Title: Crystal (Mech In A Rage) [1/2]
Author: diayang
Rating: MA; non-con, mindgames, and copious amounts of profanity.
Pairing: Barricade/OC
Summary: "I'm a man, in a rage,
With a girl I betrayed"
- Crystal, by New Order
Disclaimer: Transformers © Hasbro/Dreamworks.
A/N: This is an expansion of the story behind the most excellent pic previously posted here. Warning for non-con; if it is not your thing, please navigate away from this fic.
Two months, three weeks, and six days.
That was how long she'd been at this particular dead end job, which netted her just enough to keep the little apartment she rented, and the bills at bay. Calleigh's heels clicked on the tile as she made her way down to the elevator, sturdy leather bag slung over one shoulder. The day, quite frankly, had been shit. The boss was an idiot, half her coworkers were idiots, her head was pounding, and as much as she loved her faithful old car and as much as she enjoyed driving, every little light on tonight's little trip promised to be nothing but one big railroad spike through her brain.
Fuckin' hell.
Big boss just didn't pay her enough to deal with this shit.
Hissing with annoyance and pain, she ground the heel of one hand against her temple, hoping to take the edge off the growing headache. The walls of the elevator were blessedly cool when she pressed her forehead to it. It was late enough and she was distracted enough to only barely notice the sleek black lines of the only other car in the parking lot, instead fishing around in her bag for her car keys. Just drive, she thought. Get home safe, shower, dinner, sleep...
The deep, sudden growl of an engine cut into her thoughts, and she froze momentarily. Must be one of the bigwigs, she thought. With their big cars, the throaty growling 'boomers', as she liked to think of them. Calleigh peered across the parking lot, steps hesitant. It was eerie at night, with the buzzing flourescent lights giving the concrete a cold, claustrophobic look. She didn't have a problem with being alone in large spaces, late at night - keyword there being 'alone'.
Forget it, just get home. Better not get tangled up in some funny kind of mess. If there even is a mess.
Idly, she flipped through a mental book of people and cars, wondering just who it was that had that sleek, gorgeous Saleen, with the engine rumbling so deep and low. Funny. She could've sworn she was the last one out, but then again, she couldn't have been the only one pulling overtime this week -
The engine roared, the turbocharger squealed, the tyres screamed as the car laid down rubber and sweet mother of God it was a cop car and that was not right -
... Wait, wait just a sec -
Lights flashing, the sirens wailed once before it came right at her.
Cop car. Bloody hell, frickin' cop car, and it doesn't even belong here!
"Fuck me, this is not happening. Not happening. Shit!"
Calleigh turned and ran. How'd she miss the strident white doors and the big letters spelling out 'POLICE'? How'd she miss the light bars, the ramguard, the shield on the sides? She risked a glance over her shoulder, black hair flying, and spat curses between gritted teeth. The damned car was gaining on her; yeah, yeah, four wheels and maybe like five hundred horsepower against her two short legs, real smooth move.
She was fucked.
---
In this mode he couldn't technically see much of anything - not in the way humans defined it - but he had a line out on the woman, and her vital signs were easy to read; elevated pulse and adrenaline surge, from the shock, as well as the tension along her shoulders, down the line of her back. Knowing this particular human as well as he'd come to, she probably was suffering from yet another headache, too.
Stupid little fleshling.
Well, he'd see about fixing that up.
---
"Quit with the dancing already!" she screamed, flattening against the wall, panting hard. That bloody cop car with the mile-wide grin(could a car even grin?) had been chasing her all around the carpark for the past hour, half-hour, she had no idea, and Calleigh was pissed. She'd lost her bag, nearly broken her heels and her ankles, and had lost her hairtie some time back when she'd whipped around a pillar in an effort to get That Bloody Car to kill itself. But noooo, it had just twisted aside and nearly sheered off metal from the front quarterpanel. And that was all. Bugger.
Now, now, the Saleen was growling at her from beyond a very thin-looking row of metal bars meant to keep careless drivers from smashing into the walls near the elevator block, and she liked to imagine that it sounded just as pissed as she was.
"Bastard," she hissed, sliding down to rest on her haunches. "I need to get the frag home, you freakin' idiot! How d'you think I'm supposed to keep my job if you keep comin' 'round like this?!"
