Evolving Identity

Units of time are on profile page if any confusion. Prime-verse. Slightly AU. Makeshift didn't learn location of the Autobot base and was not deactivated. I've also given him a history. Makeshift centered but every Con gets plenty of face time, and there will be multiple pairings.

Overall Rating-MA consensual sticky, dubcon, mentions of rape, torture, violence, PNP, gore, sadism, attempted rape, language, rough interfacing, lots of bad stuff.

Chapter Warning/Tags/Kinks-Sticky consensual b/w 2 mechs, mentions of past rape, power-bottoming

PLEASE DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE UNDER THE LEGAL AGE!

Disclaimer-I do not own any of the characters or locations represented in Transformers Prime or Steve the Eradicon, and I'm not profiting from this story.

Chapter 1-Droning Obsessions

The purest darkness he had ever witnessed greeted his optics after he typed in the code that opened the door to the officer's quarters. At first it had been intimidating but ER-ST3V3, known as Steve to his fellow drones, was slowly getting used to it. This would be their fifth time together and the second time this decacycle. Steve had started to loosen up with each encounter; after all he was addicted to what this mech was offering him.

It was a lie. A dirty, destructive lie that would probably end up hurting him more in the end but it didn't matter. Nothing mattered but the sights, the smells, the… everything that was the other. The most perfect mech he had ever laid optics on, so unattainable before, was now his. His in ways he had only ever imagined and Steve was lost in this terrible lie in spite of himself.

He was no fool. He knew the other was not truly his, did not truly yearn for him the way Steve wished. This folly would end eventually, but he would revel in every moment, every night he was allowed to partake in these meetings. Each shared moment was only one more memory he added to his data bank of memories that one solarcycle he could only dream would become reality, one solarcycle would be more than this fallacy.

Outside this room there was nothing but the never-ending war. Endless battles, endless loss, and premature offlinement awaited him and his fellow drones. It was a pitiful existence really, but they took small comfort in each other. They lived together, fought together, and offlined together. Living each moment like it was their last was the only way to keep going and learn to find some joy in their somewhat meaningless existence. Often it was the simple pleasures that fueled them: their camaraderie, the energon ration at the end of a hard solarcycle's work, and anytime they simply got to be. No duties, no war. There was always pain for those who had been lost, but together in the barracks or the wash racks, chatting and laughing, that pain was less. It was all pleasant, but for Steve there had always been one more thing. One more reason to fight harder, one more reason to beat the Autobots, and that thing was Commander Starscream.

His presence had finally been noticed and the lights were turned up so that he could see about the room. It was plain, it could even be called tidy, but it was hard for it to be anything but when there was nothing there. There was absolutely nothing personalizing the room, it could have been thought uninhabited if a bot didn't know better. Steve wasn't sure why he decided to leave his quarters so bare, even the drones had personal effects, but he supposed it might give the wrong impression otherwise. Enough. Don't ruin this with too much thinking, he thought to himself, which seemed a roundabout argument.

Letting everything go, Steve made his way farther into the quarters toward the berthroom where his partner undoubtedly waited. Just before he engaged the scanner to open the second door he paused. He couldn't help it; the knowledge of what waited behind this door unsettled him every time. It was all so wrong and yet felt so, so right. He sighed to himself. Don't be a sparkling. He already knows you're here. With those thoughts of encouragement, Steve palmed open the berthroom door and stepped inside.

Sitting at a console, beautiful wings drawn up high and tight, was Commander Starscream looking as regal as ever. From where he stood, Steve could only make out the other's profile, and what a perfect profile it was. Everything was sculpted aerodynamically; his cheek arches, opticbrow ridges, and helm swept backwards with a graceful flare. They accentuated his liquid, red optics, which had small lines that drew the optic downward to the thin lip plates and farther to a pointed chin. The look was completed with a thin, red spire that jutted proudly upwards between his optics.

Steve allowed his own optics to wander shamelessly over the faceplates, hungrily taking everything in and he hadn't even moved to the other's frame yet. His entire frame was varying shades of silver and gray with tiny accents of blue and red, here and there. Lightly built, it was meant for speed and flexibility, giving him an elegant, stylish physique in root mode and allowing him superb aerial maneuverability when he transformed. Large shoulder guards and a wide chestplate flowed downward to a narrow waist and hip plates that flared upwards. His codpiece was devious, both hiding and attracting attention to the interface array that lay just underneath. Smooth thighs gave way to knee joints flanked by wing flaps and spiked in the front. It all terminated at heeled thrusters that were both delicate yet powerful.

