Warnings! Chapter contains gore. Other than that, it's the same as last chapter, non-consensual naughties (still not sex yet, but plenty of molestation), psychological torture... boy is there psychological torture here, Megatron would make the CIA proud.
On a completely different not, this is very graphic!
... ... ...
"Say goodbye, as we dance with the devil tonight.
Don't you dare look at him in the eye, as we dance with the devil tonight
Trembling, crawling across my skin.
Feeling your cold dead eyes, stealing the life of mine…
I won't last long, in this world so wrong."
-Breaking Benjamin, "Dance with the Devil"
Everything was… beautiful. It was glorious, magnificent, nothing like Bumblebee had ever imagined; Cybertron was whole.
Before his own optics, the Rust Sea expanded to an endless shimmer of liquid. Daylight shattered across the waves in broken colors, from blues to yellows to purples that rippled into the horizon. Against the skyline, the towers of Kaon rose high and proud, silhouetted against the waning sunlight. The two moons hovered over the scenery like silent guardians and the sky was a cloudless clashing of a brilliant sunset.
It was home.
A breeze coiled around Bumblebee, playing with his very fingertips and casting from his pedes to his helm. With it, the exotic scent of atmosphere greeted his senses like an old friend.
He was home.
The ship tilted against a thunderous wave and a spray of oil splashed over Bumblebee and the tang left a tingle in his throat.
A chuckle brought him to look to his left. One of the other soldiers, Cliffjumper, stood next to him, peering straight ahead, leaning his forearms against the ship's railing.
"Beautiful sight, isn't it?" Cliffjumper mused. He turned his head, contemplating Bumblebee with a half smile for a moment before looking back to the sea. "Y'know," His shoulders shifted, "I see you standing here, looking out there, every day before refuel and recharge like clockwork. It's a beautiful sight, but I can't say it's one I'm not bored of."
"Yeah, well," Bumblebee followed suite and folded his arms over the railing. He rested his chin his forearms and stared ahead, "I'm not bored of it yet."
"Heh," the red mech glanced sideways at him, and Bumblebee pretended not to notice, "My first time on the Rust Sea, I fell overboard."
"No way."
"Yup, I was ogling the scenery when some crew member, funny guy, decided to inform me that the liquid wasn't really oil," He smirked, "said it was energon, but really dim."
"And you believed him?" A smile made its way onto Bumblebee's face.
"Hey, what can I say," Cliffjumper shrugged, "I'd only been online for a good four orns, I would've believed him if he said it was made of high-grade. Anyways, he tells me it's dim energon, and when I'm naturally a little skeptical, he tells me to look a little closer, 'cause then I would be able to tell." He let out a laugh and smacked the railing, "So I lean over the edge 'cause I'm an idiot, and whap, he smacks me over the edge and I get soaked. Imagine my surprise when I fall in and it's real oil."
Bumblebee let out a laugh, trickling to a chuckle as he lifted his chin. His optics focused on the ground, where their pedes stood side by side, an easy comparison of size.
"So, kid," a servo slapped Bumblebee's back in a friendly gesture, "just how old are you anyways?"
Yeah, he knew that question was coming. He let out a breath and leaned a little deeper into the railing. "Ten orns," He spoke as nonchalantly as he could.
"Yeah, not buyin' it."
Bumblebee frowned, he looked up at Cliffjumper with a raised brow. They were of equal rank, both cannonfodder, it shouldn't have mattered. "Three," He admitted, "Three orns."
A low whistle escaped Cliffjumper's mouth, and he looked at the younger mech with something akin to surprise. "I knew they were practically recruiting off the assembly line, but slag, they used to give you at least five orns of basic training…" He gave Bumblebee another pat before turning to look back over the scenery, "Three orns and already deployed for combat? That's a new record." He looked back to his comrade with a smile.
It was a smile that spoke of so many different things, Bumblebee wasn't quite sure what to make of it; but before he could think any further, it vanished into a humorless smirk and Cliffjumper continued talking, "I'm gonna keep you alive, 'Bee. You're gonna see the end of this war, and you're gonna go back to Praxus when all the violence is over and have a fragging good life. Both of us are."
