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The gladiator swayed from side to side, his shoulders heavy, his gait heavy, his optics heavy. He was a powerful mech and had made everyone know. The grand hall was lit but still mysteriously dark, colour reflected off of the crystals adorning the chandeliers, thirteen busts of the thirteen Primes watched the oval room with their stern faces and gem eyes. Yet it was the gladiator who commanded the room once he entered, not shrunk or dwarfed by the towering statues or the dancing lights. Darkness pulled around him and he shone darker in it.
The mech approached Alpha Trion tense in the face but swift in the legs, clearly he had either wished to be welcomed by the sitting Prime or spared the ointment ritual.
Gladiators choose their church themselves, and while many have chosen at random just to exhaust their right to a moment of joy, in Megatron’s clever optics Alpha Trion could clearly see a mech who knew where he was, and what was expected of him.
And yet, he chose his own path. Instead of waiting for the priests to gently sink his helm into the water, Megatron approached the basin and sunk his hand into the solvent, the shaved crystal petals clinging to his fingers and wrist. He splashed the water onto his face, then reached with the same wet hand into the bowl of red wax, and smeared the colour onto his cheek with two fingers to crudely mimic the same symbol the priests wore. Alpha Trion watched in apprehension and disbelief, and he could not simply assume Megatron had misunderstood. The mech had a reputation, there was a lot to be said of his strength and a lot to be known from his twisted writings, and he could tell that this mech was not ignorant. He was disrespectful.
But they’ve had worse, before, so Alpha Trion, although grimacing, led the gladiator to the confession room.
Orion Pax has been waiting for minutes, chronometer ticking by in tandem with the quiet clock on the wall, and he was starting to feel stuffy and anxious, oppressed by the curtained walls he knew so well and the pressure under his chest plate.
This was a duty he could’ve passed onto any other priest of the same ranking, but peculiarly so, Megatron had chosen him, asked for him, and perhaps in some divine way, Orion too had asked for Megatron in turn.
The famed gladiator entered, having to duck his helm under the doorframe as he passed through. The doors sealed behind him, leaving the two alone. The room was quiet and small, overwhelmingly gold and red. Orion before him was covered in cloth of blue and white layers, humble colours of purity and modesty standing out in the decadent room, contrasting against the splashes of red in his paint-job.
Megatron didn’t wait to be called forth, he stepped forwards himself, prowling across the room in the same pace that he approaches his enemies in the arena with. Orion waited patiently, but Megatron only watched him, his lips pursed, his optics bright with expectation. Yet it didn’t seem like he meant to, or had any intention of bowing his helm any lower. Orion didn’t let himself be disrespected, and simply ordered him, softly:
„Kneel, champion,”
Megatron’s lip twitched, like he’d expected to be exempt from the formalities, but he kneeled nonetheless, his plating and armour clashing and creaking. He looked up at his priest expectantly, yet to speak.
Orion Pax slid his chest-plate off, the robes covering his chest tenting out full and stretched around his heavy energon pouches. He reached in past the chainmail cape and the wire-pleat camisole, untucking a breast from underneath, softly lit up by the fuel sloshing inside.
„Drink, champion,”
And Megatron leaned in and drank, sucking forcefully at the nozzle. Orion gasped behind his mask, arching his back into Megatron’s mouth. His soft breast was pressed against Megatron’s face, squished against his chin, and the gladiator tilted his helm into it, swallowing around the nozzle. Orion put his hands around his helmet, patting the scratched metal with delicate fingers, a soothing motion, meant to lull Megatron into a sense of calm and safety. The gladiator huffed through his nose, his breath warm on Orion’s pouch.
Megatron pulled back, his lips lightly tainted with a thin sheet of heavenly milk, and Orion sighed. Then, Megatron rose and pressed up against him, his heavy body pushing Orion back against the padded altar. Orion Pax was well acquainted with rowdy gladiators who couldn’t tell a church from a brothel, who came here and confused the altar for a berth and his bare breasts for an invitation. Disappointed but not surprised, Orion put his hands up against Megatron’s shoulders.
„Champion,” he scolded „If these are the pleasures you expect, you should’ve chosen the sect of Vector Sigma instead,”
Megatron briefly looked offended, then his optics squinted, burning with the fire of desire. He spoke up with his gravelly voice and Kaonite accent: „I assure you, priest, I have picked the correct church,”
„But I have nothing more to give you,”
„You do,” Megatron insisted, his gaze dark. He threw himself at Orion then, the decorative covers draped over the altar flailed almost comically with the impact and Orion’s squirming. While his initial reaction was reactive, Orion tried to not let his fear be shown, remaining stern in the face-plate and calm in the spark.
