Title: Tyrant of the Seraglio, Pt. 4: Runaway

Warnings: uREAD THE WARNINGS/u, PLEASE

BDSM (dominance/submission, slavery)

Coercion

Mutilation/Gore

Memos

Rating: PG-13

Continuity: IDW/G1 (AU)

Characters: Soundwave, Megatron, Optimus, Brawl, Starscream

Disclaimer: The theatre doesn't own the script or actors, nor does it make a profit from the play.

Motivation (Prompt): Optimus Prime – "passive"

[* * * * *]

uFrom TFWiki –/u
vorn = 83 years

deca-vorn = 8.3 years

stellar cycle = ~7.5 months

orn = 1 Cybertron day

joor = 6 hours
cycle = 1.25 hours
breem = 8.3 minutes
klik = 1.2 minutes

mechanometer ~ meter

kil ~ kilometer

[* * * * *]

Everyone in the harem had a coping strategy. Soundwave submitted. Megatron fought. Optimus speculated.

Soundwave cringed and scurried, always obedient in his best attempt to lessen inevitable punishment. He coped by doing exactly what he was told to, because he was desperate to avoid being broken further. Megatron blamed and complained, eternally angry in a long, slow boil that made him dangerous even fettered as he was. He coped by surly compliance until an unpredictable eruption, because anything less would mean he'd been broken. Optimus dreamed and wondered, gliding through hard reality on a soft cushion of might-have-beens that weren't. He coped by bending, because he thought about what might have happened if he hadn't.

Debatably, it kept each of them sane. Optimus felt sane, anyway. Sometimes lost in his head, sometimes weary of the world outside it, but sane. He didn't deny reality. He knew the difference between thought and reality. He didn't want the future he thought about to become a reality.

Optimus had come to the life of a harem slave knowing what he was getting into. Being used as an interfacing toy and prize slave hadn't been a shock. He'd have submitted to his master even if he hadn't known, however. It was one of his speculations, what life could have been like if he'd resisted, if he'd continued leading the Autobots through a losing war, and Optimus usually decided in favor of becoming a slave every time. He'd been prepared for pain and humiliation, and he would have surrendered to that. He could have been turned over to the Decepticon ranks to be used as a frag-toy by them all, and he'd have gone willingly. His master could insist on interfacing in front of all of Cybertron, and Optimus would obey.

It hadn't come to that. The worst that happened in public was the formality of kneeling when the Autobots' agreed to the final draft of the terms of surrender. Nothing painful happened in private. It'd been a toss-up who was more surprised by the lack of abuse: Optimus' officers, or the Decepticons in general.

Optimus himself kept his expectations low. Reactions were difficult to provoke when a mech stayed in neutral, equally ready to be pushed around or yanked up short. It meant separating himself from true emotion, but that wasn't anything new. Not really.

The brackets in Optimus' chest tensed occasionally, closing around an invisible presence that rested in him still. The Matrix lay inside Ultra Magnus chest, but it hadn't Chosen the other Autobot. It could be easily removed, which his former friend and comrade did whenever meeting with the Decepticons, and that's when the brackets flexed. Optimus kept his silence about the phantom spasms. He also kept silent about the thrum of approval that pulsed through him every time he gracefully surrendered control to his owner or anyone he was gifted to.

Only he knew that the Matrix approved of its Bearer's servitude. The Autobots had protested until Ironhide burnt out his vocalizer and Ratchet nearly overclocked himself. Even the unholy team-up of Jazz and Prowl hadn't done anything to dissuade their Prime. Because the Matrix approved, as it had approved of saving others at the cost of his own body during the war. His officers called him forty kinds of stupid and a martyr, but the Matrix approved. It approved of him putting his Autobots first, and even more so of making Cybertron as a whole more important than one single mech.

He himself didn't come first, nor second. But he never had. Slavery just made his subordinate status his most obvious feature, now.

The Primes served. The Senate had once twisted the office of Prime into a political thing of power, but Optimus knew the truth. He'd serenely given up the physical presence of the Matrix and taken up the spiritual role that stayed within him, and it was nice that slavery wasn't as painful as he'd assumed it would be. It didn't really matter that he wasn't the plaything of all and sundry, since he'd have resigned himself to even that, but it was nice.

After a lifetime of leading a war as the ultimate authority, serving the Autobots as a warrior, the adjustment period had been brutal. A Prime's duty was to serve, but it'd taken quite a while to awkwardly dig out the pride standing between him and the return to an overtly submissive role.

The fault lay with him. Blaming everyone else was Megatron's coping mechanism.

Optimus just…dreamed of how it could have been.

Not of reigning as Megatron wished. Primes didn't - shouldn't have to - rule. He thought of different kinds of service. Optimus stared out the window over a rebuilt Cybertron, and he wondered how it would have looked if the peace had come about another way. He wondered if the buildings would have been arranged in blocks instead of arrayed in expanding circles radiating out from this building, the city center. The current layout was a testament to his master's certainty of just whom the universe centered on. Optimus would have never wanted the city to be built around him if the Autobots had won instead of surrendered.

