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Title: Tyrant	By : Chaosdreamer Category: Transformers > G1 > AU/AR Views: 2402 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Transformers and all recognizable characters are owned by Hasbro. I am making no profit writing these stories.

Chapter List
- 4
- 5
- 6
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CHAPTER FIVE
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Optronix's optic screen surface is rolling with waves of staticy silt, vents suffering from the pressure around his throat, and the lack of intake from primary regulatory systems. Not heeding the mech's silent desperate pleas for release, Megatron literally drags Optronix by his throat from the room, barely allowing him time to keep one foot upon the ground.

Guards stationed on the levels either disregard the sight of their leader dragging his ailing companion, or stare after the two mechs in bewilderment. Several lifts are necessary before they arrive on the proper level, and Optronix dimly recognizes where they are before Megatron is punching in the passcode, throwing the mech inside as soon as the doors slide open.

Optronix hits the floor, gulping in deep drafts of air through aching vents. His hand flexes over the strained cables and neck musculature, swallowing several times to lessen the ache.

There is not enough time to regain his wit before a hand grasps the back of his neck, forcing him into a standing position. "Did you really expect that I wouldn't find out sooner or later?" Optronix is pulled backwards to be thrown down to sit in one of the chairs. He leans away as Megatron looms down, arms bracketed upon the headrest on either side of the smaller mech. "How long did you anticipate that you could maintain this little charade?" Megatron snarls.

"I just wanted her safe and unharmed." He offers, in a feeble defense.

"From the image, it appears that there was a bit more want than her safety."

Optronix rocks back at the insinuation. "I already told you, Ariel and I was never intimate—"

A hand grasps his mandible, squeezing and cutting him off—

"I don't want to hear that femme's name!" Megatron trembles with the intensity of his fury. "EVER!" He roars.

The Decepticon's fingers threaten to indent into his facial plates. Optronix remains frozen, terrified that any small movement would tear open the skin. Mech faces contain highly sensitized neural sensors and tiny energon conduits that would make facial wounds extremely painful and cumbersome to deal with.

The door chimes signal a guest. "Enter!" Megatron barks.

Soundwave possessed the code to make Megatron's command possible. Unfazed by the scene of his superior pinning Optronix down within his seat, the telepath moved over towards the pair, hands carefully holding a short pewter staff, the length slim and cylinder while the end was square and flat. "I Have What Is Necessary, Lord Megatron."

"Finally," Megatron's hand releases, slamming into the center of Optronix's chest, keeping him pinned. "No time like the present."

Optronix is wary, dubiously watching both Soundwave and the unfamiliar instrument.

Soundwave waved the instrument over the surface of Optronix's torso, focused and waiting for some signal or indication to move on to the next step...Which, Optronix felt, would not be pleasant.

Waving the metal instrument over Optronix's collarbone struts and shoulders derived results that are more positive. The instrument beeped, causing Soundwave to pause his ministrations. Following the steady trills of the metal instrument, the telepath motioned the staff over the smooth surface plating of Optronix's shoulder fronts. "It Appears That The Designated Areas Are Here." He taps once on Optronix's left shoulder front. "And Here." Repeating the action on Optronix's right.

"Proceed, then." Megatron's hand applies further pressure, causing Optronix to grunt in discomfort, shoved deeper into his seat.

Soundwave slides his thumb up the length of the metal rod, and the instrument emits a steady rising hum...Powering up.

On the square end section, the flat surface's temperature spiked. Curls of steam rose from the heating metal, purple energy highlighting the familiar Decepticon insignia.

Not just any instrument, then − It was a branding iron.

Optronix shot out of his seat — or tried, at best — While Megatron forcefully shoved him back down. He wraps his hands around the mech's wrists, struggling to break loose and retreat away from the scalding branding tool. "No!" Optronix buckles forward, but his labor gets him nowhere still.

"Remain Still." Soundwave cautions. "If You Move Too Much And Ruin The Insignia, We Will Have To Repair The Damage And Start Over."

