Title: Immolation (Part 2/100)
Prompt: "Too Much"
Verse: G1 (AU-ish)
Rating: NC-17
Words: 3218
Pairings: Inferno/Red Alert, Megatron/Inferno
Other Characters: Unidentified Decepticon underlings.
Warnings: Sticky. Graphic rape. Anal. Dark.
Summary: Giving Megatron the payment they agreed upon for Red Alert's safety does not go the way Inferno intended.
Notes: A continuation of my series of vignettes on Inferno being raped, and how he and Red Alert deal with it, centred around prompts from slash_100.

Too Much

"I apologize for the restraints, Inferno," Megatron all but purred, hand petting slowly and insolently over red plating, "but you are a large mech, and while I have no objections to you being subject to my whims, I do not want to be subject to yours if you should change your mind."

"I ain't changin' my mind," Inferno growled, trying to maintain his show of defiance, which was difficult considering how he was chained down on his hands and knees in a position that seemed to enhance his helplessness. "As long as ya keep up yer end of the bargain, I'm keepin' up mine. So all yer doin' by havin' me trussed up like some human's Thanksgivin' turkey is showin' yerself for the coward ya are!"

"A coward am I?" the Decepticon leader murmured, arching one optic ridge. "Not unlike your sweet, precious Red Alert who so willingly allowed you to take his place on my berth..."

"Leave him outta this!" the firetruck snarled, a flare of anger rising inside him. How dare he talk about Red Alert like that! Red hadn't wanted him to do this, he had protested, but Inferno was confident this was the right choice. He felt certain that Red would have suffered more in this situation than he was going to, especially with the prospect of his glitch acting up and making the other mech even more vulnerable. "Ya ain't worthy ta kiss his pedes!"

"I suppose you think yourself noble, that your sacrifice will be meaningful, that he is worth what I will put you through?" Megatron chuckled, leaning closer to whisper almost tenderly in the red mech's audio. "And when you're face down with my spike buried in your aft, and I'm fragging you so hard you can taste me in your mouth, I wonder what you will think about him then?"

A shiver of apprehension ran through Inferno's frame before he could stop it. "Shut the frag up, ya hear!" The silkenly filthy words emerging from the Decepticon leader's vocalizer filled him with fury underscored by a fear, a fear that he refused to acknowledge, let alone accept, forcing the emotion down just as soon as he felt it prickle.

The grey mech clicked his glossa admonishingly, and seemed to be enjoying himself entirely too much considering that they hadn't even gotten to the truly awful part, the part that he would doubtless relish and that Inferno would spend the rest of his existence trying to forget. "Inferno, Inferno, Inferno... is this how you propose to win your freedom? Your rage is a sign that your resolve is already crumbling."

Inferno pulled air in heavily through his intakes, trying to force himself to calm down. He hadn't expected to be toyed with like this, just used, and the smug, insinuating banter, no matter that he felt he was holding his own, made it somehow worse. "Quit playin' around. Do ya want me or not?"

"Fine." Megatron opened his panel, revealing an impressively sized spike that Inferno tried not to gawk at, or think too hard about, considering what was going to happen later. "What do you think of my - oh, what did you call it? - 'itty-bitty' equipment? Now it is time for you to eat your words and earn your freedom, if you can... Take it in your mouth."

Inferno wanted to take it in his mouth alright – so he could bite it off! But he knew that would only cause terrible repercussions for himself - which, if he were alone, he would probably risk - but also for Red Alert, and no matter how his pride tormented him, he couldn't allow that to happen. He shuttered his optics and wrapped his mouth around the huge appendage, not entirely able to conceal a shiver of revulsion.

Megatron did not move, only let out a small hiss of approval. "Yesss..." This was somehow worse than anything else he could have done - up to, and including seizing Inferno by the helmet and shoving the spike halfway down his intake by force – and the slagger probably knew it too, Primus damn him!

