Author's Note: So remember that fanfic I wrote where Bumblebee was a stripper? Admitting Defeat? Apparently that was kind of popular, since people requested I write some more fics in that universe. I've had this idea kind of loping around in my head but it decided to bust out tonight, so hey, whatever works. There's at least one more fic for this 'verse, if not more. This one takes place a little while after Admitting Defeat and obviously, therefore, waaaay before You, You, You. So yeah, read, review, whatever it is you guys do.

.:Loss of Control:.
a.k.a another fic where bumblebee's a stripper

Bumblebee remembers a time when he was oblivious to the oncoming war. He remembers a time when the only thing threatening his happiness was Sideswipe taking him out, only to leave him with a lengthy bill at the bar. He remembers when it was safe to walk outside after dark as a known Autobot or Decepticon.

He thinks it's the pleasure facility banning faction insignias from being shown that marks the beginning of wartime. Until the rule was instated, Bumblebee and Sideswipe had both worn Autobot insignias proudly – even though it caused both of them to lose a few Decepticon customers. Back then, the symbols were just that – symbols. Now, though – wearing a sign of allegiance to anyone can get you torn up into scrap by the opposing faction.

It doesn't affect Bumblebee's job one way or another, but it definitely points out just how right Ironhide had been, when he had explained just how close they were to war. The older Autobot has already made it clear that he wants Bumblebee out of the facility and with him and Optimus Prime, safe and out of Decepticon sight, but he's clinging. Just one more week, he's told Ironhide countless times, just one more and then I'll come.

He doesn't want to leave peace for war, but he's given Ironhide his word and his loyalties lie with Prime. There's nothing left to hold on to now but memories.

Bumblebee is at the bar when they come, nursing a tall glass of Maccadam's premium oil. He can hear conversations dim and chairs groan as Autobots and Decepticons alike shift uncomfortably, some probably getting up to leave before they are recognized.

Sideswipe swears lowly beside him as Bumblebee looks up, not recognizing at first just how dangerous the move is.

There are two of them. One is a tall, bulky thing with scratched bronze armor, red optics watching the entire facility as if waiting for trouble. The second one is just a little larger than Bumblebee himself, with charred chrome armor and narrowed red optics, frame built just a little stockier than the slim Autobot.

The larger one settles in a chair and waves over a companion Bumblebee knows is a Decepticon, while the other stands still and gazes levelly at the entire bar.

"Higher ups," Sideswipe mutters, "Slag it all, couldn't they just go to some Decepticon joint?"

The standing one locks optics with Bumblebee, face contorting as he smirks and waves a hand at him. The Autobot can hear his friend swearing even more now, but a request is a request, and besides – he can't be touched. It'll be fine.

Even his attempts at reassurance can't keep him from shuddering as he approaches the Decepticon, who's now lounging in the same chair Ironhide had been in, the night he had joined the Autobots. He wants to throw the other out and tell him to get scrapped but that would get him fired for sure, and he's still hanging on to peace.

He forces a smile on his face and puts his hands on his hips. "What brings officials to our joint?" he asks, playing coy and teasing and not-an-Autobot. The Decepticon is smirking at him still, leaning back in the chair and looking far too at ease and underhanded for Bumblebee's taste.

"We were... in the area," the Decepticon says, optics focusing on his companion closer to the bar, "Blackout wanted to see his toy. He said I might find something... entertaining here." The red optics slide back to Bumblebee's, lock on, and he finishes, "I can only assume he was speaking of you."

Bumblebee laughs a little. "I'm not so entertaining."

The Decepticon's smirk widens into a grin full of sharp metal, and he says lowly, "Oh, but you are. The Autobots are recruiting sparklings now, they're so desperate – I hardly believed it."

Bumblebee responds without thinking, "I'm no sparkling."

