C.M.D: Another month, another update. I hope everyone is enjoying the insectipuma chapters as much as I am!
Title: Insectipuma VI
Rating: T
Shrapnel hadn't returned.
Bombshell scowled, glaring at his black t.v screen, seeing only his reflection staring back at him; equally as frustrated and sprawled lazily across the couch. The month had ended, and whatever festival was going on in the Insectipuma lands must have come to a close by now, yet still Shrapnel had not come back. There was no word or indication that the brat was ever going to return. That should have been a blessing to the mech really, but Bombshell found himself only growing more and more annoyed.
He had married the prince. He'd wanted that gorgeous, lil' frame and he'd even subjected himself to the foolish notion of marriage to have him. And now the youngling had disappeared back off to his tribe, leaving Bombshell alone, jacking off to porn and spending quiet nights in a berthroom that had long since stopped being his own. The kittycon was horny, slaggit!
Not to mention, confused and angry as frag, since Razorclaw sent him a comm, wisely informing the fellow Wrecker to stay away from headquarters unless he wished to be disemboweled by a strangely irate Divebomb.
What was all that about anyhow?
Shaking his helm, Bombshell decided to put the hormonal femme out of his processor, continuing his glaring at the dark t.v; disinterested in what pay-per-view had to offer this night and once again wondering what had become of his dutiful, religious nut of a bondmate.
xxXxXxx
"What now, Bombshell?," Swindle sighed, the kittycon's exasperated face flashing onto the vid screen.
The puma paced back and forth before his desk angrily, tail tapping against the ground like a drum beat. "I require your services," he replied, lip component slightly curled.
"With your attempt to woo the tribal prince? I thought you-"
"No!," Bombshell quickly snapped, rounding on the screen. "I've already been bonded to him. For almost a year now. The lil' brat was insistent on coming back to the city with me and he's lived in my place since then, but now he's disappeared somewhere off into Insectipuma territory!"
Swindle shuttered his optics slowly. "Wow... You actually fragged with the Tribes and stole their ordained heir...," he stated slowly. "You truly have no shame. So what do you want me to do now? The kid probably smartened up and realized what a greaseball you were and returned to break the marriage."
The narcotics dealer scoffed at that. "As if that was possible! The brat would sooner die than lose face before his people. No," the puma growled, pacing again, "Shrapnel's too proud for that... Yet, he was cowardly enough to run away after trying to poison me, and won't come back! That's why I need you."
"Wait," the younger mech gaped, leaning in a little closer to the screen, "Are you for real? He actually tried to poison you? Slag, I would have probably run off too!"
Bombshell glared at the screen, tail twitching nastily. Rolling his optics, Swindle straightened in his seat, taping away at a laptop to his left. "Alright, listen, I can track him down but you know it's going to cost you. Though I don't see why you don't just go back to Insectipuma tribes yourself and get him."
"Just do it," the narcotics dealer hissed, "While you're at it, find out what this supposed tribal festival is. It started last month, on the first. Apparently, it's important."
"Certainly," Swindle sighed. "That's also extra. There won't be much accessible via regular channels, so I'm going to have to-" An explosion rocked the apartment on the devon rex's side of the screen, knocking the kittycon out of his seat. "MOTHERFRA-"
Bombshell, alarmed, moved closer to the vid screen. "What the slag is happening over th-"
"I-i have to get back to you later!," Swindle shouted, scrambling into sight again.
"What?! No!," Bombshell growled, "Swindle, unless you're dying, I want this information within the next HOUR! You got me! If you don't, I'll be sure to trash some of your contacts!"
"WHAT?," the tan mech screamed back. "You arrogant, sick fr-" Another explosion rocked Swindle on his pedes again. "Fine!," the devon rex continued loudly. "Whatever! I'll fragging see you in a cycle!"
And then the line went dark and Bombshell, with nothing better to do, went back to pacing angrily in his living room.
xxXxXxx
Bombshell was just grabbing himself a beer from the fridge when there came a pounding at his door. "Who the slag are you?," he shouted, slowly walking out of the kitchen, in no rush to head for the door.
"It's Swindle!," the familiar vocalizer replied through the wood. "Now hurry up and open!"
"Swindle?," Bombshell gaped, unlocking and opening the door. He was immediately shoved aside as a little blur went tearing by, Swindle pushing in as well. "Woah, hey! What the frag are you doing here? I didn't invite you!"