'Are you out of your fragging mind?' He wants to demand in complete stupefaction, 'Do you honestly think telling me to hold perfectly still, while you're holding a branding iron, is going to instill complete confidence?'

Optronix is quick to realize that resistance is now impossible, and his struggles will only make the situation worse. As hard as it is to do, he rolls his shoulders back, putting every ounce of willpower into waiting in place.

Once Optronix fell still, Soundwave lowered the branding iron, tilting until the correct angle achieved. Holding the position for one moment to make certain that Optronix would not move, Soundwave then drove the hot iron into the right shoulder front.

Red metal hissed, paint popping around the hot metal.

Optronix's bottom lip threatens to bleed energon, metal denta driving deep to mute harrowing screams of pain. Cabled tendons drive up rigid against dermal skin, stress ridging wires and threatening to rip components to shreds.

When the agony upon his right shoulder front ended, it only began on Optronix's left. Soundwave swiftly lifted the brand and reapplied onto the final shoulder front, iron kissing dermal flesh.

It feels like hours, but the torment inevitably ends. Pain receptors forcefully shut down around the immediate vicinity of the cauterized wounds, systems initiating diagnosis and recovery. The scars upon metal dermal layers, however, were unable to mend by such means as his internal systems. Only specialized medics can possibly treat and remove the deep disfigurements.

Soundwave switches the branding iron off, instrument dying with a low sigh resembling contentment from a job well done. "Do You Require Anything Else, Lord Megatron?"

"Not at all." Megatron slides the hand from Optronix's chest, not worrying that the mech would attempt another bid for freedom, currently too busy regulating intake control through his vents. "You may leave now, Soundwave."

"Acknowledged." Soundwave bows, retreating to allow Megatron and his Consort privacy.

Optronix doesn't turn his helm to watch the mech fade away, hearing the door open and close in the distance, chest rising and falling in an erratic tempo, struggling to contain his composure.

Megatron traces the purple insignias, eliciting an automatic flinch, Optronix shrinking away. "You handled yourself well, considering." The Decepticon speaks his approval. "Not one, but two insignias in less than one orn."

"Nn..." Optronix's optics tilt towards him. "N...No better than cattle," He groans.

"If that's how you see it." Megatron does not attempt at apology or correction.

"Does it make you happy?" Optronix asks, voice dulled by the residual stinging pain, staring up at his captor. "The pain and energon that you tear from other mechs?"

"If it is the blood of my enemies and the agonized cries of my opposition, then why shouldn't I derive pleasure in their demise?" Megatron demands, fingers trapping Optronix's chin, holding him firm in place. "The only reason I've spared you, is because your Spark calls to mine, and I have no intention to lose or permanently damage you."

Therefore, Optronix's fate fell within Megatron's hands. As expected. 'But what about Ariel?' He cannot help but wonder.

"And the terrorist?" Optronix remembers not to use the femme's name, as much as his Spark aches for her, hoping the femme would not suffer further harm. But if Megatron had kept true to his word and delivered the femme into the hands of Decepticon soldiers, then there was little guarantee of Ariel returned, entirely unharmed...and statistically, the chances of her returning completely intact... Optronix swiftly erases that thought; dredging up his worst fears would not save her. He could only act. "What will be done with her?"

Megatron's lips curl at the mention of the femme, but Optronix will not face punishment, since he has followed the Decepticon's command not to speak the terrorist's name. "Still trying to extract my sympathy and mercy?" Optics burns into blue, burning for an answer.

"I can't stand back, aware and watching while another mech suffers when I am capable of doing something...anything to ease their discomfort."

"And what are you willing to sacrifice, Optronix?" Megatron insists, teasing Optronix into a proverbial corner, enticing the mech with the slimmest glimmer of hope that the femme might, just might, chance across salvation. The Decepticon holds temptation within his hands, coaxing Optronix closer, like the serpent luring Eve close with the poisoned red apple of knowledge, slivered tongue promising enlightenment and gratification. "What is a mech such as you capable of offering to satisfy my terms of charity?"

