Title: Deconstruction (a.k.a. That HooKup Thing)
Authors: (by words contributed)
Bibliotecaria_D
NK ( archiveofourown users/ NKfloofiepoof )
Lady Aquill ( lady-aquill. livejournal. com )
Camfield ( archiveofourown users/ Camfield )
LadyDragon76 ( archiveofourown users/ ladydragon76 )
Dellessa ( archiveofourown users/ Dellessa )
Jarakrisafis ( archiveofourown users/ Jarakrisafis )
Sakiku ( www. fanfiction u/ 343547/ Sakiku )
Artist: Shibara ( shibara-ffnet. livejournal. com )
Warning: BDSM, consent issues, (mis)understandings, & sparkplay. In other words, if you're not an adult and/or interested in this sort of stuff, this is your warning to stop reading. Because we're not going to warn you again.
Rating: R.
Continuity: G1 (TF:TM/Season 3 AU) + bits of IDW
Characters: Hook, Kup, Ratchet, Rodimus Prime
Disclaimer: Eight authors, yet not a one of us makes money from this. Hasbro owns Transformers, not us. Variations in TF terminology in this thing owe to the fact that 9 people with varying opinions and headcanon on such matters contributed to it. The Internet has yet to explode because of it.
Motivation (Prompt): Shibara was bored.

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Part One: Nobody could want this. Right?

[* * * * *]

Picture 1 (all illustrations can be found at archiveofourown works/ 498584 )

by Shibara

The expression on Kup's face was wise. Benevolent, but a bit smug, as if the old Autobot had seen it all before and hadn't been very impressed by it the first time through. He looked downward, and in one hand burnt his cy-gar. The chemical dose smoldered slowly, held out by two fingers until he needed it. For…whatever.

Hook knelt on the floor at his feet, and the Constructicon didn't look at the cy-gar. He was intensely aware of it, the smell and the heat of it, but he carefully didn't look at it. Part of it was because even now he rebelled against showing weakness. Part of it was because Kup's other hand held his chin. The hand was firm, but Hook could easily have broken free of it.

Could, but wouldn't. Kup had simply ordered him to his knees, and Hook had dropped to the floor. His hands weren't tied, because there was no point. The kind of power the Autobot had over him needed no props. Hook didn't - wouldn't - struggle. His hands pressed to his thighs, clenched into tight fists, but he didn't move.

Picture 2

by Shibara

"What do you want?" the short green Autobot asked, and the cy-gar twitched.

He wasn't looking. He wouldn't look. "You know what I want, Autobot," he ground out. He wanted to look.

"Ah-ah. Don't think you get the gist of how it's going tonight, Hook." The familiar use of his name stripped dignity from his interior surfaces like paint off a wall. The faded blue optics glinted, and the smile twisted into a smirk. "Tonight, you beg."

Defiance flattened his mouth into a grim line. "You know what I want," he repeated, almost snarling. He hated the games. Hated that something woke in him to play them when he'd do anything to snuff that part of himself out.

The terrible thing about power was not having it. The hand on Hook's chin lightened to a caress that held him as implacably as a vise, because Hook suffered that terrible side of power.

Unlike Kup. That smirk widened into something hard, and the cy-gar came up to go into the corner of the sergeant's mouth like a visual cut-off. Hook's fuel-pump sank.

"Nah, mech." A turn on a heel, and the hand slipped away slowly. "Not gonna waste my time if you're not gonna listen to instructions."

Hook needed this. Needed it where the empty ache of Bonecrusher and Scrapper had become an acid burn. A whip-fast grab, and he was humiliated because he knew Kup let him seize his wrist. "Please," he grated out, turning his head to press his mouth to a palm that tasted like old metal and defeated pride. "Sir, please, I'll be good. I will. I'm obedient."

The worst part was that he meantit.