He wondered who would have made the decisions, how committees would have been elected, what his role would have been in an Autobot government. Ultra Magnus would have made a good Chancellor, or President, or whatever name the position got. It probably would have shocked the brakes off his officers when the Prime refused the head political role, but knowing how the Matrix pulled him, Optimus wouldn't have lasted long sitting in a position of power. Diplomacy had its uses in serving the people, but the Primes had been too long in a position of leadership. Ultra Magnus or perhaps Prowl would have taken up the government role, and Optimus would have retired to activism, support, and rebuilding Cybertron's people instead of structure.

That future, he thought rather wistfully now and again, could have been a good life. Stressful at times, but good.

Slavery had never been part of his idle plans for the future, but there was no use in protesting. What had happened, happened. Megatron had been overthrown. The new Decepticon regime had utilized the subtle cunning of deception instead of heavy-handed tactics, and the Autobots hadn't stood a chance against intelligence wielding brute force. Surrender had been the best option. Not an option anyone liked, but still the best one available.

Optimus had retired in a vastly different manner, and Ultra Magnus had taken up his position. He was certainly doing a good job advising Optimus' master, as much as the Decepticon government listened to Autobots. To be fair, that was far more in surrender than it would have been in total defeat. There were Autobots in strategic positions throughout the Decepticon structure of this new Cybertron, and…it made a difference. Enough of one to make slavery worth it.

It was a difference made possible because of the sacrifice of one mech. Just one, for the salvation of a whole faction and the planets they protected. Earth had come to no further harm after surrender, and neither had Paradron or the alien worlds gradually coming back into contact with Cybertron.

Because Optimus served, it was possible. So he did. His own needs and wants shuffled to the back of his mind, suppressed with the aid of his sense of duty and the Matrix's soothing pulses of approval, and first came his master's desires. His master led Cybertron, and so Optimus knelt under that authority. Then came those sent to the harem. Rewarding them for their service to Cybertron reinforced in them the unconscious belief that the Matrix-Bearer blessed their efforts. It was a profoundly physical blessing - uncomfortably so, in the first vorns of adjusting - but Optimus' smiling pleasure came easier as time passed. It was so obvious to equate slavery in the harem to serving Cybertron.

Decepticons, Autobots, and Neutrals alike were sent to the harem, and they left with satisfaction and pleasure still singing through their circuitry. Optimus solemnly bent to his duty, and through it reinforced the belief that peace was right.

That was reality. Optimus knew it. He never sought to escape the harem. It was where he belonged, now. Bland acceptance coated every sharp edge in the reality he drifted through. It was easy to become resigned to everything. The Matrix whispered its distance-faded assurances of rightness, of belief in his rightful place, and Optimus dwelled in that hazy feeling. He could be infinitely patient inside the utter certainty that his sacrifice ensured Cybertron's prosperity. The Autobots were safe, even thriving. They kept to the terms of the peace because they respected what he had done for them; the Decepticons returned that respect because his master treasured his total surrender. He served all of Cybertron with his slavery.

Gentleness had been his default long ago, before the war. His urge to serve had manifested in fierce protectiveness that'd led him into law enforcement despite how he deplored violence. With the means and need to fight stripped away from him, the abilities honed by war and training were lulled dormant. Slavery had freed him to be gentle again.

That felt good when he let it, like a softly-addicting drug that he dosed on more often as time passed.

Between visitors, however, he thought about defeat. What would have happened to the other Autobots under Megatron's victory? How would it have happened? What would have become of him, personally? Who would the Matrix have passed to? If they'd kept fighting after Megatron's overthrow, how long would they have lasted? What would have happened to Earth?

First came his master. Second came those he was gifted to. Only then could Optimus manage concern for his own well-being. Even then, he pushed himself aside. The Primes were vessels. He tried to enjoy fulfilling his purpose as much as possible. He filled the remaining empty space inside him with things that never happened, and avoided thinking about what was happening right now.

There were a million different speculations to make. Optimus drifted through the harem and its duties, comforted by the Matrix and cushioned by devotion to duty, and he endlessly thought about everything but the present.

It frustrated Megatron to no end. "You're mad," he'd said over and over again when Optimus passively bent before another duty or visitor.

"We're all mad here," the ex-Prime said peaceably, face straight, and it wasn't until Jazz burst out laughing that Megatron caught on to the 'humanism' the ex-Prime had been quoting for vorns on end at that point.

The silver mech had gritted his teeth and switched to, "You're insane."

Optimus only rolled one shoulder in a shrug and responded, "Am I?"

