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Game Demands	By : Hambone Category: Transformers > Transformers: Animated > Slash - M/M Views: 1704 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
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Chapter List
- 1-Game Demands
- 1
Too many fortuitous variables were required for this to have been a coincidence. Logically Blurr should have died; his spark sliced through by a sheet of his own thin plating as it pressed together, or perhaps his laser core rupturing as Shockwave carefully inspected his work. If not the flames of the incinerator, then, surely the long-term lack of energon would have snuffed his life away.
Shockwave watched as Blurr was deposited on the floor in front of him, cuffed, collared, looking up with dim crystal optics as wide and empty as the crater where Iacon had once stood, and was stirred in a way he had not been for sixteen stellar cycles. Reflector watched silently as Shockwave stood from behind his desk and approached. They did not question Shockwave when he had asked them to retrieve the Autobot from the latest shipment inbound from Kaon. Nor were they phased by his actions now, footsteps quiet as the breath of Primus as he slunk from the dark and inspected their catch. They did not question much.
Blurr was muttering to himself, a constant, rushed stream of words that may not have meant anything at all, and he shook.
“You may leave now.”
Shockwave did not look up to see them go, but waited for the hiss of the door closing before moving. He kneeled down before Blurr, massive and dark. There was no light in his laboratory aside from the dim glow of his monitors and the muted shine of his own striping. The steady beam of his optic focused down around Blurr like a spotlight. He shrunk into himself and his voice, though no less quiet, became shrill.
“How could you how could you how could you,” he said.
There was a movement within Shockwave that was so powerful he found himself lurching forward, onto both knees, a hand on the floor and the other around Blurr. To his credit, Blurr did not quite scream, instead breathing a shaking, sharp moan of fear as Shockwave’s claws cupped him gently. They ran up and down his back, one hand more than enough to surround his entire chassis. He brought his thighs up towards his chest, quickly, but only by nature. Just as once before, stellar cycles ago, he knew he was trapped.
Through the grime of the mines it was still apparent that the body was a new one. A spark transplant, though how, Shockwave could not guess. Medicine was to Autobots as engineering was to Decepticons. Judging by the wear on his transformation seams, it had not been used much before the inhibitor clamp had been installed. He had only been found, then, in the last lunar cycles before Lord Megatron’s return.
“I do not believe in acts of providence,” whispered Shockwave. Then he seemed to think better of himself and said “we will discuss this later.”
He drew back into an upright position, pulling Blurr with him, up into his lap. Close like this, he could feel the uneven pulse of the tiny spark through his plating. Blurr shuddered and gasped and felt the walls closing in around him over and over again. Sparks popped and fizzled from the edges of his optics like a cut live wire. The uninformed onlooker would assume that he had sustained more damage than first thought, the way he quivered.
But Shockwave knew Blurr.
---
In the cargo hold of their current transport, Blurr had not recognized anyone. It would have been pitch black, but scores of flickering optics and light piping had unveiled several of the faces nearest to him from the shadow. They were panicky, dirty bots, shifting restlessly even now, solar cycles since their departure from the holding pen. Many of them were speaking to one another, whispering in desperation, as though speaking too loudly would draw the attention of The Planet Eater himself. He watched them unabashedly, but their optics decidedly passed over his.
Most of them, he assumed, had not been to the mines yet. The majority of the group still retained their Autobrands, though uniformly defaced. Some of them were even clean, to an extent, their paint shining back, illuminated by his gaze. Blurr had been part of The Decepticon Foundations Movement long enough to recognize the hope in their expressions and pity them for it.
The medical caravan he had been part of had been picked up three solar cycles after Megatron’s escape from the Trypticon facilities, twenty six since he had flickered back online in Perceptor’s office, one thousand and ninety eight since he had returned to Cybertron after his trip from Earth to report to his Prime for the last time.
He shuttered his optics closed and held them that way, feeling the sway of Astrotrain beneath his pedes and wondering how many cycles it would be until the whispering Autobots around him learned, in their own ways, to appreciate the moments of silence.
