Warnings! This chapter contains HIGHLY EXPLICIT rape. If you wish to skip... well, just don't read this chapter.

Also, a brief mention of the Cybertronian equivalent of the Pear of Anguish.

... ... ...

"I'm frightened by what I see
But somehow I know
That there's much more to come
Immobilized by my fear…
I can stop the pain
If I will it all away."

-Evanescence, "Whisper"

He gently turned Bumblebee over onto his back. And it was just that, the gentleness - where he could've been handled like a ragdoll, large clawed servos treated him with care – that chilled his core. Because each movement, each lingering caress across his leg and abdomen, was accompanied by the wickedness of Megatron's vermillion optics and the promise that at any moment, any teetering second, things would delve further, deeper, out of the surreal apprehension and into harsh reality.

Bumblebee kept his optics offlined, pathetically unable to meet the gaze of the warlord and unable to look away and at the severed head that continued to bear into his derma.

Everything was pulled taut, everything waiting, bracing… He would take it. He would endure it. He would decay.

He was decaying.

A servo cupped the side of his helm, the heat stinging his faceplates, creeping across his chassis. Still, he kept his optics shut. Megatron caressed along his jaw, a digit dwindling just over his mouth and the hand tilting his helm back fractionally. Digits lingered over the sensitive plating in a slow and lazy movement, before the last fingertip slid off his chin.

"I can feel you tremble," Megatron murmured in a voice so terribly intimate, like a lover whispering in daybreak, so terribly surreal against the faint scent of old energon and the hardness of a prison ground, "Feel the fear emanate from your frame," He touched behind Bumblebee's audial and curved his fingers under to trace around his neck, "And yet you offer no protest."

Bumblebee did not reply. He'd said his piece, and no sound of protest, no begging or snappy remark, nothing would change this reality.

Fingertips dipped under his Adam's apple and curved around it so very carefully. The touch dragged down his neck, dipping under the curve of clavicle armor and nudging at sensitive wires that sent a subtle and warm sensation under his protoform.

It was painful. It was sweet and kind and it was the clean cut of a serrated blade dipping deep into the softest mesh. It made Bumblebee want to yank away and scream against the rotting that it bled into his core.

"Say the word, tell me where the Autobots are taking the Allspark, and I will grant you salvation."

No.

But he did not speak.

He didn't trust his voice to speak – didn't want it to come out in cracks and frayed with static or murmured with tinges of decay. So he stayed silent and felt his servos at his sides clench to fists.

Everything was still for a moment. It was a split second, really such a small interlude; but to Bumblebee, it was the world dangling from a tightrope, it was a small piece of eternity that left him completely and utterly pulled taut and on the brink of breaking.

"So be it."

And then a servo glided along his frame. It was accompanied by a deep and steady breathing that vented heat across the side of his helm and neck. His nerve endings tingled and he felt himself automatically squirm as something akin to disgust filled his belly.

Megatron lifted the servo while simultaneously resting the other on Bumblebee's doorwing. It remained stagnant, a simple touch that exhumed heat and violent life into his derma.

Then his leg was lifted.

Bumblebee couldn't stop himself from stiffening as the warlord easily slid his servo just below his aft and cupped his right thigh. It dragged down in a lazy velocity, lifting his leg so slowly and carefully leaving none of the surface untouched. Megatron grazed over parts seldom touched, sensitive and unused to attention, his fingertips caressed under armor and over inner wirings, where nerve clusters meant for one single, primal thing resided at surface level and remained primitively eager to be ignited. It was so damned intimate, so damned nice; Bumblebee had never thought a loving gesture could be so dark.

Yet he knew things were going to get worse.

His leg was set down, bent at the knee, and the derma continued to tingle even after the ministrations were moved to his other leg. Warmth was spreading under Bumblebee's frame, pulsing ever so slightly in tandem with the long and steady strokes played along his leg.

And then Megatron's servo rested under Bumblebee's knee and propped it up as far as it would go. The position seemed to leave the scout completely splayed open. A cool breeze of air coiled between seams that were now exposed and the heat emanating from the mech on top of him grazed over his panel.

