Torture in war was common... but this was beyond mere enemy torment. SoundwavexTracks, Dark Fic; Mech/Mech slash, Rape, Angst
Rated M
He always seemed to get himself into these tight spots.
Tracks shifted against his bonds, attempting to break them or at least find a weakness in the metal so he could slip out of his make-shift cuffs. But there was nothing to be found, and aside from the violent shaking of his panels against the giant speaker, he wouldn't be moving anytime soon. Groaning softly, the corvette turned down the input of his audio receptors. It did not lessen the terrible pain shooting through his chassis as the music continued to pound through every seam and joint, but at least he wouldn't have to listen to the stupid melody anymore.
He needed to remain as focused as possible so he could escape and stop Starscream and Soundwave.
...or at least hope that Blaster could come to his rescue soon...
"Soundwave! Is the hypnosis still in effect?"
The communications officer internally cringed at the loud shriek, refusing to turn his helm to Starscream. Any sort of attention given to the SIC would only prompt him to screech further, and Soundwave did not wish to invoke such punishment on himself. "Affirmative," he replied, "Organics under Decepticon control."
"Then just what are you doing now?," Starscream hissed suspiciously. The jet watched the blue mech tape away at the human's miniscule keys, adjusting switches and knobs on the soundboard.
"Action: increasing frequency output. Goal: Maximize proficiency of organic cerebral command."
"That's completely unnecessary! The humans are simple creatures, there is no need for anybot to waste any further effort on these fleshbags," the SIC vented. "Now, I am in command of this mission, and I order you to stop with your foolish tampering! I refuse to be held accountable for any errors your meddling creates. Go be useful and check on the prisoner."
Soundwave turned away from the soundboard, visor flaring brightly at Starscream's turned back-struts. He could feel anger crackling along his circuitry net, and had to remove his servos from the controls before he accidentally broke something with his rage. If it wasn't detrimental to their mission, and hence forth, the entire war, the communications officer would have loved nothing more than to put a blast right through the arrogant jet's spark. There was one thing the tapedeck couldn't stand for... and it was 'bots' degrading his work out of simple vanity.
"Order: acknowledged," the blue mech replied. Words could not express how glad Soundwave was that Starscream had willingly offered him an escape from the other's presence. Reaching up, the communications officer pressed on the release button along his shoulder plating, ejecting two cassettes. "Rumble, Frenzy," Soundwave intoned, "Mission: maintain surveillance on hypnosis modulation."
"Yeah, whatever you say Boss," Rumble said, looking about the control room. Frenzy beside him, sneered at Starscream, before heading to the soundboard.
"Even good ol' 'Screamer's here too, huh?," the red and black cassetticon taunted.
"Silence, you over-sized turborat," the air commander hissed.
Soundwave ignored all three mechs, heading for the door. His two scions turned at the action, red visors dimmed in confusion. "Where you heading, Boss?," Rumble asked.
"Soundwave has his own duties to attend to," Starscream cut in, before the tapedeck could even answer. "Now get to yours!"
Rumble grimaced at the jet's screeching, hopping onto the closest available seat. "I got it already, Starscream. Don't get you get your diodes in a clog," the blue mech grumbled. Seeing the jet begin to bristle at the insult, Soundwave wisely left the control deck. He did not need to worry about his cassetticons. Starscream would not harm them with the mission's success in stake, and if Rumble and Frenzy were foolish enough to rile the SIC up, then they could suffer his shrill yelling.
The doors swished close behind the communications officer just as Starscream began another of his high-pitched tirades. Silently, Soundwave walked down to the club's main floor, wading through the throng of gyrating humans. None of them screamed or ran in terror at the Decepticon's appearance; in fact, they did not even appear to notice that there was an evil, fifty-foot alien robot walking among them. It was with bitter-sweet pride did Soundwave observe this.
Altering the humans' mind and controlling them to do their bidding was not exactly a challenge to the telepath. The organics had such simple cognitive functions, that any mech with half a processor could easily manipulate their cerebrums without any difficultly. Knowing that he had easily subdued all the dancers in the club was not information with which Soundwave would place much pride in. But... capturing an Autobot was.
