New fic

[yami_samuraiflo]

It's been too long snce I last posted a fic. So here we go!

Special thanks to camfield for the beta!

Title: Untitled
Rating: M
Characters: Soundwave, Jazz, Blaster, Bluestreak
Warnings: Slash, implied sticky, con and noncon; bondage, creepy Soundwave.
Summary: Soundwave got three pretty captives in his power, and he has plans...
Word Count: 2653

They knew the short moment of peace they had been granted when they had woken up together, alone in the big room, was coming to an end the moment they heard the hiss of a first, previously locked down door opening.

When Soundwave had entered alone, they had been surprised. Then they had realized it was his quarters they were chained down in, and that single thought set off all kind of alarm bells in their respective CPUs. But that didn’t meant they were going to stay nice and quiet while they were interrogated and possibly tortured and hacked by the enemy. Of course, since neither Jazz, who was the best at what he did, nor Blaster, who wasn’t bad at escaping bonds himself, hadn’t been able to get out of their restraints, what chances did he have, him, a mere gunner, to do so? Well, no matter; he would stay strong. Or so thought Bluestreak at first.

But, it had quickly become obvious Soundwave hadn’t had them stranded here for torture. Or at least, not the usual kind of torture the Decepticons gave to their prisoners.

It had become clear the moment he had grabbed Blaster by his collar – and wasn’t it funny, that the three of them had been collared with something Jazz identified as a bomb which would go off if they were too eloigned from a signal’s source (which might or might not have been a device planted in the room)? – and had forced him to look at him for a long while.

Blaster wasn’t exactly in a good posture to do so; he couldn’t stand up, and he couldn’t raise his arms very high. There was a pair of delicate-looking manacles fastened on his wrists. No, two pairs, in fact, and three much around his ankles; and, despite their fragile appearance, they were of a sturdier material than expected. So far, Blaster had only managed to scrape his paint and dent the metal of his wrist while trying to remove them. Chains also joined his bound ankles and arms to the collar circling his neck, forcing him to stay on his knees with his hands near his chest. Any kick he could give would be weak, as he wasn’t able to really gather a punch without losing his balance and falling down on his face.

Soundwave was holding him by said collar, forcing him in a half standing, half kneeling position that had to be very uncomfortable, if not painful. Bluestreak shuddered as the red visor then focused on him. He instinctively tried to lean back, but Soundwave easily caught him around the throat and brought him closer. He tried to kick Soundwave with his own legs – that much, he could do; they weren’t as well immobilized than the others, just held together around the knees by a length of sturdy rope, crisscrossed and knotted several times into a strange pattern over his calves – but the Decepticon just strengthened his hold on his captive’s throat and Bluestreak almost choked as he felt small but important cables getting crushed; error messages started to appear, and he stopped kicking and went limp.

Soundwave emitted what seemed to be a sound of appreciation (or was it pleasure?), and his hold on Bluestreak released a little; gently he moved his hand to catch him by the chin and tilted his head right and left, observing him with careful attention.

Bluestreak was puzzled by the gesture; he had fully expected to be hit. Blaster looked alarmed and Jazz, for his part, was almost snarling. “What are you going to do to him, you slagger?” Soundwave looked at him impassively before turning his face anew toward Bluestreak. The grey mech was feeling uneasy now. What did the blue mech want from him?

And then Soundwave… retracted his mask and kissed him. Forcefully. Thoroughly. With his glossa forcing its way inside his mouth and a very clear thought hit Bluestreak like a nullray shot: bite me and I will hurt them more than you. Stay still and you will enjoy yourself.

Bluestreak almost startled. Enjoy himself? How could he…?

Images flashed through his CPU; images of Soundwave doing… things to him, to Jazz, to Blaster even.

This was… wrong.

He saw himself, panel retracted, being pounded into by the blue tape deck, his face a mask of pleasure, the other two mechs watching him with envy (but why should they envy him? They hated Soundwave, weren’t they?); then he was curled onto his side, with Jazz using his glossa to please him – and it was so wrong, because he knew Jazz would never do that – while he did the same things to Blaster and Blaster pleasured Jazz in turn, all while Soundwave watched them, stroking himself; Bluestreak felt vaguely ill at the imaginary display, because there was no way he would do that, Blaster would’t do that either, and Jazz already had a lover, so why would he even think about touching them? Then he saw Blaster, trying to impale himself again and again on his rival’s fingers, panting, vents working fast to cool him down, while Jazz and Bluestreak provided attention to the Decepticon’s SIC valve and spike with their hands and glossa and were being rewarded for their efforts with gentle caresses on their horns and chevrons, making them purr in enjoyment.

