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It wasn’t clear how long it had been since the Decepticons won the war. After Autobot Prowl had been killed on a top-secret mission infiltrating the Decepticons’ warship, the tide of the war was swiftly turned to favour the enemy. Blurr couldn’t fathom why Prowl was sent instead of him, when he was the perfect option for the job. If he was sent, he would have led the Autobots to success.
If he was sent, he wouldn’t be sitting on the enemy’s lap, watching with a sullen droop to his optics as Shockwave buried himself in his work instead of paying attention to his pet.
The first day he reawoke in a frame so close but so different to his own, he wasn’t quite sure what to make of it. His spark chamber ached sometimes, when he was taken out to the track to run until his vents heaved for air. He didn’t tell Shockwave about it. If he died from a frame error one day, it would be better than… this.
A collar sat firmly around his neck. He had long since come to accept that the war was over, and Shockwave rewarded him kindly with all kinds of new accessories. The collar, made of pure silver, gleamed in the warmth of the overhead light. On the underside, pressed against the sensitive mesh on his neck, engraved Shockwave’s name.
It warmed his chassis to brush his digitips against it. It reminded him that he belonged. He had never belonged before.
He really couldn’t be too unhappy about the Decepticons winning. He never had a home within the Autobots. The only one to treat him with any respect was his boss, Longarm Prime, and, well, he turned out to be an enemy spy. His loyalty was to his boss, so it was only natural that he complied to Shockwave’s whims.
After all, he only ever worked to spoil his pet. Even though Blurr still awoke at night, gasping for air and clutching at his chassis in sheer terror, convinced the walls were closing around him. Even though Blurr still trembled with terror when he looked at that red optic, that gaze that seemed to bore deep into his spark.
Shockwave shifted slightly, running a single claw over Blurr’s spine to soothe any complaint he may have mustered. Despite his submission, Blurr maintained his hard-to-please attitude when he felt safe enough to do so – which was often, these days. His fear of Shockwave lessened into something softer, more tender.
He looked up at Shockwave, optics round. There wasn’t much to be found in his expression. There never was. They had talked about it once, on one of their many outings. He had long since had his emotional capacity lessened, but he cared about Blurr despite how dull it was.
His spark warmed at the thought. He was cared about; he was loved. Had he ever been loved before?
“Soon, little one,” Shockwave murmured, half-distracted by the datapad in front of him. “I’m almost done.”
Blurr exvented and laid his helm on Shockwave’s chest. He curled in on himself, tucking his arms in and folding his legs. Heat coiled in his pelvis at the mere thought of how small he was compared to his owner; he could curl up in his lap perfectly, and when those arms wrapped around him, he could hide from the world.
A strange sense of safety that really shouldn’t have been there, considering everything Shockwave had done to him, blossomed throughout his frame. Reflecting on the war was futile now that it was over. He should focus on his simple but pleasant life with Shockwave and stop mulling over pointless things like fighting and terror and lives lost.
Shockwave continued petting him with that claw as he worked. Eventually, the rhythm had Blurr’s lids drooping over dimmed optics. His new frame was more sensitive than his old one, especially along the sensor net in his spine and the crest on his helm. It meant that all Shockwave had to do was gently brush along it and he was shivering with contentment.
The world around him dulled and faded in and out, until claws around his waist picked him up. His optics opened and flitted about the room as Shockwave stood, tucking him protectively, possessively in his arms. The door to his office swept open automatically, and then they were in the hall of the main base.
Blurr wasn’t often allowed to roam. He had long since grown used to letting himself be carried around. Unless he was on the track, running after whatever Shockwave had built to engage his pursuit protocols, he didn’t get to stretch his legs very much. The rocking used to stress him out, but now it only soothed his relaxed processor to rest.
“Wake up, Blurr.”
A soft little noise escaped Blurr as he onlined his optics. The room they were in was instantly recognizable as their berthroom, but he wasn’t where he expected to be. His pedes rested against padding, and his back was propped up against the headboard of Shockwave’s berth. His spark whirred.
He was never allowed on the berth. He normally recharged on a small pad at the foot of the berth, but on the floor regardless. It was a lonely spot to recharge, but he liked that he could watch the door from his pad and make sure that nobody intruded on them.
Shockwave watched as Blurr shifted, peering over the edge of the berth. It was higher up than he would’ve liked, and much bigger than he was used to. Then again, Shockwave was a Decepticon. It made sense that he had a berth his size.
“You’ve been good, Blurr,” Shockwave said approvingly, and Blurr’s gaze snapped hopefully up to him. “You may recharge with me from now on.”
“Thank you, sir,” Blurr said automatically.