Rounding the corner, the communications officer turned into a darker alcove just beneath the control deck, where another of their large speakers had been set up. It was on this one that they had chained the Autobot Tracks to, until they later rejoined Megatron and could use the corvette as collateral. Tracks, the blue mech was surprised to see, had all but gone slack in his bonds. The vain mech had his optics offlined and, no doubt, his audio receptors turned down to block out the hard club beat. If it weren't for the music that shook his frame and the subtle grimace of his faceplates at a particularly loud drumline or guitar rift, then it would appear as if Tracks was entirely inanimate; simply a gaudy piece of decoration over the mesh.
Soundwave wasn't sure why, but he refrained from making his presence known to the prisoner, content to merely stand there, observing their captive. In the growing silence -that, apart from the music still blaring from the speakers and the mouths of the clubbers, obviously- the tapedeck was almost startled to hear a groan slip past the Autobot's lip components. As he went to shake it off, deducing that he was making too much out of such a simple, lucrative sound, a set of strobe lights rotated above. Their light slipped into the alcove and for a couple astroseconds, flared across Tracks' paintjob; highlighting the the fine painted chassis and well-greased joints. It also brought attention to the glistening trail slowly making its way down the inside of the corvette's thigh.
One blink of the eye later, and Soundwave had crossed the distance between himself and the Autobot, face pressing closer to the prisoner, to catch a glimpse of the mysterious fluid. It was with some disappointment that he leaned back again, having confirmed that the viscous liquid was oil, possibly forced from a shallow cut on the other mech's skin because of the continuing bass. But then again, what had he expected really?
The communications officer's frowned beneath his battle mask, already knowing the answer in his processor.
Slowly, he looked up, only to find that Tracks had onlined his optics and was glaring at the Decepticon through a wince. "Soundwave!," the corvette growled, tugging uselessly on his chains once more. "You despicable scrap-heap! The others will be along soon, and then your nefarious plots will be foiled again."
Soundwave was almost tempted to smirk at the foolish display of bravado. "Opinion: unsupported," he replied. "Inquiry: How many know you are here? Theory: None are coming to save you. No comms have been detected on my sensors since your capture. Reasoning: You shall be in Megatron's servos before your friends can arrive. ...If you have any..."
Tracks opened his mouth automatically, but as his processor caught up with what the tapedeck had said, it closed again; optics shifting off to the side. Anything to keep from looking at the Decepticon and confessing his own belief in Soundwave's words. One could easily see the defeat on his faceplates though, and Soundwave didn't even need to be a telepath to know that those fears were rooted deeper in the Autobot's spark.
"They'll stop you," Tracks mumbled, almost weakly. Soundwave canted his helm to the side some, surprised. He had not expected any further exclamations from the corvette, and he would be loathe to admit that he almost felt giddy at the faint, opposing effort. But amused he was, and he idly wondered what other surprises Tracks held in store.
After a klik of continuous silence, Tracks brought his optics forward once more and felt his circuits crackle at the frighteningly intense gaze the Decepticon was giving him. There was no sign of emotion really -the visor and battle mask effectively obscured such things from view- nor was Soundwave making it a point to vocalize his thoughts. But his visor gleamed brighter in the relative darkness of the club, looking particularly sinister in the faint glow of pulsing strobe lights.
"W-what are you doing?," Tracks croaked, yanking again on his bonds as Soundwave moved even closer. His panic was complete though when the other mech's servos rested on his thighs, touch much too light and sure to be simply innocent. "N-no! Get away!"
Soundwave couldn't help it. He genuinely laughed as the Autobot writhed desperately against the chains, attempting to kick out and free himself -or at least force his assailant away. But of course, Tracks was trussed up tight, and would not be escaping any time soon. He was literally under the communications officer's mercy, and the corvette knew it too. He also knew that Soundwave didn't even understand the concept of mercy and was struggling hard in his chains for that very reason; praying -pleading- with Primus to let the metal weaken, or the chains to loosen just enough so he could slip his servos free. His hope only diminished the further the tapedeck laughed, the cold, metallic sound piercing his spark with each dreadful syllable.
"S-stop...," Tracks hiccuped, tugging for the umpteenth time on his bonds. His chassis rose a couple millimeter's off the speaker, before he fell back against the machinery. "S-stop it, you, y-you brute!"
