Title: Trophy
Author: Femme4jack
Fandom: Transformers Prime AU
Rating: NC-17/MA/Explicit
Characters, Pairing: Airachnid/Jack Darby

Content: In the spirit of Darkfest, the warnings for this story are listed at the end. Please scroll down if you wish to see them. Jack is of age in this story (he is in his first year of college and it takes place sometime after season 2)

Notes: Written for Darkfest 2012 for the following prompts. 1) Transformers Prime, Airachnid, Taking trophies is often messy work but always entirely worth it. 2) Transformers Prime, Arcee/Airachnid, revenge b(l)inds us both.

Loosely connected with two others I've written, Circle Broken (posted here as chapter 4 of Prime Time, though I should move it because it really is its own series) and Worm. Familiarity with either one is not necessary. I have been developing a head-canon history for the TFP femmes and am not attempting to be in compliance with any history set out in the Aligned Novels (Exodus and Exiles). I wrote this prior to watching the episode: Crossfire, and am uncertain whether that episode renders this even more AU or less. This was meant to be a much longer, more developed story centering around Arcee and Airachnid, but offline life interfered with that plan in a massive way. Thank you to Merfilly and Ayngelcat for beta-ing and encouraging me!

Pathetic, really, the posturing and bluster coming from the creature feebly struggling in her grip as she made her way deeper into the tunnel. That another femme actually cared for such a thing was proof of Arcee's unworthiness to continue functioning. Not that there had ever been a question of this in Airachnid's processors.

It was not like Airachnid could ever forget what Arcee's founding circle had cost their frame-class.

(The treacherous line of code that demanded Airachnid found a new circle with one of the last remaining femmes and retreat together deep underground until their numbers were rebuilt was ruthlessly overwritten yet again. Airachnid would rather extinguish, the last of her kind, than form a cohort bond, especially with one of Elita-1's scion-sisters).

The wriggling, filament-wrapped worm was not worthy to be among Airachnid's trophies. There had been no challenge in the hunt, and Jack would die with pathetic ease when she chose to end his torment. She supposed she should find his cursing and bravado amusing, given that he was held by digits that could just as easily slice him in half like the piece of meat he was. Regardless, Jack had a final purpose to serve before his head was preserved to hang on the wall. The vile, messy thing was unworthy of that honor, certainly, but it would be worth it in the end.

"They will never let you get away with this," the human warned in a trembling voice as she continued to make her way deeper into the tunnel she had burrowed for this very purpose.

"I'm counting on that, Jack," she purred warmly, giving the bundle held to her cephalothorax a squeeze that casually cracked a few of his ribs. Pathetic, that natural selection would allow sentient beings to evolve that did not even have rudimentary exoskeletal armor.

Jack had tried so hard not to scream and sob, knowing that Airachnid had been recording every moment of his torment to lure Arcee to his rescue. But in the end, the Decepticon robbed him of the ability to deny her even that. Now she was gone, having disappeared somewhere behind him in the pitch-black heat of the tunnel. He was naked and spread eagle, his arms and legs still webbed to the rough, searing-hot rock. How deep was he? A mile? Two?

He tried to distract himself from the throbbing pain and memory flashes by recalling what the professor in his Intro to Geology class had said during his first quarter. 22.1 degrees Celsius for every kilometer underground, right? That was about 70 degrees Fahrenheit...

She remained in her insectoid form, looming over him, surrounding him with her six multi-articulated legs while he struggled against the webbing. Her frame and optics cast enough light to see her, but nothing of the tunnel they were in. He turned his face, refusing to look up at her leering expression or his own reflection in the mirrored plates of her armor. One leg was right in front of his eyes so he could see the interlocking plates that moved as she did. Was she bending her legs, lowering herself? He riveted his attention on those jointed appendages, trying to ignore whatever was happening above him, whatever she was saying. He was less successful at ignoring the deadly blades jutting out from her joints and the claws on each tip that could easily run him through.

"Look at me when I speak with you, Jack," Airachnid suddenly commanded, already bent low enough to grasp his face with her sharp fingers. Their razor edges sliced into his skin as she effortlessly forced him to look up at her purple abdomen, now poised above his face.

...definitely hotter than 70 degrees in the tunnel. He was used to the dry heat of Nevada, but this was even hotter than he was comfortable with. Well over 100, maybe even 120? Less than two kilometers, then, but more than one and a half if the temperature gradient wasn't affected by a shallow crust. What was the conversion rate to miles? If they were one and three quarter kilometers underground, that would be about a mile...

From a distance, the bots looked like they had solid armor plates, but upon closer examination, each was made of thousands of tiny interlocking pieces that could move and bend, shifting and reshaping themselves, allowing for amazing flexibility as well as the transformations that were so unique to their kind. In vehicle mode, the tiny plates blended out of sight, their edges only showing when the transformation sequence began. Not, however, when they were bipedal, or whatever he should call Airachnid's current mode.

