~~MY IMMORTAL~~
By Ayngel
Fic Written for Robotbigbang 1012
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. Notions of procreation, of the cloning type. Definitely not mechpreg, however. This fic has some dark 'moments,' but is not a 'darkfic' as such. I'm also warning for fluff/angst/romance - and crack.
Warnings, this chapter: This chapter has a lot of explicit sex, sticky, p&p, tactile and oral as well as BDSM. It also has mech-energon drinking, drug use and notions of procreation.
Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers, or make any money from this story.
Overall 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?
Thanks again to readers and reviewers. This chapter is longer!
In this chapter: Hook, his nerve failing at the decision to leave the Decepticons, gets a visit from Shrapnel - with rather pleasing results. Meanwhile Scavenger runs into trouble - but an unexpected helper comes to his rescue.
PART FOUR
TWO HOURS LATER
From the Journal of Scrapper, Constructicon Leader, Decepticon Command Earth Contingent 1984.
Some while after the row, I found myself with Long Haul again. Guy comes outta the woodwork at times like this. I know he thinks we don't appreciate him, but we do. Perhaps I should tell him more often.
He took one look at me, and sat down, putting his arm around me.
"Hook closed the bond," I said. I know the way I said it only went some way to putting across the devastation I felt inside.
"Yeah. I know."
"I should talk to him." I got up, seized now with the urge to go and find him, to sort things out, to apologise.
"Sit down," Long Haul said. "Leave him to himself."
"I told him I'd replace him."
"He knows you won't."
Long Haul had that: "I'm tellin' ya" look about him." I sat down. "What is it with Hook?" I sighed.
Of course, it was a rhetorical question. I wanted Long Haul to say. 'Nothing. He's just being Hook. It'll blow over.' All those sorts of things. But he didn't. He took his arm away. "I'm not sure," he said.
Cold horror struck again. "What do you mean?" I cried. "Is there somebody – outside the team?"
He sighed. "I've been picking up something," he said quietly. "But I don't know what. I didn't wanna say nothin'. You were pretty upset before."
I lost it again. "I can't live like this!" I cried. "How can any of us live like this? Well that's it! I am getting in touch with Grapple and I am gonna replace him!"
Long Haul frowned. "Isn't that a bit drastic, Scrap? Luckily I don't think you'd quite pull it off."
"I might! It'd be better than this!"
He sighed. "Scrapper …" he shook his head, "…. there's a few 'issues' there, don't y'think? Quite apart from this bein' anger talking – cos we both know you ain't gonna do that …." I folded my arms stubbornly. "Like - little matter of finding Grapple? Not to mention getting him to change sides?"
He was right. It was stupid. But I refused to back down. "I'll talk to Beachcomber," I said. "He's on Earth now. He's on the level. He'll know where to look."
Long Haul studied me long and hard. "Y'know, I'm not gonna pay much heed to this, he said. "But if I was, then I'd say you'd be swapping one set of problems for another. I mean – I know he's amazing, and we'd get lotsa stuff built an' all. But c'mon, mech! Can you really see Grapple dishing it out in Devastator's head role?"
"I'd put Bonecrusher in the head role," I said. "He's always wanted that."
"Primus help us! And what if we need fixing?"
"Hook won't necessarily go," I said. "He's bound to hang around were. We'd still get fixed."
"Well now," Long Haul said. "I wouldn't count on that."
Well that was a shock. I had not even thought of Hook leaving Earth. Now, however, I could see Long Haul had a point. Hook was too proud an aft to remain.
I plunged into a wretched state again. He put his arm back around me. "I think you should give it a little while," he said. "Think about things. Don't do anything rash."
I'd already done a rash thing. Saying that to Hook. I could think of nothing but him. "I don't want to ever be without him…" I said wretchedly.
Long Haul drew me into his arms. "I know," he said. "Have faith, Scrap. He don't ever really wanna be without you either. It's just – a bit different for him than what it is for you."
I nodded, my chest aching again.
Long Haul wanted me. I could feel it. Then, I wanted him too. Vulnerability seems to bring out desire.
So we went to his quarters. I let him frag me, slowly, and lost myself in his skilful touches and embraces. But I ended up thinking about Hook. Then it was too much, and Long Haul had to stop. We didn't do it any more, and he just held me.
I felt guilty, as he was charged. After a while, I let him finish. I finished too. So it was OK in the end. And it did make things less raw.
I tried to recharge, next to him. But I couldn't. I keep thinking about Hook, and all of us, and the future of the gestalt, of us in the Decepticons. Perhaps Hook's right. Perhaps we do need a change. Perhaps if I think that way for all of us, he'll settle down.
If he stays. Primus, don't let him go.
I should be working on the Transfixatron, at least. Long Haul said no, rest, maybe in a few hours I'll have some help. For now, Boney and Mix are still out to it, Scavenger's gone for a fly and Hook – well Primus knows. The bond's still shut. Long Haul still says 'leave it.'