Soundwave actually paused in his studying, servos pressed tightly to the Autobot's from where they had just been beginning to map the other's frame. Stunned, but more so amused, the Decepticon looked up again at Tracks, finding his lip components twisted into a smirk behind his battle mask. Such an odd insult to toss at the mech molesting you... but, Soundwave supposed, it was probably the best the corvette could do given the situation. It was pleasant to here, anyways. That lovely, refined vocalizer tripping over words as panic set in... the communications officer wondered how it would sound screaming to the rafters above, and he decided he just had to find out this night.
Tracks, bound as he was, spread-eagle, would be quick to dominate. The Decepticon wasted only a klik more trailing his servos across the other's bucking and trembling chassis, before sliding them down Tracks' thighs again; bringing one servo up to cup the Autobot's pelvic plating. "Order: open," Soundwave said, pressing on the codpiece lightly to inform the prisoner of his target. The corvette whimpered, intakes hitching as his flustered system's began to work themselves into a frenzy.
"Repeat: open now!," the communications officer growled, quickly losing patience. "Before I rip it off."
Tracks stared at the other mech in horror, before he crumpled in the chains; denta biting his lip components hard as he retracted his codpiece. Soundwave moved his hand so he could get a glimpse of the exposed interface equipment, systems rumbling as he noticed that the valve's aperture was almost closed tightly -evidence of a rarely used, and sometime virginal, valve. The Decepticon was vaguely shocked. Tracks was a handsome mech, even he could acknowledge that; the tapedeck would have thought that some of the other Autobot's would be welded to the corvette's side. Or at the very least, 'facing the winged mech into stasis. But Soundwave found he couldn't complain either about Tracks' lack of partners. It meant that there was more for him to claim in this instant, and the communications officer could not restrain the swell of sadistic pride that rose in him at the thought.
Focusing on the task at hand, Soundwave slid his servo back onto the Autobot's pelvic plating, index finger slipping into the waiting valve. Tracks hiccuped at the intrusion, shifting against his bonds. There was no real motivation put towards his actions; he had already admitted defeat the moment he had exposed himself. After all, who could possibly get to him in time before Soundwave had his way? No one, Tracks knew, and he loathed to waste energy crying and begging for someone to come swooping in to save him. Better to hope that the Decepticon was swift, and would hurry along afterwards...
"Command: Look at me."
At the heated demand, the corvette slowly onlined his optics, immediately looking into the visor of Soundwave. Disgust and shame warred within Tracks as he noticed the fairly smug look gleaming in the red glass; repulsion winning out in the end as he felt the tapedeck's finger wriggle within him.
"Keep looking," Soundwave ordered, quickly jabbing a second finger inside Tracks. The Autobot gasped at the second intrusion, harsher than the first had ever been. Automatically, his systems attempted to soothe the ache growing in his valve; lubricant oozing from the walls to try and ease the motion of those invading digits. The communications officer seemed to take the wetness to be a positive thing, because he was adding a third, and then his fourth finger, before too long.
Tracks only gasped one more time, before he returned to biting his lip components, refusing to utter a single sound for the Decepticon, even despite the pain of being stretched so mercilessly. Soundwave did not mind. It was enjoyable, watching the corvette gnaw away at his lip components, faceplates twisting with pain every time he wriggled his fingers. Speaking of which... it was just as lovely to gaze upon his digits as he pulled them out of Tracks' valve, before plunging them deeply back inside again. He almost had his whole fist inside the Autobot, and surprisingly his valve walls did not tear. It was erotic, knowing this fact, and Soundwave idly wondered just how much the corvette could take before he reached his breaking point. He, the tapedeck decided, would have to test that out someday...
For now though, Soundwave simply wanted Tracks to scream for him; to moan and cry as he brought him to overload. With a single, deft twist of his servo, the communications officer had the Autobot releasing his lip components, and a klik after, he had wrung a moan from the corvette.
"N-nooooo, oooh!," Tracks moaned again, bucking against the other's servo. His action, instead of taking him away from Soundwave and his invasive touches, forced the Decepticon's digits against his valve walls further; hard, rotund ends scraping along hidden sensors and making a streak of pleasure zing across his circuits. "P-primus!"
Yes, that's exactly what he wanted to hear! The tapedeck used his other servo to grasp the Autobot's waist firmly, digging his fingers a little deep. He brushed again on Tracks' sensors, the corvette shuddering as pleasure wracked his systems a second time. Targeting the sensitive cluster, Soundwave started in on thrusting his servo; plunging his fingers back into Tracks' repeatedly, hitting his sensors dead-on.
