Meridian ch 8

[niyazi-a.livejournal.com]

NC-17
IDW AU
Deadlock, Wing, Megatron, Turmoil, Lockdown
sticky, hard dubcon,

“Just a drink,” Megatron said, gesturing Deadlock to sit by him.

Deadlock frowned, but perched himself next to Megatron, hand cupping the cube pushed in front of him.  Resistant but obedient: Deadlock, in other words.  “Don’t need a drink.”

“And what do you need?”

“Mission. A command.”  Not greed, not from Deadlock.

“And here I thought you’d enjoy a break from the war.”

Deadlock glowered into his energon, as though scrying. And not liking what he was seeing. “Don’t need a break.”

“Not even to enjoy your conquest?” A restatement, a barb with a sharper point, one which was rewarded by a sharp hissing in-vent.  “Problems, Deadlock?” He didn’t even bother to try to mask the amusement in his voice.

“No.” Flat, sharp, like a lead slug.  And Megatron didn’t believe it. 

“Has he refused you?” Probing a wound, and examining a weakness he might need to exploit. Oh, he’d never thought, all those years ago, that he’d have mastered this strange unsubtle combat.

“No.” A scowl. “He can’t. He wouldn’t.”

“You want more.”  Megatron ran a thumb over the edge of his cube. “More than ownership. Conquest.”

Deadlock looked up, blue optics blazing like a nova. “Don’t you?”

[***]

“Lockdown.”  Turmoil’s voice was silky, the orange glow of his optics reducing the rest of his masked face into a study of highlights on the vid screen.

Lockdown managed a flat expression, which at least masked his contempt.  Turmoil: some  commander, so inept that his own Second mutinied.  And from all Lockdown had heard, Turmoil had lost control of the unit far, far before.  “What do you want?”

A soft, oily laugh. “Straight to business, are we?”

“Busy.”

“Ah. Busy doing the work of the Decepticon empire.”  Rasping sarcasm.

“I’m loyal enough.”  Oh, this old gibe.  A weapon so dull it didn’t even clunk against his defenses. 

“Enough.”   

“Enough not to get blinded by ideals.” Lockdown made a show of examining his hands. 

“Is that what you think I am?”  Riding the edge between annoyance and amusement.

“Does it even matter what I think?” Lockdown retorted.  Oh, Turmoil was blinded by something, all right.  Blind enough not to see his own biggest enemy as his Second. Blind enough not to see that revenge was fouling his own ambition.

“Not in the least,” Turmoil subsided, his voice forcibly mild. “However.  We have a mutual interest.”

“Do we?” Lockdown sneered, as if he wanted to know what it might be so he could cut it off.

“Deadlock.” 

He couldn’t prevent the sharp snarl from crossing his face. Deadlock.  Arrogant bastard. “What about him?”

Turmoil enjoyed—showily—a laugh.  “I see you’ve encountered his charm.”

“Not paid to like ‘em. Just bring ‘em back.”

“Fair enough.”  Turmoil tilted his head.  “And I imagine you earned your wages, Lockdown.” He said the word ‘wages’ as though it were an obscenity.

“Should have charged extra, yes,” Lockdown said. “Especially since Megatron would have paid it.”  He  leaned back in his seat, propping a knee on the console. “Megatron thinks he’s quite…valuable.”  Twisting that knife in a little deeper.

Turmoil didn’t flinch, but he did manage a sharp glare.  “I don’t doubt it, with Deadlock’s past.”  Trying to taunt Lockdown with knowledge.

Lockdown was tempted.  But not enough to give in to curiosity.  Still, he could hear innuendo, thick as plaster. “Busy mech, then, with that little prize he brought back.”  Why not give Turmoil something else to sour his energon.

“Prize.”

“Oh, yes,” Lockdown smirked, showing a mouthful of teeth. “Dainty little jet.”

“An airframe.” Turmoil tilted his head, openly surprised.

“Jealous?”

A dark snort. “Of course not.”

A lie, and they both knew it.  Turmoil rallied—he hadn’t, Lockdown knew, climbed to the top of the command chain by being slow on the uptake and counterattack.  “It must just warm your spark, Lockdown, that Deadlock is so…happy.” The word was poison in his vocalizer. 