Anyway, I'll take Long Haul's advice. I took some of Mix's 'Sweet Offliner', as he calls it. I hope it does the trick.
….
Still at the Decepticon Base
As his 'packing' had progressed, Hook had found himself doing it more and more slowly. Some time later, the crates were still only half full. His resolve dwindling, doubts had begun to prickle his processor, as a myriad of questions made themselves apparent.
Would he really approach Megatron and ask to leave Earth? What if Megatron said 'yes?' What was really on Cybertron? Shockwave, yes, and some Seekers. Some other hangers on – but nobody Hook seemed to know. Elita One and some resistance femmes, it was also rumoured. He was hardly their number one favourite. And Shockwave liked to work alone.
And what if he couldn't use the spacebridge? What if Astrotrain wouldn't take him, and neither would anyone else?
Hook paused uncomfortably, looking at the picture he'd been about to take down. His team mates smiled from the frame, the epitome of camaraderie and 'togetherness.' Hook left the picture where it was. He sat down.
It could go badly. Very badly. He imagined himself on the ground like Starscream, the barrel of Megatron's fusion canon pointed determinedly at him. "You have failed me, fool!" Megatron would say. "You are a Constructicon. Did you really think you'd be any use otherwise?"
Then there'd be no spark stasis, not even a hope of coming back. The last thing he would see before oblivion was his team mates looking on sadly.
Hook's hands tightened on the edge of the berth. Maybe they wouldn't look sad. Maybe if the orange crane was already on his way, he wouldn't even be missed? The Universe would turn on. Without Hook in it. He would soon be forgotten.
Hook thought of Grapple. The other crane adored Scrapper, had fantasised about 'being a Constructicon'; had shed tears on the subject. In front of him. He imagined the look of rapture on the golden face at Grapple having gotten what he'd wanted. Would Hook really charge off happily to a 'new life' in the wake of that?
Hook knew that he wouldn't. The new life would be a misery, filled with remorse and fury. He'd never stay away. He'd want only to come back and break the Autobot's chassis. Hook couldn't risk it. There was nothing for it. He would stay.
The medic sighed. He ran his hands over his faceplates, and thought some more. Megatron might make him stay - and watch the crane fit neatly into his spot. The thought made Hook want to purge.
Not that it would get that far. Megatron would roar that they'd shown their dysfunction, that he would not have an Autobot in their ranks. The thing Hook dreaded only slightly less than oblivion would happen. They'd all go back in stasis.
The usual chill set in.
Although - maybe Megatron would leave him out, a 'useful' retention? Yes - that might not be bad. It might even be up to Hook if they came out again. He could recommend this - when he saw fit.
Get real. Hook's optics went to the picture. Emotion pierced his spark. That couldn't happen. There was no way he could deprive them of life – even temporarily.
Hook got up and walked over to the picture. In their faces, there was nothing but simple affection. His spark churned. He thought of the times he'd tried to 'leave' before. He had always come back.
There were those strong surges as the bond reasserted, the frantic make-up sex; the relief….
Because it was quite simple. He functioned very badly without them.
Trapped! Forever destined a slave to the gestalt. Grabbing the picture, Hook hurled it angrily to the ground. Curse First Aid. He was out there somewhere, free, un-gestalted. He probably never even thought how lucky he was.
Hook sat down again, feeling himself sink into the familiar black pit. I have to keep reminding myself there's more to life than this.
Why? There isn't.
His optics wandered to the crates. Peeping from the top of one were the datapads with Shrapnel's schematics. Well that had been a nice, distracting little fantasy. "Sorry," he said out loud. "It would have been fascinating to explore you further but I have a team to consider."
Hook tore his optics away. Both the tantrum and his fantasy were over. He must sort things out; see that, firstly, Grapple was out of the picture and secondly, they stayed functioning.
And that meant finding Scrapper. Smoothing him over. Saying he was fine, and didn't need a change. Apologising. Damn that prospect!
Still, Hook didn't have to mean it, any more than he would the rest. No, he would just say it in the Scrapper-circuit-melting way he was good at. If he kept the bond shut, Scrapper wouldn't know any different.
His optics fell again on Shrapnel's schematics, and he hesitated. A spark of longing for something, the promise of forbidden opportunities, things he wouldn't have, burned for an instant. Then it was gone. Without even tidying up, Hook headed for the door.
And he was totally unprepared to almost collide with the Insecticon.
"Are you going somewhere-where?" Shrapnel said. "A pity, as I hoped to pay you a visit, visit."
…
Somewhere over the Pacific Ocean, off the Coast of Washington USA
Stabilizing his thrusters, Scavenger did his best to fly on the straight and level. He wasn't doing too badly. Flying alone for an hour or so had done wonders for his confidence. Long Haul was right!
