Ours, Mine, Yours (2/3)

[anon_decepticon]

Title: Ours, Mine, Yours
Author: anon_decepticon
Rating: M
Pairing or Character(s): Megatron/Thundercracker
Disclaimer: I don’t own Transformers.
Warning(s): Sticky, non/dub-con (depending on your perspective), humiliation, angst, references to rape.
Overall Summary: Thundercracker and Skywarp try to find a way to be exclusive in a world where exclusivity is not only taboo, but also highly unfeasible. Summary for Part 2: What Megatron wants, Megatron gets.
Author's Note: Part two of three, Thundercracker's PoV. This is a continuation of the G1 fic continuity that follows my third, fourth and tenth fics for the kink meme, Skywarp Goes Solo, Thunderstruck and Grounded. Part 1 is here. I feel deep, deep shame for forgetting to mention the awesomeness that is kookaburra1701 in my last post; her input on this fic has been invaluable, and I am, as ever, profoundly grateful for her support. Part 3 may take a little longer than I hoped - my vacation is officially over, this month is packed with deadlines, and my muse seems reluctant to return my calls. I'll have it up just as soon as I can, although I may end up finishing the next chapter of "After Atlantis" first...



Part 2: Mine

Thundercracker lowered the datapad only a few kliks after he’d picked it up, venting a restless sigh. He couldn’t concentrate; he’d read the same line of glyphs half a dozen times without absorbing a word.

He felt…alone.

It was due to their recent bonding, he was sure. Normally he didn’t mind being left to his own devices, but at the moment he felt the absence of his trinemates more keenly than he had at any time in recent memory.

He huffed in irritation at his own weakness. It wasn’t as if they’d been separated all that long. Skywarp would be back from his mission in a joor or two at most, and Starscream hadn’t even left the base – he was just laid up in repair bay.

For a moment he considered paying him a visit – and then shook his helm in disbelief that the notion had even occurred to him. Visit Starscream?

Skywarp would, if Starscream had gotten slagged in battle. And he’d have dragged Thundercracker along with him – although to be honest he wouldn’t have put up much resistance, glad to have Skywarp as an excuse – but this was different. Starscream was in repair bay getting pieced back together by the Constructicons because he’d challenged Megatron. Again. Visiting him now would imply that Thundercracker approved of his actions.

He wasn’t the most loyal ‘Con on the base. He’d slipped up a couple of times, rebelled on a few minor occasions in small, petty ways, and the reputation had stuck. He couldn’t risk strengthening that impression. He was loyal – to a point.

But he did kind of want to see Starscream, all the same. It wasn’t that he was all that worried about the slagger – Starscream had survived worse – or that he sympathized with him; Starscream had brought this situation on himself by his own arrogant stupidity.

It was the fact that they’d bonded recently, after having gone so long without.

He didn’t like Starscream. He never had, really. But Starscream was his trine leader, and Thundercracker understood him to a certain degree – he had to, in order to fly with him. That was what trine bonding was all about. Starscream was one of the most skilled flyers Cybertron had ever produced, and Thundercracker had to respect him for that, had to acknowledge that he was worthy of his rank as Megatron’s second in command, and that he was fortunate to have Starscream as the leader of his trine, instead of some other, less skilled but more personable mech.

No matter how grating his personality.

He had to care, just a little, because he’d seen Starscream with his guard lowered, just a little. He’d been permitted to see the cracks in Starscream’s emotional armor, the vulnerability that Starscream never allowed anyone but Thundercracker and Skywarp to see, because he knew Thundercracker and Skywarp would accept it, accept him, his weaknesses and his strengths, just as they accepted Skywarp’s flightiness or Thundercracker’s occasional moments of doubt and uncertainty.

That was what it meant to be a trine.

Slag it. He’d been online for vorns, survived countless battles – he could survive a few joors of solitary idleness, for Primus’ sake. Skywarp would be back soon, and probably just as eager to…reconnect as Thundercracker was. He could wait. The wait would be worth it.

Maybe he’d even –

*Thundercracker.*

He started, as surprised by the unexpected comm as by the low, gravelly voice that uttered it.

*Yes, Lord Megatron?* he replied.

