Improvisational Style of Music onlined to confusion. Programming was missing. Programming long suppressed was active. Creation protocols were online. He was in heat. His memories – his memories felt - wrong. Fragmented, shattered…Incomplete. He keened distress-confusion. A form moved – a mech, not-kin, one of the outsiders, a flyer – Enemy! His memories shouted, scenes of struggle, of pain, fear, death! Enemy-captor, enemy-victor! He flinched, expecting pain.
Instead a blurt of noise – Outsider speak; he should understand - a clawed hand! It followed as he tried to jerk away, shield face with arms, hands, can't – restrained – no escape! No – No pain?
The hand touched his face, his chin, gentle claws, no pain. He calmed down, let the hand move his face as it wished. Over-stimulated circuitry made him shake-tremble but – no pain. Pleasure? Captor not hurting? What could captor want with defeated enemy that he would be gentle?
Heat-programming had an answer-but – gentleness not necessary; not expected. He was captive – he was defeated enemy. To create - to be forced to create, perhaps. But to be pleased? Captor had all power. Captor could do as Captor wished – Captor wished to be gentle? Wished to give pleasure?
That – that didn't seem right. While he thought, his body moved as the other wished, as the heat compelled. Hands stroked, petted, posed, as he tried to understand warped memories. He was pulled to a berth, pushed down onto his back, his chassis opening, his body willing and eager under the influence of the heat programming. His mind though, worried at the distorted impressions he remembered. They were not of a gentle creature. A proud, fierce, clever creature, yes. One that could offer much to a creation. But – not gentle. Not to his enemies, not to his clan, not to – to – clutch mates? Bond-mates? Two that flew with him, at his side. Not gentle with them, not where any could see. Why gentle with captive, with defenseless enemy? His mind was suddenly pulled back to his body, forced to feel the orgasm of his body, processors overloaded with pleasure, until overwhelmed, he passed out.
Starscream was very pleased with his new pet. When Megatron was passing out the defeated Autobots, he had remembered that old rumour about Polyhexian-framed mechs being perfect berth-toys. He had fumed and fussed about not having that frigid Praxian tactician, ranting about status and rank; Sure enough Megatron had claimed Prowl for himself, using the excuse of the Praxian being the highest ranked Autobot left after the Prime's death. Leaving the way clear for him to claim the Autobot third in command, the pretty Polyhexian Jazz, for his own use. And what a nice bit of trim he was. So sweet and pliant - after a few programming changes. Having Hook reprogram the little slut was well worth the favors it cost. He pulled the smaller frame close, stroking the warm chassis gently. Very worth the cost. The little thing was so sweet. He remembered the innocent confusion and fear on its face when the little mech first onlined, how it changed so quickly into eagerness. A perfect little slut, willing and eager for his touch, his spark.