The transport slowed to a halt, and the doors slid open. The light pouring in was hot and blinded all of them for a brief moment. Before any of the crowd had time to readjust their sensory nets they were being ushered out and into the open shuttle bay before them. Knowing his place, Blurr fell in line, clicking his servos rhythmically along his thighs to divert his energy flow from his legs and into his wrists in an effort to move as slowly as was required.
“Ah! You there!” One of the guards was calling someone out of the line. Blurr didn’t bother to look. He didn’t want to know, didn’t want to know, didn’t want to know…
“You! Yes, you, baby-blue!” Before his instincts had been buried deep beneath line after line of slave coding, the hand falling heavy on his shoulder would have never landed and he would be half-way across the platform by now, but as it was he allowed it to grip him roughly, turning him away from the line to face its owner.
“TA-30… yes, this is him alright! Rare model, very sleek. Imported from Velocitron itself, if I’m not mistaken! Which, for the record, I am most certainly not.”
Swindle looked oddly nervous, Blurr noted, and turned to follow his line of sight. Amidst the bustle of the crowds around them, Reflector stood alone, the traffic neatly avoiding him as if by design. Viewfinder held a credit transport case at his hip.
Obviously uncomfortable, Swindle laughed.
“I’m sure the big guy will be very happy with him.”
---
Cleanliness was incredibly important.
Even had Blurr not been filthy, it would have been the first thing Shockwave would have done. Blurr had started talking again when the hose had been turned to him, perhaps because it hurt, but this was an unavoidable step in bringing him closer to the perfection Shockwave remembered him as and he would make no allowances. The grease that had built up in his joints, the dents and scratches in his finish: it all had to be attended to with the utmost care. Shockwave would not have entrusted the job to anyone but himself.
Blurr had whined all through the bathing, and muttered through the buffing, but he had cried when Shockwave brought out the paint and that was frustrating. It was not so much that he tried the resist but that it was distracting, though Shockwave could not quite fathom why. The pitch of Blurr’s cries, perhaps, echoing across his plating and making his spark tremble in its housing.
“You will be silent now,” he declared, but Blurr did not seem to recognize the logic as he did and only sobbed harder.
“You knew all along, you knew, you knew.” This meant nothing to Shockwave and he saw no reason to dwell on it. Each stroke of his brush erased a little of the impurity. He pinched Blurr’s wrist between his first and third servos and lifted it up to reach the underside of his shoulder, humming a soothing note.
“You will be ready soon.”
As he spoke the words he knew that they contained nothing but the truth.
---
In the megacycles between his discovery of Blurr’s continued existence and the delivery of Blurr to his laboratory, Shockwave had dreamed. This was not necessarily the word he would assign to his thoughts on the matter, but it was nonetheless what he did.
Blurr was still online. He should not have been, but he was. It was almost unbelievable, statistically improbable.
They had not been close, back in the Fortress. Blurr was an agent considered more seasoned than Longarm, as he had been in the service for several hundred years longer, which led to some interesting conflicts in how he, as the superior by rank, had to deal with the agent under the public watch. At first being dismissive came easily. Shockwave did not have time to waste decoding Blurr’s high speed prattle, saw him as an annoyance at best.
This had changed, and then it became difficult.
Sitting at his desk, typing up reports on his recent project with the cargo Bombshell had shipped in from Yuss, his servos had felt tight, almost to the point of shaking. When he went to inspect them though, he could not find the cause. However, these things did not happen without reason. You simply had to dig deep enough.
Picking up a laser scalpel from his workbench, he began the careful process of removing the top layering of plating above the area where the stiffness had occurred. Energon spurted from the cut, and he wiped it down carefully, using the still hot edge of the scalpel to cauterize the piping he had damaged. With the lightest of touches, he peeled back the heated metal and thought of blue.
---
Shockwave laid Blurr back on the berth with the delicacy of a surgeon, and like a surgeon he scrutinized the wounds laid bare before him. Knowing the futility of the gesture and refusing to care, Blurr drew his legs up to his chest and pressed his faceplates into them.
