Rodimus Prime hits the wall with a grunt, his already-dented spoiler flaring with pain at the impact. He's barely recovered his equilibrium when his attacker pins him there, all hard hands and searing-hot plating and an extraordinary growl that vibrates all through him. Rodimus gasps as he feels his firewalls go offline, hatch covers letting go with little snaps to leave his ports and cables wantonly exposed. Galvatron laughs, lets go of one wrist to fondle a cable roughly, and that's the end of Rodimus's control - he cries out, head rolling back in a wordless plea as his chestplate unlocks and opens to nudge against Galvatron's chest.
The warlord - uncharacteristically - pauses, his growl modulating into a questioning note, and Rodimus onlines his optics. They're hazy with static, but he can see Galvatron's expression: lust is there, yes, and avarice and triumph, but there's something else there - the way Galvatron's lips part, perhaps, like he's about to ask instead of take - that moves him to, perhaps, new heights of foolishness.
"Don't be afraid," he whispers.
Galvatron blinks; then he snorts and tosses his head dismissively. "Afraid? Of you?" he demands, his voice incautious and loud by contrast - and as if to prove it, he attacks Rodimus's chestplate, violently conquering what Rodimus has already offered up as his. Rodimus cries out as Galvatron's fingers close over his spark, heedless of the light of the Matrix that surrounds it. It is anathema to one with his origins, but Galvatron doesn't seem to care - for certain he cares less than Rodimus does, who gasps and jerks as he tries to get the dratted thing under control so it doesn't burn his chaos-spawn lover.
"Don't be afraid, Prime," Galvatron mocks, but his touch turns almost gentle on the outer edges of Rodimus's spark.
"Of you?" Rodimus smiles, tilts his head to rest against Galvatron's crown. "Never."