The heat, the humidity, the friction of over warmed metal plates scraping together only served to heighten Barricade's already hypersensitive levels of awareness. He could feel everything; the smooth sensation of his attackers fingers as they trailed in feather light touches across the inner wiring of his abdomen; the tiny vibrations that ran through the concrete piling pressed against his back as a car drove across the overpass above them. The Saleen arched his back, overheated, overwrought, pulling with vehemence on the chains that held both wrists bound over his head but his assailant paid little heed. Blackout, looming and massive as he was, spread his rotor blades behind him for a minor second as his right hand traveled down, clawing across the far smaller expanse of Barricade's groin. The Mustang found himself incapable of holding back the animalistic cry that was educed as the harsh grinding sent a detonation of sensation that exploded across his responsive neural network. He was wound tight as a spring, and it presented Blackout with a sadistic sense of satisfaction; Barricade had always held his own, had always projected himself as a dominant figure in personality, and it was a rush to reduce the powerful albeit small Decepticon into a withering, desperate mess.

The CH-53 Super Stallion searched deeper; his massive hand drove lower, forcing compliance on the notion that Barricade had no choice. It was with a persuasive shove that Blackout weaseled his hand between the far smaller mech's thighs. Barricade drew up defiantly, grabbing the chains that restrained his wrists and trying with vicious failure to avoid the tremor that wracked though his form. Blackout only watched him from his kneeling position, his beady optics red and mirthful as they ever were; the only thing that fouled the otherwise pleasant look was the noticeable air of sadism and ill-intent the helicopter held around him. Thoughtful, he matched Barricade's doleful glare and squeezed rhythmically, accenting the hand buried between the Saleen's thighs with a carefully placed stroke of his thumb. The black and white yanked on the chains and leaned his helm back, insolent even as his legs trembled and his body quaked with need.

And it was with utter loathing that the armor to Barricade's resolve finally cracked and split. He wanted it. He needed it. He admitted it. Blackout was aware of the change immediately as the Mustang became far more willing and open to his advances, arching towards his hands instead of away. The black and white was torn, his mind screaming hate while his body howled want in vehement return. His emotion grid became a baffled whitewash of revulsion and need, frothing and churning as Mind drove to gain the upper hand over Body, gaining less and less coherency as the military aircraft continued with his hands. Feverish, Barricade writhed under the treatment, staring sightlessly upward as his sensory capacity reached the breaking point. Want need hatredloathingdesirehatesubmissionweakmind pleasureblisscarnalyearningNEED went the Saleen's violently roiling psyche until finally his mind ceased its part of the debate and went quiet. Barricade succumbed. He surrendered.

I'm yours.