Sobering

The way to his new quarters led through long and empty corridors, devoid of life, dark in the coming night cycle, in a strange contrast to the still noisy and lively throne-room that they'd just left. Megatron was silent and Optronix didn't know what to say either, no matter how he wracked his processor for something to break the heavy silence. The warlord's bodyguards followed them until the door and stood aside when they stepped through it. It must have been a nice room but Optronix couldn't see it or say anything, as his voice box seemed to constrict in fear and anxiety.

Megatron moved on, to the second room and the third and Optronix finally recognized something that stood out in clear strokes even in his dazed stupor – a huge berth fitting in size to his… bonded-to-be. His fear attacked in waves, alternating with a strange elation that he wasn't sure where it came from. He moved over to the berth in a daze, as the warlord apparently didn't want to talk or in any way dispel his fear. Optronix knew that the first time was supposed to hurt, he had plenty of elder siblings and friends who told him about the seals and how it was supposed to go. If Megatron was in any way proportionate, it'd hurt a lot.

"M-megatron…" – Pit he still didn't know what he wanted to say. Just stalling, just saying anything to postpone the inevitable a little more, maybe make him a little less angry… "C-could I have some more high-grade?"

"Didn't you drink enough in the banquet?" – Megatron growled angrily – "I wasn't aware that my intended is a drunkard."

Optronix was totally embarrassed, as it came out very badly. – "I'm not! I'm just… just…"

"Just what?!" – a scowl on the faceplates that Optronix, even in his fear found attractive.

"Afraid…"

Megatron looked at him with a glance that spoke volumes. Great, now he was considered a coward too. This evening truly couldn't get any worse. But Optronix still tried.

"I… I… thought that we could… like talk a bit first?"

"Talk." – Megatron's stare became downright terrifying and Optronix took a step backwards. – "Talking all the time like your worthless liar of a sire, are you?"

"N-no! I thought that… I hoped that… we don't have to be enEMIES!" – he yelped the last of the word as he was pushed backwards onto the berth. Oh, Primus, he was so scrapped. The still growling Megatron filled his whole field of vision and the great frame covered his slighter, smaller one, moving with a surprising speed for one so big. He didn't look the least kinder or calmer than before and Optronix's fear started to swallow him in earnest. He wasn't aroused at all and he started to lose fast that strange attraction too that he felt earlier towards the silver mech.

"Open it." – it was an order not a request. Frag, he hasn't even touched him first, like it was supposed to go. He knew the touches that aroused his frame, he experimented this much for awhile now. Without it, he was in for a Pit of a pain, Optronix was sure, but he had no way to avoid it now. Better get it over as fast as he would… he sent the command to open his interface panel, revealing his sealed spike and the pristine valve. The rest of him was already trembling in anticipation of the pain that it was sure to come. He looked in utter helplessness up at the warlord moving over him, settling his huge, silver frame between his spread legs.

-o-o-o-

Megatron paused as he settled himself over the slighter, trembling, obviously very young mech. For a breem he thought clearly, calmer now that he didn't have to think about that vile Iaconian ruler who left the palace straight after the celebrations. For the first time he contemplated the mech he so far paid little to no attention – the one he'd have to bond with soon. Optronix, he had to admit was easy on the optics, in fact almost beautiful, if he forgot just how small the mech was. Young too, barely a legal adult and fearing the interface. A bit of a bumbler apparently, but that could be because of his apparent fear.

He snorted, high grade flaming his attitude and dispelling the more forgiving mood in a klik. Typical cowardly, simpering, little Iaconians. Civilians. Theoreticians. Politicians. Hahh. No Kaonite would show his fear to anyone, not even if he was in stark terror. It was simply not their way, not the warrior way. And he had to call this simpering weakling his mate… that he was young should be no excuse from cowardice.

...

Note: the rest of the chapter can be read over at AO3. Link to that can be found in my profile, because ffnet deletes links from here. It contains graphic description of dub-con/non-con.

archiveofourown / works / 504710