It was a non-answer of an answer. It gave his former enemy nothing to use against him. That didn't stop Megatron from continually battering himself against the smooth wall of impassive acceptance protecting Optimus, but polite conversational filler fulfilled that role just as well as any actual response would have. Megatron raged no matter how Optimus responded or reacted. It was what he did. Nothing Optimus said or didn't say would help the ex-tyrant cope any better, and trying to change that was futile. It wasn't worth Optimus fretting.

In a distant way, he felt somewhat worried about Megatron's towering hatred. Some orn soon, their owner would find a way to bring it crashing down, and the ex-Prime wondered what would be left standing in the rubble afterward.

Well, that orn would come when it came. In the meantime, Optimus turned the tired dregs of his natural concern for others on someone he could actually help: Soundwave.

It wasn't duty that prodded him up off the berth after the door closed. Yes, Soundwave was part of Cybertron. Yes, the Matrix urged him to protect all Cybertronians. But, like Optimus himself, Soundwave was a sacrifice for the good of many. Their master took cruel delight in the blue mech's torture, and Optimus had heard enough from the rare visits granted to the Autobots to know that the sadism was absent from the newly rebuilt Cybertron. Soundwave had been spared as a means for revenge, and as an outlet. He was crippled and brought as low as possible, but the Matrix accepted that.

The Matrix could be spectacularly cold in its calculations. This wasn't the first time Optimus had thought that. As usual, he repressed the thought.

This time, he did it by wondering what Brawl was up to. Not because of duty, but because it headed off more serious trains of thought. That's what had him standing up to meander toward the door. The echo of compassion and sad scraps of pity led to Optimus helping Soundwave most of the time, but caring for the harem's pathetic servant was also a distraction from the ex-Prime's own fate. Curiosity stung him, and it was a welcome prod.

Megatron watched him rise. "He won't listen to you." Bitterness twisted the ex-tyrant's mouth into a strange shape.

It was familiar to Optimus' optics. "He might," he corrected his old enemy. Unspoken was the fact that Brawl wouldn't listen to Megatron, not after Starscream had finished tampering with the loyalty programming, but not even habitual disrespect toward all Autobots could overcome a Prime's influence. An ex-Prime, but still - Brawl's respect lingered in odd ways. Perhaps it'd be enough.

There was a surly, gruff burst of air forced out of intakes too quickly. When Optimus glanced toward him, Megatron pretended it hadn't come from him. "It's pointless."

Just like the arguments that circled through the harem? No. Everything had a purpose. To give Megatron's untamed anger a target or deflect the present, there was always a reason for what Optimus did. The ex-Prime hummed thoughtfully and laid a hand on the door controls. The soft growl behind him was for the fact he was allowed to do that, not because Optimus did it.

"It could be entirely unnecessary, but I won't know until I find out what they're doing," he said mildly, offering something that would not reveal weakness. Megatron couldn't afford to show connection to anyone, not even his former loyalist, but puzzles were impersonal. "Why would he want Soundwave? He's never shown an interest in him before."

The ex-tyrant blew out air again and stood to pace across the room. "Who the frag knows what goes on in Brawl's head? He's never been the brightest bulb in the lot. If it wasn't for Onslaught finding a use for him, I'd have demoted him back into the rank and file even before Bruticus. After Bruticus…" A black hand waved irritably in illustration of Megatron's boundless annoyance at the messy chaos on Earth. He took another turn around the room, walking faster, and his route passed near where Optimus stood waiting. But not too near. The slave bands wouldn't allow him to approach the door. "It could be he's gotten it in his low-wattage brain module to beat the slag out of him."

"Brawl is rarely spiteful," Optimus pointed out. "Emotional, but not toward," he hesitated, searching to phrase it correctly, "furniture, I suppose. He ignores Soundwave."

"Brawl target-locks his anger." Megatron slashed a hand through the air and restlessly paced back behind the desk. "He fixates, but he's fully capable of randomly lashing out. He just doesn't at Soundwave because he hates doing mundane chores."

Like polishing the harem slaves or fetching high-grade for their guests. "That makes it even less likely he'd strike out at Soundwave now," Optimus mused with a look down at his plating. Paint transfers from Skywarp still marred his finish. "How odd. It's been a long time; why would he do anything after so much time?"

"Stop delaying!" the silver mech finally burst out, whirling to face him. "If you want to find out so blasted much, open the door and look!"

It was important not to smile too widely when Optimus won a genuine victory over Megatron. Petty though it might be, forcing the former leader of the Decepticons to grow impatient enough to concede interest amused the ex-Prime. Megatron was curious, too; backwards as it seemed, he'd just admitted to it. Laughing at the other slave over it would only rub rust in the wound.

"Very well," Optimus murmured, fighting the twitch of his lips.

He tapped the door panel, requesting access. Theoretically, he was allowed to leave the harem, so long as he was escorted by a guard. Optimus was simply too apathetic about his personal freedom to bother exploring the limits of his slavery. Past experience with the Swindle incident and Onslaught's various schemes to somehow exploit and/or plot with Megatron meant that the ex-Prime did know for sure that the door was programmed to open for him. And it did, after a moment to scan his wrist bands.