“Don’t do this, please don’t do this, please, please, please don’t do this, please-” and he couldn’t stop talking. Shockwave took one hand and unfolded him, the other caressing down his breast and midsection. The touch was slow and gentle. Blurr wouldn’t look at him.
“You are beautiful,” stated Shockwave. Blurr ventilated too quickly and one of his fans jammed, causing him to jump and gag in Shockwave’s hold.
“Shh,” he crooned, “be still.” But Blurr would not. He pushed his little hands against Shockwave’s claws and thrashed his head from side to side, optics firmly shuttered. Shockwave traced a servo around Blurr’s svelte waist. How wonderful he was.
The sight of his fresh paint job gleaming in the low light made Shockwave pause and sigh. He nuzzled his helm in close, between Blurr’s skinny neck and shoulder, the sensory core of his antennae feeding him information on the thickness of Blurr’s plating, the resonance of his saphiric-glass, the pulse of his hummingbird spark. Blurr hiccupped weakly, bringing his hands up to Shockwave’s neck and holding them there but not pushing him away.
Inviting him closer, then?
He held Blurr’s head in place and swept his antennae against his cheek, tasting the metal, smelling the polish. Tiny servos flexed against his neck and he could feel the inert energy inside them, making Blurr’s entire chassis tremble.
Deep within his core, Shockwave’s spark contracted painfully.
“Oh, Blurr,” he said, sitting up and pressing the small body tight against his chest plates. Blurr’s legs kicked out, trying to find purchase and clipping Shockwave in the side. He pressed his faceplate down against Blurr’s helm and slid a claw down to cup his backside. His cooling fans hissed to life, frighteningly quiet in the little room.
Blurr began kicking him again, this time in earnest, but of course he was afraid.
Shockwave rubbed his talon against Blurr in some increased discomfort of his own, pushing it down further still until it crooked between his legs, grinding into his interface panel. Blurr was hot with fear alone but it was all the same to Shockwave, who gasped breathily at the mere feeling of it curved against his servo.
“Get off of me get away from me I can’t I can’t I’m so frightened please I hate you leave me alone I’m so frightened I’m frightened I’m scared.” Blurr was shaking again.
“Do not be,” Shockwave crooned, rubbing his head against Blurr affectionately. “Do not be.”
He snagged his claw in the seam and Blurr wailed painfully. Still, Shockwave pulled on it, determined to succeed, and Blurr retracted it quickly as the burn became too much. His secondary panels were thin beneath it and when Shockwave rubbed the back of a servo against his valve cover he didn’t bother to resist.
“Oh,” Shockwave moaned, not daring to touch him yet. Again, he laid Blurr on his back, this time swooping in in close as he spread Blurr’s thighs and looked between them. A product of the new body, his valve was clean and fresh. The coal black of his pelvic center bled to pale blue just between the cleft exterior, his large frontal node soft above it. He was already wet, considerably, but this was most likely a byproduct of his struggles. Shockwave felt himself moisten somewhat in sympathy.
He ran the dull side of a claw down the center of it, feeling acutely each fold. Blurr pushed away from him as best he could. Then the claw dipped inside, just barely, stroking the factory seal a few inches within and Blurr covered his face with his hands, howling in despair.
“Don’t!” Shockwave said sharply, reaching with his unencumbered hand to wrench Blurr’s arms off his face sharply. “You will bear witness to this. To our coupling.”
The servo stroked against his seal so softly, lubricant welling up around the outer edge of Blurr’s valve. His calipers were already reacting, spreading wide with anticipation as the touch gently aroused him.
“I don’t want this please stop I don’t want anything to do with it,” he begged, but Shockwave merely pressed a little harder and Blurr tensed up as a zing of pain shot through his systems. He wasn’t breached, yet, but it was coming and for all his speed and smarts he was trapped now.
“If circumstances were different, I would be kinder,” said Shockwave, and thrust his claw all the way through. Blurr arched off the berth, shocked silent as the servo easily reached his anterior wall, thick as any spike he’d taken before. Then it began to withdraw, another claw seeking to fondle the shielding of his chest, and all the life poured back into him. He grabbed the claw nearest to him, squeezing it, pleading in a high voice. He would do whatever Shockwave wanted but don’t hurt him, Primus, don’t hurt him.