The car's engine snarled at her in response, the low angry note echoing around the space. Calleigh stared, shivering at the sound, alternating between fear and heart-thudding exhilaration at the raw note of power in it. Rumbling low, the Saleen backed off, circled away, light skidding off the black paint like water. As much as she loved the model, Calleigh was finding that she was actually beginning to despise the sight of that one particular police-liveried Saleen. Not hard to, when things like this were happening.
Hissing like an angry cat, she glared out at the car, watching and silently begging for it to go the hell away. The second the taillights vanished around the corner, she whipped around and scrabbled at the doorknob, desperately hoping that Security had been idiots again and missed one door. Happened often enough.
It was locked.
Calleigh pounded on the door, a frustrated keen ripping through gritted teeth. Dammit, why the hell does Security have to be so good at locking up, tonight of all nights?! Doorway, smaller than car, if only she could get into the building she could find her way out and...
"And what, tell security, yeh, sorry to botha ya mate, but I think there's a Saleen cop car up there and it's gotta thing out fer my arse. Yeah. Seriously it's like this tall, here, you want the APB, I'mma sock it to ya - jeez, I'm losing my fuckin' mind," she muttered nastily, wishing fleetingly for her mobile, the taser in her bag, hell, even the keys. Too bad the whole kit and caboodle was somewhere on the floor of the parking lot. Probably crushed by now. Pulling her hair out of her eyes, she pressed her lips together and drove her shoulder into the door, grunting with effort. Hopefully, there was enough time to bust down the door. That eerie silence wouldn't last forever. Calleigh hissed at the door, bruising shoulder and hip on the stubborn, solid door, every other blow punctuated by her low tirade, oblivious to the sleek silver claws that crept around the corner with a spider's slow grace.
"Bloody black car - rocks up under my window, stays half the night - little blippy siren - little flash of lights - headlights - whatever. I'm walking down the street - and fuck if he ain't there, perched at a corner - and I'm like - what the fuck, mate? Tailgates me when I'm driving - swear if my car had a voice she'd be crying like a scared kitten. Follows me around like a fuckin' puppy dog and OH SHIT YOU SON OF A BITCH - "
"Stop squirming, human!" he bellowed in frustration, one hand clamped around the ankle of his prey while said victim kicked and flailed. For such a short, small, and stupid little creature, she'd sure given him the runaround of his life. Idiot boy fleshling not counted, because he'd cheated with that yellow Camaro. His plating stung from all the scrapes, he'd nearly taken off several choice pieces of himself in near-collisions with some of the fraggin' pillars(no thanks to her!) and he ached. All. Over.
Needless to say, Barricade was pissed.
With a low growl, he dragged her out of her little hidey-hole, some place his tacmap helpfully tagged as the 5th level emergency exit, carpark. Her long black hair was a mess, nails chipped from clawing over hard concrete in her asinine bid to escape from him, and when he flipped her with a pithy growl of 'mute it' she hissed back at him like an angry feline, twin spots of colour dancing over pale cheeks.
"Do not make me repeat myself," he snapped, slamming his hands into the concrete just inches shy of her fragile body, vents roaring. "Stop squirming, and mute that vocalizer."
She flinched, curling into herself, breath rasping in her throat. Barricade could sense the spike in her pulse, the fear rolling off her underneath the bravado, and he shivered in turn. Spitfire, he thought to himself. Charming. Makes it all the better when she finally breaks.
The Saleen cupped her cheek in a delicate hold, pushing messy jet-black strands out of the way, watching dark eyes track his movements, watching her chest heave, the swell of her breasts pushing against the fabric. He was revved up, from the chase, from the deep-seated satisfaction of having cornered and caught his quarry. Most of all, what he enjoyed more than anything else was the anticipation of a new toy to play with, and one promising plenty of mileage, at that - or he wasn't a 'Con worth mentioning.
"There's a good girl," Barricade rumbled, laying sharp metal ever-so-lightly over the silky skin at her throat, just over the jugular. "Good girl. How nice to finally meet you, Calleigh Thornton. Or maybe just - Calle," he murmured, pausing over the rise of her breasts. Grinned down at her.
