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Title: Crossing the Burned Bridge
Rating: R
Series: G1 (Wings Universe – Post-Earth)
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Prowl/Onslaught
Summary: One time lovers, separated by war and betrayal, are reunited in the ruins of ghost town.
Method: Tactile, spark energy
Warnings: slash, dub-con, cross-faction, angst
Prompt: March Challenge – The Poetry of Rumi (“Beyond the rightness or wrongness of things there is a field. I'll meet you there”)
Disclaimer: Transformers belong to Hasbro and Takara, and are licensed to IDW and Dreamworks. My original characters are my own and any similarity between them and any existing characters from canon or fandom is purely coincidental. I claim no ownership by writing this work.

Author's Note: This takes place in the Wings Of Honor universe set up in the Fun Pub comics. For those of you who don’t know this canon, here’s the quick and dirty back-story:

Onslaught and the Combaticons were originally members of the Elite Guard until they betrayed the Autobots in return for upgrades that would allow them to form Bruticus. As far as the Autobots were concerned, the Combaticons had been reprogrammed by Deathsaurus – though Onslaught took great pleasure in disabusing Magnum/Ultra Magnus of that belief as the Batties destroyed the Elite Guard (or tried to). The Combaticons are eventually captured by the turncoat Gyronian Sentry Team and delivered to Megatron, who had them put in the mind prison.

As always, thanks to [livejournal.com profile] eloquencelost for helping out with some of the more snarly bits.


When I look back now over my life and call to mind what I might have had simply for taking and did not take, my heart is like to break. ~William Hale White

Prowl rolled to a stop, the hard caked dirt of the ancient road crumbling under his weight. The area he was in was abandoned, the road a forgotten track that once led to a long forgotten town. It seemed that this area of the United States was filled with these abandoned places; once thriving human communities that died when the world changed around them. Nature was reclaiming this town; the few buildings that had managed to remain standing were losing the battle to vines, trees, and moss that all seemed determined to choke out all signs that humans had ever been here. Soon, the non-native plants would be all that was left of Cloudy Gorge.

It was so different from Cybertron. Back home a ruined city remained for all to see until it was actively rebuilt or built over. And even then, the scars remained for those who knew how to look for them. There was no erasing their past and no way for the planet to forget and move on.

Prowl pulled himself away from the depressing turn his thoughts had taken him as the unmistakable sound of a heavy transport filled the air. In a moment, the dark form of Onslaught rolled into view on the other side of what had once been the town square.

“I wasn’t sure you would come.” The Decepticon’s words were a statement that betrayed nothing. There was no hint of relief or surprise.

“Why did you contact me?” Prowl asked, his tone sharp and clipped. His sensors reached out to the limit of their range searching for the other Combaticons. There was a greater than seventy percent chance that the Decepticon had not come alone.

“You’re scanning, aren’t you? So very paranoid,” Onslaught said as he shifted up into his root mode. “Do you really think that I’d be stupid enough to bring my team along to this meeting? Or be so unobservant that I’d allow a tracker to follow me?”

“I would not put anything past you, Onslaught,” Prowl replied stiffly as he transformed. “For all I know this is some sort of elaborate trap.”

Onslaught’s chuckle was a low-barely audible rumble. “Come now, Prowl. If you really thought that you would never have come here alone. And yes, I know that you’re here on your own.”

Prowl stiffened at those words and the potential threat behind them.

“I will only ask this once, Onslaught. Why did you ask me here?” the Autobot demanded, his hand slowly reaching for his rifle as he prepped his missiles in anticipation of the coming attack.

“What? I can’t look up an old friend after a few million years absence?” Onslaught asked. As he spoke he began to slowly approach Prowl, his steps casual, his hands in clear view and away from his weapons.

“We are not friends, Onslaught.”

“Well, that being the case, then let me ask you this,” Onslaught said, not bothering to hide the sly amusement in his voice. “If we’re not friends, then why did you bother coming? It’s not like I offered you anything save a vague request for a tête-à-tête. And yet, here you are and here I am all alone in this primus-forsaken part of this little mudball in the aft end of the galaxy. So, Prowl my friend … why did you agree to this meeting?”