The weather was, as Long Haul had predicted, rather nice. The sun was high in the sky, warming his back panels; a contrast to the headwind, cool and refreshing. Puffy white clouds only part obscured the blue expanse below, in which little white lines marked the heavy swell which had washed around the tower as he left.
Cheerful, Scavenger zoomed along. He thought of his departure. Who'd have imagined that a mech like Rumble could come out with good advice?
"Lock that fraggin' tail down," the cassette - who was today monitoring the exit - had said. "You wanna know why you're such an aerial bozo out there? It's that thing, flappin' in the breeze!"
He'd been very OK about letting Scavenger out. In fact, Scavenger had been surprised how easy it all was. Megatron, of course was away – on Cybertron with Starscream and Shockwave. But neither Seekers nor Coneheads were anywhere to be seen.
In fact, he'd seen nobody after he left Long Haul. But then, approaching the exit lift, he'd run into Bombshell and Soundwave. And even though he'd found the horned Insecticon scary again - scarier than the others - and Soundwave was always scary, Scavenger had stopped in front of them.
"Is Kickback here?" he'd boldly asked. Maybe they could fly together?
"No," Bombshell had said politely. "He's back at our lair. He has no part in the business to which we attend today."
Soundwave had said nothing. He'd seemed interested in Bombshell. He kept 'looking' at him. Another one who thinks they're all right, Scavenger had thought. He wondered what the 'business' was.
But something about the way Bombshell had said it had made him not want to know. He'd said 'thank you!' and moved on. It was a little disappointing. But by then he had decided on his plan.
"Why d'you wanna know where the bugs hang out?" Rumble had said. "Creepy fraggers. The further away they stay from here the better."
Scavenger had felt a little resentful. He did not like that term. He'd considered saying something about Soundwave; but Rumble, who'd been busy on a comm when he first arrived and now seemed impatient to get rid of him, had flexed his piledrivers. Scavenger had thought better of it.
"Fly northeast till you hit land," Rumble had said. "They're in the forest up there. Look for desecration an' destruction. They'll be somewhere nearby."
And he'd activated the telescopic tower mechanism with no further ado.
So now, here Scavenger was. And even with the headwind, it had taken him a lot less time than he'd anticipated. Looking down, Scavenger saw that islands dotted the blue expanse and just beyond, cliffs and strips of beach marked the coastline.
It was pretty! And he'd made it here all by himself. If he ended up seeing Kickback, that was bound to impress the Insecticon. And it would impress the others too – although Scavenger found himself not really wanting to think about them right now, or wanting the dark associated thoughts which threatened to descend.
No, there were far better things at hand. And now he'd mastered this flying …
Feeling more confident, Scavenger swept lower. Closer, the islands looked like volcanic remnants, confirmed by the tall, rugged strata which rose before forested mountains.
How interesting! Scavenger had almost forgotten his geological qualifications, so devalued had they been for millennia. Now, he figured he must come here again, check this out, take some samples. Perhaps he'd start a proper collection – other than rocks and junk.
Boosting his Thrusters, Scavenger wound his way around a larger island, attempting a better view.
It was too late when he saw the two cars on the beach, the humans pointing, the guns aimed straight at him.
Autobots! And Scavenger, in his distracted state, had brought no weapons. There was only one thing to do. Run ….
But Scavenger was no Seeker. One shot caught him in the left leg, another grazed his helm. A third caught his thruster and he veered, out of control. He only just succeeded in staying in the air.
Then he was lurching haphazardly over the hilly forests, engine sputtering, pain engulfing him. His only other thought was to be grateful that for the fact that with all the injustices in the Universe, Primus had not made Autobots able to fly.
...
Back at the Decepticon Base ...
Shrapnel seemed even more beautiful, even more incredible; like an exotic island in a sea of drudgery and inevitability. Just his presence had set Hook's relays tingling in excitement.
"You have team business, business?" he asked.
But yes, Hook did. Didn't he? There was an apology to make, a bond to reopen. A leader to caress and cosset until the whole wretched situation was all right again.
Besides, here Hook was, all disarrayed. Full of angry and negative thoughts. It was not a good time to impress the Insecticon.
So why had he come back in here? And why had he said that what he'd been going to do could 'wait until later?'
"Team can wait too," Hook said.
Shrapnel coasted across the room. His antlers seemed dimmer today, a duller silver; but that alluring iridescence still shimmered. Surrounding him was that strange, calm power. That rich scent, like the oils they used to burn in the sacred urns of the Towers, wafted from him.
His optics darted over the partly packed crates, the broken picture. His expression did not change. He looked at the crate in which was visible the picture of himself on the uppermost datapad.
He smiled. "You followed my suggestion-estion?"
Recalling how much he'd enjoyed the exercise, Hook was a little embarrassed. "Yes, thank you. Most interesting." But that's as far as it goes.
Because it had to be. But oh Primus, he didn't want it to be. Hook had no idea why the Insecticon was having this effect, but already, a deep burn was growing in his circuits. Making up with Scrapper seemed much less important. The gestalt programming, which should have been urging him forth, forcing their conciliation, seemed to have stalled.
