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shadow_vector2010-05-17 06:06 am
Manipulation
NC-17
Bayverse: Interrogation AU
Vortex/Breakdown Barricade
Dubcon, dom/sub, humil, voy/exhib, sticky
“You,” Vortex said, running a deliberately insolent hand over Barricade’s pelvic frame, “will report to me on what you’ve learned.”
Other than that you’re insane? Barricade though. “Not sure why you’re doing this. He’s not an Autobot.” He kept himself still. Not responding at all. He had learned better.
“You really think our only enemies are external?” Vortex leaned down, nuzzling against Barricade’s facial crest. “Do not ever be fooled by a label or an insignia, Barricade. You won’t survive long.”
Right. Like you care. He shrugged, which was as far as he went in showing his contempt at Vortex’s ‘concern’.
Vortex pulled back. “Why don’t you ever initiate contact with me?”
Uhhhh, because I hate you? Barricade didn’t doubt for a second that Vortex knew that. He was—and though Barricade hated to admit it, he had to—very good at reading everyone else. So either he was somehow miraculously blind when it came to Barricade, or he knew it and just didn’t care. Maybe even enjoyed it. He shrugged again. Vortex pushed him back against the wall, rubbing his chassis over Barricade’s grille.
“It would mean so much to me if you did, you know,” Vortex murmured.
Yeah. Barricade didn’t doubt that either. Would mean a complete victory: Barricade submitting entirely. Not just tolerating but inviting Vortex’s contact. “More important things to do right now, don’t you?” he muttered.
“Nothing is more important than training you,” Vortex smiled, sweeter than antifreeze. Probably, in his own mind, a true statement. Barricade couldn’t spot any sign of deception. Then again, it was possible that Vortex had entirely removed the concepts of truth and falsehood from his cortical programming.
“Fine,” Barricade said, flatly. “So train me.”
Vortex pinched one of Barricade’s projecting chin finials, as though he’d said something entirely endearing. “Right. Your job will be to sit and observe. Don’t interfere, no matter what. You’ll throw it off.”
“Wouldn’t it be better if I observed from somewhere…not seeable?” You know. Remove the temptation?
“What would you learn about self-control that way?” Vortex’s visor darkened ominously, though the voice was still light. Right. Never get too comfortable with him, Barricade, you idiot. Barricade knew when not responding was his best option. Vortex gazed at him for a long moment, then tapped him on the shoulder tire—more than enough to sting. Yes, Barricade thought, got the message.
***
“Who’s that?” the white and blue grounder stared suspiciously at Barricade, who had propped himself up against the corner.
“That,” Vortex said, airily, “is no one.” Barricade could feel the visor’s optics on him, goading him for any flicker of reaction. No. Barricade remained immobile. He tapped the back of a chair. “Have a seat, Breakdown. Relax.”
Right. Breakdown, relax. If Barricade didn’t know any better, he might think that Vortex was showing a flash of humor.
Breakdown eyed the chair suspiciously, as if expecting it to be rigged to blow. Yeah, well, apart from not being Vortex’s style—too simple and not painful enough to just blow someone up—at least he knew enough to mistrust the dark-armored copter.
Vortex stood up again from the chair he’d settled down on. “Or you could have mine.” Breakdown wavered, trying to figure out if the first chair were the ruse, or the second one. Nicely paranoid. Thing was, however, they both were. The ruse was there was no ruse, Barricade thought: just setting Breakdown against himself. Vortex had done his homework.
And Barricade was once again in the uncomfortable position of almost admiring something Vortex did.
Breakdown eventually perched, gingerly, on one chair, the doors mounted on his forearms twitching. Terrible at masking his emotion.
Vortex settled himself on the table, using his already-greater height to loom over Breakdown. “So,” he said, his voice entirely conversational. The split, as he’d explained it—in a rare moment when he’d bothered to actually explain anything—between voice and body affect could be immensely disconcerting. Which in Vortex terms meant a very good thing. “I suppose you’re a little nervous. Only natural. But there’s nothing to be worried about.” His optics flashed in what might have been a wink, or just as easily a flicker of amusement at his own joke. Even Barricade couldn’t decide that one.
