swordage: rotf Soundwave (Default)
[personal profile] swordage
Title: The second moon is the darker brother
Series: Transformers Prime
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Snuff, robot sex, dubcon, violence
Wordcount: 3700
Note: Eight months ago, I started a fic for Sick Mind. It was supposed to be a quick comment fic. Well, eight months and a few thousand words later, it's done. [livejournal.com profile] justnuts, this is for you. ♥ And [livejournal.com profile] pellimusprime, this wouldn't have happened without your encouragement. Thank you.


"Megatron," Optimus says. His voice is deep and stern. "Cease this madness. Too many have died by your hands. Let us end this war."

The motions of their verbal dance are well-worn grooves, but Megatron finds pleasure in the pattern. "How kind of you to offer one last life to these hands, Prime. Yes, let us end it once and for all!"

He leaps down to meet Optimus, or the battleground flows beneath him, and they clash in deathless silence. The red dust of Kaon swirls around their feet. Optimus strikes, his blade flashing out swift and sure, but parrying him is no matter; Megatron twists his grip, and the ground rises to meet them.

Optimus struggles beneath him. Megatron outweighs him by far, enough to hold him securely and yet free a hand for the singular pleasure of crushing Optimus' face into the ferrous dirt.

"You will bow before me, Optimus Prime," Megatron purrs.

"Never," Optimus gasps, but already his struggles weaken. Megatron presses closer, eager for the moment of giving up.

"Yes, you will," Megatron insists, and this time Optimus does not deny him. The Autobot is satisfyingly large beneath him, just the right mixture of pliant and defiant - though Megatron's words may say otherwise, he knows Optimus will not bow of his own volition. Submission will have to suffice.

"So many have died in this little war of ours," Megatron says, his tone pensive but his words meant to wound. "What is one more Autobot life, when so many have given theirs freely?"

"You will never succeed, Megatron," Optimus says softly. Megatron leans closer to savor every last word, nearly touching their cheeks together. "The fight against tyranny will outlive us both."

"Well," Megatron says softly, thoughtfully, "you are at least partly correct. It will outlive you, Optimus Prime."

The facemask does nothing to stop a point-blank cannon blast.


Optimus Prime kneels before him, dirty and wounded and yet ever filled with the poise of his station. Megatron smiles just to see him tremble.

"Very good," he murmurs, as if Optimus had willingly fallen to his knees in praise. "I have long awaited this moment, Prime."

Optimus doesn't speak, too weak to find any words of defiance, but Megatron can see it still burning hot in him.

"Never let it be said that I am inconsiderate," Megatron laughs, and it is easy enough to lift Optimus back onto his feet. The Autobot is nearly limp, unable to do much more than twitch at the unwelcome touch. Megatron's hands curl neatly around his waist. It is like holding up a doll - except that this one finally speaks.

"'Inconsiderate' is the least of the words used to describe you," Optimus says. His voice is choked with pain. Megatron's fingers clench a little tighter around his waist, lacing together their sharp points until they dig into Optimus's scorched hips. The noises he makes are exquisite.

"Tell me the titles I have earned, then," Megatron purrs, walking Optimus backwards. There is rubble somewhere, or a wall, or something similar - it doesn't matter what the backdrop is. What matters is the way Optimus flexes beneath his hands as he tries to stumble along under his own power, the way he winces, vulnerable and young without his protective mask.

"Destroyer," Prime gasps, "devourer, pillager and plunderer. The eater of sparks, the great beast of the Well, the rage of Unicron, tyrant of the scourge..." His breaking voice is pure music, his hate-filled recitation naught but poetry. They stumble into rubble, finally, and Megatron presses close. One hand hooks into Optimus' hip, holding his wavering legs steady, and the other curls beneath one slender thigh and pulls it up just for the sheer pleasure of manipulating Optimus' body at will.

"Do go on," Megatron chuckles, but when he leans closer to nuzzle the mouth that says such beautiful things, Optimus turns away with a twist of his lips. Megatron laughs, happy in a way that he has not been in a very long time.

"You will have nothing else from me, Megatron," Optimus says bitterly.

"To the contrary." Megatron pulls his leg higher, presses closer, an obscene parody of a lover's embrace. "I will have my way with you."

Optimus shivers, or perhaps shudders; it is no matter which one. Megatron lets his touch slide up along the flared arch of a hip, dipping into the gaps and delicately tracing the ragged wound edges he finds there. Optimus groans in pain, choked and stubborn, but when the same delicate claw-tips seek out the seams beneath his glass-fronted chest his cries are a little deeper-felt.

"Hush," Megatron soothes. Optimus bites something back - a curse perhaps, or a word of defiance. Megatron's touch grows more insistent, tugging roughly at Optimus' body until it parts and lets its new master in.