If Shrapnel stayed much longer, it would fade altogether. But frag, he didn't want Shrapnel to leave.
Although - hang on a moment - what indication had Shrapnel given that he was here for anything but 'business?'
Hook took a firm grip on himself. "How is Kickback?" he asked.
"Kickback's progress is excellent, excellent." Shrapnel said. And then his gaze was directly on Hook. "But that is not why I'm here, here."
Heat rushed through Hook. Oh Primus, did Shrapnel really just say what Hook thought he said? And with a 'look' of the kind that he thought he gave him? His spark spasmed, his pump quickening, as energon surged through his conduits.
"Well that's – uh – it's good!" he ventured.
The Insecticon was before him, the dark face filled with that strange empathy, that quality which had before made Hook warm to him, want to reach out to him before. "I would like to explore you, you." Shrapnel said. "Does this sound agreeable, agreeable?"
Did it sound – what? Oh Primus, that wasn't the adjective Hook would have used. He wasn't even sure what it meant. But whatever it meant, it sounded pretty darned good.
In his processor, confused scraps of thought still clung. He must see Scrapper! He must secure his place - the team's place - in the scheme of things. But like driftwood on the shore in an incoming tide, they were being collected up and swept away.
The room seemed to close in. Outside the window, the fish still swam, oblivious to Hook's fate. They seemed light years away. Shrapnel's antlers shimmered briefly, lighting up like a cavalcade of tiny galaxies and star clusters. His intakes hissed softly, his scent bathing Hook in soothing waves. Hook sat down, heavily, as the universe turned.
"Are you all right, right?" Shrapnel was on the berth beside him.
The team …
This close, a low hum was audible. Energy radiated from the slightly smaller form. A long, thin finger stroked Hook's arm. Tingles ran up to his core, bursting back out and radiating to his extremities.
"I've got problems – with my gestalt," he whispered. "That's why that crate is there. I was packing – to leave." The words tumbled out. So easy it was, to tell Shrapnel these things.
Shrapnel laughed softly. "Aahh, teams, teams," he said. "And connections-ections." They are always complicated - but valuable valuable. Once forged, they must be nurtured-urtured."
"That's exactly what I'm not doing!" Hook whispered. His spark ached, and now he knew he looked a fool again. "It's just …" he began.
The finger stroked his cheek. "It is just that you want more, more."
"Yes …" Emotion swept through Hook's spark. Because, incredible though it seemed, Shrapnel understood. There was hope, redemption in the Insecticon's world. Was it because the Insecticon had survived destruction, traversed the Universe, lived through the ages? All this, perhaps. Shrapnel had said he could avoid extinction. And besides which - he was awesome.
Slowly, Hook leaned against him.
Shrapnel drew him in, caressing his helm.
"Can you give me more?" Hook murmured.
"I believe so, yes, yes."
The fingers were stroking, softly, melting Hook's circuits into a molten tangle. "You are confused, confused" Shrapnel said. "Connections are hard, hard. I will help you, and this will help your team, team."
Hook's fingers curled on the Insecticon's chest. The humming of Shrapnel's spark, surrounded him, mingling with the scents. Colours swirled. He felt hands on his shoulders, caressing his back, ghosting along his craneshaft. He moaned, longing to be close, to be safe and at peace with Shrapnel.
Somewhere, in the distant universe outside, a door banged and there were voices. Then Shrapnel was pushing him gently away. "We will not be disturbed-urbed?" he said?"
Hook did not want to think of his team mates. It was suddenly, unthinkably hard. But he wrenched open the bond. Just a fragment.
Everyone seemed to be in recharge; all except Scavenger, who was – unreadable. Scrapper was with Long Haul. That hurt. Are you together discussing my replacement …. ?
Hook slammed the bond shut, doubt vanishing from his processor. The team, right now – with its complications and implications - was simply too hard. Far too hard, beside the promise of utopia,
"No," he said. "Nobody will come."
...
Forest, Olympic National Park , Washington USA
Above the forest canopy, it had started to cloud over. The forest hung darkly around Kickback, the sweet scents of earth and bark and fungus in shades of brown and green.
A deer was walking cautiously to the water. It had not detected Kickback. But it paused, frequently, and glanced furtively around, ears twitching and nostrils flaring. It knew beyond doubt that something was not right.
The slightest thing amiss would set it fleeing. Kickback, with the subtlest of touches, depressed the lever on the crossbow.
But the deer started, stiffening as through the trees came a very different noise. A distinctly 'non forest' type noise; Kickback's senses snapped t on high alert. There was no mistaking the whine and stutter of an engine. And it wasn't far away.
The deer took off. Kickback peered up, trying to see through the canopy. Not possible. Whatever it was, it was beyond the water, above the trees behind.