The commander is so beautiful. Steve cycled air through his intakes a little faster and couldn't orient himself for what seemed like an eternity. It was not surprising that this mech was so sought after, and Steve could only imagine why he was allowed to have the seeker all to himself. Finally getting his processor under control, he moved farther into the room. He was never sure exactly how to initiate these encounters so this time he decided to announce himself, "Commander… " but was cut off.

"Drone," came a screechy voice almost sounding tired.

"Sir," was all he could say and snapped to attention out of habit. He was aware that the voice was devoid of its usual condescending tone, but it was still more of an order than a question. Steve stood there for another eternity before the commander turned to stare at him with what seemed like impatience.

"Well? Get to it. I haven't got all night to entertain you," he said waving a servo idly in Steve's general direction before returning to his work. Steve walked up behind him and hesitantly placed a servo on his left outer wing. The commander sighed and leaned back into his touch ever so slightly. Steve stroked the appendage with long, leisurely movements taking great joy from touching the other so. He knew what was expected of him, and laid both his servos against the up-tilted wing, massaging in slow circles. His digits scrapped along gently, creating static in their wake that left his and the commander's extremities tingling.

The commander dealt with so much during his solarcycles that he was always tense when it came time for recharge. Steve's gentle touches were just the thing to relieve his stress, but he had to be careful. Too much pressure at the wrong area and Starscream would leave claw marks upon his frame that he wasn't allowed to seek help for. The physical pain was nothing compared to the shame he would feel after disappointing his commander, and the dents served as a constant reminder of his failure.

Finishing with the first wing, he moved to the second and began his slow ministrations again. By the time he reached the inner winglets, Starscream had forgotten about his typing and was practically humming. Distracted by the noises, Steve wasn't paying enough attention to the placement of his claws. They were too near the point of connection between wings and spinal strut and moving ever closer. Manipulating the junction could cause exquisite pleasure, but it could also cause pain, as was the case when the claws scraped against the delicate wiring with too much force.

The pained seeker immediately hissed and pulled away, turning on him to glare menacingly. "Co… Commander Starscream, I'm s… so sorry, sir. I will do better next time." Steve shut up then and bowed his helm as low as it could go, waiting for the sharp sting of claws and the warmth of his own energon flowing down his frame. It never came.

"Pay more attention you blundering fool or I may not be in the mood to grant you a next time. Now, go get on the berth," he ordered with only a hint of venom.

Steve looked up with confusion plain on his face. "Sir, you're not going to…"

"Berth. Now. And don't make me repeat myself."

"Yes, Commander." Steve scrambled to get on the berth in what was not the most graceful of movements. Before he could get into the sitting position he usually assumed a servo grabbed his aft. He shuddered at the contact, both excited and anxious that the commander was doing something new with him. "S… sir?" There was no verbal response, only the servo moving to a transformation seam at his hip joint, pulling and tweaking the wires.

Another servo joined the first and suddenly they were everywhere, flying over his plating and dipping into seams. They teased him, scratching at the cables and wires that lay under his outer armor, gently at times and then more forcefully. Steve lost himself in the feeling, reveled in every touch, every brush of those perfect claws.

"Mmm, Drone. You are quite pleasing to the optics from here." Steve writhed under the servos and gave a small mewl at the silky voice complimenting him. He was hopelessly aroused already much to his dismay, interface panel burning and electromagnetic field flickering uncontrollably. "Always ready for me aren't you, Drone?" the commander teased, punctuating his words by pulling Steve back and grinding his codpiece against the other's interface panel harshly. Steve's servos dug into the berth as he tried to ground himself against all the sensations threatening to undo him. "That was a question, Drone," and he thrust against Steve's still closed panel again.

"Yes, Commander. Yes!" Starscream's frame was starting to burn against his own and that was enough, his panels clicked open autonomics taking over. The seeker snickered at the sound and he was embarrassed at how easily excitable he was. His cooling fans whirled, valve lubricating already and spike halfway pressurized just from the minimal touches and sultry words from his beautiful second-in-command.