“I’ve done nothing wrong!” Breakdown blurted.
Vortex gave his fake-happy laugh. “Oh, nonsense. Everyone’s done something wrong in their lives, Breakdown.” He tilted his head. “I mean, haven’t you?”
“Well…yeah,” Breakdown said, uneasily. “Of course I have. I mean…,” he trailed off.
Vortex shrugged. Barricade knew him too well—could see it for an act, almost like it was a veneer or a cheap topcoat to his enamel. “We all have.” Trying to pull Breakdown in, just a little bit more. “I mean, we all do our best, but none of us are perfect, right?” He leaned closer, dropping his voice conspiratorially. “I’ve done a few wrong things myself, you know. But, well,” a showy shrug, “For my team. Always for my team, you know?”
Riiiiiight. Vortex wouldn’t flick a rotor for anyone or anything other than Vortex.
“Yeahhhh,” Breakdown said, slowly, as if tasting the word. Hope it tastes good, that bait, Barricade thought, because that hook is going to really hurt when he starts hauling you in by it. “For the team.”
Vortex’s visor shifted slightly and Barricade suddenly wondered if the point of him being here wasn’t to keep being tested on masking response. Would he ever pass that to the copter’s satisfaction? Sure, part of him wanted to rail at the idiot Stunticon to be just a little bit less stupid, but…well, not enough to actually care. He had a pretty good idea by now what would happen if he blew an interrogation for Vortex. He did not care for a repeat. Let Breakdown’s own paranoia save himself. Or not. None of Barricade’s business.
Just in case he had any doubts, Vortex sealed it by his next words. “You know they’d do the same for you, right?”
Breakdown blanched. Oh yeah, Barricade thought. Breakdown was a goner. The other grounder nearly jibbered.
“Of course they would,” Vortex supplied. “I’m sure you’re a great teammie.” Just long enough to let that penetrate. Breakdown twitched. Frag, Barricade thought. Is that how obvious I was? Vortex laughed again. A little bit more genuine. Why not? He was certainly enjoying himself. “Relax, Breakdown.”
“Relax?” The grounder twitched again, as though that were some sort of profanity.
“Yeah. There’s nothing to be so uptight about.” He hopped down off the table and began strolling around the small room. Breakdown’s optics flicked from Vortex to Barricade and back. Vortex ambled up behind Breakdown, one hand idly reaching to spin one of the tires mounted flat on the grounder’s shoulder. Breakdown jumped. “This is just a friendly briefing. You know. Welcoming you to the ship and all.”
Barricade watched Breakdown struggle, unsuccessfully, with the conflict between word and action. “W-welcoming me.”
“Yes. We’re a very friendly ship here,” Vortex purred. Despite all his training, Barricade had to restrain himself from laughing. Or punching. Right. Super friendly. “I ever tell you I have a thing for grounders?”
“N-no.” NO, Barricade echoed. Of course not. In the two hundred klicks of your acquaintance, somehow the topic never came up. Astounding! Seriously. Breakdown was really beginning to deserve what he was going to get.
“What about you?” Vortex leaned over, his voc vibrating against Breakdown’s audio. “You like grounders?” He ran one hand down Breakdown’s arm. “Anyone on your team, in particular?”
“I, uhhhh,” Breakdown shivered. Yeah, well, glad I’m not the only one, Barricade thought, sourly. Fraggin’ Vortex. “Not really.”
Barricade caught a flicker that might have been a wink at him from Vortex. Fifty-fifty odds. Vortex was in a good mood. Breakdown simply had no idea what that meant for him.
Vortex seized the back of the chair and threw it backwards, stepping easily aside. Breakdown’s impulse was to snatch at the chair’s seat, so he went over with it, his back striking hard against the back of the chair when it hit ground. Vortex dropped down straddling the chassis, back against the tops of Breakdown’s thighs. “That means you’re…available.”