His limbs ached, and his chest… his chest ached like nothing else. It pulsed all the way to his pedes in flashes of energy. And it was cold and silent…
An automatic full body shudder began to drag Bumblebee into consciousness. His plating scraped against a hard ground. It was – he was dead.
…Right?
His tanks churned with emptiness and broadcasted its own pain to his processor. With only a moment's hesitation, the Autobot attempted a deep in-vent, only for his chest to tighten and twist and burn.
This couldn't be happening.
It took a few tries for Bumblebee's optics to flicker on, but eventually, he was able to look around with only intermittent frays of static interrupting his vision. He was laying on his stomach, his face to the floor. If he'd been rescued, these Autobots weren't exactly hospitable.
Bumblebee slowly moved his arms. They felt heavy as lead and protested every motion as he pushed himself up. He curled his knees under him and… Oh Primus, he couldn't feel his pedes. They dragged against the floor and he cringed at the awful noise it made, never once slowing in his actions.
Finally, he propped himself into a sitting position and looked around.
His spark immediately fell. He was in his cell.
But… that didn't make any sense, Megatron had killed him. He'd felt the life leave his body.
No, this couldn't have been happening, not at all. In absolutely no time in his life had he greeted death so sweetly as then, so why was he still functional? Why couldn't it all just be over? Why? It circled his processor and thrashed at his nerves, creaking his armor and leaking into the dirty ground. Why?
Why was he still even here?
Steadily, the klicks turned to joors, and the joors frayed and blended. All simply melded into the gray and black shades of his cell.
It was silent, it was cold, it was dark… this was so similar to what Vortex had done, shut down nearly all of Bumblebee's senses, allowed him to wander in nothingness for what felt like eons. It had almost driven him mad, and the Autobot could only hope they weren't attempting the same thing.
It had taken awhile, but Bumblebee had begun walking around. He paced around cell like a caged animal, his pedes dragging along the ground and his legs burning with every step. But the pain was a blessing, it occupied the emptiness.
Oh, he was going to go mad. He could hear every in-vent, his fans, his spark-beat, his pulse, his mind. He had to stay distracted, count away the klicks and the joors, just wait until the Autobots rescued him.
… They were going to rescue him.
Bumblebee ran his undamaged servo along the fresh welds over all the wounds the Decepticons had apparently healed. Tracing lightly over the ridges, until his fingers landed on the largest weld, the one above his spark chamber, where Megaton had stabbed him. It throbbed at the touch, the wound still freshly mended.
His tanks churned once again and his other servo clutched at the wall, scraping and bleeding.
He'd lost count. Primus, he'd lost count of the klicks or joors or cycles or whatever it was he'd been counting. It could've been solar cycles for all he knew.
It was just all gray. Gray and black and every shade in between.
When was the last time he'd refueled? He felt so starved, on the brink of collapsing. His servos were going numb and his vision was swaying in tandem with every step. At this rate, he was going to starve to death.
Somehow, it was a nicer prospect than anything he'd ever known.
Like a searing blade, the whirring crashed into Bumblebee's audials in vibrancies of pain. He immediately snapped awake from a slumber he didn't even realize he'd been taking and tensed.
Once again, light spilt into the cell in a flashing of white. The scout squinted his optics and glared up at whomever was entering from his perch on the floor.
The door shut and Bumblebee now saw the warlord clearly.
He nearly sobbed in relief – the nothingness was over.
But then his frame flashed in terror. The nothingness was over, yet just as those red orbs that peered down at him promised… Megatron would give something much worse.
This time, though, he did not flinch, he did not scurry away to the farthest wall, he met Megatron's stare with the brunt of his thinning defiance.
"You've grown bolder, scout, I will give you that." Megatron rumbled; then, just as before, he brought an energon cube into view.
And just like that, Bumblebee's systems whirred completely online, acutely aware of just how famished he was. His optics flared and trailed after the fuel as Megatron sat down. The silver servo lowered in an almost demure grace and placed the cube on the ground. A finger tapped at it once before Megatron slid it to the scout.
The energon drifted to a stop just outside of Bumblebee's reach, and before his processor could manifest any cohesive thought, primal instincts had him lurching for it. He swiped up the energon, a sharp pain rearing through his arm at the sudden movement, and at least had enough control over his thrumming programming to sit normally before drinking it.
The energon was the same foul stuff, but just as before, it made his body hum with delight, settling his tanks and easing some of the aching.