Calleigh froze, eyes wide with shock. "Oh sweet mother of fuck," she moaned, staring up at the jigsaw elegance of the interceptor looming above, twenty-odd feet of jagged black and white metal, accented with blue. "You know my name - you know my name!" This - was - no, couldn't be -
"Get away from me! Don't you fuckin' touch me, you jerkass piece of slagarsed metal!" Calleigh yelled, scrabbling backward, some thin thread of control having snapped. Barricade's engine roared and he jerked her legs out from under her again, ripping the pant legs in the process. The little yelp she made when she hit the ground went right to his spark, twisting deliciously.
"I'll slaggin' well touch you all I want, fleshling,' he snarled, pushing his face close to her, claws shredding the fabric with frightening ease. Underneath the protective panel his cord throbbed, stiff and hot, and he longed to bury it in her, feel the wet, slick muscles clench around him. "Breasts, belly, thighs," paraphrased the interceptor, flicking the back of a claw-tipped finger meaningfully between her legs, chuckling darkly at the furious look she shot him.
"Motherfucking bastard," Calleigh whispered, frozen with horror. "You're going to rape me."
"No, I'm going to fuck you until you cannot stand."
"Shit, that just means you bloody well are going to rape me, now let me go! Let go!" she shrilled, struggling against the metallic cage of his hand. "Let me the fuck loose or I'mma gunna skillet your stupid ass so hard Pluto's going to laugh at you!"
"What, the God of the Underworld?" he mocked, letting her inch away before dragging her back. "That's nothing but a pretty piece of literature, Calle."
"Why don't you let me go, and then I'll show you literature," the woman challenged, teeth bared. "Gunna break a fuckin' tree on you."
"Dare you," Barricade smirked. "Double dog dare you."
"If you let me loose!!" came the furious reply, shaky at the edges with fear and anticipation. And, Barricade noted with some amusement, the thin edge of exhilaration - Pits-begotten little organic spawn was managing to find some amusement in this after all.
"My kind of femme," he growled, closing his hand more securely around the writhing form. "Let's go."
"FUCKIN' HELL NO!"
Grinning at the response, the Saleen loosened his grip enough to maneuver into alt mode, swinging around in a fast circle to scoop her into his interior. "I believe the correct phrase is 'fraggin' Pits yeah'," he chuckled, thrilling to the indignant yelp echoing in the small space as Calle sprawled awkwardly over his seat, unceremoniously locked into place with the seatbelts.
"I'M NOT SPENDING THE ENTIRE TRIP WITH MY ASS IN THE THE AIR - AND YOU OWE ME A NEW PAIR OF PANTS, YOU iJERK/i!"
"Just put it on my tab."
"No! No, I don't wanna put it on any tab! Let go!"
"Ease down," he growled, moving easily through the carpark. Inside him, the woman strained against the webbing of the seatbelts, then aimed a vicious kick at the dashboard that had a squawk ripping from the sirens. Barricade tightened the belts around her, earning himself a sweet little 'eep!'.
"I will ease down when you turn around, let me out, let me grab my stuff, and leave me the frag alone," Calleigh panted out, digging her fingernails into the leather seat, sending a mild shiver through his frame. The car slunk out of the parking lot exit, melting smoothly into traffic. Further and further away, she thought, twisting to peer up at the building. Damn it. Too late. Around her, the Saleen purred, and she hissed again in wordless frustration, raking jagged nail edges against the seat.
"I hate you," Calleigh declared, surveying her ruined pants and the torn shirt, and the scuffs on her black heels. Half the buttons on her shirt were gone, revealing the curve of her breasts and cream lace in seductive flashes. She huffed, kicked at the dash again; he growled in warning, pulling the belts taut against her body, pinning her into the seat.
"Charmed," came the low growl, rolling seductively in the small space, underpinned by excitement. Rolling her eyes, she snarled and stabbed the heel of her shoe into the dash again. Damn him, damn him. She was scratched, bruised, and banged up, her hair was a mess, and her heart wouldn't stop pounding - though her head had.
"You have fun trying," she grumbled, sliding lower into the seat, trying to stop her heart from tripping as she watched the city lights stream by.