Tracks screamed again at the assault, limbs pushing against his bonds once more, but this time, they were attempting to get closer to the Decepticon instead of away. "P-please!," he keened, trying to remain focused despite those fingers attempting to do the opposite. It had been so long, the corvette noted bitterly, that anyone had touched him in such a way, let alone himself. The aggressive, hungry actions of Soundwave made him burn within, though it was mostly from lust and not the painful blunt force ramming into his lubricated passage.
Quickly, heat was compressing tighter and tighter in his pistons; steam puffing out from transformation seams as his engine roared toward completion. And Soundwave- the communications officer was moving his fingers faster, keeping pace with Tracks' rapidly deteriorating self-control, twisting and scissoring his digits wide inside of the slippery valve; drawing further moans from the Autobot as his touch continued stimulating frazzled sensors. "S-stop!," Tracks cried, still begging to be left alone through his gasps and screams of pleasure, "P-pleeeee- eaaaaaah! Ooh, oh Primus... p-please... s-don't, d-don't!"
The corvette pulled against the chains tightly, inadvertently forcing Soundwave's fingers deeper inside of him, having them ram into a set of sensors not yet touched during this whole affair. The resulting flare of ecstasy that brushing those sensors invoked threw Tracks into overload; scream of tortured rapture a notch louder than the pounding club music. Systems stumbled into a sort of lag as they attempted to maintain function while Tracks fell silent; self-repairs kicking in and starting to fix the damaged wiring and tubing that had been slightly burnt with the rise of core temperature. As the cloud of confusion continued to fill the Autobot's processor, Soundwave slowly removed his fingers from the abused valve.
A burst of lubricant followed his departure, creating a vacuuming suction sound as he pulled his fingers out. His visor flared brightly at the lovely, pale lubricant generously coating his digits, and had to grip tightly onto his self-control as his gaze fell a few millimeters below, to Tracks' valve. Lubricant was still oozing from the tight passage -valve walls clenching tightly intermittently on air, almost as if they were begging for a spike to grasp- while the rest of the corvette's lubricants dripped down his trembling thighs. Soundwave wanted nothing more than to retract his battle mask and sample those glorious fluids. How beautiful it would be, to hear Tracks' moan and cry, as his glossa thrust deeply into his inviting valve; cables and lubricants surrounding his glossa as he ate out the Autobot.
The mere thought was charging the tapedeck's circuits beyond reason. His own cooling fans had turned on kliks ago, and now whined as heat slithered along his sensory net, spike aching behind its protective plating. Soundwave moved in closer to the dazed Tracks, faceplates leaning toward the waiting valve. One servo was raised, preparing to manually retract his battle mask, when one of the human's squealed in delight, startling the distracted Decepticon. With a low growl, the communications officer turned away from Tracks, gaze flickering among the dancing organics.
He didn't know which of the humans had made the sound, but it matter not now. Soundwave leaned back, servo dropping from his battle mask. He was almost grateful now for the annoying squeal; he was not one to so casually bare himself in the presence of others. His faceplates, especially, were a sight 'bots had rarely ever seen. True, being a telepath had its advantages, but it also left the reader vulnerable to the view of others. Maintaining a neutral expression at all times, was not an easy thing to do, and Soundwave had spent too many vorns relying on his battle mask to be certain he could easily hide his emotions without it. Even if they were just simple creatures, the communications officer did not want his bare faceplates to be seen by their hypnotized eyes.
Tasting Tracks would have to wait until another orn...
Turning his attention back to the Autobot, Soundwave was surprised to see that the corvette had not yet come out of his daze. Dim optics were half-shuttered, and little, fleeting moans were escaping Tracks' lip components. His wings were the only thing avidly moving on his frame; the sensitive appendages fluttered almost desperately against the pounding music still shaking the chassis. They're frantic movement captured the tapedeck's focus, who could only watch the wings as they moved still, almost strangely hypnotized himself. A vague thought drifted across his processor, about what interesting course of action those appendages would take if he were to touch them...
There was music all around him.
Tracks groaned faintly, trying to move his limbs and loosen the stiffness gathering in his joints. No such luck with the moving bit, and only the rattling of chains reached his sore audio receptors over the horrible din. That's right, the corvette's fogged processor recalled. He was a prisoner; tied up tight like someone's hunted turbofox, and waiting for transfer to the Decepticon base. Just how could he have forgotten?
