Title: Call of Duty
Warning: Porn and pornstars. Power imbalance? Fantasies and libidos spinning out of control. Read at your own risk.
Rating: NC-17
Continuity: G1
Characters: Soundwave, Megatron, Onslaught, Hound, Reflector
Disclaimer: The theatre doesn't own the script or actors.
Motivation (Prompt): Voter incentive prompt for Colorado - "Call of Duty."
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Part Five: All For One, and One For All
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All Hail Megatron, who could pull a plan out of his aft under pressure.
Maybe it was one of his lesser touted skills, but it was invaluable nonetheless. Megatron had long been able to look upon the chaos of a battlefield and create a winning plan even as Autobots stormed his position. He'd probably kept Starscream around throughout the war for that very reason. There was nothing like having someone arrogantly staring him down, sneering at his lack of foresight, that inspired him to flip a losing situation to his advantage.
Sometimes it required sacrificing a subordinate. The more important the final goal, the more he was willing to sacrifice.
To save his pride, he'd even sacrifice Soundwave.
Soundwave didn't know how he felt about that. The concept was sound, but being a sacrifice was never comfortable. He belonged body and spark to the Cause, but come on. This stretched the 'body' part of the Decepticon Oath a bit far!
Megatron looked upon the face - and body, don't forget that body, Soundwave's recharge lately had frequent interruptions featuring that body - of a legend and suffered an attack of nostalgic lust that wiped out his defenses in one fell swoop. Flailing for an excuse to escape before he said or did something he'd regret later, he manufactured a fictitious interview proposal and told Hound when and where to show up if the Autobot so chose to reclaim his fame. This appointment had been a whim, a mere passing fancy. The fate of a former pornstar mattered not to Lord Megatron, Supreme Commander of the Decepticons, ruler of Cybertron. Now get out of his office before he changed his mind!
Halfway hidden behind the reception desk, sopping cleaning cloth in hand, Soundwave looked up with horror limning every line of his body as Hound scooted out of the office less than five minutes after he'd walked in. Megatron's hurried text message dropped into his inbox right as the doors closed. With Megatron safe on the other side, of course.
Autobot and Decepticon stared at each other.
"Uh," Hound said. "I guess...you're going to interview me?" It came out a question, but weak as his smile seemed, the wicked twinkle in his optics hinted that Megatron couldn't fool him.
Soundwave wondered if sinking out of sight below the level of the desktop was an option. The entire room reeked of desperately repressed passion. The cloth dripped evidence of his shameful lack of control into tepid puddles on the floor. His lap was still wet from the quick scrub he'd given himself before going after the mess in the seatwell. He didn't dare stand up. Given Hound's enhanced sensors, there wasn't much point in denying what had happened here, but there was a difference between stoic acceptance and active disgrace.
Therefore, no hiding beneath the desk. And no running away, either. Soundwave was a Decepticon, and a high-ranking one, at that. Hound was a nobody Autobot. Soundwave refused to run from a gardener. Regardless of the wobble Sarge put in Soundwave's knees, Hound wasn't Sarge. He just played the part a little too well.
Since Primus stubbornly wouldn't open Cybertron under him, Soundwave would have to stay here and pretend he hadn't jacked off two minutes ago, spike seducing him with its traitorous pleasure straight into the Pit. The building throb between his legs informed him he had the endurance for another round, but he forcefully redirected his thoughts to business. Business! No fragging, only business! Still humiliating, involved the desk, and smelled heavily of sex, but Hound wasn't walking toward him with intent to mount up and ride.
He squashed the part of him wistfully imagining that exact scenario in loving detail.
Steeling his nerve, Soundwave executed a complicated maneuver wherein he didn't stand all the way up and sort of slid sideways into the desk chair without revealing anything. The desk concealed most of the mess, but none of it magically went away. The chair squished under his aft. Spatters of thick fluid smeared across his aft and the backs of his thighs, and he fought not to wince. Slag him. He should have wiped off the chair first.
Hound's smile widened, truly amused, and Soundwave felt the color drain from his visor. Enhanced sensors. Right. If the smell hadn't been enough, the sound had clearly been audible. Embarrassment clamped his armor tight to his frame.
