~~MY IMMORTAL~~

By Ayngel

Fic Written for Robotbigbang 1012

Thank you, reviewers and followers!

Main Characters: Shrapnel, Hook, Kickback, Scavenger, Scrapper. Also: Bombshell, Bonescrusher, Mixmaster, Longhaul, Thrust, Dirge, Ramjet, Rumble.

Rating: NC 17

Warnings: The story contains Insecticon/Constructicon sex, sticky, P&P, tactile, oral. Explicit - please don't read if you don't like sticky. Also has a form of BDSM, violent noncon insecticon/conehead sex, prostitution, drug use and energon drinking in a quite vampiric style which some may not like. Notions of procreation, of the cloning type. Definitely not mechpreg, however. This fic has some dark 'moments,' I'm also warning for fluff/angst/romance - and crack.

This chapter: warnings for explicit sticky sex, fluff and angst.

Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers, or make any money from this story.

Summary: Not long after their reactivation on Earth, the Constructicons struggle with various issues, trying to become functional. When Kickback is admitted to the Decepticon medbay after an attack by the coneheads, Hook finds himself deeply attracted to Shrapnel, and swept into a realm of new possibilities. Meanshile Kickback and Scavenger also develop a liking for each other. Will this destroy the Constructicons?

Or could the Insecticon agenda and the new liaisons actually improve matters?

In this chapter: Bombshell and Shrapnel discuss their cloning agenda, annoying Kickback who takes off into the forest. Meanwhile Hook's interest in Shrapnel grows, leaving the Constructicons with their own problems.

PART TWO

TWO DAYS LATER, MORNING

From the Journal of Scrapper, Constructicon Leader, Decepticon Command Earth Contingent 1984.

I spoke to Long Haul, today. "I'm worried, Longie," I said. "Things aren't good. With Hook."

"Oh no!" An exasperated look appeared. "I thought you guys were going all right?" He hates being burdened with our domestics. Even though he's the best one at sorting them out. The only one who really can, in fact.

I checked the channels to the others were closed. Then I told him. "Hook's acting odd," I said. "For the last two days, he's been wanting to frag all the time. We did it first thing yesterday, and then all day. It was amazing. But it was weird."

Even now I melt at the memory of the heat, of his lust, of him inside me. But it was weird. I wasn't exaggerating that.

Long Haul threw his hands in the air. "And that's a problem?" he cried. "Half your luck. I can't recharge from listening to Bonecrusher banging Scavenger, an' Mix has been too out of it to know the time of day. You wanna try special mix high grade fumes for a fun start to the day.

"Six millennia, and I swear there's stuff I just don't get about you guys," he went on. "I thought you liked getting that from Hook?" He regarded me sceptically. "I s'pose you're gonna tell me it kept you from working."

There was that, of course. The Transfixatron is hardly going to build itself. But it's not the main issue. "No," I said. "And of course I like getting it from him. But that's the point. I don't think it was aimed at me."

This hurt my spark as I said it, and it does again as I write it. And there was me, thinking that, after all this time, I was over Hook's need for gratuity; over his numerous infidelities, his longing for something different. "I just know – it wasn't," I said. "And after this morning, he went all cold and distant."

No, I'm not over it. The iciness of that memory of that is about as opposite to the memory of the fragging as you could get.

"Oh, I see. This again. I mighta known that four or so millions of years of sleeping wouldnta changed this!" Long Haul looked at me, reproachful, but sympathetic. He might be a grouch a lot of the time, but he does understand.

"Scrap – whenever are you gonna learn - that's what Hook does." he said. "You can try all you like, but you ain't never gonna get that mech cuddly. You want that, you gotta drop him an' go with Mix. Or get Scavenger offa Boney?"

But that only made things worse. I shivered. "Boney's who I reckon the fragging was aimed at," I confessed. After all, he is the obvious choice, and I had made a big deal about 'team.' I'd just hoped any of Hook's urges would be directed solely at me.

"I don't want Bonecrusher fragging him Long Haul," I said. "I don't want him with anyone – except me. Not just now. Not until he sorts himself out."

Long Haul sighed. "He ain't gonna sort himself out. He's just – Hook! And Scrap – you know what? You're gonna unbalance things again with this."

"I know," I said. "I can't help it. We're just gonna have to deal with it."

The gestalt functions on an even balance, you see. Of connections and emotions. My feelings for Hook have put things out of whack on more than one occasion.

