![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
raisedbymoogles.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
kinkfestTitle: Reap the Whirlwind
Author/Artist:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
raisedbymoogles
Rating: NC-17, sex and violence and sex
Word Count: 1724
Summary: "Let me guess. 'Join me and together we could rule the universe,' right?" "Hmm, perhaps. Is it working?" "...I'm not tempted." ".....Forget it then, let's just snog."
Prompt: Transformers (G1), Megatron/Prime: aphrodisiacs as an interrogation device - "Maybe this will get you to talk..."
Author's Note: This was actually due on this date last round. Mea maxima culpa.
This wasn't the first time he'd been interrogated. He thought he'd known what to expect.
Optimus Prime watched with a detached calmness as Megatron thundered and threatened and drove the Constructicons out of their own workshop. The gestalt team scattered in all directions, too smart to challenge their leader but too dedicated, even in panic, not to grab blueprints and tools as they fled. Only Mixmaster lingered at one of the exits, and to Optimus's idle interest, Megatron conferred with him a moment, their voices too low to decipher, before the tyrant kicked him out as well.
Megatron stood still for a moment at the doorway, back to his captive, then triggered the door shut and turned. His fists were clenched, and his optics shone with malicious anticipation; yet in spite of the force cuffs holding him securely to Hook's workbench, Optimus felt no fear. I'm on to you, Megatron, he thought. You can do nothing to undo me. The only power you have is pain.
As if privy to his thoughts, Megatron's smirk widened. "Optimus Prime," he pronounced slowly, savoring his enemy's name. "You are at my mercy at last."
"Temporarily," Optimus answered.
"You speak of rescue. Put it out of your processor." Megatron's walk was more of a pace, that of a restless animal, as he approached. "My stronghold resists your Autobots' pathetic attempts at infiltration."
This room alone has eight entrances, Optimus wanted to point out, just to see the look on his opposite's face to be lectured on defensibility. "Nevertheless," he said instead, and dimmed his optics as if unconcernedly putting himself in recharge.
Megatron snarled. "Will you speak to me in more than one-word sentences, Prime!"
"No."
Optimus indulged himself in a moment's smugness as Megatron's growl rose and then fell to dark and subsonic depths. "Op-ti-mus - - - PRIME," the Slagmaker thundered, then began to laugh. The sound held nothing of mirth in it, nor anything good: only murder, destructive greed, and the sick parody of triumph that comes from dragging others down rather than raising oneself up. Despite himself, Optimus powered his optics and saw Megatron's fist upraised over him, something within it glinting glassily. He braced himself.
The impact was nothing - no more than any other blow Megatron had dealt him. The tinkle of glass was something else again, as was the ominous spreading cold over his chest. Optimus lifted his head as much as he was able and saw the scattered shards of a glass vial over his windshield, leaking a clear, prickly-cold liquid into the central seam. "I know you, old friend," Megatron purred, tracing a crude Decepticon sigil into the chemical pool. "Pain alone will never be enough to break you. Other weapons must be used."
The tracery of Megatron's fingertip burned Optimus's sensor net, in contrast to the chill liquid infiltrating his circuits. An acid, he thought, or else - some mind-befuddling mixture, to make me more tractable. No, calm! he ordered his trembling limbs. Resist. I must resist.
He clung to his lucidity against the drug-induced haze he expected to envelop him. He focused on details - the distant ache of his body, from being held in one position too long; the brightness and clutter of the Constructicons' workshop, too like his own Wheeljack's. Megatron's predatory smirk, just above him. Just out of reach. Taunting.
Suddenly the ache wasn't so distant anymore.
"What - have you - done," Optimus groaned, fighting his bonds uselessly. His sensors lit in cascades from his chest outwards, hot-cold-pain, far from the numbness he'd expected. Yes, he was lucid - too lucid, information flooding his processor at a rate that was certain to break it entirely. His engine raced and abruptly revved within him, and Optimus arched.