Optronix shivers, the Decepticon's voice lowering to cause hums of tension to quake over the mech's flesh. "Whatever you want," He whispers, finally. "No questioning and no resistance."

It proves to be the correct answer. More than anything, optics grew wide, red pits burning like the heart of volcano.

"You will not fight me at every turn." The Decepticon seals the deal, setting the terms. "No pleas, no excuses, and no running away. From this moment until the turning of this orn, you will submit to my every command. Then, and only then, will I ensure that your femme will not suffer under my hands again."

Optronix's voice box failed to produce assent, and instead he executes a shaky nod, consenting to the mech's terms.

Immediately once giving acquiescence, Optronix is pulled from his seat, optics flying wide as he is thrown over the large silver mech's shoulder. Hands slap against the contour of Megatron's lower back, frightened that he would slip to the ground. "Ah!" The complete motion of being grasped, and then tossed over the Decepticon's shoulders too quick to follow, processors akimbo as he tried to make sense of his upside-down perspective.

Megatron carries his charge into the back quarters, making certain that the door locks engaged...In case Optronix's intentions break under the strain and the mech tries to back down from their agreement.

The large recharge berth cushions his weight during Optronix's fall as Megatron drops him atop the moonshine sheets. His helm disappears among the mass of pillows, burying antenna and face.

Blue hands shove the soft masses aside, optics returning to focus on the Decepticon sliding onto the berth, black cannon missing from his forearm and silver tank barrel disappeared from his back. Optronix feels his courage waning, the mech drawing menacingly close, hands smoothing over red calf struts and the lines of blue thighs and pelvic joints. "Um..." He stutters.

"Quiet," Megatron orders, using the grip upon Optronix's pelvic region, he tugs until the mech slips down the berth's bedding, falling prone upon his back. The red and blue mech's optics flared as far wide as they can possibly expand, "The longer you are uncooperative, the more I consider dissolving our bargain."

Optronix welds lip components together, going further to ensure silence by laying a hand over his mouth to stifle any unwilling noise or exclamations.

"Good mech." Megatron approves. Optronix's free hand ripples, fingers burying into moonshine as the Decepticon slides downwards, spreading silver and blue thighs wide to brace against silver shoulders.

Optronix's hand presses harder over his mouth, muffling a soft cry of dismay while Megatron's mouth slides over blue metal, further down his groin, glossa discovering the hidden seam for the plug compartment. "Open it." Megatron enforces.

The mech stiffens, optics flaring bright. Open...Did he even know how?! Optronix's inner chambers were pumping so hard, focus scattered into the wind that he feared that he couldn't access protocol override to allow the compartment to uncover!

Megatron's fingers dig into his pelvic joints. "Optronix..." He warns.

Optronix is quick to nod, hastily diving into his memory banks, seeking the sequence pulse. His vents sigh in relief, Spark releasing the correct oscillation to coax the compartment to open. The metal gates hiss open, snapping into inlaid housing chambers. The plug rose from the depth of the compartment, metallic surface soft and tiny seamless plates struggling to stay partially erect.

The Decepticon grins, lips widening at the sight of the hot flush creeping over Optronix's facial plates. From a critical eye, and judging by Optronix's flooding embarrassment, it is easy to discern that the mech's plug has rarely ever been released from captivity. The mech cannot fathom how to handle the appendage, actually looking petrified of his plug! "You are how many eons past maturation, and you have rarely looked upon, let alone handled your plug?"

"W-Why would I?" Optronix wonders aloud, expanding fingers to allow his voice to discernable. "I am rarely with anyone whom I wish to interface, and I don't have any interest in the company of my hand." The mech flushes at the crude terms coming out from behind his hand.

Shoulders ripple under the red and blue mech's thighs. "Like a stainless mech," Megatron laughs, but his words are not intentionally cruel. "Or rather..." Fingertips brush the sealed latches of Optronix's port. "...Not completely stainless," He purrs, slowly dragging finger edges up and down.

His partner slapped his other hand up, using both appendages to stifle forthcoming curses from the probing caress.

