![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
caiusbackupTitle: Not Exactly a Role Reversal
Fandom: Transformers G1
Pairing:: Galvatron/Cyclonus
Rating: NC-17
Warnings/Advertisements: Dominance/submission, flogging: see summary. Also some plug-n-play style robot sex.
Summary: Written for this kink meme request:
Galvatron likes pain play. Anybody could figure *that* much. But what most people don't know is that Galvatron likes *receiving* pain, too.
The problem with that is liking to be hurt doesn't mean Galvatron ever, *ever* wants to be in a situation he doesn't control. So what do you do when you are a paranoid dominant warlord who wants to bottom every so often?
Answer: you go get your submissive second Cyclonus, who is so *very* good with a whip.
Cyclonus knelt before Galvatron in the throne room. For the moment, the two of them were the only ones there. Galvatron was in one of his quieter moods, and he'd been petting Cyclonus' antennae, off and on, as he talked of conquest. Cyclonus was in a state of blissful arousal such that Galvatron could have ordered him to overload then and there and he would have done so. Or his Lord could have kept him there for the rest of the shift, and he would have stayed happy.
Lord Galvatron did neither. "Your whip, Cyclonus." The order, like most things with Galvatron, came without warning, although it was no less welcome for that.
"Yes, my Lord." Cyclonus pulled his most powerful electrowhip out of subspace and offered it, reverently, to his Lord.
Galvatron shoved the whip back. "No. You use it today."
That was a small disappointment--there were few things Cyclonus liked more than writhing under his Lord's whip, at least when he was being whipped for Galvatron's pleasure rather than because he had disappointed him.
But he enjoyed showing off his technique for his Lord as well. "Yes, Mighty One. Who do you want me to torture for you?" They were currently lacking in obvious answers to that question, but some unlucky Decepticon could always be commandeered. A Sweep, maybe.
"Me."
This was...unexpected. Cyclonus paused, his grip on the electrowhip loosening slightly. "My--my Lord?" He would, of course, try to provide for all of Lord Galvatron's needs, obey all of his orders, but--did he really want Cyclonus to hurt him?
"Did you not hear me correctly, Cyclonus?" Galvatron grabbed him by the neck and hauled him up slightly.
In an already-aroused Cyclonus, this triggered waves of pleasure and strengthened his desire to submit himself entirely to whatever Galvatron wanted. Which was not particularly helpful, in this case.
"You. Whip me. Do you have a problem with the order?" Beneath the firm demand, there was an edge of uncertainty in Galvatron's voice, or so Cyclonus thought, and he'd had long practice interpreting Galvatron's moods. Of course it would be a novel and somewhat uncomfortable thought for Galvatron as well, even if he wanted it enough to demand it. Since their creation, Galvatron had always wanted complete control, and Cyclonus had been happy to give it to him.
But if it was at Lord Galvatron's order, than he was in control. And Cyclonus was, at least, skilled with an electrowhip, and he knew in great detail what his Lord enjoyed as spectator and tormentor. "I have no problem, my Lord. I will obey you gladly."
"Good." This established, Cyclonus and Galvatron stared at each other for an astrosecond, trying to work out how to proceed in the new activity.
"Where would you like to be whipped, my Lord?" Cyclonus knew how this worked with a prisoner, with a subordinate, with someone he could control and arrange as he and his Lord pleased. With Lord Galvatron--he could hardly put him on his knees, or chain him up, at least without an extremely explicit order.
Galvatron looked for an astrosecond as though he was going to yell at Cyclonus for that, too, order him to decide--but, no. "Here. For now. Start with my chest plates, Cyclonus."
"Yes, my Lord." Cyclonus allowed himself to bow his head once more before standing up and preparing himself to whip Lord Galvatron. Don't think about it, he told himself, just obey. He turned the current on in the whip, grounding himself for an astrosecond in the satisfyingly familiar sound and feel of it. And then he struck.
The whip arced through the air and raised a line of sparks across Galvatron's upper chestplate. Not too hard. Galvatron's hands dug in deeper on the throne's armrests, but he only growled, "Harder."
"Yes, my Lord." The next blow was rougher, and a little lower. Galvatron's upper chest was well-shielded--there was no way his whip would be able to make much of a mark on the armor there. But down further, toward the waist--experimentally, Cyclonus flicked the tip of the tip of over the red-and-white cross inset in the plating above Galvatron's waist. There was some very sensitive circuitry in there--Cyclonus could remember well the reactions he'd gotten worshiping it with his mouth and his fingers.
Galvatron jumped slightly at this blow, electricity visible and tangible as it spread out through his fields. "Again. Don't hold back, Cyclonus. Or do you think that I am weak?"
