Title: Tyrant of the Seraglio, Pt. 6: Observer
Warning: READ THE WARNINGS, PLEASE
Slavery
Coercion
Rape
Torture (psychological)
Starscream
Rating: PG-13
Continuity: IDW/G1 (AU)
Characters: Optimus, Starscream, Megatron
Disclaimer: The theatre doesn't own the script or actors, nor does it make a profit from the play.
Motivation (Prompt): Touch.
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Part 6: Observer
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Starscream was often moody. Peace or not, that hadn't changed.
How he reacted to Megatron's provocation hadn't changed, either. It wasn't often than the former Air Commander met Megatron's surliness with unruffled good humor. Typically if Megatron wanted to provoke the flyer into a fight, Starscream ended up storming out the harem in a fit of pique.
Nothing more than that, however. Try as Megatron might to prick Starscream into actual physical retaliation, he failed. Fights with Starscream resulted in a murderous glare, bitten-off words, and then the Seeker would turn and leave.
Whatever satisfaction Megatron got from that reaction wasn't worth the punishment. Defiance earned the ex-tyrant a quarter stellar cycle or more of complete tactile restriction until he lost the attitude. The slave bands around his wrists restricted him from touching or being touched unless he grudgingly bent his knees to the rulers of the harem.
Optimus distantly admired Ratbat's technique. Not that the former Senator didn't have a cunning mind or hadn't had far too much time trapped as a Cassette to decide on a plan, but seeing his plot to fruition from up close gave Optimus real perspective on what level of detail had been put into play. Ratbat had planned everything out to an excruciating degree.
Optimus tended to think of breaking mechs in terms of pain. This breaking hadn't been a sudden snap. Nothing was damaged. If anything, it was a bending, a stretch of willpower and pride. It wasn't painful in the literal definition of the word. Very rarely had the slave bonds been turned on to do more than shock Megatron. The jolts were meant to discourage unwanted behavior, or knock the silver mech's motor control out if Megatron kept pushing.
Which he did, because it was Megatron and Megatron would never surrender. He was too old, too proud, and too stubborn.
Ratbat hadn't tried to break him via pain. That was the clever part. Ratbat had simply cornered the ex-tyrant. Megatron had the option of beating himself senselessly against the bonds and the restrictions - or. There was always another option, an 'or.' Ratbat never pushed him to take it. The option just existed. It was a choice, laid out in the open waiting for Megatron to take it.
That was the part Optimus had to admire. It had made him sick, for a while, but he'd come to respect it for what it had done to a foe the ex-Prime himself had failed to defeat. Whenever Megatron knelt, whenever he stopped trying to smash the furniture or assault the guards, it was his choice. He served Ratbat's purposes well enough just being a prisoner in the harem. With the slave bands on, he couldn't go anywhere. He couldn't do anything. The action-reaction hobbler wired into him from the bands dialed down his strength. He was weak as a cyberhound pup and trapped on display.
He was decorative enough given his former status and current polished state that Ratbat had no problem indulging his stubborn pride. Their Master allowed Megatron to choose to cause property damage or belligerently refuse any or all orders.
Megatron couldn't escape the harem, and the guards kept him from harming Optimus or any guests if he struck out through the pain and weakness. He could beat himself against the prison walls all he wished. He was still in the harem, there to be seen and unable to leave. It was only when he chose to take the option Ratbat left open for him that he was granted a trickle of privilege. The hobblers were dialed back. He was allowed to speak to the guests instead of having his vocalizer disabled during every visit. If he chose to obey to commands, he was even permitted touch again.
There was no secret to how Megatron was tamed. Ratbat made it very clear that the option to choose was always there. It wasn't surrender. Megatron either bent or he didn't, but the choice was up to him. He never lost his pride, whatever he chose to do.
The mind, Optimus knew, could be warped by enough psychological torture. It could also warp any situation to fit its own standards, if given enough time and reason to chip the edges of logic away. Even square peg could be twisted into a round hole once the corners wore down. Megatron had gradually, snarling and hating the entire time, reasoned his way into servitude.
Better to kneel than barely be unable to stand the rest of the time. Better to address their lord and Master respectfully than be unable to speak at all. Better to obey the commands of guests than be denied the information they brought.
Better to serve as a harem slave than remain a display in a harem cage.
Over all, better to accept Starscream's touch than be completely, painlessly but agonizingly isolated. Megatron did not have to obey his former subordinate's orders. He didn't, often enough. After well over 100 vorns of hammering against the walls of refusal, however, Megatron usually chose to obey. He knew there were no consequences of disobedience beyond losing what privileges bending his neck bought, but losing what he'd earned cost his pride more than not having them in the first place.
It wasn't surrender, whatever it looked like from the outside. Megatron would refuse Optimus' graceful servitude forever. Every instance of obedience was as carefully calculated by Megatron as offering it was by Ratbat.
