~ Despicable ~

By Ayngel

Characters: Hound, Cliffjumper, Trailbreaker and Mirage

Universe: G1

Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers or make any money

*WARNINGS*: Sticky, smutty and NC17. Contains sticky type mech-sex, stalking, voyeurism, oral sex, sexual language and descriptions, and (in chapter 3) masturbation. Additional warning for Mirage being an aft.

Summary: Mirage, a notorious philanderer, decides soon after the Autobots arrive on Earth that he'll have two lovers - Hound and Cliffjumper - for different types of 'satisfaction.' It's unfortunate CJ's besotted and Hound has a partner but ... whoever let stuff like that stand in the way of fun?

Notes: On with the show!

Chapter 2

The racer was fragging the minibot. That much was obvious. Seated together on the rec room couch, a slender blue arm was draped around the minibot's shoulders, and he wore a self satisfied look of 'getting it.' Yes - as long fingers roved subtly over the red panels whilst the racer talked to the twins, Cliffjumper oozed wanton adoration. It had gotten more so since his 'rescue' at the dam.

Sunstreaker and Sideswipe were, of course, focused on Mirage, their attractions equally obvious. So they did not see that every now and then, the red frame shuddered. And Cliffjumper kept glancing up, equally unable to keep his starry optics off Mirage's face.

Hound tore his optics away and took a gulp of his cube. He could not really blame the racer. Cliffjumper was somewhat – 'talented.' Once, on a tour of duty where Hound had been away from Trailbreaker for longer than he cared without an overload, Cliffjumper had relieved his frustrations. And the minibot was good. Damned good! Would do anything and have anything done. No doubt, the racer was getting and doing plenty.

Charge simmered in Hound, his relays tingling as he was unable to stop from pondering that. He wondered whether the minibot took the racer's spike, or vice versa, or whether they gave it to each other. He imagined the racer had a long, slender spike, maybe even in blue and white like the rest of him. And he would have a splendidly crafted, tight, highly responsive deep valve - as did all Alpha castes ….

Damn! Heat seared through Hound's circuits, coming to a focus in his interface recess as his spike began to pressurize. Uncomfortable, he shifted his stance, dipping his head and taking another sip, forcing himself to not look in the direction of the couch.

There was a soft touch on his cheek and a gentle hand brushed it. He looked up and into the loving optics of his bondmate, unvizored in the soft interior lights. Trailbreaker smiled that smile of complete devotion. "You had an Earth fly on you, sweet," he said. "Obviously has a distinct partiality to green Cybertronian metal. ..." he leaned close. "And excellent taste, if I may say so."

Attempting a smile, Hound dropped his head, feeling heavy in his spark. He wished he did not want the racer so much. It was wrong, he knew. Oh yes - so wrong to want to kiss him and explore every inch of him; even more wrong to imagine him stretched out before him and most definitely, completely wrong to imagine Mirage squirming as Hound's spike pounded his valve.

Wrong, wrong, wrong! Hound shuttered his optics. The one he should be wanting was this wonderful mechanism here beside him. The one who had stood by him through thick and thin, been 'there' for eons. Not some flighty upper caste who could have whoever he wanted, who would like as not choose whoever took his fancy if another set of 'facing gear proved more titillating.

The tinkle of minibot laughter floated across from the couch. Evidently, Cliffjumper was exceedingly titillating. Hound frowned. Maybe he should exercise some mental discipline, and put more effort into his bond.

He looked up. "I think we should turn in early," he said. "We've got a busy one tomorrow."

Trailbreaker leaned over and kissed his helm, the familiar lips lingering. "Sure!" he murmured.

Nevertheless, as they moved to the doorway, Hound was only too aware of his half pressurized spike and his loins throbbing as the racer's optics tracked him. Trailbreaker glanced back and there was, to Hound's dismay, no mistaking the disappointment on the blue mech's faceplates before he strode off down the corridor.

Gritting his denta, Hound strode purposefully after.

...

The tracker's optics were upon him, and Mirage knew what he wanted. How many times had Mirage seen that look? Hundreds? Thousands? Tens of thousands?

The big blue lumbering mech who was the tracker's bondmate touched the tracker's arm and he turned away, but not before the bondmate shot Mirage a baleful glance of his own. The bondmate also knew what the tracker wanted. Mirage had seen that look on bondmate's faces on at least as many occasions.

/Mnnnn …. Don't wanna wait too much longer …./ The minibot was snuggling next to him, all red energy, a seductive grin on his faceplates. He radiated impatience, his panels hot with need. Mirage slid a hand over the compact little body and thought of the smooth, snugly fitting valve which pulsed and squirted fluids liberally as he fucked him. His interface relays stirred.

/Yes,/ he commed back, kissing the top of Cliffjumper's helm. /I don't want to wait either. We won't be long./

The Lamborghinis stirred opposite and also made some comment via comm. Mirage could imagine what it was. But he was not interested. Instead, his optics followed the tracker as he shifted stiffly, an obvious manifestation of need for interface and overload. Mirage took in the swarthy bulk, the confidence, the rugged good looks, the obvious combat readiness and – last but by no means least – the extremely adequate codpiece.

Offlining his optics just for a second, the racer allowed the charge which had been building as a result of Hound's obvious lust coupled with the proximity of the hot panelled minibot to ripple around his circuits. As he had said – one to spike, and one to be spiked by. And he was going to have Hound's spike. Oh yes, the tracker's large green throbbing, fat spike – as it surely must be – was definitely going to stretch and probe his valve.

Pleasure fritzed across Mirage's sensor net. As the charge reached his valve it widened, lubricant prickling the nodes. A small scatter of energy radiated over the minibot, who shuddered happily.

Mirage onlined his optics to see Sideswipe grinning cheesily, whilst Sunstreaker's optics had turned a wanton shade of indigo. The spy was amused. Another one he could have! One who also had – allegedly – more than his fair share of metal up front and liked ramming it hard.

For a moment, the racer contemplated this possibility. It could be a kind of 'warm up.' But no – the golden warrior was altogether too – well goldenwarriorish. All good looks and smexuality, but no class. Whereas the tracker? Oh yes - Hound had plenty of that.

/Mirage…..frag I want you!/ A whiney, less than amused note had crept into the minibot's voice. Giving Cliffjumper a squeeze, Mirage leaned forward and picked up his drink, a convenient means of hiding that he glanced again across the room. Hound glanced back, and the reaction in Mirage's valve told him that oh yes, the tracker was well worth waiting for.

And now, Hound was leaving - to the obvious relief of the bond-mate, who had just planted a proprietorial kiss on his helm. The tracker walked more stiffly than ever, and as he left the room he was deliberately 'not looking.' Mirage gave a little smile. Hound sure was 'wound up.' He imagined the bondmate was in for a hell of a pounding tonight – and that the tracker's mind would not be on the bondmate.

Mirage finished his drink, and then, disengaging himself from Cliffjumper, stood up, ignoring the predatory look s of both the warrior and his twin. "I think its time to call it a night," he said with a charming smile, which they returned with flashing optics.

Their 'hopefulness' amused him. He was, in a minute, going to fuck the minibot, hard and for most of the night. But an extra contingency of admirers never hurt.

And in the meantime, there was nothing like a good chase. This was only the start with Hound. By the time he had that spike, the tracker would be virtually popping his codpiece, almost immobile with desire.

Mirage intended to see it was that way.

…

CAD! Thanks for reading :-)