"Of course not, my Lord." Cyclonus simply did not want to hurt, or offend, but if the offense was in striking him too lightly, than Cyclonus would strike hard. Mighty Galvatron was right, after all--his Lord could take far more than Cyclonus' usual victims. (Although Cyclonus was not going to dare using the force and intensity Lord Galvatron used on him.) Before he'd really started thinking about it, Cyclonus had turned the current up to maximum, attaching the whip to his wrist so that it could draw power from his own systems, and started striking his Lord with nearly all the force he had available.
It was difficult to whip Galvatron's waist properly from this angle--with Galvatron sitting in the throne still--but Cyclonus went at it with a will, whip stinging and sparking over the waist and chestplates and lower hips, occasionally catching on the arms and cannon. Galvatron was quieter than usual, making it easy to hear the sound of the whip and his subtler reactions--the whir of his cooling fans, the small scrapes of metal against metal as he didn't, quite, manage to hold himself still, and the low protests of the armrests, as they were squeezed and distorted under his hands. And, as always, Cyclonus took in every small reaction, treasuring it and using it to inform and improve his technique.
After a few minutes of such treatment, Galvatron gave a low growl and reached out with his hand, catching the whip. Partly by momentum, partly by volition, the whip wrapped around Lord Galvatron's hand, and Cyclonus did not insult his Lord by turning it off, or even down. Current from Cyclonus' systems burned through the whip, around Galvatron's hand, and into his Lord's body, and Cyclonus would deny him none of it.
Galvatron pulled imperiously on the whip, and Cyclonus came up onto his lap, easily and eagerly surrendering himself. Galvatron pressed his whip-wrapped hand to Cyclonus' wing as he held him close, forcefully and painfully binding their fields together, almost as though Cyclonus had had interface cables in his wing. Cyclonus melted into Galvatron's touch for a long, happy moment.
Galvatron shoved him back and off.
Long practice and coordination allowed Cyclonus to slip off onto his knees rather than falling onto his aft. Galvatron gave a pleased squeeze to Cyclonus' left antenna and said, "More. And you'll need a better angle."
"O-of course, my Lord. Would you like to bend over the throne?" Galvatron had whipped Cyclonus in that position many times; it was more satisfying emotionally than physically, but it was also one of the less submissive positions Cyclonus had available. Galvatron could stand--but Cyclonus did not want to put his Lord in a position where he had to choose between maintaining his position and receiving the force he seemed to want. And binding him, or putting him on his knees, was out of the question.
Galvatron nodded. "That will do, Cyclonus."
Cyclonus pulled back onto his knees to make room as Galvatron got up, turned around, and leaned over, hands gripping the top of the throne. Cyclonus gazed, appreciatively, at the expanse of his Lord's backside--his beautiful, sensitive thighs were right in front of Cyclonus' faceplates, and Cyclonus was tempted just to bury his hands and face in them and touch and kiss and lick and worship.
But he could do that with the whip. Cyclonus stood, and took a four astroseconds to run his optics--respectfully, if also hungrily--over the rest of his Lord's backside. He didn't get to see it often enough in an intimate context, since it was usually Cyclonus in this position. He allowed himself to run his hand down his Lord's back and thighs, once, carefully and reverently, and Galvatron's engine rumbled, not quite impatient. He stepped back slightly to get a better angle, and struck Galvatron's tail-sight so that whip wrapped around it and sparked against the plating of Galvatron's back.
"Yes," Galvatron growled.
Thus encouraged, Cyclonus put his skills to work, criss-crossing both sides of Galvatron's back with the whip and wrapping and unwrapping the tail-sight with great force. "You are magnificent, my Lord." And he was--proud and beautiful and asking for more with every strike. Galvatron could, no doubt, take even more of this than Cyclonus could, could take as much as Cyclonus could give him.
"Cyclonus!" Galvatron shouted the name in ecstasy, and Cyclonus' world was--even more than usual--limited to pleasing his Lord and appreciating--worshiping, adoring--his pleasure and his strength and beauty.
Beauty that was only enhanced when his paint job was covered with precise streaks of scorched and missing paint, worn down to silver or gray. Streaks that Cyclonus had helped make, that Galvatron had let him make--had demanded that he make. They were not worthy of the rest of him, of course--nothing that Cyclonus could ever make could be--but the sight of them heated Cyclonus' whole body and spurred him on to make more.
"Mighty One..." Cyclonus said reverently, not letting it interrupt him in his work. He moved upwards, administering blows to the pillars of Galvatron's shoulders, flicking the whip at the very tip of the tail-sight. Galvatron was becoming incoherent--in a good way. Not unlike how Cyclonus felt when Galvatron undid him in the very same way--the resemblance was disorienting, when Cyclonus thought about it, and there was an astrosecond where he thought that he was the one being whipped and not the one doing the whipping.
"Lower," Galvatron growled.
"Yes, Mighty One," Cyclonus' voice was almost as choked with arousal as Galvatron's as he worked his way down again, down further than he had been before, to lay the whip on Galvatron's defined waist, his purple aft--and, oh, those powerful, vulnerable thighs.