The puma chased after the devon rex, who went straight for the living room, taking up perch at his desk before pulling a laptop out of his satchel bag. "Well, too bad," the merchant replied. "You wanted results within a cycle, this is the only way you're going to get them. Wildrider, stay away from that oven!"
"Wildri-" Bombshell turned around as he heard something crash, finding a grey, little sparkling smiling up at him with his mouth of fangs; standing on top of the oven door he had managed to unhinge from the unit. "What the frag is that thing?!"
"That," Swindle answered, not turning away from his computer, "Would be my son. Keep an eye on him. He's already blown up one stove tonight -I don't really care to experience that twice."
"Excuse me, blew up?" Bombshell shook his helm, almost spilling his beer as he waved a servo around. "Okay, no, listen, I hate kids. You need to leave. And take this fire-hazard with you."
"How do you think I feel?," the devon rex smirked, not budging. "I'm afraid you'll just have to deal with it for an hour, Bombshell. You want your answers, and I would like a good night's sleep for once, but since I'm not getting that, I'm going to need the finances to replace and repair anything Wildrider damages."
"No, no, I don't thi-" Another crash. This time, the puma turned and immediately rushed for the sparkling, grabbing him by the scruff of his neck and pulling him out of the oven. "Alright you lil' runt, come play out on the balcony. It's got short walls and sheer drops down the side of the building!" Without a second thought, Bombshell tossed Wildrider out onto the balcony, shutting the door and locking it.
"...is that the Wreckers file database?," the narcotics dealer asked incredulously, coming up behind Swindle. "How'd you get in without Yoketron knowing?"
"I just use Onslaught's account," Swindle replied casually, tapping away at the keys. "It's come in quite handy over the years."
"And how does he not know that you're using his pass to get in?," Bombshell inquired.
"Oh, please," the merchant scoffed. "My dad doesn't even realize he has an account to the database. I swiped the information from his office and have been using it since. It's not even like he understands how to use computers anyhow."
The larger kittycon couldn't help the chuckle that escaped. "You have some ball bearings on you, cub."
"Yeah, yeah... That's nice," Swindle returned flatly. "Now go sit down while I work. Hovering is a nuisance." Not going to take too much insult to that, Bombshell turned and plopped on his couch, stretching languidly as he sipped at his drink.
It was quiet for some time, oddly so; just the taping of keyboard keys and the occasional muffled ruckus from Wildrider out on the balcony. It was beginning to lull Bombshell into slumber before Swindle spun around in his seat, exclaiming loudly, "You idiot!"
"H-huh? What?" The puma shook his helm, glaring as his attentiveness returned. "What the frag is your problem?"
"See, see this is exactly why you shouldn't have messed around with the Tribes!," Swindle groaned in annoyance, turning back around in his seat. "Primus, the least you could have done was make use of the Wreckers' collected resource material on the Insectipuma tribes and familiarized yourself with their most important traditions!"
"What the slag are you gabbing on about now?," Bombshell grunted, sitting up.
"He wasn't trying to poison you, you big, dumb idiot," the tan mech elaborated, facing the puma again. He fixed the older kittycon with a flat look, before turning his attention to his laptop. "It was a fragging aphrodisiac. Harmless. For some hotshot narcotics dealer, you obviously can't tell the difference between a fun, organic sex-enhancing drug and your run-of-the-mill poison."
"Anyway!," Swindle continued, throwing up a servo when Bombshell opened his mouth, "It's all part of a tribal festival, sort of like an opening ceremony. All the tribes partake in the festival this month, but only the Insectipumas celebrate all month -starting by sharing traditional dishes made in honour of the Fertility Goddess. Part of that ritual includes a 'bot offering their mate with the laced food. This totally explains why Divebomb almost ripped off your head..."
"You know about that?," Bombshell asked, surprised.
Once more, the devon rex looked at the other mech dryly. "...The tribes don't have a lot of religious ceremonies, and though the Insectipuma tribes have the most number of various celebrations and events, this is the only one that bears the greatest significance," Swindle added. "The hope is that the Goddess will look down upon their offering and be pleased, and provide the tribe with health and happiness and an abundance of offspring."
