It was oddly silent when he returned home.

Soundwave paused in the entrance, looking at his waiting staff. They were all smiling, helms bowed as usual, but their thoughts were suspiciously subdued. Just as he thought to pry further, he was approached by one of his servants. "Good afternoon, Master," he said, reaching from behind the councilor and unclipping his cloak. "The Autobot in your private hall would like to see you in his quarters. As soon as you are able, my lord."

The Decepticon stared at his staff, caught off-guard by the news. "Status: it is late... Inquiry: What does he wish to talk to me about?," he asked. He scanned the servants' helms quickly again. Their processors were still quiet, but there was definitely reference made to Tracks. From what he could gather, the first servant had been true in his announcement of the winged slave waiting in his room.

Another 'bot spoke up this time. "He would not say, my lord," the femme replied, bowing. "But he expressed that he would like to see you, no matter the time."

Soundwave mulled it over as he let his attendants collect the last of his outer wear. The part of him that he was still attempting to strangle wanted to rush over and see Tracks immediately. Common sense and propriety argued that such a visit so late in the orn would be unwise. And there was still the issue of his staff acting peculiarly.

The councilor nodded his helm in acknowledgement before he started off for his private hallway. Oil lamps blazed through the dark corridors, filling the spaces with warm light and curtailing the shadows into tiny alcoves and crevices. Not a soul preoccupied the hallway tonight, and the air was just as dead. If this was an oddity to the telepath, he didn't notice it, too fixed on his conflicting thoughts as he was. He had yet to decide if he wanted to respond to Tracks' summons, or not.

But as he was nearing the Autobot's door, his pedes made that decision for him. He approached the wood silently, lifting a servo and, after a moment's hesitation, knocking on the door. "Designation: Tracks?," he called softly. "Status: you wished to see me?"

He waited about a klik, but when there was no reply, he reached for the handle. "Tracks?," he said again, entering into the room. Soundwave did a double-take for a moment. The room had been stripped of most of its linens; the bed just a bare mattress with its satin pillows still on top, and the windows missing its curtains as well. The armoire's doors had been flung open. Even from where he stood, the councilor could see that the dresser had been emptied out as well.

Slowly, Soundwave stepped further into the room, shutting the door behind him. "Tracks...?"

"Get out," came a growl from the other side of the room. The Decepticon turned to the direction of the voice, staring uncertainly at the bed. "I said get out!," Tracks shouted this time. His optics rose over the side of the bed, glaring daggers at Soundwave. "Can't you take a fragging hint!"

"Status: confused... Inquiry: Is there an issue?," Soundwave asked, slowly circling around the room.

"Damn you to the pit!," the Autobot screeched, sinking out of sight again. There came shuffling as Tracks attempted to get away from the councilor, while remaining unseen. "T-this is all your fault."

The blue mech stopped in mid-stride at the unexpected accusation, shuttering his optics behind his visor. "Inquiry: What are y-"

"Don't 'what' me! It was you and your scheming staff that did this to me! I hate you, I hate you all!"

The cruel words were beginning to pierce his spark. Soundwave, despite his better judgement, crossed the room in two long strides, reaching an arm around the bed and grabbing hold of Tracks' shoulder tire. A breathless gasp met his audios as his golden fingers wrapped around the limb, making the councilor freeze in response.

"O-oh...," Tracks quickly squirmed from his grasp, rising up and backing into the corner. He grabbed a pillow, trying to use it to cover his naked frame. "This," he hissed, connecting his optics with Soundwave's. "This is all your fault! I should have known that you would resort to such nasty, under-handed tricks!"

The Decepticon could not even begin to formulate a protest to that, let alone speak. His mouth had gone slacken behind his battle mask, and his visor glowed brightly as his system's began to purr with rising lust. Tracks was standing before him, poorly sheltered behind a pillow, that barely hid his beautiful, waxed plating from sight. His wings shone behind him, fluttering intermittently, while the slave frequently shifted his crossed legs. Blue optics blazed with heavenly light, rouge lip components glistening in contrast to energon-stained cheekplates. And the most erotic part of the entire package... Tracks' codpiece had also been drawn back, lubricants oozing slowly from a valve the councilor could almost see at this angle.

"Stop staring!," the Autobot shouted, pulling the cushion taut as he continued to cover himself. "J-just stop it!"

Soundwave felt his gaze lift, catching Tracks' optics. The cloud of lust that had been filling his processor began to dissipate and he shuttered his optics in appalled surprise. How could he have lost himself? Becoming enthralled by the delicious sight before, letting his basic programming override logic... Tracks would never be this bare for him willingly, and such evidence was true by the upset tears collected in the corners of the Autobot's optics. The telepath could only be disgusted with himself.