"Oh," he said, very softly, and caught the door before it slid more than partway open in order to ease it back shut. Mostly shut. He carefully pressed to the side of the door frame in order to peer discreetly through into the guard room. "Oh." This…had never been included in his speculations. He'd never imagined it was a possibility.

He was strangely delighted by that fact. There were might-have-beens that he'd yet to even wonder if they existed.

"What?" Megatron hissed. Taking his cue from Optimus' sudden, furtive dodge to the side, the ex-tyrant prowled across the room until his slave bands bleeped warning. Then he edged to the wall closest to the tall blue-and-red Autobot and craned his neck, trying to see around him and through the cracked door.

Optimus didn't bother answering. With the door opened even this much, the dull background noise he hadn't noticed as significant abruptly became much clearer: engine roar. The deep, throbbing bass of a tank motor was enough to vibrate the floor against his feet, but it hadn't registered because Brawl was often noisy. The Combaticon tank expressed himself loudly in laughter or bellowing anger, and the booming rumble of his engine underscored his guard shifts on the harem. That was the background noise of orn-to-orn life in this room.

"Oh," he breathed again, still swept away in that weird lightness, like the world around him had suddenly revealed a whole new layer to think about.

It had, in a way. Keeping Soundwave as safe as Optimus could was a charity chore. It was as tiresome as it was pathetic. He didn't regret begging mercy on the behalf of someone already totally humbled, or feeling his tanks ping empty because he'd given his ration to a starving mech. The part of Optimus awake enough to not drowse under the drugged spell of Matrix-approval was still a gentle, fiercely protective mech who'd joined law enforcement to shield the helpless, once upon a time. That part of him was muted, muffled down by resignation and daydreams, but Optimus couldn't stand stoic through Soundwave's suffering. It'd just felt like a burden because of they all knew it would never end. Their master wouldn't up and decide to forgive the ex-Communication Officer for thousands of vorns of betrayal and imprisonment.

Watching someone crawl and writhe in pain and shame for vorns on end deadened sympathy. It became tedious instead of sad. Hence why it felt like a chore. Optimus had begun to dread the orn he looked at Soundwave and concluded the mech was better off dead. What kind of life was being neutered like that, reduced to being the slave of slaves? There was no future hope to look toward, or even a lessening of despair.

There hadn't been, anyway.

"What is that idiot doing?" Megatron whispered harshly from beside him. Even the ex-tyrant kept his voice low.

Amazement mingled with disgust filled the silver mech's face when Optimus tore his optics off the crack in the door to look. "He's interfacing with Soundwave," Optimus informed him gravely, struggling not to smile. He added, a tad giddy from a burning, new-kindled secondhand sense of optimism, "I didn't know he could do that anymore."

Interfacing. Soundwave could still interface. One of the most basic, life-affirming system functions a Cybertronian could have, one he'd long thought had been surgically removed from the eunuch, yet that out there was definitely pleasure. Soundwave could still feel pleasure.

Why had that never occurred to him? There were other ways for mechs to enjoy themselves other than clicking cables in, but Optimus had never even thought to ease Soundwave's torture with a taste of bodily comfort. That was new, and exciting for the hope it smacked of. It was distraction and useful in one, and there were might-have-beens and could-happens spinning out in every direction now like unexplored roads just waiting for his mind to venture down.

Optimus was aware that he wore a silly grin. He didn't care.

That earned him a peculiar look, half glare and half astonishment, but Megatron shook away the weirdness. "Brawl fragging him makes no sense. There's nothing he can gain from it. Soundwave's useless." Useless in the optics of the former leader of the Decepticons, perhaps. An emotional connection to a mech never factored into his calculations unless it could be exploited, and Soundwave had been rendered useless in Megatron's optics in terms of important things like escape. Optimus sighed and didn't argue the point. As per usual, Megatron didn't notice objectifying his former officer into a commodity, and a frown passed over the ex-tyrant's face as he continued uninterrupted, "And why now?"

It was a rational question to ask. 167.89 vorns of slavery, and only now did Brawl act to seize what he could have had for the taking all along?

Optimus lifted one shoulder in a shrug. "Opportunity? Whim? I can't remember him ever dragging Soundwave out like that before." Megatron scowled and shook his head when glanced at in question. "He…seems to be enjoying himself, at least. I wouldn't have pegged him for liking to watch, but…" They both flattened against the wall to look out again. Brawl didn't notice them staring.

The mask and visor might have made the Combaticon hard to read, but both slaves had long experience with their guard by now. He radiated an uncomplicated sort of enjoyment, revving his engine in rhythmic pulses of plating-rattling sound that sent the boxy blue mech sitting in his lap squirming. Soundwave's wrists were captured in one strong hand, pinned to the desk in front of them, and the other held his head turned enough that Brawl could watch the remaining half of the slave's visor flash erratically. Soundwave couldn't moan, but that didn't stop him from arching back and pushing into the fingers delicately holding his chin. Charge crackled over his plating, coalescing in white flashes inside his empty dock and sparking in the gaps of his joints.