Imagining it was Red Alert was a little more difficult than he would have liked considering that Red, while not small, was by no means above average, and Megatron certainly was all that and more. Still, he tried to picture his gentle, sensitive lover as he swirled his glossa around the tip, paying special attention to the sensor laden underside, and then began bobbing his head. Inferno loved to overload Red this way, listening to his soft moans and mewls, seeing his hands curling tightly into fists on the side of the berth, feeling the dark hips curving upwards like a supplication towards his mouth, smelling the scent of ozone and sweet arousal, tasting the other mech's spike and knowing that he was the only one to have ever done so...

He must have been succeeding in his visualizations after all, because the Decepticon leader's engine began to thrum approvingly.

"Enough!" Megatron commanded imperiously, and stepped back from Inferno as if he had been scalded, his heating fans kicking in with a frustrated-sounding whirr, suggesting that he had not been unaffected by the firetruck's efforts.

"What's the matter, Megatron?" Inferno taunted, feeling a rush of optimism as he saw how the other mech was reacting, seeing that smug composure had definitely been ruffled by his performance. At this rate it would be easy to overload him quickly, and avoid too much damage to himself in the process. He hoped. "Never had it so good before? I'm kinda surprised, I woulda thought Starscream got lotsa practice."

Megatron snickered in spite of himself. "I wish he was as good at using his mouth as he is running off at it," he admitted candidly, for a brief moment seeming almost... normal. Then the coldness came down over his features again and he moved behind Inferno. "Open your panel for me."

Clenching his dental plates, Inferno did as he was told, then cringed as Megatron's hand slipped immediately to his undercarriage. A finger poked experimentally into his spike housing, but Inferno wasn't about to release that if it could be helped, and after awhile the Decepticon overlord's finger moved over to Inferno's valve, stroking the external sensor nodes with a practised hand.

"Save yerself some time, Megatron," Inferno snapped, trying to disguise his discomfort, his growing uneasiness. "Ya're gonna havta frag me dry because I ain't never respondin' ta ya." Even as he spoke the words, he knew they were not true as, to his complete and utter revulsion, heat began building in his intimate circuitry under the knowing touch, a dark, cloying, shameful heat that his body experienced as pleasure, and his mind as utter betrayal and degradation. His fans switched on.

"Somehow I don't think so," answered Megatron, moving his finger up to lightly touch the edge of Inferno's valve, where, to the firetruck's increasing shame, a bead of moisture was already forming. The Decepticon leader scooped it up, and held it in front of Inferno's faceplate. Seeing it gleaming treacherously on that black finger made the red mech want to purge, and he nearly did when Megatron sinuously licked it off. "It tastes like... sullied honour."

"Well ya would know that taste of that," Inferno said, shock and apprehension coursing through him as the words he had intended to infuse with his previous defiance emerged instead as a sullen mutter. "'Cause that's the only kind of honour that ya got."

Megatron's only answer was to smile and move away, returning to caressing Inferno's valve. Finally, after teasing the edges for what seemed like an eternity he slipped a finger inside, beginning to pump it in and out. "Your body wants this, Inferno. I suspect you are the penetrative partner in your relationship with that insipid little security director, but you will not be with me. Your body knows I am your superior, that its true place is under mine, open, aching for my touch, receptive to my pleasure alone..."

"No..." He tried to hold back the denial, but it escaped anyway, and Inferno couldn't believe how weak his voice sounded. Megatron had barely done anything, and yet he felt like those poisonous words were ripping him apart. Why were they affecting him so, and why was his body responding this way? He felt a trickle of lubricant emerge from his valve and slide down his right thigh.

"Yes..." Megatron purred. "I think I will take what is mine now. But first... You must make your submission properly..." He pressed a button and the chains holding Inferno tightened, pushing inexorably downwards, forcing the red mech to lower his face and upper body to the berth.

The position brought home to him, more than anything else, just how truly lost he really was, with his head lowered in a posture of defeat, and his private areas, until now reserved only for himself and those he chose, lifted high, offered nakedly for the plunder of his most hated enemy. As still more lubricant trickled down his thigh, accompanied by a wave of self-loathing, he only barely held back a keen of despair.