And complete panic immediately tore through him.

Maybe he wasn't as weak as he thought, maybe he simply hadn't fallen very far into the nothing - but without a single hesitation, Bumblebee's optics flashed on and he suddenly kicked and thrashed against the hold on him. He felt the metal of his pinned leg dent against the unyielding grasp and snarled in anger and pain.

His optics burned bright as suns, it felt, and he glared straight into the narrowed garnet eyes, defiance littering his frame as his entire world focused on the primal urge to get away.

He didn't even realize that he actually hit Megatron in the jaw until his hands were suddenly pinned above his helm.

A low, guttural growl ruptured through the warlord's chest and his EM field immediately flared.

It was… It was just like before. This all encompassing entity that enveloped the entirety of his senses, but that whisper was still there. It was a promise at his audial, a breath against his frame that danced over every nerve in so many ways; lust. The intensity was too much, it rang and it made Bumblebee want to thrash and scream and run and disappear and submit and fight and… And it was just too much. He simply froze, paralyzed for an uncertain amount of time.

All the while, the two same words thundered in his chest, banged at his vocalizer and pleaded.

Stop, please.

But that was a beg, a plea, and he'd vowed to never make a word of weakness.

The air stirred above him, and his optics focused once again on the form above him.

Megatron shifted and lowered, his optics keeping contact with Bumblebee's as he lowered his helm and planted his lips on the scout's chest. And with the soft touch – if it were possible – his EM field intensified more and wrapped solidly around Bumblebee's being.

The message was more than clear, it was a blade of crystal that cut so cleanly under the Autobot's defiance; Megatron was claiming him, branding his core and his mind with a permanent place for the warlord to occupy. Megatron, in this most intimate of breakdowns, was going to haunt him for as long as he lived.

And then Megatron began.

He moved up Bumblebee's chest, kissing and nipping along seams and dipping his glossa under armor and chasing the softest hints of arousal that coursed through Bumblebee's fuel lines.

All the scout's senses were encompassed, all his world dragged into the singular focus of the condensed force of this secular moment. His sensors were on fire, they were burning from the intensity – the field that wrapped cleanly around him and bled through his cracks, the hot touch of the mouth that passed across his shoulder and tugged lightly at one of fuel lines on his neck and sent thick courses of both disgust and the pleasure he so adamantly fought with every bit of willpower, the servo that held his leg up, rubbing against the seldom touched, sensitive metal, and…

Oh Primus.

No. Primus no, not there or there, please…

It was simultaneous, the warlord bit down on his doorwing and ground against his pelvis. Bumblebee jolted immediately, pressing flush against Megatron for an instant and then pushing as deep into the floor as he could, trying to run from this. It just all burnt; arrays of emotions and instincts and fears racketed throughout him and battled for the forefront.

Megatron's EM field pulsed and banged at his frame, creeping through the cracks and echoing into his mind. It was sour with a dark pleasure and sweet with lust, a sickeningly saccharine poison that weighed heavy against his glossa.

And the heat… Primus, the warlord was rocking their plating together, and the friction rested heavily on Bumblebee's modesty panel. It slowly crawled to his valve, where his overly sensitive nerves lapped up the calefaction like a starved creature.

You can end this now, scout.

He shoved the thought away and bared his denta and glared at the ceiling.

Something hot and soft and wet laved at the bite mark on his wing – a glossa, he realized. It sent bolts of that devastating heat from his helm to his pedes and –

For Primus' sake, there was the severed head of one of his best friend's right there and his body was getting aroused?!

He'd said he would take, he did, but that didn't mean he was okay with enjoying it.

The rotting pushed deeper and with it, tendrils of the fire that fed his defiance began to dissipate.

Say the word…

He wasn't going to last.

Primus, he wasn't going to last. He could stay silent, he would die a thousand times before leaking information, but – but…

This was real. This was reality, cold and hard, and it would break him.