When Cyclonus reached them, Galvatron screamed and Cyclonus paused without conscious intent, continuing only when (an astrosecond later) Galvatron bellowed, "More!"
And Cyclonus gave him more, whipping his thighs until they could no longer support him and he collapsed against the throne, kneeling with his face where his tail would have been. When Cyclonus tried to help him back up, he yelled, "Don't stop!" and would have struck Cyclonus, if he'd had the strength and a better position. Cyclonus left him there, kneeling over his own throne, and kept going as Galvatron yelled and screamed and whimpered with complete and total abandon until Cyclonus--
He could have continued all day, if Galvatron wanted it. He would continue all day, if Galvatron ordered it. But his programming and experience told him that, on a physical level, he had reaching the point of diminishing returns unless he switched techniques.
He put the whip away.
"Why did you stop?" Galvatron demanded, hoarse and too tired, now, to even make a gesture toward striking his Second, or to order Cyclonus to continue.
"Let me do this for you, my Lord, please. And then I will start again." Cyclonus pulled out some high-quality polish--confiscated from one or another of the Stunticons, saved for a special occasion. Soothing and stimulating Galvatron's damaged plating would make him ready for more.
And give Cyclonus a break from hurting him.
"Do what?" Galvatron asked, twisting his body--torn by the whip, sparkling and heaving with arousal--to see the small box Cyclonus held out for him. "Oh yes. Use it." He turned back around, arranging himself on the throne, helm resting on his left arm, aft sticking out enticingly.
Cyclonus started on the shoulders, gently rubbing it in as if he were merely polishing his Lord's plating--as he had done, many times. As he went over the areas he'd torn with the whip, he projected his energy field, producing little sparks of electricity along the lines of the whip marks, where Galvatron's field was strengthened and the whip's energy (Cyclonus' own energy) lingered.
"Cyclonus!" Galvatron writhed happily under Cyclonus' touch.
Cyclonus had always enjoyed caring for his Lord in small everyday physical things--washing and polishing and painting him, and repairing what injuries he could. It was, to be perfectly honest, something that he'd taken on himself more than something Galvatron demanded of him. Doing this for him--it was almost the same thing, only the damage Cyclonus was soothing was damage he'd inflicted at Galvatron's request.
Cyclonus rubbed Galvatron's tail-sight all over, up and down and around. Galvatron made small sounds of pleasure and pain as he worked, their energy fields sparking between them.
"Cyclonus..." Galvatron moaned, low and happy.
"Mighty One," Cyclonus. He was serving and pleasing; he was happy. He moved back down to the base of the tail-sight and onto Galvatron's back, rubbing at the sensitive almost-hidden crevice where the tail joined his back. Galvatron arched as he rubbed the polish in there--Cyclonus was pleased to note that he had managed to touch that little seam exactly with the whip. He pressed harder, flaring his energy field--the polish conducted it nicely, and Galvatron roared.
Cyclonus moved his hands up over Galvatron's back plating, leaning over his tail-sight and, as he reached Galvatron's shoulders, gave a hard bite to the very tip of the sight. It gained him a happy yell of surprise and pleasure, and Galvatron bucked up against him, denting Cyclonus' mouth and making gouges in Galvatron's finish where it contacted Cyclonus' teeth.
For a moment, Cyclonus was overwhelmed, falling down on his knees over his Lord, mouth full of Galvatron's tail-sight and his own energon. He clung, helplessly, to his Lord, pressing his body and his energy field against Galvatron's and wordlessly begging for more, to be wrapped in Galvatron's energy and power, to be thrown to the floor, to his knees, to have the whip torn from his hand and used against him, where it belonged...
Galvatron bucked again, and his field flared hard, drawing more energon and a low moan from his lieutenant.
"Finish what you started," Galvatron ordered, and Cyclonus--weakly but willingly--pulled himself up, gathered the polish from where it had fallen (onto Lord Galvatron's back; fortunately it had not spilled), and took up his task. The aft was next--powerfully, beautifully shaped, heavily covered with whipmarks and gleaming with energy--but Galvatron shifted impatiently and seemed ready to yell again, so Cyclonus moved over it efficiently. The thighs were next, and he did not want to miss the chance to put his hands on those.
He was allowed to spend more time there, running his hands over the hot metal, smoothing over the slight dents the whip had made and the rings where the metal was jointed. So beautiful--Cyclonus wanted to tell his Lord just how beautiful he was, or connect to him so that Galvatron could feel it first hand. But he wasn't going to ask, not directly. Galvatron rumbled with contentment for a bit as Cyclonus stroked him, re-shining the plating and making the whipmarks stand out even brighter, but soon enough Cyclonus felt the charge building and the start of impatience under his hands.
"Get on with it!"
