Black Shadow onlined in a haze, his short term memory cache distressingly empty and offering him no answers for why his thoughts were sluggish and his frame felt restrained. There was something in his mouth, strapped around his head, too strong to be dislodged by his glossa.
He powered on his optics and found himself in a room more shadow than light, with no furniture to speak of. There was a single overhead light, pointing down at him, and his own biolights cast an eerie glow into the dim.
He heard a clank as he tried to move, and found his wrists had been shackled together, and were connected by a chain to a loop in the floor. He was currently on his knees, and there was not enough slack in the chain to allow him to stand. He tugged, but all the chains did were rattle. They did not so much as budge.
This was a problem. Who could possibly have the means and the methods to both locate and restrain him? Surely it wasn’t the DJD?
A cold flush went through Black Shadow’s spark. How could they have found him so fast?
He heard a click in the dark. A whoosh. A panel lit up in his peripheral vision. Someone had come into the room, the weight of their tread indicating someone large. Heavy.
“I’m so disappointed in you.”
Black Shadow stiffened. He knew that voice, though never in such a sibilant hiss, the way it reached out, caressed his audials, tickled down into his audio sensors.
There was a hand on his helm. Fingers on his crest. Petting. Gentle.
“When I heard you were a traitor, I didn’t want to believe it, but there was the truth, right on the screen, right in front of my optics.”
Footsteps. A shadow falling over him, casting him in dark, save for the glow of blue biolights. And optics, crimson as embers, looking down at him.
“Oh, Shadow, what have you become?”
Blue Bacchus came into the light and crouched in front of him. His hand slid to cup Black Shadow’s chin, tilt it upward, baring the vulnerability of his throat. He swallowed thickly, aware of his compromising position.
“And to think, I once looked up to you.”
Black Shadow’s mouth opened, but no sound emerged. His vocalizer clicked, clicked, and failed to disengage. His optics widened. He tried comms, but they, too, were gone.
Voiceless. Communication stolen. He stared at Blue Bacchus.
“You left the Decepticons.” Blue Bacchus’ grip tightened, stressing the dermal metal of Black Shadow’s jaw. “You left me.”
The last emerged as a hiss.
Black Shadow’s spark convulsed. He tugged again at his restraints, but they would not budge. How strong they must be, to restrain a Phase Sixer. He didn’t know such things existed.
He shook his head, all he could do given the restraint of Blue Bacchus’ grip.
“Don’t deny it, Shadow. You know what you did.”
Bacchus released him and rose to his full height, staring down at Black Shadow as though he were some Autobot scraped off a battlefield, some helpless being deserving of destruction. There was nothing of affection in his expression, nothing of the almost youthful wonder he used to have in his gaze when he looked at Black Shadow.
His spark clenched.
Blue Bacchus was, at once, a stranger to him.
“How much did they pay you?” Blue demanded and then shook his head almost violently, one hand slicing through the air. “Never mind. I don’t want to know. It doesn’t fragging matter. I don’t want to know how much our friendship was worth to you.”
Bacchus’ face rippled with emotion, his field an angry maelstrom.
“I admired you. I looked up to you. I–” He huffed a loud ventilation, hands clenching into fists at his side. “It doesn’t matter what I was. What matters is what you are. And what you are is a traitor.”
Unable to speak, all Black Shadow could do was shake his head again.
“Lies!” Bacchus snapped and the back of his hand whipped across Black Shadow’s face, knuckles tearing into the dermal metal of his cheek.
It cut through the softer metal, drew energon. Shadow’s head whipped to the side, pain exploding in his face, though it was quick to dull to a throb. He’d certainly received harder hits over the course of the war, but this still hurt. It felt like the betrayal that Blue Bacchus threw at him.
“You leave us, you betray us, and you lie to me. I am so disappointed to you.” Bacchus dropped down again and grabbed Shadow’s face, turning him back toward Bacchus. “You know you’re on the List now, don’t you? You should be thanking me for saving you. For keeping you from Tarn and his sadists.”