Now I'd confessed, I was filled with Hook-induced wretchedness. Long Haul let out a sigh.

"Scrap – you know this ain't gonna change," he said. "It's a pattern - you know how it is. The universe hasn't gone a hundred per cent his way. So - he'll brood, sulk, be obnoxious, and go into a world of his own. Then he'll panic and want to connect – which is what just happened. Once that's all done, he goes back to being an aft again, an' the whole thing's back to square one."

I knew all this of course. I also knew that in that mix was not the sort of stuff I wanted back from Hook.

Long Haul put his arm around me and squeezed. It helped. A bit. But I had to know. "I can't bring myself to open the bond with him," I said. "Is he with Bonecrusher now?"

"For frag's sake!" Long Haul rolled his optics. He took his arm away. "Primus was havin'a ball the day he made me open to all o'you wasn't he?" he grimaced. "But anyway - no. Boney's doing Mix. You'd think Scav woulda worn the mech out – but no. And Hook? He's studying Insecticon schematics."

That was a huge relief. So it had worked, encouraging an interest in the Insecticons. I hoped it would take his mind off things. I hoped it would make him happier.

Long Haul's arm was around me again. "Listen – you gotta concentrate on leading us," he said. "We need you, Scrap. Ain't not one of us can do it like you." And then he gave me a look, and I knew what was coming. "Don't frag it up over him, Scrap. It can't be the way you want. You know that."

Oh yes, I do know. How well do I know it? For how many aeons have I tried to accept it. And failed, miserably, every time.

"I just hoped it might be different, this time," I said lamely.

His arms were around me, his lips against my neck, his body warm and hard against mine. "I think what you need is some leadership inspiration from your coordinator," he said. "If a certain medic hasn't worn you out, that is."

The certain medic hadn't. Not quite. I decided Long Haul's was a good strategy. It wasn't filled with emotion and searing passion, like with Hook. But it was soothing, and conducive to functionality.

Back at the Insecticon lair, Olympic National Park, Washington USA; somewhere in the forest ….

Vividly aware of the sounds of the forest through newly tuned sensors, Kickback busied himself by the campfire, putting the finishing touches to the stewed pine and deer oil soup.

Seated in chairs over next to the habitation holes, Shrapnel was engrossed in a datapad and Bombshell had a human newspaper open, something he seemed to have taken an interest in of late, even to the point of picking one up on a regular basis.

Ordinarily, it would have irritated the cricket, them sitting there like that expecting to be waited on hand and foot. Today, however, he felt unusually tolerant.

For Kickback was in excellent health. His antennae twitched in unison, streaming olfactory input in perfect balance. His arm was patched meticulously, his wing in perfect working order. He'd flown and harvested some fresh saplings at first light, enjoying new-found motor and sensory activation.

Yes, that medic was very, very good. Weird, and a bit intense – like Shrapnel could be sometimes – but he knew his pit. And he'd given Kickback that nice tasting stuff. Yes, it had high grade in it. Or something.

And much as Kickback had, over four million years, become extremely proficient at making organic based fuel, Cybertronian concoctions were a welcome change. Especially when Shrapnel was so stingy about parting with the Conehead spoils.

Feeling pleased, Kickback fetched the tureens and brought them to the soup-pot. Even better - he thought as he began to pour out the soup – there was that mech-nurse with the interesting legs and the cute tail thing.

Yes, that nurse. Little tingles went through Kickback's newly tuned sensors. It was a pity they'd left that medbay almost straight away. Bombshell had ordered it. The word had spoken. Well, Kickback intended seeing more of that nurse. And getting more of that stuff. When they got back to the base today, he'd go look for him.

The Insecticon's highly active imagination came into play. Kickback would show Scavenger his collection on the sea bed, the one stashed under the coral reef near the edge of the abyss. He seemed like the sort who'd like that kind of thing – not like those minibots who were cute, but boring.

Then they would walk together. Scavenger would be rapt, by then. They'd get kinda close. They'd stop, and Kickback would kiss Scavenger; he'd check out that shovel thing, feel up that green aft. Then he would frag him, right there among the swirling corals.

As he finished filling the last tureen, Kickback let his spike harden, revelling in the prospect. He looked down at the casing which contained it. The very large casing. That, of course, was his pièce de resistance. It had impressed the minibots, greatly. It could not fail to impress Scavenger.