"So...," the narcotics dealer drawled, still perplexed, "What does that mean?"
"Well, seeing as how you brutally rejected the prince's offering to you, and thus, shamed him thoroughly, especially on the most important night of his entire, religious life, and before his deity... You're fragged!," the younger mech beamed.
Standing up, Swindle slipped his laptop back inside his bag, opening up the balcony door and grabbing Wildrider before he could tear inside. "I expect payment to be sent to my account by the time I arrive at the hotel. I've already sent you my invoice, with the costs, so you can't skim. And-"
"Woah, woah, woah!," Bombshell growled, leaping to his pedes. "Wait a klik! Where do you think you're running off to? You aren't finished! I told you to track him down as well!"
Sighing, the devon rex held his squirming sparkling under one arm, staring at the larger mech head on. "Listen," he replied, "The prince hasn't gone anywhere. He's in the exact same place as when you went to go, unwisely, trick and marry the brat. You've obviously managed to piss him off royally with your ignorance, and considering the festival has come to an end and he's still there, I'd say it's a safe bet he's never coming back. You've fragged things up good, so awesome!"
Swindle sarcastically gave the puma a thumbs up, before pushing past him and heading for the door. "Don't forget to pay me!," he called back as he left. "Oh, and Bombshell, don't even bother trying to get back into the Insectipuma lands. After this affront, you're stuck with pornos or prostitutes."
The door clicked as it closed, leaving Bombshell in stunned silence.
xxXxXxx
Silence encompassed the dim room, not even the business of the tribe from outdoors heard through the thick curtains. Poised in royal rebellion, Shrapnel amused himself with watching the maidservant clip the long hairs from the Elder's scraggly ears. The Elder himself did nothing; his glassy optics both unseeing and his helm canted weakly to the side, while his frame lay lazily hunched in his seat, as slacken as his near-fangless mouth. The pathetic mech didn't even notice the flies that circled his frame nor did he move to swat them away when one daringly landed on his wide optics. The maidservant callously left it there.
With not an ounce of fear, she rose, with her little bowl of fur clippings and left to her other chores, and not even Shrapnel bothered to stop her on her negligence. After all, she had suffered equally as much at this glutinous fool's servo before the prince's departure. It was almost intoxicating, being in this level of control over the discovered traitor, but his almost death-like state did glean a bit from the overall enjoyment. Still...
"You're such a pathetic piece of trash; trash." Speaking to the incapacitated Elder had its merits. "You try to disgrace me and instead, the Gods see fit to rob you of your freedom; dom. Though I bet that has more to do with smoking Bombshell's toxic brew; brew." Shrapnel allowed himself a moment to smirk cruelly, thinking kindly of the kittycon in that klik. But then he remembered why he was still here within his village, tucked away in the Elder's house, his pride hurt, his beliefs shattered and his spark left tender and raw.
"...I bet you thought I'd hate him forever; ever," the prince continued softly, still trying to speak with an air of superiority; yet failing as the aching of his spark flared anew, "Sell me into prostitution, watch as I floundered and flailed, dishonoured again and again; again. Your latest poison seemed to show your true colours; colours... I'm surprised you never had a sample of me during our private lessons as well; well..."
Shrapnel rose from his seat, tipping the Elder's chair back casually, not even bothering to watch as the lowly moaning mech toppled over to the floor as he headed for the window. A crack in the curtains was the only gateway out into the real world, and the youngling stared through it like a beggar, unable to stop the rising heat that came over his optics. Outside, his people moved about contently, ignorant of their shambles and lack of necessities; young couples enjoying their new moments together, sparklings running around and hanging off the arms of their creators. Happy. In love.
And loved in return...
For the first time in a while, the puma regretted. He knew it was silly to hold any ideal, that since his creation, he was born to marry that whom was preordained and bring an heir to his collapsing Kingdom. His was a marriage of duty, never love. Yet, he'd secretly hoped in the deepest depths of his spark, that he would have a love even greater than that of his poor subjects. In Kickback, that may have been possible. He'd already had all the time in the world to grow and love his cousin, and he'd anticipated their union far more than he knew he should have. Then the Elder had grown greedy, sold out his own prince for some common fix, and pushed Shrapnel into the arms of a smooth-talking crook, who only used him before rejecting him entirely.