For an instant, Prowl seemed taken aback, his logic failing him momentarily as he tried to come up with a rational explanation for why he had put himself in this position: Standing alone, miles from any help, bare feet away from one of the most dangerous mechs he had ever met.

“I had hoped that you might have broken the reprograming, that you and your team were ready to come back to us,” he replied steadily, willing himself to believe that that was the only reason he had come.

Onslaught’s bark of derisive laughter startled the birds in a nearby tree, sending the flock soaring into the air away from the two mechanical intruders.

“Don’t play the innocent, Prowl. It doesn’t suit you. You’re the Autobot Second-in-Command. You know perfectly well that we chose this of our own free will. The offer Deathsaurus gave us was just too good to pass up.” Onslaught shrugged, almost dismissing the gravity of his actions.

“And yet you still ended up in the mind prison,” Prowl stated flatly. “Clearly the deal was not as good as you thought.”

“There were unexpected issues, yes. But you can save the recruitment speech, Prowl,” Onslaught said, an amused grin clear in his tone.

“Onslaught, the Autobots would happily take you and your team back. We can get you the help you need. You can be where you belong instead of fighting for that maniac.”

“I like being on the winning side, Prowl. You should try it some time. I’m sure that Megatron would be thrilled to gain a tactician of your calibre. Just think of the glory you and I could bring to the Empire!” Onslaught chuckled at the dark look his one-time friend cast him. “Not so much fun being on the other side of the recruitment campaign, is it, old friend?”

Prowl’s jaw bunched in irritation. “Do not even joke about such things. You may have found it easy to betray your allies for a few worthless upgrades, but some of us still have principles!”

“Hardly a few worthless upgrades,” Onslaught replied, casually stepping closer to the other mech, making an obvious show of looking him over as he began a slow circle of his former friend and one time lover. “You have no idea just how deliciously empowering those upgrades were. And let’s face it; at least Deathsaurus was halfway honest about his intentions.”

“I highly doubt that Ultra Magnus was anything but honest to you,” Prowl snapped. He continued to stand stock still as the Decepticon slowly circled around him. There was no way in the pit that he was going to let Onslaught know just how unnerving the feeling was to be ogled at like property.

“We both know that Magnus and Magnum aren’t the same person. Not really,” Onslaught said. “Ultra Magnus seems to have honour. Magnum, however, was only out to kill Decepticons in any way possible. Even if that meant throwing fellow Elite Guardsmen to their deaths.”

“So instead you betrayed and murdered your fellow Elite Guardsmen.” Prowl’s tone was clipped and hard.

“Murder is a harsh word, my friend. It was war. After all, is it murder when you Autobots take out a Decepticon on the battlefield? If so, then you and I are both mass murders, my friend.”

Onslaught’s massive hands brushed over Prowl’s doors with gentleness and tenderness that should never have come from one soaked in so much spilled fuel.

“I had almost forgotten how wonderful these are,” he said quietly, his voice hoarse with a rising lust.

“Please don’t,” Prowl whispered, and he cursed himself as he felt disappointment in his spark as the Decepticon’s hand fell away.

“I know that look, Prowl. I’ve seen it a million times before,” Onslaught said, the hidden smirk clear in his voice. “You want this. Deep down, behind all the logic and Autobot stoicism, you want this. You’ve never been able to get me out of your processor. Never been able to move on with an Autobot. No matter how hard you try to deny it, you’re still stuck on me.”

“I’m not.” Prowl’s voice betrayed him, as did the darkening of his optics. He had never imagined it would be this hard to be this close to Onslaught, or just how much his body called out for the former Elite Guard’s touch.

Onslaught’s voice lowered to a seductive, silky purr as he ran a single finger over the top edge of the Datsun’s door. “Admit it, Prowl. Admit to what you’re pretending doesn’t exist. There’s nothing wrong with giving in and letting yourself feel. After all, you know from first-hand experience just how good letting go with me is.”

Prowl’s door pressed into the Decepticon’s hand as if of its own will, but the rest of his body remained stock still as he fought to keep his control. That control wavered as he heard Onslaught’s battlemask retract. He leaned back into the Combaticon as a large hand came up to brush a teasingly light stroke over grill and headlight.