He never quite broke the habit of calling Shockwave – Longarm – his superior. It simultaneously left a sour taste in his intake and had hot desire coiling in his fuel tanks. It was wrong– Longarm was dead, Longarm never existed but Shockwave, oh, Shockwave…
Blurr shuffled forwards, staring at Shockwave imploringly until those claws lifted and he could nuzzle his helm into them. His engine purred embarrassingly loudly as claws traced his sensory crest, sending shocks of soft pleasure through his frame. The way his lower half wiggled was vaguely reminiscent of an Earth-canine; if he was a lesser mech, he would've hid his face out of sheer shame.
“Good pet,” Shockwave praised, running his claw down Blurr’s spine.
He arched into the touch with a satisfied little hum, optics dimming. The collar around his neck hung heavy, comfortingly. It was a stronger make. Put together back in the early days of his captivity so that he couldn't shake or rip it off. It was no longer a source of discomfort; now, all he felt was a warm sense of belonging.
“Sir?”
“Yes, little one?”
Blurr pulled back from the touch to roll onto his back. His legs spread, propped up on his heels, to put himself on display for his owner. The glimmer in his optics brightened, and Shockwave took a deep vent to remain in control of himself. It was very difficult for Shockwave to control himself around Blurr, he'd said that enough times for it to be memorable.
“Why don't we… make this berth ours officially?”
Shockwave’s optic glowed, a sure sign that he was ready to devour what lay before him. Confidence surged through Blurr, and he shot a satisfied little smirk up at his owner. One servo strayed between his legs to rest on his heated interface panel, while the other reached for Shockwave.
He obliged to the gesture, leaning forwards until his large frame hovered over Blurr’s much smaller one. Blurr nuzzled his helm against Shockwave’s and grabbed ahold of his claws, gently guiding them downwards. Desperation made his panel slide to the side within seconds, much to his further embarrassment. He didn't let it show on his face.
Shockwave liked it when his pet was a little cocky.
Sharp talons trailed along sensitive seams, occasionally dipping in to pluck at wires. Blurr exvented, allowing his helm to fall back against the padding on the headboard of the berth. His thoughts raced— Shockwave’s claws felt good, but he longed to dive into it and feel him inside. To be fragged until his processor stopped working.
“Sir— please- I need to feel you, I need to feel more than just this,” Blurr whined, canting his hips imploringly.
Shockwave chuckled against his neck. “Patience.”
His other servo clutched Blurr by the waist, stroking vulnerable mesh in what was supposed to be soothing circles but actually left small little scratches in the metal. The slight sting served to ground him, though, so he didn't complain. He never did, even when it left marks. It left marks often.
Marks that other ’cons would stare at when he passed, tucked behind Shockwave’s arms like some kind of shy sparkling. They never quite understood why Shockwave kept an Autobot pet, up until Megatron took that Prime as his. Then, all of a sudden, the muttering became sideways glances filled with silent judgement. Megatron was the turning point. Of course he was.
Then Shockwave tugged at a certain wire, and charge zapped up his spine. His intake opened in a breathless moan and his legs fell further apart, stretching his hip joints almost uncomfortably. Lubricant leaked from his valve; dark mesh shone with damp liquid, highlighting the bright blue of his anterior node.
He wanted to cry. Tears prickled in the corners of his optics and he whined, as if it would make Shockwave any more merciful. He was a cruel lover, perfectly content to tease and tease until there was nothing left of Blurr to frag. Even as he wriggled and clutched at Shockwave, there was no mercy to be found.
Wires and cables plucked like the strings of a guitar, rippling charge through his fuel lines with electric pleasure. He was nothing more than a toy to be played with until he was broken, and then cast aside to be fixed later. It was a wonderful revelation to have, as dismaying as it was, and he cried with the heat of it all.
“Sir,” he sobbed, “please stop teasing me, please, I can’t take it anymore I just can’t I need to feel you inside please it hurts–”
A soft rumble rolled through Shockwave’s chassis, silencing Blurr’s complaints immediately. He whimpered with fear, shrinking in on himself. Gone was the cocky attitude, replaced with submission crafted carefully so long ago. There were only so many buttons to push, and displeasing his owner was hardly a fun game.
Except when it was, and they could play it all night. When Shockwave was in one of his patient moods, he could often be more sadistic than when he was easily displeased. And Blurr liked seeing how many boundaries he could push and how far he could push them. Tonight wasn’t one of those nights.
He needed it.
There was no game to play when he needed so desperately, and he wasn’t getting what he needed. It was enough to make a grown mech cry!
“I’m sorry, Sir,” Blurr amended, turning his gaze bashfully. “I won’t do it again.”