"Hands down, Optronix," The red and blue mech startles, looking down at the Decepticon in disbelief. Megatron's meets his skeptical optics. Heeding the mech's direction, Optronix hesitantly releases his grip, fingers lowering to twist amid slipping pools of moonshine. "Do not move them."

Metal creaks, elbows digging into the berth's surface. Optronix's lips pull back, baring metal denta in surprise as Megatron's head lowers, and wet heat surrounds his plug.

Hips roll, competing to push forward into the warm flesh clamping over him, and yet snapping back onto the berth to retreat from the unsettling pressure. An epileptic tremble captures his fingers, tips coiling into the depths of the moonshine.

Mechanical eyeballs safely behind blue optical glass roll backwards as the heat ascends around his plug...and falls down in descent, stopping midway. The Decepticon's hand encircles the base of the plug, tracing smooth metal and sensitive wiring running up the underside. Ribbed flesh formed thin layers atop those circuits, stiffening when encountering the pressure of Megatron's hand.

Rising upward, the Decepticon does release him, but only to explore the underside of the plug, testing how glossa and fingers call forth unregulated responses.

"NNnn." Optronix rattles, thighs quaking as the dermal layer responds towards the exhalations Megatron purposely makes, examining the plug's further reaction. Fingers massage the pale pelvic joints visible amid the seams of Optronix's hips and thighs, enticing the mech's vents to overheat further.

Megatron is suddenly there, appearing above, their faces pushed close. Optronix cries out, in surprise, then pain, as a black hand closes painfully over the bared plug. "This belongs to me." Megatron's hand tightens, the hold increases, drawing an agonized whine from the mech's vocal processor, cringing at the rough pressure encircling the fragile staff. "If I find out, or remotely suspect, that you are sticking it into any port, whether a femme's or mech's, I will personally tear your staff from its compartment."

Optronix's forehead smacks against Megatron's breastplate, flailing around the pain assailing his frame, but forcing himself to freeze, cowed by the future threat of harm should he ever err beyond the master's decree. "All right! I won't, I promise!" He is barely capable of holding back from trying to wrestle the Decepticon's hand free. "Just please let go of me!" Optronix seeks to gain Megatron's charity.

Once the Decepticon deigns to release his plug, Optronix feels his body swiftly retract it within the unmolested darkness of the compartment. Retreating from the aggression and violence brought down by Megatron's hand.

Optronix wishes that he could curl into a fetal position and protect his vitals, but the hopes disallowed. "You didn't have to do that." He beseeches, voice rippling from the agony, receptors pulsing the pain into his CPU's processors. "You didn't need to use violence to prove the vitality of your threat."

"It is a lesson you won't soon forget."

'Nor will I forget what you are capable of delivering upon your enemies, and towards those attached to you.' Optronix promises never to forget that lesson.

"Ease your worries." Megatron informs, and yet Optronix is not willing to relax, dreading another similar encounter. "You've been through enough for this solar cycle." Hands rise, brushing the dark Decepticon marks upon red shoulder paint. Optronix shivers, surprised by his response although receptors beneath the deep brands shut down and surrounding dermal plates numbed. "There will be no further violence."

Optronix's disbelief remains, anticipating the mech's promise to reverse into another lie.

Sliding downward, returning between Optronix's limbs, Megatron overpasses the plug compartment to reach the latched gates of his port. The smaller mech quivers, dreading whatever the Decepticon is planning.

The mech does not immediately command him to activate the unlocking procedures, providing Optronix a little more time to recollect his CPU, Megatron moves swiftly, aware of the correct operations to locate and release the safety plates atop the port's entrance. The gates disconnect with a sharp snap, clicking backwards into their respective pelvic seams.

Optronix lays his helm back, directing optics towards the metal ceiling. Hands encompass the round surface of his posterior, coaxing hips and torso to tilt back for an easier angle of access.

Glossa wriggling deep into the cavern of his port is not entirely surprising, but cables and wires quirk around the exploring intruder. Circuitry shifts aside to accommodate its length and width, internal systems automatically preparing for interface, while computing that no plug currently explored the mech's electrified depths.