He is quick to find the soft places in Optimus, the delicate tracery of wires and life-giving tubes that he plucks like a fine instrument. His fingers grate against the edges of Optimus' plating and send hot sparks skittering over the both of them. A trembling hand comes up to clutch at his arm, not hindering him in the least. He smiles at the wide-eyed horror on Optimus' face. There are no pleas for mercy - nothing but the sweet, quiet cries that Megatron wrings from him.

"Shall I free you from this cruel cycle of war?" Megatron's touches are still gentle, but Optimus stiffens and makes a low sound of denial. "Hush, hush. You need not suffer, Prime. Perhaps you will join your Autobots in the Well."

Optimus' voice is a desperate plea, though he would never stoop so low as to beg. It is the best sound Megatron could dream of. "Megatron, n-"

The blade makes only the smallest sound as it goes in, heard more in the tiny choked sound Optimus makes than in the tearing of metal. Long experience tells Megatron it isn't seated quite right; the adjustment is small, but Optimus clutches at his arm as if the world itself had shifted. Wide blue optics meet Megatron's with something like startlement, something like denial.

Megatron smiles. His fingers flex and curl inside Optimus, slick fluids easing the slide of metal against metal. It is hot on his wrist, hot as it flows between them. It takes some force to pull his hand free, but it is worth it to watch the light fade from Optimus' optics as Megatron tastes his lifeblood.

.I.S. .N.O.T.

Optimus writhes in his bonds, his arms twisting fruitlessly over his head. His fingers worry at the chains to no end. His distress pleases Megatron. Though restrained, Optimus is not subdued - the breaking of his spirit will be a fine thing indeed.

Megatron paces around him slowly, drinking in the details of his most beloved enemy. The broad expanse of Optimus' shoulders twitches beneath Megatron's trailing claws.

"Optimus Prime," he says, caressing the name with his voice as much as his touch caresses the windshield of Optimus' chest. "Leader of the Autobots who are no more, defender of the innocent dead, warrior for the freedoms granted to the slavers... And here you are at last. Mine."

"Never," Optimus cries. Megatron touches his vulnerable lips just to feel them spit insolence: "You may desire that I call you master, but there is no outcome less likely."

"Quiet," Megatron says gently. His touch is not so soft - silence is enforced with the hard shove of claws into Optimus' mouth. He is immediately bitten, of course, but Optimus' mouth is not made for violence. The pressure is far from painful. Megatron smiles, or perhaps bares his teeth, and leans in close - Optimus draws back, or tries to at least. Megatron follows him with teeth and claws, nuzzling up close against his unblemished cheek. His whisper is a dry rasp against Optimus' malleable plating: "You cannot resist me, Prime."

Optimus makes a noise, something that could have begun as words but ends as something not far from a muffled moan. Megatron makes an answering sound of his own, halfway between a purr and a growl. His fingers curl in Optimus' mouth. There is a great tension building in him and he is not yet certain what form of release it will demand. The anticipation is just as delightful as the fear in Optimus' expression.

He reaches overhead to twine his fingers between Optimus' for a moment, a sharp parody of a lover's touch, the lingering warmth of Optimus' mouth cooling quickly against the cuffs. Megatron feels no need to resist any passing fancy; it is nothing to bring their mouths together, no meaning to the way he tugs those wrists higher until Optimus is stretched out so long and sleek that he is compelled to touch. His claws skate down Optimus' arms, barely more than a whisper of a threat over his most exposed places. The joints of Optimus' underarms are a tempting distraction, and Megatron dips inside for the briefest of moments just for the twisting arch of Optimus' back as he tries to rid himself of the invasive touch. Megatron considers doing more for a moment, but Optimus' arms are pleasing when they're bound like this. Removing them would be superfluous.

Optimus' body is smooth under his hands, his broad chest tapering to a waist that is nothing short of elegant. Megatron murmurs approval - as if Optimus had been designed for little else but his pleasure in this moment. Optimus curses him softly, his voice surprising in this space between them that is nothing but the scrape of metal. Megatron laughs.

"So defiant still, Prime," he murmurs. Silver clawtips trace calligraphic glyphs on Optimus' thighs, neat rows marching down to his knees.

"Always," Optimus says, but his legs tremble and he says no more. Megatron grins, sharp and quicksilver, and bows his head in false piety. His mouth follows where his hands have gone. Optimus shivers with every gentle kiss that trails down his front. Megatron doesn't linger on his well-armored chest, doesn't pay any mind to the rises and dips of Prime's torso, but the graceful rise of his hips is worth exploring. Optimus' hips have always looked so delicate, a soft curve of metal suggesting a sturdier shape than what actually exists. Optimus flinches back from Megatron's teeth, from the light nip that hardly even mars his paint; Megatron chases him with mouth and hands, catching him behind his knees and stretching to taste into the barely-shielded joint. Optimus makes a sound, rough and involuntary - Megatron retreats, triumphant, trailing the points of his smile down Prime's thigh. He kneels before his captured rival, laughing at the absurdity of it even as he kisses, in mocking worship, the smooth curve of Prime's foot. He cups Prime's heel to hold him still, and here at least they are of a size; Optimus may not have the solidly-built body of a warrior but his limbs are reinforced for combat. Modified for the sole purpose of fighting Megatron. The thought is appealing.

