C.M.D: And we're back again another month! I'm glad to be posting but my real excitement right now is for TFcon, that is taking place in a few short days! My first time meeting Peter Cullen alongside Michael McConnohie, the fabulous voice actor of G1 Tracks! So much gushing will be had! So while I squeal about that, please, squeal over this new chapter!

Soundwave was glad when rough, uneven dirt roads finally led to smooth and familiar cobbled paths; the looming walls of Iacon city appearing outside his carriage window. Leaning back inside, the councilor smoothed out the parchment on his writing brick, staring at the beginning trails of his report. The words all felt disjointed, reflecting his scattered thoughts and his bubbling fears. What was supposed to be a simple mission, only a month long, had become a study into a string of various attacks over thirty miles, keeping the Decepticon away from home almost three whole months.

Complaining would be treasonous, but to himself alone, the blue mech did just that. It wasn't just the length of time away that he was angered over, he was also worried about his estate, his staff and most importantly, Tracks. What would become of everyone he ever cared for and sheltered should the country erupt into war? Soundwave felt himself sicken with fear all over again.

He'd visited at least four towns and a few smaller, less known country villages, and each had been greatly devastated by attacks. Soldiers gossiped and questioned fearfully about the force that was capable of such brutality, as they handled the dead into a number of huge pits, while relaying documented losses in stock. As before, Soundwave had lied about the Autobots' involvement, but he was avidly aware that the mechs did not believe him.

What could he say though? If the Emperor did not wish to enlighten his people on the potential threat, one that he did not believe existed himself, then what position did the councilor have to inform the soldiers otherwise? That was a sure way to have oneself executed and given Soundwave's current situation, that was an end he didn't wish to meet just yet.

Sighing, the Decepticon once again crumpled up his parchment, tossing it to the floor of the carriage alongside his other failed attempts from earlier. Peering out the window again, Soundwave was glad to see that the evening traffic was not heavy that orn. It meant that they'd be reaching the winding mountain path up to his villa shortly, and home meant he could rest for a few cycles, before he would have to deal with anything else. Leaning back in his seat, the blue mech just enjoyed the rocking of the carriage as it finished the last of the distance home, tuning out the incessant babble of a city's never-ending stream of thoughts and offlining his optics in a moment of relaxation.

When the carriage finally drew to a stop, it was a jolt to the councilor, but he fought off his exhaustion long enough to stand up and climb down; allowing the servants to take care of his bags and the mess inside the cab as he headed inside. Waving off the gaggle of slaves and attendants that waited within, Soundwave requested a messenger be brought to him immediately, and he stayed by the door only long enough for a slave to go and fetch one. As soon as the messenger arrived, the telepath scanned his thoughts and imparted him with a notice that he would visit the Emperor first thing the next orn, once he'd had time to compile together his findings from the Warlord's mission. Sending the messenger off, the Decepticon headed straight for his room, brushing away each servant or slave that approached him.

By the time he reached his quarters, he was thoroughly drained; emotionally, physically and mentally. Deciding he didn't want to be involved in anything more for the night, especially not putting together Megatron's large, civilian death toll, Soundwave believed the best course of action was to simply recharge. A bath, food and even thought, could all wait until the morning after.

Maybe then, the councilor's worries will have categorized themselves into tiny, avoidable little cubbies that he could push back into the recesses of his processor and ignore for however long as was necessary.

xxXxXxx

Tracks was just returning to his room when he heard the other servants muttering about Soundwave's homecoming. They tittered nervously, completely missing the Autobot as he passed, and that caused the mech to slow in his stride.

"...He's not right..."

"...Master seems upset..."

"Just what...?"

It didn't take long for one of the servants to see the slave standing there, listening, and with a flurry of servos he shooed his companions away and hurried along to whatever duties still remained for him. Tracks didn't even scowl as the others scattered, too wrapped up in processing what had just been said. Soundwave was... upset? And no one knew why?

