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That Special Timbre

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               “You’re almost there, aren’t you?” Optimus murmured, pressing even harder against the thick metal bars. “What do you need? Perhaps to touch yourself?”

                Soundwave shook his head, an almost imperceptible motion. He otherwise remained silent, just out of Optimus’ reach and facing away from him.

                “Ahh… perhaps you just want to continue listening then? You seem to like the sound of my voice,” Optimus said. “I’m not surprised. You are a communications specialist; sounds are everything to you. And of course, some sounds… resonate… more than others.

                “I’ve noticed this in others. The deepness to my tones, especially,” Optimus said, purposely lowering his voice another octave. Soundwave shuddered, his hands clenching into fists at his side.

                “I made a career out of it at one point. I was very young… in need of fast credits. You’d be surprised how many mechs called in, asking specifically for me, self-servicing to the sound of my voice walking them through their own fantasy.”

                Soundwave keened quietly, his body stiffening. As Optimus watched, blue sparks flared to life under Soundwave’s plating, licking free like wildfire. The Decepticon staggered as he overloaded, falling backwards against the bars and straight into Optimus’ hands.

                “Or perhaps you wouldn’t be surprised at all,” Optimus said to himself, gently lowering the unconscious Soundwave to the floor. He would be out for several hours, thanks to a neat little move Jazz had taught Optimus. By then, hopefully Optimus would be long gone, now that he had the keys to the cell Soundwave had been carrying.