Chapter Text
“Take it. Take it, Decepticon, or I’ll shove it down your throat!”
Drift turned his face to the side, his optics closed. This was beyond humiliating! He was onboard Lost Light, the pride of the Autobot air ship armada and he was treated like a buymech. Sure he had experienced such things back in Dead End but he wasn’t there anymore. He. Was. On. Board. Lost. Fucking. Light.
Combo and Swiftkick, two weapon specialists, had surprised him just entering his office to write down the reports Ultra Magnus wanted to be done by the end of the day. The two mechs snagged his swords and tossed them across the floor of the room, tied his arms behind his back, forced the smaller mech onto his desk on his back and finally tied his ankles against his thighs. And that had resulted to this.
Swiftkick placed himself between Drift’s quivering legs, marveling the sight while Combo walked around the desk to stand in front of the white mech. Swiftkick pushed Drift enough so his head hanged from the edge of the desk, leaving his face in a vulnerable position.
The white mech reluctantly opened his mouth but before he could do so properly, Combo jerked his hips forward and the huge spike slipped past the pale lips. The sheer size of the spike almost tore the soft metal of Drift’s cheeks and the strain to his jaw was at least uncomfortable. And if that wasn’t enough, Combo wrapped his large palm and long fingers around Drift’s neck, squeezing it to keep the white mech’s head in place.
At the same time when Combo made his move, Swiftkick thrust his spike in that unprepared and dry valve, howling at the tight sensation that engulfed his shaft.
“Nnh... Yes, that’s it, little Decepticon~” Combo hissed, driving his spike deeper in Drift’s mouth, eventually hitting the roof of the smaller mech’s throat. “Don’t purge. Otherwise I’ll make you swallow it back down.” Drift groaned in discomfort and pain which the brutal duo took as a moan of pleasure. “Ghahahaa, you like this, you dirty Deceptislut!” Swiftkick laughed, snapping his hips forward.
He was practically thrusting his way through the swordsmech’s valve. Every powerful thrust drew more energon from the valve to gush out and pool on the floor. And my Primus, it hurt so much!
The weapon specialists showed no mercy for poor Drift, no matter how much he whimpered and squirmed. It just threw more fuel to their sick fire. “Hahhaa! Beg and moan, you filthy ‘con. No-one’s gonna come and save you. If you just behave like a good little third-in-command, we just might be gentler with you.”
From Swiftkick’s voice you could hear the built-up hatred and grudge against Decepticons and Drift being one – although a former one – was a good substitute for them to throw it all on him.
Transfluids seeped between Drift’s lips and Combo’s spike, as well as from the other end. Some of those fluids trickled down his face and over his optics, stinging the sensitive optical components, forcing him to shut his optics tight.
Suddenly, Drift felt something snap in his throat, his optics growing wider.
The torture lasted for Primus knows how long, the swordsmech had no idea, when he heard someone coding the door to his office open. ‘Don’t come in!’ he screamed inside his head but it was too late.
“By the Tyrest Accord, what are you two doing?” bellowed Ultra Magnus’ voice in the room.
The two mechs quickly retreated, tucking their spikes back to their casing. As the spike was pulled out of his mouth, Drift started coughing violently to get the transfluids out of his mouth and throat.
The blue mech yanked Combo and Swiftkick away from Drift. “Faces towards the wall!” Ultra Magnus was furious. Imagine; he has done so much hard work for the order on this blasted ship and now he walked in on two mechs... doing what was mildly described as repulsive and cruel to one of the ship’s commanders.
Slapping stasis cuffs on the duo’s wrists, he ensured they wouldn’t do anything stupid anymore. He then freed Drift; first he untied the legs and then lifted him to sit up and lastly untied his arms and carefully assisted them to rest on Drift’s lap. Once satisfied with Drift’s ability to sit on the desk, the SIC turned to Combo and Swiftkick who still stood against the wall. “You two shall face a hard time in the brig”, he spoke in a deep, menacing voice.
He helped Drift to stand up, securing so he wouldn’t tumble down and after picking up the three swords, he took the poor mech to Rodimus, Combo and Swiftkick walking ahead of him. The expression on that pale face was blank, unreadable. Apparently he was in such a shock that he couldn’t express anything.
Arriving at the Rodimus’ office, the large mech announced his arrival and stepped in, Combo and Swiftkick staying outside.
“Captain.”
The tone caught the orange mech’s attention and he swirled around on his chair to see Ultra Magnus supporting Drift upright. There were still transfluids all over his face, crotch area and energon leaking from his valve.
“What the hell happened to him?” Rodimus gasped.
“He was taken against his will.” That was probably the only decent term for ‘rape’ Ultra Magnus knew.
The captain rose from his chair and rushed to his best friend. “Drift?” His hands hovered over the red shoulders, afraid to touch, afraid not to touch.
Ultra Magnus eased his hold from Drift, though keeping his hands on his shoulders to prevent him from toppling over. “Can you walk?” He liked Drift by no means but dammit, he sure was worried!