He expected to feel a digit slide into him, but instead the commander laid himself across Steve's backplates, frames fitting together perfectly. That warm, slender frame felt so good pressed up against him; servos still roaming, now across his chestplate, engine thrumming softly. All of a sudden there was a loud roar and then powerful vibrations rocked his frame causing Steve to cry out softly. Slowly, the vibrations pulled back leaving his frame shaking of its own accord until the engine thrummed again. Each rev caused arousing shudders that radiated throughout his body and caused his valve to leak a little more.

The engine continued to purr, pulsing slowly at first and then faster and faster. It was too much, too blissfully perfect. The vibrations turned to heat and heat turned to electricity as it moved from Starscream's frame to his. It travelled in waves, filling his frame, leading him to the inevitable climax, which would undo him.

Overload was coming, only nanoklicks away when Starscream pulled back leaving him shaking pitifully on his servos and knee joints. His vents hitched as he worked to cool his overheated frame. Primus, the commander was experienced! He had never thought engine pulses could feel so good. He had almost overloaded and Starscream hadn't even touched his interface equipment yet. Steve trembled with need even as he tried to control it not wanting to appear so desperate despite that being precisely how he felt. His frame was finally starting to cool down when he felt hot ventilations against his valve. Commander Starscream isn't going to… "Nnghh… yes… oh Primus, Commander!"

Steve had never felt anything so amazing in his life. He had only ever interfaced with other drones and none of them had real mouths. He could feel the glossa swirling around his rim and lapping at him over and over. More lubricant poured out of him and that talented glossa dipped inside to tease his inner walls, flicking over any shallow clusters within reach. Steve didn't know what to do. The feeling was so overwhelming he had to pull away, but the loss was too much to bear so he pushed backwards into his SIC's glossa.

He was rocking against the commander and couldn't decide whether he wanted it to end or if he wanted more, more, more! Every swipe lit him on fire, every stroke made him burn in ecstasy, and through it all he could do nothing but moan and writhe hard into the contact. He thought it had been overwhelming before but it was nothing compared to the sensation he felt when Starscream revved his engine again, long glossa deep inside him sweeping across a sensor cluster on the dorsal wall of his valve. He clenched down on his SIC and trembled against the pleasure that moved through him. Another thrum and he cried out, back arching, servos clawing at the berth.

His cooling fans worked hard, coolant flushed through his frame, and warnings popped up on his HUD. Heat pooled in his interface array, electricity flashed throughout his circuits, and static crackled off his plating. The pleasure clouded his processor, but the knowledge that it was Commander Starscream doing this never left him and that was paradise incarnate. Electricity filled his circuits trying to escape but held captive by his frame. He cried out at the feeling as his neural net was flooded with pleasurable data, so close, so close. Nothing could ever top this moment, nothing could ever take this away from him, and he lost himself again.

Overload struck, his EM field flared, and then he screamed. One long, ragged noise after another pierced the airwaves, drowning out every other sound in the room and probably the hallways beyond. His circuits were on fire and one wave of pleasure came on the tail of the previous one over and over and over. The commander had Steve's hips locked in place and continued sucking on the spasming valve, lapping the lubricant as it flowed forth.

That talented glossa kept at him, kept the overload going. Steve tried to pull away but his frame wouldn't cooperate, still wracked with electrical currents. "Stop… please. No more… I can't," he begged weakly. In answer to his pleas the commander latched onto him and sucked furiously until he groaned loudly one more time, frame still trying to get away and arch into the invasion at the same time.

Finally, he pulled back and Steve collapsed to the berth, lightly convulsing with overload aftershocks. His fans twirled and he cycled cool air through his intakes but it wasn't enough, and he became desperate for air as errors continued to mar his HUD. His laying position was making it difficult to get proper ventilation so he gathered as much strength as he could. Gasping for air all the while, he pulled himself up until he finally sat, backplates against the wall and legs stretched out before him.

The commander advanced on him, fiery optics blazing with arousal, lithe frame flowing gracefully. He dipped low and licked Steve's valve again to which he groaned and pushed at his partner's shoulder guard meekly. "No more. No more," he pleaded again, helm shaking from side to side. Sliding into his lap with a smirk plastered on his faceplates, Starscream straddled him and ghosted his servos over Steve's chassis.