Embarrassment made worse when he dropped his gaze to the console and immediately spotted a glob of cooling transfluid. His tanks sank down to his ankles, panic thrashing inside them all the way down. "Time and date acceptable?" he asked somewhat numbly, staring at the puddle. Small lake. A sea of still-warm spunk he'd shot on the desk in a frenzy of spike jerking as he'd moaned through a vivid sexual fantasy featuring the mech standing in front of him.
He looked up and stalled midway, visor catching on another wet spot. Two. Three. Oh, Primus help him, they were everywhere. Professionalism was a lost cause. There were few things more inappropriate than evidence of humping his own hand sitting between them. Soundwave awkwardly set his hand over the biggest part of the Cum Ocean and reached for casual as he finally met Hound's optics.
Hound had the tact to cover his smile, one hand rising to rub across his mouth. "Heheh. Um. Sorry, sir. What did you say?"
This room clearly needed an escape chute. Soundwave was conscious of every single dribble of transfluid reflecting the overhead lights, glowing and vast as stars as he repeated, "Time and date acceptable?"
"For the interview?" Hound looked thoughtful, dropping his hand as he looked down at the desk. Soundwave wanted badly to stop him, but how could he? Demand Hound stop, and Hound could simply ask him why. It'd collapse the fragile illusion of control. Soundwave would have to destroy Hound to conceal his shame, and it would create too many questions. Ratchet would find out. The Constructicons would turn him into spare parts.
So he pretended Hound wasn't studying the galaxy of shame spread between them in speckles and spots. "Yes." He hesitated, rereading Megatron's text summary for clues. Megatron hadn't ordered Hound to comply. Hope trickled into Soundwave's spark. "Interview is not mandatory," he said, almost suggesting. "Cancelation allowed." Hound could leave, and they could all forget today had ever happened. An excellent solution!
One of Hound's optics squinted slightly, a hint of a cracked lens, and suddenly the Autobot was in Soundwave's personal space, one hip propped on the desk as he leaned down to set a hand on the damp console keys. "Cancel? Yuh welchin' on our date?"
A moment of silence.
Then the betraying hum of systems clicking into overdrive, fans whirring and hydraulics pumping, the dull thump as a hard spike hit the inside of a closed panel. So much for getting the Autobot out of here before he realized how much power he held.
Sarge glanced down significantly. "That mine?"
Soundwave couldn't answer. They both knew the answer, but Soundwave couldn't - he couldn't - surrender. Sarge could have him for the taking, but he couldn't give himself away. Submission wasn't a choice; it was a battle lost.
It was a battle won and walked away from. "Well, isn't that something," Hound said softly, falling out of character without sitting up. He stayed face-to-face with Soundwave a moment more, then pushed off the desk and back to his feet. Tacky fluid blotched his plating.
Fuel pump pounding, Soundwave squirmed in his seat and tried not to look as out of sorts as he felt. Flustered humiliation burned hot under his armor. He was exposed. Revealed. Stripped of authority and shown to be what he truly was: an uninhibited spikemech in dire need of a valvemech to tame him.
"Prior admission concerning Autobot Hound's prewar identity still in effect," he stated in as steady a tone as he could, considering the nature of his admission. Yes, he was still a fan of Sarge. Yes, he'd lay down and beg for valve. He was everything his body betrayed, and Hound had him dead to rights.
Now the mockery would begin. Maybe Hound would attempt blackmail. Starscream would have the sheer uncaring gall to kill anyone who got on his nerves and boldly tell everyone around him he was innocent. Shockwave systematically eliminated nuisances and any witnesses using legal means. Soundwave worked via more subtle tactics. A back alley accident could be arranged later that wouldn't raise any questions - or Constructicon wrath - but such planning required enduring laughter right now, bowing his head under the shame, and even agreeing to whatever extortion the Autobot demanded.
Instead of laughing, however, Hound flinched. "I'm sorry, sir. That was rude of me. It's just that…I kind of wondered how far I could push and..." Ducking his head, he looked toward Megatron's office door before flicking a guilty look at Soundwave from under his helm. "I was curious, but that's no excuse. I shouldn't have done that." He scuffed a foot against the floor, and his shoulders pulled up around his audios. "I'm sorry."
Soundwave stared.
Remorse stared back at him. "I'm sorry, sir. Please forgive me."
