Rumor had it that Megatron had no virtually no control. He could not contain himself, could not hold himself back, could not be counted on to have restraint.
Optimus’ current predicament threw all of those rumors straight into the disposal center.
He cried out, tugging on the restraints that kept all four limbs shackled to the wall, pleasure burning a path of fire through his frame. With claws and glossa alone, Megatron had kept him on edge for hours.
Optimus’ vents cycled faster and faster, his cooling fans screeching to keep him cool. Charge crackled out from beneath his frame, but the shunt latched to his chestplate gathered it up and dissipated it before it could come to use.
Optimus groaned and sagged against the wall, defeated.
Megatron chuckled, dark and dangerous. “I am impressed, Prime,” he purred, claws dragging down Optimus’ dorsum, catching on each individual armor plate. “You’re taking your punishment well.”
Optimus growled and tossed his helm, ecstasy dancing through his lines until it, too, was gone again. His knees wobbled. “Haven’t I suffered enough?”
“No. Not until you understand the severity of your transgressions.” Megatron’s denta scraped over Optimus’ intake cables, making him shiver. “Overloading before your master is always frowned upon, my pet.”
Optimus chewed on his bottom lip, writhing in his chains. He wanted to overload. He wanted to taste that sweet release.
“Don’t worry. I’ll forgive you soon enough,” Megatron continued, his denta nibbling Optimus’ nearest antennae. “Until then, however, I can touch you as much as I want, can’t I, Prime?”
Optimus panted and hung his helm, his frame dripping condensation and heat. “Yes, sir. I’m sorry, sir.”
Megatron’s claws dipped into his hip joints again, caressing the cables beneath, leaving him aching, begging for more.
But oh, that overload had been worth it.