---
Once or twice, the lights blurred and ran together into a colourful stream of yellow and red and green, glittering prettily against the backdrop of the inky night sky. At some point, Calleigh's head jerked up, body tensing against the webbing of the seatbelt; she'd dozed off, lulled by the sounds of a fast, powerful vehicle streaking along long stretches of empty road. It was comforting, if she forgot that she'd just summarily been kidnaped by a weirdly sentient car that could move by itself. Pushing upright, she noted that they'd come to some sort of industrial area, a gloomy-looking huddle of steel-gray buildings that appealed to her love of open spaces and the play of manmade structures over the landscape.
Moving through the buildings like a ghost, he eventually slowed, the belts snicking quietly as they disengaged. Calleigh perked, tension vibrating in her limbs - he could tell logic was screaming at her to run like a bat out of hell, but that other part of her would want to stay and look around, preferably with a camera - the woman had a penchant for exploring urban structures, especially decaying ones. Why else had he picked her, watched her habits so closely? Loner, single woman, with a tendency to wander off alone. A woman who melted into the background. In short, she fit the type of his victims - except in her affinity for cars. That manifested in so many different ways, he found, with the majority loving the symbols, really, of what those cars were. Power, wealth, luxury, so on and so forth.
Perhaps she'd be no different, he thought. Perhaps. He pulled into his little space, one of the structures - and unlocked his door.
Cautious as a kitten, Calleigh popped the door, swung it open slowly. She licked her lips, pushed at her hair. Shit, it was so dark. She stared, willing her eyes to adjust to the low light levels.
Barricade revved his engine, rocking sideways on his shocks, urging her out. "Go on. Get."
"I'm running," she wobbled on her heels, tone laced heavily with sarcasm. "I'm fuckin' running, know this."
"I doubt it very much." The door slammed shut, and she whirled, arms wrapped over her chest. Barricade backed up, then broke apart into his root mode. Here, he could straighten, without worrying about cracking his 'wings or the back of his helm against some foolishly low ceiling, or tripping over human detritus. The floor was clear, the ceiling high, and in one corner, a little out of sight, was a small human-sized nest of mattresses and blankets, pillows. That'd be for her, later, to recharge.
Calleigh stared up at him, trembling visibly. She retreated, one step at a time, as he watched her, watched the sway of her hips and the slow movement of her hair, the way she gingerly placed each foot before her weight shifted onto it. He paced her until she flattened against the wall, hugging herself as though she was cold - or terrified - but the spark of interest was there in dark eyes, listening to the hiss and whine, the metallic sounds of a Cybertronian in motion. Barricade reached out, both hands resting easily on the ground beside her as he went down on a knee, looming over the small figure.
"So."
Flinching, she dug ragged fingernails into her upper arms. Hot, cold, chills rushing down her spine, lightheaded from the adrenaline surge, every muscle drawn taut as a wire. The metal wall against her back suddenly had a different quality, making her hyperaware of it, of the rivets in the sheet metal, of how static it seemed compared to the... living metal before her. Silently, Calleigh toed off her shoes, nearly regretting the loss in height, but a little more relieved at having both her feet square on the ground. The gesture read like a declaration of fight, and had Barricade grinning.
"Stop that," she snapped, black hair sweeping around her shoulders like a veil. It was still dark enough outside that moonlight streamed in from the vents above, carving them both out of shadows, tinted with red from the 'Con's optics. "That's just creepy."
"You're just wired," he shot back, rocking his weight back to free up his hands. He snuck clawtips up under the hem of her shirt, pressed them to skin, one thumb laying across her abdomen. Calleigh jerked and cursed, one hand flying down to grab at the tyre curving over the back of his wrist. It struck him how animalian she sounded, how feline - she wavered between hot, harsh words and raw snarling animal vocalizations. "And I haven't heard you scream."
"Can't," she muttered, pulse rabbiting. Pushing at his gigantic hand yielded nothing except the possibility of scraped skin and pinched fingers, something she absolutely was not going to risk - her own soft, small human hands were easily her sole assets and she wanted nothing to happen to them. Slumping for a moment, she bowed her head, then shoved again with both hands, hips wriggling to see if she could pop free. Barricade tightened his grip, and she squeaked, stiffening. "Been that way since I was a kid. Rather make some other sound than an undignified girly scream."
