Give Rodimus Prime a high-powered rifle and you could safely bet that he could hit whatever he had a mind to aim at. Give him a tower to seige, a battlefield to manage, a strategy to devise and it was nearly a sure thing he'd accomplish his objective. Give him a battalion of loyal Autobots of varying skills and descriptions and there was literally no limit to what the bearer of the Matrix could do.
Give Rodimus Prime a stealth mission and things very quickly went to hell.
"Should've sent Bumblebee again," Cyclonus growled in his ear, trying not to sound amused. "At least he got away with only a torn bumper." His hips ground into Rodimus's back, emphasizing two points: one, that yes, he was quite effectively pinned to the floor, and two, a torn bumper would be the least of his worries once his captor was through with him.
"He's on leave," Rodimus gasped, and twisted around to try and break the Decepticon second's hold on his arms. Cyclonus shifted his weight to one side, and Rodimus cried out as his shoulder torqued in ways it hadn't been designed for. "Ow! Slag! That wasn't necessary."
"It was fun," Cyclonus rejoindered gravely, sounding generally like a being who never used the word fun. "I could take your arm off at the shoulder, if you'd rather. Or both arms. Or I could simply break your elbow joints." With each suggestion Cyclonus bore down a little harder on his captive's arm, one corner of his lips quirking in victory as Rodimus writhed in pain. "What do you think, Rodimus?"
"Don't go to any trouble on my account!" he gasped.
Cyclonus laughed, but now his voice was completely devoid of humor. "You're already neck-deep in trouble, Autobot, in case you hadn't noticed." He seemed about to say more, but cut himself off and glanced up. Rodimus followed his gaze to a doorway just as it filled with a darker-blue, winged shape, all sharp points and shadow.
Scourge took one look at Rodimus, pinned and helpless under Cyclonus, and started to laugh. "Oh, please let me help."
Rodimus moaned aloud and dropped his head to the floor, invoking the name of his patron deity in vain. "Fine, fine," Cyclonus grumbled good-naturedly. His weight lifted from the Prime's back, cruel hands loosened from his arms, and Rodimus darted forward - if he could just get past Scourge, he could -
- could do absolutely nothing but get slammed back down to the floor, two hard weights on his back and neck. "Nice try," Scourge told him, and Rodimus could hear a note of almost-approval in his voice. "Doomed to failure, of course, but nice try."
"Story of my life," Rodimus grunted into the deck. "Ow!" There were hands all over him, pressing into his back, his spoiler, weight across his knees, he couldn't even begin to work out where they were enough to fight back. "Quit digging into my spoiler, Primusfrig-" Four sharp needles plunged into his spoiler and yanked him clear up off the floor, wrenching a cry from him.
"Wimp," Cyclonus muttered in his audial, and Rodimus clenched his jaw shut against further outbursts as the two Unicronians maneuvered him into a sitting position. Cyclonus knelt behind him, pinning him spoiler-to-chest with an unshakable grip on his arms; Scourge knelt between his outstretched legs. The tracker reached out a clawed a hand and Rodimus flinched, but no pain came. Scourge's claws instead simply traced down his collar, shoulders, chest, as if at a loss to decide where to pierce first. Rodimus wriggled uncomfortably and peered up at Scourge - the Decepticon's face was solemn, but his optics were dancing in anticipation of getting to play with a new toy.
"I didn't sign up for this," Rodimus pointed out.
Scourge grinned wolfishly, traced a claw down the captive's throat. "Should've read the fine print."
Rodimus supressed a gasp and held as still as he could. "Lesson learned," he managed in a whisper.
Cyclonus rumbled deep in his chest. "Not yet, Autobot. Not yet."
Scourge's clawtip halted at the edge of Rodimus's sigil. "Cyclonus," he said, a little too carefully casual. "What was it that Galvatron said that one time? About beauty?"
"Devastation," Cyclonus murmured, his voice close enough to Rodimus's audial to make him shiver and try to twitch away, "wrought with precision and care."
"Right." Scourge grinned, and Rodimus shivered again - if possible, Scourge's grin was scarier than Galvatron's, if only because the warlord offered such expressions at the barest whim and Rodimus couldn't remember seeing Scourge even crack a smile before this moment. Scourge paused, seeming to give his victim ample time to contemplate the terror of that smile, then with just the barest of movements plunged the claw of his middle finger to the hilt into the left eye of Rodimus's sigil.
The Prime made no sound, but he bucked in Cyclonus's grip, nearly freeing one arm. Cyclonus grunted and yanked it back, and this time Rodimus did hiss in pain. "I'm going to get tired of holding him by the time you're through," he stated, "if you keep holding back like that."
Scourge gave Cyclonus the most withering glare he dared muster against his immediate superior. "As if he wouldn't break if I went any faster."
"H-hey!" Rodimus protested.
Scourge turned the full force of his glare on the Prime. "Sorry," he said, clearly not sorry at all, "are you feeling neglected?"
Rodimus tossed his head. "Oh, go ahead and finish your little chitchat, don't mind me. OW!" That was uncomfortably close to a shriek, and from the look on Scourge's face, his captors knew the extent of both his pain and his discomfiture. Scourge drew his claws out from the three fresh wounds in Rodimus's sigil, one in each eye, the third right through the forehead, and lifted his hand so that Rodimus could see his own energy spark briefly along the tracker's fingertips. The Prime cursed softly, aware that he was staring. Scourge licked his claws, his glossa flickering hypnotically around the sharp points as if it had no reason to fear being cut.
Cyclonus's hands tightened around Rodimus's arms. "What does he taste like, Scourge?"
Scourge swayed a little on his knees, his optics dimming slightly as if Cyclonus's voice had been a physical caress. "He's begging us to take him."