He overloaded and it was terrible, a shock of nervous energy translated into sexual currency in an attempt to escape his body. Shockwave made a quiet, strangled noise and pressed another claw to his valve with fervor, unable to squirm inside fully but still assisting its twin as it pulled him apart. Blurr clutched at the hand stroking his breast, the only thing he could think to ground himself with. He spread his legs wider and wanted to die.
Shockwave was elated. Honestly, truly feeling a joy inside himself he had never before experienced. He had felt before, of course, but damply and without pleasure. Pride came close. Megatron’s heavy hand upon his shoulder and heavy words inside his processor were similar too, but this, this was different.
Blurr panted and arched again, and Shockwave’s spark twisted so tight he thought for a moment it might extinguish itself. Everything, for the past sixteen stellar cycles, had been for this.
He worked Blurr through another overload, this one more intense and less painful than the last, before opening his own interface and releasing from inside his cables. Archaic, slave-grade equipment, there in place of a spike, a reminder of his beginnings as a Decepticon soldier, but no less effective. Withdrawing his claws he allowed them to snake out and over Blurr’s thighs and crotch, each one individually thinner than a minibot’s servo and slick with the prequel to transfluid.
Really fighting now, Blurr started slamming his fists ineffectually into the hand around his waist, watching in a panic as Shockwave’s cords investigated his body. Neither of them could look away, transfixed as they wrapped around Blurr’s thighs and hovered above his valve with interest.
“I have waited far too long for this, little one,” Shockwave moaned, shuddering as he pulled Blurr closer, reaching a hand up to steady one of his swinging legs. The anticipation held up a few kliks more, and then, ever so slowly, the first few cords began to press inside, tiny blunt heads catching sparks against each other.
“No no no no no no no!” cried Blurr, and Shockwave soothed a claw against his cheek lovingly. Though thin, they squirmed inside of him like living things, crawling all the way to the back of his valve and then twining around each other, pressing at the closed iris entrance to his transfluid overflow tank. There were only a few at first, barely the width of Shockwave’s claw, but more pressed alongside them every klik.
Blurr kicked out with the leg not held captive by Shockwave, repeatedly jerking into the mech’s chest plate. It didn’t do much more than scuff the paint but he was frantic now, shrieking as against his will the calipers in his valve flared themselves greedily. Shockwave did not react, as if he couldn’t feel it at all, merely craning his long neck down further to get a closer look at his connection to Blurr. Most of his cables would not fit inside, this time. Blurr would be able to take them all soon enough.
Several of the cords still outside his valve pressed the heads of their pins against his exterior node, shocking it slightly, and Blurr convulsed, howling as another overload hit him, a gush of lubricant sloshing out around the steadily thickening length of cord inside him. Making quiet, strained noises, Shockwave pushed their pelvic plating together tightly, forcing his cables to knot against themselves inside Blurr’s valve, creating a noticeable lump beneath his gut as his plating stretched and strained against the protoform mesh.
All of them, there, inside him, moving and pushing and spreading his calipers until they screamed in protest, and Blurr thought he was going to lose his mind. He couldn’t fight anymore; it was too much, too much. Shockwave was grinding against him, not quite pulling out, nearly bent in half as he tried to move his faceplate closer to Blurr’s. The position was difficult to maintain so he rolled them over, keeping their connection steady as he lay back.
Blurr flopped down on top of him, not able to hold himself up any more than he was able to choke back his cracked, sobbing moans as Shockwave wrapped his claws around Blurr’s thighs and began to move him atop his cords. Many of them still remained wrapped around his legs and waist, rubbing lewdly against his transformation seams. Shockwave barely moved his hips at all, simply sliding Blurr up and down slowly, and the speed would have been agonizing were it not for the cords constant, almost frantic movement inside him.
