Chapter 17: Transit
Yegads. Life has been really Kicking my ass lately. There's been areal lack of available writing time, but at least my internet is hooked up again. Have some fic. It's a little on the naughty side, so no young'uns. I don't own Transfromers or any of the recognizable characters, yadda yadda yadda.
Oh, and there's some dub con in this chapter. Well, kind of.
Shockwave had heard the news about the mass Autobot Gender Change, of course. He had actually thought someone was playing a very odd practical joke on him at first. Soundwave had sent him pictures, along with a tersely worded (as always) report, but he had honestly assumed that Rumble and Frenzy had gotten in and hacked it as one of their pranks. After all, it had contained an artistically composed still photo of the Prime and her SIC and TIC with gorgeous alien sunshine making their armor glow. The picture of the three of them looked more like a museum-quality painting of ancient femmes than any kind of intelligence missive.
Now that he thought about it, that had probably been Soundwave's idea of a present for him. The intelligence officer would occasionally send him tokens of appreciation for not being Starscream.
Of course, then one of his seekers had brought him surveillance of the Prime and a handful of his, or rather her, officers with distinctly curvy silhouettes. It had been confirmed by his spy drones. They were tiny mechanisms shaped like a long-extinct species of robotic insect, and were his main source of Intel on the Cybertronian Autobot contingent. A few of them had been able to slip into the cryo-storage units that contained sleeping Autobots and a few neutrals. Anyone with an Autobot symbol had turned into a femme, and all the neutrals (and his own Decepticons) remained unchanged.
He had actually had to sit down; when he finally believed what his optic was telling him. He stared at a surveillance vid showing the delicate, peacefully sleeping features of a young Autobot soldier, deep in stasis behind the dusty resin of a storage unit. He had located this facility some time ago, and had sent his drones to it to check on the stasis bound mechs stored there. They weren't mechs any more, but otherwise nothing had changed. They were so...pretty. Too bad none of his Decepticons had undergone similar transformations.
The whole series of events defied his well-ordered worldview, and also common sense. On the other hand, anything so very obviously done by the hand of Primus could only be an improvement on current circumstances.
Cybertron was a dying world, populated by dead and sleeping mechs, with only a few of their kind awake and engaged in an armed stalemate that had endured for centuries.
He was sure they could at least begin to rebuild, if only their energies were not spent on the endless cycle of sabotage and defense. For a time, he had been sure that the leaders of both factions had perished in battle. He cursed himself for the disloyal thought that without Megatron and Optimus's personal enmity, their species might find peace at last.
Elita One was a rational being, and they both knew that he had far more troops and resources available than she did. Shockwave had been secretly forming plans to broker her contingent's surrender when Megatron had made contact once more. He should be glad, but in a dark, disloyal part of his spark, he was disappointed. He had had plans. He would, of course, have offered reasonable terms, nothing that Elita would feel the need to fight to the death rather than submit to. No enslaving her femmes, or anything barbaric (and counter-productive) like that. His tentative plans had been to require that they disarm, and give them the painstaking but necessary tasks of coaxing his samples of Cybertronian "plant life" such as the Praxian Crystals to grow. From there, they could painstakingly rebuild the planet's destroyed cybereccosystem.
It would have provided them with something important, constructive and non-violent to do, and he could have focused on engineering a reasonable supply of energon for the planet. He had created his seekers as much for the mission of finding energy sources as much as his stated goal of creating super soldiers. That had merely been the rational he presented to his leader.
If his plans had come to fruition, he would have subtly funneled enough energy to the surrendered Autobot femmes that their reproductive hardware would have come online again, ensuring a future for the planet. If necessary, he would have built whole platoons of handsome seekers oozing with charm (He had ialmost/i gotten it right with Sunstorm) if that was what it took to convince the pretty warriors to breed for the sake of the future. The word must be peopled, after all, and the Allspark was lost.
Well, and perhaps he had entertained some personal hopes, as well. Word that Optimus Prime was still alive had been somewhat...disappointing.
On the other servo, the Prime was now also a femme. He was not entirely certain what that would mean in terms of Optimus and Elita's personal life. Aside from the obvious fact that some very, very hot things would probably happen. And that he wasn't going to be there to see any of those things.
There were times when Shockwave hated his existence.
Moonracer was on monitor duty, so she was the one that raised the alarm that there had been a tacheon discharge big enough to be a space bridge. Makeshift had not yet succeeded in creating any kind of a working bridge out of the odds and ends that she had to work with, but her work on a long-range communicator had spawned an impressive collection of measuring instruments capable of detecting the warping of the local space-time fields that signaled a bridge gate opening up.
To everyone's alarm, not only was there an Autobot signal attached to it, but it had formed practically on Shockwave's doorstep.
They didn't wait to find out the details before they formed a rescue team.
Elita might have an understanding with Shockwave, but that didn't mean he wouldn't do some Very Bad Things to some random Autobot who wound up in his custody.