When the panting and trembling finally died down, Starscream slid his warm glossa over Steve's intake. He could taste the commander's oral fluid and his own lubricant, both sweet and intoxicating. His spike twitched of its own accord as if begging to be touched. The commander was insatiable and for that matter how could he have Steve worked up again so soon after that processor-blowing overload? He didn't know and he didn't care, in control of his frame once more, all he wanted was to feel the commander's wet heat surrounding him.

It seemed that Primus intended to grant his wish evidenced by Starscream grabbing ahold of his chestplate firmly, claws digging in. He lifted himself up, positioned himself over Steve's erect spike, and then bumped his valve against the tip. His optics shuttered for a moment and then flashed opened when Steve went to grasp his hip plating. "Don't touch and don't move." Steve nodded and waited while Starscream bumped him again, however this time the spike sank in just a tiny bit. The valve was so tight he just wanted to slam himself inside, but the commander's optics stayed glued to his visor the threat in them evident if he defied the previous orders.

Lifting up again, the commander waited an astrosecond and then sunk back down taking a tiny bit more of the waiting spike. He pulled back up again and Steve groaned. He's going to tease me, and he was right. Starscream moved ever so slowly, taking each wet, delicious decimeter one at a time before pulling back up and repeating the process. Every nanoklick was torture, every decimeter agonizingly wonderful and he groaned alongside the commander, both of them lost in the blissful sensations of their frames melding together.

Seated fully inside, Steve could feel his spike trying to stimulate the node at the back of the valve surrounding him. Energy left him in spurts, striking the node gently causing the commander to gasp. He started to move, up and down slowly, making sure to encompass the whole spike in his movements. On the upstroke Starscream would clench around the spike, which to Steve felt like the valve wanted to keep him there forever, like it didn't want to let him go. On the down stroke he would grind their frames together creating wonderful friction and rev his engine to add those pleasant vibrations.

Steve was in rapture, feeling his spike stroke along the sensor clusters and the node at the back of his commander's valve. Electricity lit up both their circuits. Sparks jumped from their plating back and forth, and flew from where they jarred together. His commander looked stunning bouncing up and down on his spike, back arched and helm thrown back, soft moans coming from his vocalizer. His wings flitted as he moved throwing the light around as it bounced off his shiny plating emphasizing how pristine he kept himself, and Steve knew this was all for him. The commander was vain, all seekers were, and this was just as much a show to please him, arouse him, as it was interfacing. He wanted to be seen, he wanted to be worshipped, and Steve was all too happy to give him what he wanted.

Technically, it was perfect fragging and everything he could ask for, but selfishly, he wanted more. He wanted to see his commander come undone around him like Steve had earlier. He wanted to thrust up into the commander vigorously and hear him scream his designation.

Hesitantly he encircled the commander's waist and pulled him in closer. With his optics, his frame, and his voice he pleaded, "Please?" The commander looked at him knowing full well what he wanted. His pace never faltered, but he seemed to be thinking it over, optics never leaving the other's optical visor. Steve tried again, more desperately this time, with the barest of whispers, "Please?"

The small nod was all the conformation he needed. He grasped his commander firmly and thrust upward as he yanked him down. The seeker gave a shout of unadulterated pleasure and his EM field flared with a hint of surprise, not expecting such ferocity from Steve but clearly enjoying it. In and out, up and down, they moved together with Steve setting a hard, fast pace. His spike rubbed along the valve's walls, contacting every sensor along the way and slamming home at the end of a stroke to physically strike the node and pour heat and electricity into it.

The commander was losing himself for the first time since their sessions began a couple decacycles ago. He groaned loudly, helm ducked low against his own chestplate. Steve left one arm wrapped around him still thrusting at a steady pace and swiped his free claw over a drooping wing, which shot up high and proud at the contact. His spark skipped a beat as the commander mewled; he slagging mewled for him, at the pleasure Steve was creating deep within his frame. Starscream leaned in farther resting his helm against the other's shoulder, ventilations hot against his neck cables.

