Disclaimer: I do not own transformers, or make any money from this story.
*Content Warnings*: This fic contains mechsex, of sticky, plug and play and spark varieties. It contains mechpreg, and is all about replication among Transformers, sparklings, parenthood and the trials and tribulations of youngling-rearing. Please don't read if you have an aversion to any of these things.
Contuinuity: G1 Season 3
Characters: Hook and Scrapper (and all the Constructicons) and later, First Aid
Summary: Scrapper can't imagine what's in store when he starts to experience strange but strong drives and emotions.
Notes: This chapter initially written as a oneshot but there's been more since and it will be on here soon. Chapters get longer, too.
~~NESTING~~
~By Ayngelcat~
Datapads and papers littered the table in front of the Constructicon leader. Yet, the more Scrapper looked at the plans, the harder it was to grasp the contents.
Why? Scrapper still could not figure it out. The proposed new base on Delta Pavonus was a perfectly straightforward construction on a geologically uncomplicated planet. So why was he finding it so hard to grasp the overall picture and stages, into which he always dispatched his team with such adept efficiency?
But the loader's thoughts were jumbled, as though his logic arrays could not form a coherent order. And instead of technicalities, there were other very impractical notions in his processor.
Like – what a pleasant place this planet was. How the climate was nice, and many races lived in apparent harmony. How it was out of the main thoroughfare between here and Junction Seventeen, and well away from Quadrant sixty six, and hadn't been targeted by the Quintessons.
And how, even though they were building yet another outpost here for Galvatron, it would be another that was a token, a mere statement of his presence. The Decepticon leader would rarely use or even visit it. How much better if the Constructicons could tailor it to their own needs. Build instead – a home for themselves.
Yesss – Scrapper stared at the plans, not taking them in. A real home; something that wasn't just transient lodgings in another of Galvatron's camps. Somewhere they could be safe and be together and build things; why, they could take up trumpet playing again, and Scrapper could fill the place with memorabilia and other fond Constructicon type stuff. They could all be – a family.
A Constructinest. Why had he never thought of this before?
Scrapper's spark pained. A tear made its way down his cheek, one landing on the datapads in front of him. Oh no – now this was ridiculous! What if Bonecrusher came charging in here suddenly and saw him all like this? Worse, what if some other Decepticon turned up and saw it? The Constructicons would be a laughing stock; he, Scrapper, undoubtedly demoted.
And what did they want, anyway, with a permanent base? Weren't they enjoying the traveling life, coupled with the esteem from being - to a certain extent - the ones who got Galvatron where he was?
Scrapper straightened in the chair, sniffing and brushing the fluid away. Firmly, he shut off his optical conduit reservoirs. This was simply absurd!
But all that did was make Scrapper's spark ache unbearably; and even though the Constructicon leader made a supreme effort to examine the plans afresh, to thoroughly absorb their contents, he still could not stop the longing for comfortable, homely things from invading his processor.
There was no escape. He would have to talk to Hook about this.
….
Hook sighed. So engrossed was Scrapper in wrestling with the unfamiliar emotions that he had not even noticed his team mate appear in the doorway behind him.
But Hook had been here for a while, grappling with sensations of his own as he watched his team-mate's helpless display of sentimentality. Hook knew exactly what was wrong with Scrapper - even if Scrapper had no idea himself.
When it came to pre-replication 'states' Hook was, after all, still something of an expert. Even if that was in the somewhat distant past now, and even if he had never hung around after the actual sequence and resulting creations, and had no idea who or where they were.
Scrapper shifted. Hook took in the view from this angle, the chunky grey thigh; the aft with the purple pelvic armour, the backstruts and the shovel with the sensitive hinges and hydraulics. The outline of Scrapper's face was just visible, maskless for once; the strong chin and smooth facemetal. The crane wondered if their creation would look like Scrapper – would have the same even features and large optics. Or would it have Hook's own more aquiline profile and deepset, fiery orbs?
Their creation. Desire surged from Hook's core, radiating outwards, blazing a hot, tingling path through his circuits, radiating to his extremities. His spike pressurized, hard, as all his interface systems clicked into combined replication/protoform initiation standby mode. The pressure rose sharply in his conduits, as his procreative chambers filled with fluid.
Hook allowed the sensation to wash through him, almost whimpering with the need to fully commence the sequence. But in practiced form, he vented several times, managing to keep the noise to a minimum as he injected much needed coolant into his systems and forcibly calm the urges.
Primus, this sequence was hard to contain! Hook didn't know that he could do that for very much longer.
But he would have to choose the right time. Replication was a delicate process. If Hook did not get the approach right - if Scrapper was improperly prepared or alarmed when the sequence initiated - then the interface could mismatch. And whilst that wouldn't detract from what was going to be seriously awesome sex - Hook fought back another swathe of desire - it wouldn't result in a protoform implant.
Scrapper put down the datapad he'd been studying, and picked up another. His shoulders hunched, tense, in the effort of concentration and he brushed again at his optics. A wave of fondness went through Hook, desire dissolving to an ache in the crane's spark. Once Scrapper understood - Hook suspected - an aborted sequence could only result in one sparkbroken loader.
On the other hand, Hook would have to do something soon. The others had not picked up on Scrapper's receptive state as yet, but they would; and the thought of a hatchling joining them in a vorn or so that was not a combination of him and Scrapper was not appealing.
In fact, it was anything but. Quite apart from the fierce, competitive possessiveness which threatened to engulf Hook at the mere notion, he imagined the thoroughly unpleasant results; the whining offspring of Long Haul, or Scavenger's inevitably delinquent spawn. How hard to live with would be Bonecrusher's angry and difficult creation? And as for a Mixmaster mix – that didn't even bear thinking about.
Besides, Hook thought smugly, his own programming was immensely superior. Articulate, vocational, and tinged with Alpha caste specifications. The combination of it and Scrapper's would make for a very fine specimen indeed. It was maybe touching to think of giving Scrapper, a 'choice.' But really, there wasn't one.
Scrapper was in tears again, fluid dripping on to the datapad he now clutched. Hook tutted – but could not help but feel uncharacteristically sentimental again. This was, of course, not untypical for the potential co-replicator either. They would just both have to accept that it was part of the process, and not get over anxious about keeping up the 'tough Decepticon act' for now.
So long as nobody saw them outside the team, it would be all right …
Hook cleared his throat, and Scrapper looked around. His tear-filled optics followed Hook with a mixture of relief and confusion as he walked across. Hook gently removed the pad from Scrapper's hand. He put it down. Then he curled his own hand around Scrapper's, a pang ripping through his spark when Scrapper hung on to the hand as he sat down.
"What's wrong with me?" Scrapper whimpered. "There must be some medical reason for this? Surely you ought to be able to figure it out, Hook?"
"I have," Hook said, in a voice filled with the overwhelming and extraordinary affection he felt. Looking into Scrapper's optics, he ran a finger down the smooth, moist cheek.
"Have you ever thought about ..." he paused, "there being more than one of you?"