Title: Overcee
Warning: Gore? Nonsexual BDSM of not exactly healthy nature, but it's definitely consensual.
Rating: R
Continuity: IDW
Characters: Overlord, Arcee, Hardhead.
Disclaimer: The theatre doesn't own the script or actors, nor does it make a profit from the play.
Motivation (Prompt): Inkfamy commissioned me to write nonsexual, consensual, everyday BDSM with Arcee topping, in a "what if" scenario wherein Overlord discovered Arcee during her Jhiaxus-killing phase.
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Part Four
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The first time Overlord's rival walks into the cavern, it's been only a few weeks since the Decepticon himself followed the screams deep underground. The screaming turned into a visual so stunning he hasn't left since. It alarms him sometimes how captivated he is by the pink-stained killer picking Jhiaxus apart in ever-new and agonizing ways, but it doesn't alarm him enough to actually get up and leave. He's still sitting against the cavern wall, one arm casually resting on his knee and optics fixated on the show, when the Autobot arrives.
He doesn't even notice Overlord. He's carrying a large box, frowning into it as if it offends him. While it's surprising to see an Autobot here, Overlord assumes he's here to stop the endless torture. That seems like a suitably Autobotish thing to do. Overlord's vaguely offended on Arcee's behalf that they only sent one person. She's going to snap the idiot in half for interrupting her and go right back to the killing.
Overlord almost interferes to spare her the interruption. She has more important things to do than destroy Autobots.
Curiosity stops him, however. The fool hasn't seen him yet, and it's a rare opportunity to stand on the sidelines as the action happens.
Alright, fine, plus he dearly wants to watch this glorious incarnation of hate tear the Autobot apart. That maddened grin of hers is just so damn hot. Excuse Overlord for wanting to see her chase a moving target around.
Except death and destruction don't happen. The Autobot doesn't even flinch at the scene. He stands there looking bored until a particularly gruesome wet noise ends Jhiaxus' screams. "Are you done yet?" he asks in the relatively quiet aftermath.
"Never," Arcee says. She glares down at the gurgling scientist at her feet.
"Didn't think so. Here." The Autobot hands her the box. "Coolant, energon. You don't use the rags," he says, giving the gore dripping off her plating a critical look, "so I didn't bring any more."
She merely grunts acknowledgement. As always, keeping her attention for more than half a minute is a futile effort. It's returned to Jhiaxus, attracted by the faint scratch of hands on the ground. Amazingly, he's attempting to turn over and inch away. His fingers feebly scrabble at the ground. She eyes the back plating exposed like an invitation, and Overlord shivers at her smile.
The Autobot doesn't seem disturbed as she pounces. "'Thanks Hardhead,'" he grumbles over the crunch. "You're welcome, Arcee. Same time next month? 'Of course, Hardhead.'"
Overlord blinks. Well, that's a nagging question finally answered. In the weeks since he found her, Arcee hasn't left. He wondered how she doesn't starve, but evidently the logistics behind one person murdering a mech unable to die simply involve someone else bringing her fuel.
…he could do that for her. She doesn't need an Autobot to do that. Hmmph.
Arcee ignores the Autobot's mocking conversation, which pleases Overlord. The Autobot is obviously nothing to her but a convenience. He'll destroy the mech and have this delightful killer to himself.
Hardhead turns to stomp toward the exit, only to jerk up short as Overlord stirs.
Unfolding to his feet is a production meant to intimidate. "And who," Overlord says, smiling pleasantly, "might you be?"
"Overlord!" the Autobot hisses, shoulder cannons whining online, and the terror in his optics satisfies Overlord's sadistic side. "What are you - how - "
"I could ask the same. It won't matter in short order, but I confess myself curious." Overlord uses his most courteous tone. It never fails to make his opponents terribly aware of impending death, and the Autobot stiffens. Rage and fear fight on his face, fight-or-flee protocols crashing headlong into each other. Overlord lets his smile widen. The little mech doesn't stand a chance either way, and they both know it.
"Stop that."
They blink and glance to the side. Arcee pauses elbow deep in Jhiaxus' back to glare at them, a snapped strut trailing nerve wires from her hands. Pink energon scatters in thick globs as she points at the Autobot. "I'm an Autobot. He's an Autobot." She scowls at Overlord as though that should be enough, but confusion creases his face. She squints at him, irritated, and makes the effort to spell it out for his stupid, slow, war-centered processor. "No attacking." There. That's a clear order. Pets don't attack friends.