The tiny plates above him begin to swirl as something emerged from her dangling abdomen, just above where her legs would part when not fused together as they now were. His eyes were drawn in horrified fascination as the mockery of human anatomy grew before his eyes, severely ridged and as long as his own torso. Below it, a similar process was taking place, but the plates were spiraling inward, forming into a deep circular cavity, lit from within.

Was it sweat his body was still slick with? Or blood? In the complete darkness he couldn't see which, but assumed it was both... and something more he didn't wish to recall, though there was no escaping the smell of it: a vaporous, metallic odor that permeated the still air of the tunnel and made his head swim.

He vaguely wondered if there was enough oxygen here. He hoped not, because that would be like falling asleep, right? Only never to wake. Not that dying now would keep Arcee from coming whenever Airachnid transmitted the videos and location...

The orifice looked... slick, a fact confirmed when a large glob of something thick and slippery fell onto his chest with an audible splat. Airachnid deftly maneuvered his head, forcing him to watch the viscous fluid slide down his ribs to pool on the rock floor, reflecting the purple light of his captor's optics and frame.

"Don't let it go to your head, Jack. I find you utterly repulsive. But you humans have such primitive fears to play with."

In geology class Jack had learned that the deepest humans had ever personally gone underground was in a gold mine in South Africa – almost two and a half miles below the surface. They had to air condition the interior because the rock faces themselves could get up to 140 degrees Fahrenheit. Yet, it was barely a scratch on the surface...

She slowly and deliberately sliced off his clothing, leaving him lacerated and bleeding in too many places to count and then lowered her body further, positioning herself so that the orifice was right above his chest. The heat from the dripping cavity felt like an oven, far hotter than even the stifling air, as did the air coming from her abdominal vents.

In all the horrors he'd tried not to imagine during the seemingly endless trek underground, rape had never entered his mind. As human-like as the Cybertronians could be on the surface, it never occurred to Jack to think of them as remotely sexual. He wondered briefly if Airachnid had somehow created a transformation sequence purely to horrify him, or if Arcee, Optimus and the rest had similar...parts.

Before he could follow that runaway train of thought out of this station of horrors, Airachnid sliced through the webbing holding his right arm, her fingers wrapping it in her iron grip as she pulled it to the pulsating entrance of the newly formed cavity.

Thousands of miners died each year in mining accidents, not to mention all of the injuries, maimings and lung diseases. Jack wondered how stable the tunnel was. Had Airachnid rigged it to collapse when Arcee came for him?

Just the thought of Arcee coming to his rescue felt like a betrayal, though he wanted her to come, so very much. He could envision her bursting in, blaster in each of her hands, his guardian angel of vengeance. But that was exactly what Airachnid wanted, what she planned for, why she had forced him to sob and scream.

"What the hell are you doing?" Jack shrieked, forgetting his promise to remain stoic and silent. The feel of the burning-hot maw enveloping his hand, pulling it within her horrible body was just too much. He struggled and pulled against the rippling, mechanical process that drew him inexorably within her, up to his wrist, then his elbow. She then began lowering herself onto him further even as the rim of the orifice contracted rhythmically like the mouth of some snake swallowing its prey whole.

When his arm was enveloped to the shoulder, the walls of cavity began spiraling inward, squeezing him in an unbreakable grip.

"Scream for me, Jack," Airachnid said in a sickeningly sweet voice as his arm was squeezed tighter and tighter until Jack was certain she planned to squeeze it right off of him.

"Please," he whispered, biting his lip, trying not to scream, shaking his head and looking in any direction other than the horror above him.

"Not good enough, Jack," she warned even as he felt the slick vise give a far more powerful squeeze and heard the bones of his arm shatter as it exploded with pain.

It was so hot, and he was so thirsty. His tongue felt dry as he carefully probed the bloody spits on his on his lips with the only appendage available to him. He closed his eyes, shaking, trying not to remember what had come next. But his memories throbbed with the shame of it even as his arm continued to throb in pain.

After expelling his shattered arm from the depths of her frame, Airachnid had forced several inches of her rigid phallus into his mouth, stretching it wider than it had ever been meant to. There had been nowhere for his tongue to go save inside the thrumming opening at its apex. He could still see her hand stroking herself in some horrible mockery of his own private pleasure. Then he'd had no choice but to choke and gag, swallowing again and again as an oily, metallic fluid exploded into his mouth in repeated bursts even as her electrical discharge sent painful surges through his body, leaving behind the smell of singed hair and ozone.

When she finally had pulled out of him, he had barely been able to turn his head as he retched and heaved the horrible stuff along with whatever partially digested food had been in his stomach.

"So vile," she had murmured before pulling yet another scream from him as she webbed his shattered arm to the rock floor.

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Content Notes: Graphic xeno rape, sticky (fandom jargon for sentient robotic beings with hermaphroditic interface parts that mimic human sexual organs), horror, blood and fluids, deliberate maiming. The vaguest of references to mecha creation method other than the AllSpark.