Cyclonus pulled back, put the polish away, and took out a shorter, five-tailed, barbed-wire flogger--no electricity in this one (although it was possible to conduct electricity along it, if necessary) but Cyclonus knew how delightfully it could tear at a mech's plating, when used with enough force. He trailed it over Galvatron's thighs, requesting permission.
"Yes, good, Cyclonus..." Galvatron moaned, as--even used lightly--the sharp edges torn at the edges of his plating, left lines in the polish and drew small, tantalizing, drops of energon where they intersected the places where the other whip had torn at the edges of the rings of metal. "Hit me hard."
Cyclonus did so, striking his right thigh just under his aft.
Galvatron howled with delight. "More." The marks this one made were different from the other--no melting of paint, but there were ever so slight dents and the small, fleeting drops of energon. It wasn't going to truly hurt Galvatron--very few things Cyclonus could do would--but it almost looked like he would.
He hit the other thigh, and Galvatron kicked him--involuntarily, probably. Cyclonus simply took it and, at Galvatron's order, kept going. Anyone else--even Cyclonus himself--would be bound for this treatment, for the protection of himself and his tormentor. But Cyclonus would never suggest this for Galvatron. So Cyclonus simply kept himself out of the way as best he could as Galvatron thrashed and howled his pain and pleasure.
Fifteen strokes, and Galvatron was still going, showing no sign of demanding that Cyclonus stop or that he be still. Cyclonus allowed himself to take hold of Galvatron's tail, brace himself so that he could strike more precisely, and Galvatron did not deny him, only kept howling for more.
Twice more, and then, "Enough!" Galvatron ordered, and Cyclonus--unable to break momentum so quickly, unable to deny his Lord--quickly moved his hand up and back so the flogger struck midair instead of his Lord's thighs or aft. "Connect to me. I want to feel you." Panels that had been torn and scorched by Cyclonus' whips opened to reveal four cords, two on each thigh, strong and thick to match the rest of his Lord's body, extending immediately to seek out the corresponding ports in Cyclonus' own thighs.
Galvatron's hardware was non-standard--Cyclonus had seen what it could do to other mechs. But Cyclonus had been designed to complement Galvatron in every way, and there was only a moment's pain as Galvatron jacked into him, pouring energy and feelings into Cyclonus and demanding the same in return.
Cyclonus was ready--always ready--with his utter adoration and devotion to his Lord, and he poured it through the connection, and the pain/pleasure/energy/lust/desire he received from Galvatron was joined by a smug, confident possessiveness when it was received. Cyclonus was ready to give in to Galvatron's powerful energy-flow and finish it right there, pressed as close to his Lord as he could get, but Galvatron growled and pulsed and the demand was clear--keep going.
Cyclonus wasn't going to be able to reach Galvatron's thighs very effectively with his own legs firmly attached to them, so he braced himself as best he could, feet on the floor, one hand on the side of the throne, and struck Galvatron's back under his tail.
The feedback was intense--Galvatron's pain and satisfaction at the intensity of the touch, his pleasure at being able to get Cyclonus to do even this for him--Cyclonus' own pleasure at serving, his personal knowledge of what this felt the other way around, his delight at being allowed this level of intimacy and trust--all of it mingled and it was half a thought of Cyclonus', half an order of Galvatron's, that sent the flogger crashing down on Galvatron's back a second time.
Galvatron roared, Cyclonus nearly collapsed, and still Galvatron demanded more. The most sensitive place Cyclonus could easily reach was his neck, and as a third strike landed hard on Galvatron's back, Cyclonus queried, uncertainly, over the connection, and Galvatron demanded.
Without the connection, without the sure knowledge that this was what Lord Galvatron wanted, what his Lord demanded, Cyclonus could not bring himself to strike Galvatron with the full force of his strength. But Galvatron had no such caution, and it was his Lord's own force and confidence that drove his hand, half-wrapping the tails around Galvatron's neck, piercing the softer metal, drawing energon and striking directly against several major control lines and a large sensory node.
Galvatron screamed. Cyclonus screamed. Cyclonus fell over on top of his Lord, on top of the throne, systems helplessly crashing into overload as Galvatron's overload, too overpowering to be contained within his own body, filled and overloaded Cyclonus as well.
An astrosecond or two later, Cyclonus became aware that Galvatron's cables were disengaging. He did not have the dignity left to refrain from whimpering at the lost connection, and hardly the energy to scramble off of Galvatron once his Lord reminded him--with a kick--that they were hardly in the appropriate positions.
Fortunately kneeling was respectful.
Galvatron, on the other hand, despite being the one of them that had endured the whipping, stood strong and proud. "Excellent, Cyclonus," he said, allowing Cyclonus to release a portion of the anxiety that was always with him. Galvatron smirked. "I shall request that service of you again." He reached down to squeeze an antenna. "For now, however--I think something else is in order. Give me those whips."
At that suggestion, Cyclonus' overloaded systems suddenly reengaged, interested in the proceedings once more. "Yes, Mighty One," he said, happily, and handed them over.