Her gaze transfers to Hardhead as her finger stabs at Overlord next. "And that's mine. Don't touch." The corner of her mouth twitches up once, and she adds an explanation, or maybe a warning, "He bites." Don't try and pet her pet, in other words.
Having said all she thinks necessary, she goes back to pulling out Jhiaxus' back struts one section at a time. Overlord's spark melts around the edges. Has she just staked her claim on him? Was that recognition? Is he hers now? She said he is.
His knees weaken.
It takes a minute to shake off the lovestruck expression turning his optics absolutely rosy, but Overlord manages after a few minutes. The infatuation's blatant enough that Hardhead looks more than a little uncomfortable when he finally remembers the Autobot exists.
After an awkward cough into his hand, Hardhead studies the ground intently. "You're…hers," he says doubtfully.
"She's an Autobot?" Overlord asks just as doubtfully.
The answer appears to be 'yes' in both cases. Neither one of them knows what to do with this unwanted knowledge.
Overlord eyes Hardhead. Hardhead eyes Overlord. They both look at Arcee. She's busy turning Jhiaxus into a puddle of shredded metal, confident she's settled any issue they might have with one another. Her pet will behave because she says so, and her fellow Autobot won't poke her pet because said pet is hers.
That does effectively stop the fight before it begins, but it's beyond weird to have it bluntly laid out like that. Arcee's grasp on what's socially acceptable to tell people isn't very well developed. Hardhead doesn't know where to look or what to do with the idea of Overlord, Decepticon Warrior Elite, submitting to Arcee. And looking at her the entire time as though she's everything he's ever wanted. That's even harder to wrap his mind around.
Overlord just doesn't want to share his killer queen. He glowers at the embarrassed mech.
Eventually, they resort to ignoring each other. Rather sullenly, and woe betide the Autobot if Overlord finds him outside the cavern, but Arcee rules this small underground world. He'll do as she says.
Although it shocks him initially to learn Arcee considers herself an Autobot, Overlord doesn't really care. It doesn't connect in his head. She's simply…not. Not Autobot. Not in any way. His mistress spends her time torturing a mech. The cross-faction appeal is stronger that war, here.
Overlord has no loyalties to the Decepticons, but Autobots bore him. They're sickeningly self-righteous, worse than Megatron during a speech, and they twist reality until their version shows their hands clean. The ones who don't see themselves as heroes are almost tolerable, like the Wreckers, but even they prefer to cast themselves as the 'Good Guys.'
There is no pure narrative in black and white. Both factions are equally idiotic, in his opinion. Megatron and Optimus Prime could have ended it a hundred times over if they had the guts to stop playing by made-up rules, but they always back down. Their obsession with each other has turned the war into a personal fight.
Overlord sees the war for what it is: an amusing conflict over resources long descended into petty ego-stroking squabbles in already dead territory. Fun, but ultimately pointless. Cybertron's a wasteland. He doesn't know what the Decepticons used to be fighting for, much less what the current rhetoric is. The Autobots, of course, have the same goal with more politically correct wording.
It doesn't matter what faction emblem Arcee chooses. War doesn't matter here. The minibot residents of Gorlam Prime - or Cybertron, as they insist on calling their planet - avoid this region with wary fear, respecting it as his territory. The closest cities don't precisely welcome him, but as the months pass, they warm to his presence. They're greedy for his money.
That's incentive enough not to kill them all. The shortlived pleasure of a massacre isn't worth not having a shopping center nearby. Hardhead brings Arcee energon and coolant, but Overlord buys her indulgences. He brings her gifts, ever hopeful that she will turn her attention from Jhiaxus to him for longer than a minute.
His mistress does like local delicacies, or at least she enjoys hearing him beg to feed her them. He's pathetically eager for the privilege. After she's done covering him in his own vital fluids, his hands smear the treats as he presses them to her lips. The taste seems to please her. Or perhaps she just enjoys whipping him as much as she likes beating Jhiaxus.
The whip alone is a good reason to spare the nearest city. Shopping has been a lot more interesting since finding out that several of the pet stores have back rooms for special customers.