A smile spread over the Insecticon's face. What fun, doing it underwater! Not that he hadn't been hanging for it anywhere, ever since they got back, a situation made worse by Shrapnel and Bombshell .

"You need to recuperate," they said. "Get your strength back …"

Well a few thoughts about that nurse, and his strength was well and truly back!

But for now, there was nothing for it but to contain his urges. Kickback put the soup pot aside, and was about to pick up the first tureen, when words floated over from the chairs; words which he had no problem deciphering, thanks to his newly tuned audials.

"So those Coneheads were a disappointment?" Bombshell was saying. He had put down his paper, which was folded at the side of the chair.

"Yes, yes," Shrapnel said, also putting down his datapad. "They are well built, and tougher than they look, look. There is a reason Megatron has them here, here. But the blue one is strange, and dangerous-ous. The others are stupid, they have no finesse-esse. And they are weak minded minded. Hence their need to put it over other species, species."

Bombshell sighed. "It was always a risk," he agreed. "As we well know, they weren't always allied to Megatron. I thought that their physical strength might produce good results, but perhaps clone amalgamation was not realistic. The blue one is odd indeed – studies may be more appropriate. My apologies for wasting your time, Shrapnel."

"Oh think nothing of it, Bombshell-shell. The experience was most useful useful."

A frown came on to Kickback's face. The very mention of those Coneheads, after what they did, in anything other than far more disparaging terms was bad enough. But on top of that - this again! Did every discussion about the propagation of the Insecticon species have to happen without him?

"Hmmnnn," Bombshell was saying. "Any more thoughts about the Seekers?"

"Too many issues issues," Shrapnel shook his head. "Starscream's attention is wholly on Megatron Megatron. He is bent on power, and were we ever to want rid of him this would be impossible. He has an indestructible core, core."

"I see, Bombshell said. "And his trine mates are also weak without him. I agree with your evaluation, Shrapnel."

What about my evaluation? Kickback thought furiously. Don't I have an opinion here?

"Did you carry out a psychological profile on the medic, Hook, Hook?" Shrapnel was saying.

Bombshell sat back in his chair, crossing one leg over his thigh. He put his hands behind his head."Oh yes," he chuckled. "I had a feeling you might ask that question, Shrapnel. Hook – yes – he is well constructed and extraordinarily intelligent, meticulous and perfectionist. He is also loyal to his cause. His mind, however, is a mass of confusion and dark thoughts."

"Oh?" Clearly this was of huge interest.

"He has a high opinion of his abilities, but a fragile self esteem. He believes he is under recognized. He wants to be alone, yet needs connection. He fears the future. Even more, he fears death."

"Interesting-esting," Shrapnel mused. "All that may be to our advantage-antage. I feel the alleviation of his fears could be most enjoyable-oyable."

"Hmmnnn …" Bombshell wore a knowing smile.

Kickback had heard enough. Was it not sufficient that they'd excluded him, that he'd had to put up with Shrapnel fragging Coneheads and not him, and then pay for Shrapnel's ineptitude in handling the situation? Fixed he may be, but now, his good mood evaporating, Kickback remembered again the horrible feel of Thrust's hand on his wing, the foul smell of the other Conehead with the grey, dead looking face.

And there was no discussion about that side of things. No! It was all about the program. And now, Shrapnel had designs on the medic! Well what about Kickback's clones? If he connected with that nurse, couldn't the results be just as good?

He knew, of course. They didn't want Orthopteran clones. They thought Coleopteran ones were better. Superior. A superior form of Insecticon. Just because Shrapnel could channel lightning and Bombshell was a psychiatrist. Well what about his own abilities? Was he not a master hunter-spy, the one who sustained them during the long aeons of the Exodus?

Grabbing the tureen, Kickback stormed across the clearing, wings strumming crossly. He noted that they seemed to have shut up on this subject now they thought him within audio-shot. He banged the first tureen in front of Bombshell. Then, ignoring the questioning looks they gave him, he returned for the other tureen. Bringing it back, he hurled it in front of Shrapnel, hard enough for the contents to slop over the side.

"Your fuel, highness!" he snapped.

Bombshell frowned. "You seem rather out of sorts today, Kickback" he observed. "Are your repairs not as good as we thought?" He picked up the ladle and began to spoon in soup. Shrapnel did likewise. Slurping sounds followed.