The first blow was pure delight.
Fandom: Transformers G1
Pairing:: Galvatron/Cyclonus
Rating: NC-17
Warnings/Advertisements: Dominance/submission, flogging: see summary. Also some plug-n-play style robot sex.
Summary: Written for this kink meme request:
Galvatron likes pain play. Anybody could figure *that* much. But what most people don't know is that Galvatron likes *receiving* pain, too.
The problem with that is liking to be hurt doesn't mean Galvatron ever, *ever* wants to be in a situation he doesn't control. So what do you do when you are a paranoid dominant warlord who wants to bottom every so often?
Answer: you go get your submissive second Cyclonus, who is so *very* good with a whip.
Cyclonus knelt before Galvatron in the throne room. For the moment, the two of them were the only ones there. Galvatron was in one of his quieter moods, and he'd been petting Cyclonus' antennae, off and on, as he talked of conquest. Cyclonus was in a state of blissful arousal such that Galvatron could have ordered him to overload then and there and he would have done so. Or his Lord could have kept him there for the rest of the shift, and he would have stayed happy.
Lord Galvatron did neither. "Your whip, Cyclonus." The order, like most things with Galvatron, came without warning, although it was no less welcome for that.
"Yes, my Lord." Cyclonus pulled his most powerful electrowhip out of subspace and offered it, reverently, to his Lord.
Galvatron shoved the whip back. "No. You use it today."
That was a small disappointment--there were few things Cyclonus liked more than writhing under his Lord's whip, at least when he was being whipped for Galvatron's pleasure rather than because he had disappointed him.
But he enjoyed showing off his technique for his Lord as well. "Yes, Mighty One. Who do you want me to torture for you?" They were currently lacking in obvious answers to that question, but some unlucky Decepticon could always be commandeered. A Sweep, maybe.
"Me."
This was...unexpected. Cyclonus paused, his grip on the electrowhip loosening slightly. "My--my Lord?" He would, of course, try to provide for all of Lord Galvatron's needs, obey all of his orders, but--did he really want Cyclonus to hurt him?
"Did you not hear me correctly, Cyclonus?" Galvatron grabbed him by the neck and hauled him up slightly.
In an already-aroused Cyclonus, this triggered waves of pleasure and strengthened his desire to submit himself entirely to whatever Galvatron wanted. Which was not particularly helpful, in this case.
"You. Whip me. Do you have a problem with the order?" Beneath the firm demand, there was an edge of uncertainty in Galvatron's voice, or so Cyclonus thought, and he'd had long practice interpreting Galvatron's moods. Of course it would be a novel and somewhat uncomfortable thought for Galvatron as well, even if he wanted it enough to demand it. Since their creation, Galvatron had always wanted complete control, and Cyclonus had been happy to give it to him.
But if it was at Lord Galvatron's order, than he was in control. And Cyclonus was, at least, skilled with an electrowhip, and he knew in great detail what his Lord enjoyed as spectator and tormentor. "I have no problem, my Lord. I will obey you gladly."
"Good." This established, Cyclonus and Galvatron stared at each other for an astrosecond, trying to work out how to proceed in the new activity.
"Where would you like to be whipped, my Lord?" Cyclonus knew how this worked with a prisoner, with a subordinate, with someone he could control and arrange as he and his Lord pleased. With Lord Galvatron--he could hardly put him on his knees, or chain him up, at least without an extremely explicit order.
Galvatron looked for an astrosecond as though he was going to yell at Cyclonus for that, too, order him to decide--but, no. "Here. For now. Start with my chest plates, Cyclonus."
"Yes, my Lord." Cyclonus allowed himself to bow his head once more before standing up and preparing himself to whip Lord Galvatron. Don't think about it, he told himself, just obey. He turned the current on in the whip, grounding himself for an astrosecond in the satisfyingly familiar sound and feel of it. And then he struck.
The whip arced through the air and raised a line of sparks across Galvatron's upper chestplate. Not too hard. Galvatron's hands dug in deeper on the throne's armrests, but he only growled, "Harder."
"Yes, my Lord." The next blow was rougher, and a little lower. Galvatron's upper chest was well-shielded--there was no way his whip would be able to make much of a mark on the armor there. But down further, toward the waist--experimentally, Cyclonus flicked the tip of the tip of over the red-and-white cross inset in the plating above Galvatron's waist. There was some very sensitive circuitry in there--Cyclonus could remember well the reactions he'd gotten worshiping it with his mouth and his fingers.
Galvatron jumped slightly at this blow, electricity visible and tangible as it spread out through his fields. "Again. Don't hold back, Cyclonus. Or do you think that I am weak?"