*You will report to me immediately.*

*As you command, Lord Megatron,* he responded automatically, heaving himself to his feet.

He wondered what Megatron wanted. Skywarp was off-base, and Starscream wouldn’t be repaired enough to walk yet, let alone fly. Another solo mission? Or had Skywarp –?

His spark clenched in apprehension. Had something happened to Skywarp? Had that impulsive fragger screwed up his mission somehow, gotten himself shot down or injured? His pace quickened, his strides lengthening. He was halfway down the corridor before he realized he didn’t know where he was going. He had no idea where Megatron even was.

A quick inquiry to the base’s main computer took care of that: Megatron was in his quarters.

That was…odd. He’d assumed Megatron would be in Command, probably with Soundwave. He’d never received orders from Megatron while the Decepticon leader was in his personal quarters – he’d never even been in that section of the ship – but he supposed it wasn’t that unusual. It was fairly late, by both Earth and Cybertronian time; Megatron was probably preparing to recharge. Even the Slagmaker had to rest sometime.

Shaking his helm, he addressed his steps in that direction. He’d just have to go and see what Megatron wanted.

**

The door hissed open in response to his query ping, but Thundercracker remained outside, awaiting a formal invitation. He felt vaguely uneasy at the thought of just walking right in. He didn’t want to presume.

“Enter,” Megatron said from somewhere within.

Thundercracker complied, stepping over the threshold. He halted just a few steps beyond the door, surreptitiously taking in the features of the room. He thought it unwise to appear too curious, but he couldn’t resist glancing around – he doubted he’d ever have another opportunity to see how the infamous Megatron lived during his off-duty joors.

He couldn’t make out much in the way of details. The room was rather dimly lit – confirmation of his theory that Megatron was preparing to recharge – and the majority of its features were shrouded in darkness. His first impression was that it was big, certainly larger than the room he shared with Skywarp. That struck him as appropriate; Megatron was the leader of the entire Decepticon army after all, and a very large mech besides.

Even the berth was huge, raised up on a high plinth that no doubt housed a luxurious assortment of personal comfort controls, easily large enough for a shuttle or triplechanger to recharge on comfortably with room to spare. Like Starscream, Megatron had his own refueling station, which Thundercracker was sure dispensed only the purest refined energon, and if the doorway off to his left was any indication, Megatron had his own private washrack as well.

Apart from that, the room seemed oddly barren of both furnishing and decoration – a workstation, the berth, a couple of chairs – which may have contributed to the impression of vastness. Thundercracker was almost disappointed; he’d expected opulence, some indication of Megatron’s superiority, not this standard-with-a-few-perks utilitarianism.

There wasn’t even a throne.

If Starscream ever succeeded in overthrowing Megatron, there’d be a throne. The room would be crammed with treasures on display, filled to bursting with shiny objects and bright colors. It would be unforgivably gaudy. He smirked a little to himself at the thought. They’d all be slagged, but Starscream’s quarters would at least look the part.

Distracted by the unfamiliar room and his own amusement, it took Thundercracker a moment to remember why he was here in the first place. He located Megatron by the dim glow of his optics, standing roughly in the center of the room, his imposing silver frame more than half-concealed by shadows.

Seeing the tyrant standing there silently observing him sent a faint shiver of unease through his spark. Why wasn’t Megatron saying anything? He’d ordered Thundercracker to come here at his command, so why wasn’t he…commanding him?

Unable to bear the growing tension, he threw decorum to the winds and spoke first. “You, uh…you wanted me, sir?” he asked hesitantly.

“Yes,” Megatron said, his optics flashing.

It was the way he said it that sent the thrill of apprehension up Thundercracker’s backstrut, made his optics widen and his servos tense with sudden dread. It was the way Megatron was looking at him, like Thundercracker was an object he wanted to possess, something to lay claim to as rightfully his, that triggered the revelation in Thundercracker’s CPU.

Megatron sometimes ordered Skywarp to report to his personal quarters, to perform a duty that had nothing to do with fighting or flying. Skywarp didn’t really talk about what went on there – for which Thundercracker had always been grateful – but he had a pretty good idea, nonetheless.