"It's got nothing to do with my repairs!" Kickback exploded. "He turned to Shrapnel. "You think I can't hear what you're talking about, but I can, see? Your new cloning partner tuned up my senses!"

Bombshell paused, regarding him sternly over the edge of the tureen. "Now Kickback! You shouldn't jump to conclusions …."

"Bombshell-shell …" Shrapnel said, more gently. He turned to Kickback. "You have to understand, Kickback, that our decision has nothing to do with your species, species."

"Indeed!" Bombshell agreed. "It has everything to do with the greater affinity of Coleopteran software to merge with Cybertronian software."

"Bollocks!" Kickback didn't care that Bombshell hated his new word. "What about me and that nurse? He's smart, he is. I could tell. And strong, and agile. Him and me would make good clones. You just don't even wanna consider it! I'm just a lackey who makes soup and cleans up and is a nuisance cos I got beaten up!" He folded his arms. "Even the Hive drones had a better deal than me!"

Slurping sounds came from the other two Insecticons. "Now there's no need to be melodramatic," Bombshell said.

Kickback threw his hands in the air. "I don't know why I bother! You don't listen anyway!"

He stumped off again. He supposed he should have expected this. But still he was full of fury and disappointment. Well he would see that nurse again. And he would have it off with him. And he would store the data he gathered to do his own research into compatibilities.

That would all happen after he'd settled the score with the Coneheads. He didn't need their help with that either.

Kickback returned with his tureen – although somehow he'd lost his appetite now, his good mood overridden by his insensitive team mates. He was sure Scavenger didn't have anything like these kinds of problems with those other mechs that were like him. What were they called – Constructi…. Constructo …? Darn it! Now Kickback couldn't remember.

There was an uncomfortable silence punctuated by more slurping. "This soup is very good, good," Shrapnel said.

They always changed the subject. "There's not going to be any tonight Kickback said. "You'll have to get some energon off your 'friends.' I'm coming to the base today."

Bombshell put down his ladle. "You are not coming to the base today, Kickback. You need rest. Besides, somebody must watch the camp."

At this, Kickback felt a little triumphant. "I've gotta get my wing checked as it happens!" He said. "And my antenna."

"Oh that is quite all right, right," Shrapnel said. "Hook informs me there is no need for further review, review."

Bombshell nodded. "That is correct, Kickback. And you are safer in your own surroundings."

So Hook and Shrapnel had 'chatted' already. About him! Well that was just great. So Hook was in on it too.

"Anyway, I will be dealing with the Coneheads today, Kickback, Kickback," Shrapnel said, finishing his soup. "It's best you stay out of the way, way."

Out of the way! It was the story of his life. And why couldn't he fix up his own vendettas? It was the Coleopteran way, Bombshell would say. To do with the duty of the stronger species to protect the weaker. Kickback could not even bring himself to ask, so angry would he be about that answer.

And he bet he knew how Shrapnel would 'deal' with Thrust. Had he not said the conehead had been useful – whatever else he had done or whether Shrapnel was done with him now?

Then Shrapnel would add Hook to his 'list.' Probably Scavenger as well. No wonder the mech had no energy for 'other things.' All this about 'recuperation' was rot. Even Shrapnel was not inexhaustible.

It was suddenly all too annoying. Kickback's optic caught the pile of dishes that Bombshell and Shrapnel had left behind in the last couple of days. They had to be joking. He shoved the half filled tureen to one side. "I'm going to spend the day in the forest!" He snapped.

They were still talking, even as Kickback collected his crossbow components and arrows from the hole.

"He imagines himself more capable alone than he is, is," Bombshell said. "I worry about him. He needs us. Though transforming Orthopteran clones may not be out of the question."

"I am pleased that you say that, that," Shrapnel said. "We have made use of Kickback's abilities much in the past, past. We can do so in this new era, era."

"Despite it not being in my programming I am curiously fond of him," Bombshell said. "And he is most talented."

"Yes-ess. Later I will make it up to him, him."

You won't get the chance! Kickback thought; But even though he made a deal of stumping off without saying a word more to either of them, his faceplates twisted into a little smile as he transformed.

Besides, it was a fact about Kickback that he never could harbour anger for long. Life moved on; there were more interesting pastimes. As he sped into the beckoning forest, he felt the benefit again of his superbly tuned systems, and was pleased to be here, and alive, and intact.

Let Shrapnel do what he had to do. With both the Coneheads and Hook.

...