The edge of fear on Hound's words didn't make any sense for a few seconds - he'd just ground Soundwave's pride into a paste and held him captive by the libido, why was he afraid? - but it clicked into perspective after another nervous look at the office door. This wasn't Sarge apologizing. This was Hound scared of retaliation. Soundwave blinked as events rearranged in his head. An Autobot had just made a powerful Decepticon official dance for his amusement. Short term vengeance aside, Hound was obviously a realist. He understood the danger he was in.
Soundwave could destroy his business or his friends out of spite alone. He could demand whatever favors he wished, and Hound would probably give them.
He picked his words with utmost care, discarding what his spike ached for. Better neutrality than corruption. "No apology necessary. Nothing happened."
Hound must have worked with Jazz during the war. The added emphasis hit home clear as a spelled-out deal, and he slumped in relief. "Right. Okay. Thank you, sir."
Soundwave gave him a minute to calm down. He wouldn't admit to needing the time to wrestle his fans offline. His erection wasn't going anywhere anytime soon, but he shifted his legs apart to ease the pressure, moving slow in hopes the Autobot wouldn't notice. Control. He controlled the situation again. Sarge had taken it away, and Hound had handed it back. That was…disturbingly hot, actually, and Soundwave shoved the inkling of an idea for a modern porn plot into a secure file locked safely away from his thoughts. He did not need to be thinking about film proposals right now.
"Time and date acceptable for interview?" he asked a bit pointedly once Hound's tires stopped trying to roll against the parking brakes.
Hound grimaced, looking away. "If you're serious that I don't have to do it…"
Yes! No. Wait. Soundwave didn't know how he felt about the interview anymore. "Interview optional."
"Would I be paid?" the Autobot asked after thinking some more.
"Pay-Per-View royalties offered in contract."
There was another minute of silent thought. "I don't want my real name associated with this," Hound said at last, and Soundwave wasn't surprised. Disappointed, which did surprise him a little, but Ratchet had apparently been right about respecting the privacy of former celebrities. Not everyone wanted to be famous.
But Hound frowned as he looked up. "Is it okay if I do the interview in character?"
What?
Oh.
Oh. Soundwave's spike pushed insistently against his locked panel at the mere idea, and he swallowed a whimper pleading for mercy. He couldn't tell if it was directed at Hound or Primus.
The devil was in the details, of course, especially when it came to contract negotiations. Hound was a former actor. He knew all about contract negotiations. Given Soundwave's reaction, which he knew nothing about and would continue to know nothing about if he knew what was good for him, he already knew he had a large chunk of the Decepticons panting for him. In contract terms, that meant he had Media & Entertainment over a barrel. They wanted him. They wanted him bad. He just had to hold out for the price he wanted.
Contract bickering and demonstrations of Hound's hologram costuming ability didn't belong in the same room. They should have at least moved to a different room, but Hound knew enough not to let up on Soundwave. Let him recover, and contract negations tilted in M&E's favor. Pin him behind a transfluid-spattered desk, distracted by a hard spike and embarrassment, and Hound held the advantage. Soundwave knew he was being played, but he couldn't stand up to leave without showing off the mess covering his pelvic span and legs. It wouldn't be news to a mech who could smell fragging in the air and had sat in the evidence, but there was only so much Soundwave could own up to. His panel kept spontaneously popping open every time Hound fine-tuned another detail on the Sarge hologram.
He knew Hound walked away with the better end of the deal, but he couldn't manage to care. He barely made it until Hound left before taking himself in hand again.
This time he locked the door and called for a cleaning drone.
A week later, Soundwave fidgeted in another chair in another room, this one well-ventilated. He stilled a second later, pretending he hadn't been shifting around as the Reflector components gave him a curious look.
"What's up?" one said as the second one asked, "Who're we interviewing, anyway?" The third component ignored Soundwave's odd behavior in favor of testing the lights. The identity of the interview subject was far less important than good lighting.
Or so they thought, but Soundwave's refusal to answer their questions put Reflector on edge. Soundwave didn't evade questions. Ignored them, sure, but that was part of the power game. Flat-out ignoring questions from lowly underlings conveyed authority. Power tilted the other direction when ignoring slid into evasion. That fidget was as telling as a neon sign. Now the spy trio knew Soundwave didn't want to answer. He had a secret, and it filled them with equal parts wariness and excitement. What kind of interview made Soundwave visibly anxious?
