Wolf By the Ears Chapter 2

Okay folks, I only have a few chapters of this story pre-written, and I have a full time job, so updates won't always be this frequent. On the other hand, if the weather stays this bad its going to seriously cut into my outdoor time and I may end up doing a lot more writing. I guess time will tell. Non-con and dub-con with sparks in this chapter, but I doubt most readers will find it particularly trigger-y. It's mostly political, after all.


Optimus nodded to the guard-bots at the entrance to the stockades. He wondered if they knew why he was here. The answer to that was probably yes, given that he was supposed to leave here with a slave-collared Megatron in a few cycles. The code engineers were supposed to verify that Megatron's programming was correctly set to make him obey Optimus.

Unfortunately, they seemed very sure that it wouldn't be a problem. It would be a real feather in the council's proverbial cap if they could demonstrate to the populace that they could control and perhaps domesticate a threat like the fearsome leader of the enemy faction. Politicians could crow about how they kept the populace safe, and present Optimus as a far more appealing figurehead than Sentinel, who had thoroughly alienated so many mechs.

He was escorted down, far beneath the surface of Cybertron to the maximum security cells, energon bars and polymer- destronium alloy to try to contain the most dangerous of Decepticons. His escort of sizable (for Autobots) mechs ushered him through layers of scanners, secured doors, forcefields that flickered off as he approached and resumed function as soon as the party was through.

The corridors were stark, well-lit but in no way welcoming.

He was let into the high security lab. It was a terribly intimidating room, which somehow managed to seem dark and cramped despite actually being spacious and extremely bright. Perhaps it was his frame of mind. Megatron was there, of course. The Decepticon leader was no longer wearing the form of his Earth alt mode, and was once again the spike armored mech that Optimus had encountered when he was a disgraced Academy washout who had been sent to the farthest reaches of Autobot space to do maintenance and sparkling sit some other rejects.

He looked profoundly out of place among the small bright frames of the Autobot scientists, council flunkies and slightly larger security bots. He was restrained of course. The guards were obviously not taking any chances. There were at least three pairs of stasis cuffs, a mask over his mouth, and a collection of energy chains that were probably overkill, even if it was Megatron.

The tyrant's armor was dirty and battered, and it looked like he had been left to self-repair from their fight, with nothing but the most cursory of field patches. Optimus was surprised by how much his enemy's condition bothered him.


Megatron made him feel small. It was odd, because he no longer had that sensation around Ultra Magnus. In fact, not even Omega Supreme seemed quite as overwhelming to Optimus as Megatron did. He figured that was because Omega was a friend, and had become almost as much a part of his team as Bulkhead.

The Decepticon warlord was on his knees in the laboratory cell, his helm open to a collection of cables and wires hooked to various terminals. He looked a lot like Arcee had in a similar situation, but instead of the near-comatose blankness that had characterized the pink femme, Optimus could see the feral rage and a hint of desperate, despairing terror in the mech's near impassive face.

When had he gotten so practiced at reading Megatron? He had no idea. Perhaps it was all the practice in politics he had gotten over the last several orbital cycles.

He hated this. But it was orders, and it was his duty.

The medical bots explained to him that Megatron was ready, his programming primed to accept his master, and that all he would have to do was overlap his spark field with Megatron's as they initiated the codes that would bind them. One of the techs opened the warlord's chest plating with a series of overrides entered into a terminal connected directly to the Decepicon's processor. Another opened the manual latches, obviously nervous of Megatron's proximity despite all the cuffs and the hacking cables.

Optimus couldn't blame the med-tech. He could see the fine trembling in that powerful frame as the grey mech fought both the restraints and the programming with every ounce of strength he possessed. He wasn't looking forward to getting close to the grey mech either. The shaking that was the only visible sign of the Decepticon's desperate struggle against his bonds increased as the armor around his spark opened.

It wasn't enough.

Megatron's spark was the same pale blue-white of any Autobot, a cold, luminous orb of energy that pulsed rapidly with distress.

Optimus felt compelled to make one last protest.

"Alpha Trion, sir, I would like to make a formal objection-"

Apparently this had been expected, because one of the council mechs broke in smoothly. "This is a direct order from the entire council and Ultra Magnus, Optimus Prime. You must follow it in accordance with your oaths and responsibilities as a loyal Autobot and member of the Elite Guard. Refusal is not an option."

Well. At least there wasn't a lot of grey area. He looked at the Decepticon's armor. Figuratively speaking, that is. Optimus felt horribly like he had at his trial, after the loss of Elita One. He was doomed, and no one had his back in this. He looked at Megatron, meeting those furious, hate filled optics and made a tiny mental prayer to Primus for help and forgiveness.