Black Shadow narrowed his optics. His mouth worked around the bit. No. He refused.
“No?” Blue Bacchus tilted his head, his lips pulling into a slow grin. “You’re not grateful at all? I knew you wouldn’t be. That’s why I decided to see to your punishment myself.”
One hand dropped from Black Shadow’s face. Bacchus’ fingertips dragged down his chestplate, down his central seam, over his belly, and down to his groin. They traced around Shadow’s panels.
“Ahh, now this is familiar,” Bacchus purred. “I thought about asking you to open for me.” He paused, tilted his head the other direction, before the glee in his expression turned devilish. “But then I realized it wouldn’t be much of a punishment at all if I did, would it?” He chuckled. “No, it would not.”
Black Shadow had only a moment of realization to brace himself before Bacchus’ fingers shoved into his seams and tore at his panel, yanking it off in several sharp tugs. The protective paneling around his array came free in a show of sparks and a blaze of fiery pain. Blue Bacchus admired it for a moment before tossing it over his shoulder, where it clattered away in the darkness.
Black Shadow’s ventilations wheezed. He sagged forward. His groin ached. That… should not have been possible. He was supposed to be stronger, to be untouchable. There were many things wrong with this. He didn’t understand.
Bacchus’ fingers returned, circling around his now exposed components. They scraped over the rim of Shadow’s dry valve, and then poked in at his spike.
“You’re wondering why that worked,” Blue Bacchus continued conversationally. He was always the talker. “You’re a Super Soldier. Nothing can touch you. Right?”
His talons poked harder at Shadow’s spike. He pinched the tip between thumb and forefinger, between the tips of his talons, and pulled, forcing it from the protective sheathing. Shadow twitched in Bacchus’ grip, his hips trying to pull away, but having nowhere to go.
“I had to search long and hard to find even a little bit of it,” Blue Bacchus said. His fingers pushed hard at Black Shadow’s jaw where they gripped him. “But I did. And it was just enough for these.”
He wiggled his talons against Shadow’s spike pointedly. “The only thing that can cut through your armor is the same metal it’s composed of. Rather brilliant, if you ask me.” Blue Bacchus grinned.
“You accepted Megatron’s offer to get stronger, so that no one could take advantage of you again and look at you now.”
Blue Bacchus’ smirk widened, a flash of bright denta, his optics bright and wicked. His hand gave a long pull to Shadow’s spike, talons scraping along the length of it.
“See how much good it did you?” Bacchus purred, fingers squeezing, stressing the dermal metal, all pain and very little pleasure. “You’re still helpless, hopeless, at my mercy.”
He let go, and Shadow gasped a ventilation. His shoulders hunched. His spike throbbed, warnings streaked over his internal diagnostics.
Bacchus pushed to his feet and circled around Shadow, each step a heavy and warning cadence. The weight of his gaze burned on the top of Shadow’s helm.
“You’re pathetic,” Blue hissed and he came to a stop behind Black Shadow, a looming presence. “Selling yourself out to the highest bidder. Guess you can take a mech out of Axiom Nexus, but not the Nexus out of him. Especially when you dig him out of the Heap.”
Metal creaked. There was a whoosh of displaced air. Shadow grunted as a foot landed against his back, shoving him forward. He landed hard on his elbows, all that saved him from smacking his face into the floor.
Blue Bacchus kicked at him again, shoving his knees apart, forcing space between his thighs. Shadow snarled around the gag and tried to push himself back up, but Blue’s foot landed on his back, urging him down and keeping him there. Whatever he’d used to capture Shadow, kept him weak, pliable. As helpless as he’d been before Megatron gave him the means to change.
“No, stay like that. Stay right there,” Blue Bacchus snarled. His foot pressed harder, until metal creaked and groaned, but held. As strong as he was, he couldn’t pierce Phase Sixer armor. “Stay where you belong, traitor.”
Shadow’s fingers scraped at the floor, leaving furrows in the metal, but unable to punch through. Black Shadow had no idea where he was: what base, what planet, what starship.