In the dark, he perked visibly, quickening to her words and the implications. So much better than he'd thought. He was going to look forward to making her scream. "Don't move," he purred, popping buttons - Calle's outraged 'Oi!' ripped into the air, and she batted at his hand, making him laugh as he pulled the shirt off her.
"Stop it, what the fuck, stop! Get your fuckin' - claws off - hey, hey, hey!" Her cheeks burned with indignity when he went for her pants, handling her like a doll - carefully unzipping them, tugging them down off her hips, working the fabric down around the curves of her rear. When her underwear followed suit, she threw her head back against the wall, arms covering her breasts and thighs pressed together, fighting back tears. The revving of his engine was low, a heady growl, and the idle thought flicked through that he just possibly, probably, maybe was aroused - maybe -
"Spread your legs," he barked suddenly, clawtips digging into flesh, the threat clear. Calleigh jumped, swallowing nervously, making a damned good effort of glaring at him from under the mess of her hair. He glared right back; long vorns of practice, in his former occupation and then as a mech who wielded intimidation with careless grace, gave him the upper hand. "Do it."
"No."
But her eyes flickered briefly, sliding aside for a brief second - long enough. "Spread. Your legs. If I have to ask twice..." he turned a clawtip into skin, nearly drawing blood. Calleigh hissed, muscles quivering.
"Don't care - I don't care - no, I won't, I won't - "
"Do it."
"No!"
"I will not repeat myself, Calle," he growled, keeping the pressure even while she trembled under him, pushing again at the claws encircling her waist, breath rasping in her throat. Tears stood out in the corners of her eyes, spilled down her cheeks from frustration and fear, emotions that he fed on.
"Make me," she choked out, lips peeled back in snarling challenge. "You want it? You want this? Then fuckin' well make me, because I ain't doing shit for you!"
Barricade sat back, staring down at her, the clawtip at her solar plexus still a threat of disembowelment that she apparently ignored. Time to change tactics, he decided, leaning in closer, almost enough for plating to touch bare skin. Calleigh flinched, pulse fluttering at so much jagged metal so close to her, shivering when hot air venting from the Saleen washed over her.
And he waited.
Calleigh squirmed.
Slow, slow as a glacier, Barricade drew a line down over her abdomen, engine revving at the hitch in Calleigh's breathing patterns, the way muscles fluttered under the pressure and the whimper that leaked from between gritted teeth.
"... Look, we have mating cycles," he murmured, lifting his hand to stroke her cheek lightly. And quite happily lied between his proverbial teeth. "So this isn't just about you. You're a big fan of nature documentaries, you should know this." Barricade pulled her close, a metallic groan drifting between them as skin met metal, and her knees conveniently edged up close to pelvic plating. "And I never said it'd be a rape. You did. You assumed."
Blinking with confusion, Calleigh jerked away from black plating, mind whirling. "Wh - Then - Well, what the hell was I supposed to think?!" she snapped, cheeks flushed. "You up and kidnap me, tear off my clothes, I'm naked and in some abandoned warehouse - Jesus, is that all it was? Sex? Couldn't you just pick me up, y'know, like a normal, normal... guy..." and there the thread cut itself short, as the idiocy of her statement sank in.
"Oh. Oh." Lips twitching, she snorted in amusement, semi-hysterical, seeing twenty-odd feet of robot stoop to her diminutive five-two to delicately offer a bouquet of flowers. She didn't like tham, but that was besides the point - and the image was hilarious. Barricade arched an optic ridge in a show of amused resignation, the low rumble a mocking Cybertronian phrase of 'now she gets it'.
"Right, fine, okay. I think I see your point. You, giant transforming car... robot... thing, flirting with little old me on the street. Yeah. Can't work. Can't work." She huffed, uncurled hesitantly. "Still. No. I... you... you're a robot, right? Giant, transforming, thing - "
"Cybertronian. Decepticon. Designation Barricade."
Calleigh blinked, lost for words, then simply bobbed her head in acknowledgement. Giant alien robot...? "Yeah. So, uh." She peered up at him then, working the 'cute' charm, hands pushing against the claws meaningfully, hoping against hope that the sudden display of consideration from the Saleen - Barricade - meant that there was at least a chance of talking her way out of this. As much as she loved cars, she didn't love them - the fascination lay in the aesthetics and the speed, the romance of being alone on the open road, not with the whole wanting to fuck herself on the gear shift, or whatever.