Stroking faster along the length of the wing, thrusting harder up inside the valve still so tight around him, Steve finally felt Starscream let go. He moaned uncontrollably into his neck plates and his EM field now screamed of desire. It was amazing…

…but still incomplete. Steve needed more, he needed one more thing, he needed to make Starscream his this time.

The charge was building and crackling along their frames, visible flashes of electricity spurted outward from their joining. He could feel overload creeping up on them both but not this time, he refused. This time he would not go until the commander was his. The claws dipping into his chestplate clenched tighter and he knew it wouldn't be long.

Grasping the wing firmly, he slammed into Starscream again with as much force as he could muster. His partner whimpered, truly whimpered into his neck plates and Steve ordered, "Say it." Commander Starscream did not show that he had heard so Steve repeated his savage pounding three more times eliciting all types of noises from his seeker. "Say it," he gritted out again dangerously close to overload. Still he refused. Letting go of his waist, Steve dug his claw into the other's aft and activated his overdrive. Energon rushed through his fuel lines, energy flooded his circuits, and Steve rammed himself inside the other's frame with renewed vigor and haste. His seeker jerked backwards writhing in immeasurable pleasure and making every noise short of screaming.

Steve kept going, determination overriding his frame's need to discharge the stored current in his circuits. Starscream collapsed back into his neck after the initial shock and whispered ever so faintly into his audio what he knew the other wanted to hear, "Steve."

It wasn't a scream, but it was intimate and oh so perfect.

Overload consumed him as his designation resounded in his processor. The electricity flashed through him shorting circuits in a wonderful cascade that had him screaming over and over. Still he thrust himself up into the other and scalding transfluid poured into the waiting valve. Completely filled and still the transfluid flowed until it was dripping out, splashing across their frames and the berth.

The explosion inside him and the resulting heat tripped Starscream into his own overload. He thrashed with the pleasure, the feel of the other's servos, the spike still invading him, hot transfluid coating his insides; all of it assaulted his neural net with data that drowned out all other rational thoughts besides the blessed pleasure.

Steve wore himself out of his frenzied plunging with the last of his waning overload and finally he went offline and limp. Their dual cooling fans sounded harsh in the now silent room. He rested against the other for a time and then lifted himself off the depressurizing spike. Their combined fluids drenched their frames and more splashed out as he maneuvered himself to the side and collapsed against the berth. His cooling systems worked hard as he allowed himself to lie quietly.

The moment had been perfect, as flawless an act as ever. The drone's commanding attitude was surprising but not altogether unexpected not to mention the 'facing had been better for it. Steve was no doubt looking to further their relationship but patience was the key. He was after all, an actor, a performer, and all great manipulations took time and had to move at the correct pace or they were not convincing. Things would develop with Steve and he would play along until, inevitably there was nowhere left to go.

It was a shame really because their relationship would be perfect until suddenly it didn't exist anymore. The drone had come to him for comfort and to indulge in his obsession, but in the end this game they played would probably leave him broken and in more pain than before. Of course, with how expendable Lord Megatron viewed the drones it was entirely likely that he would be offlined before then and that would solve this problem.

Steve began to stir and he tensed because it was that time that came during every session with almost every one of his partners. It was called… awkward. The subject of the night's fun came back to the realization that it was all a lie after the interfacing was over and he had to politely tell them to get lost. If he kept up the act sometimes he could minimize the feeling of awkwardness between them. The drone's joints ground a little as he sat up straighter and he decided to get it over with quickly. "Drone. Report to the wash racks and then get yourself buffed. You look indecent right now."

Steve looked a little hurt and lost but altogether it wasn't too awful. "Right," he said before pausing, "Um. Should I… how… when… " he stumbled over his own words unsure of what to say before he was cut off for the second time that night.

"Late in the solarcycle the humans refer to as Friday. I will be free unless otherwise noted in which I will send word in some form or another," he replied firmly but still gentle.

The drone looked relieved that he had taken the lead in the conversation but his face slipped again. "Ok. Um… see you… around. Friday… yeah. Bye." He continued to stare at the other until finally Steve got up and looked down at their respective interface arrays and then the mess on the berth. "Should I… "

"I will take care of it. Dismissed," and without another word he left.