Megatron laughed again, head thrown back. "One of Mixmaster's recreational concoctions," he explained, in generous good humor now that he had the Prime exactly where he wanted him. "Do you like it, Prime? I could give you more."
Optimus heard himself curse like a dockworker, and the part of him still himself was horrified. Even Megatron himself actually jerked back. "Prime! I didn't know you had it in you!" he declared, mock-aghast. He traced his black fingers over Optimus's chest again, in no particular pattern this time, and continued, "I'm so proud. I wonder what else I'd find, if I pushed you one more micron."
For a moment, Optimus's fevered mind didn't understand the faraway click. Then Megatron lifted up his leg, freed from the shackle, and started to trace over the metal looking for sensors to exploit. Optimus growled, in tune with his roaring engine, and kicked Megatron halfway across the room. Before his enemy had quite recovered Optimus had used his newfound leverage to break himself free.
He could have escaped. There were eight exits, eight doors he could have broken down in his near-berserker fury, and Megatron couldn't have stopped him. Instead Optimus Prime advanced on Megatron, no desire in his spark but combat.
He lunged. Megatron met him, checked his powerful charge with such force that both nearly stumbled to their knees. Optimus swiftly changed his grip and heaved Megatron up and over, into a worktable that shrieked in protest. Megatron snarled and kicked off his thrusters to counterattack, driving Optimus back against the very table he'd been shackled to. "Surrender," Megatron snarled, his expression somewhere between grin and grimace.
"Never!" Optimus flung the word in his face. The punch that followed did more damage, though, and as Megatron reeled back Optimus pressed his advantage and tackled the Slagmaker with a roar. Though Megatron had handed Optimus his share of defeats, in single combat Optimus was the stronger and they both knew it. The Prime slammed his enemy to the ground, pinning him there with his own weight. Megatron fought against his unyielding hands as their engines roared in tandem. In desperation, Megatron turned and bit Optimus's arm hard enough to break the casing. Sparks showered from the wound, searing the Slagmaker's mouth.
The pain, minor though it was, snapped through what was left of Optimus's self-control. His battle mask retracted with a snap, and Megatron caught a glimpse of a handsome face made fearsome by anger before their mouths clashed together. Hands clawed at plating, engines growled - then, inexplicably, Megatron yielded under the kiss, and that was the thing that cut through the near-madness.
Optimus broke away and scrambled back, optics pale with horror. "Primus, what have I done," he whispered.
Megatron sat back on one elbow, laughing. "Magnificent," he purred, rolling to his knees and crawling - actually crawling, slinking along on his hands and knees toward his rival. "Ah, Optimus, if only you could see yourself! It's such a pity the Autobots got to you first. You would have made an awe-inspiring Decepticon."
He was near enough to touch now. Optimus watched, frozen - not trusting himself to move, even to defend what was left of his honor - as Megatron traced his fingers down the inside of his leg. "Ah, yes," Megatron purred. "Pure, unstoppable power. A force that could reshape the very galaxy. A leader that could make even me follow."
Despite himself, Optimus jerked away. "I doubt that highly."
Megatron smirked, and the violence promised in that expression was oddly reassuring. "My words, Prime? Or is it yourself that you doubt?"
As Megatron leaned in, Optimus thought desperately about rescue; then his enemy laid a hand on his chest, where the drug's effect was strongest, and without thinking Optimus gripped his arms and wrenched him down to the floor. I can't return to the Autobots like this, he realized in the still-intact core of himself, as beneath him Megatron roared in fury. If I hurt one of them, while I was like this... it's unthinkable.
Megatron swung an arm to strike at him; Optimus caught it easily. "Sow the wind, reap the whirlwind, Megatron," he heard himself say. "Let's see if you're right about me."