Ignoring their audience for a moment, he gently touched the edge of his enemy's chest, by the open spark chamber. The mech was running hot as he fought the programming and the restraints. One of the engineers fit a collar around the Decepticon's thick throat. The snick of it closing, and the hiss as the latch fused shut was like the sound of doom, and sent a shiver of apprehension through Optimus. He didn't need to kneel to bring his spark chamber to the same level as Megatron's. He laid one servo gently on the mech's battered cheek plating and met his eyes. The rage and hatred he saw there was like a physical blow, and the underlying despair made him wonder if perhaps he should have done the merciful thing and ended his enemy during their last battle.

Optimus knew that the watching politicians might judge him for it, but this mech was going to be bonded to him for the rest of their functioning. He hesitated for a moment, then braced his servos against the rough, spiky gray armor and leaned in.

"I am sorry, Megatron." He said softly, and brought their sparks together.


Optimus gasped in shocked pleasure at the sensation. He had never touched another's spark, and had not expected this act with his enemy to be anything other than repulsive, or possibly painful. He was suddenly aware of another presence, twining with his energy fields, and his own spark reaching for Megatron's.

The Decepticon managed to choke out a single word, as his spark and coding were bound to the young Prime, and directives to obey and protect were forcibly uploaded and locked in place.

"N..no…"

Optimus arched uncontrollably against the powerful grey chassis, distantly aware that he was scratching his own paint against the sturdier armor of the Decepticon lord. He let out a tiny, breathy moan as electricity swept through his frame in a tingling wash of delicious power.

He could feel Megatron, an ancient, dark intelligence, magnificent in his power and cunning, now trapped by his enemies. The very mechs who had chained and enslaved him so long ago… The Decepticon groaned, and it was not a sound of pleasure.

Optimus could feel the other mech's distress, his anger and sadness and rage, and reflexively reached out in an attempt to soothe and comfort. It was as much a part of his nature as his urge to protect and build, and he saw no reason to resist. He could feel the bond settle into place, and knew on a deep, nearly instinctive level that the Decepticon belonged to him now.

He nearly wept.

He didn't want such a bond with Megatron, of all mechs. Hadn't wanted his first sparkmerge to be a filthy act of rape, in which neither one of them had any choice in the matter.

And then overload swept through them both, like being struck by heat lightning. Their voices mingled in cries of pain and pleasure, and the surge of power actually shorted out the stasis cuffs binding Megatron. The two of them toppled over, nearly in slow motion, and Optimus was dimly aware of huge clawed hands holding him to a dark chassis as oblivion swallowed him.


Megatron awoke. There were still hacking cables attached to his helm, but his processor felt much clearer than it had in a long time. He had no idea how long he had been in the filthy Autobot prison, as they had disabled his chrono along with his weapons and many of his sensors, but it had to have been most of an orbital rotation.

He was flat on his back with a lot of weapons pointed at him, and there was a slim, broad shouldered little Autobot form sprawled limply across his chassis. His newly activated programming wanted him to be concerned for his new master's health, but he pushed it away with a mental sneer. They could make him obey, but they would never be able to force him to care for the mech they had bound him in servitude to.

He would make them regret it. Most bitterly.

This was not the first time he had been bound in servitude to another. He had outlived that long-ago Autobot and had taken his revenge on their whole society. He would not be cowed by being back in the chains that he had thought he was forever free of.

The Autobot Prime that the petty fools of the council had chosen as his new "master" was young, malleable. He could still be turned to the Decepticon way. Megatron had felt his reluctance at being bound to him, and knew that the mech had had no desire to merge sparks with him. The little Autobot should have finished him when he had the chance, during their battle on Earth. Perhaps this would teach him that sometimes ruthlessness was the proper way to deal with one's enemies.

No good deed goes unpunished, after all.

The council mech, Xaaron approached, though he was wise enough to not get too close. Probably the guards covering him with their weapons gave him false confidence. Busybody little waste of metal. The sniveling council mech was old enough to have been online when the slave programming was still standard for warrior builds. Megatron planned to kill him painfully at the earliest possible opportunity.

He shifted the unconscious form of his new master into his lap as he sat up slowly, the movement making the twitch guards tighten their servos on their weapons. They rightly feared him. Even stripped of his weapons, Megatron would be a match for the lot of them, in this confined space.

