Radio - Fanfiction
Humans are fascinating little creatures, aren’t they? It’s obvious that Cybertronians and humans differ from one another in a multitude of ways, but the way they live their lives creates an interesting contrast. Just think of all the millions that don’t know war, all the innocent little lives that have never known the thrill of murder. Billions have never felt their bodies prepare for and react to a real battle. Out of all the many lives on earth, what percentage knows the teeter-totter of guilt and satisfaction that comes from truly driving someone into complete, irredeemable ruin? Their wars are insignificant. Most of them hardly last one or two centuries, nothing but playground scuffles. Fascinating, isn’t it?
Compare this to Cybertronians, a people still mostly resting in the beautiful belly of war. They seem so weak and naïve. They seem so unknowing. Breakdown’s bout with them proved that a few of them tickled the surface of real power and force, some of them knew well of their potential. Still, those were a rare breed on this planet, and it didn’t matter much in Soundwave’s mind for the moment.
Compared to Cybetrtonians, humans are certainly very trusting of each other. (Or at least that’s what they preach to their offspring and others. Things like “Being nice” and “Making friends”.) This reveals itself in many of their day-to-day actions. An interesting example was their “Radio”. If there was ever an interesting example, it was certainly radio. Radio is so primitive and malleable, yet it is still used on the little planet. Information races across to anyone who has the technology to tune in. Such interesting things that he learned from radio. He learned the locations of their politicians and idols, he tracked weather and traffic, he listened to the humans ramble on about their petty problems like babbling toddlers. An obsession? No, no, this was nothing more than a little hobby. Listening to the humans was a habit that one could tire of easily.
An added feature to radio was human music. It was like giving an elephant a paintbrush and some paint. Amusing. A bit impressive. Not something that could be really enjoyed like actual art. Human music was nothing to Cybertronian music, and it would never be. Still, sometimes it caught his interest just as their conversations. Occasionally he would turn on a station with quiet music and turn up the volume, allowing the sound to dance out of his room and into the outer halls. The reactions of the passersby varied from person to person.
The best thing about the radio was the romantic feeling that it produced. Soundwave leaned on a wall in his room. He and a few passing drones outside listened to the deep-voiced singer singing a dreamy love tune, earth string instruments crooned into the air and a low piano stumbled along. It caused Soundwave an unexplainable pleasure to know that the primitive music was the only thing keeping the coming and passing drones from hearing Starscream’s weak cries of pain. It gave him a thrill to think that right behind the wall that he leaned on, his master rammed into a tiny, shaking frame that could do nothing but pitifully try to push him away. The drones were obviously unable to pull off such a feat, but it caused satisfaction and lust to glide through Soundwave’s spark to hear Megatron’s berth shaking and claws erratically squeaking on it’s surface. The tuned-out scene was just so….Romantic.
If he really listened closely, he could picture the scene in full bloom. The berth rumbling, Starscream’s nearly-slack body trying to grab something and hang on, each mangled word as he tried to cry out for mercy, each rough squeeze of Megatron’s hand as his claws created a passion-spawned gash in his second’s thigh. He painted a picture in his mind of Megatron’s erect, magnificent spike drawing all the way back and shoving back into Starscream’s nearly numb valve. A definitely smaller spike stood to attention between the seeker’s legs, a paradox to his sore, panicked body. Megatron grinned down at the pathetic scene below him and pulled up to force Starscream’s leg onto the berth. The change in position caused his second even more distress. The scene flailed on in Soundwave’s imagination, all set to the tune of an alien love song. The music ran smoother than syrup to Starscream’s rape.
Soundwave’s cord had pressurized long ago, but only now had he decided to retract his panel. He moved his hand up and caressed the head. Transfluid neatly smeared itself as he teased the tip. There he was, playing a shameless witness to such abuse, touching himself to the sound of such an atrocity. His master knew. His master was pleased to have someone watching his work. His master wanted him to listen and enjoy what was taking place in the next room.
He thrust into his own touch when he thought of the few times that he had been allowed to join. There was a time long ago when Starscream had to watch. A time long ago when he found himself bent over the same berth and staring into the face of the surprisingly ignored second. Starscream had stared back at him. Perhaps he stared into his own face, too downtrodden to put on a strong front. Maybe he had been paying attention to just how Megatron interfaced with him, considering how much less violent it was than what he regularly got. Soundwave hoped that he was paying good attention to both.
Oh yes, his favorite little memory. It was such a long way back that Soundwave almost got off track and reminisced about his more exciting days. It was so far back that it was when these games just began to start. He remembered fighting Starscream and shoving his wrists into stasis cuffs. He remembered grabbing under his knees and pulling back, leaving his legs open. It gave Megatron deep angle into his valve and freedom to do whatever he pleased with it. He drew his face closer to Starscream’s and held tight, even when the mech beneath him thrashed. Soundwave could remember the look on the second’s face as Megatron stuffed all sorts of things into his valve just to see his reaction; his cries were practically melodious when a large, interestingly-shaped bottle of high grade slowly pushed in and stretched him to his limits. The memory of Starscream’s face twisting into painful sorrow felt fresh as ever.
The event in the next room was starting to come to an end. The radio still played on, this time in slow brass. Soundwave wanted nothing more than to overload with Megatron. With some luck, he could time his overload right and feel the surge of pleasure when his master did. He couldn’t. He took his hand off and concentrated. He had been ordered not to overload. (‘Facing with Megatron the next morning would be worth it.)
He overheard the wonderful sound of Megatron overloading inside Starscream. He tuned in to Starscream’s lurch as he was filled with his lord’s transfluid. He listened to every slow step of Megatron pulling out, resting on the berth, and motioning for Starscream to get out of his room. The song died out when Starscream shakily rose and forced a solemn face. The radio befittingly went back to it’s chatter as Soundwave closed his panel, unsatisfied yet proud. Something like this never failed to spice up interfacing with Megatron. Maybe one day he’d get Starscream to himself, but that day probably wouldn’t come any time soon.
A few speeches were set to come on today. It never failed to be charming when the tiny humans talked as if they were important. Soundwave went back to his radio.