"I-i wish...," the slave panted, legs sliding against one another again. He stifled a moan, folding into himself and sinking to the floor. "I-i'm, aah... S-slag! H-how dare you do this to me?! S-spiking my food and ta-taking all my things away f-from me, so I have no choice but t-to be naked f-for when you arrive... I hate you for that! I hate you!"

"Fact: was not my command," Soundwave attempted to explain. He fumbled with his sash, undoing the knot and unwinding the material from his waist. He stepped towards Tracks about two pede-steps, before holding out the clothe for the Autobot to take. "Fact: would not want to harm you this way."

"Lies!," the multi-coloured mech hissed, ignoring the telepath's charity. Soundwave sighed softly, leaning forward a little, and quickly draping the clothe around Tracks' shoulder tires.

"Assumption: incorrect. Fact: shall find the ones that did this and punish them accordingly."

"Fine, whatever! Do whatever the slag you wish- just leave me alone!," Tracks spat. "I don't care if my chassis burns for your touch, the feeling isn't real! It's a poison forced into me, trying to trick me into submission. Well, I won't give in! I've told you over and over again: I am not your whore! Not now, not ever!"

Soundwave was silent as the Autobot raged at him, feeling a multitude of bitter emotions slam into his processor. The sheer force of them was enough to cripple another 'bot, but the cold, digging truth of the slave's statement was what had the Decepticon crumbling within. "I know," he wanted to say to Tracks, "I know you will never have me." But he couldn't even say that now -no doubt the winged mech would just call him a liar and hate him all the more for speaking.

Something though, quick and fleeting, caught the telepath's attention. He pulled away from his own despair, chasing down the unknown thing while Tracks' processor was still open to him and cornering it. Scanning the half-formed thought, Soundwave found himself even more stunned. "Inquiry: who was she...?"

Silence met his question.

"W-who...oh-oooh...W-who, ngh, are you t-talking about?," Tracks panted, still folding into himself. He was practically squatting on the floor now, the pillow wedged tightly between his half-bent frame. Whatever his staff had given him -probably a very strong, and dangerous aphrodisiac- was beginning to take its toll on the Autobot. Despite this, Tracks was fighting to keep his glare strong, swallowing back his moans and whimpers of need.

Soundwave shook his helm as he tore his gaze away from the slave. "Identification: the turquoise femme in your thoughts...," he mumbled in clarification. "Fact: Your emotions are darkest where she is concerned."

Fear, like nothing the councilor had ever seen before, wrote itself across Tracks' face. The Autobot immediately sat up straight, before pressing back into the walls, as if he wanted to simply melt into them. "Y-yo-you, y-you...," he stammered, fingers clawing at his battered pillow. "H-how do y-you know that... Y-you shouldn't know that!"

"Request: please! Do not move too much. Fact: you shall strain yourself!" Soundwave's plea fell on deaf audios as Tracks scrambled to put more distance between the Decepticon and himself; slamming into the councilor's frame in a sudden bolt for freedom and knocking them both to the floor.

"L-let me go!," Tracks cried hysterically, struggling to stand up. He spark was pulsating so fast it felt like it was going to burn out at any second; his intakes faltering as the slave began to hyperventilate. Soundwave grunted as he was kicked by the desperate mech, rolling onto his servos and knees as Tracks made a mad dash for the door.

"Wait!," the telepath shouted, leaping up and grabbing the other mech's wrist. He used Tracks' momentum against him, swinging the winged slave around so that he fell onto the berth. "Repeat: do not fight! Fact: the drug in your systems will force something to fail if you use too much energy."

"G-get off of me!," Tracks screamed, bucking wildly beneath Soundwave. Coolant poured down his cheekplates in streams as he continued to writhe and kick, his optics wide and white with terror, ignoring every word the blue mech had just said. "P-please... I don't want to! I-i don't want to!"

Soundwave didn't know what to do. He could feel Tracks' own terror bleeding into his systems the longer he was assaulted by the slave's torrential thoughts, making his better judgements flail uselessly. The image of the soft-coloured femme that had sparked this reaction was quickly fading from the Autobot's thoughts, and now the councilor was privy to the memory of Tracks' first capture. Through the dark, angled view of the processor's optic, he watched as those vagabonds descended on the recently chained slave; tearing back his plating and taking their fill. He didn't want that memory to be the first thing the winged mech remembered after so long.

The Decepticon released Tracks' wrists, staring sympathetically into the Autobot's as he touched his cheekplate softly with one servo. "Fact: Am not them," he whispered softly. "Apologies: for all that they have done. Plead: acknowledge that, please."