The only mech who would have cared enough to assist him was the mech currently grinding his heelstrut into Black Shadow’s backstrut. The one stepping back, shoving Black Shadow’s legs further apart, until he dropped to his knees behind Shadow. Blue hands found Black Shadow’s hips, his scorching panel pressed to Shadow’s aft, the pulsing heat against his valve.
He missed his cover in that moment. He missed his cover, and yet, he didn’t.
“This is a good look for you,” Blue Bacchus said. “On your knees. Aft up. Offering and ready to serve.” He rocked forward, scraping his array against Shadow’s aft, rubbing over his swollen rim. “You should be used to it. It’s like a blast from the past, isn’t it?”
Black Shadow’s engine revved. He tried to lurch forward, but Bacchus’ grip would not break. Bacchus hooked his fingers in an armor plate and yanked him back.
“No,” Bacchus hissed, vocals as chilling as ice. “This is what you deserve. This is what you’re worth to me now. Nothing but a means to an end.” He chuckled darkly. “And by end, I mean overload. A receptacle for my transfluid.”
A panel clicked. Something rigid poked at Shadow’s aft, stiff and damp at the tip. He knew without having to look what it was. He felt Bacchus rock against his aft, the spike grinding against his valve, his external node, sending waves of unwanted pleasure through Shadow’s array.
There was a time he would have gladly taken this. When he would have tumbled into berth with a chuckling Blue Bacchus, pinned down his partner, and fragged an overload or three out of him.
This was not that.
Somehow, his frame couldn’t see the difference. His spark knew Blue Bacchus; his frame remembered. The arousal that slicked his valve was one built on memory and Black Shadow didn’t know if he was glad for it – lubricant would prevent pain – or ashamed.
Blue Bacchus chuckled. “Oh, look at this. You’re ready for me. You like it, don’t you? Being on your knees. Legs spread and willing. I knew it.”
Shadow’s face heated.
It was definitely shame.
Shadow pressed his faceplate to his hands as Bacchus flexed his fingers.
“I think,” Bacchus began as he rolled his hips and the tip of his spike found the opening of Shadow’s valve, lingering there. “I think I’m really going to enjoy this. And I’ll bet you will, too.”
With that, Blue Bacchus snapped forward, plunging into Black Shadow in the space of a sparkbeat, burying himself to the hilt in one smooth thrust. Shadow snarled around the gag, his valve spasming, head tossing back.
It hurt. The ununtrium had made him strong on the outside, but here, where his valve was meant to be flexible, pliable, Shadow was vulnerable. He ached, calipers twitching, one of them bruised, another bent out of place. But Blue Bacchus did not pause, give him a moment to relax. No, instead he set up a bruising, punishing pace.
He held onto Black Shadow’s hips and pounded into him, fast, jabbing thrusts alternated with slightly slower, but deeper shoves. His spike head ground against Black Shadow’s ceiling node. He raked against internal sensors.
He took Black Shadow’s valve as though it were merely a toy, a hole, meant to give him pleasure and nothing else. As though it didn’t belong to a sentient mech.
He didn’t tease. He sought his release with single-minded determination. He growled. He snarled. His vocalizer glitched with static.
“Yes,” Bacchus hissed, sounding gleeful and strained. “You’re squeezing me so tight. Your valve responds to me like it knows what it was made for. Taking me. Taking this. Taking anyone who comes along, isn’t that right?”
The words sank into his audials, ripped like claws in his processor, bringing up memories, unwanted things. Black Shadow writhed, his spark shrinking into a tight ball.
Shadow gnawed on the gag. Pain rippled outward, fighting against the arousal that struggled to make a show. Bacchus thrust into him so hard he sent Black Shadow scraping against the floor, shoved forward before Bacchus yanked him back. Their frames collided, metal on metal, and there was no pleasure left, only the raw scrape of Bacchus’ spike inside Shadow’s valve.
He hated the lubricant that continued to well. The way his array thrummed. How his frame was so determined to seek pleasure in this, that it responded anyway. That his calipers clutched at Bacchus’ spike.