Awkward isn't good enough a word to describe this. Rising from the berth, he made his way into the main room and across to the door that led to the rooms that lay beyond. To keep up appearances Megatron had granted him two adjoined quarters to use, one as his real room and the other as the 'meeting' room. None of his… what friends, partners, lovers, clients? He didn't know how to describe them, but none of them knew that these were not his real quarters.

They assumed the door led to the private wash racks that all the officer's quarters contained. It did in fact, but first there was a small hallway that needed to be passed through before arriving at the wash rack's door. The hallway had cameras in it so it could be monitored by him and Soundwave if he desired. So far, he hadn't desired. That seemed like a huge invasion of privacy in and of itself, not that Soundwave didn't keep round the clock surveillance on them all anyways, but Megatron had assured him these affairs would have a level of anonymity. Besides, no bot had ever tried to use his wash racks anyways.

Inside the racks, everything looked normal but there was a hidden door that opened to his real quarters. The scanner only came alive to his bio signature or if somebot had a medical override CNA code. If necessity forced the issue, Knockout would be informed of the scanner and the medical code granted to him. He had asked for this so that he could maintain his privacy and personal comfort despite the constant traffic that traipsed just beyond.

Sometimes he worried that the other room would be discovered. It wasn't that hard to figure out actually as there were tell-tale signs that the 'meeting' room was not in fact normal quarters. Firstly, his rooms were in a different part of the ship than the wing that held the rest of the officers' quarters because there hadn't been enough available space or the appropriate setup on the officer's deck. Also, the setup of the rooms themselves was all wrong; he had a fragging work console in his berthroom instead of the main room for Primus' sake. Why no bot had ever commented he didn't know, but he assumed that they didn't bother to look that hard.

Inside the washroom, he stood under the spray and allowed the water to wash away all the evidence that anything had happened in the other room. It wasn't that he minded Steve; he was just tired of being used. In the beginning it was fun but now it was exhausting, and he was stuck between pleasing his fellow Decepticons and wanting to tell them all to frag off. He used some solvent on himself and scrubbed harshly at his interface panel. I have to call the cleaning drone to take care of the mess in the other room.

Heaving a sigh, he shut off the water and stood under the fans so that his armor could dry. The vents blew warm air onto his plating and it felt good, especially on his wings. They are so sensitive. He moved in front of the mirror and simply stared at himself, at those sensitive appendages. He flicked them lightly, moving them to an internal cadence, and even he recognized how enticing they were. If this was how I looked all the time, life would be different, he thought somewhat sadly. He also reflected wistfully about the good-looking spikes he had seen tonight, both Steve's and his own.

He didn't want to play these games anymore because they emphasized one thing, his lack of identity. He was created to hide who he truly was, but at some point in all his long vorns he had realized that all he wanted to be was himself. Slowly, he watched in the mirror as his plating shifted, colors swirling. His frame destroyed and remade itself while he watched, red glowing orbs shifted to slotted, visor-like white optics.

Makeshift stared at himself in the mirror, both content and regretful at what he saw. His protoform was covered by charcoal grey plating and overlaying that were large areas of outer armor colored a lighter gray with a bluish tint. His frame was covered in long, deadly sharp spines that protruded from his outer armor; his knee joints down, wrist joints up, along the shoulders, backplates, helm, even his codpiece was spiked. They served the important purpose of protection and to add mass to his frame without making him bulky. This allowed him to take on shapes that were naturally bigger than his own frame.

The inner plating wasn't smooth either; it was sealed along sharp ridges that created contours along his frame. He took notice of the scrapes and dents that littered his interface panel and thigh plating. There were other areas along his chestplate and arms that were also marred with scratches. He couldn't remember when they had occurred but his frame moved in strange ways when it shifted so it was likely they had been located somewhere else when he had taken on Starscream's form. I will have to seek Knockout's help to buff these out.

He rubbed his servo along his interface panel, claws trailing inside the gauges until his panel clicked open ever so slowly. Pitifully enough, he had no idea how to use his own interface equipment as his spike was covered in small spines as well. As his spike pressurized they lifted out of deep grooves and stood on end tilted slightly backwards. They must serve some purpose. Then again my life is testament enough of how sadistically cruel Primus can be. Shuttering his optics he whipped his helm from side to side trying to clear those thoughts away and examined himself for the thousandth time pondering his strange additions. All he knew is that they were sharp enough to cut him when he tried to touch himself and undoubtedly he would offline somebot if he ever tried to interface using his own frame.