The servo hooked under his knee moved down and spread it to the side, Megatron's palm easily covering Bumblebee's inner thigh and fingers playing with the now completely exposed seams.

Bumblebee jerked against it, tried to close his legs shut, but it was all in vain. Panic began to edge through his fingertips and arms. His breathing was so quick, chest heaving up and down so his body never lay still. He tried to pull his arms away from the servo that held them firmly, and the feeling of complete and utter helplessness was bearing down harder and harder until it seemed to be at war with even Megatron's EM field.

Megatron bit him again – just hard enough to leave a dent – this time on the tip of his doorwing. It sent a shudder throughout Bumblebee's body and his nerves sang in delight and pain and his helm slammed to the floor. He ground his denta, optics two wide moons, as a glossa snuck around the burning derma and sent pangs of pleasure straight to the weight in his abdomen. He cursed every god he knew and then prayed to them, begged them to take away this – this thing, this pleasure.

It was consuming him from inside out, everything… just – everything…

And then a soft click reverberated straight to his audials. It was muffled; a small tone, but he heard it so distinctly. It was coming from where his panel was, and it – oh Primus. Digits fluttered over the side of his pelvis, the side where the manual lock of his interface array was.

In some terrible confirmation, he felt his panel peel away in slow transformation.

Megatron pulled back slowly, releasing Bumblebee's leg and ghosting a thumb over the lips of his valve.

Bumblebee flinched and tried to jerk away, only to be held firmly down at the hip, the warlord's large servo easily spread to still keep a digit running up and down the valve. The touch was so light, just barely there over the outside, but burnt the scout to the pits of his abdomen.

Megatron peered at him with dimmed optics, face twisted in a small devil's grin and his EM field pulsed, laced so thickly with pleasure. He was so close; Bumblebee could feel the breathing travel along his faceplates and neck.

And then the warlord spoke, it was a thick and beastly purr, gravelly and so very slightly, royally fringed with static that only added to the intimacy he was forcing, "Scout," the digit rubbed up his valve a little harder, just enough to be a solid touch, "I understand that before Vortex's particular ministrations, you had your seals." His voice was so damned mellifluous, Bumblebee was keenly aware of the amusement and mockery hidden well behind the tone.

Yes, he'd had his seals. He was born into a war; you couldn't get attached, lest you find a lover's face while counting the dead. But the humiliation still burrowed deep. Flashes of memory washed over him in a moment; of Vortex shoving that thing – that thing that expanded with each twist of the handle - into his valve and chuckling softly when he heard the indistinguishable pop of a seal break; of the jokes he'd made, the things he'd said, the sadistic pleasure of that little added pain…

He glared at Megatron. He glared but he didn't say anything, and waited for him to finish.

Megatron smirked, his eyes narrowing wickedly. "I am honored that you allow me to take something so sacred."

Oh, the anger flared like nothing else, but Bumblebee knew what he meant. He knew the undertones – that he'd been given a choice, and this was the one he'd taken. That he'd chosen this. And that he'd chosen to kill his captive comrades.

And all he could do was glare.

Megatron chuckled.

And then the digit dipped between the lips of his valve. It ran up the length, and Bumblebee felt a bolt of electricity as Megatron put a minute amount of pressure on his outer node. He kicked his legs out and jerked, a growl escaping his voicebox as he tried to run from the sensation.

Whatever the hell this sensation was - he couldn't define it as good or terrible or anything beyond too much, something he had to get away from.

He couldn't do this.

Stop.

The touches were so light, feather soft and delightful, as a digit circled that node and brushed the heat along Bumblebee's frame – so much nicer in contrast to the attention Vortex had given that area.

His servos were released. Megatron relinquished his grasp in favor of running a servo along Bumblebee's wing.

It was too much. His doorwings had always been sensitive, but now in combination with the continual saccharine stimulation along his outer node, his wings were practically on fire with every touch and stroke. He was burning alive, charring and blackening under everything – the thundering, tainted air that enveloped him, the physical feelings, the emotions, everything was melding and colliding. He was falling into a pool of utter chaos, he was drinking poisoned champagne.