Megatron seeks deeper penetration, hunting the well for the primary cable running the topside of the port ceiling that simulated electrical pulses throughout his partner's form.

His glossa skims the threaded width of the metallic chain running the length of the port's roof. Automatically Optronix's hips buckle, stimulation delivering an electric discharge along the cable, sparks tickling the strong muscle of Megatron's glossa.

"Haaa—" Optronix feels his arms stretch, twisted sporadic by the electric pulses rippling up the spine's metal conduit to create miniature storms of lightning and thunder to assault neural processor broadcasts and CPU.

Systems respond towards the spikes of high voltage, stimulating lubricants from those aroused wires that specialize in the easing of interface operations. Megatron snarls in possessive pleasure, demanding more as the solution teases glossa and lips. Fingers enwrap pelvic joints, rocking Optronix in tempo in order to attain further stimulation of the cable, and cause the escaping lubricants to dampen the port's lips and run down inner thighs.

The increasing activation of recurring electric pulses was steadily catapulting Optronix towards an onrushing overload...but the pain from earlier that had afflicted his plug, by Megatron's cruel hand, and a hidden niche of his CPU waits for more pain to follow, stifling the rising pleasure of overload.

Overload mounts the peak of a tall mountain, threatening to deliver an avalanche upon the mech's helm.

Peripheral sensors indicate that Megatron is dangerously close to tearing pelvic joints from their cradles, hands pulsing and pulling Optronix deeper into his mercy, glossa mimicking the act of interface, coaxing overload to take the leap down the mountain's face.

Two series of electrical discharges provide enough coaxing, literally shoving overload past simply peering over the edge, instead sending the mountain upon its knees, crashing over Optronix and burying him beneath wave of exploding bombs of sinful gratification.

He rockets upwards, only his shoulders remaining on the recharge berth, moonshine pillows blinding optics as his helm thrown back. Biting his lip deep is the only barrier preventing him from etching painful screams of exhilaration as overload buries him, finally stopping its teasing and sending his CPU into a spastic fit.

Primary vents kick into overtime, cooling circuitry and grids within the safety of his rib cage struts. Inhalation and exhalation rattle the mech's chest, throat aching due to the stubborn efforts to extinguish any distinguishable cries.

Glossa retreating into its appropriate chamber, Megatron's large chest pants raggedly around the exertion of vents working to cool overheating gears. The mechs' pelvises create a seam together, Decepticon blanketing the smaller mech, silver, engine-red, and ebony fusing with sapphire and ruby.

Lips mesh, Optronix groans softly past the bitter tang of rich petroleum, Megatron sharing the translucent ambrosia generously delivered from the mech's body. Denta clack together, metal grinding as the Decepticon seeks to devour his partner alive. Optronix's hands skid along the indentations of Megatron's shoulders, breaking the command to remain firmly planted, but Megatron purrs in pleasure at the skimming touch, ignoring the mech's failure to follow his decree.

Megatron pulls back, and lips separate with a pop of broken suction. "Don't get too relaxed." The Decepticon warns, seeing the blue optics dimming partially.

Optronix flinches, startled as they are suddenly rolling to the side, and then he is now on top. His hands brace upon Megatron's shoulders, torso stretching the length of his body. "What—"

Megatron lies back against the mound of moonshine pillows, closed fist supporting his chin, leaning back and observing the mech straddling his lap. "I'll let you do all the work this time," Other hand slipping over Optronix's collarbone strut.

'You can't mean for me to...' Optronix's optics flicker owlishly. "You can't be serious." He says in horror. "You want me to...take your...and lead..." Voice box cannot find the connection between words, the mech toppled by Megatron's instruction.

Crimson optics roll towards the ceiling. "I wonder how that little terrorist is holding up." Megatron wonders aloud. "The poor femme has shared company with the soldiers for nearly a joor. Her voice box should short out soon." He composes the femme's current misfortune under the Decepticons' cold talons as if discussing the lunar cycle of Cybertron's rotating moons.

The red and blue mech's grip clenches, fists vibrating, Spark crumbing at the notion of Ariel's suffering.