But right now Skywarp was unavailable, out flying a mission only he could perform. Starscream, arguably Megatron’s second choice, was too slagged to do much more than lie on a repair berth counting the cracks in the ceiling. Which left…Thundercracker.

For a klik he was to terrified to move, his sense of personal pride warring with his desire to flee the room while he had the chance. He knew he couldn’t actually do it – even if the idea wasn’t completely humiliating, the consequences would be dire – but Primus, he wanted to.

He realized with a horrible certainty that he was going to have to do this.

Megatron was still watching him, and had to be growing impatient by now. He forced himself to activate his vocalizer, to ask with more calm than he felt, “What do you want me to do, sir?”

“Get on the berth, fool.”

The words sent another thrill of fear chasing up his backstrut. Megatron was impatient, bordering on angry. If Thundercracker didn’t perform to his satisfaction, he was going to get slagged. Probably end up on a repair berth right next to Starscream, he thought grimly, walking past Megatron to stand next to the berth.

Once there, he hesitated, staring blankly at the broad, innocuous surface. Should he sit? Lie down? On his front, or on his back? If he did, would Megatron be angered by his presumption? If he didn’t, would Megatron be angered by his apparent refusal to comply?

Paralyzed by uncertainty and trying desperately to navigate his way through this scenario in a way that didn’t end with him as a broken ruin on Megatron’s floor, he didn’t realize that Megatron had come up behind him until he was shoved roughly forward.

He stumbled, his hands flying out to catch himself, striking the flat surface of the berth an astrosecond before his cockpit did, a sharp crack announcing the impact, followed by the clank of his knees hitting the floor, ending up bent over the high plinth in a humiliatingly vulnerable position, his back and wings exposed. He immediately attempted to rise, to right himself out of sheer reflex, only to be shoved forcefully back down.

He froze and remained where he was, too frightened to move, his spark pulsing in panic, his circuits singing in terror. Was this how it was going to be? Rough? Painful? Was Megatron just going to –?

The hand on his back holding him pinned began to move, sliding over his right wing in a slow caress, triggering an uneasy shiver of instinctive arousal that conflicted with his rising fear. A second hand repeated the motion on the opposite wing, and Thundercracker shuddered in response, torn between pleasure and revulsion.

Megatron emitted a low growling sound that Thundercracker interpreted as approval, continuing to stroke and fondle his wings as he remained passively in the position Megatron obviously wanted him in. Just let him do whatever he wants, he thought. If you don’t slag him off, you might still get through this in one piece. Thus resolved, he was able to relax a little, letting some of the tension ease from his servos.

The persistent touches continued, stimulating the highly-tuned sensor webs in his wings. They were a little more forceful than Thundercracker generally preferred at the outset, but the attention being paid to those sensitive appendages was arousing nonetheless, causing his circuits to heat and his core temperature to rise. Megatron obviously knew how to touch a Seeker; the air of confidence he exuded as he pinched and tweaked Thundercracker’s wingtips was almost palpable.

A low moan escaped his vocalizer when Megatron flicked his left aileron. He bit it back instinctively, and then immediately regretted it. Did Megatron want him to moan, to know that Thundercracker was enjoying what he was doing to him? Or would it be better to remain silent, to allow Megatron to use him like a pleasure drone, giving no indication of sentient will?

Megatron chose that moment to bend that same aileron, flexing it gently but firmly, and Thundercracker couldn’t hold back the second, louder moan that emerged in response to the surge of pleasure the action produced. He froze again, his spark pulsing wildly in its chamber, waiting for Megatron’s reaction.

The only response was another low, growling rumble. Thundercracker relaxed marginally. Evidently Megatron was satisfied with his response, or at least not angered by it. One hurdle down.

Skywarp would probably enjoy this, he thought wryly as Megatron’s hands continued to rove over his wings, moaning when the urge seized him, now reasonably confident that it was acceptable to do so. He’d actually done something similar to Skywarp in the past, bending him over the berth, holding him down while he – don’t think about that! he thought urgently, but it was too late – the burst of arousal the memory triggered was already coursing through his circuitry, causing him to groan and shift his hips reflexively.