He couldn't hang on.

He couldn't…

Hard, calloused lips grazed his own in a chaste kiss that seared him to near blindness. And then another kiss was planted on his chin, and then along his jaw, and then Megatron moved along his neck again. He nipped Bumblebee's throat, causing the scout to automatically shiver.

He fell apart.

It didn't matter. He wouldn't talk – he held no illusion that the Decepticons would release him or keep him alive – and, he realized, he did not believe he would ever be rescued. He was going to die in here. He could fall into the chaos, and that was okay…

…Right?

It hurt and it burnt and it felt so good and so bad. It was just so intense.

And this time, this time he knew what it was to be in the nothing. To be held hostage by things that weren't his own, to fall apart and simply be in sweet dissociation.

He shut his optics and felt as the mouth traveled down, down, along his abdomen, grazed and caressed sensitive derma in a twisted mockery of love. His body stiffened when Megatron reached his pelvic plating, bare protoform gleaming in vacant light, and his systems roared in meanings he did not translate.

Sharp denta scraped along the joint between body and legs, and Bumblebee kicked under the overwhelming sensation. A glossa snaked out and he writhed. And while the ministrations continued along his inner thigh, that digit was rubbing along his node, movements slowly becoming more and more insistent.

He drowned in the sensations until it all melded and he could not tell one from another. His body moved on its own and his mind retreated to the farthest corners from reality. He squirmed under the ministrations, ventilations shallow and quick.

And then a digit penetrated him. It was a slow and careful descending that had Bumblebee completely frozen.

Were it a different situation, were he with a lover and friend, Bumblebee would've wished to explore the sensation, the newness of it all. How it stung and built an odd pressure and how his systems continuously translated it as good and pleasurable. But at that moment, all he wanted was for the intrusion to get out. And his nerves sang in delight.

His optics shot open again, and he stared up at nothing in particular- every image and detail of the ceiling burning into his optics as he cataloged none of it.

Say the word…

And it was inside - inside of him. It was as if Megatron were reaching for his very spark.

Then it started thrusting. It dragged along sensory nodes Bumblebee didn't even know existed and it burnt so good. His spark twisted and thundered in its casing, threatening to tear through his chest.

Megatron kissed his mouth. Not chaste like before, he was possessive and animalistic. Denta nipped at Bumblebee's lower lip and grazed pieces of him that sang in delight and simply fed the fire of his arousal. Everything, every touch on every piece of his body was on fire, so much more sensitive.

Another finger was added to his valve, and though it stung and stretched, it felt so damned good, and so damned intense. He never knew it was even possible to feel like this without shorting out.

Those digits crooked and stroked something in his valve and everything stopped for a crack in time, panic and thought alike. Secular sensation overtook him momentarily in neither pleasure nor pain. It was just too much.

Bumblebee's mouth flew open but no sound escaped him and his helm slammed into the ground. The opportunity was immediately taken and a glossa slid into his mouth, finding his own and tangling them together.

It was too much. The scout was drowning.

Those fingers that were thrusting in and out of him, massaging and pushing into that spot over and over again, the glossa and the nips, and the claws that scraped along his doorwing, it all entwined and tangled together in a filthy and unholy inferno that left him completely vulnerable and naked in the worst of ways.

A third digit was added, and this time, Bumblebee could not stop the noise that escaped him. It was a high pitched whine, weak and needy and terrified, raw and unadulterated like some wounded animal. Mortification and humiliation pulsed through his fuel lines and his servos scraped at the ground.

"Ah," Megatron broke the kiss, lingering above Bumblebee's faceplates with the smallest of sadistic smiles. His helm tilted to hover just over the scout's audials, lips murmuring against the derma. His voice was a quiet thunder, a deep and rumbling whisper, "Such a poor and needy thing." His fingers thrust directly into Bumblebee's ceiling node, and a sharp breath ground through the scout's denta, "Do you wish to end this?"

Bumblebee did not reply. He could feel his arms and legs shake involuntarily, could feel that cold, cold ground begin to warm from his overheated frame. He wanted to scream against it, beg and beg for this to stop, but no sound escaped.