Kickback tensed. He should run, he knew. It could easily be one of those Coneheads. Last time he'd gotten out only by tearing away. Then flying – very fast. He might not do that so easily again. But petulance flared in the cricket. The very sort of petulance that put him in Bombshell's bad books, but Kickback didn't care. Just as with the other night, he was darned if wouldn't have a crack.
Besides, he had weapons, this time. He hadn't left his rifle – the one nicked from that Minibot – behind. Those big, clanking morons couldn't fly in these trees, and they were useless on foot. Putting down the crossbow, Kickback pulled out the gun.
The noise was closer. It didn't sound like a Conehead engine. Kickback cocked his head. It didn't sound like any sort of healthy engine. And now, it had cut out.
Above the mud beyond the water, something plunged into the trees. A crashing followed, a sound of breaking foliage, accompanied by cries and squawks as birds and forest creatures fled. The noises went on as the object smashed and splintered its way down. Kickback caught flashes of metal, of flailing arms and legs, of green and purple.
There was a loud ka-thud as it landed. Clods of mud flew up, spattering the trees.
A few more sounds as the forest accommodated this new situation. Then silence, punctuated by a hissing as steam rose, drifting and dispersing. Diesel, hydraulic fluids and energon scents floated to Kickback's olfactories. Apart from the slight twitching of his antenna, Kickback remained still.
As the steam cleared, Kickback could see it was certainly a mech; a Cybertronian. In root form. And it definitely wasn't a Conehead. In fact, it looked like it could possibly be…
Oh no, surely not. It couldn't be that nurse. Even Kickback could not be that lucky.
No - Autobots came to this forest. Kickback had not logged all of their identities. And there were more of those Constructi-whatevers. Bombshell had said. They might not all be as friendly as the nurse and Hook. He cocked the rifle with a click.
But the mech wasn't moving. That shade of green. Kickback peered into the trees. He could make out purple legs. A little smile appeared on his faceplates. It was the nurse! By the Hives, life was strange sometimes. Whoever said you couldn't be an optimist?
Delighted, the Insecticon rose into the air. Keeping his optics on the body and his rifle at the ready, he skimmed across the lagoon. As he drew closer, he squeed inside. It was definitely Scavenger. But what was he doing here?
Did it matter? He was hurt. Just like Kickback had been. The Insecticon Way was clear. Assistance rendered incurred a debt, which remained until paid. Strictly speaking, it wasn't Scavenger who'd fixed him. But so what? He'd been there, hadn't he? He'd touched Kickback's wing and antenna. Made him feel all nice, and better.
With a squelching sound, Kickback landed. He cocked his head on one side. Antennae twitched, optics observing every detail. He squeed again - he had him here, in his forest, all to himself. The only trouble was – he looked like the pit.
Scavenger lay face down. Spattered with mud, he was dinted and dinged. Foliage was stuck in places. One leg was folded, at an angle, and energon leaked from an ugly gash in the other. It ran down the tread things to form an oily pool in the mud.
He's been shot. There was another hole in his shovel thing, and the shaft was bent. Kickback glanced around; but there was only the forest, now heavy and silent.
He was so still. Kickback crouched down. Surely he couldn't be…?
But no; there was movement; a twitch of the fingers. Then Kickback saw that the chest cavity rose and fell with shallow intakes. He bent lower. A low hum came from Scavenger's chest. His spark and pump must be functioning.
Pleased, Kickback sat back up. Delicately, he extended a finger and prodded the unconscious form; once, twice. It moved! A groan came out of Scavenger's vocalizer.
"Yay!" Kickback said out loud.
Because Kickback had been right. Even injured, Scavenger was gorgeous! And he smelt delicious. Kickback wanted to get down again, and hug him right there in the mud. But no - that leak from his leg - that was no good. What good would it be if the guy died in his arms?
Scavenger moved more strongly then, and Kickback jumped back. He writhed, a high pitched, whimpering sound coming out as his arms flailed. His tail came up and the broken shovel thing smashed into the mud, sending a shower over Kickback.
Wiping his face, Kickback looked at the Constructicon. His optics scanned the sodden ground. He should be somewhere dry, at least. And what if his assailant came looking? Even among the trees, they were too out in the open.
Kickback glanced around. The trees stretched on up the hill ahead, but there was quite a lot of mud before them. To his left, however, was a bank, the undergrowth atop it thick and concealing. If Kickback could just get him up there…
Yes. He would do that. And then – well he already had an idea.
As he bent to the mech's's audio, Kickback shivered at the scents on the Constructicon, the soft him of vibrating metal. "Hey buddy!" he whispered. "Gotta move ya!"
Scavenger's optics flickered in faint recognition. Kickback got up. Squelching his way around to the front end, he grabbed his arms.
The mech cried out as he hauled with all his might. "Just bear with me!" Kickback panted. It took all his effort, but - to his relief - the robot began to slide forward.
….