Shockwave’s dangerous growl turned into a pleased hum, then– Oh, finally-
One claw, long and sharp, dipped between his valve lips to trace his entrance. He keened and clutched Shockwave’s shoulders. The look that he gave was pure gratitude. It still wasn’t enough, not really, but if Shockwave kept going like he was and if that claw just went a little further, he would–
A moan spilled from his intake. He arched into the claw sliding into his valve, relished in the burn of serrated metal against vulnerable mesh. There had always been a certain thrill in taking Shockwave in all of his danger, and the pleasure-pain that mingled in his sensors only heightened that thrill. He felt like he could fly on it.
The previous anticipation made it so much better. Pleasure rocked through his systems, spiralling through his chassis until he was left gasping. Another claw prodded at his entrance, stretching his callipers to make room for it. He wriggled and moaned, vents hitching, and that was it.
His first overload washed over him in waves that left his vision white and his digits clutching at the berth padding. Sparks flew across his frame, white-hot pleasure burnt in his core, and he sobbed. It was almost too much, but Shockwave kept going, wiggling his talons in until it was all Blurr could do to sit there and moan.
The sensitivity of his frame was suspicious; almost as if Shockwave had deliberately designed his new sensory net to flare with sensation at every faint touch. It meant that he overloaded much quicker than he did before, and much more intensely at that. Not that it was a bad thing. He actually quite enjoyed it.
“Pretty thing,” Shockwave cooed.
Blurr groaned, his helm lolling. “All for you, Sir,” he said, pure instinct driving the words from his vocalizer.
“Good.”
Those claws didn’t relent. They would wrench overload after overload from his frame, until he was bawling and pleading for mercy. It was such a familiar routine that his frame knew it before his processor did.
It was a busy day in the Decepticon base. Shockwave woke Blurr up in the morning, snapped his leash in place, and carried him to his office all without a word. His anxious yammering in the silence did nothing to deter Shockwave from the treatment. He pointed out simple, obvious things, like the fact that Shockwave’s mood was sour and that the datapad he kept looking at had a message from Megatron bold and clear on it.
He didn’t snoop, he really didn’t. But it had been his job once, his life, to obtain information and report it back, so it was second nature at times. Shockwave told him that it was nothing to worry about – it was what his job was, and he wouldn’t be so cruel as to train his pet out of a job.
So when he peered over the edge of the datapad and read that there was an order for Shockwave to pick something up from Megatron’s office, he wasn’t reprimanded. But he did feel a trickle of fear run down his spine at the thought of being anywhere near the Decepticon Lord. He might have gotten accustomed to the others, but Megatron was something different. Something new, something scary. Something that could kill him– or worse.
Unfortunately for him, it didn’t seem like he was going to be spared. Shockwave stopped directly outside the office and put Blurr down, rubbing a servo across the top of his helm reassuringly. He barely spared Blurr a look before he was clicking open the door. Megatron came into view, and Blurr’s spark spun faster than it had in a while.
Shockwave glanced at him, then tugged the leash. Gently, at first, then more determinedly when Blurr bristled and refused to budge. His optic hardened with displeasure, but he still didn’t say anything. Didn’t reprimand him, didn’t scold him, didn’t reassure him. Nothing.
Blurr eventually stumbled into the room, given no choice with the pressure around his neck. He stuck close to the door, though, as if he could bolt if Megatron became a threat. Shockwave didn’t push him, luckily, and instead turned his focus to his master. The easy way he dipped his helm in a bow was repulsive.
It reminded Blurr that he really did lose.
“My Lord,” rasped Shockwave in lieu of a greeting.
Megatron merely nodded at him. Blurr blinked in his direction, then allowed his gaze to wander throughout the office. It was fairly cluttered, mostly with trophies from the various nations he’d conquered. Vosian gold, silver from the mines of Kaon, a bright blue gem that must have been from Tarn based off the small label in front of it.
And then his trophy from Iacon, sitting on a pad in the corner: Optimus Prime.
Blurr had heard about Megatron’s pet, of course he had. It was hard not to. He may have been the best intelligent agent that the Autobots had to offer outside of Longarm Prime himself, but he was no Prime. News travelled fast that a Decepticon captured a Prime and took him as a pet.
There Optimus sat, legs crossed and servos folded neatly in his lap, attentive but quiet. His optics traced the conversation between Shockwave and Megatron, entirely ignorant of Blurr. Something cold stirred in his chassis. He must have been trained to ignore other mechs. Either that, or he was more uncomfortable with Blurr’s presence than he was willing to let on.
Curious and content to leave the business matters to his owner, Blurr crossed the distance between them. Optimus jolted when he came into his line of sight but still didn’t look at him, even when he crouched in front of the former Prime and squinted at him. His optics were dulled in a sort of sad, defeated way.
