rodimus awkwardly moved on top of him, trying his best not to touch him unnecessarily. He framed his arms around Drift’s head. Leaning in close, he whispered, fumbling with what to say.
“Hey.” Drift twitched but didn’t turn his head.
“Hey…”
“As nice as it is just staring at your aft, Hot Rod, I really like it if you moved some time soon.”
“It’s Rodimus!” said Rodimus. He didn’t move, remaining a shield above Drift.
Lockdown, again in the chair, tapped his blaster against his knee impatiently.
“Pull him back. Gimme a better angle.”
Cursing under his breath, Rodimus dug his hands beneath Drift’s back, wincing every time he caught against a dent or split. Drift hissed, then cried out as he was scooped up and into Rodimus’s lap.
“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” Rodimus clenched his teeth as he tried to angle Drift’s injured leg away from the floor.
Drifts helm lay against his shoulder, hidden from Lockdown’s leering gaze. He ventilated air slowly, staring at the wall.
“Rodimus,” he whispered, “this is my fault.”
Rodimus wrapped his arms tighter around Drift’s waist, trying to get a steadier hold on him.
“Don’t even start,” he said.
“He was coming for me anyways-”
“Shut up! Shut up. It’s not.”
Rodimus pressed his face against the side of Drift’s helm, lips against his neck. Drift could feel his breath tickle against tender cables and shook harder.
“Enough with the loving whispers!” Lockdown beat the blaster against the side of his chair, sound ringing loud in the cold air. “I wanna see some action! If you gotta do the pregame stuff, at least mack on each other.”
They pulled apart, Drift grunting softly as some of the drying energon on his chest stuck to Rodimus.
“Wouldn’t a’ guessed a bot like you got wet from talking.”
Perhaps it was to cover Drift’s visible shame, or perhaps he was just tired of the provocation; Rodimus, without further prompting, grabbed the back of Drift’s helm and pulled him into the most violently passionate kiss. Pushing back as best he could, Drift lost himself in it easily. His mouth hung open, obscenely, as Rodimus managed to all but devour him despite his crumpled jaw.
“Yeah, yeah,” Lockdown was muttering, but neither of them heard him. Rodimus had broken away from their first entanglement only to begin again, and again, kissing Drift in quick, deep bursts. Drift squirmed against him, desperate to be closer, even in this farce of an embrace. He spread his legs wider, pushing his crotch tentatively against his captain’s.
Only to pull back with sudden embarrassment, remembering too late that he no longer had protective covering. Rodimus seemed to have forgotten as well, because he looked dumbly down at the wet smear on his own panel the second they separated.
“That’s the stuff!” Lockdown had his good hand on his crotch again, “but I’m not getting any younger here. Get to the in-and-out.” Drift sneered at him. Rodimus extended his spike and kissed Drift’s neck.
They were so close, with Rodimus holding them together, that his spike rubbed intimately against the front of Drift’s valve as it rose. The feeling made them stiff and awkward again, uncomfortably pleasurable. He was fully pressurized, and they both felt the weight of what it meant. Rodimus kissed him again, more chastely than before, shifting.
Lockdown was tapping the gun in a neat pattern, like the ticking of a clock. Bracing his hands lower on Drift’s bottom, Rodimus lifted him up, positioning him over his spike. His hands were shaking, and despite his best efforts he slipped up, fingers greased with energon. Drift dropped onto his spike and screamed.
“Scrap! I’m sorry, I’m-ah…” Rodimus buried his face in Drift’s neck.
“It hurts,” gasped Drift.
“I know,” said Rodimus. He wanted to hold the moment, adjust to the sweltering heat that still lingered inside, but Drift was pushing himself against the floor, trying to pull him out.
“Ah! Ahhhahhh!” Drift’s ventilations were hitching as he struggled.
“Jus-ah, huh, stay still!” Rodimus was doing his best to keep them both steady, but was quickly losing control of the situation. To the sound of Lockdowns laughter, they crashed back onto the floor, Rodimus again having to brace himself as he nearly smashed his face into Drift’s.
Drift threw his head back and wailed. Rodimus pulled back instinctively, then froze, opening his mouth in a low moan as he shifted in Drift’s valve.
“C’mon!” Lockdown was saying in the background, stroking himself already, and something inside Rodimus broke.
He pushed back inside, hard and fast. Drift rocked loosely, and Rodimus reached up just in time to cup the back of his head, holding it away from the floor. His other hand wrapped tight on that svelte waist, and he began thrusting in a quick, smooth rhythm.
Drift was burning inside. He raised his thighs as best he could, trying to accommodate. Rodimus was panting harshly against his neck, holding him so carefully, and Drift felt it should mean something more than it did at the moment but the pain was so intense it was all he could do to stay sane, staring wide eyed at the colors exploding inside his optical feed.
Rodimus moved them both, feeling lightheaded. It was surreal, watching Drift bounce beneath him, heat around his spike close to painful. Lockdown was making noise from somewhere behind him and he realized that at the moment he couldn’t find it in himself to care.
Neither of them had any semblance of a concept of time when Rodimus finally came. Drift bucked, eyes wide open as he screamed. Rodimus slammed his lips down on Drift’s one last time, hips shaking with the effort of restraint as he obeyed Lockdown’s command of “keep it inside him!” and there they remained, pushing closer and closer in one last ditch attempt to force the real world away.
Even the alarm going off wasn’t enough to part them.
“There’s a ship knockin’ at our backdoor!” the guard burst into the room, a wild look about him.
“Well then take care of it!” Lockdown snapped from his seat, transfluid still cooling on his fingers.
“It’s big, mate, ex-Wreckers on board, and they’re hailin’ us. Angrily. Real angrily.”
“How big?” Lockdown was already walking out the door.
A swish of pressurized air, they were alone. Rodimus stared into Drift’s cracked optics, thumb rubbing unconscious circles on the back of his helm.
“Rodimus,” croaked Drift, surging inside, “I need to tell you something.”
“I know.” Rodimus pulled up, out, and away from him. The sound of laser fire slowly penetrated the walls around them. Someone was yelling orders down one of the halls, but the voice was cut off abruptly.
“Rodimus,” said Drift, unable to follow, “Rodimus-“
“I know.”
Rodimus turned, tucking himself away with shaking hands.
Drift lay his head back on the floor and let his optic shutter, every turn of his spark ringing with the truth that Rodimus did not, and never would, know.
- 1
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