Many things have met him in this room, but no gladiator has ever looked at him like this, with a certainty that was to be feared.
„I know you have had your optic on me,” Megatron said, recalling seeing the very Orion Pax in the crowd, in the stadium, standing above the arena, a curious look in his optics, watching Megatron like an animal in a cage that he wished to adopt „I have seen you watching me, priest,”
„Not with sinful intent,” Orion strained, his hands tightening around Megatron’s arms „Cease this assault now. Otherwise we will both suffer for this transgression,”
Megatron continued as if he hadn’t heard him, slipping a hand between Orion’s legs. He didn't bother to unfurl the layers of fabric safeguarding the priest’s modesty just yet, groping him through the robes instead. His hand was large and forceful, stroking Orion unpleasantly.
„Stop this,” coolant beads on Orion’s forehelm. Megatron had bared his teeth, grabbed him under the chin, and ordered him to uncover his face. Orion shook his helm „I see now that I have been wrong to be fascinated, now restrain yourself,”
Megatron tuts „Uncover your face, priest,”
„I shall not,” Orion grunts, clattering against Megatron’s body. His mask remained tightly wrapped around his lower face, quivering with every word „I shouldn’t have listened to your writings, you are just another brute, like the others,”
He seemed to have struck a nerve, because Megatron’s lustful expression broke for a moment, then the gladiator bellowed a joyless laugh „Likewise, Orion Pax,”
Then, Megatron leaned in to bite at his neck. Orion frowned, blue optics squinted in fury. His squirming ceased for a short moment, his hand frantic as he reached for the belt of his robes, unsheathing a hidden blade. It was too late when he noticed Megatron’s optics glint his way, and as fast as he brought up his blade, sharp enough to penetrate anything from the softest rubber to the most hardened plating, his wrist was tightly squeezed. But Megatron didn’t take the blade from his hand.
He twisted Orion’s arm and brought it to his own neck.
He was in no danger, Orion couldn’t as much as turn his hand in that vice tight grip, and they both knew that. Megatron’s rapidly warming up body was now pressing against Orion fully, his legs spread apart around the gladiator’s hips.
„You have read my works?” Megatron said humorously, not waiting for Orion to nod „And now you preach to me what is crude, when you lie here in imported fabrics, in robes linked by slaves,”
Orion was too stunned to speak, his optics trained on the knife under Megatron’s throat. Megatron moved his hand, bringing the blade to his own cheek, right under the smeared mark of red wax.
„Orion Pax,” Megatron said the name that he should not know or be allowed to utter in the confession room so proudly, like he was laughing at the priest and his illusions of untouchability. He kisses the blade „I come from a place where everything is taken by force, a place where you must take and take and take, otherwise it will be taken from you,”
He breathed, so that Orion would hear his vents expand and shutter.
„And everything your temple has, had been taken from others. You forget that. So now I will take from you, as was taken from me,”
„You have come here to disrespect the temple?” Orion lifted his chin, chest burning with humiliation and shame, his bare breast jiggling as he tried to puff up his chest „To– to disrespect me for the crime of daring to admire you?”
„Disrespect?” Megatron feigns offense „Orion Pax, many have paid for my seed. You will receive it for free,”
„I do not want it!” Orion shook his helm, his composure breaking „I have no need for it!”
„I do not care,” Megatron said simply, and then he squeezed the blade out of Orion’s hand, and brought it down upon the priest.
Orion’s optics closed on instinct, he could barely hold in the scream that clogged up his intake as he was briefly met with the line between life and death. The sharp blade met the protoform covering his spark chamber, but the tip didn’t press any further. Instead, Megatron curled the knife downwards, and he yanked it towards himself, tearing fabric, chainmail, rubber and silicone, every single layer of clothing protecting Orion from the neck down to his groin was sliced easily, baring his body to the gladiator’s whims.
Orion yelped when he looked down and saw his bare breasts face to face with Megatron. Gladiators come to strengthen themselves with his milk and his soothing words, yet even those that have come here smelling of dried energon and tried to bite off a priest's fingers when given their mark of Primus haven’t gone as far as to forcefully uncover their priest’s pouches. They were his to give, not someone else’s to take. Seems that Megatron was dead-set on breaking every rule today. Orion could only watch, dumbfounded and embarrassed as Megatron lowered his head and demonstrated his intention, biting at his breast and sucking on his nozzles. He moved the blade underneath Orion’s left pouch, his nozzles drawing tight and hard in fear, legs squirming around Megatron.