"Such a defiant creature," Claws pinched his doorwing and his hips jerked despite himself, "To defy even your own body's wishes," And then the digits slipped slowly from his valve. He clenched on nothing and Bumblebee felt the wetness of lubricants trickle down his protoform in the stead of the caresses.

He could hear Megatron grin, hear his lips part in a devil's smile against his audial. And then he heard every tone, every level of intimacy in his next whisper, "I would have you no other way."

And then Bumblebee heard a click. He knew that click, it was the same as when his panel had… Oh Primus, No.

Optics flared to two wide moons, Bumblebee raised his head to look down, but before he could see anything, Megatron meshed their mouth's together and his helm was pushed back.

His apprehensions were confirmed when something blunt and hot spread the lips of his valve.

This was happening. This was really happening.

He twisted and pushed against the mech on top of him, if only to prolong the inevitable. But all his struggling did was draw a pleasured growl from Megatron.

He froze; his whole body pulled taut. He couldn't do anything.

He would take it. He would take it he would take it he would take it –

An entirely all consuming burning sensation flushed through Bumblebee when Megatron's spike entered him. Calipers stretching to the very max, the intrusion was so slow, so terribly slow. Every segment, every movement was felt and it made Bumblebee's body sing and cringe and cry and dance. It was too much. Far too much.

His valve clenched automatically and he could only barely muffle the sob that tore through his volcalizer.

After a moment Megatron pulled out almost all the way, and then pushed back in a little deeper.

It was like he was stroking every piece of Bumblebee, gripping at his spark and nudging at his intakes, pulling every emotion from him and stripping away every piece of armor until he was left bare.

It was all secular and yet it was completely ecclesiastical.

By the fourth thrust, their pelvic plating touched, and Bumblebee felt a wave of nausea as the implications took hold. The warlord stilled, waiting for the scout to adjust.

Bumblebee could hear each and every heavy breath that seared along his derma. Megatron nipped his bottom lip again before moving down and nudging against his neck. His EM field flared and cracked, coiled around Bumblebee and reaching every nook and cranny, leaving nothing untouched as it seemed to scream with lust and pleasure and other things that the Autobot could not make out. "You feel," He growled, voice deeper and fringed with static, nearly reverent, "Delightful."

The words tore Bumblebee apart a little more. He felt as though he would purge his tanks at any moment, and yet he felt as sated and starved as some weakened beast. He hated it, he hated it all. This, this, he hated to admit it – this was the most intimate he'd been with anyone, and it breached his barriers and poured the rotting and decay into his very core.

Megatron shifted. It was a small movement, but it ignited Bumblebee's arousal as if it hadn't been present at all. Sensitized nodes sang in unholy chorus and he could feel a soft trail of lubrication spill along his plating. His vents were heavy and his body was writhing small movements on its own.

And then the thrusting truly started. It was a slow and steady pace that dragged along every node, caressed every fiber and ounce, and had Bumblebee's mind and body completely split; in and out and in and out, horror and delight, disgust and pleasure, hatred and need.

It was too much, Primus, it was too intense. The sensations scraped along his chassis in electric charges, it made him forcefully offline his optics, and it made him completely and utterly helpless.

Megatron bit his neck, a small sting only adding to the arousal, causing his valve to clench and flutter again. He cried out as the movement only excited his body more.

Another bite, and Bumblebee bit down on his lip to mute any noise. His frame rocked in tandem with each thrust, slow but forceful, allowing him to feel each and every sensation and leaving him on the brink of… of something.

All he knew was this intensity, this thing he did not know.

Everything started to entwine once again into a singular thing, a blur of pain and pleasure. Each ministration simply dragged, simply was, and his entire being was forced into this eternal moment.

And then… there was a shift in position or angle or something. When Megatron thrusted again, the spike pushed directly into that one node, that spot that felt so good in ways he hated. Still so terribly slow, the pressure was gradual, so very gradual, and Bumblebee jerked and writhed and his denta clenched hard enough that he vaguely registered energon trickle down his chin.