"Of course not, my Lord." Cyclonus simply did not want to hurt, or offend, but if the offense was in striking him too lightly, than Cyclonus would strike hard. Mighty Galvatron was right, after all--his Lord could take far more than Cyclonus' usual victims. (Although Cyclonus was not going to dare using the force and intensity Lord Galvatron used on him.) Before he'd really started thinking about it, Cyclonus had turned the current up to maximum, attaching the whip to his wrist so that it could draw power from his own systems, and started striking his Lord with nearly all the force he had available.
It was difficult to whip Galvatron's waist properly from this angle--with Galvatron sitting in the throne still--but Cyclonus went at it with a will, whip stinging and sparking over the waist and chestplates and lower hips, occasionally catching on the arms and cannon. Galvatron was quieter than usual, making it easy to hear the sound of the whip and his subtler reactions--the whir of his cooling fans, the small scrapes of metal against metal as he didn't, quite, manage to hold himself still, and the low protests of the armrests, as they were squeezed and distorted under his hands. And, as always, Cyclonus took in every small reaction, treasuring it and using it to inform and improve his technique.
After a few minutes of such treatment, Galvatron gave a low growl and reached out with his hand, catching the whip. Partly by momentum, partly by volition, the whip wrapped around Lord Galvatron's hand, and Cyclonus did not insult his Lord by turning it off, or even down. Current from Cyclonus' systems burned through the whip, around Galvatron's hand, and into his Lord's body, and Cyclonus would deny him none of it.
Galvatron pulled imperiously on the whip, and Cyclonus came up onto his lap, easily and eagerly surrendering himself. Galvatron pressed his whip-wrapped hand to Cyclonus' wing as he held him close, forcefully and painfully binding their fields together, almost as though Cyclonus had had interface cables in his wing. Cyclonus melted into Galvatron's touch for a long, happy moment.
Galvatron shoved him back and off.
Long practice and coordination allowed Cyclonus to slip off onto his knees rather than falling onto his aft. Galvatron gave a pleased squeeze to Cyclonus' left antenna and said, "More. And you'll need a better angle."
"O-of course, my Lord. Would you like to bend over the throne?" Galvatron had whipped Cyclonus in that position many times; it was more satisfying emotionally than physically, but it was also one of the less submissive positions Cyclonus had available. Galvatron could stand--but Cyclonus did not want to put his Lord in a position where he had to choose between maintaining his position and receiving the force he seemed to want. And binding him, or putting him on his knees, was out of the question.
Galvatron nodded. "That will do, Cyclonus."
Cyclonus pulled back onto his knees to make room as Galvatron got up, turned around, and leaned over, hands gripping the top of the throne. Cyclonus gazed, appreciatively, at the expanse of his Lord's backside--his beautiful, sensitive thighs were right in front of Cyclonus' faceplates, and Cyclonus was tempted just to bury his hands and face in them and touch and kiss and lick and worship.
But he could do that with the whip. Cyclonus stood, and took a four astroseconds to run his optics--respectfully, if also hungrily--over the rest of his Lord's backside. He didn't get to see it often enough in an intimate context, since it was usually Cyclonus in this position. He allowed himself to run his hand down his Lord's back and thighs, once, carefully and reverently, and Galvatron's engine rumbled, not quite impatient. He stepped back slightly to get a better angle, and struck Galvatron's tail-sight so that whip wrapped around it and sparked against the plating of Galvatron's back.
"Yes," Galvatron growled.
Thus encouraged, Cyclonus put his skills to work, criss-crossing both sides of Galvatron's back with the whip and wrapping and unwrapping the tail-sight with great force. "You are magnificent, my Lord." And he was--proud and beautiful and asking for more with every strike. Galvatron could, no doubt, take even more of this than Cyclonus could, could take as much as Cyclonus could give him.
"Cyclonus!" Galvatron shouted the name in ecstasy, and Cyclonus' world was--even more than usual--limited to pleasing his Lord and appreciating--worshiping, adoring--his pleasure and his strength and beauty.
Beauty that was only enhanced when his paint job was covered with precise streaks of scorched and missing paint, worn down to silver or gray. Streaks that Cyclonus had helped make, that Galvatron had let him make--had demanded that he make. They were not worthy of the rest of him, of course--nothing that Cyclonus could ever make could be--but the sight of them heated Cyclonus' whole body and spurred him on to make more.
"Mighty One..." Cyclonus said reverently, not letting it interrupt him in his work. He moved upwards, administering blows to the pillars of Galvatron's shoulders, flicking the whip at the very tip of the tail-sight. Galvatron was becoming incoherent--in a good way. Not unlike how Cyclonus felt when Galvatron undid him in the very same way--the resemblance was disorienting, when Cyclonus thought about it, and there was an astrosecond where he thought that he was the one being whipped and not the one doing the whipping.
"Lower," Galvatron growled.
"Yes, Mighty One," Cyclonus' voice was almost as choked with arousal as Galvatron's as he worked his way down again, down further than he had been before, to lay the whip on Galvatron's defined waist, his purple aft--and, oh, those powerful, vulnerable thighs.
