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“We’ve managed to capture a member of Optimus Prime’s high counsel!”
Megatron had nearly yelled at the Decepticons for intruding until the gravity of their words processed. He paused, then narrowed his brows. “Who?”
The group of Decepticons parted, and dropped a small bot on the ground. He was cuffed, arms behind his back, and it was clear he had been badly beaten before hand, that his capture did not happen without a fight. Despite his injuries, his gold armor continued to gleam, and Megatron knew who had been dropped before his feet.
B-127 tried to push himself up, failing miserably as his arms gave out from under him. B-127 glanced up at Megatron, clearly about to say something to his captors, before their eyes locked.
Megatron had seen him only a handful of times on the battlefield. B-127 was a scout, last Soundwave had informed him. Optimus was clearly trying to keep him away from the fire fight as best he could by relegating him to informational acquisition. B-127 must have strayed far from his intended target... or too close.
Despite a war between the two of them, despite their difference of morality and politics, despite the fact that he was bound at his feet, beaten and bruised and leaking energon, B-127 still smiled. “Hey, D.”
Megatron peered down at him. “You are all dismissed.”
“Ah, boss?” One of the imbecilic jets asks. Skywarp? Thundercracker? Acid Storm? Megatron neither knew nor cared. “Are you sure you don’t need guards for the interrogation?”
“You dare question my authority? Get out of my sight before I remove your moronic jaw from your head!” Megatron shouted, and immediately they began to scatter like insects.
“Vivid,” B-127 offers, before weakly coughing.
Megatron watches him carefully for a moment. B-127 flops a bit before he can look up at Megatron without straining himself. He’s still smiling, albeit somewhat subdued. The sight infuriated him and warms his shriveled spark.
“This isn’t how I pictured us meeting again,” B-127 offered. “But I’m still glad to see you.”
The sincerity strikes hard and fast. Megatron almost considers kicking him just to get him to shut up, to stop spouting nonsense. “We are on opposite sides of a war, B-127.”
“Pish, posh. You’re still a friend to me. I know you’ve changed a lot... and I have too. And so has Orion and Elita. But it doesn’t mean we can’t all change into something better. And maybe continue being friends, eventually.”
The sheer optimism leaves Megatron feeling almost sick.
B-127 frowns. It’s a terrible look on his face, a crinkled nose and puffed cheeks. “I don’t like fighting against you.”
Megatron leers above him. The desire to step on his throat, to stop his meaningless chatter is nearly overwhelming. He can not be sincere. He is simply trying to lower Megatron’s guard until he can escape.
Megatron’s oldest friend had betrayed him with ease, at the end of the day. Much as he had loved B-127, it would be even significantly easier for him to do the same, if Orion- if that detestable Optimus Prime could do the same.
(You had betrayed him first, someone whispers in his ear. Someone weak, someone idiotic, someone who sounded suspiciously like D-16. You let him fall.)
And yet... Megatron looks down at him, at the small bot below him, battered and bruised, with optics still shining with hope. B-127 was many things, but Megatron remembered their journey across the surface, the time they had spent together, and knew that at his core, B-127 had always been true. Naive and genuine, almost painfully so, and even war has not managed to cut him down.
Something deep within Megatron stirred at the sight. B-127’s hopeful, bright optics, the slight smile on his face despite the severity of the circumstances... it reminds him of Orion, despite it all, and Megatron wonders...
He had let go of Orion. Let him fall, gave him the opportunity to become a new false prime. If he had held on... could he have kept him? Kept Orion’s smile and bright eyes and optimism?
Megatron looks down at B-127.
”I don’t like fighting against you.”
“Then we won’t fight,” Megatron says, simply. B-127 looks up at him with wide, earnest eyes.
Megatron bends over and picks him up, careful of his injuries. He is dirty, covered in grime and energon, yet he still manages to shine, even in Megatron’s arms. Despite it all, B-127 instinctively snuggles into his shoulder, tension leaving his frame.
D-16 had once carried B-127, all those years ago, when B-127 struggled to keep up with their longer strides. He was clumsy and viable to walk off and had a difficult time matching their pace. D-16 had picked him up and walked off, B-127 squealing as he held tight.