Back at the Decepticon Base
Hook was easily seduced. Shrapnel was pleased. He'd pondered in the time before he got here what to do if he wasn't. "Restrain him," Bombshell had said. "Use force if necessary."
But Shrapnel hadn't wanted to do that. For once, he had put his foot down with the older Coleopteran. "He will come to me willingly, or not at all, all," he had said. "And by that I do not mean in the way Thrust is willing, willing. I am done with that, that."
Bombshell hadn't argued. "As you wish," he said. "From his reactions, I don't think you will have a problem. His needs will bring him to you. But besides this, he wants you."
"Good, good," Shrapnel had said. "Because I want him, him. Very much, much."
Now here he was, with the Constructicon murmuring in his arms. And it was much, much nicer than the Coneheads.
Shrapnel held Hook, gliding his hands subtly over panels, checking out the slightly taller mech; his limbs, the mechanism on his back, the location of connectors. There were two, one on each hip. Nice. One for input and one for output. Unlike with Thrust, Shrapnel would use both.
He may even use his spike. He would see how things went.
Hook murmured again. Shrapnel stroked his helm and kissed it, his spark throbbing warmly. He liked Hook a lot, he decided. In his profession he was confident, and fiercely individual. Yet, Bombshell had been right – everything he did betrayed a need for connection, to be part of something bigger. He did not want that, but was afraid to not have it. And he didn't want to die. Ever. He rallied against that thought. He was vulnerable.
And that brought out in Shrapnel a curiously protective instinct. It was, admittedly, part to do with Hook being the perfect clone-merge candidate. He had intelligence, skill, aesthetic qualities. When he found out what was planned, his motivation would complete the picture. What he lacked in strength, Shrapnel would make up for.
It would perpetuate the Way. Yet, what Shrapnel felt now was something which went beyond the Way, just as with Kickback. Curious, Shrapnel thought. Another Quintesson effect? He would discuss it with Bombshell.
Because right now, there were more urgent needs. Desire surged through Shrapnel. He did not wish to wait longer. Keeping his arm around Hook, he stroked Hook's face. Then, he put a finger under Hook's chin, and tilted his face up. He paused, smiling at the need in the handsome face, the liquid crimson optics; liking the feel of Hook's hand tighten on his arm, the small flare of energy which scattered off him.
Shrapnel kissed him, slowly, deeply. Like he'd wanted to since first they met. Gently, he explored the Constructicon's mouth, letting Hook get used to the long glossa which twined around his; the taste, Shrapnel knew, was strange for Cybertronians.
As he kissed, Shrapnel stroked Hook, caressing his face, his helm, his shoulders. He found the crane shaft and ran his hand down it, more firmly than before. Evidently, Hook liked that. He liked it a lot. He moaned, pressing hotly against Shrapnel, his hands clutching at Shrapnel's chest as he kissed him back, enthusiastically.
So responsive, Shrapnel thought. And compliant. And so sensitive! He could not recall the last time he'd had a Cybertronian as responsive or compliant or sensitive as Hook.
He deepened the kiss, strengthening the pressure on the craneshaft. Hook shivered, his hands wandered, one creeping around Shrapnel's waist, feeling his pelvic armour. The other wandered up and over his shoulder, finding Shrapnel's antler.
The jolt of electricity that went through both of them as the antler fritzed was stronger than Shrapnel intended. Hook tensed, breaking the kiss. He stared at Shrapnel, surprise clear on his face. Then he smiled. "Amazing," he murmured.
And it was. The mere touch had sent Shrapnel's charge screaming up. The energy which surged afresh was primeval, an awakened nascent power of procreative imperative; the promise of glory. Cybertronians would dwindle and fade, their numbers diminishing with wars and wasted resources. But Insecticons would not. They would go on, existing forever, immortal, indestructible. And Hook would too, through countless numbers of clones.
A shudder went through Shrapnel's frame and his grip tightened on Hook. But he thought of the charred Conehead. I must be careful, he thought. Bombshell was right. This is powerful. I could kill him. This I cannot risk.
Hook was impatient, squirming, wanting to be kissed again. Wanting more. Shrapnel relaxed, and caught his hand.
"Slowly," he said. "Slow is good. It can only enhance the final coming together-ether."
Hook melted into him, compliant in his arms once more.
...
Olympic National Park Forest, Washington USA
Scavenger was moving. Wet ground slid beneath him as a battery of warnings burst out in his processor, a grim catalogue of broken components and malfunctioning systems.
The Constructicon was conscious enough to know that he truly was fragged. Not only was his frame a mess, but he'd burned out his engine. Pain seared through a shattered leg, and his intakes stuttered as his auxiliary motor fought to compensate.
And his tail was ruined! That, somehow, was worst of all.
Panic simmered, threatening to erupt. But Scavenger managed to remember what Hook had taught him: The more of a state you get in, the worse your injuries will be... stay calm and assess self repair capacity. Seek assistance where capacity inadequate.
Capacity Inadequate? It could not have been more inadequate. But how was he supposed to seek assistance?