The filming location added to the mystery. This wasn't the main studio. This was one of Media & Entertainment's makeshift stages, an old warehouse they'd broadcast shows from back when the branch first started. It had since been relegated to storage after the huge M&E building was built. Soundwave had scheduled warehouse security to be elsewhere today, leaving three Reflector components and himself to tidy the disused stage into something presentable.
And what interview subject required Reflector in person? They had stage crew minions to do the manual labor, now. Yet Soundwave had brought them here to set the lighting and cameras up as if only their perfectionism was acceptable. It was confusing. Flattering, too. Alarming, the more they thought about it.
Soundwave knew his silence unnerved Reflector, but he had his own case of nerves to tamp down. Reflector kept up a stream of commentary in the dark off-stage area. He didn't respond.
A door creaked out in the darkness, and he started as if shocked when the warehouse security system confirmed arrival.
Reflector snapped to attention. "Are we interviewing a serial killer or something?" one component muttered.
Soundwave didn't answer. All of his sensors fastened on the approaching mech. After a week of interrupted recharge periods and repeated viewings of old porn videos, he was strung-out and more than ready for this interview to be over. His thoughts cascaded through a blessing Megatron's quickness under pressure and cursing him for dumping this on his shoulders. His spike stirred eagerly.
Reflector's whispering cut off as the mystery mech sauntered closer, and it was totally a saunter. No, a swagger. Soundwave could tell from the cadence of his walk. He rose to meet their guest, and Reflector trained one camera on him to catch his reaction. The main camera swung to the side of the stage as another Reflector component hung off the backdrop out view of the camera, holding a microphone in place. They didn't have to know who they were filming in order to set up a grand entrance.
They almost fell off their perches as Sarge strode into the light.
Later, audiences wouldn't see the full-body jolt as Soundwave nearly missed his chair while sitting back down after greeting Sarge. Reflector edited that part out, just as they edited out the loudest noises, and the whirr of Soundwave's fans was indeed loud. They also cut down on how he shifted about on his chair, crossing and recrossing his legs twice a minute, wincing at the pinch. There was no way they could edit out all the tell-tale signs of how keyed up he was, but it wasn't as though nobody sympathized. The interviewer, after all, represented the audience's interest, and they were so very, very interested.
Onslaught had never been so glad he'd sprung for the extra-wide vidscreen. Pushing the couch closer, he leaned forward to hungrily devour every micro of Sarge visible on the screen. The mech was amazing. Amazing! An entire war, and he still looked larger than life. Twice as impressive a feat for someone who'd obviously made it through war and resultant peace. Color Onslaught thoroughly impressed. It took seeing Sarge slouched in the chair opposite Soundwave for Onslaught to realize the person in the Pay-Per-View porn was an actor.
The fact that he'd made it this far and come out the other end of the war the same as before meant he wasn't an actor anymore. Onslaught felt his internal temperature rocket. Sarge was a survivor, probably a killer, likely the leader of some crack squadron that operated under strict isolation protocols. No outside contact. No witnesses left alive. Need-to-know only kind of units, the ones that disappeared as if they'd never been. Onslaught had had no luck digging for information on his own, but Soundwave had access to all the blacked-out mission reports buried deep in classified files.
But although Onslaught studied Sarge - and there was plenty of material in this interview meant for studying purposes - he still couldn't tell what faction he'd belonged to.
Prowl hadn't known who Sarge was prior to this interview, but he'd tuned in due to the excitement among his employees. Optics vaguely troubled, he cocked his head to the side and tapped a stylus against his chevron as he watched. Who was this 'Sarge,' really? Prowl couldn't recall any mech, Autobot or Decepticon, who fit the face and body panned over adoringly during this interview. A cracked optic wouldn't have passed inspection when healthcare was available for free in either faction. The scars seemed identical to those shown in videos filmed millions of years ago. Time should have smoothed them, at the very least. Something wasn't right about this interview, but he wasn't sure what.