Starscream played the power game just as adeptly. Amazing the difference being coached by someone who appreciated the flyer's skills and mind made. Ratbat's leadership had brought the Seeker to the pinnacle of power. Optimus had no idea if the mech was still as treacherous toward Ratbat as he'd been toward Megatron; all politics were strictly kept from the harem. It was the one category of information the two former faction leaders starved for.
So here in the harem, Starscream never missed a step in Ratbat's overarching scheme. He would get angry, of course, because Starscream would always be Starscream, but losing his temper resulted in leaving the harem, not taking it out on Megatron. He wouldn't give Megatron the satisfaction of cracking him. The gameplan continued uninterrupted.
And that's how Ratbat won. That's why Megatron bent, even if he didn't break. Breaking the ex-tyrant wasn't the point. Taming a wild creature left it with spirit, the fiery allure of having something magnificently beautiful choosing to serve. Breaking Megatron would provide only a too-brief, easy satisfaction.
Optimus believed Ratbat knew this ploy ensnared Starscream as well as Megatron. It'd be typical of their owner to manipulate everyone in one all-encompassing scheme. Counseled to patience, Starscream had invested a lot into seeing Megatron humble himself before him. Ratbat deftly guided them both.
The ex-Prime sat on the side of the bed, hands resting in his lap and optics calm as he watched Megatron bend. Pleasure pulsed across his circuits from the leads he'd carefully, quietly connected while Starscream's attention had been elsewhere. His role in this game was that of a background prop. Even now, the Seeker didn't look at him. Blinding white charge flashed across his plating in rushes of intense contact whenever he shifted to rub the flat of one wing against Optimus' shoulder, but the former Prime was a conduit, a means to an overload. The actual root cause of Starscream's pleasure had no connection to the flyer other than a few fingers.
In the center of the bed, hands curled into involuntarily tense claws on the pillows as those fingers made contact. Megatron hid his face from sight and choked on a groan. Starscream smiled and leisurely drew a meandering line down the middle of the silver mech's back, and Megatron's chest rose off the cushions. Silver plating rose to meet blue fingers, pushing up to press against them for every silky slide of contact against straining, greedy pressure sensors. Transmitted energy shimmered under Starscream's fingertips as Megatron's hypersensitive sensors activated in a flurry of transfers. The simple back-and-forth from the touch of living metal became an electric current.
Megatron wasn't permitted to touch or be touched by anyone unless he submitted. Three fingers stroking down his back encapsulated everything he'd been denied. Everything that he'd been denying himself. Defenses bolstering by the rage of a prisoner collapsed. Optimus could see his mouth open against the bed's surface, teeth biting uselessly into it, and still air sobbed in against stuttering fans.
Starscream very lightly, just once, pressed the palm of his hand against the small of Megatron's back. Silver and black thighs jerked apart, feet flexed, and that powerful body writhed as a flash-bulb flare of charge burst across Megatron's EM field. White light faster and brighter than a sodium explosion turned pale plating reflective. Megatron glowed for a fraction of a second. It was a humiliatingly visible sign of instant excitement. His body begged for touch.
He grunted, clamping down on a more vulnerable sound that wanted to be a plea, but his elbows dragged in to support his chest, allowing him to buck up into that hand. Black hands shook and almost folded together before he tightened them into fists instead.
"Down," Starscream said, amused, but red optics were hot. Optimus vented deeply as the charge built as inevitably as a tsunami in the distance.
Megatron growled, jaw at a stubborn angle, and the blue hand lifted until only the barest tip of a single finger remained. The stuttered fans released panting blasts of hot air, but Megatron collapsed back down onto his front, prostrate. His helm turned away from Starscream's avid gaze to hide the almost hurt grimace he wore.
In reward, the fingertip pushed down a tad bit harder. Starscream began drawing small circles up the middle of the ex-tyrant's back. Tension brought Megatron's elbows under him again, but this time he kept his face buried in the bed as his vocalizer scratched harsh nonwords. Neck cabling creaked from strain. His chest didn't quite leave the bed's surface.
"I said 'down'."
Optimus listened to the strangled whine, nearly inaudible, and wondered if Megatron would bend enough today for Starscream to guide him touch by touch over onto his back. Slowly, line by line, he'd place the ex-tyrant's interface cables into Megatron's mouth. It was, Optimus had to admit, one of the best shows in the harem. It wasn't touch, but it was a close substitute. Megatron would struggle to keep his arms obediently over his head while sucking frantically on a cycle of charge pushed higher and higher by small, chaste touches on starved sensors, and the power of having Megatron under his hands would drive Starscream to overload twice, maybe three times while connected to Optimus.
The spectacle bothered the former Prime, but it also raised his core temperature. Self-service never looked so good as when Megatron arched into overload at long last, perhaps under a gentle kiss or from a firm hand placed on his abdomen.
Optimus distantly admired Ratbat's technique. He guiltily admired Starscream's.
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