AUTHOR'S NOTE: Well, here's part two. I'm sorry it took so long, once again. I had to research a couple things for this part, but I hope it does some good for you guys. More to come!
Now I need to go take another shower. .____.; I feel nersty.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own any of the Transformers, or Sam Witwicky, or any other minor characters.

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"Well, it would appear that one of our guests is already awake." Megatron said in his raspy voice. Sam held his breath, cringing slightly when the Decepticon acknowledged his presence. "I suppose I should help Prime turn on then."

It was one of the most interesting things to watch; a Transformer coming back to life. He'd seen it before, when he'd revived Optimus back in Giza, but this time seemed different. He had given Optimus his entire life again but here, Megatron seemed to have Prime's life in the palm of his hand. His spidery claw reconnected a wire in his neck and a sudden vigorous twitch ebbed through Optimus Prime's body. The first noise he made was pained, a moan of misery, as life breathed through his systems once more. The neon blue optics flickered to life and Prime pulled his eyebrows down far, straightening himself up the moment he got the chance. His arms rattled the chains and to Sam each link was about the thickness of his forearm. Still, his heart leaped the moment he saw the Peterbilt begin moving once more, even if his despicable brother stood in his line of view.

"Megatron." His voice was deep, angry. In fact, he sounded frighteningly furious.

"Optimus!" Sam shouted, his voice shrill with relief, but was quickly silenced as Starscream put the jagged pipe from before against his neck. He knew they weren't going to kill him; not so soon. But the horrible feeling of the cold metal pressing hard on his windpipe, limiting his ability to breathe, frightened him.

"Hello, Prime. I trust you're well rested." Megatron chortled, strolling away from his brother towards the center of the space between the captives.

"Why are you doing all this? Why not just kill us? You're prolonging it, brother," Optimus answered, rather shortly. Sam could see Optimus imagining ways to dispose of Megatron that matched the expression of pure rage on his face.

"Oh, in due time, I intend to collect. But here, at the end of your days, why not make you as miserable as possible? When I'm finished with you Prime, you're going to wish I killed you yesterday." He began to laugh at some inside joke that both Sam and Optimus were unaware of.

"You're pathetic. I'll take you all on. Just get these chains off of me and you'll see how miserable someone can be when I get my hands on you," Prime snapped. Sam watched as the chains were pulled taut, tugging at the very links connecting them to the walls. Optimus might not be able to break the chains, but he could certainly destroy their supports to the warehouse; concrete was hardly strong enough to keep Prime from breaking through.

Megatron replied in hearty Cybertronian at first but continued in English. "Such bold words from a captive, Prime. You haven't seen the worst of it yet, I assure you." He grew close again in three long strides of his bulky legs, pressing against Optimus' chest armor. "You're a fool, weakened by your affection for that miserable sack of flesh. You're worthless."

Sam couldn't see much from where he was. The red and blue figure of his beloved Autobot flinched behind Megatron, whose head was slightly lowered. The Decepticon dug his teeth into the wiring on the Peterbilt's neck, one of the most sensitive spots on a Transformer. Prime resumed his silent routine, his optics slightly shut almost as if he was wincing. It was typically supposed to be an exhilarating experience used only when two would bond, but Optimus was stubbornly refusing anything his receptors were telling him.

"You can't keep that up forever, Prime." Megatron growled into his audio receptor. "I will get something out of you by the end of all this."

"You can try, can't you?" Prime spat back. His face plate assembled itself over his mouth suddenly, making him look as defiant as ever. He cocked his head to the side, pulling his receptor away from Megatron's husky voice. The Decepticon chuckled at his hostage's efforts.

"Okay, stop!" Sam yelled, causing the tank to turn slightly in his direction. "Megatron, leave him alone, please! Don't hurt him!" He knew he was going to die anyway. "Please...don't do anything to him."

Barricade hopped down from his window to join the fray, placing himself next to Starscream at Sam's side. The Decepticon leader paused a moment, gazing over his shoulder as he contemplated the offer Sam had made. As Megatron turned and came towards Sam, he began to feel regret washing through him for speaking out.