Therein lie the problem, Makeshift was built for battle, shifting, and espionage, not for interfacing. He wasn't attractive by Cybertronian standards; by shifter standards he was but he was the last of his kind so what good did that do him? No bot who had ever come to his berth had wanted him for him. They wanted him for his unique ability.

In the beginning they had come to him with coercion, forcing him to shift into whomever they desired and then using him as they pleased. Forced shifting is extremely painful as the processor gets overloaded with foreign data that causes the joints to move involuntarily. For this reason, his first lesson in combat strategies came from his Creator, a lesson in self defense. 'If you insist on leaving the confines of the shifter community then you will always be in danger. If you can beat them in a fight, then they cannot take you as they desire.' Those words and those lessons served him well for a time, but then his assailants came in groups. Fighting back could not save him and the rape was only worse for it.

Not knowing what else to do, it was then that his Creator had prompted him to attend the academy and learn the art of espionage. Shifters naturally favored the dark and their plating often had a color scheme that allowed them to disappear in low light levels. With his ability to shift and how easily he blended into the background, escape became as easy as intaking. He hadn't been raped since and didn't plan on it ever again. Although he no longer wished to interface with these mechs, it wasn't rape. He had been raped, he knew what that felt like and this was not it. He didn't tell them no because… he wasn't sure why exactly. He guessed it was just ingrained in him to do his part for the Decepticon cause in the only way still left to him.

A little while after he had first boarded the Nemesis, they had come to him and he had enjoyed every cycle of it. After all, he hadn't done much interfacing after the rough introduction he had had to it. They had propositioned him politely and no bot had ever forced him. These mechs and femmes aboard the Nemesis were experienced and made it pleasurable for him. He had played the role of many different mechs and felt so many intense sensations on frame parts he had never had. He gained a lot of experience as well and he knew he was now a great lover.

Slowly though, there came requests for things he did not wish to do. Acts he did not wish to perform on others nor allow others to do to him. Requests came that had nothing to do with interfacing and more to do with torture and pain. Sometimes the requests were forceful and didn't sound like a request at all, but still he did not deny them.

Over time he also began to notice that most of the bots he was with avoided him in his true form. Not just in conversation but true avoidance almost as if they thought seeing him in the light half of the solarcycle would ruin their dark half fantasies. The isolation that granted him so much freedom in the beginning now became his lonely prison, and he withdrew further from everybot. He wasn't sure what he was feeling or why he was feeling it but at first it had angered him. He accused himself of acting like one of those bleeding-spark Autobots, pining for companionship and the ridiculousness that was the notion of love. Disgusting. He needed to mech up and act like a Decepticon, they used him to blow their circuits and he got the promise of fragging without the fear of commitment or any of that slag.

That notion didn't keep these strange emotions at bay for long though. Soon, exhaustion consumed him as he no longer had the strength for self-loathing and anger. He resigned himself to this existence and tried to take pleasure in it whenever he could. Sometimes it wasn't altogether bad like right now. There weren't many bots left aboard the ship that knew of his… availability. Things were actually decent with Steve, who lusted after something he could never have and Makeshift was the only bot that could give it to him. It made him feel better and Steve was so innocent that he never truly felt used.

But more Decepticons would arrive and the offer possibly extended to them. These new encounters would most likely be awful and the anger would resurface as was the vicious cycle. He would be angry with those who used him so carelessly and angry with himself for not being able to behave more like a Decepticon. His emotions were tumultuous and sometimes it just seemed like there should be more of a purpose to his life than this. Back on Cybertron, at the beginning of the war, there had been but not now, not stuck on this ship on this foreign planet. His skills were not needed here, except for that one time.

Their SIC had given him a real mission for the first time in vorns, which had ultimately been a failure, but not solely by his own servo. He had always liked Commander Starscream as he treated Makeshift well. Makeshift was one of the few on board who would follow their SIC much more quickly than he would their lord, a fact he kept to himself at all costs. The commander was good to him while on duty and off megacycles he tried to make their time together less awkward. He didn't pretend like it wasn't Makeshift afterwards, didn't avoid him. He was up front about his needs and came to Makeshift so that he did not grant more power over himself to the bot he truly wanted.

