Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/2428319.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Transformers_Generation_One, Transformers_-_All_Media_Types
  Relationship:
      Bumblebee/Megatron
  Character:
      Bumblebee_(Transformers), Megatron_(Transformers), Original_Cybertronian
      Character(s)
  Additional Tags:
      Graphic_Description, Forced_Prostitution, Brothels
  Series:
      Part 1 of Darkon_Series
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-10-09 Words: 1675
****** Darkon Begins ******
by photonromance
Summary
     After earning his life in the Gladiator pit, Megatron sets out to
     start a business of his own in the slums of Cybertron. While out
     recruiting for his burlesque club come brothel, he comes across a
     little mech that will turn what he once considered a spark of ice and
     stone.
Notes
     An origin story to a small universe I toy with from time to time. In
     this, Megatron own a club called Darkon and recruits mecha from
     across Cybertron, creatures bruised by their lives and unafraid of
     the work. If you don't mind the read, a full summary of the 'verse is
     in the end notes. Your comments are most welcome.
See the end of the work for more notes
 
 
            Megatron stood outside a local brothel, thinking. The streets were
dark already, and most of the traffic had already dissipated, so he had little
company on the sidewalk just before the front steps. Soon, he thought to
himself, I will be done scouting whorehouses. We will be ready to open. A cold
wind blew past him, chilling his circuits. Until then, here we go. He made his
way up few stone steps and sent a data burst request for entry.
           It was a gilded brothel, every surface covered in soft, damask
fabrics and lined with precious metals. Standing in the main entryway, Megatron
put away his cloak like covering in side closet before continuing to the
parlors. Every smaller parlor was scattered with large, comfortable chairs and
lounges. Everywhere, mechs and femmes lay about and talked, drank high grade,
and smoked from crystal containers of glowing materials. A smoky fog hung in
the air.
            “What are you looking for, sir?” The question came from a green
mech standing at Megatron’s elbow. Just a slender little thing, with large
amber optics that looked up a him with a most appealing expression.
            “Nothing yet, but thank you.” Megatron murmured, turning to gaze
across the parlors, “I will be sure you let you know.” The mech bowed, turning
to asking femme behind him the same question. The massive silver mech wandered
the smoky rooms for some time, declining offers of high grade and various
stimulants all the while. It wasn’t until he finally settled on a lounge near
an ornately draped the window that he was approached again.
            Breakneck was a mech with a good eye for other bot’s tastes.
Watching the big silver mech roam the parlors with the grace and air of a
cyberwolf, he was sure in an instant what this mech was looking for. He had
avoided all the most obvious courtesans, and even the less obvious, but more
attractive, employees, choosing to take a seat in an isolated corner where he
could watch everything from afar. Yes, Breakneck was sure he knew what this
patron wanted.
            “Is there nothing here that catches your attention, sir?” The
powerful, navy colored mech asked as he strode up to the seated patron. He drew
a chair from nearby and took a seat. “We have much to offer, more than is
present, even here.”
            Megatron looked to the mech, but turned back to the room shortly,
finding nothing impressive about him.
            “My name is Breakneck, I own this establishment.” He clarified, a
little irritated that he was being ignored.
            “You have a fine selection, Breakneck. Nothing has caught my optic
just yet, however.” Megatron responded, not bothering to look back.
            “Then perhaps you have not laid your optics on the finest of our
selection.” Breakneck suggested, satisfied to have his patron’s attention.
            “Then I might inquire as to where you keep your finest, if not in
your parlors for your patrons to see themselves.” Megatron asked, turning now,
in his lounge, to face his host.
            “Why, in the cellars, sir, where anymech might keep things he wants
to preserve for a select and discerning few.” Breakneck smiled in a cruel and
blinding way, “And I assure, if you don’t like
anything you see up here, you will find it down there.”
                                       ~
            Breakneck led his patron to a curtained doorway near the very back
of the building. The door was heavy, and there was a thick data lock keeping it
bolted shut. Past it, there were stairs, spiraling down, deeper than any normal
cellar might go. Instantly, Megatron was suspicious. “What do you keep down
here?” The silver mech asked, cables tensed incase they planned an attack.
            “These are courtesans for those who’s tastes run to the darker side
of pleasure.” Breakneck explained over his shoulder as they continued, down and
down, “Not many dare venture down here.”
            As he spoke, they passed a door left cracked open. Inside, someone
screamed. The cry was followed by a watery moan. Megatron gave the entryway a
passing glance and moved on, following his guide deeper. There was something
about this place. Something pulled him down into the darkness. Something dim
and beckoning called to him.
            The dark painted walls began giving way to bare concrete and
exposed beams.
            “You strike me as a mech who would appreciate a smaller partner.”
Breakneck said ahead of him, “And I have just the mech in mind. He’s come to us
recently, barely legal, actually.”
            Megatron froze where he stood. Is that what this mech thought he
was here for? No, he didn’t want this! But still… that nagging feeling in his
spark… could this mystery bot be just the one he was looking for? This feeling
was driving him more than any rational thought, and he took another step.
            “It would be a shame to keep such a gem hidden from adoring
optics.” He prodded, “Why so far down?”
            “He is still in training.” Breakneck said simply, “He is not ready
for the parlors.”
            Training? Megatron’s spark went cold as he realized, with terrible
suddenness, what the navy mech was talking about. This mystery mech was not
here of his own free will. He was a slave, being held and trained and broken.
Primus, why was he being drawn ever closer to such cruelty? And the pull was
morphing as understanding swept though him. There was fear in it, dread and
pain. Something very dark was at the end of this hall.