When Cyclonus reached them, Galvatron screamed and Cyclonus paused without conscious intent, continuing only when (an astrosecond later) Galvatron bellowed, "More!"
And Cyclonus gave him more, whipping his thighs until they could no longer support him and he collapsed against the throne, kneeling with his face where his tail would have been. When Cyclonus tried to help him back up, he yelled, "Don't stop!" and would have struck Cyclonus, if he'd had the strength and a better position. Cyclonus left him there, kneeling over his own throne, and kept going as Galvatron yelled and screamed and whimpered with complete and total abandon until Cyclonus--
He could have continued all day, if Galvatron wanted it. He would continue all day, if Galvatron ordered it. But his programming and experience told him that, on a physical level, he had reaching the point of diminishing returns unless he switched techniques.
He put the whip away.
"Why did you stop?" Galvatron demanded, hoarse and too tired, now, to even make a gesture toward striking his Second, or to order Cyclonus to continue.
"Let me do this for you, my Lord, please. And then I will start again." Cyclonus pulled out some high-quality polish--confiscated from one or another of the Stunticons, saved for a special occasion. Soothing and stimulating Galvatron's damaged plating would make him ready for more.
And give Cyclonus a break from hurting him.
"Do what?" Galvatron asked, twisting his body--torn by the whip, sparkling and heaving with arousal--to see the small box Cyclonus held out for him. "Oh yes. Use it." He turned back around, arranging himself on the throne, helm resting on his left arm, aft sticking out enticingly.
Cyclonus started on the shoulders, gently rubbing it in as if he were merely polishing his Lord's plating--as he had done, many times. As he went over the areas he'd torn with the whip, he projected his energy field, producing little sparks of electricity along the lines of the whip marks, where Galvatron's field was strengthened and the whip's energy (Cyclonus' own energy) lingered.
"Cyclonus!" Galvatron writhed happily under Cyclonus' touch.
Cyclonus had always enjoyed caring for his Lord in small everyday physical things--washing and polishing and painting him, and repairing what injuries he could. It was, to be perfectly honest, something that he'd taken on himself more than something Galvatron demanded of him. Doing this for him--it was almost the same thing, only the damage Cyclonus was soothing was damage he'd inflicted at Galvatron's request.
Cyclonus rubbed Galvatron's tail-sight all over, up and down and around. Galvatron made small sounds of pleasure and pain as he worked, their energy fields sparking between them.
"Cyclonus..." Galvatron moaned, low and happy.
"Mighty One," Cyclonus. He was serving and pleasing; he was happy. He moved back down to the base of the tail-sight and onto Galvatron's back, rubbing at the sensitive almost-hidden crevice where the tail joined his back. Galvatron arched as he rubbed the polish in there--Cyclonus was pleased to note that he had managed to touch that little seam exactly with the whip. He pressed harder, flaring his energy field--the polish conducted it nicely, and Galvatron roared.
Cyclonus moved his hands up over Galvatron's back plating, leaning over his tail-sight and, as he reached Galvatron's shoulders, gave a hard bite to the very tip of the sight. It gained him a happy yell of surprise and pleasure, and Galvatron bucked up against him, denting Cyclonus' mouth and making gouges in Galvatron's finish where it contacted Cyclonus' teeth.
For a moment, Cyclonus was overwhelmed, falling down on his knees over his Lord, mouth full of Galvatron's tail-sight and his own energon. He clung, helplessly, to his Lord, pressing his body and his energy field against Galvatron's and wordlessly begging for more, to be wrapped in Galvatron's energy and power, to be thrown to the floor, to his knees, to have the whip torn from his hand and used against him, where it belonged...
Galvatron bucked again, and his field flared hard, drawing more energon and a low moan from his lieutenant.
"Finish what you started," Galvatron ordered, and Cyclonus--weakly but willingly--pulled himself up, gathered the polish from where it had fallen (onto Lord Galvatron's back; fortunately it had not spilled), and took up his task. The aft was next--powerfully, beautifully shaped, heavily covered with whipmarks and gleaming with energy--but Galvatron shifted impatiently and seemed ready to yell again, so Cyclonus moved over it efficiently. The thighs were next, and he did not want to miss the chance to put his hands on those.
He was allowed to spend more time there, running his hands over the hot metal, smoothing over the slight dents the whip had made and the rings where the metal was jointed. So beautiful--Cyclonus wanted to tell his Lord just how beautiful he was, or connect to him so that Galvatron could feel it first hand. But he wasn't going to ask, not directly. Galvatron rumbled with contentment for a bit as Cyclonus stroked him, re-shining the plating and making the whipmarks stand out even brighter, but soon enough Cyclonus felt the charge building and the start of impatience under his hands.
"Get on with it!"
Cyclonus pulled back, put the polish away, and took out a shorter, five-tailed, barbed-wire flogger--no electricity in this one (although it was possible to conduct electricity along it, if necessary) but Cyclonus knew how delightfully it could tear at a mech's plating, when used with enough force. He trailed it over Galvatron's thighs, requesting permission.