At the Decepticon Base...

Scavenger wasn't happy.

He drifted round the base, as the old familiar and thoroughly unwelcome feeling settled in.

He was no good.

It was hardly uncommon. The youngest of the Constructicons, and the last to join their ranks before the war, Scavenger had been taken on under the gestalt 'even number' policy. This, it was said, would provide equilibrium. Hook - it had been postulated - needed, as head component, to focus on Devastator's intent and outcomes. A coordinator was needed for the body.

Long Haul had gotten that job, moving from his right arm position and leaving it vacant. Scavenger, ever an admirer of the outfit, had - to his amazement - been found 'gestalt compatible.' He had applied successfully for the role.

It had seemed good. Scavenger was a geologist. He could, it was surmised, identify the materials they built with, complement Mixmaster in assisting with compositions. But war came, and Scavenger had found himself not part of a constructive gestalt, but a destructive one, his main skill deployment in bunker digging and basic military structures built from whatever was available.

He'd been disappointed. And they'd felt it. Worse, the expected equilibrium hadn't been there. Soon, Scavenger had felt they resented his presence, that they thought they'd made a mistake. He'd become certain that Devastator's declining performance was his fault. Now, he was sure that had he been better, they wouldn't have been spark separated, put into stasis when resources ran low.

Since reactivation, he'd had 'sessions' with Long Haul, Sometimes, these were helpful. But this morning, Scavenger was back in the doldrums. Part of this, he knew, was Bonecrusher – who had satiated him physically, but left him emotionally bereft. Boney was like that. All sh-shove and no l-love, as Mixmaster liked to cackle. It had been bound to happen.

And it was also Hook and Scrapper. He could feel the tensions swirling through the bond. Mix said Scrapper was infatuated with Hook, had feelings for him. He and Boney scoffed at that, fell about at the notion. They said Scrapper was a great leader but a soft touch; that he had a thing about cranes. They mentioned the Autobot, Grapple. It was not connish, they said; this crane thing.

Scavenger crossed his arms and hugged his chest, tail bouncing behind him. His feet dragged as he coasted past the control room once again. It wasn't that, he was sure. Somehow, it was his fault. Like everything else. That he could not understand why was part of his ineptitude.

To take his mind from this train of thought, Scavenger thought of the medbay. He pictured Kickback again. It was a far more cheering thought.

For he was nice, that Insecticon. Even if he was another species. It wasn't just that he was cute, and a looker – though he was both those things. He'd leaned into Scavenger, and his antenna had tingled. He liked Scavenger, the others said. Scavenger had felt needed. And that was something he hadn't felt in a long, long time.

Scavenger pictured him. Kickback looked quite frail, all injured like that, but it wasn't so. They were tough, those Insecticons. By all accounts, he'd put up quite a fight. The Coneheads hadn't gotten what they wanted.

Scavenger was pleased about that. The blue one was weird and scary. Whenever he was near, Scavenger felt worse than ever – even that maybe he should end it all. The other two were mean. They poked him and pulled his tail – knowing he wouldn't report it. Which he hadn't. As if he didn't already look a jerk.

He thought some more about Kickback. He had those wings. They were a nice shape, much nicer than flyers' wings. They twitched and strummed, and that was real cute. When Hook was in the ablution room, and before Kickback onlined, Scavenger had stroked one. It felt velvety smooth, and had sent tingles ricocheting through his relays, not as strong as with the antenna, but just as nice.

He would look good in the air, Scavenger surmised. Maybe they could fly together? Except that …. Scavenger hunched his shoulders again. He was hopeless at flying. It was another thing he bungled, frequently.

Not that he would see Kickback again.

"Insecticons need to recover in their own habitat," Bombshell had explained. Bombshell had slung the still anaesthetised cricket over his shoulder, and they'd departed. But Kickback, in upside down state, had opened one optic briefly. He'd reached out a hand and their fingers had brushed before Kickback was whisked away.

Yes. That had to be a good sign.

Hook hadn't seen it. Hook had been busy staring after Shrapnel, whose antlers had seemed to shimmer before the Insecticons turned the corner and went out of sight. Scavenger reckoned he'd done that on purpose. He'd been eyeing Hook up all night, and Hook didn't seem to mind.

Hook's energy field had flared - for the third time that night! Scavenger reckoned he liked Shrapnel too. And that wasn't really good, because Scrapper would get jealous – like he did over First Aid. And others. But it was rather exciting.