He wanted to focus on anything else. His hands clenched and unclenched on Shockwave’s chest plate, and he pressed his face into the cold metal. Tuning out the slick, wet noises from behind, he imagined he could almost, almost hear Shockwave’s spark pulsing inside its casing, long, deep noises echoing inside an enormous laser core. It was not able to distract him enough to keep from noticing his thighs spreading wider, his lubricants flooding out around the cords as charge crackled down his spinal strut, but it was somehow soothing.
Shockwave’s claws tightened around his thighs as he drew back more fully and began to actually thrust in and out, panting softly. Blurr could feel each exhale against his back, Shockwave’s vents on his chest and head close enough to waft hot air all around him and making it harder and harder to breathe. Still he listened for the thumping inside that thick armor, even as his hips bounced and he shook so hard it seemed his plating would simply fall apart.
“It’s too much, it’s too much,” he whispered hurriedly into Shockwave’s chest, as if telling his spark directly. “It’s too much.”
Their movements became more rushed. Shockwave’s spark whirled, his optic dim and dark red.
“You are beautiful, so beautiful,” he was saying, quiet and intense. Blurr had never heard Longarm talk that way, didn’t think it was possible for Shockwave to.
When Shockwave overloaded it was long and hard. He took a hand off Blurr’s thigh to cup his back, holding him close and he curled in around him. Blurr screeched hoarsely as it shocked him into first one, then another of his own. Transfluid pumped through the cables inside him and out, painting down his legs and filling his intake tank until it too bulged out between his thin hips, heavy and hot.
They remained together, tightly enwound, for several kliks until Shockwave, finally finished, slumped back onto the berth. His cables, still knotted inside, pulled Blurr down too, and he sat, held limply upright, in Shockwave’s lap, covered in their mess. His hands hung loose before him and he breathed ragged static. He stared into Shockwave’s optic with the weight of four million years behind him.
Shockwave felt him, every part of him, quivering and young. He was so sad now, but it would not last forever. Shockwave would teach him to be happy again.
Just imagining Blurr as he used to be, standing proud in Longarm’s office, bowing his head demurely as he smiled, unafraid, made Shockwave’s spark twist so powerfully that for a brief moment he thought he really would die.
---
In Perceptor’s office, there was a light behind his desk that blinked every one hundred nanokliks, accompanied by a short beep. It was there, he had been told, to alert anyone working in the lab to the fact that the main computer terminal stationed there was processing a large data file and should not be tampered with. Currently, it was downloading and sorting through several large packets of medical data being sent in from every outpost or, though less commonly, a working medevac unit roaming the city. Or at least what was left of it.
Blurr watched the security monitors for Fortress Maximus and felt empty. He had woken up three solar cycles ago, here, in this office. Wheeljack had explained, only somewhat sympathetically, that the med bay was overcrowded and he would need to be seen to here, now that he was largely “out of the fire”.
Blurr supposed this meant now that he was back in a functioning body. His systems were still integrating with the new tech, out of use for so long that many of them were overwhelmed by the sudden influx of data, leaving him nauseous and dizzy.
No one had told him how long he had been out for, but he had found out anyways when they reset his internal clock. He wanted to be angry, but there was no one to be angry at, including himself. No one could have known.
They had told him, however, what the rumbling in the foundations was, and why there was no actual medical personnel overseeing his integration. To be honest, he already had had a very good idea of what it was. Though the noise was muted nearly to silence from inside the armored halls, each rattle made Blurr’s very core ache, as if pummeled by a giant fist.
Now, he was alone again. Perceptor and Wheeljack were out more often than not, either in meetings or working on Spark knows what. That was not something anyone bothered to fill him in on either. The monitors in front of him showed the halls of their complex to be as desolate as the lab around him. As selfish as it may have been, Blurr was glad for it.
Tearing his optics away from the screens, he crossed his arms on the desk in front of him and buried his face between them. The beep came, on cue, from beneath Perceptor’s desk. He latched on to the noise, counting down the nanokliks between each flash. This was something he could focus on without fear. Repetitive, soft, innocuous, like the beating of his feet against the ground as he ran.
He didn’t want to be alone, not really. But there was only one person he wanted to see.
The light flickered.
- 1
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Game Demands