Just as meaningfully, he shook his massive head, the slow grace reminiscent of a large dog, field flaring in amusement and lust, coiling hot and heavy around them both. Calle couldn't feel it, he knew, and part of him considered that a shame. There was so much more he could do with that. Stroking along her side, skimming lightly over pale skin, marked by fresh scrapes, bruises, and the shadows of older scars. "You're lovely like this," he crooned, stroking over her breasts. He lowered her to the ground, flat on her back, vents blowing hot air over the pale body when she shivered at contact with cool concrete.
"Augh, cold cold cold. Pervert ass. C'mon, I won't run," she wheedled, shifting uneasily, legs drawn up.
"... yeah?" he drawled lazily, flicking a nipple. Calleigh shuddered, swallowed, could barely look at those red eyes, a little thread jerking somewhere in her gut. What the hell? "You made me chase you around for one. Fraggin'. Hour."
"... you're the one that looks like death on wheels! How do you expect me to keep still, ass?!"
"Not taking that risk then." He leant over, clawtip circling her nipple, long fingers massaging the soft flesh with care, then moving lower to count off ribs, silently naming musculature. "Feel good," murmured the Saleen, glossa flicking out to lap at the skin over her abdomen, sharp teeth scraping over the dip of her navel. Calleigh groaned, turned to press her forehead into her arm, eyes squeezed shut. If he'd made it a rape - if this huge chunk of metal had literally forced her - it would have been too easy to give in to the fear, too easy to hate him, but the softness of his touch made it harder. It was like playing with blades, she thought idly. Like playing with fire. Calleigh didn't want to surrender, but damn it, he was pushing all the right buttons. Hot Saleen? Check. Uniform? Check. And whether the fucker knew restraints was one of her kinks - okay, better not think of that or she'd go hysterical. The sound of that engine, growling.
Planting a foot on the puzzle pieces of metal at his chest, she shoved at him with a soft grunt. What was he thinking now? Four red eyes stared down at her from out of a fearsome face, all sharp jags of metal, with narrow, almost hollow - cheeks, she supposed. What would he look like as a man...? He'd said they had mating cycles - seriously? Robots?
"Okay look. Mating cycles," she gasped out, shoving at him again. Delay the inevitable, yeah. Barricade didn't budge - much. His engine purred in a different note, almost questioning. "Tell me about them."
"Showing's easier than telling."
"No, nuh uh, you tell."
In answer, he splayed his hand over her belly, roamed around to tickle between her legs, delighting in the shiver that raced through her, muscles trembling under skin. "Tell you as I go, how about that?"
"That's not what I'm asking for!"
"But it's what you're going to get," the Saleen purred, working a clawtip between her thighs, keeping the touch light and sensual. "Give in," he crooned, slowly releasing his grip to curl an arm around her in an almost-protective cage. "Give in and I'll tell you."
Instinct had her legs shifting, parting just a fraction, while logic demanded she keep them closed. Calleigh groaned, cursing when her hips rose to meet his hand, the gentle circles inscribed into skin. It was turning her on. Goddammit, it was turning her on, the danger and the softness, and it was fucking with her mind. He took advantage of the opening, and pressed a digit up against her, rubbing lightly. She bit into her lower lip, willing the pain to take her mind off how good it was starting to feel.
"You give it up," she growled, hands fisting at her sides, trembling. Goddamn. Brain starting to fog. "Tell me why - you're a machine, you don't - don't need - "
"You'd be right," Barricade replied, almost disinterestedly as he toyed with her, urging her thighs further apart. His little femme was already responding, hints of wetness collecting along the grooves in plating, coating the delicate lips. "In one sense. But there still are mechs that go into 'heat' - a period of time when we search for partners to interface with. Mostly harmless sex. And usually better to sate the lust instead of suppress it. The buildup can damage processing units."
"Oh, nice choices there," came the sarcastic retort. The Saleen smirked down at her, laid a clawtip over a nipple - and let a small snap of charge jump through, vents flaring as her body jerked in an attempt to escape, jaw dropping in a pained 'O' and fingers clawing at the ground. It hurt - it actually fucking hurt, like needles stabbing into her, and Calleigh never wanted to have anything like that near her tits, ever again. Panting, she glared up at him, squinting against the intense red of his eyes. "You shithead, don't you fucking do that aga - again - Augh!"