The smooth armored form of the Prime stirred against him. Good. The sooner the Autobot became accustomed to their bond, the sooner Megatron could start trying to convert him to…he…nuzzled his faceplates against Megatron's chest, right over the his spark. Ooooh, that…was good…

One silver-white thigh slipped over his bulkier one, and a tingle of pleasure shot straight to his interface array. Megatron stiffened in shocked denial as the Autobot's blue optics onlined. He braced his servos against his chest and raised himself up enough to look into Megatron's face. Frag. The little mech looked like he had just had the overload of his life, all dazed optics and softly pouty lip components. Those lips parted slightly, and turned up at the edges, the servos petting gently at his plating…

Then the young Prime woke up completely, and scrambled off of his lap like he had just encountered a patch of rust and couldn't get away fast enough. Megatron couldn't help but be offended. He was the one who had just been spark-raped and repeatedly hacked. The least his new master could do was look a little pleased at the state of affairs. Maybe gloat a little. Instead he looked like he wanted to purge his tanks.

Admittedly he wasn't exactly at his best at the moment, having been beaten, starved and reprogrammed, on top of having not been repaired after his encounter with this mech and the Magnus hammer, but he wasn't a space barnacle, either. How dare the little Autobot look at him as though he was some sort of disgusting… creature.


Optimus woke to warm, rough armor beneath his body. Distantly, he was aware that he was being held against a large chassis, and wondered why Sentinel seemed so pointy…He lazily nuzzled his berthmate and shifted to look up into his optics.

Oh, Unicron in the Pit. Megatron. He felt the alien presence within his spark and energy fields, and tore himself away from the hard body beneath him. He tingled with a fight or flight response, as his systems routed all available resources into his battle mods as he looked at the former Decepticon warlord, only a few steps away and far, far too close.

Councilor Xaaron activated his vocalizer with an attention-grabbing crackle.

"Ah, Optimus Prime. It is good that you are online, after your…performance just now. Very impressive. I can see that you will find many…uses for your new slave. I am certain that you will need to spend some time, er, becoming accustomed to having such an…impressive specimen to do your bidding. I, and the council, am confident that you will use your new authority wisely."

Optimus stiffened in mortified reaction to the elder mech's smarmy tone. His fright was swiftly changing to complete embarrassment. He could feel himself heat-flushing with humiliation. The councilor was acting as though he had walked in on him molesting Megatron or something. He had been given a direct order to do this, and the fact that his circuits were still tingling from it was totally immaterial! He did not appreciate the insinuation that he was going to take advantage of the situation, of having a slave of all things, like that!

Oblivious to his discomfort, or perhaps simply uncaring, the older mech continued. "Ultra Magnus has authorized a generous period of vacation time which we expect you to utilize for your adjustment process. No one on Cybertron has had a bonded slave of this sort in thousands of cycles. Nevertheless, we must first test his programming alterations. Now, give the Decepticon an order."

An order? "Ah, like what, Sir? He could just be pretending to obey me." And the fact that he wasn't interested in having that kind of power over anybot was merely coincidental. It was a valid concern, though. Megatron was supposed to be with him constantly. Optimus snuck a peak at the Decepticon's face, which was somehow managing to be impassive and rage-filled simultaneously. Words could not express how much he hated the idea of having this mech who dwarfed him in both size and experience (not to mention savagery) at his back. He still couldn't believe that the council wanted him to keep Megatron with him all the time. They were even supposed to share quarters. At least the fraggers had issued him a much larger apartment, or the Decepticon would have to sleep curled up in the living room.

Xaaron's mouth curved in an unpleasant smile. The creep.

"Perhaps you could…order him to give you pleasure?"

Optimus's fuel pump almost stalled in horrified mortification. He actually gaped at the disgusting old mech, at a loss for words. A few steps, away, Megatron gave a resonant snarl of pure rage.

Thankfully, Alpha Trion interrupted. "Really, Xaron, we are hardly Decepticons, to practice such vulgarities. We shall finish our diagnostics and Optimus will give Megatron an order while he is hooked into the equipment, so that we may observe his neural structure under such stimulus. Optimus, give the Decepticon an appropriate order."

Optimus was at a loss for words. An order? All he really wanted was for Megatron to go far away and not be a threat…On the other hand…He looked into those rage-filled optics. "Say my name." He demanded quietly.

Megatron stared at him in what looked like utter surprise. The expression, with his savage rage momentarily smoothed away by bemusement, made him look almost handsome.

"Optimus Prime." He said, that deep, rumbling voice surprisingly quiet.


A/N: One more thing: US history brownie points if you know where the title of this fic comes from.