"Yes, good, Cyclonus..." Galvatron moaned, as--even used lightly--the sharp edges torn at the edges of his plating, left lines in the polish and drew small, tantalizing, drops of energon where they intersected the places where the other whip had torn at the edges of the rings of metal. "Hit me hard."
Cyclonus did so, striking his right thigh just under his aft.
Galvatron howled with delight. "More." The marks this one made were different from the other--no melting of paint, but there were ever so slight dents and the small, fleeting drops of energon. It wasn't going to truly hurt Galvatron--very few things Cyclonus could do would--but it almost looked like he would.
He hit the other thigh, and Galvatron kicked him--involuntarily, probably. Cyclonus simply took it and, at Galvatron's order, kept going. Anyone else--even Cyclonus himself--would be bound for this treatment, for the protection of himself and his tormentor. But Cyclonus would never suggest this for Galvatron. So Cyclonus simply kept himself out of the way as best he could as Galvatron thrashed and howled his pain and pleasure.
Fifteen strokes, and Galvatron was still going, showing no sign of demanding that Cyclonus stop or that he be still. Cyclonus allowed himself to take hold of Galvatron's tail, brace himself so that he could strike more precisely, and Galvatron did not deny him, only kept howling for more.
Twice more, and then, "Enough!" Galvatron ordered, and Cyclonus--unable to break momentum so quickly, unable to deny his Lord--quickly moved his hand up and back so the flogger struck midair instead of his Lord's thighs or aft. "Connect to me. I want to feel you." Panels that had been torn and scorched by Cyclonus' whips opened to reveal four cords, two on each thigh, strong and thick to match the rest of his Lord's body, extending immediately to seek out the corresponding ports in Cyclonus' own thighs.
Galvatron's hardware was non-standard--Cyclonus had seen what it could do to other mechs. But Cyclonus had been designed to complement Galvatron in every way, and there was only a moment's pain as Galvatron jacked into him, pouring energy and feelings into Cyclonus and demanding the same in return.
Cyclonus was ready--always ready--with his utter adoration and devotion to his Lord, and he poured it through the connection, and the pain/pleasure/energy/lust/desire he received from Galvatron was joined by a smug, confident possessiveness when it was received. Cyclonus was ready to give in to Galvatron's powerful energy-flow and finish it right there, pressed as close to his Lord as he could get, but Galvatron growled and pulsed and the demand was clear--keep going.
Cyclonus wasn't going to be able to reach Galvatron's thighs very effectively with his own legs firmly attached to them, so he braced himself as best he could, feet on the floor, one hand on the side of the throne, and struck Galvatron's back under his tail.
The feedback was intense--Galvatron's pain and satisfaction at the intensity of the touch, his pleasure at being able to get Cyclonus to do even this for him--Cyclonus' own pleasure at serving, his personal knowledge of what this felt the other way around, his delight at being allowed this level of intimacy and trust--all of it mingled and it was half a thought of Cyclonus', half an order of Galvatron's, that sent the flogger crashing down on Galvatron's back a second time.
Galvatron roared, Cyclonus nearly collapsed, and still Galvatron demanded more. The most sensitive place Cyclonus could easily reach was his neck, and as a third strike landed hard on Galvatron's back, Cyclonus queried, uncertainly, over the connection, and Galvatron demanded.
Without the connection, without the sure knowledge that this was what Lord Galvatron wanted, what his Lord demanded, Cyclonus could not bring himself to strike Galvatron with the full force of his strength. But Galvatron had no such caution, and it was his Lord's own force and confidence that drove his hand, half-wrapping the tails around Galvatron's neck, piercing the softer metal, drawing energon and striking directly against several major control lines and a large sensory node.
Galvatron screamed. Cyclonus screamed. Cyclonus fell over on top of his Lord, on top of the throne, systems helplessly crashing into overload as Galvatron's overload, too overpowering to be contained within his own body, filled and overloaded Cyclonus as well.
An astrosecond or two later, Cyclonus became aware that Galvatron's cables were disengaging. He did not have the dignity left to refrain from whimpering at the lost connection, and hardly the energy to scramble off of Galvatron once his Lord reminded him--with a kick--that they were hardly in the appropriate positions.
Fortunately kneeling was respectful.
Galvatron, on the other hand, despite being the one of them that had endured the whipping, stood strong and proud. "Excellent, Cyclonus," he said, allowing Cyclonus to release a portion of the anxiety that was always with him. Galvatron smirked. "I shall request that service of you again." He reached down to squeeze an antenna. "For now, however--I think something else is in order. Give me those whips."
At that suggestion, Cyclonus' overloaded systems suddenly reengaged, interested in the proceedings once more. "Yes, Mighty One," he said, happily, and handed them over.
The first blow was pure delight.