They didn't kiss again. Kisses implied affection. But there were bites; there were blows; Optimus let himself be goaded by the bright burn of the drug and Megatron encouraged him shamelessly. Pain, lust and fighter's rage became indistinguishable, so much so that when Megatron found Optimus's port cover and ripped it open, Optimus took it as simply another step in the dance. His retaliation was to yank Megatron's plug out of his hand, nearly pulling it free of its mooring, and he risked a moment of vulnerability to plug it into himself.
Fortunately for him, the act of being plugged in by somebody else was a moment of vulnerability for Megatron, too; so they escaped further injury for the moment.
***
Hook slid the door aside manually just a fraction, so he could peek inside without risking injury. "Megatron?"
It was quiet in their workroom: ominously so, after all the racket those two had been making. Either one of them had deactivated the other, or they were both too worn out to answer. Hook dared to open the door another notch. "Megatron? The Autobots are here. ...I think they want their leader back."
A broad-shouldered figure sat up, half-hidden by a worktable. Hook stiffened as Optimus Prime adjusted his battle mask and hauled himself laboriously to his feet. The Autobot was covered in rents and scrapes, sparks showering from his arm and shoulder in a silent, glowing rain. His optics were dim to almost black with weariness.
"Thank you, Hook," he rumbled. "Sorry about the mess."
"Uh... sure," Hook said, and stood aside to let the Prime pass. Optimus didn't walk away so much as stumble, using the wall for support; yet he was on his feet and in control of his faculties, which was impressive.
Only when the Autobot leader turned a corner and was lost to sight did Hook enter the workroom. The place was a mess: walls dented, worktables pushed into a random configuration, and in a clear space one Decepticon tyrant lay sprawled, every bit as banged up as the Prime but with a crooked smirk on his face.
Hook knelt by his side, already assessing the damage and the costs of fixing it. "Leader?"
Megatron's optics lit. "Hook," he rasped. "Tell Mixmaster I want more of that drug."
Hook managed not to sigh. "As you wish."
Author/Artist:
raisedbymooglesRating: NC-17, sex and violence and sex
Word Count: 1724
Summary: "Let me guess. 'Join me and together we could rule the universe,' right?" "Hmm, perhaps. Is it working?" "...I'm not tempted." ".....Forget it then, let's just snog."
Prompt: Transformers (G1), Megatron/Prime: aphrodisiacs as an interrogation device - "Maybe this will get you to talk..."
Author's Note: This was actually due on this date last round. Mea maxima culpa.
This wasn't the first time he'd been interrogated. He thought he'd known what to expect.
Optimus Prime watched with a detached calmness as Megatron thundered and threatened and drove the Constructicons out of their own workshop. The gestalt team scattered in all directions, too smart to challenge their leader but too dedicated, even in panic, not to grab blueprints and tools as they fled. Only Mixmaster lingered at one of the exits, and to Optimus's idle interest, Megatron conferred with him a moment, their voices too low to decipher, before the tyrant kicked him out as well.
Megatron stood still for a moment at the doorway, back to his captive, then triggered the door shut and turned. His fists were clenched, and his optics shone with malicious anticipation; yet in spite of the force cuffs holding him securely to Hook's workbench, Optimus felt no fear. I'm on to you, Megatron, he thought. You can do nothing to undo me. The only power you have is pain.
As if privy to his thoughts, Megatron's smirk widened. "Optimus Prime," he pronounced slowly, savoring his enemy's name. "You are at my mercy at last."
"Temporarily," Optimus answered.
"You speak of rescue. Put it out of your processor." Megatron's walk was more of a pace, that of a restless animal, as he approached. "My stronghold resists your Autobots' pathetic attempts at infiltration."
This room alone has eight entrances, Optimus wanted to point out, just to see the look on his opposite's face to be lectured on defensibility. "Nevertheless," he said instead, and dimmed his optics as if unconcernedly putting himself in recharge.
Megatron snarled. "Will you speak to me in more than one-word sentences, Prime!"
"No."