Silently, the slave continued his path to his room, leaning back against the door once he was inside. It was dusk outside his window, tinging the garden with warm, orange light and elongating the shadows growing in his room. Tracks paid them no mind though, lost in a soundless debate. Gathering courage, he approached the armoire, opening its doors and pushing aside his dull, brown tunics, to open the bottom beneath. Inside, sat the sheer, gossamer gown that he had donned decaycles ago in a mean prank; now, being gently drawn out, with the intent to use it as intended.

Setting the robe in a basket, Tracks then approached his vanity and browsed through the numerous bottles sitting on its top. It had taken him the rest of the month, but he'd managed to smuggle various oils and waxes from the bath hall, collecting them in his room for a time such as this. He selected three now, familiar ones from his past, and put them in the basket as well. Next, he grabbed a few pieces of jewelry to decorate his wings and wrists with, packing them up also, before the Autobot grabbed his basket and quickly headed for the bath hall.

It was dark when he entered, showing that Soundwave had not even come in for an evening bath. Whatever troubled the councilor was severe... and that caused a sliver of worry to worm into Tracks' fuel tanks. Not wanting to waste time, the slave moved with purpose, drawing a hot bath and setting out his soaps and oils. He washed, from helm to pede, taking his time to get into all the nooks and seams; scrubbing out scuff marks, smoothing over dings and applying a healthy, shining coat of wax bottom to top afterwards. It was dark by the time he was finished, but Tracks didn't mind. He let the bath drain, lit a candle and dressed in the dim lighting.

The Autobot even applied a little powder to his cheekplates and gloss to his lip components, double-checking his reflection in the hall mirror, before he exited out of the bath area. There was a squirm of anxiety within him, for the moment Tracks left the room, he was vividly aware that he was naked for all to see -robe or not. Yet, the winged mech steeled himself as he walked, chin lifted high and wings flared proudly, knowing that he was beautiful and using that knowledge as strength.

A servant was coming back down the hall as the slave strode around the corner, carrying a tray and looking positively dismal. No doubt Soundwave had turned down his dinner. Tracks decided to stop her in her path, taking the tray from the shocked femme's servo and continuing his strut up the hall. He didn't even look back to see if the servant was still staring with her flared and scandalized optics. Coming to a stop outside the Decepticon's room, the winged mech knocked lightly, hearing a weary vent within.

"Status: Not hungry," came Soundwave's vocalizer, "Request: Please leave."

Tracks grasped the knob and pushed the door open, balancing the tray with one servo. "If you don't eat, you will only do more harm to yourself," he said, watching as the councilor jumped before his mirror; scrambling to straighten the mask he'd been in the process of removing and whirling around.

The red visor flared brightly for a moment as Soundwave finally saw what Tracks was wearing -well, lack of- and he hastened into a corner in his room, staring adamantly at the wall. "T-tracks: W-what are you...?!," he stuttered, still trying to deal with the scare of the other's entrance and his rising lust, "Query: Why-?!

"I heard you returned... From the others' gossip. They said you weren't yourself," Tracks interrupted, closing the door and walking over casually. He set the tray down on the desk and turned to Soundwave, scowling now, as the blue mech continued to stare into the corner. "You also skipped dinner. I thought you might like cheering up."

The Decepticon's shoulders actually sagged and a sorrowful vent escaped him loudly. Without facing the slave, he waved a servo behind him weakly, mumbling, "Status: Not... don't want this, no... Plea: return to quarters. Tracks: Not required to do anything, especially not-"

Soundwave cut himself off as he felt warm fingers cup his servo, tenderly moving up his forearm, before that same warmth spread across his entire back; two, small servos looping under his arms and pressing softly against the front of his chestplates. "...And what if I said I was doing this of my own freewill, not some sort of idiotic obligation?," Tracks replied quietly.

Turning slowly, the councilor looked at the slave, feeling his lust flare into a raging inferno. Tracks was always so beautiful but under the candlelight, and freshly waxed too, he looked like a radiant mirage come to fulfill a romantic's most deepest wish. Heat beginning to escape his seams, Soundwave faced the winged mech fully, pulling him against his frame in a tight hug.