Laughing under the clatter of the desk dancing over the floor, Brawl let his engine downshift. Soundwave immediately began wriggling as the purr sustained his charge without letting it ebb or rise. "Having a good time, huh? Like that, don'tcha." The two harem slaves strained to hear how the Combaticon teased the eunuch coming undone in his lap. "What, you want somethin' more? Whatcha want, huh?" He let go of Soundwave's wrists in order to stroke down the blue mechs's side like he was evaluating something. "Not bad, not bad…huh. Yeah. Could get used t' this."

Soundwave rolled his head back onto Brawl's shoulder tread and nuzzled into the side of the Combaticon's helm. Charge sizzled and popped, and Soundwave wanted so dearly that he didn't need a voice to plead. Body language communicated his needs. He writhed between the hand on his chin and the hand now clamped over one thigh.

Maybe he'd have turned to face Brawl, but the Combaticon's hand dropped from chin to his other thigh. With another ribald laugh, Brawl yanked his aft back flush against him. Soundwave's backward arch over the tank's prominent chest ended as the move forced him forward in a painful crunch of thin plating against armor-grade. The half-broken visor went wide in fear for a second, and Soundwave started to twist to look up at Brawl in confusion.

That powerful grounder engine roared.

Optimus stifled a surprised exclamation, and behind him, Megatron grunted as if he were reluctantly impressed.

Strutless and all but melting under the barrage of violent vibrations, Soundwave flopped forward onto the desk. His arms were unable to support his weight. He buried his mask in the console keys and clawed frantically at the desk's surface, but it wasn't from pain. Optimus knew far too well what Soundwave looked like in pain. That was the complete opposite of pain.

And there was Brawl, laughing uproariously at the fun of blowing a mech's mind from sheer pleasure.

Optimus had to raise his voice to be heard over the thunderous chugging making his windshield wipers jitter on his chest. "Should I ask him to stop?" He didn't like the idea of Soundwave being forced, no matter how much of an improvement this was over what he'd thought Brawl wanted him for.

"No," Megatron said sourly. "That idiot will use him however he wants. He won't stop just because you ask." Contempt practically dripped off the word. The silver ex-tyrant thrust himself away from the wall and stalked across the room.

A flicker of pity tried to ignite. It died. The sharpness of empathy had long since worn away inside Optimus. He watched Megatron storm over to throw himself in a chair, and he felt nothing. Slaves had no right to demand; they could only ask. Megatron refused adamantly to stoop to asking. Denial of a slave's requests came easily to many, and the silver mech was too proud to open himself to the humiliation of denial.

Optimus looked back out the door. It was telling that Soundwave wasn't begging. One thing war had taught Optimus was that sometimes begging worked. Slavery had taught the boxy blue mech the same lesson, and Soundwave applied that lesson shamelessly. Harem slaves could only ask. The harem eunuch didn't even have that right. He could, and did, beg for everything. It didn't often earn him consideration, but that didn't stop him from trying.

He wasn't begging now. Or rather, he wasn't begging for Brawl to stop.

"I think you like it," the Combaticon chortled as he let his motor downshift again, apparently just to feel Soundwave grind against him. The eunuch pushed the side of his mask into the desk and bucked. The hands on his thighs tightened, crumpling the thin plating slightly, and Soundwave's hands went back to paw uselessly at Brawl's arms as brilliant white traceries of charge began zapping at the tank's fingers. "Heh. Heh heh. Ooo, niiiiiice."

The ex-Prime shook his head and started to quietly close the door. Later. He could ask Brawl what was going on later, once they, er, finished.

"What in the Pit?!"

Brawl's engine sputtered from second gear down to a flustered idle. "Uh - "

Alarm blasted his fans for a brief second before Optimus opened the door all the way. There was a hate-filled curse from behind him, but the Autobot ignored Megatron in favor of draping himself in the doorway. "Lord Starscream," he called in a berth-ready husk. It wasn't that he thought he could divert attention away from the eunuch urgently pressing Brawl's hand to the inside of his empty Cassette tray. However, coaxing the Seeker into the harem might allow Soundwave time to recover.

The poor eunuch probably would have been a whimpering hot mess of a mech if he still had a vocalizer. He was definitely a hot mess at the moment, vocalizer or not. He was curled over the Combaticon's hand in his chest as he sought those wonderful, deliciously deep vibrations now denied him. When Brawl cuffed him upside the head with his free hand, it shocked him off the brink of overloading. A hand on his helm directed his blurry gaze toward the Seeker standing in stunned silence in the entryway, and he froze. The silent whimper could almost be felt.