"I'm still not sure if it's courage or fear that compels you. Are you begging, fleshling?" Megatron asked, his face abruptly close to Sam's. His optics were about half the size of Sam's face; terror overwhelmed him as he stared into them, his voice lost. He simply nodded, trying to swallow his fear to no avail. The Cybertronian Tank growled again, turning to his sythoplasm-garbed lackeys. "Both of you, keep Prime at bay. I'll take care of this one."

Oh god, Sam thought. The police officer and aviator both looked at each other skeptically but did as they were told and went to Prime's side, transforming from six foot tall humans to their robot appearances mid-stride. Megatron's claw lightly ran over the slash on his cheek, a purr erupting from deep inside his chest. "So unwise to give yourself to me for Prime's sake. I'll make sure you regret it."

It was frightening to see the thirty four foot tall mech morph into a human right before his eyes. It didn't look graceful, beautiful, like when Optimus would change. It was grotesque, horrifying. Silver liquid dribbled down from his optics as if he was bleeding, and armor shifted into itself, jutting out at disgustingly painful looking angles. Megatron said something in Cybertronian, but Sam was lost in thought. Claws pulled inward, large plates of metal became nonexistent. His size shrunk almost immediately after his figure became drowned in the platinum liquid. It was like watching someone melt a Barbie—the face was always the first to go. Once he was at a human size, it didn't get much worse. The silver retreated from his scalp, revealing dark brown hair worn messily, and down his cheeks to his jaw. The liquid drained from the figure rather instantaneously and the man before Sam grinned evilly, the same terribly sharp teeth adorning the inside of his mouth. He was still taller than Sam (wasn't everyone?) and much more muscular, even than Barricade. Sam recognized his sythoplasm form; he familiarly resembled Hugh Jackman, the man who played Wolverine from the X-Men movies. His eyes glistened with fire though and he seemed to adorn the same superpower—sharp talons on his tanned hands. He wasn't wearing a shirt or any shoes. The only article of clothing he had on was loosely fitted dark blue jeans. Megatron had discovered his own personal appearance, unlike last time where he'd simply mimicked Optimus' form of Christian Bale.

Sam didn't get a chance to say or do anything before Megatron's lips crashed into his. He couldn't breathe, couldn't think quickly enough for a response. His mind was jumbled, like someone had destroyed an almost complete jigsaw puzzle. Megatron's tongue ravenously explored Sam's mouth, a whine of discomfort coming from the boy. He needed to breathe; he was dizzy, confused. He began to shake his head, hoping to force the Decepticon off. Thankfully, Megatron pulled back. His breath was already ragged as he began to bite along Sam's neck, feeling the trembling of the figure beneath him. A sear of pain shot through him as Megatron's teeth sunk into his shoulder, causing blood to gush from the fresh wound. Sam heard a groan of satisfaction from the Jackman doppelganger as his blood gurgled endlessly from the deep bite.

"O-Optimus...!" Sam whimpered. He took a second to catch his breath again. Optimus began to struggle against his chains again, but that's what Starscream and Barricade were for. They held onto him by his shoulders and pulled him back any time he would start towards Sam. Their strength collectively was enough to hold him back, despite all of his strength which had dwindled since their captivity.

Claws ripped through the front of his shirt and Megatron paused to stare at Sam's chest. He knew what he was looking at—all those scars, all those horrible pink and red marks that dotted his body from the last time Megatron had gotten hold of him. Sam turned his face away in shame as the Decepticon grinned at the damage he'd done. His fingers ran over each scar and traced the faint outlines of wounds long since healed. Sam's skin tingled at the Decepticon's cold touch, but he refused to accept that he enjoyed any of it. He was ashamed of his body, knowing that Megatron reveled in the sight.

