Xeno

A/N warning: noncon. Please don't read if it triggers bad feelings. :(

Overstep.
What was he going to do about Starscream, Megatron thought. The Air Commander’s insubordination was becoming intolerable. Even with Megatron’s continual force, humiliation, and punishment, he didn’t feel that Starscream had learned his place. Certainly, the jet was obedient enough to Megatron’s desires—he submitted meekly to everything, every humiliation Megatron forced on him, every pain, every punishment. But still, there was a spark of resistance he could not quell in the jet.

And, to be honest, Megatron certainly enjoyed the jet’s submission. He called up some of his favorite memories—Starscream, thrown on his back, spattered with Megatron’s overload; Starscream’s writhing body, desperate to connect, denied his own overload, and whining from the agony.

Still, Megatron missed the jet’s module. Starscream did not deserve to connect with him, not yet. But he missed the hot, light pulse of the jet’s datastream. Oh.

Megatron opened his interface hatch idly. His module’s ready lights glowed ready-green. He touched it, gently, feeling the datastream throbbing from its tip, skipping one of his thumbs across the tip. He could just imagine the feel of Starscream’s access port—the tight fit of the connection, the snug rubber sealing collar. His module pulsed a brighter green. He touched his own access port, feeling his own sealing collar, prodding into the connector. If Starscream were here, maybe he’d let him…just for the sensation.

But Starscream wasn’t here. And these idle thoughts had raised his desire beyond being able to push it aside. He wanted…overload. Simply that.

He roughly jerked his module out of its socket, turning it so that it plugged into his own access port. Ahhhhh. He rolled the sealing collar down snugly over his module’s tip, bearing down on his datastream. Fast and light, like Starscream. So unlike his natural hard, heavy throb. Ah! He grunted as he struggled to control the datastream’s rhythm, but his own awakened desire fought against him. His own pulse took over, hard, solid pulses. Ah, this is what Starscream feels from me, he thought. Thinking of the jet’s reaction to his own module, Megatron shot into overload, the small energon hose jerking in steady pulses as it forced energon through the module, into his own port. Oh, such perversion, he thought. I shall make Starscream pay for driving me to this. He closed his eyes, feeling the energon cycle through his access port. He jerked upright at the loud clearing of vocal processors.

“Barricade!” he yelled, as if he somehow thought if he yelled loud enough, the smaller bot would forget what he’d seen.

“Show up at a bad time?” the smaller bot said, sardonically
Megatron jerked his module out of the access port—hissing at the almost-pain of the sudden disconnect. “Report,” he said, sharply. Barricade merely watched him, one eyebrow raised.

“You sure you’re ready?”

“What in the spark do you mean by that?”

Barricade stepped closer. “Recycling your own energon. Doesn’t do much to relieve the desire, does it?”

“You’d know,” Megatron said, hotly. Everyone suspected Barricade has some crazy fetish. If he weren’t so good at what he did….

“Yes,” Barricade said, flatly. “I would.” He opened his own interface hatch.

“Just what do you think you’re doing?” Megatron sat up, closing his hand over his access port. Barricade pushed his hand away.

“Just explained it to you.” He pushed his module into Megatron’s access port. Smaller than Starscream’s, Megatron noted, almost unwillingly. The sealing collar did not have to stretch around it. Megatron jerked upright. Barricade’s datastream was different—a hard push, followed by a lingering vibration at a lower frequency. Unlike his own. Unlike Starscream’s. Megatron felt his own module respond. He grunted at Barricade’s datastream pulse. He squeezed Barricade’s shoulder, feeling the robot’s smaller, lighter frame. Frail compared to Starscream—one good hit, and Barricade would offline, at least temporarily. Barricade had to know that. Took some kind of courage to plug himself in uninvited. Megatron felt his energy field tingle with something like respect for the smaller bot. But Barricade had been right—recycling his own energon hadn’t brought him any relief. His own module was green lit. He reached for Barricade’s access port.

“No,” the smaller bot said, swatting his hand away. He gave a harder pulse to his datastream.

“You refuse me?” Megatron’s voice grew dangerous. Frustrated.

