Happy birthday to Mama Moosey! Love you to pieces! Enjoy the angsty porn that I know you love... Sadist.
"So I take it you missed us?" The smug tone made Thunderhoof scowl, shoving Chop Shop down onto the berth roughly.
"Shaddap."
"Yes, dear," the thief sniggered, pulling his toothy grin. That Primus damned grin.
Yes, maybe he had missed them. Missed sweet Righty, lovely Lucy and grumpy Tighty. Hell, he'd even admit he missed Lefty and his sarcasm, and Anansi and his charm went without saying. Maybe he was still sour about their disappearing act, like he had been for those two decacycles before Clampdown ratted him out. He knew he'd become colder, more venomous in that time. Even Scowl had learnt to be afraid of him. Big, dopey Scowl. The Dinobot had stopped stampeding into his office every morning to give him strut crushing hugs not long after Chop Shop baled.
He wanted to punch him, force him to understand everything he'd gone through. To take away everything precious HE had just when he thought it would never go. That came with the job description; make people suffer for ripping you off.
But he couldn't. Not to Chop Shop.
"I said shut it." He straddled the combiner, running a hand back down his left thigh, like Lucy had always loved. Chop Shop gave a shiver, one pair of optics shutting, the other looking up at him half lidded. Thunderhoof ground against him roughly, slowly, appealing to Tighty's masochistic side. Then he grabbed his left hand, licking and sucking on every digit for Lefty. He kissed Righty's palm, then put his hands around Chop Shop's throat.
The combiner stared up at him in dazed consideration, brain doubtlessly over flowing with confused whistling and snippets of song. Like always.
"You remember all this..."
"Of course I do," he snapped. "It's seared right into my processor. Just like YOU, yah traitor." The second pair of eyes snapped back open, staring up at him in mute astonishment for a moment. It took him a moment, but Chop Shop found his voice.
"I'm not a traitor," he said firmly.
"You ran away. Not even a slaggin' word! No reason!"
"We 'ad our reasons." He licked his lips nervously, skirting around the obvious question there. Hoof wouldn't give him the satisfaction.
"Was there someone else?" His grip on their throat tightened, although against those thick muscle cables Chop Shop probably barely felt a thing. "Just tell me there was someone else!"
"Why?"
"Coz dat'll make it easier!," he barked, gritting his dentals. "It'd mean you didn't leave me just coz yer a selfish bastard, it'd mean you left for a purpose!"
It won't shatter everything I thought I knew about you.
Chop Shop looked up at him, those four optics flicking independently in all directions over Thunderhoof. It might have been disconcerting, even creepy to anyone else. Thunderhoof had never found the extra pair of eyes unsettling.
Despite being apart for so long, Hoof read the combiner's face like an open book. Mixed and mottled thoughts and emotions stirred between five conjoined minds, smoothed over onto one face. And just like always, those gold eyes left him breathless, and his fuel tank clenched even before Chop Shop opened his big mouth.
"No," he replied. "No one else. Never anyone else." Thunderhoof raised his fist back, letting it hover by his helm for a moment, trembling. The gestalt bot's two left optics glanced up at the fist and twitched slightly, but he didn't flinch any more than that. He'd take the punch if Thunderhoof really wanted to hit him.
Instead, Hoof's forehead made a clang against Chopper's chest, hissing through his teeth. "Stop fraggin' with my head!," he snarled, his fist lightly bumping onto a bulbous red shoulder. The larger bot licked his lips again, and finally his groin plating released. Hoof glared back balefully, seeing his red spike standing to attention.
"... Not gonna lie," Chop Shop mumbled. "It got 'ard the second you sat in my lap." Thunderhoof looked away from it, burying his face in Chopper's neck. He sighed shakily. Same old horny Chop Shop.
"Yer really not goin' to tell me, are youse...?" He heard and felt Chop Shop intakes hitch, and he turned his head away uncomfortably. "It's dat bad...?" Those optics dulled, shutters slipping down slightly. They spoke to him without saying a word. "So bad, youse won't even trust me?" His throat clenched, expression so furiously twisted he must have looked like a demon to them. "Did you ever trust me?!"
"It's not that we dun' trust you," Chop Shop replied quickly. "But explainin' would... Make it worse."
Thunderhoof sat up, snarling down at Chop Shop with scarcely contained rage. He dug his finger tips harshly into red plating, making the combiner grunt, then snapped back his valve cover and slammed right down on his large spike.
Chopper yelped, trying to sit upright to pull Hoof off. "Hoof, you'll 'urt yourse-!" The mobster shoved him back again, raising himself up and ramming back down.