The answer to that came as swiftly as the first, and the Autobot was pulling against his bonds in simple reflex to the memory file. Soundwave. He had come, for no reason it seemed other than to taunt and terrorize, before deciding he wanted to do more than verbally traumatize his captive. T-the tapedeck... he, he had violated him, Tracks painfully remembered. His fingers had been cold and careless, viciously stabbing into the corvette's unsuspecting valve and forcing him into a violent overload. That's why his processor was so jumbled up. His frame had not been prepared for such an assault, and his deadly plunge into ecstasy had fried numerous circuits and programs in the process.
Ratchet would have himself a pit of a time fixing him up, Tracks thought bitterly.
Thinking about the Decepticon made Tracks wonder just where his tormentor had gone. Slowly he unshuttered his optics, choking fearfully as he noticed the red visor just inches from his faceplates. The communications officer had climbed up onto the speaker's platform sometime during his confusion, and now stood level with the multi-coloured mech. Being this close to Soundwave terrified Tracks, and he quaked in response. His surprise made Soundwave chuckle darkly -again!- as the other mech's servo rose up, gripping tightly at a vibrating wing. The Autobot whimpered at the harsh grab, squirming uncomfortably in the tapedeck's hold. "L-let me go," he pleaded.
Soundwave only ignored him; free servo slipping a digit back into his open valve, while the servo on his wing released just the tiniest bit, beginning to stroke at the thin metal. Tracks quailed under the two different touches, feeling his tired systems chug at the almost pleasurable attention. "S-stop! Please; no more!," the corvette cried, wriggling wildly in his chains for what felt like the billionth time that night.
The Decepticon brushed off his comments, trailing his fingers along Tracks' wing further, smirking at the delirious fluttering they made every time he brushed over a sensor or dipped into a seam along the metal. He had never known a mech to have wings that wasn't a seeker... and though the communications officer could notice miniscule differences between Tracks' wings and those of the flight-models, they were still very similar in their responses. One, digging pressure at the bottom, right along the seam between backstruts and appendage, had the Autobot screaming out in pure bliss; another burst of lubricant erupting from between Soundwave's fingers on his other servo and sliding hotly down the corvette's thighs again.
Soundwave tried not to growl, but his systems were not as easy to control, and they rumbled loudly in lust. He needed to be inside of Tracks now, he thought, or he'd simply be driven mad by those molten, sweet-smelling lubricants overwhelming his sensory net. Motion decided, the Decepticon retracted his codpiece, hissing lowly as his spike practically lunged out; pressurizing to its full length in barely a nanoklik and already wet at the tip with transfluid. He had been affected much more than he had initially thought during his molestation of the Autobot. But no matter...
The communications officer abandoned his current handholds, grasping Tracks under his thighs and pulling the other's aft to him as far as it would go. With one, rasping intake, Soundwave thrust into the well-lubricated passage, sliding all the way to the hilt in one fluid swoop. "Aaaaaa-ah-ah-aaaaaaaaaaaaahhh!," Tracks screamed, optics flashing nearly white at the sudden penetration.
Valve walls clenched hungrily about the thick spike, squeezing so tight and forcing sensor nodes along the ridged length. Oh, Primus, the corvette croaked, processor reeling in shock. How did the Decepticon even fit inside of him? He felt so large, much too big for him to possible take it all, and the aperture of his valve was stretched wide around Soundwave's massive girth. Before Tracks could even contemplate this anomaly further, or begin his retinue of pleading for some sort of clemency, the tapedeck was pulling back out, slamming back inside the Autobot.
Tracks arched against the speaker, pressing back into the mesh, as he screamed to the rafter's above; a wordless, erotic cry of passion. The unmeasurable mass filling him had been almost unpleasant, to the point of being painful, but that one movement on Soundwave's part forced his spike to slide along dozens of sensors nodes. The result was an electrifying rush of ecstasy that zinged and crackled across the corvette's circuits, forcing his cooling fans to roar into maximum output, alarms ringing in his processor as core temperature's sky-rocketed.
It was so good!