Huh. More courtesy than I got, Barricade thought. Not like it was sincere courtesy, though. Vortex ran his hands down Breakdown’s shoulders, and back up the inner seaming, teasing into the gaps for the elbow cabling. Breakdown whimpered, his optics shaky, trying to read Vortex’s face. Good luck with that: visor and face mask. Idiot. “I’m…uh…I’m…,” he stammered.
I am so glad I didn’t act like that, Barricade told himself. For all my giving in, for all my patheticness, I didn’t ever seem on the edge of actually wanting it. Breakdown’s hands shifted, weakly, as if contemplating touching Vortex. Sure. Try that and see how it works for you.
Breakdown’s optics flicked over to Barricade. “Uhhh, does he have to…?”
Vortex turned, looking at Barricade from between his rotors. “Barricade? Yes. Actually he does have to.” The voice got pointed and smug at the end. “Don’t you, Barricade? Oh. You can answer.”
Inside, Barricade seethed. And then got mad at himself for getting mad in the first place. Moron. You know he power-downs you at every opportunity. Why would it even surprise you for an instant? “Yes,” he said, flatly.
“See? And he doesn’t mind. It probably turns him on, if you think about it.” Vortex swung his head back to Breakdown, bending over him. “I like thinking about it,” he stage-whispered. He lifted his weight off of Breakdown’s body, sweeping the chair out from under him. The chair screeched across the floor, hitting Barricade in the ankle.
Despite the pain, Barricade held himself still. He’d heard that silky tone too many times himself; it had become almost a conditioned response. His interface systems booted on, reluctantly, but definitively. Breakdown’s thin whimper didn’t help.
Vortex braced himself on one arm over the smaller grounder, his free hand running over the blue and grey frame. Breakdown squirmed, still too stuck trying to process what was going on to even consider if he should be resisting. Barricade’s spike lubricated in its housing, aroused by Breakdown’s vulnerable uncertainty and Vortex’s sleek confidence. He shifted his feet, uncomfortable both with the physical sensation and with the thought that Vortex pawing another mech aroused him.
Vortex heard the sound and jerked his head around abruptly. “Barricade,” he said, still keeping his voice soft, gentle, smooth, “Come here.” He sat back across the mech’s hipframe.
Barricade approached. Pointless to resist. Humiliating to resist and get forced in front of Breakdown. Anything that happens to one gestalt member may as well have happened to them all. He did not want the other Stunticons to know what he had become.
“Does this arouse you, little grounder?” Vortex asked, sweetly.
“No.” A lie, and he knew he’d be punished for it as soon as he said it. He just didn’t want to acknowledge Vortex’s power over him.
Vortex tilted his head, his hand coming with familiarity right to Barricade’s interface hatch. “Does this arouse you?”
Barricade tried to stare him down, but his spike betrayed him, lubricant seeping from around the protective cover. Vortex held up his glossy-wet fingers. “Release,” he said, quietly.
Barricade ground his denta, but released his cover. The spike pressurized into Vortex’s hand. The face mask retracted, and Vortex ducked his head in, licking at the spike. Barricade shivered at the contact. Vortex’s visor seemed to wink up at him knowingly. The mouth closed over his spike, glossa twining expertly over the complicated shape. Barricade fought the flood of desire. This will not last.
And it didn’t. The instant his spike released another push of lubricant, Vortex pushed him away. “Don’t lie to me again, Barricade,” he snarled. “Go back and watch.” Barricade’s systems howled outrage at him, but he could barely hear them over the wailing of his shredded dignity, aware that the whole time, Breakdown had been staring at him, taking in the whole spectacle. It could have been worse, he tried to tell himself. You could have been forced to…no. Best not even to think about it. He forced himself to resume his position, acutely, grindingly aware of the cool air striking the lubricant of his exposed spike, knowing without Vortex telling him he wasn’t allowed to touch it. Not that he’d allow himself. Not that he’d give such a visible signal of giving in to his arousal. You are not your body, Barricade. Your body betrays you at all turns. This is not you.