They'd both stared after the Insecticons. And Scavenger had felt Hook's arousal, and had found that exciting, Hook liking Shrapnel. He'd stood much closer than usual to Hook, because he'd felt a sort of kinship with him. Besides, he wanted to frag, after being so close to Kickback. Hook was good at fragging. Better than Bonecrusher, Scavenger secretly thought. And, when it was over, sometimes Hook held him close.

Thinking of the Insecticon, and Hook, and fragging, sent sensations jangling again. Bonecrusher. Yes – maybe he should look for him again. That had taken the edge off things. Even if he did wish it were Hook, and know that Boney also wished he was Hook, and even if Bonecrusher did go off after wards and not want to snuggle.

But a glimpse through the rec room door showed Bonecrusher otherwise entertained. Over the back of the settee, a mixing barrel was in view. It spun wildly, as its owner pumped up and down; groans sounded from the mech underneath him.

And Bonecrusher wasn't groaning in the aggro way like when he went at it with Scavenger; but in an erotic, sensuous way – the only time he was like that. When he and Mix did the potions.

A human TV blared in front of them. Disappointed, Scavenger closed the door. He'd lost the mood for fragging.

From further down the corridor came the clank of a bucket; Long Haul, cleaning. He'd have quite liked to talk to Long Haul. But Long Haul wouldn't be into that. He'd want Scavenger to help, and he'd go on about being left with all the chores. Scavenger did not even think he could face that.

Then Scavenger had an idea. Why couldn't he go see Scrapper? Perhaps it was this Hook thing that made him unhappy. Perhaps Scavenger could cheer him up.

Scrapper, however, was busy. Papers and data were stacked to one side, while he wrote in a journal of sorts. Scavenger glimpsed complicated designs, knew they were for the Transfixatron. Scrapper did not like to be disturbed in the middle of such a task. Especially in this mood.

Scavenger retreated, listless and dejected. But then, he had another idea. Hook. He was tense, too. And if Scrapper wasn't with him, and Long Haul wasn't, and Bonecrusher or Mixmaster weren't either, then Hook must be alone.

Maybe Scavenger could relax him? Yes – perhaps they could talk about the Insecticons.

Feeling more positive, Scavenger headed for the medbay. Yes – he could ask about their workings. He'd pretend a 'scientific' interest. Yes – he and Hook had things in common.

And Hook was a good frag.

...

And in medbay...

Agitated, Hook switched off the 3D image of Shrapnel's schematics which hovered in front of the white screen. Primus forbid that he should feel like this about a patient.

No – Shrapnel wasn't a patient. Not yet. But that wasn't the point! The thing was just down right – mesmerizing. It made him want to go do Scrapper again. And that wasn't a good idea. Scrapper had that 'look,' that need. That wasn't good for the gestalt - much as it was for Hook's ego.

Instead, Hook thought back to the conversation, the one he'd had whilst Scavenger had cleaned up. He'd gone into the ablution room, and found Shrapnel beside him. Not washing, but watching.

"Er – I think Kickback should be fine," he'd said. "He's very well put together. His self repairs will cope admirably. I shouldn't need to see him."

That was the stupidest thing to say. Why couldn't he have given himself a reason to see Shrapnel again?

The Insecticon had stood there, all dark face and gleaming antlers, with that silent power, that confidence – and that irresistible yet intangible danger, that tantalising sense of the unknown. "I have not seen you before, before?" he'd said. "You were not at the oil rig that day, day?"

Hook knew of the incident. "My colleagues and I are – a recent addition to the Cause here." Hook had chosen the words carefully.

Shrapnel had nodded. "Ah yes, in the war, many like you at the start, start. Combiner mechs, mechs. Not so many left at the end, end."

"That's right." Hook had said, trying to ignore the uncomfortable prickle to his circuits. He'd wondered how Shrapnel knew this, what he'd done during the war. Hook had never seen him in action.

Water had splashed. The Insecticon had lingered. Hook's hands had been well cleaned by then, but he'd found himself not wanting Shrapnel to leave. Besides, Shrapnel had been staring at his fingers as though he liked what he saw, and Hook had liked that.

"You're – not from this part of the galaxy. Or the Cybertronian locality?" Hook had asked, not knowing what else to say, and wishing that 'small talk' – which Hook was notoriously bad at – could be somehow rendered unnecessary.

