Title: Immolation (part 9/100)
Prompt: "Sight"
Verse: G1 (AUish)
Rating: NC-17
Words: 502
Pairings: Inferno/Red Alert, implied ?/Inferno
Other Characters: None.
Warnings: Sticky. Graphic injuries from rape – yes they are that bad. Strong risk of serious squick. *
Summary: Inferno's ordeal is at an end and Red Alert sees the damage he has sustained for the first time.
Notes: A continuation of my series of vignettes on the theme of Inferno being raped, and how he and Red Alert deal with it, centred around prompts from slash_100.
Sorry for missing a few days of posting, but I was off at a family wedding.
The story is now moving back into chronological order.
Also, I mean it about the squick. If you are going to pick a prompt to skip, this is the one, folks. Really, if you read beyond this point and regret it, don't say I didn't warn you.
*squick - a verb meaning to cause unease or feelings of revulsion, most often applied to a reader's reaction to a specific scenario, derived from the word "squeamish" and the slang term "icky." (blackraptor (dot) net / m7fic / contents / terms (dot) htm)
Sight
They dragged an unconscious Inferno in the cell like he was a sack of spare parts, not even bothering to chain him since it was obvious he would get nowhere without help. He didn't even stir as they let his upper body drop to the floor with a frame-rattling clatter that set Red Alert's dentals on edge.
At first glance the damage seemed typical of a Decepticon beating: deep dents and scratches, broken windshield glass, and a caved in helm, but that was only superficial, practically cosmetic, compared to what else had been done. When Red Alert dared to look past Inferno's waist, he instantly had to look away again, systems warning of an imminent purge.
Inferno's spike seemed mercifully fine, if a little bent, which was probably the reason it hadn't retracted on its own, but below it was such carnage that even Red`s most wildly terrified imaginings had not done it justice. His lover's lower body was covered in so much transfluid it was more silver than red, and what wasn't silver was pink from the steady seepage of energon from his abused ports. Bits of the silicone polymer interior linings actually protruded from the distorted openings, and the damage was such that it seemed even Ratchet could not put it right. Just thinking about it, even without looking, was almost enough to short his processor.
Once upon a time the red and white security director couldn't get enough of looking at Inferno, and often followed him around the public areas of the Ark via security cam while on monitor duty, feeling his spark flutter with excitement as he gazed upon that powerful form and imagined what it would feel like surging against his own. Now he was so ill with fear and horror at the terrible desecration of his beloved that his optics practically burned, scarred forever by terrible afterimages that seemed to to have etched themselves into the tempered glass.
Before Inferno he had been content to hide in his little room and observe life as though it were a river, and he a creature on the banks, not much affected by its passage. Then the firetruck had barrelled downstream into his dull existence like a flash flood, sweeping him away from all that was safe and familiar, forever; had pushed him, not just to observe, but to see.
And sometimes that meant seeing painful things.
His spark pulsed a sickeningly hard thrum of distress within his chest, and he felt a familiar ache of an impending glitch attack forming beneath his helmet, but he forced himself through several slow cycles of air, willing himself to be calm. He turned his face again towards Inferno, took in his devastating injuries once more, and a sense of purpose and clarity settled over him, a thin layer of resolve coating the leaden weight of despair.
He knew what he had to do.
"Hey!" he bellowed towards the guard outside. "Hey! I need a medkit in here, NOW!"