When he looks up, Prime's foot still cradled in his hand, Optimus is staring down at him with an unguarded expression of amazement. Megatron smiles, all teeth and private amusement.

"In all our long cycles," he murmurs, "never did you dare dream of me kneeling at your feet."

"No," Optimus says just as quietly, "I never thought you capable of gentleness."

Megatron throws his head back to roar in laughter. "Gentle? You misunderstand entirely, Prime." He rises to his feet once more with the grace of a predator. His claws catch behind Prime's knees, easily pulling them out from underneath Optimus. Megatron waits, ever the gracious host, as Optimus struggles to pull free and stand on his own feet.

Optimus off-balance, both figuratively and literally, is a beautiful thing to behold. He clutches at his chains, at Megatron, grasping desperately for stability - his struggles only make him swing more, bowed between Megatron and his bonds, until Megatron steps close enough between his parted thighs to bring their bodies together. Prime's legs curl around him, just under the broad swell of his chest: a pale imitation of an embrace, one of desperation rather than comfort. Optimus clings to Megatron, to his cuffs, to anything that could bear his weight. Megatron curls a claw into the open underside of Prime's knee, hiking it higher; the other leg is left to dangle as Megatron slides a palm up it, curling proprietarily over the perfect curve of his leg-joint.

"What precisely," Optimus says in a voice that wavers only slightly, "do you intend to gain from fondling me?"

Megatron strokes into both joints at once - Optimus cries out sharply, the steep curve of his body tensing at the burst of sensation where there ought be none. Megatron chuckles low and rumbling, ducking his head to send the vibrations of it into Optimus' chest. His windshields rattle slightly; Megatron purrs just to make them buzz.

"What do you gain from resisting?" Megatron asks, but Optimus makes no reply. It hardly matters what his response would be - Megatron has little patience for words now. Prime is his to touch as he will, regardless of protests. Optimus has no choice but to submit to the careful, delicate caress of Megatron's mouth along the inner edges of his windshields.

"These are in the way," Megatron says softly. He savors the sudden tension beneath his hands for the briefest moment, ratcheting it higher with the shrieking scrape of teeth. As delightful as it is to tease Prime, Megatron is truly sick of those flimsy human-styled abominations. Settling Optimus' leg on his hip to free a hand is perhaps slightly foolish; Megatron can imagine half a dozen ways that Optimus could make him regret the decision. But Prime seems to think of none of them, merely bracing himself as Megatron reaches for his chest.

"This will sting," Megatron promises, and then he yanks.

Optimus makes no noise. His legs grip Megatron tighter, though, involuntarily clenching his enemy closer. Megatron casts the windshield aside carelessly and reaches for the other before Optimus can recover - a scream is perhaps too high to aim for, but he can surely wrench free some small cry. It snaps off just as easily, less armor than decoration, but Optimus remains silent. It is a matter of mere moments before he forcibly stills the tremble of his limbs. Disappointing.

Well. There are other ways.

The taste of fresh-spilled energon on Prime's chest is incidental but pleasant nonetheless. Megatron mouths up the grey central seam, so provocatively bare amidst all that gaudy red. It practically begs to be tasted and he is not inclined to deny it. The curves and angles of Prime's chest are perfect - he touches each louvered vent, each curve of metal, savoring every involuntary noise that Optimus makes. Megatron cannot bend so far as to taste Prime's headlights, but he'd prefer to feel them shatter between his teeth anyhow.

Megatron's goal is less destructive than that but no less terrible. He teases and tastes Optimus' chest, caressing the intricacies of the exostructure as if there were nothing in all the world but his mouth and Optimus laid bare to receive him. The Prime trembles beneath this gentle onslaught.

"Open for me," Megatron purrs, no less a demand for the gentle tone. Optimus resists, of course; his struggle is a delight to behold though the only combatant is himself. Megatron grips the convenient arches of Optimus' hips and pulls him a little higher, leaning slightly back to watch comfortably as Optimus twists in his bonds, fighting the shuddering compliance of his own chestplates. They part slowly, in tiny twitches, the mind resisting the bodily desire. Megatron grins.