It was scenes of pleasure given and willingly received, of ‘bots who obeyed Soundwave without a qualm, ‘bots who enjoyed themselves at the gentle touch of an attentive lover. Bluestreak wanted to scream it just wasn’t possible. That he wouldn’t obey, that he would never do such things with a Decepticon, not of his own free will. But he also saw Jazz, Blaster and he crying as they were whipped mercilessly or in the clutch of bigger, crueler Decepticons who held them down and took them again and again. Making them bleed and scream while Soundwave watched  impassively with his arms crossed over his chest… A clear warning of what would happen should Soundwave think they needed to be ‘punished’. A reminder of what happened to disobedient captives who didn’t listen to him.

He started shaking. No, he thought as he tried to push Soundwave away, no… not that…

Stay quiet, or I will turn my attention toward them… Came the fleeting thought at the forefront of his conscientiousness.

But you will anyway, thought briefly Bluestreak, in a moment of clarity, as he felt cleaning fluid leak from the canals near his optics. Soundwave might be fixated on him right now, but it was clear from what Bluestreak saw he would turn to his friends soon enough. The world was graying around him. He thought he could hear angry, horrified exclamations, and the rhythmic ‘clang! clang!’ of a pair of arms banging against armor’s plates. Blaster, probably, ‘cause Jazz was too far from Soundwave and too tightly bound to have been able to move and try to defend him, but if it was Blaster, he knew the orange mech couldn’t do much, because he lacked the force necessary to hurt the Decepticon and oh, please, Primus, make him stop, he prayed silently as Soundwave moved his hand a little and added some pressure on his jaw  to make him part his lips wider…

Soundwave finally released him and let his mask slide back in place; as soon as the blue Decepticon let go of his chin, Bluestreak backed off with a small cry of shock and collapsed on the berth, right next to his friend, his chains tingling.

He huddled against Jazz; while just a single length of  long and silvery chain linked his wrists together before him as well as part of his forearms, the older mech’s legs were restrained with several cuffs, binding together his ankles, calves, knees and thighs; Bluestreak could count at least seven pairs. It was painfully clear that Jazz wouldn’t be able to part his legs the slightest. Obviously, Soundwave wasn’t taking any risk to have him run around. The black and white Porsche put his arms as well as he could around the Datsun’s shaking frame while glaring angrily at their captor. Bluestreak keened softly as he leaned in the feeble embrace. He so wanted Prowl to be here…

“You utter… rusting… disgusting… perverted… fragger!” the Porsche snarled at Soundwave. “He’s just a kid! You have no right to touch him like that!” added Blaster as he hit Soundwave again, without even hurting his captor.

“Assessment: false. Autobot Bluestreak: mature as of three thousand cosmic cycles ago,” replied Soundwave neutrally. His gaze was still fixated on Bluestreak, who let a sob escape him.

Soundwave didn’t exactly understand why neither the Praxian nor the other two Autobots were so upset. Nobody could imply he was a pedophile, as the humans said. Bluestreak might still be young next to most mechs on both side of the conflict, but he was an adult by Cybertronian law; he’d already been one even before their crash on Earth, in fact, even if the Autobots didn’t seem to acknowledge the fact. And he knew the grey mech already had plenty of occasions to receive intimate touches and caresses from would-be-lovers.

Bluestreak emitted a new strangled sob, and Jazz hugged him harder, forcing his cadet to put his head against his chest. Bluestreak hid his distraught face from view.

Soundwave looked at them both with an unreadable expression, still holding Blaster by his collar; he hadn’t even let him go while kissing the gunner. The orange mech was trying unsuccessfully to make their captor release his hold, trying to pry his fingers loose, just a little. A shake and a quick slap from Soundwave’s free hand made him pause. Megatron’s SIC looked down at him and he flinched a little; for a mech with a mask and visor, it was plainly obvious he wasn’t happy at all. Still, he felt bold enough to ask:

“Where’re my Cassettes, you glitch?” The insult earned him another two slaps in quick succession. Jazz growled and attempted to move, but his immobilized legs didn’t permit him to do much, and there was no way he was letting go of Bluestreak just now; the younger mech was trying to literally burrow into him, quite shaken by the kiss he had received. The kiss and Primus knew what else, with Soundwave’s telepathy. Bluestreak’s shaking had started to increase, and it really wasn’t good. He exchanged a quick glance with Blaster, a silent conversation that lasted barely a klick.

‘Don’t worry about me; take care of the youngling’  thought Blaster.   ‘Damn it, mech, be careful; I can’t help you if you do something stupid…’ was all that Jazz was trying to conjure up. Bluestreak, for his part, just couldn’t stop shaking and silently pleading, still spooked by the kiss he had received earlier and by the images conjured up in his CPU. ‘Please, please, please, Primus above, help us, don’t let him hurt us, he’s going to hurt Blaster, I know he will, and then he will hurt Jazz and he will hurt me and I don’t want him to touch me and I don’t want him to touch the others either but we’ll not be able to stop him if he does and I’m scared and I wish Prowl or the Twins or Optimus because I know they could stop him…’

Soundwave picked on all of their thoughts, and although he didn’t move, he took it in stride and smirked behind his facemask.