“Not that way,” Barricade said. He took Megatron’s module into his mouth. Megatron could feel the smaller bot’s glossa twine around his module, making a tight seal, almost like the collar of an access port.

“This way?” Megatron asked, gruffly. His datastream couldn’t resist the simulated access port collar of Barricade’s glossa, and throbbed heavily into Barricade’s mouth. The smaller bot—it must be true. Pervert. Megatron wondered what his fetish was. Why he didn’t double-connect. Not that he minded. This…this was good. The sight of his module in the other robot’s mouth made his module pulse harder, his access port squeeze against the bot’s smaller module. Oh, he’d have to make Starscream do this. The jet’s glossa wrapped around his module—Megatron could see the humiliation in the jet’s eyes. Oh, yes.
Barricade’s gaze was steady, as if he could imagine that Megatron was labelling him a hundred different kinds of perversion. No hint of shame. No hint of humiliation. As if he could see Megatron’s lust for Starscream in his eyes.

Barricade’s eyes flickered closed. His glossa constricted around Megatron’s module, and Megatron felt the hard cold rush of the other bot’s overload energon flood into his access port. It had been—how long? His own overload followed, his module thrusting its energon into the other bot’s mouth. He couldn’t take his eyes away from Barricade’s face, as the other bot took his energon. He groaned, his hand clutching behind Barricade’s head.

Barricade’s glossa unwound from Megatron’s module, slowly. He pulled it from his mouth. “Better,” he said, flatly. Almost as if he hadn’t just swallowed his leader’s overload. No humiliation. As if that was exactly what he’d wanted all along.

Megatron slumped back against the chair, still in the throes of his overload, his mind full of how he could replay that with Starscream.

Barricade disconnected his module from Megatron’s port. A little leak of his energon, mixed with Megatron’s, coated the inside of the sealing collar, colored the tip of his module. He looked altogether too relaxed.

“Pervert,” Megatron hissed, tucking his module in his hatch.

Barricade tilted his head, meeting Megatron’s eyes steadily. He lifted his energon-coated module to his mouth, and slowly traced the tip with his glossa, tasting their blended energon, tweaking the tip of his own module. His frame shivered from an aftereffect of the overload on his sensitive module. “Yes,” he said, simply.


Punishment.
No, this wasn’t right, Barricade thought. He was supposed to be at his recharging station. Where was he? All he knew was that it wasn’t his recharge. And that was not a wall—that was the ceiling. That meant he was lying down. He tried to sit up. Failed. Something a bit like fear tic’d up in his capacitor. He couldn’t move. His arms, his legs, they simply didn’t respond. Whatever it was, he upgraded it from ‘not right’ to ‘very bad’.

“Ah,” a voice that should have been familiar to Barricade said from beyond his field of vision. “I see you’re awake.”

“Megatron?” He was surprised his voice worked, but was dismayed at how…rattled he sounded.

“That’s ‘my lord’ to you. That’s your problem, actually—why you’re here. Not showing me proper respect.”

“M—my lord? When?”

Megatron loomed into view. “You know when. You approached me. You interfaced with me—well, in that sick way you have.”

Oh shit. Barricade had known he’d regret that. “You…I recall you enjoyed it.”

Wrong answer. Megatron slammed his hands down on either side of the shift pallet Barricade was on. “I do not enjoy interfacing with filth!”

“Much better with Starscream, is it? Grovelling get you off?”

“I would not talk like that in…your position.”

“I’m not talking my way out of…whatever you’ve got planned no matter what I do.” Barricade said, flatly.

“True.”

“Get it over with.”

“You seem so nonchalant about it now. Let’s see how well you hold onto that attitude.” He forced a kiss on the smaller bot, his gold glossa prying into Barricade’s mouth, forcing him to almost gag around it. He turned his head away, or tried to.

Megatron broke the kiss, pulling Barricade’s smaller glossa out of his mouth with a loop of his own, He squeezed it against his dental plates—hard enough to hurt, not hard enough to be unendurable. He raked his hands down Barricade’s sides. Barricade hissed, the sound of metal on metal . Megatron dropped his glossa. It throbbed in Barricade’s mouth from the bite. He wished he could squirm, but even his main spinal core responded feebly—less than half-power. Megatron had done a hell of a sensor block on him.

