Title: After Atlantis
Obligatory Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers. This chapter contains canon references to the G1 cartoon episode "Atlantis, Arise!" Additional episodes will be referenced in future chapters.
Warnings: Non-con, slash (inasmuch as giant robots from outer space can be said to have gender), robot sex of the plug 'n play variety.
Image Credit: Cover Art by the amazingly talented NaggingFishwife. Used with permission.

Chapter 1: Assault

Someone was touching him.

The awareness crept slowly into Wheeljack's processor, trickling back through a myriad of external sensors alongside assorted other observations: He was lying face down, his optics were offline, his motor relays were not responding, and someone was touching him.

He wanted to online his optics, to turn his helm and see who it was, what they were doing. But that ray that Nergill had used on him had done something to his circuits. He wasn't sure what – yet – but the long and short of it was that he couldn't move a micrometer.

He knew because he'd tried. The Sub-Atlantican ruler had laughed at his efforts, and gloated that his new weapon would spell the doom of all Cybertronians, Autobot and Decepticon alike. He had to warn Prime! If only he could move..!

Maybe it was already too late. He couldn't tell how long he'd been offline. His internal chronometer was glitched. So were his diagnostics. He couldn't tell how damaged he was. All he knew for certain was that he was lying facedown, blind, unable to move, and someone was still touching him.

It might have been Nergill himself. After claiming Wheeljack as his prisoner, the strange aquatic humanoid had subjected him to numerous scans and probes – an experience only slightly less invasive than one of Ratchet's maintenance exams – in order to learn more about Cybertronian anatomy. So that he could invent that ray he'd blasted Wheeljack with.

But why continue to study him when it was readily apparent that the invention was a success? It wasn't logical. And Wheeljack found it hard to believe that it was Nergill touching him anyway – for one thing, the presence he sensed felt much larger, and for another, the continued touches were strangely…clumsy. He didn't know what to make of it. Whoever was touching him seemed both tentative and determined all at once. Persistent, yet…awkward.

What was it? Who was it? What did they want with him? An Autobot rescuer would speak. A Decepticon wouldn't be so gentle. A Sub-Atlantican or human wouldn't be so large.

No, he was sure of it now. Hands. It was definitely hands scraping across his backstruts, pawing at him. Large, metal hands. Cybertronian hands.

His optics abruptly onlined when one of those hands suddenly seized hold of his shoulder and tugged, hard. He was rewarded with a very close-up and heavily static-laden view of the floor. Another firm tug, and he realized that whoever-it-was was trying to turn him over, and had been for several kliks now.

And now at last they succeeded, flipping him onto his back with a jolting crash and half-falling across his chestplate in the process. Wheeljack's spark leapt in its chamber as he struggled to focus his damaged optics on his rescuer, frustrated by his inability to vocalize his gratitude –

The dark faceplate and scarlet optics glaring balefully down at him were unmistakable. His "rescuer" was the Decepticon Air Commander, Starscream.


Wheeljack didn't like the look Starscream was giving him. It was cold, calculating…malicious. He wouldn't have liked it under any circumstances, but he especially didn't like it when he was so utterly defenseless. Being unable to move, unable to speak, barely able to see, and having a Decepticon looming over him like that, staring – it was the stuff of nightmares.

Threats to his existence had never really frightened Wheeljack. He risked himself all the time, readily – carelessly even, if Ratchet's frequent scoldings were to be believed. Whether it be in pursuit of some new invention, or to protect someone else, he never hesitated.

But he was frightened now. His spark had contracted painfully, and if he'd been able to move, he'd surely have been trembling. Was it because he couldn't move, couldn't act? Probably.

Starscream was scratching at his chestplate now, still strangely clumsy, as if he couldn't completely control his fingers. Was Starscream damaged as well? Had he also been hit by Nergill's Magnetic Dysfunction Ray? Was he now silently asking Wheeljack for help? Suggesting they work together to escape alive and warn their comrades?

He was opening his chestplate.

Those clumsy, groping fingers had sought out and found the latches and triggered them, opening him up. His spark chamber was laid bare, exposed to the world. Internally Wheeljack keened in terror. Just what was Starscream planning to do to him?

His optics fuzzed over with static and blanked out for 6.5 astroseconds. When they cleared – or rather, returned to their previous blurry-but-semifunctional status – he saw that Starscream was now gripping an interface cable in one unsteady hand.

Oh, no.

Oh, sweet Primus, NO.

His servos whined as he strained to move, to struggle, to flee, anything. Anything to escape what was coming.

He couldn't move. His spark chamber was exposed. And Starscream was plugging in to him.


He could feel him.

He could feel Starscream inside him, poking around, invading his processor. His fuel tank churned, wanting to purge its contents. Underneath the easygoing exterior, Wheeljack was a very private mech. He couldn't remember the last time he'd interfaced – it had been prior to their arrival on Earth, so at least 4 million years – but he was certain it hadn't involved an uplink. A little frame foreplay, a little field manipulation, sure, but Wheeljack didn't uplink with just anybody. He had to fully trust someone before he'd allow them direct access his systems.