Such beautiful creatures they were, the three of them; beautiful, and reuniting everything he wanted in a lover. Jazz, with his limber body and inherent grace, was an accomplished dancer and amateur musician that Soundwave had managed to listen to only once, and that one time had him conquered. Blaster… he had always liked his rival voice, to the point of purposely opening channels to listen to him; and the fact he was also a music fan and former semi-professional musician spoke highly for him. Soundwave could remember, a long time ago, a clandestine radio animated by a skilled and talkative DJ, with a sharp tongue and soft lyrics. Then there was the Praxian… At first, one could have wondered why Soundwave had took him in; he wasn’t very knowledgeable in the domains Soundwave liked, be it sciences or communication or music or dance or arts, and he talked far too much and as such was bit annoying, but he had a good, clear voice, and for all his empty talks, he randomly blurted interesting facts and knowledge. There was so much raw, unexploited potential here: how much the Praxian would shine, if only one was listening and willing to bring that talent to light. The Decepticon didn’t doubt that with some lessons from his two fellow Autobots and Soundwave’s own coaching, he could become a remarkable singer. A dancer, even, if one took the time to make him learn to move with grace, and one accounted for the restrictions caused by his doorwings. Perhaps he could also get him interested in playing an instrument too?

Anyway, it was only a vague project. For now, Soundwave principally needed him to keep the other two under control. Autobots tended to naturally protect the one who were smaller, younger, more defenseless than them; among the three captives, Bluestreak was the most… fragile (though the word wasn’t exactly right; the gunner was one of Optimus Prime’s chosen crew members for their search of energon across the galaxy, so he was hardly a weak link, but he was definitely one who was protected from big, bad Decepticons more than the rest of his friends). He was the one they would naturally defend first from danger, from him. If any misbehavior was addressed by taking the grey mech away from them and by punishing him instead of the other two… Well, wait and see, he mused.

“Blaster’s cassettes: unimportant,” he said loudly at he turned his gaze down to peer at the orange mech face; Blaster bared his dental plate at him in defiance. It wasn’t acceptable. Soundwave expected obedience (not submission; not yet, anyway) from anyone he took under his care, be it one of his cassettes or a prisoner. Displays of defiance were to be addressed most firmly as soon as possible.

Forget the black and white mech and the doorwinged one. For now, he had another tape deck to tame; he dragged the bound mech behind him as he left the room, not paying attention to his cries of pain as he stumbled against the furniture and tore open gashes on his pedes and knees; pain was a good reminder of who was in charge, and such superficial injuries would heal. His hands and voice were more precious, and he would need to be more careful with them. And if Blaster submitted to him soon enough, Soundwave would be willing to heal his injuries himself.

Behind him, he could hear Jazz cussing at him – a nasty habit he would have to address later, but Blaster’s open defiance and willingness to cause physical harm to his person was first priority – and Bluestreak helplessly calling Blaster’s name, voice full of horror. Soundwave frowned a bit behind his faceplate. Fearing him was good; fear meant they would obey. But the level he heard in the Praxian’s voice bordered on crippling. It wasn’t as good; one so afraid didn’t act rationally, nor was he good at following orders. Well, it was another thing he would have to do later on; some small display of lenience toward the gunner would help him relax. And Soundwave could wait to touch him, since the grey mech was so nervous in his presence.

Bluestreak didn’t have to be so worried, he mused as the door closed behind him, muffling whatever calls the two bounds mechs were making; he wasn’t going to hurt them… much.

Comments

[camfield.livejournal.com]

Love this just as much as when I read it before!

[yami-samuraiflo.livejournal.com]

Thanks!^^

[pjlover666.livejournal.com]

Oh, that is a VERY interesting beginning! I hope you continue this! The combination of 'bots you chose is most intriguing! The personalities are wonderfully captured. The protectiveness Jazz and Blaster emitted towards Blue made me smile - I love when 'bots protect Blue (not that he can't do it himself though ^^) Update soon? *is hopeful*

[yami-samuraiflo.livejournal.com]

Thank you for the comment :)
I love writing protected!Blue; but it's true he can do it all by himself ^^
Well, officialy, it's a one shot (I never been too good at writing multi-chapters), though I might have an idea for a short sequel.
However, right now, I'm kinda been assaulted by another plot bunny and RL, so I'm not sure when I'll get around to write it.