"Oh, I don't doubt that." The Decepticon isn't even fazed by the other's allegiance, leaning towards the other and reaching a hand out within inches of the Autobot's face. "Those Autobots... devious things, aren't they?" Optics dim in contemplation, and he brings his face close to Bumblebee's. "Oh," he mutters, "I bet those half-clocked old bots do all sorts of things with you."

Bumblebee feels the Decepticon's spark lashing out from inside his armor, and growls now, all pretense of a good time gone. "Getting to your point, Decepticon? Or are you ready to leave?"

"Hit a button, haven't I?" the Decepticon hisses in amusement; Bumblebee refuses to pull away from the close proximity – he won't be intimidated. "Let me guess. You're Prime's personal little thing, aren't you? Or does he share you with the others?" A quiet, rasping laugh, "Oh, I can see him passing you around."

Bumblebee sees his fist connect with the side of the Decepticon's head before he realizes he's done it; the other reels in his seat and Bumblebee jerks back.

"Never insult Optimus Prime around-!"

Thick arms grab him by the shoulders and twist his arms behind him; he kicks but the tall, bulky Decepticon is bigger and stronger than him by far.

Bumblebee sees Sideswipe launch into a fight with the Decepticon companion just as Blackout asks, "You down, Barricade?"

Barricade chuckles darkly as he rises to his feet, stepping almost flush against Bumblebee's chest. "We're going to have fun," he growls, teeth bared in a grin. "And no Optimus to tell me to stop."

"Let go of him, you pile of scrap!"

"I'm completely within the rules," Barricade laughs, nodding towards the old, unallied owner of the facility. "Lord Megatron's reach is far, and you're just what I was looking for."

Bumblebee kicks out and catches the Decepticon in the leg, forcing him to stumble back – another blow lands just below his chest, sending him reeling.

"Look all you want," he spits, "But nobody touches."

Blackout twists his arms painfully but he forces his optics not to squint, focusing on Barricade, who hisses as he stumbles forward once more.

"I'll touch whatever I want," he growls, pressing up against Bumblebee and sending the other crashing against Blackout's bulky form. "Look what you've done," he adds in a mock-disciplining tone, "You've gone and interrupted Blackout's fun. Now he has to stand here and pin you down."

"Boy," Blackout growls, directing his comment to the Decepticon struggling with Sideswipe, "Take the trash outside while we deal with the Autobot here."

Bumblebee glares at Barricade and refuses to look at Sideswipe, who kicks and swears and bites at his assailant, even as the door clicks shut behind them.

Bumblebee can feel the other patrons and companions desperately trying to ignore his situation and he finds that he can't really blame them. Barricade grins now and hisses, "When I'm through with you, it won't be the Autobots passing you around."

"Get off me," Bumblebee growls.

Blackout adjusts his grip, freeing a hand, and reaches around to the front of Bumblebee's basic armor, feeling around obscenely for the seam in his chest. Barricade just laughs as Bumblebee struggles, legs caught between the two Decepticons. Thick fingers pry at the armor covering his spark and he realizes very suddenly that he needs to get out.

"Let go!" he shrieks, unable to contain the fear in his voice, struggling against Blackout's strong hands, "Let go of me, you miss-clocked Decepticon scrapheap!"

He feels fingertips brush against his protoform and freezes, optics glowing blue against Barricade's red. The Decepticon chuckles lowly, raising a hand to push Blackout's away from Bumblebee's chassis, his own hand finishing the job of forcibly pushing back Bumblebee's armor.

Ironhide never physically touches Bumblebee's spark. It's not that he doesn't know he can – he simply knows how deeply personal such an action would be. It doesn't feel nearly as clean as normal spark-interfacing does, and is generally something only those who spark-bond would even contemplate doing. Bumblebee knows all about these sorts of things, and so when he feels Barricade's fingers slide closer to his spark, he begins to panic.