And now Starscream, arguably the least trustworthy mech in the known universe, was plugged into him. He wanted to flee. He wanted to purge. He wanted to recoil in revulsion. He wanted to shout in denial. Most of all, he wanted to rip that violating plug out of his intimate access port and expel that hideous presence from his processor.

But he couldn't move. He couldn't fight. He couldn't escape. He couldn't even scream.

He fought back the only way he could, by bolstering his firewalls, striving frantically to defend his core programming and his most private memory files - but Nergill's ray had wreaked havoc on all his systems, and his damaged circuits were functioning with all the sluggish speed of a human's dial-up internet connection. There was no way Wheeljack would be fast enough to keep Starscream out once the Decepticon began to hack him in earnest.

The realization terrified him almost beyond thought, causing his processor to lock up for a few kliks. Panic seized him. He was trapped. Helpless. His spark pulsed wildly, as frantic as a cornered animal that knows a hungry predator is closing in...


Nothing happened.


Nothing was still happening.

Starscream was still plugged in to him; Wheeljack could feel his unwelcome presence looming in his processor. But instead of initiating a swift and relentless assault on his CPU, tearing down his firewalls and hacking his way into Wheeljack's memory core, Starscream's presence merely…hovered, seemingly content to linger at the very outermost edges of his consciousness, like a black cloud on a distant horizon.

Wheeljack wasn't sure if that was better, or worse.

What was he waiting for?


A creeping thread of cruel amusement slithered over the link as Starscream finally spoke.

"I can feel your fear, Autobot."

With a sound of shifting metal and scraping glass, Starscream's weight settled more decisively on top of him. A slow finger traced its way along the outside of his spark chamber with mock tenderness, and Wheeljack keened internally, conflicted by the uncertain shiver of arousal the touch produced and the horrified revulsion he felt towards its source. He didn't want Starscream touching him that way.

Starscream's energy field flared, washing over him, making his damaged circuits tingle. It felt...good. It shouldn't feel good, he didn't want it to feel good – his spark quailed in horror even as his core temperature spiked. Starscream's hands were moving over his frame, delving into seams, tweaking wires, and all the while his energy field thrust and probed, mingling with Wheeljack's, teasing yet implacable.

"Relax," Starscream purred malevolently. "Trust me, you're going to enjoy this."

Wheeljack's entire frame trembled as he struggled to move, to protest, to do something, Primus, anything to stop what was happening to him. His own body, his own circuits had betrayed him – first by refusing to obey his commands to fight or flee, and now again as they reacted compliantly to the invasive, unwanted, and all-too-skillful ministrations of his foe.

It was horrible. It was humiliating. Starscream was touching him in ways only a lover should, ways the Decepticon had absolutely no right to, and Wheeljack's treacherous systems were responding to those efforts, responding in spite of his terror and disgust. His core temperature was steadily increasing, rising rapidly to unsustainable levels, his systems quivering on the brink of overload...

"That's it," Starscream hissed, rubbing his cockpit against him, continuing to push him closer and closer to the edge, his energy field pulsating hard and fast. "Just a little more..."

No, please, I don't want this, please, stop –

"Come on, Autobot. Give it up, give it up for me..."

Wheeljack tried to resist, he tried, but he couldn't hold it back. Circuits sparking, CPU consumed by defeated despair, he overloaded, his immobilized frame jerking minutely as the abhorrent pleasure tore through him in wave after sweeping wave. Above him, Starscream rocked back as the resulting energy surge blasted across the connection and slammed into him, blazing a searing path through his circuitry.

Reeling in post-overload haze, sickened by shame, Wheeljack once more became aware of Starscream's presence still lurking at the outer fringes of his consciousness. It dawned on him then that in spite of Starscream's actions, he'd felt no passion, no lust, no desire of any kind passing over the link at any time during the entire encounter, only the same cold, deliberate calculation mingled with smug, sneering disdain. It was only when those emotions were encompassed and overwhelmed by a sudden burst of fierce, malevolent triumph that the truth finally struck home.

Wheeljack realized with a jolt that Starscream hadn't chosen this particular course of action merely for his own twisted pleasure. That was why Starscream hadn't bothered to hack his CPU, or to complete the link between them. Starscream hadn't wanted an interface, not even a forced one. What he had wanted was energy. He had connected himself to Wheeljack and methodically stimulated him to the point of overload all for a single purpose: To absorb the resulting torrent of electricity.

Suddenly all the pieces fell into place. Nergill's Magnetic Dysfunction Ray operated by draining energy from vital Cybertronian systems, incapacitating them. Without sufficient energy, motor relays wouldn't respond, basic functions would begin to fail, and sensors and diagnostics would be rendered useless. Left alone, the victim would ultimately end up in stasis, but with a timely infusion of energy..!

Starscream had known, or figured it out, and used Wheeljack to replenish his depleted energy reserves. And now the Decepticon was calmly disconnecting himself from his unwilling Autobot donor and rising gracefully to his feet, all traces of his earlier clumsiness gone.

The last thing Wheeljack heard before slipping into stasis lock was Starscream's shrill cackle of victory.