Tracks' thoughts were still a whirl of chaos. Doing something that he had never done before, Soundwave once more pushed into the slave's processor -this time, using his natural-born gift to calm the turmoil within. He pushed away the ill-ease and fear that the Autobot was feeling, helping Tracks gain control once more of himself and burying the thoughts and emotions back under their veil. The councilor couldn't say entirely if he was happy when Tracks stilled beneath him or not.

The absence of any will within the slave was something that left his fuel tanks roiling unpleasantly.

Cycling a deep intake, Tracks unshuttered his optics, looking up at the telepath blankly. "Off," he intoned in a dead voice, giving no other inclination to what he was feeling.

Soundave nodded his helm at the Autobot's wish, slowly backing away from the multi-coloured mech. He had forgotten the other's charged state though, and as he was pulling back, his leg brushed along Tracks' inner thigh, drawing a needy moan from the slave.

Tracks squirmed as his lust ran anew, trying to cover his frame once more. The councilor could only stare on in hunger. The aphrodisiac must have reached the peak of its efficiency. The Autobot's chassis was giving off waves of heat that Soundwave could literally feel against his own plating; the pillow that he held slipped, displaying vividly his fully pressurized spike and valve. Both were slicked with pre-fluids, and even coolant was pooling about the slave's optics as he avoided looking up at the Decepticon.

Soundwave took steady intakes, trembling in his quickly fading self-control. "Suggestion: perhaps..."

"N-no," Tracks protested weakly, trying to wiggle out from under the blue mech and roll away. "I-i-i don't need y-you to do an-anything."

The councilor knew it would have been wiser to get as far away from Tracks as possible. But with that warm frame so close to his own, and the aphrodisiac wreaking havoc on the slave's systems the longer he refrained from overload, Soundwave could not simply leave. "Request: come here." He pulled Tracks back to himself, forcing the weak mech into his lap. "Allow me to help."

Tracks couldn't fight him off.

He moaned, melting completely in the Decepticon's hold when a thick servo wrapped around his aching spike. Oh, the blessed relief that came immediately -the pleasure was so good it was almost painful. The Autobot cried out as Soundwave began to pump him, keeping his grip loose but firm, the warmth of his palm spreading his trickling transfluids around. His charge built to greater heights, until Tracks felt like he was going to explode.

But the damn mech would not go any faster!

Keening desperately, Tracks moved to quicken the pace, arching into Soundwave's servo again and again. The councilor let him do as he wish, a servo cradling the other's shoulder tire, so that the slave would not unseat himself with his writhing. Just when he thought he couldn't take anymore, the blue mech tightened his grip around the Autobot's spike, making Tracks overload with a strangled cry of ecstasy.

He collapsed against Soundwave, all jelly limbs and condensation-slicked joints.

The telepath shifted him gently, laying him stomach plating down onto the bed.

Common sense returned to Tracks. He stiffened as he felt the Decepticon move behind him, his whole body going cold despite having been steaming hot just moments before. He should have expected this; he had just given his slaver a golden opportunity, allowing him to touch him in a state of arousal. How could he expect the other mech to just walk away now, when his plating was still pulled back and his valve in clear view of the councilor's prying gaze?

Knowing it was inevitable, Tracks prepared himself for Soundwave's assault.

A heavy servo petted his helm once, twice, gently. "Goodnight," the telepath wished softly. The bed dipped as Soundwave moved, getting off of the mattress. For a moment, Tracks could not believe it, but he was forced to re-think his thoughts when he heard the door click close at the Decepticon's leave.

Stunned, the Autobot pushed himself off the mattress weakly, turning around. He was all alone in his room again.

Slowly, Tracks laid back down, staring confusedly at the bedroom door.

xxXxXxx

Soundwave leaned against the wood of the door after he had closed it, lost deep in thought. For a full klik, he did not move, but he knew after a length of time that he could not simply stand there idly. With heavy steps, he began to walk back up the hallway, intent on retiring to his chambers for the rest of the night.

So distracted was he, that he almost didn't notice the servant making their way towards him. "Good evening, my lord," the femme greeted, bowing, "Did you have an enjoyable time with sir Tracks?"

The councilor rounded on the servant immediately, feeling her thoughts boast wildly of her ill deeds in this whole affair. Incomparable rage tore through him as he loomed over him, the maid noticing her master's fury and withering beneath his bloody gaze.

"Status: you will leave this household. Immediately," he growled. "Fact: if you ever return, you shall be taken straight to the stockades. Inquiry: is that understood?"

"Y-yes my lord," the femme croaked, coolant filling her optics. He stood hanging over her, waiting for her to move.

"Well?," he demanded angrily.

She whimpered in fright before tearing off down the corridor and out of sight. Soundwave watched her go, still festering in his rage. It took all off his self-control not to simply call the servant back and strike her.

When the thought of murder had been wrestled from his list of immediate action, the councilor turned back around and closed the last of the distance to his own chambers.