It certainly wasn't a trial to watch more closely. Even he couldn't quite pinpoint the strangeness, it was fascinating to watch an old enemy struggle to keep his dignity. Soundwave exercised what had to be an incredible amount of self-control during the interview. Prowl had never seen somebody try so hard to hide a raging hard-on. The camera loved Sarge all but obscenely, and Soundwave's usual composure slowly shredded into tattered rags the longer the interview drew out. Sarge seemed to enjoy toying with him. Every question-and-answer exchange turned into innuendo that eventually just gave up the pretense and became outright propositions midway through the broadcast.
All of Sarge's considerable talents were on full display, including some that spiked ratings like they were an open valve. Which was an apt description. Prowl's face went slack as Sarge propped one ankle on a knee, a distinctive click betraying what the camera scarcely blocked from view.
Megatron slapped a hand over his face in sympathetic embarrassment he rarely felt. Soundwave had just squeaked. Reflector's immense editing ability brought to bear on this interview, and the squeak made it on air? The pride of the Empire shriveled in shame.
Perhaps not. Megatron slid his hand down and revised his opinion: his compliments to Reflector's skill. The next shot of Soundwave showed the mech sitting in a completely different position than he'd been in a moment ago, and his chair appeared to have slid sideways across the stage. From the scuffs, he'd fallen off his chair at the very least. If only a squeak had gotten through, then it must have taken all of Reflector's skill to cut out the majority of Soundwave's reaction. Good. Soundwave was lucky Reflector could turn a disaster film into a victory parade.
Rewind back to filming of the event of the year, and Soundwave wasn't feeling the slightest bit lucky. Aroused, yes, and his spike thanked Primus in painful, aching pulses of need that he'd witnessed what he had. Reflector components kept hitting the floor left and right as avid lust made them lose their grips, Sarge had him on the run with this line of questioning, and please, someone open a window or something. The single fan he'd brought along didn't air the stage sufficiently. Open warehouse or not, the thick scent of interfacing rose off Sarge's armor dense enough to make Ravage punch-drunk addled.
Fortunately, Soundwave had left his Cassetticons doing their own things out in the entertainment district. The last video on Pay-Per-View had been Beast Mode, and he didn't think he could handle Sarge's innuendo aimed toward his technimal-framed Cassettes. Well, no, he'd be fine up until Ratbat took the mech up on an offer right in front of him. Then he'd melt on the spot.
Things were already getting sticky underfoot.
...not like that.
...maybe a little.
He couldn't even manage a proper sense of embarrassment anymore. Nobody could blame him for reacting so blatantly. It was the inevitable consequence of being deftly stroked by ready answers said in a rough Rust Sea drawl. Reflector was already scrambling to get the microphones out of range of the burr of their own fans, the heave of overworked ventilation systems, and Soundwave felt a tinge of pathetic smugness that he'd given up and consigned his stoic image to the scrapheap. Reflector was still attempting to hold onto dignity, the poor fools. He had that much advantage over the trio, here.
There wasn't much attention to spare for their antics. He was occupied keeping himself from coming where he sat. That thick drawl fluttered in his audios, verbally petting his speakers, and he couldn't pretend he wasn't craning his neck every time Sarge parted his thighs. The tease. He knew it was a hologram, but curiosity tormented him. Did Hound have Sarge's valve? Had it all been holograms from the start? How much of it had been and was real?
The questions he wanted to ask where the questions directed at Hound, not Sarge.
Sarge smirked at him, and Soundwave clamped onto the thin shield of public decency as hard as he could. He could do this. He could get through this interview.
He did. Not easily, but he got through the interview with only a few incriminating droplets left on his chair when he stood up to bid his guest goodbye. Sarge promptly stole even that triumph from him by exiting stage left - after slapping Soundwave on the aft in passing. Thank all cosmic entities for Reflector's editing skills, because overloading on camera now ranked among Soundwave's greatest thrilling shames.
Sarge paused at the edge of the stage to turn and wink at him. It was a promise. It was a warning. "I'll be seein' yuh, sir. Keep that warm fer me, yeah?"
Speechless, hands and knees shaking in the aftershocks, Soundwave just nodded.
The rogue sergeant gave each of the Reflector components a leer before disappearing into the darkness offstage. Once out of sight, Soundwave knew he'd vanish, a mystery once more. A rumor walking somewhere in the city, a shed hologram of Hound could pull on easier than transforming in and out of altmode. It was a secret not even Reflector had ferreted out during the filming, and Soundwave certainly wouldn't tell.
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