Tracks tried not to wriggle in the other's grasp, caught off-guard by the sudden action. It was hard though; reminded of every single pair of greasy servos that had viciously tore into him before, how could he ever have thought that he'd be able to let someone frag him? Just when his intakes began to cycle faster, the slave was suddenly being pushed a safe distance back, his optics shuttering in surprise.

"W-wha...?," he gaped, staring up at the taller mech.

The red visor was dim, dimmer than Tracks had ever seen, and even Soundwave's entire frame hunched in some silent suffering. "Tracks: Not... not just an object or a toy or a frag," the councilor said softly, "Status: Will not -can not- treat you as such. Mean too much to me."

A sort of sadness took over Tracks at the words and he didn't know what to do as the Decepticon turned to his armoire and pulled out a cloak. He was just draping it over the Autobot's shoulders and turning him to the door when something finally snapped in the slave. He whirled around, shoving the unsuspecting councilor onto the berth before climbing on top, both servos grasping the other mech's helm.

"This is my choice," he said sharply, staring Soundwave down. "You give me so much freedom, are you really going to deny me a choice in this of all things? I'm not doing this to test you, I'm not doing it because I want to be a whore; I'm doing this for my own reasons and I want you to decide only whether or not you want to do this too!"

After everything that had happened -the long journey, the horrible probabilities of upcoming war- the Decepticon was speechless. Every inch of him was torn: he wanted to respect Tracks, he wanted to shelter him and protect him, yet he wanted to roll the Autobot beneath him, take him again and again, and bind them together, spark and all. More than anything he wanted this nerve-wracking nightmare to come to an end and put to rest all of his fears of losing a love he never had the right to claim to start with. Looking up at the slave, hearing the impatient, "Well?," come from a mouth that was scowling at him in annoyance, but sensing the cool laps of worry resonating from an unusually calm processor, Soundwave could only think of one response.

Raising a servo, he allowed golden fingers to cup one of the powdered cheekplates, venting gently at having finally been given this chance. "Tracks: In control," he informed, slowly sitting up, his gaze never leaving the suddenly shy mech, "Fact: You stop, I stop. No excuses."

Blue optics flared like faraway stars at the statement, before Soundwave carefully rolled the Autobot beneath him; slowly undoing his clips and sash, giving the slave plenty of time to change his mind as he undressed. Yet Tracks never said anything and instead watched with rapt attention, trying to keep cruel demons at bay. The councilor felt this and his actions slowed for a moment, before he continued at his casual pace, being sure to constantly stroke cheeks and fingers in innocent adoration.

"Inquiry: Is this permissible?," he asked, once the last of his clothing had been shed.

Tracks quietly nodded.

"Query: May I do this?," the Decepticon questioned as his servos caressed down shoulders and forearms.

The slave's response was to spread his legs, allowing and inviting for the blue mech to come in closer.

Soundwave waited, slowly and tenderly mapping out the Autobot's frame with his servos, giving Tracks all the time in the world to adjust, as well as granting the telepath his own gift of seeing the mech in all his splendor. Not once did the winged mech take his optics off of the councilor, but Soundwave could both hear, as well as feel, when Tracks' intakes began to heavy with a slow-budding charge and his processor chase away the grasping claws of his torturous memories. The claws still remained, of course, but they were at bay -controlled by the slave's very own will and his ever vigil gaze, that reminded him firmly of just exactly whom was touching him now.

Smiling beneath his battle mask, the Decepticon wanted to comment on the smaller mech's bravery; yet, restrained, knowing that it could easily undo everything and send Tracks back into a hellish nightmare. Instead, he continued his requests and confirmations of permission, merely stroking and petting gleaming plating until there was a click from between them. Stiffening slightly in alarm, Soundwave paused in his stroke up a calf, glancing down. True to his assumption, Tracks' codpiece had been retracted and his scarred, but supple valve sat on proud display for him, beaded heavily with lubricant.