Megatron noticed the reaction, no doubt concluding his efforts had been the source. The hand on his right wing drifted down to Thundercracker’s hip plate, sliding over his aft and then between his thighs, groping his panel.

Thundercracker offlined his optics in consternation, consumed by dread even as he transmitted the command to retract the panel and expose his interface array. He didn’t want to, but it was the response Megatron was expecting, and Thundercracker didn’t want to risk invoking his ire by refusing to open up.

He yelped as two fingers were shoved forcefully into his valve, his hydraulics pressurizing in response. It didn’t hurt, exactly – the earlier stimulation of his wings had caused his valve to produce a small amount of lubricant – but the unexpected and unfamiliar sensation was abrupt and startling. No one had ever put their fingers in his valve before; in the course of his limited experience, it had always been straight to business.

Megatron paused as Thundercracker mentally cursed himself, humiliated by his reaction. His hands ceased their movement, although his fingers did not withdraw. “You’re tight,” he commented.

“Uh…yes sir,” he said. “Sorry, sir.”

Megatron made that growling sound again and resumed his efforts, pumping his fingers slowly but firmly in out of Thundercracker’s valve, his other hand roaming once more over Thundercracker’s left wing.

The continued attention to his wing felt good, but the stimulation to his valve was…uncomfortable. Megatron’s fingers felt too large, their movements too forceful. It wasn’t painful, but it wasn’t particularly pleasant, either. If it had been Skywarp doing it to him, Thundercracker would have told him to slag off.

That wasn’t really an option, here.

After a few kliks, it got a little better. Not because Megatron had eased up any – if anything the fingering grew rougher, more demanding – but it did stimulate an increased production of lubricant as his valve attempted to defend itself against the invasion, to prevent damage from occurring as a result of the excessive friction.

Of course Megatron had no way of knowing that, and Thundercracker wasn’t about to tell him. His valve was lubricating heavily, and his occasional grunts of discomfort could easily be mistaken for sounds of pleasure or encouragement. For all Megatron knew, Thundercracker was having a wonderful time.

He almost wished he was. It would have made this so much easier.

Megatron appeared to be enjoying himself, at least; Thundercracker heard the Decepticon leader’s internal cooling fans switch on sometime during the course of the seemingly endless fingering, signaling Megatron’s steadily growing arousal. He was making that growling sound again, too, which Thundercracker now interpreted as an expression of lust.

He shuddered with revulsion, praying it would all be over soon.

At long last, the fingers finally withdrew from his valve, and Thundercracker practically sagged with relief – until he heard the soft snick of Megatron’s panel retracting.

His spark quailed at the sound. Here it comes, he thought grimly, bracing himself for the inevitable. Primus, please – just don’t let it hurt too much. He tensed as Megatron seized hold of his hip plate, biting down on his lip component, determined not to cry out, no matter how much it hurt –

Megatron entered him roughly, or tried to; his spike slid partway into Thundercracker’s valve and then halted abruptly, failing to penetrate him fully. Megatron grunted and thrust again, forcefully enough to shove Thundercracker up against the side of the berth, but proceeded no further. Thundercracker’s fingers clutched vainly at the smooth surface, struggling to find a purchase as Megatron tried again, leaning his full weight into him, endeavoring to achieve with a firm, solid push what he’d been unable to accomplish with a swift, sharp thrust.

The results were the same.

“You are resisting me,” Megatron said, low and dangerous.

“No sir,” he gasped out, his vocalizer strained by the effort it took to speak. Even with only half of Megatron’s spike inside him, Thundercracker could tell it was huge. Definitely bigger than Skywarp’s, or any of the few others he’d taken. Primus, what if Megatron was too big? What if he just didn’t fit? He already felt stretched to his limit, his valve suffused with a dull ache as it struggled to accommodate the intrusion, and Megatron wasn’t even fully inside him!

“Are you suggesting I lie?” Megatron said. The implied threat was unmistakable.

“No sir,” he insisted, his spark pulsing in panic, his processor racing as he tried desperately to come up with a way out of this situation that wouldn’t get him slagged. If Megatron was too big to ‘face him, what could he do? Should he offer to use his mouth–?