"The longer you keep stalling," His partner warns, "the longer she will spend under their tender care."

His helm lowers, bowing to the femme's fate that rested on the role he plays. There can be no other option if he wanted her chances of survival to remain high. "...okay..." He submits finally.

Optronix, thankfully, does not need to worry about embarrassing himself by fumbling over the plug compartment beneath his waist. Megatron's plug readily snaps from the compartment, bobbing eagerly in anticipation, impatient for the prospective joining.

Optronix is unsettled, unsure how to wield the impressive-sized plug — but it was not as if he had many to compare to besides his own — Daunted by how his port had managed to swallow the entirety of the monster.

"It will be easier if you slide forward and properly angle your body."

"I thought you said that you were going to sit back and watch." But he follows the instruction, port hovering over the tip of the metal staff.

"I said nothing about supervising." Megatron corrects.

'Wonderful.' Optronix grunts. Humiliated already, the necessity for the other mech to hold his hand and lead him through interfacing procedures was beyond mortifying. 'Backseat drive,' He mutters privately over the Decepticon's requirement to bark orders outside and on the recharge berth.

Hips shudder at the effort to remain above the plug, Optronix ascertaining whether he was prepared to continue. Clicks pass, and he decides that there is no better time than now. Wanting to get past the very first obstacle.

The tip of the staff breaching his port did not turn out too badly. Vents hissed a sigh of relief, and he tests the angle by rolling hips to determine that no discomfort followed.

He pushes down further, and this times vents hiss low, exerting control as the width slowly increases, pumps revving in response to the pressure coaxing cables and wires to part further around the invading plug.

Rich light within Megatron's optics brightens significantly; hum settling in the depths of the silver chest. Black hands flex, wracked by the painfully deliberate pace the port descending the circumference of his plug.

"M-Megatron..." Port uniting with the base of the Decepticon's plug, managing to successfully labor across the girth of the staff; resulting in the mechs' most intimate manner of connection second to a Spark bond.

Hips and thighs automatically snap upward, deepening a roll to induce greater friction.

"Ahh!" Hands loosen to slip free from Megatron's shoulders, and bury into the haphazard support of numerous moonshine pillows. He lands closer to the Decepticon's helm and foreheads impact. Optronix's hips roll, mirroring his partner's action.

Moving topside was proving much more difficult than anticipated. Still unfamiliar with all there was to interfacing, the position and angle did not make efforts easy. Optronix tries pushing forward and back, but thighs groan at the unfamiliar angle and stress pushing them widely apart. Lubricants ease the plug's passage, but he cannot maintain a regular tempo, chasing the motion and pressure Megatron has so effortlessly used.

His vents rattle harder, in effort to compose internal cogs and instruments, frustration making his concentration shatter. The closer he approaches the teasing fingers of overload, the further it trembles away, breaking the mech's efforts. "I can't..." Optronix whimpers.

Megatron refuses to fold to the mech. "Keep moving."

"I can't keep this up!" Optronix pleads. Heels strike with his posterior, torso coiling, driving the plug deep. He's trying to drive the staff over the surface cable of the port's roof, but fails to find a proper angle to derive electric pulses. The friction drives his CPU mad, mere replacement for that flash, chasing after the induction surges like a drug addict hungering for the next hit.

"Poor thing," Megatron whines in mock sympathy.

"Bastard.." Optronix is ready to weep bitter cleaning fluids.

"Decepticon, my Spark." Megatron counters, "Through and through."

He nips at Optronix's lips, teasing the folds to separate. Willingly, Optronix eagerly dives in, glossa intertwining. The sound he is making sends a curl of disgust within the depths of his compactor, behaving no better than a hired harlot does for a paying customer.

Yet he cannot convince his body to stop.

"Please!" A sharp rip signals that he has ripped at least one pillow. Fingers dig in, tearing the strips wider. "I don't know how to reach it." He manages beyond the tangling of lips and glossa and the battle of denta clashing.