Was he not enjoying his captivity like Blurr was?
“Optimus Prime,” he greeted, gently, to try and coax him into talking.
Optimus winced and looked at him, frowning deeply. “Don’t call me that. It's Orion now.”
He blinked, then sat down in front of Optimus– Orion. His legs crossed and something in his spark twisted. It wasn’t fair. None of it was. Blurr was happy now, happier than he’d ever been in his life. But he lived a long, sad life, and there was no part of his containment that was fair.
“I’m sorry,” he breathed. “I wish there was more I could’ve done.”
The pain in Orion’s expression tightened into a pinched scowl. “There was nothing to do.”
Hesitantly, Blurr shuffled closer, until he could crawl onto the pad and sit beside Orion. They stayed there together, shoulder-to-shoulder, until Shockwave tugged on his leash and said it was time to go. And as he left the room, he cast a long, sad look in Orion’s direction.
Blurr cried out in a choked sob as his helm was shoved against berth padding. He clutched at it desperately, as if it would do anything to soothe the way that his body rocked with the force of Shockwave’s thrusts. His valve strained around that spike painfully, callipers stretched further than they would've been if he only used his talons.
Everything hurt. Tears streamed down his cheeks, wetting the pad below him. It was all he could do not to fight against the pain. Shockwave’s grip on his helm tightened and the rumbling in his chassis intensified, vibrating throughout Blurr’s frame. A broken moan wrenched from his vocalizer.
He rocked his hips back, forcing himself a little deeper on that spike, and then immediately regretted it. It hurt. But it was supposed to be a punishment, it was supposed to hurt— he had been bad, and he was going to pay for it. Not a single part of him regretted his actions.
There was some sick satisfaction in the burn. Heat pooled in his pelvis and coiled around his spark, and he had half a processor to just beg for more. But if he enjoyed it too much, Shockwave would only make things worse for him. He kept his intake firmly shut aside from the occasional whimper or moan and relished in the little sensation he was granted.
“After everything I do for you,” Shockwave was saying, “you repay me by running.”
Honestly, Blurr hadn't even meant to run. It wasn't a plan or an escape attempt; if it had been, he would've brought Orion with him. Shockwave had clicked the leash off of him while they were outside, and he didn't think before his pedes were kicking against the ground and he took off.
It had taken Shockwave an hour to find him. When he had, he grabbed Blurr by the collar furiously and ignored his choked protests. He dragged Blurr back to his quarters, threw him on the berth, and demanded that he open his panel.
Despite everything, Blurr did have fun. It always felt good to run; to feel the wind against his sensory crest, to rev his engine and stretch cables that hardly got to be used like they needed to be. He didn't regret a thing, and he definitely didn't hate watching Shockwave lose his composure to something so simple as a bit of misbehaviour.
“I’m sorry, sir,” Blurr moaned, not meaning it a bit.
Shockwave snarled against his audial and punctuated it with a sharp thrust, relishing in Blurr’s resulting gasp. His claws tightened around that slender waist, clutching him tightly enough that he could barely wriggle. He was so much stronger than Blurr, it almost wasn't fair. The only advantage he had was his speed, and look where that got him.
He kicked his pedes back, spreading his legs further to try and coax Shockwave further into him. Sharp zaps of charge ran up his spine, blurring his vision and making it harder and harder to think about anything except for the pleasure devouring his spark. Each buck of his hips built charge higher and higher.
Then his vision cut and he cried, overloading in sparks of sheer white-hot pleasure. His vents heaved as his frame trembled in Shockwave’s grasp, making his claws dig a little tighter into vulnerable mesh. He would definitely have marks to show off for it. The thought only made him overload harder.
“Good,” Shockwave said, a little breathlessly, and rocked his hips again. “Let’s see how many more we can coax out of you, hm?”
Blurr’s helm lolled and he let out a pained little whimper. “Please, sir,” he begged. “Please, please– mercy, I’m sorry, please—”
Shockwave’s patience was almost eerie in nature. He hummed and nuzzled the edge of his helm into Blurr’s neck, but he didn’t stop the steady rhythm his hips were singing in Blurr’s valve. Overstimulation rocked him breathless and left pain stinging in his core, but begging wasn’t getting him anywhere.
Still, he wasn’t one to be quiet. His pleading was occasionally interrupted with a choked moan as more charge rippled through his frame. He reached up, wrapping his legs around Shockwave to pull him closer. The heat between their two frames was enough to make his fans kick on a higher notch than before, and he whined helplessly.
“I won’t stop until you learn your lesson, pet,” Shockwave murmured into his audial. “I hope you can withstand more than this.”