"I remember these..." He said to himself, loud enough for Sam to hear. His hand traced the dark red mark on his shoulder, adorning his pale flesh with a curved scar, "This is where I bit you to stop your struggling..." His finger touched another spot, on his stomach, "And this one made you pass out..." His hand stopped on Sam's chest—a flawless spot over his heart, free of any scars. "But here...I must've missed a spot. That can be remedied." Megatron's finger dissolved into metallic pieces, a familiar knife-like appendage taking form instead. "This is going to be very painful, boy. Consider this...a memoir."

Sam was going to ask him what he meant but his voice had betrayed him again; remaining lost like it always did when he needed it the most. Megatron smirked as he dug the blade into Sam's skin and dragged it downward without hesitation. Sam didn't know what he was doing; what he was making in his skin. All he could feel was the fire burning his flesh away, ripping through him as it had done the day before. He wasn't aware that he was screaming, writhing underneath Megatron's knife, unable to hear Optimus calling his name. Is this how trees felt when young love-struck couples would carve their initials into the trunk and hoped it would remain permanent while the maple or oak could only sit silently and endure? Two more minutes passed, and Sam felt the icy touch as Megatron wiped the blood off of his new masterpiece and stood back to marvel. He needed to know what exactly was engraved on his skin. Sam's head dropped to look and immediately became nauseous at the sight.

The Decepticon insignia, about three inches tall and wide, was painfully marked on his skin now as blood still oozed down the rest of his scarred body. The very symbol of the enemy, the ones who were causing him so much pain and grief, was etched onto him forever. Megatron looked absolutely satisfied at his work but Sam was sure he felt bile coming up. His body ached, screamed, trashed; he felt like he was burning. The Decepticon licked the blood off his finger as it returned to its human state, "Fleshlings are so messy...so many fluids in their little bodies."

"D-Don't..." Sam pleaded softly, almost as if he were speaking a prayer, "N-no...Optimus..."

"There's no Optimus to protect you, boy. He can only watch as I make you my little play thing."

Optimus was enraged. His logics system was working itself into a frenzy, his processors were malfunctioning. He pulled against Megatron's lackeys, against the chains, against any force that might be holding him back. There was a faint noise of a wall cracking; was he actually doing some good? His optics gazed at the mark on Sam's skin and the only thing going through his systems was "kill, kill, kill." But he couldn't. Starscream and Barricade doubled his strength now, pulling back on his frame until the chains were limp and dangled loosely. He couldn't bear it. Sam. Optimus cursed himself—he was a horrible guardian, a terrible protector.

The human form of his disgusting brother encircled his beloved as he tugged the boy's pants down to his knees briskly, the denying cries from Sam as Megatron had his way with him. Sam whimpered, helpless as Megatron thrusted into him all while his flaming red eyes gazed at Prime defiantly. He was taking the only precious thing he had. He was defiling it. Ruining it. And he was making him watch. His fingers raked through Sam's skin as he screamed in pain, choked with sobs. Sam was a bloody mess, now worse than the day before. He looked no better than a dead carcass moving rhythmically against Megatron, crying with every vicious, vigorous motion in and out of his body.

"If you say my name, it'll hurt less, boy," Megatron instructed with a voice loud enough for Optimus to hear, panting incessantly. Sam hesitated, remaining silent for half a minute, but caved into the horrible feelings that tore at his body. Optimus glared at his brother, unfathomable rage filling his systems, as the Decepticon grinned when Sam would instead cry out his name, pleading, begging, hoping for the possibility that the pain would lessen. It did nothing for Megatron, of course, but he knew that it made Optimus angry and indeed it did. The human's voice called out a name that Prime never wanted to hear again in fear of going on a killing spree in uncontrollable anger. Sam's voice was for him and him only—how dare Megatron take that from him. After everything he'd already done.

Time and time again, Optimus watched as Megatron forced Sam's mouth onto his own, kissing him with an unreturned passion, lust, a strength that Sam no longer willed. The chances he got, when Megatron would pull away to allow him to get a breath so he wouldn't black out, Sam would call Optimus' name. It made Prime feel worse, knowing he couldn't answer the distress signal. Megatron enjoyed watching Sam plead for his hero; Optimus could've sworn he saw his brother's body shudder each time Sam would begin calling for him. He was sick. Barricade and Starscream seemed indifferent and held their ground on either side of the Autobot, pulling at his shoulders when Optimus would get a sudden burst of energy to rescue Sam.

