"Double, double toil and trouble," muttered Quickstrike nervously as he slowly made his way through the dark halls of the Predacon base. He didn't know where the quote came from, but he could hear the voice speaking it as clearly as were the speaker right beside him. Like he had been a dozen times before.
That was why he was down here; in the dank, abandoned halls of the Darkside, searching out an abandoned lab, the values of it having been stripped by that two-timing tarantula long ago. Except for one, just one, dearly precious treasure.
He stepped into the lab, twitching his scorpion-legged hand convulsively. "H-hello?" There was no answer, and Quickstrike carefully made his way inside, reaching for the single remaining flame, turning it on and watching in fascination as the gelletinous green mass above it slowly liquified and started boiling.
"Double, double toil and trouble; fire burn and cauldron bubble," whispered a giddy voice in his audio receptor, sounding lost and pleased at once.
Quickstrike jumped, snake-hand biting on instinct at the thin air where the voice had originated. "D-don't do that, y'crazy spook," Quickstrike managed to gasp, staring into the glass, his reflection coloured green next to a ethereal shape that he knew, from experience, would be invisible to the naked eye.
"Sorry... I didn't think you'd come back," the mech - for the voice was male - whispered. His voice sounded as if speaking from a distance, but it was breathed close by Quickstrike. At times he fancied he could even feel the warmth of another active body.
"Megatron sent me on another scout," answered Quickstrike dutifully to the silent accusation. "I would have been here sooner if it weren't for--"
"Blackarachnia?" He was taunting, mocking, scorning... The tone was sweet - so very sweet to Quickstrike's mind - but the barbs that the phantom was so adept at hiding were needling the fuzor mercilessly.
"She is right pretty," murmured Quickstrike, knowing that lying was useless to this strange entity that he had discovered entirely by accident. None of the others knew; none of the others could know. It was his secret and only his.
"I'm not," admitted the voice. "Not that it matters, since you can't see me." A ghostly kiss landed on Quickstrike's shoulder and he turned, grabbing the spirit into his arms, and it squirmed playfully.
"Don't run, now!" Quickstrike pleaded, trying to cling to something that could escape him at will.
"Run? From you? Why, Quickstrike, I'd never do such a thing." Another kiss placed itself where the fuzor's mouth would have been, under the mask. "And where would I run? Who would help me, if not you?"
"In life," started Quickstrike hesitantly, "you never were as innocent as they say you were, were you?"
"Of course not. No one ever is. Especially us witches and warlocks, Quickstrike, we who can rule with the power of a name. You can do it too; just say my name." And unseen fingers pried away the mask, drowning Quickstrike's answer in a kiss upon thin, cold lips.
"Scorponok..."
"Double, double toil and trouble; fire burn and cauldron bubble." And they were lost in a ghostly laughter and the green, green brew.
Notes: Yes, Scorponok is indeed out of character here. I have no excuse other'n him going wonky from being a ghost. Yes, this is probably the world's oddest pairing, but hey, I made it as a bet with a friend. She wrote Tarantulas/Megatron, by the way. Nice and creepy.
Yes, Quickstrike having a mouth is horribly fannish, but I wanted him to, and no one ever came right out and said he didn't have one, so there's my excuse, and I'm sticking to it.