“Oh?” B-127 said. “So what are we going to do?”
Megatron abandoned the throne room and began to search for his own private quarters. It had once belonged to Starscream, but Megatron had deposed of him during the search for the matrix, and every other Decepticon was happy to give the best room of their make shift headquarters to him instead.
B-127 was not quite the chatterbox he once was. It seemed war did not leave him untainted- or perhaps time with the rest of civilization had managed to teach him some semblance of social skills. It feels like eons since they had last seen each other... it was possible B-127 had truly grown and matured since then.
“You have not chosen a designation for yourself,” Megatron says as he entered his room. B-127 peers around, optics bright with curiosity. It made something in him ache as he walked towards the private wash room.
Megatron, reluctantly, settles B-127 on the floor beside him as he draws a bath. Steam fills the air and B-127 watches the tub full with a confused tilt to his head.
“No,” B-127 answered. “I’m just waiting for the right one. Badassatron would make for a good last name, however.”
“Still on that?”
“Well, Megatron was clearly inspired by Badassatron. So who’s calling out who here?”
The water was warm. Megatron gently lowered B-127 into the water. B-127 splashed the surface curiously, then peered up at Megatron. “What are we doing?”
“I’m giving you a bath.” A wash rag was within arms reach. Megatron pours the cleaner onto the rag, allowing suds to form before pressing it against B-127’s head, clearing a stripe of grime. The golden armor beneath gleamed. “Maybe sub level 50 didn’t have much of that, but surely you’ve had one since?”
“That’s not what I meant,” B-127’s voice is quiet. He has matured, then. It feels odd to know someone has changed during the time they were away. Elita remained steadfast as ever, and Megatron had seen Optimus’s transformation himself. “You don’t treat every prisoner of war this way, do you?”
“You are not a prisoner of war,” Megatron states, simply. He drags the rag across B-127’s horns, causing him to shiver as he carefully teases them out of their usual relaxed position. B-127 always had them folded back- the surface, after so many years isolated and alone, was rather overwhelming, and he tried to avoid extra input when he could. He still hasn’t fully accustomed, he supposed, to living in a world beyond the sound of his own voice.
B-127 remained perfectly still as Megatron teased the sensory horns. They’re an erogenous zone, Megatron is aware, and he notes a faint blush spreading across B-127’s face as he leans slightly into the touch. Cute.
Megatron slides the rag downwards, scrubbing against his back. He removes dirt from every intricate seam, pressing into delicate grooves and sensitive protoform. B-127 melts into his touch as he continues down, down, down, and quickly he begins to grope along B-127’s aft, kneading the protoform as he wiped away dirt and dust.
“I’m not a prisoner?” B-127 finally manages to stutter out. The blush on his cheeks glows more vibrant. Megatron drags the clothe over the front of his body now, pressing into his chest, rubbing against those shiny headlights. Fingers dip into seams, servos fondle his bumper and B-127 slowly grows hot to the touch.
“Of course not.”
His rag dips downward. Megatron cleans the gunk from his wheelbases, slowly sliding the clothe back up his legs. It kneads the soft protoform of his thigh, and Megatron gently forced his legs to spread as he moved upwards with his touch until it finally brushed against his crotch. He could feel the heat behind his modesty paneling, the water warmed by the broiling temperature within B-127.
Megatron continued to press against his paneling, losing nearly all pretense of cleaning at this point. B-127 squirms but doesn’t stop him.
“What am I then?” B-127 asks, breathless.
Megatron’s fingers deftly play along the seam of his paneling. B-127’s vents come out faster and harder, panting as Megatron tries to force him open.
“A friend,” Megatron says with a wry smile as he finally manages to manually release his paneling. B-127’s valve is hot to the touch, viscous lubricant already coating the puffy mesh folds. Cute.
His fingers began to play and explore, teasing his anterior node, causing B-127’s hips to stutter, water splashing as B-127 let out the cutest sound Megatron had ever heard. Megatron forced a finger inside of his valve, feeling the warm, tight cavern.
“If that’s the case,” B-127 warbled. “Can I l-leave?”
Megatron jerked as if he had been slapped. “What?”
“I need to go,” B-127 whispered. “If I’m not a prisoner... I don’t belong here.”