Desperate, the crippled ex-officer pushed himself off Brawl's lap and tumbled to the floor in an extremely ungraceful heap. Wide red optics narrowed to burning slits while Soundwave sorted out his uncooperative limbs and scurried around to the front of the desk, but the slave managed to kneel in a properly submissive pose. The boxy blue mech was trembling hard, all the excess charge of stymied arousal transmuted instantaneously to terror.

With good reason. Almost on automatic, the flyer swept an assessing look over the Autobot posed in the harem doorway. Starscream's lip curled, and Soundwave cringed. "You're scuffed," that notoriously discordant voice snapped at Optimus, but Starscream glared at the mech responsible for buffing such paint transfers away. "My orders are to be obeyed, slave!"

Optimus dimmed his optics. "Forgive me, my Lord. I asked Soundwave to refrain from polishing me after Skywarp departed," he soothed, trying to smooth this over by taking the blame. "I was unaware of any orders."

The curled lip became a full snarl, and Soundwave's back struts kinked into a painful-looking arch as the ex-officer tried to make himself as small as possible before the former Air Commander's rage. "I left orders with Blast Off for the harem to be readied for my - " Starscream cut himself off when Brawl stood up awkwardly and reset his vocalizer. Wrong Combaticon on duty. Optimus could nearly see the anger at Soundwave derail into peevish displeasure with the guards. "Where is he?"

Brawl's hands made a wavering gesture of indecision. Optimus stayed quiet and watched closely. It was an open secret that Blast Off took off whenever he wanted to. That stuck Brawl with guard duty, but the more reliable soldier had never officially lodged a complaint so far as Optimus or Megatron knew. They'd discussed the odd behavior often enough, wondering when the tank would finally get fed up enough to say something to someone besides Onslaught. It was gestalt-bond instinct to take internal issues to unitmates, but the war was over. The Combaticons were scattered across Cybertron.

If Brawl wanted something for himself, he'd have to speak up.

The Autobot in the door didn't move, but behind the bland optics he kept on Starscream, Optimus urged Brawl to speak.

Starscream sneered impatiently. "Answer me!"

"…dunno?" Slightly helpless, Brawl turned his hands up. "He didn't say anything about orders before he left. When he left. Uhhh…was he supposed to?"

Red darkened to a furious burgundy. Optimus winced inside. Starscream felt everything passionately, and he did so hate having his will spited.

"Yes," the Seeker rasped, "he was. You!" Soundwave jolted, slapping his hands flat on the ground and shaking visibly under the finger pointed straight at him. "Polish him," Optimus straightened to stand as the finger swung over to point at him next, "until he fragging well glows. Then fetch a tray from the dispensary, you waste of scrap metal!"

The eunuch bowed over his hands repeatedly. He didn't dare take his limited vision off Starscream's mouth in case more orders were spat at him, but he scooted toward the harem doorway in a sort of sideways crabwalk on all fours.

Optimus bowed from the waist in acknowledgment but didn't say anything as Soundwave slipped past his feet. The Seeker's ire seemed to have settled on someone other than Soundwave, and he didn't want to disturb that rare happenstance. The last thing he saw before closing the door was Starscream advancing on Brawl with the dark look of someone who wanted answers and was going to go through whomever got in his way to getting them. Brawl, quite understandably, looked nervous.

Mechs who got in Starscream's way pretty much lived just long enough to regret it these orns.

"I hope he murders that fool," Megatron muttered.

"Which one?" Optimus asked without much interest. Megatron could have been referring to Blast Off, Brawl, or Starscream. Or all of them.

The ex-tyrant shot him an exasperated glare. "Blast Off!"

"Mmhmm." He still didn't know if Blast Off was the fool or the murderer, but it didn't matter either way. Megatron just wanted his traitorous former troops to kill each other.

More importantly to Optimus, Soundwave had wobbled to his feet and was pulling insistently on his arm, half-offline visor wide as he pleaded with the ex-Prime to hurry. "I'll work on my arms if you start with my legs," he told the eunuch kindly, and Soundwave nodded in relief.

Stumbling in his haste, the boxy blue mech jogged back to the screened-off corner that hid a few miscellaneous things. Nothing that could be even remotely be turned into a weapon, but polishing supplies, the glittering chains hanging on the wall waiting to be displayed on Optimus like expensive ornaments, and a thin mat Soundwave had been granted for recharge. It'd taken the eunuch over a hundred vorns of obedience combined with Optimus' best charming pleas to convince their master to grant him even that mat. Sometimes, the ex-Prime wondered if Soundwave treasured it simply as a sign that their owner might, some vorn far in the future, move from outright hatred to disdain.

Optimus sighed softly and sat down on the berth. The paint streaks weren't very severe. It wouldn't take more than a few kliks of polishing to bring his plating back to a solid shine. It was only a question of how destructive Starscream would feel toward the eunuch because his orders hadn't been carried out before he arrived. He did have a right to be angry, in a way: the harem existed for the pleasure of those used it, not the pleasure of the slaves inside it. Arriving to find his orders apparently ignored while Soundwave sought an overload must have been a slap in the face for the volatile Seeker.