“Please … stop ...” The words were soft and there was no plea in Prowl’s voice as he whispered the denial. It was more a rote step in a dance than a genuine request.

Onslaught’s hands ceased their exploration and he stepped back, a wicked smile pulling at his the corners of his mouth as he heard Prowl’s soft sound of disappointment.

“I may be a lot of things Prowl, but I am not now nor have I ever been a rapist. You’re free to go at any time you like. Say the word and this ends now. We both go our own way. I head back to my base and you go back to your world of logic and numbers. You get to go back to a stark, cold, black and white world.”

Prowl paused, going over the words carefully, considering his available responses.

“And yet,” he finally said slowly, “you are doing everything you can to manipulate and take advantage.”

“I believe the word you’re looking for is seduce, Prowl.” Onslaught stepped back in and ran his hand up Prowl’s arm, carefully mapping his way up to the tactician’s neck and jaw. A pleased smile tugged at his lips as Prowl’s head tilted, granting the Decepticon easier access.

“It always was this game, wasn’t it? You so desperately want someone to take the control away from you,” he said in a low whisper, leaning in to nuzzle the exposed neck, thrilling at the small shiver he drew out of the Autobot.

Prowl cursed himself and his reaction, but as much as he logically did not want this, he couldn’t bring himself to move away. He was more than capable of taking out the Combaticon commander, especially with him so close and distracted.

Onslaught’s hand came around Prowl’s waist, pulling the Datsun close while the other traced mindlessly erotic patterns around his headlight. Prowl shivered again as the vibrations of a groaning engine teased the hinges of his doorwings and the energy of Onslaught’s spark reached out to lick at Prowl’s own field.

“We used to be good together,” Onslaught murmured as he nuzzled the top of Prowl’s helm, tracing the edge of his chevron with his cheek.

Primus but it all felt so good! Prowl found himself teetering on the brink as his logical arguments were systematically dissolved by the memory of old sensations and these present feelings washing through his frame.

“… that was a long time ago …” Prowl’s sotto vocce argument was lame in his own audios and he found his hands unclenching as they came up, as of their own volition, to map out Onslaught’s arms.

Onslaught sent a second, feather light pulse into Prowl’s field. “What’s a few million years to a race that lives forever?”

Prowl’s moan escaped unbidden and his hands tightened on Onslaught’s arms. Lost in the moment, his spark reached out for the Combaticons, sending a replying pulse back to the spark he once knew so well.

Onslaught drew a long, slow breath through his vents, taking in Prowl’s scent as he ran his fingers over the Datsun’s grill. Prowl found himself squirming in response to the teasingly light touch. He desperately wanted more – wanted a firmer hand, wanted a stronger pulse, wanted everything harder and faster.

“What’s the matter, Prowl? … as if I didn’t know?” Onslaught asked, feigning innocent confusion as he continued to tease, knowing it would drive Prowl to distraction.

Prowl gasped as Onslaught ran one finger under his bumper.

“Fragger,” he growled, leaning back against the Combaticon and flaring his field.

Onslaught pulled away as he felt the flickering warmth wash over him. “Now, now, Prowl. We’re doing this slow and long. I want to reacquaint myself with every inch of you,” he purred. “Unless you wanted to do something about it?”

It had always been the game with them. Both wanted control taken away. Both wanted to be dominated. But unlike Prowl, Onslaught was always willing to manipulate things until he got what he wanted.

Keeping a loose grip on the Autobot’s waist, Onslaught raked his other hand up Prowl’s side, dipping into armour seams with a touch that just skirted rough. Again, he rumbled his engine, reaching out with spark energy to brush at Prowl’s field.

Prowl’s moan was deep, almost feral. He lashed out with a sharp pulse, slamming into the Decepticon with a tightly banded assault. Onslaught gasped and loosed his grip slightly. It was all the space Prowl needed. A swift backward kick threw the Decepticon off balance and gave Prowl enough space to pull away, spin, and tackle Onslaught.

“You primus damned slagger!” Prowl snarled.