“Of course you belong here,” Megatron argues. He squeezes B-127’s puffy node, causing him to cry. “You’re my friend, aren’t you? You belong here.”
“I’m also Optimus and Elita’s friend-“
“Don’t say their names!”
“Megatron.” His name, spoke so gently, softly, still seems like a curse. “We can’t do this.”
Megatron suddenly stood, draining the water from the tub. B-127 watched him with wide eyes, and Megatron was both pleased and disappointed to find a sliver of fear in them as he looked over B-127.
Megatron pulled B-127 out of the tub, grabbing a towel and harshly drying him off for a few moments before getting completely impatient. B-127’s armor was shinier than Megatron ever remembered it being, likely from the grime of the sub level of garbage and the odd terrain of the surface.
Megatron picked B-127 back up again, marching from the washroom and to his bedroom. A plan formed in his head as he considered how to not only take what was his, but keep what was his. He had let Orion go. He was not going to make the same mistake twice.
Megatron dropped B-127 on to his bed. B-127, flat on his back, wrists and ankles bound, watched him with wet eyes. Cleaned up and trussed up, he really was a good looking mech, beyond just cute. His slim waist, glimmering armor, still wet valve, perked horns, and full lips... anyone would be quite lucky to have him.
Jealousy, putrid and burning, struck him at the idea that B-127 believes himself to be an Autobot, to belong to Optimus. He was going to be his by the end of this encounter, no longer tainted by that false prime.
Megatron hooks B-127’s wrists to the headboard, arms stretched above his head as he leaned over him. He grabbed his waist and began to finger him, pressing three fingers knuckle deep. B-127 was breathless, and his valve dripped lubricant on to his sheets.
“Did he ever touch you this way?”
“Mega-Megatron-“ B-127 cried as Megatron set a fast pace finger fucking his tight valve. His other hand squeezed his hip painfully, causing B-127 to let out a slight hiccuping sob.
“Did that stupid Prime ever touch you like this?”
“N-no!”
“Good.” Megatron slowed down, allowing his thumb to rub against B-127’s node. His legs jerked, thighs trembling, and he allowed another hand to move to his chest, fondling his pert headlights. “B-127, I made the mistake once of letting go of Orion. I let go of you and Elita, too, when exiled. But I don’t intend on doing the same thing again.”
There are tears sliding down B-127’s face. Megatron leans over and gingerly licks them, groping at his chest as he grinded his hips against his thighs. B-127 squeaked.
“Megatron, I don’t want-“
“I don’t care what you want.” His voice is firm, his mind made up. “You belong to me, now, B-127. I’m never letting you go. If you can not be my friend, then maybe you’ll be my berth warmer until you learn to behave yourself, until you learn to be a Decepticon.”
Megatron pauses, removing his fingers from B-127’s valve. He licks the lubricant from his fingers, allowing tension to build as B-127 shivered beneath him.
He stared at the red symbol on B-127’s upper chest, the alleged face of Primus, the Autobot badge. “Disgusting, that you’ve been sullied with his mark.”
He pulls a knife from his sub space and slashes the mark, disfiguring the face that leered back at him. B-127 cries from the pain, jerking against him, tears streaming from his face. Megatron slices it twice more to make sure it was near illegible. “We’ll replace it with something better soon enough, but this will do.”
“Why are you hurting me?” B-127, voice high and scared like a whimpering child.
“Shhhh.” Megatron lowers himself and presses his mouth against B-127’s, allowing the energon on his chest to smear against his. His glossa invaded and conquered the wet cavern of B-127’s mouth, exploring and cataloguing everything he can. He sucks against his bottom lip before fully pulling away, grinning at the sight of B-127’s flushed face and bruised lips.
“I’m not hurting you,” Megatron said, simply. “I’m saving you. I’m making you mine, like I should have done forever ago before he tainted you, poisoned you. I should have dragged you off to exile with me.”
“Megatron, I don’t want to be a Decepticon! I chose my side! I’m an Autobot!”
“Not anymore. You’re mine.”