His only weapon had been taken, and Megatron was not armed as far as he could see, he had no sword Orion could unsheathe or axe on his back that he could grab. So Orion begs; „Champion please, I am celibate,”
„That is of no concern to me,”
„You have proven your point, do not defile me further,” his hands weren't tied or held but no matter how much they scrambled and pushed and beat at Megatron’s plating, the gladiator wouldn’t budge „You know what will happen to me if I”–
„What will happen? You will become a lay-mech, just like myself?” Megatron smirked.
„Champion, I am not the source of your plight,” Orion tried to reason.
„No” Megatron agreed „You are my relief from it,”
He lifts himself up, kneeling between Orion’s legs, and he presses the knife against the priest’s smooth modesty panels, teasing the seam „Open, or I will make you,”
Orion in-vented, his mask flaring slightly, chin held high „Then you must make me,”
Megatron was not deterred by the confidence, and as he was first and foremost a mech of action, a cyber-hound that bites as fiercely as it barks, he held the priest to his word and began to pry at the modesty panels with Orion’s own blade– the very thing he carried for protection, used against him. Orion was severely unprepared for how painful it will be, but he, too, was a mech who didn’t lightly promise things he couldn’t keep. Orion did not yield, but Megatron had still managed to open his valve cover with his brute strength. The metal snapped and creaked and Orion cried out, kicking at Megatron.
In one swift motion, Megatron plunged the knife into the altar, right besides Orion’s helm, and the priest fell on his back, panting and shaking.
When he finds the courage to move again, and looks down between his legs, Megatron had already roughly split his legs apart and has forcefully revealed the mound of his valve. Megatron chortles and then spits at it, rubbing his oral lubricant in between the folds. Orion’s node sparks in confusion– he certainly doesn’t touch himself often, and if he’d had the same restraint as the others, he wouldn’t at all. It has been a long time since he’s paid any attention to any carnal thought, and even longer since he’s exorcised it from his body via self-service.
Fingers enter where no one, not even Orion had dared enter before, forced into his port with little care. After testing the waters, Megatron seemed satisfied knowing Orion is sealed.
„Megatron, please,”
Megatron spits in his hand for good measure, and wraps his fingers around his unsheathing spike. Orion shudders just at the sight of it, proportionate to Megatron’s large, wide body, his spike was just as girthy and monstrous, the plates swollen with arousal and flaring. He is sweating at Orion's misery, in his helm this is right and just– Orion wears silver and gold and crystals mined and died for by his brethren, he watches the battles in the area curiously and then he nods to himself reading Megatron's work as if anything he does in the privacy of his sad, priestly room counted.
Now he can be of use.
Grinning wicked and lecherous, Megatron leaned in and pressed the blunt, pierced tip of his spike against the port of Orion's valve. Orion understood that it would make things worse, but he still would not stop tensing– let it never be said that Orion didn't fight back. Megatron struggled to breach him, but only for a mere second, not long enough for Orion to delude himself into believing this was all one terrifying practical joke. Slowly, inevitably, the warm head of Megatron's spike finally pushed in. Orion gasped painfully, grabbing Megatron's shoulders. He pulls and squeezes, his fingers leaving dents and scratches in the hard armour. His thighs tighten around Megatron's hips, hoping to squeeze him out.
It burned. Megatron's spike was hard and large and the walls of his valve could not fight it, no matter how hard he tried. Perhaps it would have been better if Megatron slammed in and got it done with, but he was a sadistic one, forcing Orion to feel every single inch of his cord as it continues to push in, caliper after caliper spread open wide and broken in. His seal tore under the pressure, and Orion could only yell and shriek, frantically pulling at Megatron's neck tubing.
That got the gladiator's attention, and he finally canted his hips, sheathing what's left of his spike into Orion. He hmph 'ed, grabbing Orion's wrist „What are you fighting for, priest? Your seal has been broken, there is nothing to protect here,”
„My honour, my dignity, Megatron, please,” Orion strains out between choked gasps. His loins were on fire and it was all that he could focus on. In this moment, he couldn't understand the temptation of interface– this was not enjoyable. It hurt and he bled.
„I do not believe your kind has any,” Megatron laughed, then began to thrust.
Orion has never doubted that the confession room must be sealed off and sound-proof, but now he has come to regret that fact. No one will hear him scream tonight, and no one will come looking for him, either. Megatron has all the time in the world, and Orion shall dedicate his to him as well. Many have come and drank their fill, then cried in his lap, and only left hours after arriving.