“What? Not doing it right?” Onslaught asked, making no attempt to hide his amusement.

Prowl glared down at the Combaticon, taking a bare moment to look at his normally hidden face before sweeping in to press his forehead roughly against Onslaught’s in mockery of intimacy.

Onslaught arched up, arms wrapping tightly around the Autobot. His spark reached out for the lover he once knew so well, pulsing brightly as it met with and equally strong flare.

Prowl’s hands moved feverishly over Onslaught’s body, mapping every angle and node roughly. Without missing a beat, Onslaught’s hands closed around the hinges of the Datsun’s doorwings. Bodies ground together, ignoring the damage to their paint. Pulses flared wildly, synching up in a manic dance. Hands moved feverishly over bodies, mapping out every angle violently.

Onslaught’s gasp morphed into a lusty cry as he arched up against Prowl, arms tightening painfully around the Datsun.

“Primus!” Prowl growled, sending a sharp flare into Onslaught, pressing their chests together as tightly as their body types would allow.

“Give me everything!” Onslaught moaned, opening himself up and pounding energy into the Autobot.

“Yessss!” The word left Prowl’s vocalizer rising into a scream of static as a long overdue overload ripped through his body.

Onslaught thrashed under the Autobot as Prowl’s overload hit him and exploded back out of his spark. Their engines strained and armour pinged as their bodies tried desperately to cool dangerously overheated systems.

“… oh wow …” Prowl whispered.

The last thing he heard was Onslaught’s please chuckle as they both fell into recharge.


Prowl came back online with a groan, his systems sluggish and his battle computer trying to reboot itself.

“Welcome back,” Onslaught murmured, nuzzling the Autobot’s cheek gently. “I guess it’s been a while, has it?”

Prowl froze at the words and the touch as his battle computer came back fully online and reeled at the memory of what he had just done.

“Let go of me,” he snarled, pulling away from Onslaught.

The Combaticon’s arms tightened around Prowl’s slim waist. “Don’t tell me you’re regretting this. Come now, Prowl, you need to learn to revel in these moments. We both know that you’re not an unfeeling automaton, so why start acting the part now?”

Prowl’s elbow connected with Onslaught’s midriff and he staggered away the moment those massive arms loosed their hold.

“This has nothing to do with feelings. This is about right and wrong. You are a Decepticon, Onslaught! I will not commit treason no matter how-” Prowl cut himself off before he could continue the thought.

“No matter what?” Onslaught asked, optics narrowing dangerously. “No matter how right it felt? No matter how primus-damned good it felt?”

The Combaticon stepped forward, but kept his hands to himself. “There’s no treason involved here. Just-”

“Oh yes, I am quite certain that Megatron will feel the same way,” Prowl sneered. “I can go back to base and tell Prime all about this and I know that he will forgive this indiscretion with nothing more than a disappointed look. Just as I know there is a greater than ninety-nine percent chance that Megatron will slag you if he finds out about this. So do not dare to tell me that this isn’t treasonous behaviour!”

Onslaught smirked slightly. “What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. And if he does find out, I’ll just tell him I was seducing a high ranking Autobot to the right side of this war.”

“He will find out. You were never a very good liar, Onslaught.” Prowl’s reply was hard but there was an underlying hint of something else.

“Why Prowl, if I didn’t know better I’d say that you were worried about me.” Onslaught’s smile disappeared as he slipped his battle mask and visor back into place.

“Thankfully you do know better,” Prowl said as he sank back into his alt-mode.

Onslaught looked at the police car in silence for a long moment before turning away and transforming.

“This was fun, Prowl. I’d say we should do it again, but we both know your battle computer will always come up with a valid reason not to,” he said, making no attempt to hide the disappointed acceptance from his voice.

With that the Combaticon rolled out of the former town square.

Prowl sank low on his suspension as he watched his former friend and one time lover drive away. Logically he knew this could never happen again. The odds against the Combaticons ever returning to the Autobots were astronomical, and even if they did, far too much had changed. Far too many bridges had been burned between the two to ever go back. So why was there a little voice deep in his programming asking: “What’s the harm in just once more?”


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