The larger bot snapped open Barricade’s hatch with rough fingers, scratching the paint. “You think,” Megatron said, “you’re too good to take a module. My module.” He popped his own hatch. “You’re not. I will show you.” He drove his module hard into Barricade’s access port, the soft collar buckling. Barricade bit down on a cry. Sensor block or not, his whole body rang with pain in the same beat as Megatron’s heavy datastream pulse. He bit his own labial plating against it, helpless against it. Primus it hurt. It hurt worse than he remembered. Already his video receptors were fuzzing out on him, to the same insistent pulse of Megatron’s datastream. He made a choking sound.

Megatron dug his claws into Barricade’s module. The smaller bot shrieked with pain. Too much. It was just too much. He didn’t care how he looked any more, what Megatron thought of him. He just wanted it to stop. He began hoping he’d pass out. IT had happened before. Anything, to avoid being in this.

Megatron roared, bucking his hips back. Barricade felt the module jerk from his access port as the larger bot overloaded, his energon spraying cold and bitter all over Barricade’s hatch, his side. Barricade cried out.

“I hear,” Megatron said, “You’ve blacked out from that before. True?”

Barricade couldn’t stop shaking. “True,” he breathed.

“Don’t want you to black out. Yet.” Oh dear spark, this wasn’t over. Barricade squeezed his eyes shut.
“Made a mess, Barricade,” Megatron said. “And since I know how much you like the taste of my overload, clean it up.”

Barricade glared at him for a long moment, but his body kept shaking. He had no choice. Slowly, hating himself, he extended his glossa and began licking Megatron’s overload off his body.

“Like that, don’t you?” Megatron said. “Filthy thing.” Barricade closed his eyes, concentrating on the cool tingle of the energon. The familiar, vaguely erotic sensation soothed him. How many times had he had his own?

Megatron seized his glossa, dragging it lower. “Start here. I’m going to fuck you again, and I want your port clean.” Barricade could see Megatron’s module was already halfway greenlit. He was going to fuck him again. And this was arousing him. Get it over with, he thought, but that seemed awfully bold right now.

His glossa, trembling, curled up around his port. “Clean.” Megatron said. His mouth was parted, his own glossa protruding slightly. He was getting really turned on. Barricade licked his port, quivering at the rush of sensation. The port’s sealing collar ached, but responded to his glossa’s light, tremulous touch. He curled the glossa into his mouth, swallowing the energon. “More,” Megatron breathed. “Not done yet.”

Barricade’s glossa worked around the access port, sweeping it clear of energon. He bit down on a moan. He tried being rougher, but that hurt too much. So he was left with soft caresses, that aroused him against his will. His glossa slid over to his module, greenlit and throbbing in its catches, also dripping with Megatron’s overload. Megatron watched as Barricade licked the module’s tip, his eyes closing briefly. His black glossa curled protectively around his module, caressing the spot Megatron’s claws had hurt it.

“Enough,” Megatron said. Barricade froze. Megatron loomed over him again, module in his hand. He ran the tip of his module along the length of Barricade’s extended glossa. They both shuddered, Barricade hating himself. “I am going to fuck you now,” he said. “Until you pass out. However long that takes: I suspect not long. Then I will do it again while you are passed out.” He pushed his module into the access port. His datastream was already pulsing hard. Barricade gasped. No, it wouldn’t take long for him to pass out. He writhed in agony. “Then,” Megatron whispered, his voice aroused, “I will let you wake up. Just to fuck you into unconsciousness again. I wonder how long we could keep that up? Cycles? Your only memory vague snatches of me taking you against your will.” The thought aroused Megatron—his datastream began pounding. Barricade could barely make sense of Megatron’s words. Megatron braced himself over Barricade, his hand on the smaller bot’s chest. He licked his way down Barricade’s glossa, which writhed like a snake. Barricade heard himself sobbing, heard Megatron pant, and then felt the cold fire agony of Megatron overloading in his port, but from a distance.