„Yes. This is how I like it,” he heard Megatron whisper „Spread for me, serving me,”
Orion opens his mouth, then closes it again, realizing it's no use to tell Megatron to stop anymore. He whimpers pitifully, the back of his mask is damp and hot with his laboured vents. It ached so badly he thought he might snap at the waist, and maybe that would finally free him of this agony. His own energon runs down his aft, staining his torn robes below, staining the altar, ruining a place of ease and reprise. Orion's wet lips trembled, his optics teary, and all he could see and feel was Megatron.
Megatron kept stroking his ceiling node, huffing with every thrust. His spike was tightly gripped in velvety heat, and his grin grew wider when he felt Orion gush around him. Orion only knew he overloaded after it happened, when he was shaking with the aftershocks and burning up, uncomfortably wet in the lap. His lubricants clung to Megatron's belly and spike, soaking the both of them. Orion whispered a dejected “no”, such a silent whine could only be meant for Primus himself. Is this how their creator made him?
„Very good, priest,” Megatron chuckles meanly, nipping at Orion's breasts, drawing milk and energon from the nozzles. Orion placed his hands on his helm again, stroking it out of habit. His valve was going numb with pain and misguided pleasure, tears were flowing freely down his cheeks and down his mask, while all his pouches could do was spurt more milk for the hungry gladiator. Many times he has accepted a gladiator to his lap, but never like this, never had he thought they would disrespect him like this. Megatron was something worse, something greater than a brute.
Megatron shouts in overload, pinning Orion down with his weight, his hips stuttering desperately as he unloaded all over the torn lining of Orion's valve. His seed was hot and plentiful, pouring down the gullet of his reproductive system and swallowed by the opening of his forge. Orion held Megatron close, and he didn't dare move, only pray that this is it, that it is now over.
But once again, he was naive, unable to realize that it is hopeless. The base of Megatron's spike begins to swell, puffing up into the size of Megatron's very own fist. Orion breathes out shakily, the whimpers and moans stuck in the back of his throat coming out as wheezes of despair.
„No more. Please, no more,”
„It is over, when I say it is over” Megatron told him, promised him, and his spike remained swollen inside of him, keeping Orion spread and plugged. He did not have the complimentary mod, what mech with a virgin valve would? There was nothing to catch Megatron's knot, nothing to latch onto it and keep it still, so the mech was free to keep pumping it in and out of Orion's valve to his spark's content– but like the cruel bot he was, he only chose to ride Orion on the widest part, delighted by his cries.
In the next half-hour, or so his chronometer tells him is the time that passed, Megatron had continued to help himself to Orion's breasts, only stopping twice to pour another load of transfluid into the priest's abused valve, filling him to the brim. At some point, when his head was dizzy and the ceiling spun before his eyes, it began to seem like the sort of calm moment that Orion would have offered to any other gladiator– even to Megatron, before learning of his wicked nature. A warm body on top of him, lazily drinking from his breasts, taking what he needs from Orion. If it weren't for the constant pinch and pressure in his valve-port and his flashing HUD, he wouldn't even know that something was wrong.
And when Megatron's swelling came down, as if on cue, Megatron started thrusting again, driving himself right back into Orion's stretched, stuffed valve, his own transfluid slapping and stringing between them, a nasty squelch of fluids that made Orion's fuel tank churn. His body continued to betray him, humiliating him further, valve contracting in a weak, confused overload, milk squirting out of his bruised breasts.
Megatron came once more, and then, it was blessedly over. Orion knew Megatron exited him when he heard it, for the burn in his valve failed to disappear with Megatron's spike, remaining deep in his core and throbbing. He was afraid to look down, but couldn't help himself. Yet when he was met with the sight of his debauched body, covered in fluids and bite marks, his valve inflamed and discoloured with bruises just as well as his energon pouches, he had to look away again. He could only let out a desperate cry, and reach for the blade lodged by his helm.
Perhaps if he stabs through his own spark-chamber, he can save himself the humiliation of excommunication. But he could not take out the knife. It was only when Megatron wrapped his hand around his, that the blade finally slid out of the stone, and while Orion flailed, Megatron retrieved the knife and threw it across the room, where it landed with an ear-ringing clatter.
He looked Orion in the optics, pleasantly surprised to see hate burning within.
„After my next match, I will come here again. I will ask for you again. You will wait for me, in this same room, with your breasts naked, and dressed in robes that are easy to tear,”
Orion wanted to scream no, he wanted to tell him that he is an idiot if he thinks the temple will let him remain after learning of what transpired here today. But he spoke with such certainty, that as Orion watched him leave, he could only cover himself as best as he could, and hope that no one should see him leave this room disheveled. After he's changed and washed himself, there will be no proof. Only his seals, which are gone, and the marks on his breasts, could uncover the bitter truth then.