Makeshift did not particularly enjoy their sessions solely because Starscream liked pain with his interfacing and he did not. He did not enjoy hurting his SIC but that was what the other wanted. Subjugation was what he craved, to be dominated and used for the other's benefit, that other being Lord Megatron. Makeshift admitted granting Lord Megatron that power over him would have been a mistake given their history and regardless, the warlord had not actually shown any interest in the SIC in that way.

Playing Starscream for Steve's benefit was much better for him than playing Megatron for Starscream. He was nothing if not thorough and took his job seriously, which meant a lot of research and data collection before he ever portrayed anybot. Before he had made his arrangements known to Steve he had thought about how Starscream would act in the berth. He had been with him plenty of times but always as the aggressor, dominating him. What was Starscream like when he wasn't being dominated, not that their SIC interfaced with anybot else anyways.

There was no data available on his habits so Makeshift had had to guess based on his behavior. Starscream only yielded to their Lord. Otherwise, he liked to be in charge, liked to be in power. He had surmised that this might translate to the berth as well. But Starscream was a valve mech through and through, and he also had to take Steve's desires into account. The drone liked taking control and giving it up as well. He wanted a partner who viewed him as an equal although he worshipped the commander down to his very core.

The conflicting emotions and behaviors had made this one of his hardest manipulations but he enjoyed the challenge. He was a Decepticon after all, he was prideful and had a superiority complex that he fueled by being flawless at what he did. He had finally decided he would play Starscream as the dominant but allow Steve to loosen him up, win his spark. It was actually kind of sad to Makeshift that those two would never be together as they did complete each other well and Commander Starscream deserved somebot who would allow him control but would dominate him like he wanted too. He scoffed at himself thinking, I am too soft sparked sometimes.

He walked through the door that led to his private quarters grateful for the cooler temperatures inside. Shifters' frame temperatures ran colder than other Cybertronian's for whatever reason and that meant he was often uncomfortable at the higher temperatures they preferred. Inside he stopped by the recorder that contained all his favorite tunes from Cybertron. Sentimentality was not a good thing to have as a Decepticon but his Carrier and Creator had given it to him just two solarcycles before they were deactivated. Besides his memories, it was the only thing he still had to remember them by.

Makeshift had been the only shifter to escape the destruction of his home state on Cybertron. The shifters were a small, poorer population that kept to themselves, but he had always liked journeying out of the small community. He was away when his home had been bombed, totally devastated in mere nanoklicks. Neither faction had ever taken responsibility for the bombing but Makeshift was incorporated into the Decepticon fold only solarcycles later. He wanted revenge and they had seemed like the apt faction to choose for that. He wasn't a noble, he wasn't wealthy. He had lived in filth, worked hard in filth, and knew which faction would accept him with open arms.

Booting up the recorder, he chose a ballad that had been one of his Carrier's favorites. The music blared out loudly despite his usual preference for silence but he was hoping it would drown out the unpleasant thoughts that kept trying to surface long enough that he could fall into recharge. Sliding onto his berth, he turned the lights off, and tried to relax. Thankfully the vigorous interface had tired him out some even though his frame boasted a considerable amount of stamina. Recharge and a defrag will do me good.

His routine maintenance checks came back positive so he began his shut down procedures. System diagnostics reported that he would need a double dose of energon immediately come morning but otherwise everything was normal. His systems began to go into a low power idle and his processor became cloudy as it too shut down. It would be a full power-down tonight as he did not wish to have dream sequences. No doubt they would be horrible considering his current raging emotions. Just before he was totally out, two pesky little thoughts swept through his processor.

You have it good here, you should stop complaining. No duties, no battle, almost no chance of offlinement. You've offlined plenty of Autobots to satiate your vengeance. Interfacing almost every night with different mechs. Nothing bad about any of that. Who cares that others don't want the real you?

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Still, I think it might be nice to be wanted… at least once.

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Please let me know your thoughts. I'm building Makeshift from the ground up so hopefully he seems realistic. In the series he seemed like one of the only bots who liked and respected Starscream so I wanted to play with that angle as well.