It's slightly awkward the first time an employee looks up from his purchases to stare at him, understanding dawning. The size of the harnesses and collars make his status unmistakable. He's never had a clerk smirk at him that way, and he doesn't know how to handle the hint of condescending glee. On one hand, everyone who works at that store keeps sending secretive smiles in his direction. On the other hand, the whispers he overhears speculate on how awesome his mistress is. They don't actually know about his mistress, but the speculation makes him puff up in gloating pride that, yes, he's hers, and yes, she's great. So great they all know it.
Overlord isn't used to being seen as a submissive pet whining at his mistress' heels, but he could get used to it. He decides that flaunting the stain of Jhiaxus' energon around his neck like a collar wasn't any different. Submission is a mark of pride.
Hey, Arcee doesn't give a single piece of scrap that the people of Gorlam Prime even exist. He's her pet. That's something to be proud of.
The Autobot, however, keeps giving him funny looks. They make Overlord itch to kill. Fortunately, Hardhead knows Overlord, or knows what he's capable of, and most of the time he's smart enough to stay away exploring catacombs somewhere. It annoys Overlord when he intrudes in the small murder haven of the cavern as if he has any right to interrupt.
So the massive Decepticon is sulking at the mouth of the cavern at the moment, arms crossed over the buckle-heavy harness he put on for his mistress' pleasure. A pleasure cut short when Hardhead barged in. Stupid Autobot. Stupid Autobot Overlord can't pulverize. He hates that mech so much.
But suddenly Arcee's voice is approaching, and he straightens in surprise as she comes into sight walking up the incline toward the exit. "Don't let him up," she instructs over her shoulder, "and if he comes back online, kick him in the head until he not anymore."
Hardhead emerges behind her, looking somewhat lost. "I refuse to torture him."
She whirls, and the glimpse Overlord gets of her face sends a surge through his spark. Hardhead's optics widen. "Then don't. I'm trusting you to keep him here. Don't make me regret trusting you."
Overlord's own optics pop wide. Wait, she what?
Hardhead spreads his hands. "He's in no shape to escape."
She keeps looking at him for a minute longer, long enough to make him shift uneasily. "Mmm. Fine." Turning her heel, she heads toward the Decepticon. "You!"
Overlord blinks rapidly for a second. "Mistress?" he asks softly, confused. What was going on?
One imperious hand snags a harness strap as she sweeps by him, confident he'll hurry in her wake. "Heel." Just one word's enough to make him trip over himself following the pull, but she keeps talking. "We're going on an outing. Hardhead's minding Jhiaxus."
Behind them, Hardhead sneers at the huge Decepticon's back. He still looks uneasy. It's probably those Autobot morals acting up. They're probably why Arcee trusts him. Overlord abruptly finds them to be a forgivable trait.
Hardhead is the reason Arcee is leaving the cavern. Overlord likes him a ridiculous amount right now.
The harness tugs, and Overlord stumbles in his rush to catch up. "Where are we going?" he asks, almost breathless, and the sly look Arcee throws over her shoulder flushes heat through him.
"We have a reservation at a pet salon," she says, so smug it's positively evil, and he's never loved someone as much as he loves her now. "Hardhead found a place with a big front window. They'll groom you in it while I sit in the cafe across the street."
...Overlord is going to send that Autobot a fragging gift basket.
"I imagine they'll be a bit surprised that my pet's so big," she pats his chest, and the proprietary gesture turns the heat into an inferno, "but I'm sure they have a muzzle your size."
He opens and shuts his mouth. No sound comes out. Humiliation and an absurd amount of pleasure twist a tight knot in his throat. She's going to drop him off at a pet store to be cleaned as though he's nothing but a turbohound. He's probably shopped at whatever place she's reserved. The employees will recognize him on sight. He's going to be a laughingstock.
She's going to sit there watching him be stripped of his armor, scrubbed, and polished. On display. In public. Muzzled, if she has her way, and she's going to want him to act the part, or at least cooperate. Everyone will to know he obeys her slightest whim. Everyone will see she owns him. She'll be watching everyone watch him watch her. She's going to watch him be a good pet, and watch everyone marveling that he's her good pet.
He hasn't been so turned on since the arena days.
His throat aches sharply, something like happiness stuck in it. He swallows a mouthful of dread around it, forcing his voice steady. "But I - "
"If you don't behave, I'll have to beat sense into you," she threatens, yanking on the harness.
Oh. Scratch that. Megatron never made him shudder through overload just by talking. Dazed, Overlord follows his little mistress toward the city.
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