The tiny opening, hardly more than a crease, fits perfectly to his mouth. He suckles the fast-warming spark armor for the briefest of moments before drawing back to tease the outer plates with gentle touches and soft kisses, mapping out every ridge and valley even as the topography of the Prime's innermost workings shifts. The smallest breath of a moan, nearly buried beneath the straining sounds of their bodies, heralds Optimus' surrender; his armor parts fully, his spark bared to Megatron's whims.

Megatron admires him for a moment. Any mech would be lovely, suspended between shackles and Megatron's own body with his spark so beautifully bare entirely of his own accord - but this is Optimus Prime. What sense Optimus regains in the pause of Megatron's assault is worth the image to savor later.

"Megatron," Optimus gasps. His hands twist; he turns to hide his face against his arm, as if his most vulnerable core were not willingly bared. Megatron laughs at the false modesty. And who is he, after all, to resist such an invitation?

He bows to taste the faint corona of Optimus' spark, his hands sliding along slick plating as if to hold the low-slung form of a dancer: one in the small of Optimus' back, curled in the dip just above the broader curve of hips and leg-joints, and the other just below the red bulk of his upper body, claws slipping between the gaps intimately. The faintest eddies of spark-light bathe his face. In no rush to dive in, Megatron nuzzles them, optics shuttered against the pulse of Optimus' core. The body suspended beneath his doesn't struggle, doesn't twist or cry for freedom, only trembles ever so faintly. Optimus' gaze is as hot and palpable as his spark's energy. Megatron smiles. The corona of Optimus' spark licks at his teeth, begging entrance. He allows it in, graciously opening his jaws to receive it. It tickles inside his mouth. His teeth click together just outside the visible nebula of massed energy, chasing that sensation, devouring it; the sparks that skitter down his gullet taste like victory, energon-sweet. Optimus shudders in time with the trembling of his sparkpulse.

"Beautiful," Megatron murmurs, faint praise indeed for the growing tremors of Optimus' body, the roaring of their vents, the universe which contains only the two of them. His own spark quickens in his chest, thrumming excitement until even his claw-tips pulse in time. Optimus whimpers; his head has fallen forward and he stares at Megatron hungrily, stares at his mouth until the clever smile widens into a toothy grin, then further still to engulf Optimus' spark - Megatron couldn't hope to fit the whole of it in his mouth, but it hardly matters. Optimus groans, low and resonant sound reverberating all around, curls forward as if trying to embrace Megatron with the parted armor of his chest.

Megatron scrapes his teeth through the outer corona of Optimus' spark, gouging whirling eddies in the path of his teeth, and Optimus comes undone. Every whisper of motion against his spark forces a gasp from him just as surely as Megatron could pry free a scream with just a touch more pressure. Optimus trembles, jerks involuntarily against his bonds, clutches with his legs and body to pull Megatron close - as if they could be closer than this, as if they could be any more inside each other than this.

Optimus' spark whirls hot against Megatron's mouth, searing and pulsing with every cry, faster and tighter and brighter and electric. His head is thrown back, mouth open on a shout that Megatron can barely hear over a rush of static as Optimus arches into his mouth

pushes his spark into his mouth

overloads into his mouth

And Megatron swallows it down, blazing hot, his teeth clamping shut around Optimus' spark and it burns into his core, spreads white-hot current out from his belly and he overloads with a roar into the dark cavern of Optimus' chest.


Optimus stands proud against the ferrous spires of Kaon, his voice a call to arms, and Megatron leaps down to meet him. The dance is an old familiar one, worn into grooves as old as the ground they tread, until Optimus steps one way and Megatron steps another and his sword finds its sheath through Optimus'

Optimus strides closer across rust-pitted metal, speaking of treachery and forgiveness, but Megatron tires of this rhetoric and when he raises his cannon his aim is true and Optimus makes a small noise of shock as it

Optimus' battlemask is as hard and cold as his icy optics and Megatron despises the very sight of it and it's so simple to just swing his sword through

the scout

and the dream peels away.

(no subject)

Date: 2012-03-29 02:28 am (UTC)
femme4jack: (Default)
From: [personal profile] femme4jack
I'm sorry for my short comment (very tired) but this was just wonderful. Awesome imagery.

(no subject)

Date: 2012-03-29 02:55 am (UTC)
white_aster: (Default)
From: [personal profile] white_aster
*_* Sexy fun killing death tiems go! :D

(no subject)

Date: 2012-03-29 03:11 am (UTC)
stainless: Megatron and Starscream standing in wreckage, reads ALL YOUR BASE ARE BELONG TO US (Default)
From: [personal profile] stainless

Yes please.

(no subject)

Date: 2012-03-30 03:02 am (UTC)
ext_407633: (Prince of Ruins)
From: [identity profile] empty-geas.insanejournal.com
Very shiny story. The bit where he literally devours his spark gave me the best kind of chills.


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