"No – we are Pleiadians, Pleiadians …." The second word had come out in that exotic foreign lilt. Hook had shivered.

"How did you – er - get to Cybertron?"

"Space travel, travel. Warp gates, gates."

Then Hook had felt truly stupid. How else would they have done it? If there was any sure way to disinterest the Insecticon, this was surely it. He'd decided that maybe it was time he got back to his patient.

But Shrapnel had been still standing there, his antlers sparkling again with that odd blue scintillation.

"Does it hurt, hurt?" he'd asked.

Hook had been puzzled. "What?" he'd asked.

"Spark seperation-ation?"

Hook knew how surprised - and shocked - he must have looked. How does he know?

"Bombshell could tell, tell," Shrapnel had said. "He knows these things, things. Your energy is raw and new. Body and spark are recently joined, joined."

Hook had stared at him. "It doesn't hurt," he'd said. "There's fear before it happens, of not ever onlining again. But once it's done? There's just – nothing. That is - until you're onlined again. Then it's like it only just happened. So no, it doesn't hurt, its just – uh –uh …"

He had turned away, too engulfed by the familiar sickening sensations to even be embarrassed at what he'd just come out with, a subject which – Primus forbid – he didn't even broach with his team mates.

"Extinct forever, forever. This would be – unacceptable -able." Shrapnel had whispered. "It does not have to be that way, way."

It's like he's reading my mind. Their optics had met, and the antlers had shimmered. Hook had had a barely controllable urge to seize Shrapnel and hug him closely; to be in the midst of those antlers and the world of the Insecticons which seemed curiously safe and free of fear.

"It will be all right, right." Shrapnel had whispered. And Hook had felt a sharp stab of emotion in his spark.

At that point, Bombshell had appeared, saying that Kickback's self-repairs were at a level whereby he could be transported back to the forest. Shrapnel had nodded. He had looked intensely at Hook, and had seemed filled with nascent, raw energy and yet older, experienced in many secret things.

Hook's circuits had burned, hotly. Never in all his existence had he wanted anything as much as Shrapnel right at that moment.

Before they left, Shrapnel had opened an arm compartment and extracted a small chip.

"My schematics -atics," he'd explained. "You may study me, me."

'Uh – yeah!" Hook had been speechless, unable to do anything but stare at the thing, stunned by it and the conversation, as the Insecticons readied to depart. Then Scavenger had been there, and Scavenger looked all 'lit up,' and that was because of Kickback, who also had had an 'effect.' That much was obvious.

The Insecticons had left. Scavenger had lingered in the medbay. Hook could have had him, easily – not that one couldn't always have Scavenger easily. Just as with Scrapper. But he had needed – burned with an unrequited need - to look at the schematics.

First, he'd closed off the gestalt bond.

Shrapnel's workings hadn't disappointed. So un-Cybertronian, so exotic, Hook had reeled at the complex spark, intricate circuits and finely tuned sensor net. And he'd understood, with a thrill, the Insecticon's power; for Shrapnel's circuits were specially designed, insulated to absorb tremendous levels of energy. He stored or channelled this. Through the antlers. Which were also elaborate sensors.

No wonder he is so confident. And he truly is deadly. He keeps this carefully in check. But it if were unleashed …

Hook had wiped his helm, letting his fans kick in. Then, he had kept working, studying the catalytic converters, the special synthesizers that broke down raw material into high grade, processed energon. Hook recalled, now. During the war, Megatron had used it as fuel. Hook had pondered on that. It was euphoric - allegedly - as well as hyper-energising. He wondered, with another rush of sensation, how it would taste.

Such amazing qualities all round! How much Hook had wanted Shrapnel to be there, non-virtual, right then. So much it hurt. He'd looked at the image again; and he'd not been able to help it, he just could not stop from looking at the thing he'd so far avoided looking at – the interface equipment.

Hook had gone weak at the complex range of connectors. And - oh Primus forbid - he did not think he had ever seen, anywhere in the universe, a spike of those dimensions. That was the last straw. He'd been able to stand it no longer. He had gone in search of Scrapper.

He'd fragged Scrapper again and again. And all the while, through every build up and hovering on the brink of cataclysmic release, he'd thought not of loading trays and green panels, but of bolts of lightning and massive charges, of being filled with searing heat, writhing in the burn of his circuits.

The overloads had been explosive. He'd finished one, only to want another.