Megatron moved behind him, he felt the bulk of that huge spike brush lightly across his valve, making inner muscle cables clench with torrid throb that sent a tremor through Inferno's frame. The Decepticon leader pushed in, the ample lubrication making it easy despite his size, and the moan that escaped Inferno as he felt himself being stretched obscenely wide was one of ecstatic, wanton anguish.

The intrusion burned in a way that was entirely too right and entirely too wrong. If he had been with Red now he would have been moaning and begging, looking forward to their congress with joy and anticipation. Instead he tried to tune out what was happening. "Just get it over with," Inferno hissed.

The grey Decepticon leaned down over him so he could whisper in his audio in an unconscious parody of the position Inferno often took when making love to Red Alert from behind. "Did you think this would be easy, Autobot?" he growled smugly. "Did you think I would just frag you quickly and then and let you go home and cry to your sympathetic, sentimental Autobot friends? No, you won't have it so easy, you offered yourself instead of a prize I wanted, and I'm going to use you well, long and hard until you are begging me to stop, and then, only then, will I give you up." So saying, the Decepticon leader began to move, but despite his words his movements were smooth and deliberate rather than rough.

Inferno felt his valve walls clench around the huge spike as it slid within him, each pass a wave of melting friction and utter humiliation. In and out, in and out, the wretched, wracking rhythm of regret went on and on, each stroke, and the unwanted pleasure from it, like a slap in the faceplates that the firetruck tried desperately to ignore, telling himself they would soon be free, that it would not be long.

But it was.

Atop him Megatron kept up a slow and steady pace for what seemed like joors, as if he was perfectly willing, and able, to frag Inferno for as long as necessary to crack through his thin facade and make the other mech go out of his processor, either with pleasure or humiliation, or most likely a mixture of both.

Somehow, through some miracle, or simple luck, Inferno managed to find a new reserve of strength within. He managed to force himself to be as quiet as possible, to say nothing, to do nothing, to behave as if it were nothing, as if he were nothing. It all came down to nothing, really. Nothing that was done to him mattered. Everything that wasn't being done to Red Alert was the only thing that did.

The mech working ceaselessly over him eventually noticed his increasing unresponsiveness and pulled out. Inferno's spark leaped briefly with hope that maybe the Decepticon leader had just given up, but his next words banished that hope utterly. "Open your aft panel."

Not that. Not like this. Hadn't he given enough already? Couldn't he keep anything of his life before that wasn't despoiled? "No..." The denial escaped before Inferno could stop it, and the gun-moded Decepticon laughed a richly arrogant laugh.

"Ah, but I haven't overloaded yet, Inferno," Megatron pointed out smugly, rubbing Inferno's rear plating as if to highlight his ability to do anything he wished, "and that means you, and whatever part of your body I choose, are still mine. Open, or I will consider you to have defaulted on agreement, and I will retrieve someone a little more... compliant..."

His processor conjured up an image Red Alert, glitching from fear and pain as Megatron assaulted him. If he defied the Decepticon overlord now, all he had endured would be for nothing.

Inferno opened the panel.

Almost immediately, something slippery and cold was poured onto his aft port, followed by a finger, pressing inwards, as a not-unfamiliar ritual of preparation was enacted, only it was usually not Inferno on the receiving end.

"Did you do this to your pretty little Red Alert, hmm?" Megatron's whispers unconsciously paralleled Inferno's thoughts. "Make him lift his pretty little aft for your pleasure and then frag him until he couldn't walk straight?" Unctuously, the Decepticon leader painted the act that Inferno had always known to be loving and pleasurable in unpalatable terms of submission and degradation.

The steel coloured mech finished his preparation, and Inferno felt the head of the other mech's spike now pressing against his aft, and he knew that if he resisted it would hurt too much. So he forced himself to relax, to make the muscle movements that would allow the Decepticon leader to enter him more easily; to be an active participant in his own annihilation. Bit by bit the huge spike pushed in, until Inferno felt like his aft was about to split apart.