Blast Off had screwed up in not passing on those orders. They weren't unusual, but it was Starscream. Starscream's temper was flashpoint on a good orn. Disrupting Brawl by tossing the guard schedule out the window had probably been dismissed as Combaticon infighting, but snubbing Starscream was a mistake. When he came to the harem, he expected to be pampered in every way.

Which Optimus was perfectly willing to do, but things certainly weren't turning out well today. Megatron was already grumbling. Soundwave was a shivering wreck whose hands shook as he knelt before the Autobot and rubbed vigorously at purple paint. The former Decepticon leader would provoke a fight if Starscream went after the cowering slave, and Optimus would have to witness Megatron be put down by the slave bands until the silver ex-tyrant grated out an apology syllable by syllable at Starscream's feet. Punishment would leave the harem a miserable place for orns afterward. Pain wasn't the punishment that would have Megatron sulking and humiliated. The behavioral controls wouldn't be dialed back until Starscream deigned to forgive him.

The Matrix pulsed a warm wash of approval through Optimus like a distant ocean lapping up on a shore. It lulled his troubled thoughts down toward resignation. The tight knot of concern unraveled slowly as the sea of support distanced him from current events in a cradle of liquid validation. Optimus had been good. He was doing his duty. No one could ask more of him, and the hollow clutch in his chest informed him of that fact until he believed it. He had to believe it.

Soundwave's hands trembled, but they gave his plating a firm going-over that relaxed the ex-Prime further. He wondered absently what Starscream would do to the poor mech this time. He realized, mildly surprised, that it'd stopped bothering him. He couldn't control Starscream. There didn't seem to be a point in worrying about a situation he couldn't change.

When the door slid back open, Optimus was ready to stand and face the door with a serene smile at the ready. "Lord Starscream." The bow was reflexive and genuinely devoted. The interface cables coiled at the ready in his chest ached pleasantly. Skywarp had generated more of a charge than he'd taken from the ex-Prime, and Optimus was used to being prepared to please.

He was given a critical look. "That's better. Slave!"

Soundwave shuddered when Starscream skewered him with a glare next. The Seeker snapped his fingers and pointed at the floor before his feet imperiously. Wringing a polishing cloth between his hands anxiously, the eunuch knee-walked forward. Disobedience wasn't an option for him. His pace slowed the closer he got to blue thrusters, however, and he crouched lower and lower to the floor. By the time he reached Starscream's feet, he was inching along with his neck twisted to look up.

Starscream peered down at him, expression haughty. "Stand up."

Optimus wanted to say something. He wondered what difference it'd make.

Shivering terribly, Soundwave managed to obey after two false starts. The marionette clumsiness of his limbs was made worse by dread, because Starscream could turn his life into a living nightmare if displeased enough. When he finally got to his feet, he swayed in place a little. His hands played with the polishing cloth, and he kept his gaze respectfully downcast as possible while still keeping the Seeker's mouth in sight.

Starscream studied him. After a full klik of silence, he snorted and put a hand on one hip as he turned to look back into the guard room. "This is what you want? This?"

"Well, um." Brawl shifted from foot to foot uncomfortably behind him. "Yeah. I mean, if you're offering."

The blue-and-red Seeker glanced up at the ceiling as if appealing to Primus for patience. "This is the stupidest reward for service anyone's ever asked for."

"It's not like I can take 'em back to my quarters!" Brawl protested with a vague gesture at the two harem slave blatantly staring at the two Decepticons in the doorway. "And they're kinda a one-time deal, so - y'know, why not?" He rolled his hands as if searching for an explanation. "Don't need anything special. Just want him."

Optimus' smile grew less placid. A tinge of something like amusement and wonder bubbled in his spark at Starscream's baffled, annoyed look. It was obvious that the flyer thought Brawl had gone off his treads. Asking for the harem eunuch as a reward instead of a turn in the harem? Madness! Just what had gotten into Brawl?

Soundwave's shoulders were hunched in preparation for a blow, but his head turned a fraction to stare past Starscream at the Combaticon. There might have been, perhaps, a tiny touch of hope in that look.

An irritated harrumph of air vented out of the Seeker, and then Starscream grabbed Soundwave's chin to jerk him back around. The polishing cloth dropped to the floor unnoticed as the boxy slave immediately clenched his hands together in front of his gutted Cassette tray. The pleading gesture shook from how tense Soundwave held himself, and the wide visor paled in fear as Starscream leaned forward to hiss in his face, making sure the deaf-mute could read his lips.

"You serve him now, scum." A choked sound of disbelief came from Megatron before the ex-tyrant caught himself. Starscream didn't stop speaking. "When your duties in the harem are finished, your ugly, useless carcass belongs to him." Soundwave flailed, unbalanced, as Starscream's hand snaked around to seize the back of his neck and jerk him forward. "If you displease him," the Seeker's voice lowered to a dangerous tone Optimus could barely hear, "you displease me. Understood?"