"Am not!" Rodimus protested loudly. Scourge drew back his arm without a word and slashed Rodimus across the face, nearly taking an optic. Rodimus hissed and turned his wounded cheek away, pressing it against Cyclonus's chest, seeking protection. "I'm not," he said again, but this time his voice was softer, petulant.
Scourge didn't try to force his victim to look at him again, but he did trace Rodimus's exposed neck with a clawtip, smiling when Rodimus shuddered. "Sure about that?"
Rodimus considered several answers - calm, defiant, Prime-like words. What came out when he opened his mouth was, "Hurt me again."
Well, in a certain context it could be considered defiant. Maybe. A little. Rodimus winced at himself as Scourge reveled in his error with a knowing smirk. "The point is - " Rodimus burst out in a desperate bid to regain some measure of dignity. "The point is I'm not begging for - !" Pain cut off his voice as Scourge jammed his claws underneath Rodimus's chestplate.
Moaning, Rodimus writhed against Scourge's hand, a mindless struggle that only served to gouge himself deeper on his tormentor's claws. Scourge and Cyclonus watched silently, letting their captive exhaust himself, the brightness in their optics the only indication of how much they were enjoying Rodimus's struggles.
Only when Rodimus stilled, exhausted and panting with pain, did Scourge withdraw his claws. "Taste for yourself," he said, and held his hand out to Cyclonus. The spacejet leaned in and delicately took Scourge's fingertips into his mouth. His voice rumbled forth from his chest as Rodimus's pain bled down his throat, and the Prime moaned in reply as his spoiler was forcibly vibrated.
Only when Cyclonus opened his mouth again did Scourge reclaim his fingers, and watched raptly as Cyclonus bent to murmur against the side of Rodimus's helm. "You - taste - like - conquest."
Rodimus moaned again, soft and low and quavering. Scourge bent over him again, claws extended, and as he drew ragged lines of light down the Autobot's chest Cyclonus continued to speak to him. "Feel this pain. It is our gift to you. Be grateful for it, Rodimus Prime."
Rodimus thrashed weakly, and Scourge hissed in annoyance as his claws accidentally dug in further than he'd intended. "Hold him still!" he snapped at Cyclonus.
Cyclonus gave the tracker only the briefest of annoyed glances before turning his attention back to Rodimus. "There is no point in struggling," he told the young warrior. "Why should you fight? This is where you belong."
Rodimus turned his head toward Cyclonus's voice, confused and shaking in agony; Scourge pounced on his exposed neck. "Where - I belong? Ah-!" Rodimus convulsed as Scourge's clawtips pierced the joining between neck and collar.
"Yes, Rodimus," Cyclonus purred. "You are ours now. We claim you by right of conquest." Though Rodimus had never heard the words before, Cyclonus's tone had taken on the cadence of ages-old ritual. "So take joy in your pain, Rodimus Prime. Embrace it. Let it become a part of your very core."
"Nnn, no..." Rodimus writhed against his captors weakly as Scourge began to systematically rip his collar to ribbons. "I can't..."
"You can," Cyclonus assured him. "You must. Let it go, Rodimus. Let go your foolish striving for control, and let us be the keepers of your surrender."
Rodimus shuddered as Scourge returned to his sigil. "Will it - will it hurt less, if I - ?"
Cyclonus considered lying, but Rodimus himself was being honest now, and Cyclonus felt he at least owed him the same. "No," he admitted quietly. "It will hurt, Rodimus. Nothing can change that."
Rodimus moaned aloud, his voice heavy with pain and sorrow, but he was no longer struggling. Scourge smiled and stroked the Prime's face with a clawtip in reward, and Rodimus turned toward the stroking with a whimper. "Please," he whispered, then his vocoder seemed to catch, and he was unable to finish.
Scourge waited over him, poised, ever so still. "Please?"
"Take me," Rodimus whispered, shivering in supplication. "Please, just... take me-" Scourge descended upon him, cutting off his plea with a rough kiss and hard scrape of claws. Cyclonus purred against the back of his helmet, and too late Rodimus remembered something he'd been told a long time ago - Decepticons use kisses as weapons.
Dimly he was aware that Cyclonus had let go of his arms, supporting him instead with a loose embrace. The Prime murmured in gratitude as Scourge broke the kiss with a last, teasing glossa-flicker against his lips. "Our most glorious conquest," the tracker purred, smiling indulgently at the softly-writhing Autobot. "Shall we mark him, Cyclonus?"
Between them, Rodimus shivered as Cyclonus lifted his head in surprise. "It's not our place, Scourge!"
"Look at him!" the tracker hissed urgently. "Savor his beauty in devastation. It is we who have done this, Cyclonus."
"In Galvatron's name," Cyclonus frowned stubbornly.
"Yes," Scourge allowed. "But by our hands. He bears our brands already, Cyclonus. He can't deny it, and neither can you."
Cyclonus looked down. Rodimus gleamed raggedly against his chest, mortal form rent asunder to release the fire long held captive. The warrior bent his head; Rodimus, feeling the movement, lifted his face to him. Their lips met.
Cyclonus released him an eternity of dark tenderness later, and Rodimus receded back into his arms, lips parted in a series of quiet sighs. "His thigh," he murmured to Scourge, and the tracker flashed a grin and pushed Rodimus's leg to one side to expose his inner thigh, tender and unmarked.
"Rodimus," Cyclonus whispered to the Autobot cradled in his arms. "This is our final gift. Cherish it always."
"I will," Rodimus sighed, unresisting as Scourge carved his personal mark into the plating, marring its perfect shining smoothness for all time. Scourge caressed the fresh-cut scar, savored his captive's moan, and helped to hold Rodimus still as Cyclonus bent to make his own mark.