There's not much he can do now; not with Blackout gripping him so tightly and Barricade so close to him, but he struggles anyways; maybe he can get some leverage, kick out, fight his way out of this –

Fingers touch something inside him and he shudders, body going rigid and optics dimming suddenly. When Barricade wraps a finger along the side of Bumblebee's spark, running cold metal along the indefinable being inside him, his sensors crackle and pop and he can only dimly hear himself cry out. It feels – it doesn't feel right, but it feels good.

"See what we can do?" Barricade hisses somewhere close by, fingers stroking along Bumblebee's spark, "See what we will do? Oh, your filthy Autobot companions don't make you feel this good, do they?"

The Autobot groans and writhes against Blackout, feeling nothing but Barricade's fingers, greasy and dirty and oil-stained, running along his clean and whole spark, dirtying it up and making bolts shoot through his processors as though he's filled with nothing but pure, wanton desire. His spark shrieks out in protest at being handled but Bumblebee can't hear it, not with all the pleasure-pain Barricade's sending through his systems.

"Don't we make you feel good?" Barricade asks, fingers twitching just a little too tightly, "Don't you realize yet, just how much I control you?"

And suddenly his spark is crying out – he's crying out – and all Bumblebee can feel is pain as Barricade's fingers grasp his spark and pull

"If you value that hand, Decepticon, you'll remove it from his chassis."

Bumblebee feels fingers loosen and he slumps in Blackout's grip, optics flickering from Barricade to the floor. His spark groans and pops as fingers slide away from it, armor closing and snapping shut with a hiss.

"Let go, and get out."

Bumblebee drops to the floor as Blackout releases him; he slumps against the side of a chair and shudders as the two Decepticons growl and grumble on their way out, red optics still burned into his immediate memory banks.

White and yellow armor meets his optics as the Autobot medic, Ratchet, kneels down and looks him over. He can hear Ironhide shouting at someone across the facility – no doubt the owner – and he forces his optics up into Ratchet's face.

"Disgusting lumps of rubbish," the medic is growling under his breath, fingers gently prying open shut armor, "If I weren't more worried over you, I'd be chasing them down and gutting them for scrap with my own instruments."

"-The point of this place is to not allow the patrons to touch them!" Ironhide roars, the sound of guns charging echoing through the silent facility, "How could you just let those filthy slaggin' Decepticons touch him-"

"Are you feeling any severe pain?" Ratchet asks, drawing Bumblebee's attention back onto him, "Any nausea, broken gears, fried sensors?"

Bumblebee makes a noise and shifts. "...Sore," he mumbles, tilting his head to watch Ironhide rant at the owner of the facility. "Why is he...?"

"You have no idea how close you just were to getting your spark ripped right out of you," Ratchet mutters quietly. "As it is, it will take me weeks to clean out all that filth that Decepticon got in the spark casing. Leave it too long and it'll fester."

"-And you!"

Bumblebee winces as Ironhide turns to face him, storming over and grabbing his shoulder violently. "How could you let them – if we hadn't – don't let anyone touch your spark!"

"Ironhide!" Ratchet snaps, optics narrowing at his companion, "As if he had a choice! He's not built to be a soldier – you expect him to fight off two high-level Decepticon officers without any training? What are you thinking?"

Ironhide lets go of Bumblebee but the young Autobot can see the other's entire frame shake. He reaches out a hand and winces as his chassis slides shut once more, grabbing Ironhide's arm.

"I'm sorry."

The old bot looks down at Bumblebee for a long time, before shaking his head and putting a hand over the one on his arm. "I told you to quit," he mutters. "Let's get you back to base, so Ratchet can fix you up."

The two older Autobots help Bumblebee up, supporting his unsteady frame as they go onto the street. It's only when they all get into a private transit back to Autobot headquarters that Bumblebee looks back at the pleasure facility and realizes that all he had been holding onto was a ghost. Peacetime is long over.

There's no hesitation in him as he brings his Autobot insignia to the front of his chestplate; he's chosen his side.

And the next time he sees that blasted Barricade, he's going to show the Decepticon what he can do.