Barricade was still sobbing when he came to. Every part of him screamed pain at him, but none more than his access port, disconnected, at least for the moment. He gulped in ventilation, panting, trying to get control of himself. Megatron’s first overload was drying to stickiness across his chassis, itching his module where it had been scratched.

“Awake, finally,” Megatron said. “Good fuck, when you’re unconscious,” he said, enjoying the expression of rage and humiliation on Barricade’s face. “But you know, I liked better overloading in your mouth. THAT was perverse. But I liked it. This, this was to teach you a lesson. You do not connect with me uninvited. Ever. Do you hear me?”

Barricade quivered. He didn’t have the strength for any backtalk right now, even if he could endure another round of Megatron’s module. “Yes. I understand.”

“Good.” Megatron’s hands drifted to Barricade’s module, sticky with his energon. Another kind of pain—his traitorous module throbbing with desire, having sat right next to…how many overloads? “I hear,” Megatron said, turning the module over in his hands, “You like to take yourself. In your mouth.”

Barricade sighed. “Yes.”

“Do it.”

Barricade set his face. “I’ve learned my lesson.”

“Do it, and I’ll let you go. Don’t do it, and we’ll see how much longer I can take you. Or you can take me.” He pinched Barricade’s access port hard. Barricade’s eyes stung. “I’ve even returned some control to your hands for the occasion,” Megatron said. Barricade flexed his fingers. It was true. A brief, insane thought crossed his mind, taking a swing at Megatron, hitting him, giving him pain for what he’d done. But really? Could the one or two hits he’d possibly get in make up for…what he’d just gone through? There was no path of least resistance. It was the only path left.

He uncoupled his module. You can do this, he told himself. This is one thing you know how to do. And Megatron wants a show. He wants to be shocked? Shock him. Barricade paused, licking the module free of energon, then licking the stuff off his fingers. Megatron’s eyes glowed. Barricade raised the module up, tracing the connector cables with his glossa down to the hatch, giving a soothing caress to his access port. Not again, he told it. Never again. As Megatron watched, Barricade spiralled his glossa around the module, squeezed it, and then unspiralled, wrapping the other way. The larger bot’s ventilation started coming faster. Who is the pervert now? Barricade thought. But he felt a little more in control. He wrapped the glossa loosely around the module, and then drew the module down the length, so the module felt the whole length of the glossa rub against it. He shivered in spite of himself. His module green lit, pulsing harder. “This what you wanted to see?” he asked, his voice husky even in his own processors.

“Keep going,” Megatron said.

Barricade wrapped the module again, full length, not just the tip, and delicately prodded the node at the end. He felt a familiar jump in his sensor net. Megatron twitched, too, his eyes wide. His own glossa twisted, as if imagining wrapping itself around his own module. Barricade shuddered. “Soon,” he said, to Megatron, and drew the module in his mouth. Megatron leaned forward. The connecting cables dangled from Barricade’s labial plates, which wasn’t much to see, but Megatron’s gaze was intense. Long habit took over in Barricade—he squeezed and stroked the module with his glossa, pressing it with the long, flexible organ or rubbing it against the inner dental plates with long practice. His eyes closed. His datastream began buzzing harder and louder. He whimpered, quietly. He’d had to teach himself to be quiet, all those years huddled in empty rooms or snatching a few terrifying minutes in his recharge station.

His overload shot into his mouth, the connector hose twitching hard and fast against his mouth. He heard Megatron growl. He swallowed his energon in slow parcels this time, drawing it out for Megatron. He normally did it hard and fast—get it over with, get rid of the evidence of your perversion. But now that perversion was his only source of power with Megatron. He ran his glossa out of his mouth, showing some of the energon on it, teasing the connector cables, hearing Megatron shift uncomfortably. Yes, Barricade thought. You were turned on by my disgusting act. What does that make you?

He drew the module slowly from his mouth, unwrapping his glossa languorously. His eyes met Megatron’s. This, Barricade thought, he could handle. He swept the lower contour of the module with his glossa, and then, as Megatron watched, he prodded the node at the tip. One last spurt of energon, down his glossa, dripping onto his chest plate, bright blue against his black paint and glossa. He made a sound deep in his throat.

“Oh Primus,” Megatron breathed.