When he finished and set the empty cube down, a low chuckle escaped the statuesque form that still sat against the wall by the door. It rolled off of Bumblebee's audials in a near operatic quality that stilled his frame and drew his optics to stare at Megatron.
If it weren't for the lack of movement and the violent regality that seemed to lull from him, the warlord would've looked to be lounging. With an arm draped over a raised knee and the other leg sprawled in front of him, he was a picture of relaxation. And it dominated the room.
His optics peered in near slits, narrowed in amusement, and studied the broken figure the scout potrayed. "Quite a starved creature, aren't you?"
Bumblebee did not answer. He roughly wiped his mouth with a forearm before resting it down, nerves taut and wires thick with apprehension, completely still. He'd been fed, and Megatron still kept his distance, but something was going to happen, something else that was going to be worse and he was going to be ready for it. No matter what.
They stared at each other, a defiant cerulean against a lazy mahogany, a battle of wills, it felt like; until finally, Megatron blinked. His helm tilted slightly as he mused.
"I wonder," A smirk entwined against his voice, low and lazy, nearly conversational in its mockery, "If I could keep you as a pet."
Bumblebee did not stir. Oh, the anger flashed and raged against his frame, but shame flowed under it, eased its way into his conscious, and replayed the coaxing touches and the heat and the stirrings forced upon him and the anger quelled minutely under the rotting shame. But he did not stir, did not allow any of the warring emotions to take a physical manifestation.
The mild light caught a gleam, and pulled attention to where Megatron's mouth parted ever so slightly and revealed white denta in a thin smile. He pulled his leg back and stood, each movement quiet and fluid and still loud amidst the quietness that had just begun to settle. With slow easy steps, he walked towards the scout until Bumblebee had to tilt his helm to glare at those crimson optics. And with every breadth of distance closed between them, Bumblebee's spark flickered and burned with a deeper and deeper dread - a string pulling taut, waiting to be snapped.
Then, the warlord pulled something out of his subspace. It was a metallic cube, a box, about as large as one of his servos. Bumblebee's optics darted between it and his optics.
He lowered himself onto his knees right in front of Bumblebee, and scout's fuel lines pulsed ice, his eyes widening fractionally and his chest heaving as the proximity grew closer and closer. Megatron leaned down, his frame enveloping Bumblebee, his gaze never breaking, holding the Autobot still with an intensity only matched by the EM field that began to trickle into Bumblebee's sensors.
A servo rested against Bumblebee's chest, claws scraping near feather light touches against his frame, and he vaguely noted in his peripheral vision that Megatron's other hand placed the box on the ground behind him and just to his left.
The warlord leaned against his prisoner, plating barely touching, and his mouth hovered over Bumblebee's for a nano klick before traveling forward to stop just above his audial.
No. No, not this again. He'd said he would endure it, but he didn't know now. He didn't know what was going to happen, if he was going to break. Now, all Bumblebee knew was that he wasn't going to talk, but he didn't know if he would be able to continue fighting.
"Scout," Megatron's voice tumbled into his audial, completely unobscurred and somehow so loud and yet so quiet, simply some enveloping entity that skittered all the way to his pedes, "Tell me, what's in the box?" the servo moved up and then down, petting.
Bumblebee did not answer. Frantically, he attempted to scoot away, but before he even got a single pace, a servo caught him. It held onto his shoulder in a firm grip, almost enough to hurt and just barely enough to dent metal.
"You aren't going anywhere," Megatron rumbled lowly and pushed him downward.
That was enough to feed the defiance and let Bumblebee's anger once again flare. He fought against every inch, his shoulders attempting to tear away from the iron hold, servos bracing against the floor and pushing against Megatron, pedes thrashing, all in vain. He was too weak, too tired and broken, even with the refueling, he was too weak; helpless. Completely at this mech's mercy. Growls and snarls escaped his voicebox, sounding all the world like a cornered animal.
It was too soon that his back hit the cold floor. Megatron loomed over him, a near silhouette with glowing vermillion optics and vague detail. His own optics widened to orbs, unable to tear away from the enigmatic gaze, and he braced himself for what was to come.