Vortex turned back to Breakdown, bending down, pressing his lubricant smeared lips over the Stunticon’s. Breakdown tried to yelp a protest, but that only opened his mouth for Vortex’s intrusive glossa. Hands pushed at the copter’s heavy frame, the body squirming under the grey chassis. The struggle grew weaker, the hands came up instead to stroke at the large panels of the copter’s shoulder armor.
Yeah, Barricade thought, weakly. You couldn’t help yourself either. Only difference, Barricade, is at least you tried. His spike ached, the nodes trying to cast current but finding no receptor nodes.
Vortex lifted his head away. “Yes?” Asking permission. False request. Vortex would do what he wanted. But it was all for show, anyway. This whole thing. Just…a show. A demonstration of Vortex’s power, and more, how much he got off—literally—on it.
Breakdown looked terrified, but…nodded. Good choice? Bad choice? That was a matter for his conscience to sort out later. Vortex moved quickly, pushing one knee between the white armored thighs, hand rough with passion against the interface cover. Breakdown’s hips pushed up, into the touch. Well, Barricade thought, he gave in easily. He wondered if it was a better choice than the one he had made. He heard the sharp snap of the cover retracting, Vortex’s triumphant chuckle. Vortex leaned over, pushing one finger into the valve, optics keen on Breakdown’s face.
Breakdown looked like he was too terrified to move, his optics fixed with an almost fearful intensity on Vortex’s face. Barricade couldn’t see it, but he could guess the wicked smile on Vortex’s face as the copter probed into the valve, turning his wrist to drag his finger across the nodes. Breakdown sucked in a breath, hands clutching at Vortex’s shoulders.
“I need to know that you want this,” Vortex said, his voice husky. No, Barricade thought. What you want to know is that you control him.
“Yes,” Breakdown said. “But…no one can….”
A soft snort. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone. And Barricade, well, you can see he’s not much of a talker.”
Go frag yourself, Barricade thought. And here was this idiot, this fraggin’ moron grounder Breakdown…trusting Vortex. It made…no sense. At all. But still, there he was, spreading his thighs for Vortex, as if they’d had the most normal and tender courtship in the history of Cybertron. Then again, here Barricade was, aching with a filthy desire, a drop of lubricant stretching slowly from his spike toward the floor, doing nothing to relieve his sensornet’s ache. Maybe he shouldn’t question anyone else until he’d gotten himself sorted out.
He felt Breakdown’s optics on him, taking in his obvious pressurized spike, his bland, impassive face. One of these is a lie. No. They’re both lies. This whole thing was probably an exercise in cognitive dissonance for Breakdown.
Breakdown gasped as Vortex withdrew his finger with a sudden jerk. The copter shifted his position. Barricade could hear the interface panel open, the cover eagerly slide aside. He heard Breakdown’s stifled moan as the copter’s grey-armored hips lowered, sinking the spike into the Stunticon’s valve. Vortex lay still for a moment, dropping to his elbows. Breakdown tilted his head up, as if seeking another kiss.
Yeah. Vortex didn’t kiss unless it was for shock value. Vortex did, however, like to watch. Particularly watching expectations like that shatter. Instead he pushed roughly into the valve, a low growl from his vocalizer. Barricade could hear the slick wet sound of spike against valve, the rhythmic gasps for cool air, Vortex’s syncopated growl, and the slide of metal on metal. His own legs felt weak, unable to support his weight, his entire concentration and focus irresistibly drawn to the rise and fall of Vortex’s pelvic frame.
Breakdown was a mover: unlike Barricade who gritted his denta and tried to endure. Breakdown’s hands clutched helplessly, unable to get fingerhold, in Vortex’s armor, hands skittering off, leaving faint scores of bluish paint. The blue and white mech moaned louder and louder, his optics shuttered in his orange face, mouth open as if still expecting, somehow, a kiss to materialize.