“Then submit,” Megatron hissed.

“I’m trying to, sir,” he gritted out, fear and desperation giving way to agonized frustration. “I'm – I’m not used to this,” he admitted, his circuits burning with mortification.

Megatron was silent for a long, tense moment, absorbing this information while Thundercracker fought to calm himself. He wasn’t going to beg and grovel like Starscream. He’d take his beating like a mech. He could handle the pain. Pain was nothing. He wished now that there had been pain – it would have been better than this abject humiliation.

“You’re not like your trinemates,” Megatron said finally, and to Thundercracker's relief, he sounded less angry than he had a moment before.

“No sir,” he said. Maybe he would get through this in one piece. Maybe Megatron would give up on the idea of ‘facing him, opt to dismiss him and wait for Skywarp –

A hand lifted from his hip plate, reaching around to caress his spike housing.

Oh, no, he thought, his spark quailing. Don’t do that.

But Megatron obviously was doing that, stimulating the forward sensors of his interface array, coaxing his spike to extend. A faint whimper escaped him as Megatron’s fingers wrapped around it, squeezing firmly, stroking along its length.

Thundercracker shuddered, flinching back against him and actually causing Megatron’s spike to slip marginally deeper inside of him. Having Megatron touch him like that was just too…personal. It seemed stupid to feel that way, what with Megatron’s spike still jammed halfway up his valve, but Thundercracker did, much to his own chagrin.

Relax, he thought urgently. He’s trying to get you to relax so he can get in your valve. If you let him, maybe he’ll stop doing that before he overloads you. Relax. Relaxrelaxrelax–

It was difficult – incredibly, insanely difficult – but after a klik or two he managed to will some of the tension out of his frame, to lay limp and unresisting against the berth. Evidently noticing the decrease in pressure surrounding his spike, Megatron let go of Thundercracker’s – which retracted almost immediately – and gripped his hip plate again, leaning into him once more.

His spike slid smoothly into Thundercracker’s valve, penetrating him to the hilt, meeting no resistance.

Megatron growled in approval, and began to thrust.

It stood to reason, he mused, that a warrior as ancient and formidable as Megatron, supreme commander of the Decepticon forces, would have incomparable stamina, but after several breems of relentless pounding, Thundercracker’s valve was beginning to ache under the assault. The prolonged and continuous friction was nudging his initial discomfort steadily closer to the point of legitimate pain.

His knees were getting sore too, and he was pretty sure he’d kinked a wire somewhere in the vicinity of his backstrut from being bent over the berth for so long, but Thundercracker had no intention of complaining about any of it. He hadn’t expected to enjoy this – he just needed to ensure that Megatron did, and Megatron was, if his cycling fans and rhythmic growls were any indication – so he endured in silence, waiting patiently for him to finish.

Megatron suddenly drew back and gave a particularly hard thrust, startling him enough to force a low grunt from his vocalizer. It was immediately followed by another, and Thundercracker felt a flare of hope. It was almost over –

Megatron abruptly straightened, withdrawing from his valve completely.

Thundercracker was baffled. He was quite certain Megatron hadn’t overloaded, so why had he stopped? “Sir..?” he asked hesitantly.

“Get on the berth,” Megatron said.

Get on the berth? He was already on the – oh. He pulled himself up off the floor, bringing a knee up onto the flat surface –

“No,” Megatron said, “On your back.”

He froze at the command, his optics widening in alarm. His previous position may have been demeaning, but at least it had afforded him the luxury of not having to school his expression, of not having to actually look at Megatron while he fragged him. “Yes sir,” he said reluctantly, turning around cautiously for the sake of his wings, and settling back onto the berth as ordered, his hands at his sides.

Megatron climbed onto the berth after him, and Thundercracker allowed his thighs to fall open, demonstrating his compliance. He’d avoided looking directly at Megatron now that he’d regained the ability to do so, but as he joined him Thundercracker couldn’t resist hazarding a glance downward. He didn’t really want to, but a sort of morbid curiosity compelled him to look anyway, to see Megatron’s massive spike with his own optics. Primus, it had to be huge, bordering on legendary. It was probably –

…just a little bigger than Skywarp’s, actually. Only slightly larger than his own.