"You were saying?" he rumbled pleasantly, smoothing over her belly before letting a milder voltage cut into flesh. Calleigh yelped, shrinking away from the Saleen as he went for her again, tapping on the point of her hips, then inner thighs, the plump curve of her aft - mostly soft fleshy areas that he had learnt were the most acceptable to lay a bit of charge on without severely disrupting their systems. "I said don't - oh sweet Jesus on a pogostick fuck - it's not funny!" she shrieked over the sound of Cybertronian amusement, longing to curl up in a defensive ball far, far away from sadistic horndog Saleens.
Clearly not happening, she chided herself, swiping furiously at her tears, barely aware of the light strokes along her back when she eventually flopped onto her side, panting. Another wire frayed and snapped somewhere in the back of her head when a blind hand landed on her shoe, and Calleigh snatched it up, flinging it at the machine, gratified when it connected and Barricade jerked in surprise, a snorting rumble echoing in the warehouse.
"Asshole," she choked out, losing the battle against the fever-pitched emotional storm within her, curling into a ball, weeping. All those moments in her life, where she'd wanted the ground to swallow her whole, paled in comparison to the past few hours she'd been in his clutches - kidnapped, stripped naked, molested, tortured - and she suddenly understood the phrase 'I just wanted to die' with eerie clarity, beyond simple empathy just listening to it drip from the mouths of those haggard survivors, bleary-eyed on the television screen. She knew what it meant now.
Optics sharp, Barricade leant over her, knowing she'd just hit her first limit. It'd taken somewhat longer than he'd expected; she was still human, after all, still 'normal', still a delicate little creature of flesh and blood and bone and a convulated psyche. No two humans he'd encountered were ever the same. They were often similar, but never the same, and he deeply relished this experience. "Calle," he soothed, engine purring in the same low register a Cybertronian would use to offer comfort to another Cybertronian, painfully aware that his own frame was shuddering with suppressed lust. "Calle, Calleigh. Relax," he murmured, stroking her back, waiting for the sobs to subside. "Relax."
"Relax better if you take me home," she ground out, rolling over onto her front, not wanting to look at anything - not even a giant robot, who may or may not have cared if her mascara had streaked or that her face was blotchy and her eyes bloodshot. He let her crawl over to the pile of her clothes and wipe her face dry, before tugging her back to him, most of her resistance gone. "Just give me this night," he murmured, carefully drawing her hair out of her face, turning her chin so that her eyes met his optics. Calleigh studied him for a long moment, shaking her head slowly. "Can't," she pleaded, clutching at the massive claw pressed into her skin. "I can't, 'Cade, I can't. Please."
Every good soldier knew, deep in their sparks, when to retreat; Barricade was no exception, and he decided not to push the matter that night. Vents sighing, he gathered her up and tucked her close to his chest, tromping over to the little human sized nest in the corner. "Go to sleep," he said gruffly, laying her on a pile of blankets and tattered pillows. "Don't try to run; I'll know. And I won't be pleased if I have to hunt you down again."
"I don't get why you care," she snapped bitterly, hands running over her body to soothe stinging aches. "There's a million and one women out there that you could grab, so why me?"
Without answering, he folded down into his alt mode, doing some careful re-routing to keep his circuits clear, not wanting to risk any of them frying. He didn't exactly have medical access either, and the wait time fitted right into the role he was playing.
"You're not random and you're not nothing to me," he replied, shaking himself a little on his shocks, the lie coming easily to him. For the most part, anyway; the scientific part of his mind was nurturing a growing fascination with her. And slag was he going to feel that stiffness in the morning. "I take care with picking a mate. You're mine, Calleigh Thornton. Now mute it and go recharge, you slaghead."
"... gunna carve up your tyres, just you wait," she muttered darkly, rearranging the nest to suit her, curling under the blankets. They smelt relatively fresh, and Calleigh resolutely shut off the gibbering fear of bodily parasites that nagged in the back of her mind. He probably stole them from right off people's backyard laundry lines, the asshole.
It would be just like him.