Gimme Some Sugar

::You'll never get away with this, you rusting piece of scum,:: she hissed, a prisoner in her own body.

Tarantulas merely cackled mentally in reply, keeping the sleek widow form silent as he prowled through the corridors of the Predacon base with the stolen body. He really had no plan for what he was doing. It was being made up as he went, plotting for the twinges of difference he found with every careful step in the unfamiliar feeling of being inside her. His own body lay in a stupor in his lair, but he hoped that with experience he'd be able to control her with less attention paid to each movement. As it was, Blackarachnia fought him for control and her own body was too dissimilar to his own to manipulate with confidence. To deceive anyone watching them, he would have to imitate the black widow's body language accurately enough to seem normal. Preventing questions about her state of mind was as easy as making sure the questions never occurred.

Of course, easy wasn't as easy as he wished it was. But he was getting better.

::You couldn't fool a blind Maximal!::

And would the lovely, dangerous, TRAPPED widow like to make a bet on that?

::Why? So you can try and get me in trouble with Megatron again? That would hardly serve either of our purposes!:: Blackarachnia pulled at the web binding her mental form, frustrated once again by the outside force holding her captive. ::You know you couldn't pull it off.::

Hehehehe, couldn't he? He wasn't so sure. Striding around a corner with all the aggressive feminine anger he could imitate, he thought that his facade of Blackarachnia was coming along quite nicely. It was a matter of footwork, strangely enough. How odd that it had taken being IN the widow's body to figure out what exactly it took to duplicate that slinking, devilishly attractive walk; a simple matter of sliding onto the foot instead of stepping firmly, the knee snapping straight and bringing the hip into swaying curve that had haunted his thoughts far too often when she had first emerged from her statis pod. Beautiful temptress full of honey-sweetened poisoned words that she was, working from the inside out he was beginning to understand how and why she fell so easily into the role. To act like her he had to figure out why what she did affected him so, then xerox it with all the intentions of the female he'd ensnared. It was amazing what a simple heated glance could do when combined with Blackarachnia's patented Strut (TM) through the base's passages.

Blackarachnia, for some reason, had not been so amused when he'd experimented with this new concept. Seizing control during a brief conversation with Megatron had resulted in the tyrant becoming violently flustered. Tarantulas hadn't done more than let his optics meet the T-Rex's for a moment more than he personally would have even considered, the spideress' tongue flickering out to lick her upper lip--and Megatron had gotten the strangest look of confusion on his face. It had passed in barely an instant, Tarantulas losing control of Blackarachnia's body back to her just in time for the switch in Megatron's head to go from 'Confused With Situation' to 'Spider Doing Something Suspicious--Lose Temper NOW.' Hehehehehehe...

::It wasn't funny to me, you rotting pile of slag,:: Blackarachnia spat as his chuckling echoed across the mental world she was webbed into.

Tarantulas realized he'd become distracted by internal happenings when he rounded the next corner and ran smack into Quickstrike.

"Sugarbot!"

::Now you've done it!::

Tarantulas stared up in surprise from the floor he hadn't expected to be knocked down to. His frame was usually the heavier one in this kind of situation. Actually, he was rather surprised that Blackarachnia hadn't stolen his moment of distraction to seize control again, however briefly.

"Sugarbot, Ah--"

He batted away the proffered hand-legs and stood up on his own, brushing Blackarachnia's body off with a fussy snarl. "Watch where you're going, fuzor! I could have been hurt!" He angled his head, apparently looking down at one of the golden spider-legs on a black arm as if inspecting it for damage while keeping a careful optic on the scorpion/snake fuzor. Quickstrike looked crestfallen by the rebuff. That was no surprise. The newest Predacon might be as dense as a brick, but his feelings for the spideress were transparent. Blackarachnia took some sort of delight in tormenting the 'bot, brimming with feminine seduction one moment and full of bad-tempered witchery the next.

Quickstrike reached out again, realized he was offering his snake-arm, and hastily switched 'hands.' "Ah'm awful sorry, Sugarbot. Ya can't hold that against me! C'mon, Ah'll take ya back ta yur quarters and Ah'll make it up to ya..." He trailed off, a little frustrated that he couldn't put it more eloquently but hopeful when she didn't immediately smack him for suggesting the idea.

In truth, Tarantulas was finding himself in the difficult position of holding in his laughter for once. His chuckling rang across the mindscape, and he had to force himself to restrain it in the real world. Dense as a brick and just as subtle. No wonder Blackarachnia had such mood swings!

::See what I have to put up with around here? He's the complete opposite of the dog fuzor!:: Blackarachnia slumped in her prison, knowing she was sulking but not caring. ::At least you were a little more delicate about it.::

That made the laughter easier to control. Yes, he had sought Blackarachnia as eagerly as this fuzor when she was new from her statis pod. She had been so hard to resist...and as treacherous then as she was now. She planned to use this fuzor, for amusement or plotting, and it made Tarantulas suspicious. There was nothing solid to build his suspicions on beside the widow's inherent danger, but still...hmmmhehehehehe...he might as well stick to character while he was in control.

::What are you up to?!:: Blackarachnia demanded as sinister chuckling echoed through her mind. ::Tarantulas? Tarantulas!::

The tarantula ignored her and moved forward, prompting a nervous step backward by the fuzor before he ran into the wall behind him. Yellow/black claws ran up Quickstrike's chestplate, and Tarantulas narrowed green-tinted black optics. The fuzor had obviously been bitten before by his 'Sugarbot,' but that wasn't what Tarantulas intended today.

::What the SLAG are you DOING?!::

"Uh...S-Sugarbot?" Quickstrike stared at her in wide-eyed shock as the spideress' arms twined behind his neck, a curtain of spider legs cutting off the rest of the corridor and leaving him in a small world of her smug face closing in on his. "Wh-wha..?"

Soft metal met, molded, warmed. Pressed against the fuzor, Tarantulas wondered at the--the--WEIRDNESS of the situation. Quickstrike's arms were against the wall behind him from the shock, helping to support him as the spider kissed him. There was no feeling behind the motion for the spider, but the other Predacon seemed about to melt into a puddle of overheated metal. Feeling somewhat disappointed at the experience, Tarantulas pulled away slowly and turned to go. He thought he'd done quite a good job at fooling someone into thinking he was Blackarachnia, didn't she?

::You IDIOT!::

Oooh, had the little black widow not liked kissing Quickstrike? Poor her. Too bad.

He chuckled, then clamped his mouth shut when he realized he'd done that out loud. A quick glance back showed that Quickstrike was too dazed to have noticed his slip. A sudden feeling disorientation swept over him as their optics met, and--

"Maybe next time, Quickstrike." Yellow lips curved in a sly smile.

--he was back in control, bewildered by the shift. He turned around and hurriedly resumed his walk down the corridor to hide his confusion. What had just happened?!

This time it was Blackarachnia's rich laughter that rang across the mindscape.

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There really aren't enough fanfics with Tarantulas inside Blackarachnia's head...