Scavenger was getting pulled upwards. His arms felt as though they might dislocate at the shoulders. The ground felt drier. Something stuck in his hip as he was dragged over it. Searing pain shot through his leg and he screamed.
"All right – nearly there!" panted the one who pulled him. There was a cracking, snapping sound. Scavenger realized it was twigs breaking.
The voice was familiar. And it had associations that were not unpleasant. Nor were the hands grabbing his arms.
Scavenger concentrated, focusing on his recall. He had been flying. He had flown from the Decepticon base and been shot at, and hit. He had flown too fast, and his engine had overheated. He hadn't paid attention. He'd been too preoccupied with the agony in his leg. His engine had cut, his Thrusters lowing power. He'd crashed.
Ah – so that was what had happened. And he was on his own. Oh Primus. He came here all on his own?
"Nearly there!" The voice was interspersed with rapidly hissing intakes. Vegetation scratched against Scavenger, catching at his broken tail as foliage popped and cracked.
With an effort, Scavenger pulled more data. Long Haul. He'd told him to go flying. To fly locally, to go to some island nearby. Fear gripped Scavenger like an icy hand. He'd never even seen the island. He'd headed to the mainland. He'd disobeyed Long Haul; and now Long Haul didn't know he was here. None of them knew he was here. Only Rumble…
Panic seized him. His team - they wouldn't be able to find him! His self repairs wouldn't cope, and nobody would fix him. He'd rot and rust, right here in this – wherever he was. If the Autobots didn't get him first.
He forgot whoever was pulling him, instead struggling to activate his com.
"Hook!" he wailed; but only a dull static sounded in response. A check revealed the device was fragged, along with everything else.
"Hook, help!" he wailed again.
"Hey!" He had come to a stop. "Try and relax." The voice was metallic sounding, whispery. The hands which caressed his helm were soft and gentle. Where had he heard that voice?
It mattered not. He must start his engine. Move. Get out of here and find his team. That was the important thing. But his engine cranked unyieldingly and his motor systems refused to obey. He tried to online his optics, but met with the same grim lack of success. "Hook," he said feebly.
"It's not Hook. It's Kickback? D'you remember me?"
"Kickback?" Oh yes, he'd been in medbay –
But he wasn't a medic. No, he was…
A hand stroked Scavenger's helm, the touch as light as a feather. It was soothing. An Insecticon. That's right – Kickback was an Insecticon. And he was a looker, and nice; but hey – they ate mechs. Oh Primus, he'd been captured by an Insecticon and now he was gonna be eaten!
"Relax …." the hand was still stroking his helm. No, Kickback wouldn't eat him. Kickback was nice. Now he recalled, Kickback was who he'd been coming to see. If Kickback had been likely to eat him, Scavenger wouldn't have done that. Would he? Hook thought he was nice, too. He'd fixed Kickback. And Hook liked the other one. The antlered one.
No, he wouldn't be eaten. Or hurt. Scavenger clutched at Kickback, a sudden refuge in the wilderness.
"Here - drink this."
A metal tap type structure was against Scavenger's mouth, that oily smell pervading his olfactory sensors. A sweet tasting liquid trickled on to his lips.
"Drink!" Kickback commanded.
The thing seemed to be attached to the Insecticon. Oh Primus, he wants me to drink his energon! Panic rose again, a dark shadow springing from the depths. "I can't …" Scavenger wailed. But the liquid trickled, warm and – delicious.
"C'mon! Trust me!" Kickback said. "It will make you better."
A warning in Scavenger's HUD revealed that he was desperately under energised. Grasping Kickback's wrist with both hands, he took deep gulps; and, to his surprise, felt almost instantly improved, and his audios must have cleared, because the sounds of the forest were all around, its earthy scents blending exquisitely with those of the Insecticon.
Yes, he'd been right. This was all right after all.
….
Back at the Decepticon Base
Hook was impatient again. He pulled Shrapnel on top of him, squirming under him. A hand hooked around Shrapnel's helm and tugged him into another kiss.
Then Shrapnel was on him, and Hook's body was beautiful, exhilarating. Lust seared through the Insecticon, like a fire about to flare, badly out of control. His intakes came in sharp rasps, metal squealing as he writhed on the Constructicon, his hands clutching at the berth. His antler relays burned, aching to channel and release.
Shrapnel held back the urge, holding the energy inside, struggling to abort the channel sequence, directing charge to his connectors which burned and hissed.
Hook cried out. He clutched Shrapnel by the chest and kissed him, frantically. Shrapnel felt the length of his body throbbing hotly, the hotter-than-hot spots where the connectors lay, his spike. Shrapnel kissed him back, rolling his glossa, slowing his movements to let the charge settle.
It did; but then Hook's energy field flared, madly, hotly. Shrapnel whimpered. If Hook touched his antlers, he'd lose control. Gripping Hook's wrists, he pinned him as Hook's surge went into him, sending the charge soaring and his body into a spasm of need for release.