“I’ll admit it chafes.” Why not admit it? It was no secret. 

A brusque nod, as though Turmoil had scored some victory.  “I’ve found,” Turmoil said, settling back, self-satisfied, “that these things have a way of…working themselves out.” A flare of the optics, and Lockdown found himself smirking, leaning forward.

[***]

Deadlock slumped on the berth, staring helplessly at the lump that was Wing, a stream of curses rolling through his processor, along with Megatron’s words. Yes, he did want more than ownership. But…he had no idea what that meant.  Just that he wanted Wing to want him; to look at him the way he had in Crystal City.

He reached over, snatching at one of the wingstruts, jerking it out straight, unfolding the flight panels by force.  Wing cried out, half unrolling from his tight ball.

“Mine,” Deadlock snarled, palm greedy on the flat silver.

“Yes,” Wing whimpered, stilling his wingpanel with effort, a quiet surrender. 

This was not what Deadlock wanted; anger flared over him, and he scraped his hand harshly over the flat metal, gritting into a grin at the sound, at the rigid shudder running through the jet’s frame. His, even if unwilling. His. 

He flung himself at the jet, mouth tearing at the throat, pinning one unprotesting wrist to the berth. A growl of desire and ownership bubbled in his vocalizer, a twisted lust born of thwarted want boiling over him.  “Mine,” he whispered, again, around the sharp bite, his one hand clinging to the wing, the other cupping the white hip against his. 

“Yes,” Wing said, his voice thick with misery, even as he arched up, autoreleasing his interface hatch.  Complete surrender, as Deadlock bucked down, sinking his spike into the valve, feeling the calipers shiver around him.

It still wasn’t enough. He drove himself into the jet’s body, dentae meeting as they ruptured a small fuel line, spike pounding into the snug, quivering valve like a hammer driving in nails of ownership, possession. It felt like it would never be enough: Wing could not surrender enough, debase himself enough, accept enough.

Deadlock snarled, pushing himself off the jet, wrenching his spike from the valve with a sudden motion that left them both gasping in pain. He drove a fist against the berth, the noise sudden and startling, venting his fury on the inanimate metal. 

Wing lay, flat, wings half-spread, face a rictus of pain and despair, optics focusing dully on Deadlock’s rage.  “Sorry,” he whispered. An apology: a state of being. 

“Shut up.”  The words came out hard as knives, but with blades that cut into his own palms.  Deadlock flung himself on the berth, broad back to the light jet, arms folded bitterly over his chassis.  Lust prickled over his sensornet like some plague.

Wing stilled for a long moment, mastering the shock and pain, one hand gingerly brushing over his bruised valve with a wince, before he closed the cover, gently. The gold optics, their luster tarnished and dull, swiveled to Deadlock, the white spaulders, hunched in the dark. He wanted to hate Deadlock; the mech was the murderer of his City, a liar, deceiver, traitor.  He was everything Wing was taught to avoid, everything wrong with the old Cybertron. 

And yet.

And yet, he huddled in pain and loneliness that was any mech’s pain and loneliness, a real, genuine pain that stripped off all his lies, all his actions, leaving a simple, aching spark, a nobody who didn’t even know who he was, much less what he wanted.

And Wing was nothing, worse than nothing: a collaborator in his City’s destruction.  So in a sense it was nothing: a nothing folding around a nobody, as he slipped his arm around the white chassis, his face pressing into the back of the neck, burying his gold optics against the unyielding metal. 

Comments

[ladyofdragons.livejournal.com]

I sob for Wing and his situation. I pity Deadlock for the same reasons Wing does. This is sooo beautifully broken but I am super interested to know where it's going. Turmoil and Lockdown being conspiratorial CAN'T be a good thing.

[acidgreenflames.livejournal.com]

I don't know who's more broken, Wing or Deadlock?

I am very worried about Lockdown and Turmoil conspiring, nothing good will come from that for either Wing or Deadlock.

Great chapter as always! I can't wait to see what happens next.