"Nh-Nnm," He barely registered the shaky moan until a few moments later, and the humiliation ran thick. Primus, he was… he really was…

He shut away the thought before it could do any more damage.

He just wanted this to end, wanted whatever the hell was waiting just a breadth away to happen so this could end.

A mouth ran along the side of his neck, drawing feelings, stroking burns, and singing despair.

"Do you wish for this to end, scout?"

Yes. Yes he did. He wanted so desperately for this to end. But he didn't speak. He bit back every cry, every word that thundered through him past the overwhelming sensations and didn't speak.

It was just all blurring. Time and thought, everything. He floated in this intensity, drowned in the chaos of it all. It was probably only for a few klicks, but it truly did feel like eternity. He could not stop every sound that pushed at his throat, and a muffled sob would tear past his denta here and there, laced with whines and gasps.

It was completely endless.

The spike dragged along every sensor, slammed into that spot and made his processor stall and slow and it was too much… he was being violated, tarnished, claimed.

A piece of him wondered if this was simply for Megatron's pleasure or just another form of torture.

Most of him was consumed by the sensations of the moment.

And then… and then he came undone.

He didn't know how to even comprehend it. His circuits whited out and everything stopped, his frame tightened and Bumblebee arched until he was bodily pressed into the mech above him, and all he felt was pleasure, his whole world was pleasure on a different plain. Some clinical voice in the back of his mind identified it as an overload, but he didn't care. Time stopped, and, for a moment, there was bliss.

It was only for a moment.

Then it all came tumbling down.

It was worse than before, his nerves were utterly over-sensitized. That spike was still thrusting in and out of him, and each node and nerve was dragged on the edge of incomprehensible pain and overwhelming pleasure.

Bumblebee wanted to scream and tear away from it all, he wanted to run, and yet… he so deliriously wanted it. And with that one thought, that one realization, he felt the last remnants of untouched life, the last cracks and corners unaffected, shroud itself in decay.

A smaller overload ripped through him, and this time, there was no trace of bliss. Only pain and pleasure and the ungodly pressure in his abdomen was finally lifted as the last traces of arousal left him.

Optics still shut and audials ringing near static, he could only feel, and it thundered against his chest as Megatron sheathed himself into Bumblebee one last time and overloaded. Hot transfluid shot into him with a large electric charge that bordered on painful. It was the last sear, an invisible laceration that crumbled inside Bumblebee.

He felt ungodly, filthy, disgusting. He felt nothing. He was buried inside the nothing.

His processor vaguely registered Megatron pull out of him, leaving a trail of lukewarm liquid to course down his thighs. He barely noticed the warlord say something and then the whirring of his cell door. There was a pool of light that made his optics hurt and his tanks churn. And then it closed and he was alone.

Alone. Except for…

Optics onlining, Bumblebee numbly looked to the side. And there it was, there he was, Jazz and his black optics.

His friend had witnessed the terrible things, had seen him writhe and moan like some cheap buymech.

It was strange how self loathing could easily pierce the nothing.

Bumblebee stirred, and the transfluid trickled out some and sloshed inside him. It made him feel dirty, unholy, mutilated. With another cringe, he pulled his legs under him and slowly reached out.

Jazz's head was cold to the touch, and his servo dragged along the faceplates in a lazy slowness. The energon was sticky and thick in its age, hardly glowing at all. Still, it was much less disgusting than the mess between his legs.

Slowly, Bumble turned over onto his side and pulled the head to his chest. He clutched it like it was his only lifeline, felt the metal dent under the ferocity of his grip.

He offlined his optics and curled around Jazz. And rasped out the only thing he could think of, the only thing that mattered.

"I'm sorry."

And with that, he let go. He embraced the nothing.

A/N: Whooo Boy! Well, I'm glad that's over with. This chapter was quite a piece of work, but uh, hope you enjoyed it... er, found it to be as emotionally churning as much as I did.

Anyways, give or take, there's about two more chapters til the end.