Megatron's back arched upwards, and Sam let out a weak shriek. He pulled away, refastened his pants at his waist, seeming very satisfied with himself. He often glanced at Optimus, expecting a new reaction, a new emotion on his face and he would get that for a while until it began to diminish. Optimus was breaking. Megatron cocked his head to the side for a moment, an unspoken command to Starscream. The aviator left Prime and walked around behind Sam where Optimus couldn't see what he was doing. Sam dangled, out of breath, running out of blood, and barely living. His head was down in defeat, as he had done on the previous day.

Prime didn't know what Starscream had done. He couldn't see anything. All he knew was that whatever the Decepticon did, Sam screamed again, his body convulsing in pain, and then immediately went limp. Dead. His face went blank. Optimus couldn't describe what he was thinking or feeling. It could be shock, surprise, anger, hatred, or even grief. They were all very human, very Earth, terms that he never actually understood completely but used them to refer to in his own logics system. "Sam...?"

No response. Optimus Prime couldn't see the usual moving of his chest as he breathed, up and down. He'd watched the beauty of Sam breathing, on those nights where he would sleep with the boy in his arms. The rhythm of his lungs at work, inhaling and exhaling, keeping his very body alive for another day. But now, his scarred bloody skin was lifeless and still. He was dead.

"Oh, Prime...such a shame. There is a way to undo this, however." Megatron said, the same dribbling silver liquid assisting him to transform back into his menacing thirty-four foot tall self. "You see, it's only a temporary state that can be made permanent. The choice is up to you."
"What do I need to do?" He almost sounded desperate. Oh, how pathetic things became when they fell in love with one another. Megatron tapped on the armor that rested beneath his chest plates. He was gesturing to the locked chamber, where Optimus' Spark twisted and turned excitedly with a fire of its own.

"Open the three locks for me, or I will open them by force. I know you wouldn't want that, would you." He paused to let that soak in, to let Optimus begin to ponder his options. "And...if you deny me, then I tell Starscream to keep the fleshling dead." That last sentence hit Prime hard in the face, painfully, terribly. The expression Megatron made in response to Optimus' surprise was one he couldn't describe. If he had to, it would be sheer pleasure. Prime wanted to double over right then and there and empty out his fuel tanks; he was absolutely disgusted. He couldn't believe Megatron. He was despicable; everything he was doing was low, even for him.

But Sparkbonding was sacred, an utmost intimacy that not many transformers experienced in all their years alive. It was the most personal thing an Autobot could do; to give themselves entirely to someone else, a gift of utmost love. Optimus had only done it back when he lived upon Cybertron, with Elita, but that was many, many human years long past. It was absolutely exhilarating for a first experience as Prime remembered it; the uncontrollably warm feeling shared between two bodies, two beings as one. But it wasn't so much for the bodily pleasure for them; Sparks sought comfort from one another when they came close, curling into each other warmly, lessening any pain from the other. If Sam was of the same species, Prime would've bonded Sparks a long time ago. However, in the present situation, Megatron's suggestion was vile. His circumstances were crude. Certainly he felt that forcing him, his very own brother, into such a situation was immoral. Another question popped into his head; did it really seem like he cared about right and wrong? Opening the three locks leading to his Spark chamber meant succumbing to his brother's demands, willingly allowing Megatron's filthy hands near the very thing that kept him alive. No. The very thing that Sam had given back to him; he was the reason he was still here, a year and six months later. Optimus gazed at Sam's lifeless body, swinging emptily from the rope. He remembered promising Sam that he would never lose him, that he'd do anything to keep him safe. Sacrifices had to be made in order to keep that promise, he told himself.

His optics flashed back to his brother's, meeting in a relentless glare. He currently spoke through his face plate, his expression undeterminable from beneath the metal cover. "Fine, I'll do as you say. Just...revive Sam."

