Chapter Text
Mirage tests the knots carefully before easing away from Jazz’s dangling frame.
The smaller saboteur tests the ropes at his wrists, first - a fast yank designed to have the ropes their jerked loose, if Mirage had left him any slack at all. He’s made that mistake in the past - and after the quick end it brought to their games, he’s not likely to make it again. The knots hold, and Jazz gives a purr of approval.
“Good.”
Then his frame is moving - writhing, almost, sleek and sinuous, the dim light in the room making the shadows sliding along his plating seem almost iridescent along the crisp white. He twists - then thrashes, movements turning almost violent as his wrists twist and turn, looking for any purchase he can steal against the restraints, any loose rope Mirage has left him that might let him free himself -
Mirage doesn’t touch him - just watches as he struggles. Eventually he slumps, vents heaving like he’s exhausted himself - but that, too, is a trap. Mirage doesn’t move forwards - not even when he teeks the pain of a wrenched shoulder in the smaller mech’s field. Jazz’s legs are still free, and Mirage doesn’t want them wrapped around his neck - not tonight.
He gives Jazz a klik, and then the other mech huffs. “Getting smarter.” Jazz’s dentae catch the light, a fierce, proud grin. “But you haven’t got me, yet.”
“Haven’t I?” Mirage grins back, and lunges -
Jazz is lightning fast - and Mirage has played this game before. The kick that sweeps towards his helm is too quick to catch - unless you’ve anticipated it. And he has, sweeping a hand up to catch the ankle and throwing himself back to yank it, overbalancing Jazz until his whole frame is forced to twist forwards, aborting the follow-up kick midway through. Jazz doesn’t even falter, though - the kick turns into a bash, with the rest of Mirage’s frame out of reach, the heel of his pede slamming into Mirage’s hand on his ankle with brutal force -
Mirage hasn’t figured out how to avoid that, yet. Sometimes, though, in Ops, there’s nothing to do but take the pain.
He doesn’t let his grip on the ankle he has weaken - and when Jazz rears back for another bash, he shoves his other shoulder forwards, reaching out and catching that pede by the heel before it can gather the force to tear away. He shoves it back, driving Jazz’s knee up into his chest, and pins it there, leaving Jazz without the leverage to pull himself away.
Jazz snarls up at him, and - half trapped himself, holding the smaller frame in position as he tries to pull free - Mirage grins down at him. “How about now?”
Jazz sneers. “Not quite.” He tries to twist, but Mirage has him, at least for the moment. “Or have you figured out how to frag a mech with both your hands busy?”
“Hmpf.” Mirage huffs at him - but Jazz only gets bitter when he’s caught, and he relaxes, just a little. “I guess I’ll just have to -”
He forces Jazz’s leg up slowly - even for Jazz, flexible as mercury, it’s a stretch, as Mirage hooks his pede behind the ropes holding his hands. Jazz snarls again, struggling, but it doesn’t do anything, and Mirage lets his hand wander back down the sleek thigh to his side before getting out the rest of his rope.
He’s got the one ankle trussed firmly to the metal frame by the time Jazz has managed to twist his other leg free. The saboteur manages a kick that makes his audials ring and vision blur, but with three limbs bound, it’s not hard to recapture that last leg, and Mirage ties it in place, leaving Jazz splayed obscenely, legs wrapped around the frame and spread wide, his panel shamelessly exposed.
He doesn’t bother hurrying now. Instead, he teases his fingers over graceful thighs, then along the edge of Jazz’s panel, making it embarrassingly clear how he’s admiring every inch of Jazz’s bound frame -
“Open up.” Jazz curses at him - and Mirage hums in amusement. “Or don’t. I certainly won’t mind sending you back to your rooms missing your panel and dripping transfluid -”
He hooks his claws into the delicate seam of the smaller mech’s panels, adds just enough pressure to prove that he could follow through - and Jazz obediently slides his panel aside with a low growl.
And gasps, when Mirage transforms the claws away and plunges his fingers between the wet folds of his valve in a single, smooth gesture. Thrusts teasingly - then rocks the fingers forwards, crooking them in a way that he knows will get a wail -
Jazz only half-wails, though. It turns into a sob midway through, back arching as his whole field shimmers with pleasure, valve tightening in overload around Mirage’s fingers. He laughs, rocking them again, letting Jazz ride them as the overload quakes through his frame, until Jazz again slumps in the restraints, frame and field both going slack and satiated.
“Oh -” Mirage can’t keep the purr out of his voice - risks leaning in to nuzzle at the sensitive spot right at the crook of Jazz’s neck, letting his tongue flick out to taste the ozone condensing from his lateral vents. “Oh - you like this, don’t you? All tied up - at my mercy…”
Jazz shivers again, letting out a small, soft whine that sounds desperate, and Mirage pulls away with another chuckle. “Don’t worry, Jazz. I don’t plan on letting you off that easy…”
He turns away - and this is the dangerous part of his plan, the part where if he’s made any mistakes, any at all, Jazz will twist free and be on him. His audials are on alert for any noise - but this is Jazz, and if the saboteur wants, he’ll have no warning at all before the other mech’s claws are on his throat, Jazz pinning him down as his other hand works his panels open and -
- and it’s not unpleasant, having his valve stretched, Jazz’s amused field all around him as he explains, in exacting detail, just how he’s messed up the restraints. But Mirage has other plans for tonight.
He turns back to Jazz, and with a single fluid gesture, shoves the head of the vibrating wand against his valve and flicks it on.