The revelation was bewildering – why in the Pit had it felt so big? – but it did make it easier to remain calm and relaxed as Megatron moved over him, placing his hands flat against the berth just above Thundercracker’s wings, half-propping himself above him as he maneuvered his hip plate into position between Thundercracker’s parted thighs. When Thundercracker felt the tip of Megatron’s spike brush against the rim of his valve, he averted his gaze, not wanting to watch as it slid into him.

Megatron entered him swiftly, betraying a hint of impatience, and Thundercracker suppressed another grunt of discomfort. Megatron immediately resumed his previous pace, pumping rapidly in and out of his aching valve, fragging him with vigorous thrusts while Thundercracker fought to conceal his revulsion, praying it didn’t show on his faceplate.

He didn’t know what to do with his hands. He didn’t want to touch Megatron – he was pretty sure he’d pull back a sparking stump if he tried it – but Megatron was hammering him hard enough to cause him to slide back and forth across the slick metal surface of the berth, scraping his wings, and that was annoying, yet another uncomfortable sensation to add to Thundercracker’s growing list of physical complaints.

He stared stoically up at the ceiling, concentrating on keeping his expression as blank as possible. He didn’t think he had it in him to act like he was enjoying himself. Feigning pleasure seemed like a risky proposition anyway – if Megatron caught on to the deception, it might anger him more.

Not again, he thought despairingly as Megatron once more grunted and paused in his rhythm, sitting up. To Thundercracker’s utter mortification, Megatron proceeded to grab hold of his legs just behind the knee-joint, hoisting them up and outward, lifting his hip plate partway off the berth and leaving him feeling even more exposed and vulnerable than before.

Evidently satisfied, Megatron began thrusting into him once more, and Thundercracker briefly debated whether it would have been better to have simply refused outright and gotten pounded into scrap metal instead of getting pounded into the berth. At the moment he was leaning toward the former. This new position was even more uncomfortable than the last; with every stroke Megatron’s spike jabbed into a particularly sensitive node in his valve, and those strokes were coming harder and faster with every passing astrosecond.

“Look at me,” Megatron hissed, his intakes laboring.

Fighting not to wince every time Megatron’s spike shoved into him and struggling to keep the strain from his vocalizer, Thundercracker said, “Yes sir,” and complied. Megatron's optics were blazing with lust, casting a reddish glow over their conjoined frames, his gaze disturbingly intense.

Thundercracker held it nonetheless as Megatron’s rhythm began to falter, staring up at him unwillingly. He knew the precise moment Megatron reached his peak, saw it in his optics an astrosecond before he felt the searing burst of fluids spurting deep within in his valve, hot and slick and repellent.

Megatron slumped over him with a satiated groan as Thundercracker struggled to override the desire to purge his roiling fuel tanks in disgust. He could feel Megatron’s fluids settling within him, a sensation even more disgusting than having one of those squishy, flightless organics squirming in his cockpit, but it was over. Thank Primus, it was finally, finally over.

Megatron stirred a moment later – he hadn’t offlined – and lifted off of him, releasing his hold on his legs and lowering them back to the berth. His spike retracted, for which Thundercracker was profoundly grateful, even though the sensation of it withdrawing made him twitch in discomfort.

“You didn’t overload,” Megatron said in a strangely neutral tone.

Oh, frag, he thought, his spark clenching. Had Megatron actually expected him to? Maybe he should have faked it – but it was too late for that now. He opted for simple honesty instead. “No sir,” he said. “I usually don’t, that way.”

Megatron hummed contemplatively, studying him for a long, tense moment before rising from the berth, absently closing his panel as he made his way to the refueling station and dispensed a cube.

Thundercracker seized the opportunity to close his own panel and sit up, putting himself back in order. When he looked up, he was surprised to find Megatron once more standing in front of him, holding out the energon cube he’d just dispensed in offering.

Thundercracker accepted it awkwardly. “Thank you, sir,” he muttered.

“You performed well,” Megatron said as Thundercracker took a hesitant sip from the cube. As he’d suspected, the energon was very high quality, smooth and refined.