It had gone on and on - and on. Scrapper's pleasure had been obvious. Hook's guilt had too. He'd left in the end – and come back to medbay. Now he could not bear to look at the image again. Instead, he analysed the data he'd collected, making sketches.

…

There was someone at the door. Hook did not answer. The mech persisted with the buzzer. Was it team? Hook opened the bond. Scavenger.

Ordinarily, that might have been irritating. Hook was only so good at dishing out the kind of attention the mech seemed to crave. But the bond indicated something else. Horny Scavenger.

Perfect! A sigh of relief escaped Hook. A guilt-free release; it was just what he needed. /Come in!/ he commed, hearing the huskiness, the seductiveness in his own voice.

The door opened, and Scavenger sauntered through it. He regarded Hook with a look most perfectly welcome: saucy, flirtatious, and full of needy promise. His tail bounced behind him. "What are you doing?"

Hook smiled, already itching for his team mate. He wanted to feel the treads on Scavenger's legs, feel the smooth metal of his shovel shaft. In the back of his processor, antlers and lightning still hovered. His fingers twitched unashamedly as his fans whirred. "Seeing as how the fixing of Insecticons looks inevitable here, I'm doing a little research."

Scavenger leaned over. His arm brushed Hook's. Heat came off him, his fans whirring softly as he looked at the drawings. The fans grew louder. He giggled. "Is that why you're studying that? Just so you can fix him?"

Charge swelled in Hook's circuits. His hand wandered to caress Scavenger's thigh, fingers tracing along the treads. They thrummed with the faint smell of hot rubber. "Not entirely."

Scavenger moved closer. Hook's intakes hitched as his energy field released, momentarily lowering the pressure. Scavenger shivered. "Do you have any like Kickback?" He giggled. His hand strayed on to Hook's shoulder, fingers playing with the extensor joints. They found their way to his crane shaft and ran softly down it.

That would have been more than enough. But Scavenger's attraction for the other Insecticon also surged through Hook, mingling with his own fierce desire. Charge seared, swelling his circuits. "It could be arranged…."

Hook's intakes became raspy. His hand caressed Scavenger's aft, fingers dipping into seams. Scavenger's arousal both for himself and Kickback began to bombard him, peaking the charge to uncomfortable levels. His spike stiffened and throbbed. "Come here!" he pulled Scavenger into his lap.

The need which burned in the other's optics was exquisite, as was the lust evident in the younger face. Scavenger straddled him, his tail arched behind. Hook caught it and squeezed the shaft, then ran his hand along the smooth metal. The other hand grabbed chunks of aft.

"Frag that's nice!" Scavenger gasped as he shivered, squirming his pelvis hard. His fingers dug into Hook's shoulders as Hook's hands slid up and down.

Heat and charge crackled. Oh yes, it was more than nice. Hook pushed Scavenger back and let his spike emerge, his fingers feeling up the purple thighs as the spike stood up between them. "Haven't done you for a while .." His voice was harsh and raspy. He pulled Scavenger into a kiss.

Scavenger's mouth was hungry on his, glossa probing with a need which echoed his own. He squirmed against Hook's spike, sending more charge rushing. Hook felt hot wetness at the base of his spike as Scavenger's valve cover opened, felt Scavenger's pulsing energy field as the other Constructicon ground against him.

Hook could not wait. Breaking the kiss, he pushed Scavenger's hips up so the valve rim was against his spike tip. Then it seemed that Scavenger's face merged with other images, black and purple, a beautiful dark face, antlers, and an immeasurably massive energy field.

Hook's optics offlined. With a grunt, he yanked at Scavenger's hips, pulling him roughly on to the spike.

Instantly he filled Scavenger, groaning loudly at the peak of promise that bordered on pain. He thrust up hard and deep, unable to stop himself, and came swiftly to overload, his cry echoing as his spike discharged hard.

Scavenger came with him, adding his own cries, his fingers grasping handfuls of metal. Hook gripped him, peaking and releasing again, relishing the feel of Scavenger's valve clenching around him.

As the waves of overload swept through, they stayed like that, Scavenger moving softly up and down. "Awesome," Scavenger whispered. "You're awesome, Hook." And it was then – before Hook could even gather his senses to answer - that the door opened.

There was an uncomfortable silence. "Can I remind both of you that there's work to be done!"

Hook onlined his optics. Scrapper's face was as cold and furious as his voice.

...

Thanks to all readers :D