Across the meticulously hidden, ferociously guarded, horrifically booby-trapped, tastefully appointed (given what they had to work with) Autobot base, femmes prepared. They checked power levels, honed plasma blades, and enacted combat protocols. Joints were lubricated, tension wires adjusted, and stealth mods verified.
Chromia checked and double-checked the calibrations on her lovingly maintained canons, fingers lingering over a particular weapon, a courting gift from her partner Ironhide. Almost as an afterthought, she added a brace of EMP grenades to her subspace. A girl couldn't be too careful, after all.
Elita One might have one of the less active commands, but her troops had never grown complacent. Armed, armored and looking for trouble, a femme strike team set out to rescue whichever of their comrades had had the misfortune to land within Shockwave's clutches.
Cosmos had managed to lull the Seeker into a recharge nap. It had been simple, really. She had hummed while she meticulously picked debris out of his thrusters, until his optics began to slowly dim. She added a soothing engine rumble, like one of her kin would use to soothe a newspark frightened by the vastness of space and the cold darkness. It worked like a charm.
The only issue was that shortly after he had powered down into defrag, the big golden mech had snaked an arm around her waist. Now he was wrapped around her like a human youngling holding one of those stuffed toys. Not exactly flattering, though admittedly his warm, glowing plating did feel nice after so long in the cold darkness of space.
The recharge was good for him; it would let his auto-repair fix him enough to fly. She had other priorities right now. She needed to get to Autobot HQ, and avoid being captured (or distracted) by any other Decepticons. She wistfully gazed at the sleek golden form and the softly glowing armor, and tried to extricate herself from the winged mech's grasp.
Well, this might prove to be an issue. She tried to stand, only to be thwarted by his grip. Then she realized that Sunstorm's loose hold on her got tighter if she tried to edge away. In fact, if she moved, he would just ooze closer, cuddling up to her. She tried to escape the unconscious mech's snuggle death-grip, but whenever she moved, he moved with her, nuzzling his face into the joint of her hip.
Well, this was certainly not a situation she had EVER expected to find herself in with a Decepticon, let alone a gorgeous but apparently touched in the processor Seeker.
Cosmos huffed to herself and regretfully brought out backup measures.
Insinuating one of the electromag cables that she had once used to anchor herself to ships and stations while doing maintenance into his elbow joint, she ran a mild current into it.
To her relief, the limb relaxed, and she was able to wend her way out of the Seeker's grasp without further incident. She was about to take off, when she hesitated. It didn't feel right, just leaving him without a word.
Cosmos rummaged in her subspace for a small, disposable data cube. She hesitated (surely fraternizing with a pretty, gentlemanly mech she met under perfectly innocent circumstances wasn't actually treason, right?) and hastily downloaded a short message into it. Then she left it on a flat rock, in a spot where the Decepticon Seeker couldn't possibly miss it.
She sighed softly as she engaged her anti-gravs and glided silently away. If only the war was over, she could let big, handsome war-builds snuggle her all they wanted.
Soundwave loomed out of the shadows of the warehouse, wing-panels spread in display to the lithe black and white femme before him. Jazz had come to rescue her beloved from his clutches, but he intended to prove to both of them that they would find nothing but safety and pleasure when being clutched by him.
He was glad for his empathic abilities, which allowed him something of a feel for both of the Autobots's current emotional states. Not that either of them were particularly difficult to read at the moment, even without his sigma power.
Jazz took a fighting stance, her optics flashing with righteous fury as she stared Soundwave down. "Prowler!" She shouted. "Ya hurt?"
She had a blaster in one servo and an energy blade in the other, held in the backwards grip of an experienced killer, the flat against one forearm. It was obvious that she had come planning to commit serious mayhem, as only a special operations operative could, but this was not exactly what she been expecting.
For one thing, the sensations she was getting over her bond with Prowl were not precisely distressed, as such. They could more accurately be described as very, very aroused. He smirked behind his mask.
"The frag?" Jazz said.
Soundwave stepped aside, so that his chassis was not blocking the saboteur's view of her lover. Prowl made a very pretty picture, after all, and such a sight should be shared with those you are intimate with.
The black and white tactician was bound between a pair of sturdy support columns, her thighs damp from his earlier teasing as the two of them had awaited Jazz's arrival. The spreader bar between her ankles kept her open and vulnerable to him, as one of his tentacles wound around her upper leg, gently caressing the sensitive joint of her inner thigh. Another curled affectionately around her waist, its tip toying with the edges of her spark chamber plates. Despite her obvious arousal, the tactician had been unwilling to ask him to overload her, so she remained achingly unfulfilled, not quite able to prevent herself from undulating her hips against the soft teasing touches he bestowed on her gorgeous plating.
"I am…uninjured. Jazz…I ahhh…Soundwave has not actually harmed me. I admit to being highly, mmmm…frustrated, however." Prowl managed. Soundwave admired the femme's self-discipline, though it was highly inconvenient at the moment.