Megatron was actually a robot of his word this time. He waved his hand in Starscream's direction, sending another unspoken message to his croney. In a matter of seconds, life surged through Sam's body once more. He began to breathe with an unknown urgency to himself as if he had no idea that he'd died and come back. The Raptor began wiping away at his wounds, cleaning his bare skin of the scarlet fluid before setting bandages on everything. Everything except the Decepticon symbol, which remained untouched, uncovered by the scraps of cloth that used to be Sam's shirt. As if to reinstate how permanent it was. Like he was purposefully plaguing Optimus' systems with guilt, remorse, and most of all, hatred.

His air intakes hummed as he felt overcome with relief at the sight of Sam's moving body. His face was full of confusion, wonderment, but Optimus told himself it was better if he didn't know what had happened.

"Optimus?" He asked, his voice ringing in Prime's receptors. He didn't answer him; instead, the Autobot pulled his optics away from the human. He didn't want him to see what would happen in return for bringing him back although he knew he would. It was shameful, if anything, to Prime.

"Now...keep your side of the bargain, Prime." Megatron said expectantly. Optimus' joints locked, supporting his weight as he stood tall and (at least tried to be) proud. There was nothing prideful in what he was doing; he knew that. After a moment, there was a sharp metallic click of something giving way underneath his chest plates. The tank hesitated before taloned hands reached at the chest armor, digging their way in to see what had been opened beneath. Optimus Prime's legs may have been chained, but that didn't make them immobile. He swept a leg forward, ignoring the stabs of pain from the gaping hole in his armor, and tripped his brother, the claws sliding down his armor away from his locked chamber.

He looked flustered, and blood red optics glanced at Optimus angrily, inquisitively.

"If you can't be patient, I won't open the locks at all." Optimus snarled softly, answering the expression on Megatron's face. As his brother had been getting back up, the first lock had reset itself, the plates forming back together defensively. "Don't touch me until then."

"You're in no position to be making demands."
"Neither are you."

Megatron paused again, and took a step back. He circled Prime slowly, giving the Autobot a wide berth, waiting for the sound of the second lock. Or perhaps the third lock as well. He growled to himself in harsh Cybertronian, a language Optimus could understand flawlessly. He was anxious, eager, awaiting the next metallic click from innards of Prime's defenses. Barricade wandered back to the empty window sill at Megatron's command, leaving him alone with the Decepticon leader.

It had been a while since Optimus had tampered with the locks; he was a little rusty. His chest plates pulled slightly, the first lock undoing itself again with the same clack of metal. He stopped a moment with a soft hitch; if Megatron lurched or jumped towards him again, he'd shut it tight again without hesitation. As far as he could tell, his brother made no effort to get closer. As he passed by his front, Prime spotted it, the small spirit-like entity from the All-Spark that eminated between his chest plates, already completely exposed. It was taboo to expose your Spark to anyone freely, especially someone that wasn't your mate. The word 'slut' came to mind—Sam had used it before about girls that walked around almost completely naked.

The second lock also clicked open, Prime's contorted chest plates sliding open to show the small chamber in the center, the swirling white light inside shifting endlessly. The only thing that kept his Spark safe, secure inside his armor, was the thin final lock placed directly in front of it. Megatron stopped, gazing at the illustrious form resting inside his brother, hungrily awaiting the third lock's release. Prime had to concentrate on the lock, the third was never undone unless in the heat of mating, and required a lot of energy in order to open it on command. Sure enough, a minute or two later, the thin shield pulled back smoothly, leaving nothing but air to defend Optimus' most vulnerable piece of machinery. He sagged slightly, worn out, and took a sharp inhale of air to straighten himself.