Jazz howls.
This time, when he thrashes, it’s not the clever twisting designed to hide his movements as he twists himself free - it’s an earnest, desperate struggle, writhing and fighting to get away as his valve is mercilessly overstimulated. The noise he makes is ragged with something verging on panic - but Mirage doesn’t relent, ruthlessly grinding the vibrator into the smaller mech’s node until he wails in overload again -
He keeps it there as Jazz rides through the overload, until the smaller mech is sobbing with overstimulation, before pulling it away - tossing it aside as he shoves a knee between Jazz’s thighs for him to grind desperately against. So tightly restrained, there’s not much Jazz can do - but Mirage can feel the heat radiating from the smaller mech’s valve as he sobs and pants desperately.
“Maybe I’ll make you do it anyways,” he mulls, teasingly, as he slots a maglock into place, holding Jazz’s panel open. The saboteur makes a lost, confused sound, and Mirage grins. “Make you walk back with your panels open. I think I want everyone to see what a needy mess I make of you, Jazz. What a desperate little thing you are once someone gets the better of you.”
Jazz whimpers - a soft, needy sound - and Mirage presses two fingers to his lips. The saboteur doesn’t bite - for once - just parts his lips to flick his tongue out, and Mirage laughs as he shoves them in, making Jazz gag, then scissoring them teasingly until they’re slick with oral lubricant. He pulls them out when Jazz is panting, letting a string of lubricant dangle between them - then wipes it, in a glistening smear, across the smaller mech’s cheek.
Jazz spits in his face.
Mirage isn’t quite fast enough to anticipate it - but he gets his hand over Jazz’s mouth fast enough to prevent him from spitting again, squeezing his cheeks until his mouth is forced open uselessly. Jazz struggles, but he’s not strong enough to throw off a larger mech with just his helm free - and Mirage takes advantage of that as he shoves his fingers into the smaller mech’s mouth again, forcing them in until Jazz is gagging, mouth leaking lubricant, and then scooping it out with a hooked finger to smear until Jazz’s whole face is slick with it.
He spits in Jazz’s face, and Jazz lets out a low whimper, slumping - but his gaze isn’t angry anymore, or defeated. It’s - slack, almost, gaze loose and distant like the smaller mech is lost again.
“Pretty little thing,” Mirage offers, softly, not wanting to break the dazed spell. “Such a beautiful mech. Do you want me to spike you, Jazz? I need to hear you beg -”
“Please.” Jazz’s voice is fragile, almost desperate. “Please, please please -”
There’s something frightened and fragile in the way he pleads - something like he doesn’t expect to get what he wants, what he obviously, from the hunger in his field, needs, and Mirage makes a note to ask about it - later. For the moment -
He lets his engine rumble, soothingly, and slides his own panel aside.
Sinking into Jazz is - bliss, really. The smaller mech is hot, molten, and wet and slick and desperate - he sobs as Mirage enters him, rocking his hips as best as he can into the first slow thrust. His field is already tight with lust, needy and starving, and Mirage doesn’t waste any time - rocks into him, hands slipping down to wrap easily around the smaller mech’s slender waist as he sets up a smooth, easy rhythm, Jazz shifting as best he can to match it.
“So pretty,” Mirage offers, again, as he thrusts, and the field around him doesn’t lose any of it’s hunger. “Such a pretty little thing, tied up and desperate for me. I could stop -”
He thrusts deep, and goes still, and Jazz lets out a desperate noise, but Mirage holds him firmly.
“Look at you - so needy. But you don’t get to choose, do you? I could stop, and there’s nothing you could do but beg me to -”
“Please!” Jazz’s voice rips on the plea, cutting him off entirely. “Please - please, please, please -”
Mirage withdraws, pauses teasingly - then sinks back inside as Jazz sobs with relief.
“I wouldn’t. But I could.” Jazz garbles something that might be gratitude as he sets back up the pace - speeds up a little, groaning as Jazz clenches needily around his spike.
It doesn’t take long before Jazz’s field is trembling with arousal - it flushes hot as he overloads, and Mirage lets it, and the tight squeeze of his valve, drag him over, too, pumping slick transfluid into the saboteur’s valve. This time, Jazz doesn’t yell - manages only a sob of relief as he slumps in the restraints, letting Mirage slide out of him.
There’s a klik where Mirage just stands there, vents heaving, staring at the debauched frame before him, unable to think of anything else, before he manages to straighten.
“Beautiful,” he says, because Jazz needs to hear it. Then he reaches down - groping for the vibrator, dropping it into subspace. He checks the ropes, carefully - testing the knots, untwisting the kinks from Jazz’s earlier struggling - but he doesn’t undo them, doesn’t touch Jazz at all as he works, letting the other mech’s field drop, slowly, until it’s entirely flat, as if Jazz was unconscious.
Only the glitter of the saboteur’s optics behind his visor gives away that he isn’t, by the time Mirage is done.
Mirage hesitates, as he steps back. Just for a moment, but Jazz’s field is like glass, and he sends a hesitant ping down the Ops channel between them as he does. He… isn’t surprised, when all he gets back is a curt message from the saboteur.
::Sleep.::
He doesn’t go far - there’s a cot set up in the corner of the training room, nothing fancy, not the worst thing he’s slept on. Mirage lays down, pulls the thermal tarp over himself - and watches, carefully, the limp frame hanging in the center of the room, until at last his vision fades.
Jazz’s optics never do - they glitter on, dim but unwavering, and follow him down into the blankness of recharge.