Vortex’s growl seemed to blossom into a laugh, as if this was giving him exactly what he wanted. Barricade felt a strange grind of emotion. Ridiculous, he told himself. You are NOT jealous. You do not want his attention, good or bad. You do not care. The only thing you want is to survive. The only thing you want is to make it through. You do not. Want. Vortex.
Breakdown cried out, whacking his head hard against the floor, body arching as the overload wracked his systems. His chassis scraped against Vortex’s, who hung, impassive, for a moment, before resuming with a series of sharp, short strokes, driving on, completely heedless, careless of Breakdown’s reaction, chasing furiously after his own overload.
Vortex shuddered, suddenly. Barricade’s valve—traitorous—twinged in response, almost feeling the gush of transfluid that shot into Breakdown. He overrode the command to his cooling fans, rather letting his systems spike in temperature than show any more signs of arousal than his spike’s glossy ooze.
Vortex pulled away, his spike sliding out of the valve slowly. There was a half-klik of slippage, where it seemed like the act faltered, before Vortex lifted one hand and stroked it down Breakdown’s side. “Good?” He dipped his head down to bump in an approximation of a nuzzle against Breakdown’s helm.
“Yes,” the Stunticon breathed. “Sorry about….”
A hollow laugh. “Don’t worry about that. I know what it’s like to get excited.” Vortex lifted his head, optics meeting Breakdown’s. “Don’t get it very often, do you?”
“How’d you…? No.” Breakdown dropped his optics, mortified. “Not often.”
Barricade could almost hear Vortex’s slow grin. “You can come to me whenever you want to,” he offered. “Told you, I have a thing for grounders.”
***
“So,” Vortex breathed. He’d shoved Barricade up against the wall, his mouth hot and urgent on Barricade’s arm tires. “What did you learn?” His free hand curled around Barricade’s spike. Barricade tried to fight the shiver, but his sensornet overrode him in its eagerness.
Learned all new reasons to hate myself, he thought. “Don’t know what that all was about.”
“Mmmmm.” Vortex stepped back, his hand still on the spike, as if trying to take in Barricade. Probably looking for reaction. “We’ll get to that. What did I use?”
“Friendly up. Fear down. Diminish consequences. Spread blame.” Those were just the ones he remembered. It was…hard to think analytically as the hand expertly tugged around his spike’s girth.
“What else?”
Oh frag it was hard to concentrate. “Cognitive dissonance. Say one thing, do another. Broke down his paranoia.”
“Breaks down everyone,” Vortex grinned. “Now…the parts you found incomprehensible?” Vortex slipped his hand from the spike. Inwardly, Barricade snarled in frustration. Vortex licked one of his lubricant glossed fingers showily.
Yeah, that’d be it. “The whole interfacing thing.”
“You know how to interface,” Vortex said, deliberately not comprehending.
“Not exactly a strategy I’m planning on using with a lot of Autobots,” he retorted. He didn’t care if Vortex punished him. He was in a sea of frustrated agony right now. Not much could make it worse.
“Yes, well. You probably couldn’t pull it off,” Vortex said, blithely. “But I see your point.” He leaned in again, pinning one shoulder tire against the wall with the hand that didn’t rewrap around Barricade’s spike. “You don’t get everything on one go, Barricade. Just like with you. It takes time.” His hand kept its rhythm along Barricade’s spike. “He’ll come to me later. He’ll talk. We’ll find things out.”
“Little cliché,” Barricade said, tightly, through the wash of lust swamping his processor. “Pillow talk?”
“Cliché is cliché for a reason.” Vortex grinned. “Now…you’ve been so good.” He curled around Barricade. “I want you so much more than that, you know that, don’t you? I hate when they give in like that. Your resistance, though….” Vortex paused, as if he could smell it on Barricade like a kind of oil. “You’re what I want.”
Barricade hated that that was the thought that echoed through his processor as the overload hit.
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Last sentence is epic.
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