Soundwave shook so hard his knees gave out, and he dropped to the floor to cower even as he nodded again and again.

Starscream glared down at him coolly but spoke to the Combaticon behind him. "This is what you want? You're certain."

Brawl looked down at the ex-officer groveling before Starscream's thrusters. His head cocked to the side, and he reached up to scratch at his cannon barrel the way other mechs ran a hand over their helms. "Guess so. Just gotta keep the others off him and maybe fix up his visor a bit, but - "

"This is not a privilege for him." Bright wings fanned up and back in righteous indignation. "He is yours to use, not date!"

"Oh, no!" That rang an actual guffaw from the tank, which took Starscream by surprise if the startled glance back was any indication. "Aw, frag no, not gonna happen. I meant that the others are gonna want t' get their hands on him 'cause, uh, I got him an' they don't, y'know?"

Optimus could feel Megatron's wary suspicion ratchet up behind him, but Starscream merely snorted a blast of hot air. "Spare him from whomever you wish or rent him out for all I care, but I will handle the other Combaticons. It seems to me that there are a great number of things the Empire needs them to do far away from here, for a long period of time." His lips curved in a singularly nasty smirk. "At least a stellar-cycle, if not six."

Curiosity prickled across Optimus mind. Could combiner teams go that long without uniting? But Brawl was giving an evil snicker instead of protesting, so…maybe?

"Yessir," Brawl said with relish. "C'mere, scrapheap." He stomped a foot to get Soundwave's attention. The slave flinched and glanced wildly between jet and tank.

Was this change good or bad for Soundwave? Optimus didn't know, but he had to wonder. The boxy blue mech oozing toward Starscream's thrusters to caress them looked stuck somewhere between fear and - what looked like a quivery, tight-strung gratitude. That didn't mean Brawl wasn't going to abuse him in every way possible, but better to thank the Seeker for generosity rather than irritate him further by begging mercy, perhaps. The unknown future might be better than the horrible present. It almost had to be. The life of the harem eunuch was not easy.

Starscream let him bow and scrape for a klik before kicking him away. "Fine. Keep him out of my sight once he's brought us the tray. And for Primus' sake," he grimaced, "don't frag him on duty!"

"Uh. Okay, yeah, won't happen again." Embarrassed, Brawl retreated out of sight in the guard room. Soundwave gave Starscream one more nakedly vulnerable look of gratitude before crawling past him.

The red-and-blue flyer strode into the harem, wings held high and proud as he met Optimus' optics confidently. "Well, now that business is taken care of, perhaps we can get back to pleasure."

"Of course, my Lord." Optimus dipped into another deep bow. "Will our master be joining us tonight?" In other words, should he be prepared to kneel and serve, or was he to be the background slave in Starscream's ongoing powergame with Megatron? He didn't necessarily mind satisfying the Seeker after Starscream was done fragging Megatron over, but it was always good to know if their master would crash the party and expect Optimus' instant attention. Optimus tried to be aroused and ready to serve on command, but a warning was nice. Ratbat valued efficiency.

"No, I think I'm more than enough for you to handle right now, since it seems manners have been forgotten in my absence." The acidic barb got a wry smile from the ex-Prime and a subdued growl of anger from Megatron. The Seeker's former commander had reclaimed his chair and obstinately refused to stand as Starscream leisurely strolled over to look down at him. "No greeting for me, Megatron? Must I retrain you?"

It was a sweetly poisonous reminder of a slave's place. Optimus walked toward the door to shut it as Megatron evidently debated defying the Seeker yet again. That was up to Megatron alone. Optimus could no more change the silver mech's mind than he could free himself. Even if he had either ability, he didn't want them. Primes served. This was his place, and accepting it was how he coped. He couldn't cope for anyone else but himself.

Strained words broke the impasse at last. "Hello, Lord Starscream," was bitten out, words chopped up by hatred but clear. When Optimus turned at the door to look back, he saw that Megatron's resolve had broken under the brush of a single curled finger down the side of his face. Touch, denied to the ex-tyrant from anyone else, gave Starscream the control over Megatron that the Seeker had always craved. And it was by that power that the feral beast of the harem surrendered.

As much as he ever did, that was. Enough to turn his head into the only hand the slave bands allowed near him, and open his mouth for the kiss Starscream bent to claim him with.

Out in the guard room, Brawl had sat behind the desk again and was chuckling to himself over something on the console screen. Soundwave was using the entryway's doorframe to pull himself to his feet, about to start toward the dispensary. Brawl peered over the screen and whistled at the scuffed blue aft, despite the fact that the senses-neutered slave couldn't hear him.

Optimus shook his head and thought that this, too, he'd get used to.

[* * * * *]

[ A/N: Born of an intense anger at myself for having so many WIP, I decided to finish something.]