Flames of lust flared again and the councilor only saw his hunger, which he quickly reigned in, not wanting to hurt the slave. Squeezing the calf he held lightly, Soundwave straightened up in his seat, fighting back his own set of nerves as he revealed himself as well. The clack of his codpiece drawing back was like a slamming door in the silence between the two mechs, and Tracks jolted in alarm, allowing his gaze to drop from Soundwave's face to study his spike. Embarrassingly, it was already pressurized; slick with a generous layer of pre-fluids, swollen in want and need, and biolights burning brightly along the piping up the sides. Hitting cold air after so long, the only thing the Decepticon wanted to do was bury it hilt-deep into the waiting valve, but he paused as he felt fear grow rapidly within Tracks.

"Reminder," he called softly, petting the calf comfortingly, "Can stop at any time. Tracks: is in control and will be obeyed as wished."

The telepath felt the struggle within the slave's mind, saw the terrified optics flash upwards and connect with his visor, but after a few kliks Tracks managed to subdue the worst of his anxiety and with a shy, slightly uncertain nod, gestured for Soundwave to continue.

Cycling a shaky intake in excitement and nervousness, the councilor shuffled closer, lowering himself onto the smaller Autobot.

It was weird. No, that wasn't quite the right term... It was more like, terrifying. Tracks kept his optics on Soundwave as he loomed in, feeling those haunting thoughts fight to claw their way to the forefront of his processor, but he beat them back, refusing to be a victim to them as well. His fuel tanks still churned and his spark was pulsing two-beats too quick, yet he didn't stop the Decepticon when he pressed softly against the outer folds of his valve, nor was he afraid that he couldn't stop this if he wanted to. This sudden swell of courage was baffling; there was no reason that he should possess it, but, Tracks was filled with a great certainty that his word was law in this berth and so he let the moment keep playing out, intent on pushing himself to his limits.

He didn't care for the act of fragging itself but...

But there was a need to see what this budding connection to the councilor was. To hold it under various lights and discover what it meant and what place it had in his life. Shaking servos grasped at the councilor's thick shoulders, holding onto them like an anchor as the bigger mech slowly gyrated just at the lip of the Autobot's valve; allowing Tracks to adjust, little by little, instead of slamming right in as was expected.

Tracks could only shiver below Soundwave, amazed and mind-boggled at how considerate and attentive the Decepticon was being even now, and how good all of this was beginning to feel. It didn't take too long for his inner thighs to get slicker as more lubricants were produced, the slave gasping in marvel as the councilor suddenly slid inside a few inches, yet he held himself steady to keep from piercing the Autobot harmfully. He'd been so worried that all of this would hurt, given his last few unfortunate sexual experiences and the alarming girth of his slave master, but Soundwave remained working at a slow pace until Tracks had fully relaxed, unaware that he had taken the entire spike in.

Only when the Decepticon jerkily began to increase his pace, breaking out into an unbidden, fast tempo, that the slave noticed he was stretched pleasantly wide -only for it come to a sudden stop as Soundwave grunted out a jumbled version of the winged mech's name, fluid gushing into Tracks' valve as the councilor nearly collapsed on top of him.

Shuttering his optics for a klik, it took the blue mech pulling up and out for Tracks to realize that he was already finished... and they'd barely even started! "W-wha...?," he stammered, still trying to process what had just occurred.

The councilor sat on the edge of the berth, hunched over and rubbing the back of his neck in shame. "Apologies: performance... inadequate," Soundwave confessed, tone rich with embarrassment. "Status: have n-not... didn't..." He cleared his vocalizer and turned his helm to Tracks slowly pushing himself up. "Fact: H-have never connected p-previously. Been saving it for that special 'bot."

Tracks visibly flinched, as if he had been slapped, and the Decepticon cringed anxiously in response as he felt a darkness take over the slave's thoughts. He was just reaching out a servo for the shaking mech, when Tracks scrambled off the berth quickly, weakly excusing himself and running from the room in less than a klik. Soundwave rose to give chase but his strength escaped him before he'd even taken a step forward. Crumpling back onto the berth, the councilor slapped a servo to his face as he hunched over again, eaten up by self-loathing and fighting back tears.

C.M.D: Admittedly, I am evil.
Be kind; give me your mind~ REVIEW, please?