"You see this?!," he bellowed, plunging himself up and down on the combiner's plug almost mercilessly. "This is how much it 'urts. This is how much it'd always 'urt." He would never admit it out loud, and he knew Chop Shop would never mention it, but there were trickles of lubricant dripping down his cheeks in furious torrents as he gulped and gasped through his teeth. "THIS is how much you've 'urt me!"
Chop Shop choked, vocaliser glitching at the overwhelming of external sensors. Slaver spluttered over his lips as he drooled, yelping and moaning as Thunderhoof angrily rode his spike.
"And it didn't even matter!" He was spewing nonsense now, just yelling out whatever came to his mind and not giving two scraps about whoever outside the door might hear. "Because it was rotten anyway! For every fuckin' sweet thing you said, every Primus damned time you made me piss myself laughin' at your stupid jokes!" He gasped around a sob, slamming harder and harder, barely able to even see Chop Shop in his haze. "You never told me you loved me!"
Chop Shop let out a husked cry, gripping Hoof's hips with those obscenely strong hands, leaving finger tip sized dents in blue metal. He moaned and he howled, making all the sounds Thunderhoof loved to hear, arching upwards and tilting his head back.
"We're sorry!," he cried. "We're sorry! We're sorry! We're sorry!"
"No you're not!," he barked, clawing at Chop Shop's chest and the desecrated Decepticon symbol. "You're not sorry! If youse was sorry, you'd tell me!"
The combiner had never been keen to use his strength against Thunderhoof. It came in handy at times, but he was always worried he'd end up hurting him. But this time, it was to stop the furious mobster from hurting himself.
Chop Shop pushed himself up again, this time grabbing hold of an antler before Hoof could push him down, and rolling over.
Pinning the mob boss under his greater weight, he panted and struggled to catch his breath, wrestling to keep him in place.
"We are sorry," he huffed, finally trapping both of Hoof's wrists under one large hand. "Sorry we never told you 'ow much you mean to us."
"Meant," Thunderhoof hissed.
"No, mean," Chopper growled, glaring down at the Cervicon. "We know wot's goin' on it that 'ead of yours, and it ain't true. So stop." They were still connected, so Chop Shop slowly began to roll his hips, grinding into Hoof's valve carefully. The mobster twitched and closed his optics, turning his head away as best he could. He didn't want to moan, gasp or show any signs that it felt good. "Sometimes... Sometimes you spend so long dawdlin' on whether you're certain or not, you forget wot it feels like to be certain," he said slowly, ex-vents picking up again gradually. "But even when you ain't certain, all it takes is 'maybe', and you'll jump to do wotever you gotta do."
"You're talkin'... Slag," Thunderhoof spat, swallowing hard as he fought with a moan. Chop Shop's free hand grasped his cheeks, turning his face upwards to watch his expression.
"You were right, it was bad. Bad enough that I 'ad to go, so you wouldn't get tangled up." A bright red optic snapped open, piercing into him sharply.
"You t'ink I was in danger?," he snarled. "You t'ink I can't take care of my Primus damn self?!"
"... Well maybe I was bein' selfish," he conceded. "You gettin' tangled up... I meant you'd know more about us. The bits we don't want you to know."
"I'd 'ave known 'em eventually." Both his optics opened, and he looked up at Chop Shop with a barely defiant look. "... Wouldn't I?"
He winced. The implication, the question behind the question, wasn't lost on them. But the answer stuck to his tongue.
With a sigh, he began thrusting just a little harder, finally getting a gasp out of Hoof. THIS was better. Not crazy, angry fucking where he could barely see Thunderhoof's face.
"'Ave you... Been with anyone else?," the combiner asked. The flare in his optics and tightening of his throat didn't go unnoticed, but he waited for the answer.
"Yes," he hissed, glaring venomously at Chopper. He hoped to see what he wanted on the red mech's face. The combiner winced, and bowed his helm as he kept thrusting.
"That's fair...," he muttered. "I want to kill every single one of 'em... But it's fair."
Thunderhoof groaned, a mixture of pleasure and discomfort. He wasn't sure what he'd wanted to see in Chop Shop's eyes anymore.
"Did you?," he asked, gripping his fists in Chopper's hold.
The larger mech solemnly shook his head. "No, we didn't." Hoof grit his teeth, arching his back as he made a strangled moan. Dammit.
The thrusts kept coming, steady and tender. It wasn't just fucking, it was making love. It coiled painfully in his stomach and gripped his throat, and all he wanted to do was scream.
"Bastard," he moaned, and Chop Shop nodded.
"I know, I know."