Kup's grin widened further. He knew by now just how hard the defeated Decepticon could be pushed. "Are you, now?" he asked, running his thumb over Hook's bottom lip. "Your stance says you are, but your face says otherwise." Kup moved the cy-gar to the other corner of his mouth. He adjusted his firm grip on Hook's chin and bent down to look into the burning crimson visor. "Convince me."

Hook bit back a snarl, fists clenching until the metal began to dent. He hated Kup and needed him at the same time. "I. Need. You."

Kup's thumb slid left and right, just over the soft metal of his lip. "What you need doesn't matter, Decepticon."

Hook quivered in indignation and vented loudly. "I - I -" He couldn't get it out. Begging; the thought left a sour taste on his glossa like so much copper. A familiar one, but a bad taste nonetheless.

Kup smirked, "Ya see, that's what you youngsters don't get. There ain't nothing wrong with a little humility."

Every gear ground, but Hook bent his neck. The hand on his face lingered, trailing up the side of his helm as if soaking in the concrete road-burn of pride being dragged - agonizingly slow - to death.

"Do it," he spat out, and it physically hurt to modulate his voice down. He pulled out the sound of self-assurance strand by strand until his voice tottered on nothing but past experience that meant nothing, absolutely nothing, without Kup's approval tonight. "Please. I'll do what you say. You know I'll do it." Because he had before, would do it again, and the other grey hand descended. Hook knew it did, because there was a whisper of smoke and chemicals, a dot of heat. He bent his head further, almost doubled over his own knees, and hung his head down nearly to Kup's feet. "Please."

Picture 3

by Shibara

There was a dot of heat. It moved. Hook couldn't stop the hitch in his ventilations anymore than he could calm the sudden racing of his fuelpump, and he needed it. Frag him, frag his boxed-up condemned gestaltmates and their prison sentences, and most of all - frag this ancient Autobot and his power games!

Kup buried his cy-gar in the gap between shoulder and collar frame, and Hook arched, uncontrolled and keening with the release of it. It whipped away every pretense of control and defeated him all over again. It put him under the Autobot's thumb. That felt like everything he needed, and admitting that, even to himself, split another hole in his fractured sense of self.

Picture 4

by Shibara

He trembled with a barely contained combination of rage and humiliation, no longer able to meet Kup's gaze: those blue optics, that smug grin. "How the mighty have fallen," he heard the sergeant taunt playfully. "What would your gestaltmates think if they saw you like this, I wonder?"

The solitary Constructicon didn't want to think about that. It was hard enough coping with it on his own. The best he could manage was to not answer and instead try to goad Kup to proceed, get him to focus elsewhere.

Hook nudged his head out, ignoring the burning in his collar frame as he sought the Autobot's hand once more. He nudged his nose against the grey metal, swallowing the heavy, sickening weight of his pride, and brushed his lips over the tips of worn fingers. He held back the nauseating and arousing feel of being dominated, because it was both something he hated and something that kept him from going insane. He vented over the joints, the wires in Kup's hand, trying to get him to give something, anything. He begged without words, his denta clenched together as he fought himself into submission.

The same way he fought Kup's domination, trying to keep himself from collapsing completely against the Autobot's pede.

Smirking, Kup ground the cy-gar into the Constructicon just a little more. "There's a good mech." He nudged his hand against Hook's mouth. "Give us a kiss then," he commanded.

Insanity felt like a box compressing his spark, but Hook knew his spark hadn't been extracted and imprisoned. Not yet. Not so long as Kup spoke for him. So long as he could still feel anything besides the prison the other Constructicons were condemned to, he was still free. So he kissed the Autobot's hand. He let the grip on the old mech's wrist go in order to take the grey hand, turn it in his hands, glare at it bitterly, but ultimately...this was the price he paid. Even as he hated and loathed the conniving 'bot, his spark flared for every command in that sneering voice. Kup knew exactly what he needed.