“Thank you, sir,” he said again, taking another sip.

“Your valve has not seen much use,” Megatron commented, almost conversationally.

“No sir,” he said, feeling both mortified and relieved. Thank Primus, at least he wasn’t angry.

“That pleases me,” Megatron said, nearly making him choke on his energon.

He didn’t really know how to respond to that, so he simply nodded.

“You’re dismissed,” Megatron said.

Thundercracker could have fallen over from the sheer relief those two words inspired in him. Subspacing the remainder of the cube, he got to his feet. “Thank you, sir,” he said.

He made his way to the door, moving at a carefully moderate pace, not wanting to appear too eager to leave. First stop, the washracks, and then –

Megatron spoke as he activated the mechanism to open the door. “Next time, you will overload,” he said.

Thundercracker froze in his tracks. Next time? he thought despairingly. The words held an unmistakable tone of command. The implied “or else” was clearly evident.

“Yes sir,” he said, and stepped out into the corridor.

He was slagged.

**

He spent almost a joor in the washracks.

He couldn’t seem to get clean enough, no matter how much or how vigorously he scrubbed.

His valve hurt like the Pit. The pain was a constant reminder of what had been done to him, a raw, persistent ache between his thighs that refused to go away, even after he diverted additional resources to his regenerative systems to speed the repair.

He recalled his prior musings about Starscream, about his theory that Starscream liked pain. That would certainly explain why Starscream was such a valve mech. Starscream probably enjoyed aching like this, feeling the aftereffects of his last interface long after it had concluded.

…but that didn’t explain why Skywarp liked it, or why he had when Skywarp had done it to him.

He threw down the brush in disgust. He’d actually been considering letting Skywarp do it again a few joors ago, of letting him have another shot at his valve. It had…it had felt really good when Skywarp did it, intense and intimate in a way interfacing with his spike had never been. He’d ached a little afterward, but it had been a different kind of ache, almost…pleasant.

His first time had been painful in a way that ranked up alongside some of his more serious combat injuries, but it had been over with quickly, ending so abruptly Thundercracker scarcely knew what had happened to him, only that he hurt and felt unclean and vaguely used as he was dismissed. He’d heard that was normal, that the first time was always like that for a valve interface. At the time he’d wondered why anyone would bother. It seemed incomprehensible that anyone would want to do it that way.

But most mechs didn’t seem to mind doing it occasionally – some even appeared to like it – so out of sheer curiosity, he’d tried again. It hadn’t been anywhere near as painful as the first time, but he hadn’t really enjoyed it, either. Vague discomfort, a lot of rubbing, foreign fluids in places he didn’t really want them – nothing he couldn’t tolerate. He just didn’t like it. And that seemed fine, perfectly normal – most mechs had a preference for spike interfacing, anyway. Those who didn’t – well, maybe they were just wired differently.

Until now, he’d always assumed the reason his first time had been so…unpleasant was because it was the first time. But this time had been…uncomfortably similar in a lot of ways. An unanticipated summons from a superior officer, being held down, the humiliation, fear of reprisal – they’d even both commented appreciatively on how tight he was, although Steelwing had seemed particularly delighted to discover Thundercracker still had an intact seal.

That was probably why he’d felt so sickened this time, so certain that it was going to hurt.

There were some differences, though. He had more experience now, he’d known more or less what to expect. That had helped. He’d been pinned to a berth instead of a desk. Megatron had lasted a lot longer than Steelwing, but he hadn’t hurt him as much, even though there’d been moments when Thundercracker was certain he was going to.

He hadn’t been reduced to begging for mercy, pleading with Megatron to stop.

He was grateful for that, at least. He was fortunate Megatron hadn’t hurt him the way Steelwing had. He doubted he would have been able to endure it.

But he didn’t want to do it again. Next time, Megatron had said. His fuel tank churned at the thought, his spark clenching in dread. He wouldn’t do it; he’d take the beating instead. Anything would be better than going through that again.

Switching off the spray of solvent, which had long since gone cold, he shook himself to disperse the excess liquid and departed the washracks, disdaining the dryer.

He wanted to be back in his quarters. He wanted to be alone.


*Part 3 is here.*