Optimus indulged himself in a moment's smugness as Megatron's growl rose and then fell to dark and subsonic depths. "Op-ti-mus - - - PRIME," the Slagmaker thundered, then began to laugh. The sound held nothing of mirth in it, nor anything good: only murder, destructive greed, and the sick parody of triumph that comes from dragging others down rather than raising oneself up. Despite himself, Optimus powered his optics and saw Megatron's fist upraised over him, something within it glinting glassily. He braced himself.
The impact was nothing - no more than any other blow Megatron had dealt him. The tinkle of glass was something else again, as was the ominous spreading cold over his chest. Optimus lifted his head as much as he was able and saw the scattered shards of a glass vial over his windshield, leaking a clear, prickly-cold liquid into the central seam. "I know you, old friend," Megatron purred, tracing a crude Decepticon sigil into the chemical pool. "Pain alone will never be enough to break you. Other weapons must be used."
The tracery of Megatron's fingertip burned Optimus's sensor net, in contrast to the chill liquid infiltrating his circuits. An acid, he thought, or else - some mind-befuddling mixture, to make me more tractable. No, calm! he ordered his trembling limbs. Resist. I must resist.
He clung to his lucidity against the drug-induced haze he expected to envelop him. He focused on details - the distant ache of his body, from being held in one position too long; the brightness and clutter of the Constructicons' workshop, too like his own Wheeljack's. Megatron's predatory smirk, just above him. Just out of reach. Taunting.
Suddenly the ache wasn't so distant anymore.
"What - have you - done," Optimus groaned, fighting his bonds uselessly. His sensors lit in cascades from his chest outwards, hot-cold-pain, far from the numbness he'd expected. Yes, he was lucid - too lucid, information flooding his processor at a rate that was certain to break it entirely. His engine raced and abruptly revved within him, and Optimus arched.
Megatron laughed again, head thrown back. "One of Mixmaster's recreational concoctions," he explained, in generous good humor now that he had the Prime exactly where he wanted him. "Do you like it, Prime? I could give you more."
Optimus heard himself curse like a dockworker, and the part of him still himself was horrified. Even Megatron himself actually jerked back. "Prime! I didn't know you had it in you!" he declared, mock-aghast. He traced his black fingers over Optimus's chest again, in no particular pattern this time, and continued, "I'm so proud. I wonder what else I'd find, if I pushed you one more micron."
For a moment, Optimus's fevered mind didn't understand the faraway click. Then Megatron lifted up his leg, freed from the shackle, and started to trace over the metal looking for sensors to exploit. Optimus growled, in tune with his roaring engine, and kicked Megatron halfway across the room. Before his enemy had quite recovered Optimus had used his newfound leverage to break himself free.
He could have escaped. There were eight exits, eight doors he could have broken down in his near-berserker fury, and Megatron couldn't have stopped him. Instead Optimus Prime advanced on Megatron, no desire in his spark but combat.
He lunged. Megatron met him, checked his powerful charge with such force that both nearly stumbled to their knees. Optimus swiftly changed his grip and heaved Megatron up and over, into a worktable that shrieked in protest. Megatron snarled and kicked off his thrusters to counterattack, driving Optimus back against the very table he'd been shackled to. "Surrender," Megatron snarled, his expression somewhere between grin and grimace.
"Never!" Optimus flung the word in his face. The punch that followed did more damage, though, and as Megatron reeled back Optimus pressed his advantage and tackled the Slagmaker with a roar. Though Megatron had handed Optimus his share of defeats, in single combat Optimus was the stronger and they both knew it. The Prime slammed his enemy to the ground, pinning him there with his own weight. Megatron fought against his unyielding hands as their engines roared in tandem. In desperation, Megatron turned and bit Optimus's arm hard enough to break the casing. Sparks showered from the wound, searing the Slagmaker's mouth.
