Jazz stared at the Decepticon. He had expected to be raped or tortured. When the Decepticon had pulled out the energon, he had thought that the Praxian would force him to beg for fuel or taunt him with it. Instead, he had been held gently, hand fed, held gently again and now the crazy mech said that he was going to give him a bath and put him to bed? What did he want! Jazz thought somewhat hysterically.
The Praxian was backing up, pulling Jazz along with him by the cords wrapped around his wrists. Jazz looked desperately at the door the Decepticon had entered by. A finger under his chin turned his face back to meet the Decepticon's eyes.
"A trine of Enforcers have been assigned to guard you," he was told. The Praxian had no emotion in his voice. Jazz couldn't tell if he was gloating or warning him, but those red eyes were hungry as they stared at him.
"Come," a gentle tug pulled him forward. His footsteps were unsteady and wavering, his balance uncertain. He still had low energy warnings clouding his processor as well as repair notices, damage warnings, and frame deep aches from his repairs. He needed to recharge and let his self-repair finish the job. There was no way to escape in his current condition, no way he could resist anything the Decepticon wanted to do to him.
Jazz flashed back to being held down and clawed hands forcing his chassis open again. He started shaking. He didn't know what game the Decepticon was playing but he didn't want to play it. He kept shaking, harder and harder until he nearly fell. Gentle hands caught him, strong arms held him, a comforting field surrounded him as he gasped helplessly, trapped in a panic attack. Eventually his sobs quieted, but the mech holding him waited patiently. Finally he looked up.
"Why?" he whispered. For a long moment, the Praxian did not respond. Then he gently stroked Jazz's helm.
"You are mine." the Decepticon stated.
Prowl was relieved when they reached the storage unit containing his cleaning supplies. His lovely one was much too quiet, barely able to keep on his feet. The Polyhexian needed fuel and recharge soon. For a moment, Prowl wondered if he should fuel his lovely first. No, consistency was more important he decided, better that his pretty knew that Prowl would do as he said he would.
He would give his lovely a quick wash, just enough to get most of the grime off, then feed him and let him rest, Prowl decided. He carefully lifted his lovely and looped the cord around his wrists over a hook in the wall. Finally, his prize showed spirit, kicking and struggling, but the deed was done and his fierce one could not escape. The Autobot could not keep up the struggle and finally stilled. He made a lovely image, stretched taut with his arms held up and feet barely touching the floor.
"Please," his pretty whispered, looking over his shoulder at Prowl. "Don't…" the Autobot's voice dwindled into a choked sob. The hook was high enough that when he went limp, his legs just bent a little. Prowl quickly checked his lovely's arms, making sure the weight was not causing damage. Relieved that his pretty was just unconscious, Prowl turned to the storage unit and retrieved his cleaning supplies.