He hated that Bacchus huffed a laugh, even as the forced arousal in Bacchus’ field swallowed Black Shadow whole.
“You’re just squeezing me tighter. Like you want me deep.” Blue Bacchus loosed a moan, his grip tightening, his spike grinding hard against Shadow’s ceiling node. “You’re so thirsty down here. You must want me to fill you with my transfluid. You’re frame begs for it.”
Shadow shook his helm, face scraping against the floor. His engine whined, but Bacchus’ words wrapped around him, swallowing him.
Blue Bacchus panted. His ventilations quickened as his engine screeched into a higher pitch. He slammed into Black Shadow, pounding him against the floor.
“I’m gonna overload inside you,” he said, and his words were stuttered, aborted, each one matching the pace of his frantic thrusting. “Because that’s all you are to me now. A hole. A traitorous hole that I can frag. Gah!”
Blue Bacchus shoved himself deep and howled as he overloaded. He spurted transfluid, boiling heat that seemed to sear at Black Shadow’s raw lining and rake over his bruised internal nodes.
Oral lubricant seeped out around the gag as Black Shadow screamed without sound, waiting for it to end. Ununtrium could protect against much, but it did not leave him desensitized to pain. He felt every scrape, every tear, and knew that energon mingled with the transfluid striping his valve.
Blue Bacchus gasped and sagged, circling his hips in little shallow thrusts as the last tremors of his overload faded. His field hummed with pleasure, but it contained little satisfaction, only a sense of urgency, as though he hadn’t slaked whatever murderous thirst had first led him to these acts.
“I think…” Blue Bacchus trailed off as he panted, his hands still clamped to Black Shadow’s hips, his spike slowly repressurizing. “I think I’m going to keep you. Just like this. Just for this. It’s all you’re worth to me now. All you’re good for. The only use you have left.”
Shadow’s processor spun. His ventilations fluttered. He kneaded at the ground, his array thrumming with need. As much as he loathed the situation, the part of him that once yearned for Blue Bacchus would not abate.
“This is what traitors deserve,” Bacchus ground out, circling his hips, stirring his spike in the depths of Shadow’s valve. “To be used and discarded, as easily as they did the vows they made.”
One hand slid around Black Shadow’s hip to his groin. Blue Bacchus fingered his spike, giving it a squeeze that stressed the delicate metal and threatened the transfluid channel.
Shadow’s engine whined, back arching, hip dancing into Blue Bacchus’ grip.
He laughed, though it was a sound without humor. “You want to overload, is that it?” he asked, and squeezed, two fingers pinching the tip of Shadow’s spike. “You think you deserve one?”
A strangled sound rose in Shadow’s intake, one striped in static. He wasn’t going to beg. He refused to beg.
“You don’t.” Blue Bacchus pinched the tip harder, bruising the sensitive metal, before he released Black Shadow’s spike. “You’re a toy now. A plaything for me. Toys don’t get overloads. They aren’t worthy of them.”
He grabbed Black Shadow’s hips again and before Shadow could do anything, Blue Bacchus flipped him over, slamming him onto his back. He couldn’t react in time, and the action twisted his shoulders, yanking on the joints.
Blue Bacchus loomed over him, his spike again nudging at Black Shadow’s valve, one hand planted on Shadow’s chestplate. His fingertip pressed on Shadow’s spark seam, the gleam in his optics one of fury and something else unnameable.
“Get used to this, Black Shadow,” he said as he nudged his spike back into Shadow’s valve. “Because you’re never leaving here. Not again. You’re mine now.”
Black Shadow shook his head, gnawing fruitlessly at the gag.
Blue Bacchus ignored his refusal. Ignored Shadow’s attempts to turn over, to scramble away. He slammed back home into Shadow’s valve and once again set up a bruising pace, his fingers scraping at Shadow’s chestplate.
“Mine,” he hissed subvocally. “Mine.”
Black Shadow shuttered his optics. The word echoed in the back of his processor.
Primus only knew what horrors awaited him next.