All he got for a reply was a slow nod.
Drift teetered to take a seat in front of Rodimus’ desk, his head bowed and shoulders hunched in shame.
Leaving the swords to lean against the wall, Ultra Magnus vented a heavy sigh and dismissed himself to take the two guilty mechs to the prig.
Finally in peace. Rodimus sat back down to his chair, his optics fixated to Drift.
“Do you want to talk about it?” the orange mech asked after a long period of quiet time.
A head shake.
“Very well.”
Again, crushing silence fell into the office.
“Guess I deserved it for what I’ve done.” Drift’s voice wasn’t his. It was way too deep, scratchy and laced with static. It barely carried to Rodimus’ audios but the other mech heard it, nonetheless.
Slamming his hands to his desk, the larger mech bounced up from his chair. “Frag it, Drift! You’ve done nothing on this fragging ship to deserve such treatment! Yes, you’ve been a Decepticon and I don’t want to know what you’ve done during that time but that doesn’t matter anymore and you’ve been forgiven time after time! There’s no reason to dwell in self-pity and think every single thing you do gives someone the right to punish you! Those times are over and long gone!”
Drift flinched, withdrawing to himself, looking like a scared sparkling.
The captain massaged his optical ridge, immediately regretting for shouting at the mech. “I... I’m sorry I yelled. I’m not mad at you but at those who have made you think like that about yourself. You’re my best friend and... and I don’t want anything bad happen to you. I want to keep you safe.”
The white mech didn’t say anything to that so Rodimus figured he agreed.
He rounded the desk, took a cleaning cloth out from his subspace, kneeling down in front of his TIC. “May I?” he asked, searching for optic contact. When he got no reply, he slowly began to clean the mess from Drift’s face. First around the optics, then the cheeks and lips and lastly the forehead. “There. That’s better, right?” Rodimus tried to stay positive but it was proving to be hard when the white mech looked so miserable.
After throwing the dirty cloth to the waste disposal unit, the orange mech walked back to Drift and closed him into a warm embrace, feeling the smaller body tense up. “I’ll make sure nothing bad happens to you anymore”, he whispered, planting a gentle kiss on Drift’s forehead. Though, the white mech shied away, uttering a whimper. “Please, don’t.”
“It’s all right. Um... if you want to clean yourself properly, you can use my wash racks. During that, I’ll comm. Perceptor to pick you up.”
With that, Drift struggled towards the wash racks, wincing at the pain. It hurt with every step and energon dribbled down, forming a nasty trail across the floor. The sight pulled at Rodimus’ spark. He took a quick glance at the chair Drift had sat on; there was a small puddle of energon on it... and he quickly turned his gaze away.
In the wash rack, Drift stood under the faucet, the falling cleansing agent thrumming against his body. Leaning his forehead to the wall, a choked sob escaped his vocalizer. He covered his face and fell on his knees, the sobs getting louder and louder. He tried to calm down in the fear of Rodimus hearing but he just couldn’t stop. He punched the wall, crushing his right hand knuckles. But that didn’t take the pain away.
Hearing the ruckus in the racks, the captain rushed to the door and it slid open.
There he was, on his knees, sobbing, fist connected to the wall which had received shallow dents, his knuckles crushed... and energon still streaming to the drain. Rodimus didn’t dare say anything. Instead, he closed the distance between him and the swordsmech, kneeling down.
“Oh, Drift. What the world has done to you to get you into this...” It wasn’t a question. He shut the faucet and wrapped his arms around the smaller body, cradling him closer, giving a comforting kiss on the pale cheek.
“Rodimus?”
Ah, Perceptor arrived.
“In here. And while you’re still there, could you bring the heating tarp along with you. It’s on my berth.”
The scientist did as he was asked and followed the voice and gasped when he saw Drift. Rodimus gazed up at Perceptor and reached out for the tarp to wrap it around the smaller mech who had started to shiver.
“My goodness! What happened?” he asked, joining the huddle, although not taking the swordsmech into his arms but rather placing his hand on the shivering back.
“Drift can explain himself. Right now, we need to get him to Ratchet.”
“I don’t... I don’t... I don’t want to go back...” His voice was growly and full of static, making it hard to hear what he said.
“Don’t want to go back... where?” the orange mech asked softly, keep Drift close to his body. Though, Perceptor already knew what Drift meant by ‘going back’ but he didn’t want to push it and say it out loud.
Drift hated himself. He loathed himself. He despised himself for being so weak. For not being able to fight those two larger mechs. For being a coward. For being a guttermech. For being worthless. He wanted to be alone and dwell in self-pity. He made feeble attempts to push Rodimus away but somehow he didn’t have the strength to do that, whimpering as doing so.
Rodimus held his TIC closer and got up on his feet. Ex-venting a heavy sigh, the scientist followed the captain to the medbay, carrying the swords Drift couldn’t live without.