The grip on his shoulder was relinquished, but he didn't move. Instead he stayed frozen, preparing for the horrid reality…
It was such a light touch, near a simple tingle and nothing else, a single digit that traced along his clavicle – all the while, those red optics burned into his, a pure color, uninhibited and blazing like fire. Megatron's EM field flared and wrapped around Bumblebee, encompassing him in an insurmountable pressure, and at its edges, a single feeling whispered against his own field, leaking tendrils that coiled around his processor; lust.
His tensions snapped.
Complete liquid terror seemed to envelope Bumblebee. This was going to happen, the thought slammed into his mind and he couldn't do it, he couldn't disassociate himself like the Autobot commanders taught.
Why hadn't it felt so real that last time?
A large servo traced along the tip of Bumblebee's door wings, where it was most sensitive, and a shudder cast through his body that pierced his derma and all the way to his protoform. And he could not discern whether it was from the rampant fear, or disgust, or that horrifying pleasure he hated most of all.
Megatron leaned in, and Bumblebee realized that he'd never quite noticed just how big the mech was. The scout stared straight ahead, up at the shadowed ceiling, and felt the hot breath of lazy ex-vents on the junction between his neck and shoulder, that joint where sensitive mesh was exposed. And this time, he was terrified to admit, he knew exactly why his sensory net tingled in response, delight racing along the gentle touches that the warlord continued to pool along his door wing, his chest.
But he wouldn't succumb. He wouldn't give in, he would endure this twisted pleasure, this thing that wasn't his own.
And then Megatron spoke. It tore through everything and careened into his processor. The Decepticon lord slid up and spoke against Bumblebee's audial, his mouth touching the metal softly and denta scraping against the more sensitive sensors, causing the scout to minutely shiver, "Humor me, scout," He spoke in a more gravelly tone, a thick voice of the sweetest wines, "And guess, what exactly is in the box? If you do," His glossa flicked over Bumblebee's audial, and the scout recoiled from it, before he continued to speak in a slow enunciated cadence, quiet even when reverberating so close to him and tone rottingly intimate, "I just may," He nipped at the audial, "Stop."
No. No, Bumblebee would not be playing these games. He yanked his helm away and turned it to the side, only to find himself face to face with the cube. Of course, Megatron had been planning this, had placed the box so it was right there, right in front of Bumblebee's vision.
How in the pit was he supposed to know what was in there; torture tools, maybe. And then his mouth went dry as other unbidden propositions made their way to the forefront of his processor – terrible things, lewd things that made his spark shrivel, if he had any doubts before, they'd all been eliminated, he wouldn't put anything too low for a Decepticon.
"No." He said. It was supposed to come out strong, loud, piercing, something to show he wasn't afraid. But even though the word rang with his defiance, even though it yielded nothing and burned with a fire he never knew he had, it was a hoarse whisper; and to his audials, it was a pitiful sound fringing into defeat.
Megatron chuckled, low and prideful and menacing. Bumblebee was beginning to hate the sound, and he glared defiantly at nothing.
The warlord pulled back slightly, staring Bumblebee in the eye, meeting the fiery cobalt glare head on. A devil's grin graced his features and
his EM field pulsed with a shade of dark pleasure distinctly different from the lust that was still an ever present whisper.
A servo dragged down Bumblebee's chest, and then stopped, a single digit traced the fresh weld over his spark chamber pulsing a throbbing pain through his systems, and then continued to caress downwards.
"Such a defiant thing," Megatron purred, he dragged a taloned servo along the inside of Bumblebee's leg, fingertips diggings into the mesh, not hard enough to cause pain, but enough to peel at the paint and ignite sensors. The scout flinched away from the touch, but the other servo held him in place by the waist, thumb rubbing against the sensitive abdominal derma.
"I've seen greater mechs bow from less," The warlord continued in a low voice, dipping a talon into the seams of the junction of Bumblebee's pelvis and leg, stroking the wires and stoking the kernel of heat that was beginning to pool in the scout's belly. He tried to move away, squirmed against the primal delight, but it only allowed Megatron to graze at deeper more vulnerable spots that tingled with even greater pleasure. "You're hardly more than a sparkling," Megatron's voice was like silk, somehow at odds with his own words, "Yet you hold quite a rare level of loyalty to your Prime."