The Autobot bucked and writhed against the speaker, pulling taut on his bonds -but it was different this time. Tracks did not fight to merely escape; he hungered to get closer to that pleasure, to grab it and wrap his legs around the chassis thrusting passionately against his own. As if to do so would ensure that this bliss would never end, and he'd be forever overwhelmed by the rush of molten heat and utter rapture. Soundwave, processor boggling from the heady affects the interface were beginning to take on him, thought idly for a moment to free Tracks. His servos were gripping the other mech's aft hard now, no longer paying any attention to how far he pulled those silver hips away from the speaker, unconcerned if he was hurting Tracks or not. The tapedeck was only focused on the rocking of their two frames as Soundwave rammed into that dripping valve; visor flashing as he noticed how desperately Tracks struggled against his bonds, servos subconsciously attempting to reach for the Decepticon.
Tracks had not put up this much of a fight before, when he had been fighting for his freedom.
With every thrust, the Autobot was swinging back into him, driving Soundwave's spike deeper and against sensor nodes not yet touched. The additional stimulation was leaving Tracks gasping and spluttering, fans a fingernails-on-chalkboard level of screeching and chassis burning hotly. And the music -it pounded still, just as loud as ever, the vibrations that would have normally been painful now becoming its own sort of eroticism as it shook and jolted the two mechs from within and without.
He wasn't going to be able to last much longer. Soundwave groaned audibly, frantically thrusting into the clenching valve, on the brink of his overload. And by how tight and how quickly those cables were clamping around his aching spike, it seemed Tracks would meet his own soon enough as well. Primus, it had felt like eternity since he had last interfaced...
Had a valve ever felt this good? This hot, and wet and tight around his thick spike?
Or those screams?
Since when had hearing such desperate, incoherent cries of pleasure ever made him so charged, that he would forgo propriety, even for a few breems, to frag such a delicious aft? And in plain view of others to boot!
Another of said keens tore from Tracks' vocalizer, forcing Soundwave to break his pace and jump into an even more wild one. Clanging drowned out all other noise in his audio receptor, accompanied only by the communications officer's own heavy exhalations and the corvette's frenzied moans. It was a total of five -Soundwave had managed to count them even through the fog of his overheating systems- more thrusts before Tracks let out one final, pitch-breaking wail; cables constricting so tight around his spike, that the tapedeck thought for a worrisome moment that he would be unable to retract it.
But then the gush of steaming lubricants flooding around his spike and trailing out between the gaps, to his pelvic plating below, erased all such things from Soundwave's processor, off-setting the communications officer's own overload.
Tracks whimpered softly as a heavy weight slammed onto his chassis; transfluid burning a projected path up into his valve. The liquid was still coming, swelling and pushing against lax walls now, coating sensor nodes and cables thickly with its almost-sticky consistency. Thought that may have had to do more so with the spike still plugged into his valve, keeping the transfluid bottled up within. Exhausted, the Autobot slumped in his bonds, moaning and hissing every couple astroseconds as the blaring music behind him further rattled excessively sensitized joints and gears.
Oh, Primus... just make it all stop...
Soundwave slowly cycled air, most of his weight leaning against the corvette as he attempted to stay upright. He did not account for his systems to be so thrown out of whack with his release, and now was subject to spending the next couple kliks waiting for his self-repair modules to begin correcting his motor functions so he might as least move again. As of this moment though, the Decepticon's helm was resting pressed to the glass of Tracks' top windshields, where they had developed a layer of condensation from the shear heat. Gaining some control of his limbs again, Soundwave lightly nuzzled against the glass.
The pane was still warm -the spark beneath must have been so swollen with energy that it was taking a long time to expel, leaving the metal pleasantly heated.
That was another thing that the communications officer would need to add to his list. He wondered what Tracks' spark looked like, engorged and pulsing as lust overwhelmed the Autobot's essence...
Slowly, Soundwave lifted himself up; self-repairs almost entirely complete.
Tracks felt movement and groaned softly as the heavy thickness inside of his valve suddenly left. "Close it," came Soundwave's order. There was hardly any doubt in the corvette's processor what the Decepticon was talking about. Practically relieved, the Autobot did as ordered, holding in the moan as his retracting codpiece locked some of the fluids inside of him.
His silenced moan became a gasp of shock, as he lifted his helm, optics flaring brightly as he noticed that the tapedeck stood just inches before him still. Soundwave held his faceplates terrifyingly close to Tracks' and did not seem as if he would be moving anytime soon. Chassis shaking with slight tremors, the corvette attempted to fold into himself and away from that too-close visor, but the mesh of the speaker allowed him no lee-way.
Soundwave liked this look.