            The silver mech had no response to Breakneck’s statement, only
following as he concentrated on soothing the trendil of fear that tugged at his
spark. He was stopped short as they stopped outside a single door, double data
locked and barred. There was no sound from within, though it didn’t look
soundproofed.
            “This is his room. He is with a client right now, but if you don’t
mind a bit of a show, we have permission to enter.” Breakneck said with a smile
that was painfully sincere.
            “Whatever you feel would be appropriate.” Megatron said tightly,
anxiety rising as the tension in the trendil shot up.
            Breakneck gave him a look, confused, doubtful. “Then let’s head
in.” he said, sounding decidedly unsure. He sent a data burst code to both
locks and lifted the bar over the door. As it creaked open slowly, Megatron
could feel his nerves fraying as he waited.
            For a moment, Megatron was sure he was going to purge. His entire
frame locked up for a moment. In horror or fear, he wasn’t sure.
            There was a huge green mech, streaks of black flashed across his
frame, light reflecting over his paint as he thrust his hips violently.
            A tiny yellow mech lay beneath him.
            The little mech was gorgeously slender, with baby blue optics and
dainty small hands. He made no struggle as he seemed barely conscious and
obviously in agony. His optics were dim and half-shuttered. His mouth was open
slightly, hard, panting breaths escaping as he was jarred against the concrete
floor each time the bigger mech over him surged forward. Shapely thighs were
parted obscenely wide as the green mech fucked away, glistening pink mechblood
stained both bot’s hips and legs.
            Those beautiful blue optics climbed Megatron’s massive frame,
stopping when they met shocked crimson. His lip plates were cracked, Megatron
realized as he began to speak.
             Help… me…
            The words were a bare breath, inaudible over the green mech’s
grunts and the sound of blood slicked rape. But Megatron heard him. Read the
words from his coolant stained optics and bleeding mouth.
            The slick noise (schlick, schlick) was making Megatron sicker and
sicker by the second. Those optics were so sad, so brokenly hopeless, he
couldn’t take another moment.
            Surging forward himself, Megatron took hold of the green mech by
the shoulder and heaved with all his might. Shocked, the offending mech
released his victim and was flung across the small room, smashing into the wall
with impressive force. He lay there a moment, dazed, his spike still erect and
dripping mechblood.
            Megatron was on the smaller mech in an instant, lifting thin
shoulders to rest against his arm. Before he could stop himself, he was telling
the mech, “It’s going to be okay. I’m here. Everything’s going to be okay.” and
petting over his faceplates softly. It hurt him to feel the feverish heat in
the small frame, to see grateful peace in hollow blue optics. Furious, Megatron
rounded on Breakneck.
            “Is this what you wanted me to see?” He roared, holding the little
mech closer when he shivered at the sound, “You would offer me this- this
child! As a partner?” Megatron had no pity for the navy mech’s trembling fear.
“Go! Get my cloak. I am leaving. And he is coming with me.”
            As  Breakneck opened his mouth to argue, Megatron raised his arm.
The sound of high-speed transformation echoed in the small room. His fusion
cannon whirred to full charge.
            “Go now. Or I’m taking down this entire building behind me.”
Megatron spoke flatly, tone too serious for argument. Breakneck took a few
steps back, hands raised defensively, before running up the stairs. The silver
mech turned his cannon on the green mech still slumped against the wall. “You
too.” Megatron snarled, “Get out.”
            The massive green mech scrambled to his pedes and fled the room
without a backwards glance.
            Satisfied, Megatron turned to the little mech in his arms. He was
gazing up at Megatron with a strange, barely conscious expression. “You… You
wont hurt me, will you?” he asked, and his voice nearly broke Megatron’s spark
for  the hundredth time that hour. He had a sweet voice, the bigger mech could
tell, but now he spoke in a harsh, rasping tone that hardly conveyed the sound
he must have had underneath.
            “Never. I will never hurt you.” Megatron assured softly, stroking
slowly over sensory horns.
            “I knew it.” The little mech whispered, “It was you. It was always
you.” And he was unconscious in Megatron’s arms. 
End Notes
     Megatron runs Darkon with his little not-a-bondmate Bumblebee at his
     side. They collect mecha down on their luck and in need of special
     handling. What starts as a business ventures becomes their own little
     family.
     Their head Dom and most skilled dancer is Jazz, a gorgeous mech from
     Polyhex with a long history in the business. He doesn't think much of
     himself, but Prowl, a young enforcer dragged in for a bonding party,
     thinks the world of him.
     Bluestreak is a former Dark Energon addict that serves drinks to the
     clientele, but doesn't take clients himself. He's seen too much
     during his time in the gutters and the crew takes good care of him
     when the trauma becomes too much.
     Sunstreaker and Sideswipe are sparktwins fresh out of the pit and
     Megatron is the only mech willing to take them in together.
     Sunstreaker is the barman and bouncer, rough and scowling. Sideswipe
     is bright and cheerful and dances, taking clients when they strike
     his taste, sometime sharing with his brother, other times not.
     Mirage escaped the Towers where the pressure for perfection resulted
     in a mental breakdown. He takes clients looking for a submissive they
     can rough up mostly as a form of self punishment.
     Hound loves him dearly and wishes very much he wouldn't hurt himself
     so. More of a talker with his clients, Hound is a low born mech
     willing to follow Mirage wherever he must to keep him safe.
     Ratchet joins the gang as a former doctor, his licence lost when a
     patient accused him of misconduct, that now patches up mecha in the
     pits. He is called to the club when injuries occur, more than
     Megatron would like and not often enough for the twins.
     If you're interested, I would be extremely glad to hear it. I have
     pieces of this 'verse and I want to use it for something.
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