Jazz actually took her optics off the highly dangerous Decepticon to look directly at her lover, who did not in fact seem to be damaged. In fact, that was the look Prowl got when a wires breadth from overload. She took in the view, and snapped her attention back to the enemy mech. Such a lapse in concentration could get you killed in combat.
"Situation: not dangerous to Autobots Jazz or Prowl." Soundwave said. He rarely minded his crippled verbal processor, but this was one of those times. "Prowl: unharmed. Jazz: not in any danger."
"Ya can't tie a femme up and rape her and say it ain't harm, ya stinking Con scum," Jazz snarled.
"Soundwave: has not raped Autobot Prowl. Level of respect for Autobot tactician high." He said indignantly. Not that anyone would be able to tell from his tone. "Overload, not yet requested by Prowl. Soundwave: happy to give pleasure. Will not interface unwilling participant."
"Jazz, that's actually true" said Prowl, sounding breathless. "He's just been teasing me. That doesn't mean you should trust him." She commed her lover. Jazz, he's got jammers all over the outside of this building. I haven't been able to get a signal out to the others. Please tell me reinforcements are on the way, because I actually don't know how much longer I can hold out here without telling him it's all right to frag me silly. Those tentacles are impressively agile.
A course I have reinforcements coming, Prowler. I ain't as dumb as I look, ya know. Jazz replied, trying to simultaneously keep an optic on Soundwave and all his appendages and ogle Prowl, who was putting on one of the most erotic shows she had ever seen. The pair of tentacles sensuously caressing the femme's armor wasn't really helping any of them keep their cool.
"Other Autobots, not arriving soon." Soundwave murmured. "Symbiotes jamming Jazz's signal. Suggestion; allow me to please you both. Autobot femmes safe, will not be harmed. Will be released after." Please he thought. "Jazz, welcome to keep weapons."
"Seriously?" She said. "Ya do know what I can do with a plasma blade, you're the head of Con Ops."
"Jazz, deadly. Formidable. Understood. Soundwave does not intend harm. Immediate objective: please femmes. Long-term objective: peace between factions. Rebuilding of Cybertronian society. Sparklings."
The head of Autobot Special Operations was nothing if not quick on the uptake. She gaped at him. "This…this is a slagging Con courtship, isn't it? You…you're trying to show us your fraggin' prowess!"
Prowl chimed in, her voice breathy. "Thus far, I am favorably impressed."
Soundwave couldn't help but preen, just a tiny bit.
"Prowl?" Jazz asked.
"He certainly does make a most…persuasive argument, love."
"Well, ok then, but any funny business and I'll slice out some components you'd seriously miss, Decepticon."
"Done." Intoned Soundwave, retracting his mask and visor. "Jazz and Prowl, will not be disappointed."
"Don't get too carried away, Decepticon. This is just an audition. Us fragging you doesn't mean we make you our third any time soon."
"Understood. Soundwave must prove worthiness as mate."
"Pardon me." Prowl said. "I would like to request that overload now, prior to any further negotiations or threats of limb removal. Our intelligence indicates that you are a sought-after lover among the Decepticons, and I am interested in seeing if our Intel is accurate."
Soundwave's uncovered mouth quirked in a wicked little smile. He caressed his occupied tentacles expertly down Prowl's heated armor and reached out for Jazz with the others.
The deadly little femme's lip componants parted in surprise, and she let out a breathy little "oh" sound when he twined several of his limbs around her gloriously curved form and smoothly pulled her into his embrace, sliding a leg between her thighs and snaking tentacles into every sensitive spot he could find. He retracted his mask to nibble on her neck cabling, traveling up to the corner of her jaw components.
Taking a firm grip on her waist, He spun her to face the lovely Autobot tactician, and reinstated his thigh between hers from behind. He could easily see over her helm, and feel her reaction as she witnessed the show her partner was putting on. He smirked. He wouldn't have wanted Jazz to miss how hot he had gotten her lover while they had awaited her arrival.
He slid a tentacle smoothly into each of Prowl's hot, soft, wet ports, making the femme arch uncontrollably, her vocalizer emitting a staticy keen of pleasure as she was stretched and filled by the thick, sensor-rich appendages.
His spike extended, hard and ready, and he grabbed Jazz's hips, lifting her and holding her open to him as he lined himself up with her primary port. He began to push into her, spreading her wide on his spike…
Soundwave woke, his fans whining with the effort of cooling his frame, his spike painfully hard. Frag. Frag, FRAG.
Why did he always wake up before the really good part? Surely he hadn't offended Primus THAT much – he was working towards ensuring his species' survival here, after all.
He took matters in servo, gripping his hot, aching spike and sliding up and down, the pleasure enhanced by the imagery from his defrag dream.
Soundwave's hips ground up against empty air, his body arching uncontrollably as he started a hard rhythm along his length. After only a short while, he convulsed in overload, an almost inaudible moan floating through his room.
There was work to do, if he wanted that dream to become reality.