Those flustered, energon-tinged cheekplates just below half-shuttered, timid blue optics; accompanied by plump and moist lip components... The communications officer doubted it was a look many were privy to, and he felt lust slither through his circuits again the longer he gazed upon such an expression.
And he had been the only mech to create it...
"SOUNDWAVE!"
The tapedeck visibly cringed at the shriek, anger flashing across his visor. Tracks caught the look and flinched at the furious gaze, thinking for a moment that it was aimed at himself. Thankfully though, Soundwave did not lash out at the corvette, instead raising a servo to his helm.
"Inquiry: What is the problem?"
Starscream hissed over the comm link. "What is taking you so long? Checking on the prisoner does not take a stellar cycle! Return to the command booth at once and man your post!"
Gritting his denta tightly behind his battle mask, Soundwave replied to the shrill demand, "Acknowledged. Return: will be along shortly." Quickly, the communications officer cut the connection; placing a temporary block over the frequency so that Starscream would not be able to reach him again. He had already been disturbed once...
Turning his focus back to the prisoner, Soundwave merely smirked, almost tempted to laugh once more at the blatant fear etched across rouge-coloured faceplates. The rhythm of the music was changing now, slowing down to a more mellow and seductive beat. Soundwave listened with only half an audio as he stepped down from the podium, visor fixed firmly on the bound Autobot. Lubricants and transfluids had already begun to start drying along Tracks' thighs...
Well I...I set my sights on you
(and no one else will do)
And I, I've got to have my way now, baby
(and no one else will do)
And I, I've got to have my way now, baby
He pulled a rag from subspace, running it languidly along both legs. Tracks, expectantly, trembled further at the touch; vocalizer making little chirps of distress. Apparently he assumed the tapedeck would be making another assault on his person, and truth be told, Soundwave really wanted to do so... But Starscream was waiting for his return, and he did not need the annoying jet interrupting him a second time that night.
Pleased that the corvette looked somewhat more presentable -his processor lagged on the words 'no longer fraggable with interface fluids slicking spread thighs'- Soundwave put away the dirty rag, finally turning his back to the Autobot. He could clearly hear Tracks' relief simpering almost joyfully within his helm; certain that the Decepticon would not be coming back for some time and that friends would save him before then.
Soundwave only smirked cruelly, confident that he, Starscream and their prisoner, Tracks, would be long gone before any of the other Autobots discovered the strangeness of the humans' club.
And he would enjoy himself again, the communications officer knew.
As Soundwave waded back through the humans, heading for the staircase that would take him upstairs to the second story landing, the words of the newest song flowed unfiltered into his processor. Never having been one to care for the organics' primitive harmonies, the tapedeck felt this particular piece almost fitting to the situation.
Smirking still, he saved a recording of the song to use for future playback later.
All I know is that to me
You look like you're lots of fun
Open up your lovin' arms
Watch out, here I come
As usual, they had gotten away.
Blaster turned his optics to the sky for a moment, away from the cloud of rising dust, almost as if expecting to see Soundwave or Starscream somewhere on the black canvas. But there was no sight of them, and for that, the boombox was thankful. He didn't want to have to deal with those stupid up-starts again this night... though he could easily admit to anybody that he wouldn't mind another go at Soundwave.
It had felt really good being a little quicker to the punch then his Decepticon opposite this time around.
Turning away from the star-strewn sky, the red Autobot focused his attention back on his fellow comrade and human friends. Apparently, the ones named Pop-lock and Rocksteady were complaining about the sickening aerial spins that Tracks had taken while they were sitting inside his interior, and the one pale human looked like he might purge at any moment. Tracks' human affiliate, Raoul, was busy attempting to get his pals to cool down; subconsciously standing up for the corvette if anything remotely mean slipped past the others' lips.
Surprisingly, Tracks himself was not taking any part in this conversation. Instead, the winged mech had his optics glued to the debris of the Decepticon's latest schemes, gaze strangely distant. Taking care not to interrupt the humans now quite loudly arguing among themselves -the pale one had finally purged, almost splashing his friends' shoes with the splash back- Blaster walked up to Tracks, quietly standing next to the corvette.
"You look to be zoning," the boombox started softly.
He almost flinched himself when he saw the very obvious cringe Tracks gave at his words. Slowly, the blue mech turned his helm, a queer expression on the other Autobot's faceplates. "Forgive me Blaster," Tracks said, apologizing for his behaviour, "I hadn't noticed you slip up beside me."