The pain, minor though it was, snapped through what was left of Optimus's self-control. His battle mask retracted with a snap, and Megatron caught a glimpse of a handsome face made fearsome by anger before their mouths clashed together. Hands clawed at plating, engines growled - then, inexplicably, Megatron yielded under the kiss, and that was the thing that cut through the near-madness.
Optimus broke away and scrambled back, optics pale with horror. "Primus, what have I done," he whispered.
Megatron sat back on one elbow, laughing. "Magnificent," he purred, rolling to his knees and crawling - actually crawling, slinking along on his hands and knees toward his rival. "Ah, Optimus, if only you could see yourself! It's such a pity the Autobots got to you first. You would have made an awe-inspiring Decepticon."
He was near enough to touch now. Optimus watched, frozen - not trusting himself to move, even to defend what was left of his honor - as Megatron traced his fingers down the inside of his leg. "Ah, yes," Megatron purred. "Pure, unstoppable power. A force that could reshape the very galaxy. A leader that could make even me follow."
Despite himself, Optimus jerked away. "I doubt that highly."
Megatron smirked, and the violence promised in that expression was oddly reassuring. "My words, Prime? Or is it yourself that you doubt?"
As Megatron leaned in, Optimus thought desperately about rescue; then his enemy laid a hand on his chest, where the drug's effect was strongest, and without thinking Optimus gripped his arms and wrenched him down to the floor. I can't return to the Autobots like this, he realized in the still-intact core of himself, as beneath him Megatron roared in fury. If I hurt one of them, while I was like this... it's unthinkable.
Megatron swung an arm to strike at him; Optimus caught it easily. "Sow the wind, reap the whirlwind, Megatron," he heard himself say. "Let's see if you're right about me."
They didn't kiss again. Kisses implied affection. But there were bites; there were blows; Optimus let himself be goaded by the bright burn of the drug and Megatron encouraged him shamelessly. Pain, lust and fighter's rage became indistinguishable, so much so that when Megatron found Optimus's port cover and ripped it open, Optimus took it as simply another step in the dance. His retaliation was to yank Megatron's plug out of his hand, nearly pulling it free of its mooring, and he risked a moment of vulnerability to plug it into himself.
Fortunately for him, the act of being plugged in by somebody else was a moment of vulnerability for Megatron, too; so they escaped further injury for the moment.
***
Hook slid the door aside manually just a fraction, so he could peek inside without risking injury. "Megatron?"
It was quiet in their workroom: ominously so, after all the racket those two had been making. Either one of them had deactivated the other, or they were both too worn out to answer. Hook dared to open the door another notch. "Megatron? The Autobots are here. ...I think they want their leader back."
A broad-shouldered figure sat up, half-hidden by a worktable. Hook stiffened as Optimus Prime adjusted his battle mask and hauled himself laboriously to his feet. The Autobot was covered in rents and scrapes, sparks showering from his arm and shoulder in a silent, glowing rain. His optics were dim to almost black with weariness.
"Thank you, Hook," he rumbled. "Sorry about the mess."
"Uh... sure," Hook said, and stood aside to let the Prime pass. Optimus didn't walk away so much as stumble, using the wall for support; yet he was on his feet and in control of his faculties, which was impressive.
Only when the Autobot leader turned a corner and was lost to sight did Hook enter the workroom. The place was a mess: walls dented, worktables pushed into a random configuration, and in a clear space one Decepticon tyrant lay sprawled, every bit as banged up as the Prime but with a crooked smirk on his face.
Hook knelt by his side, already assessing the damage and the costs of fixing it. "Leader?"
Megatron's optics lit. "Hook," he rasped. "Tell Mixmaster I want more of that drug."
Hook managed not to sigh. "As you wish."
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2009-11-21 09:56 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-11-21 11:18 pm (UTC)Go Megs, though!
no subject
Date: 2009-11-22 06:20 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-11-28 07:52 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-03-06 06:32 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-03-06 02:11 pm (UTC)