Megatron eagerly pressed himself against Optimus, their armor scraping loudly against one another, closing the distance between the two open chambers. Prime shuddered as his Spark curled forward, towards his brother's, in a search for another's warmth and companionship. He couldn't possibly allow himself to enjoy it, he told himself. Absolutely not. But Megatron had other ideas; the jet's hands scrambled across Prime's smooth armor, seeking sensitive spots, attempting to find something that would make Prime cry out, make any sort of noise. Megatron had hardly touched him but Optimus felt the rush of the tingling energy, racing through all of his circuits, causing him to relax slightly. It felt so nice, so peaceful...

Optimus' Spark wanted more contact, more light, begging its owner wordlessly. Prime shook his head in defiance, trying to deny his body's pleads. It wanted this more than he did—it ached to connect to the other Spark, only centimeters from itself. Megatron's teeth nibbled at his destroyed neck wiring, pulling himself so closely that there was no passage for air to the chambers. Optimus was out of breath, trying to gain control over his own body but his logics system, processors, and receptors all seemed to have a mind of their own. His core throbbed for consolation, begged for more from his brother, making Optimus' mind cluttered with uncontrollable thoughts. Ventilation systems started up automatically in an attempt to cool overheated sections of his body as Megatron continued scraping against him, blue and red paint chipping off his torso.
Megatron's Spark was greedy, almost thirsty for contact. Unlike Prime's which sought comfort for its pain built up over time, his was harsh, strong, just as he was. Optimus' spark didn't resist as Megatron's curled against it, soothing the pains of the Peterbilt's almost instantly while also sharing its own stories. He forced his joints to buckle as he felt his legs grow weak, his head lolled to the side weakly, dazed. It was hard to think that such a breathtaking experience, something so delicious and insanely pleasurable was wrong. It was almost impossible to deny that he did enjoy the contact, the connection between their two bodies. Despite how cruel and despicable Megatron was, the feeling of his Spark consoling his own was amazing.

His vocalizers betrayed him, allowing a soft moan of pleasure to slip out. Megatron twitched slightly, in recognition, and groaned lustfully as his hands roved over red and blue plates of armor sensually. "You can't deny it, brother, you like this. I know you do."

"N-No..." Prime's neuro-grid was fried, his intelligible thoughts lost to him. He was well aware what was coming next, what his brother had saved for last. Optimus wouldn't be able to control himself then, wouldn't be able to stop his body from its traitorous movements.

The two Sparks grew closer until they were perfectly unified, both of their vocalizers allowed explosions of pleasure, sensation. But as quickly as it had happened, it ended and Megatron staggered backwards, the locks over his chamber reassembling themselves until it was hidden beneath his jagged plates.

The Peterbilt was weak, taking in air raggedly. He cursed himself from underneath his face plate, unheard by anyone because of the clacking noises his insides made as they covered the sensitive core once more with thick armor and other security measures. His logics circuit seemed suddenly revived, notifying him of the problems his body faced. Hadn't he shut that off before? He was tired, his joints were sore and his ventilation systems were working as hard as they could to return his body temperature to normal.

Megatron had a slight problem standing up and called Starscream over to assist in supporting him. As cold and heartless as the Decepticon was, he stood puzzled over what just occurred. Sparkbonding had never had such a power over him before; he'd never experienced such an undeniable feeling of rapture as he did with Prime. He suddenly remembered why he didn't enjoy bonding—he despised knowing the other's pains, their sorrows. Sam. Optimus' Spark had seemingly endless stories, pains, involving the fleshling. He growled angrily at the thought that his rival, as strong as he was, could be brought down so far by something as puny as a human being.

It wasn't long before bright blue optics flickered into nothing and Optimus' body went limp, supported by the Cybertronian chain links. He'd simply been knocked unconscious—not turned offline by anything. He was exhausted.

That left the problem of Sam, who was watching in shock. Megatron was tired as well and very irritable, ignoring the shouts and questions that continued to burst from Sam's mouth. He handed the F-22 a small vial of leftover morphine and told him to silence the boy, his voice doing nothing for Megatron's aching body. His body dropped into the throne and he rested his head tiredly in the palm of his hand. It took no more than a few seconds for him to completely give out, and his systems shut off to recharge. Only one more day, he told himself, and then he'd be done with Prime...and the meatsack forever.