His rear port was burning unpleasantly despite the lubricant, but Megatron gave him no time to adjust, beginning to slide his spike back and forth within him. Inferno bit his lip components. Each slow thrust had a name: shame, humiliation, violation, powerlessness, defilement, weakness, worthlessness, helplessness, solitude, exile, isolation, despair... They stretched and tore at the sensitive components within his body, the sacred places inside his spark, and made him quiver and convulse with unwanted responses. His engine whined, because he himself could not.

In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. Inferno found himself flinching as each movement became a spear of pain within him, occasionally worsened, rather than alleviated, by stabs of bitter and unsought gratification when a sensor node was rubbed against. The degradation went on and on, like a moment suspended outside of time. Everything that had gone before was forgotten, there was no future, all that existed was this eternity during which all Inferno had been, was, and ever would be came down to just one single word: victim.

For the love of Primus, why wasn't it over yet?

The he heard it, and at first he couldn't comprehend what it was, this break in the monotony of agony. It was the door to Megatron's quarters sliding open, and a voice, a very familiar voice, shouting in anger and panic. "Let me go! Where are you taking me? I demand to see Inferno...!' Abruptly the voice cut off.

"Here he is, Red Alert," Megatron said pleasantly, still working his huge spike within Inferno's aft as if he were doing nothing more than reading a stack of datapads. "As you can see, we have gotten quite comfortable together..."

Like one waking from a bad dream into a nightmare, Inferno shook himself, alarm, terror, and spark destroying mortification quickly being overshadowed by fear for another besides himself. He struggled in his bonds for the first time. "Ya sparkless slagger! Ya promised he wouldn't be hurt!"

"Oh, he won't be damaged, I assure you," Megatron replied, sounding unconcerned.

"Yeah? Well this wasn't part of our agreement," Inferno's protest sounded ineffectual even to his own audios, as new and unprecedented waves of shame flooding him. It was bad enough that he had to go through this, but to have his lover see him this way: hindquarters high in the air, presenting his valve and aft to the Decepticon lord in the most humiliatingly lewd and submissive fashion, vulnerable, violated, almost at the point of breaking... "Get 'im outta here!"

Megatron's voice held a terrible smile. "It wasn't excluded from our agreement, either. He shall stay."

"Inferno..." He couldn't see Red from the position he was in, but the utter shock and repulsion, and, worst of all, pity tainting that softly cultured voice cut through Inferno's spark like a laser scalpel.

"Red, darlin'..." Inferno tried to force out the burgeoning quaver in his vocalizer. "Shutter yer optics. I don't want ya ta see this."

There was a whine as Megatron's fusion cannon wound up to full charge and Inferno felt its thrumming heat suddenly flush against the back of his helmet. "Keep your optics open and look closely," the Decepticon leader countered warningly, voice deceptively mild, "or your precious Inferno will no longer have a head." For a terrible astrosecond Inferno thought Megatron was going to do it; for another, even more terrible instant, Inferno hoped he would.

Under the optics of their new audience, the grey, gun-moded Decepticon picked up his pace, beginning to pound into Inferno, exhibiting the first ever violence in the course of their forced, but previously gentle coupling. It hurt even more than before, but in its own way brought a measure of relief, as Inferno interpreted the roughness of the movements as a telltale sign of a mech on the verge of overload. He clung to the edges of the berth. Just a little longer...

"Do you see, Red Alert?" Megatron panted. "Do you see what I've done with your strong, resolute protector? I'm afraid he will be no good to you anymore... I know he used to be the type of mech who liked to use his spike, the kind who liked to be on top. Well, when I am finished with him, I promise he will be impotent in every way except to take it up the aft like a two credit pleasure model... And I," he punctured each word with a brutal thrust, "Am. Not. Even. Remotely. Finished."

Not finished? Not even now?

And suddenly, it was all too much, and to his mortification Inferno felt his hips moving, transfluid spurting on the berth as he overloaded to the demise of his pride, his hope, perhaps even his very life. A shuddering keen burst from his vocalizer before he could contain it.

Megatron had won.