He paused and trailed a servo up Bumblebee's side before he reached over and put a hand on the box, peering straight into the scout's optics with an enigmatic gleam, "Such loyalty should be rewarded," He rumbled and pressed something on it.
A hissing noise enveloped the room, and Bumblebee found himself staring at its source; the cube. Its sides unhooked from the bottom with a click, jutting out slightly, and then it was lifted, the sides and top gone to present what it contained.
Everything stopped.
He didn't gag, he didn't cringe at the sight, but a different feeling pierced deep down, a searing black nothing of complete and utter shock that halted his very sparkbeat.
Energon stained the faceplates of the head, it painted the neck where it had been severed with a ever luminescent glow, and Bumblebee found himself staring, glued, unable to look away, at the lifeless optics of Jazz.
Is that really a gamble you're willing to take?
Oh Primus. Oh Primus no, that couldn't be – that couldn't be Jazz. His head, severed… They really did have him, they had Jazz and now he was dead and here and they killed him and oh Primus no this couln't be happening. Why? Why had they terminated Jazz? If they terminated him, why didn't they terminate Bumblebee?
They should've killed Bumblebee instead and now…
Jazz's mouth was dangling open, old energon stained the bottom lip, and it was all gunmetal gray.
You don't want your dearest friend to offline because of you… do you?
Oh no, Primus, it was his fault. The lifeless optics twisted, seemed to glare, spit hatred at Bumblebee, consume him from the inside out with complete and utter decay.
Everything, nothing, it was all a sudden fray completely focused on the severed head that stared at him… all of it, everything, just… Jazz was dead and…
Something, some smaller voice in the back of his mind began to scream and tremble from something else. It begged him to snap out of it, to get out, run away, and though it took what felt like eons to tear his mind away from that face that once used to smile at him and… he was finally able to tear away.
It was only then that he realized he was no longer on his back.
How? How hadn't he realized Megatron had flipped him over? He was lying on his stomach, a servo on his helm successfully pinning him down, and another traced along his backstruts.
Primus no - what had he done to deserve this?
The air behind him stirred, and Bumblebee pushed against the servo, looking as far back as he could, optics wide orbs flaring like stars. All traces of a grin vanished, Megatron was far too close, and he loomed, staring at the scout with an expression far too flat and yet far too wild to be any singular thing while only a fraction of frictionless air stood between them.
His voice rumbled like thunder, rolling over Bumblebee's frame in heated breaths, "You were Jazz's salvation," Megatron's words were a curse that burnt the Autobot to the core, "And your silence was his death sentence." The servo stopped just above his aft and lifted off of him completely.
After a moment of silence, Megatron spoke again, "I am your salvation," Bumblebee jumped when the tip of his door wing was suddenly stroked – it didn't hurt, quite the opposite, but he couldn't see anything, nothing beyond Megatron's optics… or if he looked to the side, he could see… he stopped the thought before the rotting could weigh down again.
"I hold your very spark in my hands," Megatron's voice was lower, more gravelly, coarse and yet silken as fine wine, and so, so terrible, "As well as the sparks of others; your friend here is not the only one in my possession."
Oh, Primus – Primus, there were more? Optics flaring at the words, Bumblebee's body went cold and he jerked against the weight that held him down.
"Whether they live or die is up to you, scout."
…Why? Why him? Why was all of this put in Bumblebee's hands?
The hand on Bumblebee's helm pushed down, forcing him as far down as he could, keeping him stuck and facing that… that head. He tried not to look, tried to look up and see what was going on, tried to look to the side, at the far wall, but everywhere in his peripheral vision, those dark optics beckoned him.
He shut his optics, offlined them completely.
He couldn't look at Jazz, not when he was about to be violated in this way.
But it made him completely and utterly aware of every touch, everything, horribly acutely aware. Still, he wouldn't open his optics.
Gentle touches caressed Bumblebee in some twisted, soothing gesture so completely and utterly surreal in this setting. Megatron ran his servo up the length of Bumblebee's doorwing, traced around its edges, and then fell to his back, trailed just under the dip of his backstruts, and then circled just above his hip before trailing up and mapping the same path over and over again.
And then… and then it started.
