Authors note: Movie verse with a large dose of Shattered Glass added into it.
I throughly blame this on the Shattered Glass version of Jazz, who then morphed into movie!Jazz who is evil. And the Prowl in my head. And RP. Lots of Role play. I don't know if I'll write more of this though.
Mostly Jazz/Barricade. Mentions of Prowl/Jazz and hinted Prowl/Jazz/Barricade. Bee/Cade If you choce to see it like that.
Also posted over on LJ.
Beta'd by: bleedingink13 over on Live Journal.
"Will ya give in alr'dy, Decepticon?" Jazz looked at his fallen foe impassively, the mech was already mangled up somewhat, but still fighting. He liked it, but it was getting tiresome, and he'd already decided he wanted to bring the 'Con back for some... Fun. With him and Prowler of course.
"Never."
"Wrong choice, babe." The world Babe was sneered, and the vicious Autobot lashed out at the target. The Cons optics.
Barricade knew the moment that the Autobot tore his optics out that he was done for. He was helpless without his beloved sight. And it wasn't just the disabling of the HUD. No, they'd been torn brutally out, and wires and energon sparked and dripped. He shook his head, the mental shock sending him reeling, alone with pain. It was almost as bad as having his doorwings pulled or shot.
Almost, but not exactly. The area would numb quickly as he shut off the flow of liquids there, and focused on what he had left. His hearing, the feel of the ground moving, But it wasn't enough, and he found himself face first on the ground. He yelped, and soon it turned into a scream as the sadist saboteur jerked on his doorwings, almost ripping on off. He felt the tridactcal claws digging in deeper, and he really, really couldn't help what burst from his voice box.
"NO! STOP IT!" For all his vaunted brutality on the battlefield there were some things that Barricade could just not take, and the pain of his doorwing joints being slowly, painfully torn out was so NOT on his list of things to experience. Ever.
"Awww..is tha 'Con beggin'?" Jazz mocked, digging his claws in more. Barricade screamed, and writhed under him, and Jazz laughed. "Scream for me, 'Cade. Lemme hear ya beggings."
"Please!" He caved in quickly. He'd lie if he had to, pretend to do whatever Jazz wanted, just to get him off his doorwings. He knew that he was good at his lying - he'd used it to get out of tight spots in past where fighting was not a good idea. All Decepticons had basic training in deception though. It was why the Autobots had yet to fully conquer them. And why they where called Decepticons, or at least, one of the reasons. "Please...! Stop this!"
"Hmm... I don' kno'. I might... if'n ya surrender ta us, Decepticon, like ya kind tend ta do. Might even save ya from tha smelting pools." He laughed wickedly.
Barricade trembled under the Autobot, and silently curled his mind into a ball. He had no choice, not really. He could fight, and really be broken, or he could give in, and retain his sanity. He chose to give in, and his frame went slack. His mind was hiding behind a false shell program though. "Alright...I surrender."
Jazz only smirked from his position, and radioed in the base to let them know that he and Prowl were coming back in, with a prisoner as well. "Ya made the right choice, 'Cade-baby. Yer mine now. Mine and Prowls."
Footsteps approached, and Prowls voice could be heard. "Wonder how long this one will last, bonded."
Barricade barely got a shiver in before his helm was slamed against the ground, and he was offlined and thrown into stasis lock.
Jazz looked up at the Datsun, and gave a cold smile. "Your plan was perfect, as always, bonded. And I give this one... three vorns at best." the silver autobot shruged, and smirked.
"I give it less. Though, if it breaks, we can always give it to Bee. He'd did say that he wanted him for revenge on the aft kicking when he was trying to get that human boy."
"Mmm.. We'll See, Prowler. The Con mighta picked the easy choice, but the funs just beginning."
Reviews are welcome, as are crits, but flames are not and will be laughed at before being feed to my muses.