"No worries, brother," Blaster cheerfully replied, resting a servo on the corvette's shoulder wheel. The boombox grew suddenly solemn, keeping his servo where it rested, but now giving the tire a firm squeeze.
"If anyone should be cranking out the apologies, it should be me," the red Autobot continued, softer this time. "I left you hanging there for some time, while Starscream and Soundwave tried rocking you into scrap-metal."
Tracks caught his optics lingering on the scuffed up paintjob along his frame, especially around his wrists and ankles where the chains had been. "Yes, well," the corvette replied quickly, turning his helm away. "With the exception of some loose bolts and short-circuiting audio receptors, I'd have to say that I'm in a fair shape, all things considering."
Tracks turned his optics back to Blaster, a frown marring his features as he gazed at his scratched up chassis again. "Though I'm in a serious need for a repaint and a good wax. I mean, look at the horror they inflicted on my handsome frame!"
Blaster laughed, glad to see some sort of normality back in the corvette. He had been wondering where that narcsisstic attitude had wondered off to. "Glad to know only your pride was bruised, brother. Now, what are we to do with our little friends there? They be starting to bug on each other something fierce. Hashes my harmony."
Tracks looked over a wing at Raoul and his friends almost bemused, who were indeed increasing their arguing. Apparently all the excitement of the night had given them a massive adrenaline rush, and no proper outlet to expel all that pent-up energy. Glad for the excuse to get away from the conversation they had just been having, the blue mech let out a put-upon sigh, turning to the humans fully.
"Are you going to squabble all night, or will you be coming back to base with us?," the corvette asked over their loud words. Raoul immediately shut up, and even Poplock and Rocksteady copied him. Poplock was holding a hand to his unsteady stomach, eyeing the Autobot warily.
"You ain't gonna be trying any more flips and swirls, are you?," he asked, almost anxiously.
Blaster and Tracks both chuckled at the question. "No, just driving. The kind with wheels touching asphalt," the winged mech assured.
"Well, alright then," Poplock agreed. "As long as its free, who can say no to a ride, yea?" Raoul smirked beside his friend, shaking his head.
"Dude, Tracks is more than just a free ride."
"True that!," Blaster cheered. "Now, what are we waiting for my brothers? Let's be jammin' already!"
Tracks copied Raoul's action, smirking wryly at his fellow comrades' behaviour, shaking his helm momentarily before transforming to alt-mode. Poplock and Rocksteady slipped into the open doors, piling into the back seats while Blaster changed into his boombox form, nestling neatly on the corvette's passenger side at the front. The driver's seat was reserved for Raoul; probably the only person that Tracks would willingly allow to sit there.
His ex-car thief friend took his time walking around the hood, one hand trailing subconsciously along the door's trimming as he slipped onto the plush seat. His touch drew a tremor from the corvette, one that honestly shocked and unnerved Raoul.
"Tracks, buddy, you sure you're alright, my mech?," the human asked, resting his hands on the driver's wheel. Tracks closed the open doors himself, bouncing a little bit on his wheels.
"Y-yes. Yes, I'm fine," the Autobot replied, a slight shake in his vocalizer. He paused, giving enough time to clear the tremble, before continuing. "That speaker left my joints all shaken and my circuits a little sensitive. Don't mind me. I'll be good after a proper maintenance."
"Well, maybe I can do some work on you," Raoul offered, as Tracks steered them out of the compound. "Before you head back to your pals, yeah?"
"I will be most grateful for any external repairs you'd be kind enough to give," the corvette agreed. "But I'm afraid that I will have to withhold on the internals. Not to dismiss any of your fine work, Raoul..."
"Naw man," the teenager waved off his words, "No worries. I know you're not trying to discredit me. But sometimes, you just want to leave those sort of things to the 'professionals'."
"The medically licensed, temperamental ones, yes," Tracks replied, mirth apparent in his tone. "Thank you for understanding, Raoul."
"No problem," Raoul grinned, leaning back in his seat comfortably. "You're my main machine, Tracks. I'll always look out for you buddy." He leaned forward again some, to pat the dashboard assuredly.
Tracks' engine revved at the words, as if to express his gratitude at the touching show of concern, before he gunned it; racing down the deserted city streets and to the make-shift base posted further uptown.
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