Something soft and wet trailed along the nape of his neck; a glossa, he realized. Sharp denta nipped and pulled at the more sensitive cables of his neck, somehow picking at each and every sensory node. All the while, Megatron ran a servo along the base of his upper back, along the spinal column, and then around the joints of where his wings connected. When a talon grazed it, it sent a sudden jolt of electricity through Bumblebee, beginning to ignite a fire out of the ashes of that kernel in the pit of his abdomen and petering out at his pedes.
It was also enough to feed his defiance. He thrashed against Megatron, knowing full well that it was in vain. But he wouldn't stop fighting, he wouldn't succumb to primal pleasure, not when there was the severed head of a comrade right next to him.
Megatron growled against his neck and moved lower. He began to rub the doorwing joint easily between his forefinger and thumb, and his mouth trailed down along Bumblebee's backstruts.
But Bumblebee twisted against the grip as much as he could. Even though the scout's systems began to flood with foreign heat, even though his mind fought against his very body, he fought.
He didn't want this. Primus, there was nothing he wanted less in his life.
Something – something pressed against his armor between his legs.
Automatically, Bumblebee's optics snapped open.
And then it all came tumbling down again.
Jazz, Jazz's severed head, his mouth perpetually hanging open as if in shock, completely black optics blindly peering at him… The energon that stained the colorless neck… everything hit him two-fold completely over again. The rotting pushed deeper – Jazz was dead because of him. His enthusiastic friend who would laugh and crack terrible jokes and those optics that used to burn with a fierce protectiveness were now lifeless and… and… and the mech that bore down on him, loomed over him like some fairytale monster and slowly, steadily, beginning to ravish him from the inside out, it was all too much.
He couldn't take it. He was too young, too naïve, too weak and pathetic, too tired to endure this. But he still held on, he held on dearly for a final moment of clouding defiance, and then his grip slipped, and he fell into the nothing.
It was like a switch was flipped, the way his body suddenly went limp, when he suddenly stopped fighting against the Decepticon lord. His helm rested against the cool ground and he offlined his optics, allowing himself to succumb to the deepest pits of darkness, of complete and helplessness only paved over by the ever present, subtle and sickening flavor of arousal.
Though perhaps - perhaps if he talked, if he told the information… the thought immediately vanished. Bumblebee was giving in, but he was not yielding. He would let Megatron do his worst, he take it and he would decay, but he would stay silent.
A moment of silence passed over the room.
The servo slid from Bumblebee's helm.
He ground his denta and waited. He would take it.
He couldn't stop himself from flinching when he felt the chest of the mech on top of him so very lightly press against his back, ventilation's heating his neck.
Megatron took one last lazy breath, "You can end this now, scout," his voice was so low, gravelly and thick and wickedly sensual in a way that made Bumblebee tense with the remnants of fear that clung with him into the nothing. "Tell me what I want to know and your dearest comrades will be free. You will be free."
Bumblebee did not speak.
Oh, it was such an enticing prospect, far more enticing than he was certain it should be. Not just the scout's agony, but the agony of his friends, his comrades, his brothers, it would be over for everyone. Just a few words, a few whispered words and it would be done with.
But he did not say a word. He knew to the pits of his core that everyone would gladly endure this torture again and again instead of talking.
A hand stroked over his shoulder and played with his side, trailing under armor and caressing seams.
"No," Bumblebee rasped out. He breathed in a shaky ventilation and re calibrated his voicebox.
The hand slowed and maintained content to draw lazy circles around a particular sensory node that continuously relayed calm throughout his sensory net.
But he wasn't done talking, and one way or another, Megatron sensed it.
His voice came out strained and brimmed with static, as though he had to use every reserve of his power to manifest them, "Kill them," he said, "Torture them, do whatever you want to me… I won't," He in-vented, back pressing a little more into Megatron for a moment, and then ex-vented, "I don't care, I won't tell you a damn thing."
Something shifted, it was so minute, a flare and then it was gone, and only when Megatron let out a dry chuckle did Bumblebee realize it was the warlord's EM field.
"You are not very adept at lying, scout."
A/N: So, uh, how 'bout those severed heads, huh?
Anyways, once again, kudos to Babymamhu. I probably wouldn't have even gotten this far without her.
It might possibly be a bit before I post the next chapter. I have yet to write it, and I'm an extreme detailphile raised on the foundation of perfectionism. Be forewarned.
In the meantime, I would really appreciate feedback! It's the only way I can improve my writing!