"Well..." Megatron is slow to speak, savoring the mech's frustration, drinking in fervor much sweeter than the purest high-grade. "Since you beg so nicely," He is willing to accede.

Hands settle over blue pelvic points, silent coax for Optronix to slow. Holding the mech's frame, and attention, Megatron rotates his hips, igniting the surface cable, and the oscillation of high voltage.

Optronix crumbles across the length of his partner, the Decepticon accomplishing what he struggled to attain through grit and endeavor. Lips tremble, quaked by release, achieving that illusive temptress.

Megatron rocks him, jolting the cable repeatedly.

Optronix's vents work vigorously, but cannot provide acceptable ventilation, forcing him to rely on sporadic inhaling and exhaling through his mouth components and windpipe network.

Metal shrieks, black paint decorating grooves along the smooth lines of blue hips. Megatron's plug buffeted with intensifying pressure, and electrical re-uptake from their mounting union.

He is uncertain how long he can hold together.

Optronix fares no better. Prior discharge managed to dull the onrush towards the threshold, but only just. He can vaguely sense components struggling back online, reawakened by the increasing electric discharges, but actions sluggish, provide further distraction and preventing the yearning eclipse of fire and lightning. Obstacles hold him from a secondary overload, the strain threatening to sear circuit boards.

Megatron yanks him down, and chests flatten in conjunction. Hands race up, curling over blue, bracing Optronix to meet each thrust. The momentum, plug all but severing its link from the port before diving back, almost topples Optronix from his perch. Knees shift higher to provide more support for the smaller mech's lower body, keeping the restless body firmly in place.

Optronix tangles arms around the circle of the Decepticon's neck, clenched tight to lessen any disconnection between their forms. Metal plates grate, stomach ridges rasping. Beneath pectoral screens and tucked within the safety of galvanized chambers, Sparks beat in cadence, singing to the other, tasting the proximity of its brother.

"Megatron—" Electricity temporarily short-circuits vocal processor, causing sporadic stutters. Fingers wrench for a proper hold, digging into smooth plate seams. "Mm-meg—"

Red flames bleed upon ruby tattoos scorching silver cheek plates, rippling life into the fiery marks. Denta grit, drawing tiny blue sparks amid the seams. Megatron growls low, retracted lips revealing sharp points of upper and lower fangs.

Then, suddenly, the threshold stumbles into Optronix's face, delivering a sharp slap to gather his attention.

Port and plug snap together, forming as one. The electric discharge is so profound that Optronix's blue optic screens shatter spider legs of darkness, flickering once, and fall pitch-black. Buzzing explosions snap across circuitry and gear sheaths, releasing tension. Arms slacken, helm dropping lax beside Megatron's, lying limp over his shoulder.

His partner's massive form shudders, entirety buffeted by the rolling pulses. CPU and circuitry shortly stuttered by the assault, but then there is a sharp mental thrust that quickly induces systems to reboot. Breath escapes between lip components, and Megatron releases a vibrating exhalation of lessening strain, his processors practically rolling about in static-kissed ecstasy. Black palm and fingers encase the back of Optronix's blue helm, compelling the face to turn towards him.

Lips brush in surprisingly soft contact, sharing oscillating breath patterns. Optronix, optics black and blind, peers vaguely in his face's general direction. He does not resist as Megatron deeps the kiss, face shuttered, frame relaxed underneath the intense interface's skillful hands.

It pleases the large mech. The other's quiet repose sates a dark corner of his Spark, quenching a gnawing hunger that threatens to liquefy the mech's insides. Surrender, he decided, was an intoxicating brew that he would never grow tired of.

'Yes,' He decides, 'He held out his bargain. I feel that a little bit of mercy is constituted.' The femme will not suffer his hand again.

A feral grin paints his lips. Optronix's pretty little lover, however, had decided her own fate. He had recently opened the private communication link a while ago, Shockwave indicating the current situation regarding the terrorist, the Decepticon leader listening through the one-sided connection. Once satisfied and signaling his consent, he swiftly shut it down.

The next orn would be interesting, indeed.

TBC
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Title: Tyrant