Rodimus Prime squirmed against his force-cuffs and immediately regretted it - they were designed to be painful and movement only made it worse. It didn't help matters that his spoiler, sensitive enough to pick up vibrations from the air, was pressed hard against the energy bars he'd been shackled spread-eagle to. They couldn't have faced me the other way? he thought sourly, then dismissed the notion. I'd rather see what's coming.
What was coming was readily apparent. Various, painful-looking tools were scattered about what was obviously a lab or workshop of some sort. That the lab tables were equipped with shackles did nothing for the Prime's peace of mind. A console against the far wall displayed glyphs in a language that Rodimus couldn't read but knew the shape of all too well. Querex - the Quintesson script.
Slag me, the Prime thought as the door hissed open to reveal his captor.
As a scientist, he (she? it? something else entirely?) lacked the five faces and relatively unaugmented body of a Judge, but his aspect was horrifying enough - a single face with a mouth full of sharp teeth, a long swept-back crest, and thick green tentacles festooned with darker spots. As Rodimus watched, revulsion sending hot shudders up his back, the Quintesson floated over to within reach of him and reached out with one tentacle.
Rodimus flinched back; the Quint's mouth opened in what might have been a smile. "Awareness confirmed," he said aloud, then, "You are the one called Rodimus Prime, correct?"
"No, I'm a Sweep," Rodimus snarled.
"Subject shows defiance," the Quint stated, vocal tones approving. Its tentacle reached out and turned a dial on the wall.
Rodimus's back and spoiler erupted in pain as the energy bars glowed brightly. The Prime arched with a gasp, then moaned as the movement forced his spoiler deeper into them. "Slagger," he forced out, writhing helplessly. "Slagging diseased spawn of a Sharkticon-!" The Quint's tentacle twitched on the dial again and Rodimus's foul-mouthed litany was cut short by an agonized spasm.
"Pain reaction confirmed," the Quint said mildly, and turned the dial back to its original position. Rodimus slumped gratefully. "Again. You are called Rodimus Prime? Please be honest, as this research is for posterity."
"I've got the brand," Rodimus snapped hoarsely. "And you have to know I've got the Matrix. What's it to you?"
There was that toothy smile again. "For the sake of indulgence: the Autobots' core programming has been corrupted by such undesirable traits as courage and compassion. It is my theory that this Matrix of yours is, if not the cause, at least one underlying factor of this change." He moved closer. "Without its influence, the Autobots would return to their true function as slaves."
"That will never happen," Rodimus said slowly, and was pleased to find his voice as strong as ever. "The Autobots will never serve you."
The Quint sniffed. "You are hardly a reliable source of scientific evidence. Now." One tentacle gestured languidly to the dial that controlled the energy bars. "Your pain responses are on the low side, but within the normal range for your build. I have one more response to test." He reached up with both tentacles and lay them on the Prime's chest.
Rodimus jerked savagely against his bonds, heedless of the renewed spikes of pain. "If you touch the Matrix-!"
"I have no intention of interfering with the accursed relic." Tentacles slithered up his chest, over his shoulders, making the Prime shudder. "Not yet. I still need to complete my set of control data." Without warning he shoved one tentacle deep into Rodimus's mouth.
Too thick to bite, his jaw aching just to hold the tentacle's girth, Rodimus tried to anyway as the offending appendage probed deep into his fuel intakes. Dimly he could feel the other tentacle wrapping around his throat, pulsing, caressing; he tipped his head back to get away from it. He realized too late that the Quint would take that as an invitation.
"Good," he buzzed against his captive's chest, and the tentacle probed deeper, curling around things in him never meant to be touched. Rodimus tried to shout a protest, but a sudden pulse of muscle in his mouth contorted the sound into a moan. "Very good," his captor said. "We designed the inner workings of mouth and jaw to be easily manipulated into sensory overload. It seems this feature is still intact despite your species' unfortunate deviations."
No... Rodimus clenched his jaw, feeling the tentacle's movement in his mouth and throat as if it were reaching all the way through him, curling around every sensor node in an insidious grip. Unbidden images flashed behind his optics - the warm electric taste of energon as it slides down, learning to kiss from a drive-in movie and being delighted at how much fun it was, a playful stolen lick on a vibrating engine casing, melting just from how it felt to suck on his fingers -
Clenching his fists in helpless defiance, the Prime went through every curse he knew in his processor and threw them all at his tormentor in a garbled, glorious rage. Tentacles and shackles alike held him fast as his body convulsed, heedless of the pain of movement for several fathomless seconds.
Only when Rodimus went still, shuddering with exertion, did the Quint remove his tentacles, flexing and twining them through the air as if to work out a case of pins and needles. "Pleasure reaction," it smiled, "confirmed."
Lacking the energy to tense or even curse, Rodimus just barely managed to drag up a sullen glare at his captor. The Quint, unhurried, took up a heavy-handled tool that looked worryingly like a cutting torch from the nearest table. "Now," he hissed, "let us see how your reactions change without your precious Matrix."