never did i want to be here again - nsfw/torturekink/bdsm/etc
He's past the point of screaming. It took him quite a bit to get to a point where he would actually show the pain affecting him, but when he did, Barricade latched on to it like a space barnacle and attacked.
It didn't last very long. A minute, if that. Something in Nemesis distorted his screams in to static, a reminder that to show pain was to invite further chastisement. And entertainment.
Barricade certainly took it as an invitation, searching to draw more. And he is good at what he does, the skill of an experienced and expert torturer. Armor is literally peeled off him in places, and he can't even think of it being repaired at a later date because he cannot think of anything but the pain.
It hurts. And all he can do, deep within his spark, is crave more. Especially if the alternative is nothing, which, in this state pushed beyond rational reasoning, he has come to fear again. If he had tried to resist, he probably could have slowed the push, but he had been watching Barricade as Barricade had watched him and he knew certain reactions would get the ones he, in turn, desired.
But...were he capable of thinking, he would, perhaps, think that he let himself slip too far.
He's at the point that when he hears Barricade's voice speak, all he can manage is a low whine of static. Barricade chuckles, curling a claw under his chin and lifting up his hanging head. In that moment, all that Nemesis Prime can see is the piecemetal around a smooth face, red optics looking at him with a red amusement, but that is not what he sees.
He sees the source of his pain.
And Nemesis can only try to identify him as such.
It comes out as another static burst, something in him resisting, claiming that this is not right. But with the pain like a drug, clouding thought and leaving him so wanting, that something is quiet and small. Too small to resist as Barricade laughs, claws darting alongside his cheek (his mask had been retracted about an hour in to this 'game') in an almost caring manner. And Nemesis struggles again to shape a word that hasn't been uttered by him in years.
"...Master..."
More static filters from him as Barricade drops his hand - and Nemesis drops his head, unable to keep it raised. He doesn't see the Decepticon staring at him in wide-opticed surprise, nor can he read the thoughts running through the other's head. All that he can process is the ache that is slowly, slowly starting to filter away, and if there is a trembling in his chassis he is unable to halt it.
"Please...Mast-"
His words are cut off by the force his body hitting the ground as the restraints are loosened in a single move. He shudders at the pain, sated for the second but an instant later it is not enough, he needs more, he's a second away from begging when claws are once more on his face and a voice is speaking to him.
This time, it is low and urgent. Not amused. Not sadistic. He blearily resets his optics, trying to focus as two syllables are repeated over and over in a mess that make no sense.
"Convoy. Convoy."
Convoy.
It pierces him like a shot through the skull. Nemesis - Convoy Super Black, auto-avatar Vector 704 - stiffens in Barricade's grasp, coherence returning to him in pieces and fragments that rush to fill the void that pain had created. Oh, he can still feel the pain, but it is no longer as consuming. Returned to himself, it is nothing more than a sensation that could be pleasurable if taken in the right mind but this...
This is not the right mind.
His optics reset and refocus on Barricade, who's still trying to bring him back. Shakily he tries to push away, but, no - even if he's on the ground, his arms are still bound. Instead he jerks his chin away, mask sliding back up in to place as he resets his vocalizer in a series of mechanical clicks.
Barricade takes the breaking of optic contact as proof that he's recovered, and gives him space. Which is good, because right now, Nemesis needs it. His vents are overclocked, trying to cool down heated systems, because as much as he is charged the realization of what he said is enough to kill any arousal.
What he said, and what he did in that.
Shame burns through him. He had meant to give Barricade control, not a glimpse of that disgusting part of him.
The awkward silence that follows is broken only by the whirr of vents, and the subtle click of slowly-cooling metal. After what seems like ages, Barricade moves towards him, and Nemesis reflex shies away from the touch. But it's only to remove the restraints - there's a gruff 'hold still' before the chains fall off his arms. It's enough for Nemesis to push himself up and pull at the others, barely glancing towards the Con as he says something else, something about needing to do something-
-it's not important. It's an excuse to go, that much is clear. He just nods, not trusting his vocalizer for anything at this point. And as Barricade drives away, Nemesis Prime tries to busy his mind with ridding off the metal links, and wondering just how many invisible ones still remain on him.
Because it seems that there is at least one that, for all the Alternity's work on his mind and spark, still binds him to his past.