B-127 opens his mouth and Megatron leans in to kiss him again. B-127 tries to pull away but Megatron follows him, unwilling to hear him deny. Megatron grabs his hips and forces him still as he pressurized his spike, pressing the head of it against his valve.
B-127 manages to turn his head away from Megatron as he concentrates on lining up their hips. “No! Stop! Please! I don’t want- D!”
Megatron pauses. His grip on B-127’s hips tightens, hard enough to dent the metal plating. B-127 sobs. “That’s not my name.”
He pushes himself inside, moaning at the wet heat of B-127’s valve. B-127 sobs, optic fluid spilling down his cheeks and Megatron leaves him be, content to frag his tight hole. His spike pressed against something thin but sturdy, and Megatron knew he had hit his seal. Prime hasn’t spiked him, then. He would be B-127’s first and last.
He pulled back before forcing himself inside again, setting a steady pace, pinning B-127’s hips down as he worked. He tried not to be too rough with him, tried to make this pleasant and loving, but he felt so wonderful around his spike, hot and wet and so tight, he couldn’t help himself. His pace sped up, his spike more insistently hitting his seal, and soon the seal snapped, breaking, and B-127 let out a delectable keen.
How did Megatron ever let him go? How could he have abandoned something so beautiful, so sweet, to Optimus’s treachery?
“I’m going to protect you,” Megatron promises as he pounds into his pretty little valve. “Optimus and Elita took advantage of you, of your trusting and naive nature, and I’m going to make sure that never happens again. I’m going to keep you by my side, keep you locked up forever if I must, to make sure you’re never hurt, never mislead. You belong to me, now, and I want to take care of you.”
“Megatron,” B-127 sniffled. “I don’t want this.”
“But you need this.” He thrusted deeper into him, grinding their hips together, and B-127 groaned, calipers clenching around his spike. “You need me to set you straight, to save you from Optimus, and I’m going to do just that. I’m going to take care of you.”
Megatron pushes, harder and faster, and he hits B-127’s interior node, causing him to squeal. Megatron bucks wildly against him, aiming for that same spot over and over, wanting B-127 to feel pleasure from their first coupling, wanting him to see that Megatron cares for him, wants him to feel good, and loved, and taken care of. B-127 quivers beneath him, tears still spilling down his cheek, and finally, Megatron pushes himself as far as he can go and grinds hard and fast against B-127’s anterior and interior node, and B-127 overloads with a mewl. Transfluid squirts between their thighs as B-127’s entire body tensed, pedes curling, calipers clenching, milking Megatron for all he was worth.
The sight below him, of B-127 crying out in ecstasy as he overloaded, his valve puffed and filled to the brim with his spike, his chest quivering, his lips bruised, his cheeks flushed and wet, his beautiful optics looking at him... it makes Megatron overload soon after, spilling his transfluid deep inside B-127’s gestation tank, those sweet calipers clenching and forcing every last drop of transfluid from his spike.
Megatron groans before finally pulling out, watching fluid spill from B-127’s valve, puddling beneath him as Megatron pushed his spike back into its sheath. He manually shut B-127’s paneling, sealing up his transfluid, and grinned.
Megatron laid down on the bed with B-127, pulling him into his arms, forcing B-127 to press against his chest. B-127 had begun to shake, crying softly, and Megatron soothed him, a hand on his helm, gently stroking, while another rested on his aft, pulling their hips together.
“It’s alright,” Megatron cooed. “You’re safe with me, now. I’m going to take care of you. I love you, B.”
Megatron pulled his head back, shifting a hand to cup B-127’s cheek and force him to look him in the eyes, thumb tenderly rubbing away his tears. B-127’s lips trembled, his beautiful face flushed blue, and Megatron leaned down to kiss him, this time sweet and gentle.
He breaks away, giving B-127 an expectant look. “Don’t you love me?”
B-127 looks close to tears again. Megatron patiently waits him out, and is rewarded for his effort when B-127 flicks his optics away and murmors, “I love you, too.”
Megatron allows B-127 to bury his face in his neck once more. He strokes the back of his head, every once in a while fiddling with his cute horn as he waits for him to settle down. Soon he’ll get used to the idea of being a Decepticon, of being Megatron’s.
Megatron has learned from his mistakes. He has no intention of letting him go, ever again.