How could he return to Bombshell now, knowing that the brute, though carrying their energon and kinship, cared little for his own kind and had twisted the youngling into nothing more than a sex toy within his own mind?
Shrapnel may have squashed all chances of love and happiness from his processor the moment Bombshell drank of the ceremonial wine, but never had he thought that the one who would become his bondmate would turn him into a simple object.
"Like I said though; though...," the puma muttered softly, wiping quickly at his optics. "You will never see myself shrouded in shame; shame. I shall conquer this tribulation and bring fortune to my Kingdom; dom." Shrapnel turned, optics flared as he approached the Elder where he still laid; glassy optics rolling, crooked servos stiff in the air and slacken mouth wheezing around indiscernible words.
"And; and," the prince added, putting his pede on the older mech's face, slowly adding pressure, "You'll be nothing but a rotting scraplet-bag, not even buried, but left for the beasts and critters in the banished earth of the Red Lake, where your crooked soul cannot even escape; cape. As befitting a crime of treasonous scum such as yourself; self."
The poor Elder merely moaned weakly under his pede and snorting in derision, Shrapnel turned; returning to his own private house.
xxXxXxx
After about a week, the scent of Shrapnel's strange incense was gone. A few orns after that, the cleaning maid had even moved the rest of the prince's things into the unused closet. The sight was such a shock, that after coming home, all Bombshell could do was stare quietly into his room -fixed up like it had once been and devoid of any of the youngling's presence. It smelled faintly of hot dogs and beer as well.
Primus, did that scent make him sick.
Closing the door to his berthroom, without even once stepping inside, the puma stood for a while longer in place, the first time in forever feeling uncertain. He didn't care about the brat or his ridiculous traditions... His room looked a slag ton better without all the drapery and rugs and weird-smelling candle scrap that Shrapnel was insistent on lighting. Yet...
Yet, with all of that gone, his berthroom appeared dead, barren. It lacked any life or personality and in a strange, twisted way, it felt that Shrapnel had died as well. Bombshell hated that feeling.
"...he was just a simple brat," the kittycon hissed to himself, forcibly turning away and awkwardly marching for the kitchen. He opened the fridge and was equally as stunned by how empty it was. A couple take-out containers from the other night sat on one of the shelves, a case of beer and a lonesome jar of pickles (now just liquid) were the only things within.
When Shrapnel had been here, he was the one that informed the staff of their weekly grocery requirements, keeping his fridge and fuel tanks full...
Now there was no one to do even that.
Grabbing a bottle, Bombshell closed the fridge door, wearily heading for his couch now. He hadn't done much in terms of work this orn (just pushing around his hot dog stand again) and yet he was exhausted. Drained, really. He mulled over the reasons half-heartedly, drinking his beer until even that was empty. The narcotics dealer set it to the side without a second thought... and jolted when the tiny clank of its bottom hitting table top echoed loudly in the silence.
Shrapnel's voice would usually have taken up the entire room by now, having come out of his retreat to chastise the older mech on his late return; remind him of the dinner ('an actual meal' as he used to say) waiting in the microwave and then throw insults at him with clear directions to bathe before seeing him that night.
Now that was gone too and Bombshell had no choice but to admit that he missed every slagging thing about that youngling, and he felt so fragging stupid for never thinking to find out more about what Shrapnel was up to before it was too late.
"Such a fragging stupid... Primus!," he snarled at himself, one servo covering his face as he hunched over in his seat. He'd never bargained on the prince becoming an intricate part of his life -he'd only wanted to frag the virginal heir. Now everything seemed wrong without the mouthy youngling around. It wasn't right. Shrapnel belonged here. "I... I gotta make amends. Somehow..." Bombshell lowered his servo, staring at nothing in particular as he pondered. "But how? I mean..."
Then it hit him. "Razorclaw," he mumbled, quickly rising to his pedes. He grabbed his cell, dialing in the long distance number, pacing the length of his apartment anxiously, waiting for the connection to finalize.
The predacon would know what to do. Sure, he wasn't Insectipuma, but he was part of the Tribal lands and if anyone knew the sort of rituals one had to do to make good with their bondmate, then he would.
Because, slaggit all, Shrapnel was his bondmate and Unicron be damned if he let the youngling just walk out of his life forever.
C.M.D: Be kind; give me your mind~ REVIEW, please?