He needed the press of plating against his lips, the slight graininess of old plating. He needed its familiarity and the unique sensation he could clearly identify as here, now, his. He needed it so badly his tongue flicked out without conscious thought, and a sound of broken machinery echoed beneath his vocalizer at the taste of gun oil and ammunition. The cy-gar ground into the linkages normally hidden between his collar and shoulder, and Hook just barely managed to stifle the moan down into a soft, nearly sub-sonic whimper, because he felt it.

Not his gestalt. He felt it. He was here.

Kup was holding him here. Hook hated hated hated the Autobot, but for that, something very like love groveled at the old mech's feet.

The Constructicon pressed his lips to the back of the old clank's hand again, loathing how he savored the immediate surge of emotions he got in response. They roiled in his aching spark as he turned Kup's hand over and let his tongue flick out briefly over the grey palm before he lowered himself further. His large, bulky frame hadn't been designed to contort so low to the ground, but he forced himself. The pain and discomfort were secondary to the anger and humiliation. He brushed his nose over the knee, then forced himself down further to lip at the axle of the Autobot's ankle, nuzzling his face against the top of Kup's foot and bumping against the rubber tire.

"That's more like it," Kup purred with both voice and engine, and he reached down to smooth one hand over the ex-Decepticon's yellowish-green plating.

Hook would have liked nothing more than to drive an energon dagger through the fragger's spark, but at the same time, he relished the lack of control, the feel of those fingers just smoothing over transformation seams. They ignored the most sensitive places on purpose, infallibly deliberate. Their owner knew how to make him react.

He trembled, palms flat on the floor beside Kup's pedes. He vented in short bursts against the metal, trying and failing to stop himself now that he'd started. He huddled against the Autobot's armor and pressed kisses to dirty metal. His neck cables were tight as he held himself just so, back arching slightly into the hands sliding too-lightly down his crane arm. In a less reserved mech, or maybe just a mech less sunken in denial, that would have been body language as clear as a turbofox rolling over and offering his belly to a bigger, meaner predator. His fingers began to dig furrows into the floor as Kup looped a cluster of motion wires around one finger. A relatively gentle pull, and sound escaped Hook despite his efforts to keep his silence: not quite a moan of unwilling pleasure, not a whimper of pain or growl of hatred, but all three in a noise bitten out past unwilling lips.

Grinning, Kup dug a little deeper, pinching. "There now, was that so hard? Let's hear that again."

Hook clamped his lips together stubbornly, jaw cables twitching as the cy-gar burnt and sensors twisted just past their endurance.

Suddenly, however, the tweaking stab of sensation disappeared. The Constructicon gasped at the rush of relief, but fear swept in on the tail of the physical release. Because Kup had turned away again, and this time he wasn't coyly hesitating.

"Wait!" His voice wavered badly, and the weakness was just one more piece of his self-image hollowed out.

"Toldja I don't give orders twice," the gruff voice said, and panic clamped steel around Hook's spark until he couldn't tell - he couldn't - he didn't feel, and -

"I apologize!" he called in little more than a hoarse whisper, but the Autobot was already at the closet doorway. Hook scrambled to his feet as the door opened, sheer self-conscious fear erasing the deeper panic for a bare second of chill terror. No one was outside the closet door to look in and see the ex-Decepticon half on his feet, but the risk of being found out! "Don't do this," he hissed between clenched teeth, daring to take two running steps to the door. "I'll do better, I - " and this is the last thing he ever wanted to say, " - I swear, it won't happen again. You have my obedience, Aut - Kup."

The cy-gar was back between the old mech's teeth, cocked to one side. Kup cast an arrogant look over his shoulder, dragging it up the Constructicon's frame from feet to helm, and Hook froze in the doorway under that look. "Yeah? Then you'll come to my quarters tonight. Gotta real need for some personal maintenance time. If ya know what I mean."

Hook stared. The old Autobot sauntered away, and still he stared. He knew what Kup meant.

And he knew where he'd be tonight.