And he had to release. It could not he helped. Struggling to hold back, Shrapnel offlined his optics and arched back. Using every shred of control he possessed, he released over Hook, an all of body scatter. Currents skittered wildly between their frames.
Even with his efforts, it was too fast, too strong. The Constructicon cried out as blue light flashed, and electricity snapped and crackled. Shrapnel took deep intakes, at least partly satiated, enjoying the sensations of Hook's body as the charge settled, but anxious. Hook squirmed under him, very unharmed and wanting more.
Relieved, Shrapnel nuzzled him. But that was nothing, he thought. And we are not even connected.
Hook had definitely liked it. He gazed up at Shrapnel with wonderment. He moved, wrapping his legs around Shrapnel, as the Insecticon felt panels open under his hips, Hook's mouth on his neck.
Shrapnel threw his head back, heating again, allowing the raw arousal to wash around his body. I must concentrate on exploring and cataloguing him, he thought.
And I will also pleasure him greatly; it is helpful that he likes a degree of pain. But I will control my releases, and store the residual. This can wait until later. The mainland needs a storm.
Eventually, that would be the only way.
…..
If Hook had not been lost in Shrapnel before, he was now. An array of unprotected firewalls came down, collapsing in blissful acquiescence. Somewhere in the distant depths of his processor, warnings flashed, how thoroughly inadvisable this was. But Hook was beyond resistance.
The power in that surge! The pain had barely even registered as such. Every bit of his body tingled and burned with a new kind of satiation, an ecstasy of sensation.
And how close had he come to real, irreparable damage? For he had felt Shrapnel's inner struggle, seen the violence in the red optics. The surge between them had sounded like gunfire, the pungent smell partly that of his own singed panels. It was beautiful, terrifying, the tantalising thrill of the unknown.
But Shrapnel had restrained it. There was sanctuary, with him, a refuge in a world where he could be brought to the brink of agony and ecstasy, feel the power but safe in Shrapnel's arms. Totally, gladly, he submitted to the Insecticon.
And it occurred to Hook, distantly, that he had no idea why Shrapnel was like this, seemed to have chosen him and now wanted to indulge like this. But frag, it was good.
Shrapnel still moved against him. Hook wanted more. Now. Badly. He whimpered, wanting connection, wanting to feel Shrapnel, to feel the source of the power, Shrapnel's desire, feel the Insecticon curb himself just for him.
And it wasn't just the power. Primus, the Insecticon had technique. Because Just the way he was sliding, his mouth roving, set Hook on fire again, the brief satiation withering as charge and the need for release seized him with fresh urgency.
His hands were still pinned; he struggled, wrapping his legs around Shrapnel. And then Shrapnel was over him, the red alien optics burning briefly into his, and everything froze…
Shrapnel kissed Hook's mouth, his face, his neck, the long glossa flicking into seams and around cords. Hook groaned, offlining his optics as he lay back, panting as the touches sent his charge up, and up, and up…
Of frag, it went up fast. Hook offlined his optics, writhing to scrape their panels in such a way as to get up there again. He wanted to wrest free, to touch Shrapnel, to make him surge; wanted the pain, the ecstasy. The antlers spread to either side, scintillating with promise. If only he could get his hands on the antlers.…
"Hook, Hook!"
Shrapnel had stopped kissing him. Hook onlined his optics to find Shrapnel was looking at him. The Insecticon's face glowed with a metallic sheen, his optics burned into Hook's. "Patience-atience …" Shrapnel said.
Hook didn't have any. "I need you to do that again," he ground out, wriggling.
Shrapnel wanted to do it, too. Hook could tell from the way he was trembling. He got up on his hands and shuttered his optics. Just the anticipation of what was coming sent Hook soaring to the brink of overload.
The first currents from the surge sent him over and he cried out as it took him, scatter from the residue adding to the intense pleasure.
It was stronger, harder, so much more penetrating than before. The universe turned white, then grey, then flashed into pale blue light. It surrounded Hook, radiant, magnificent. Then it faded, diminishing, melting into shades of grey, fading towards blackness.
Towards nothing; but no, not nothing. For a throbbing returned to his circuits, a myriad of warnings signalling shorted relays, the need for self repair. Through it all was glorious, deep satiation; and there was Shrapnel, always, and being safe with Shrapnel, and there was life with Shrapnel - forever.
"So sweet, sweet …" Like a choir on the wind, he heard his lover's voice, as the waves of overload bathed his spark's very essence.
…
Olympic National Park Forest, Washington USA
They were in a clearing among low bushes. Scavenger had never realized that life could be so – fortuitous. Or that he could feel so much better, in so short a time.
Kickback lay facing him, leaning up on one elbow. Scavenger shifted, focusing his now onlined optics, so as to get a better view of the Orthopteran face. So young, and yet so old. So alien, and yet so familiar. So nicely shaped, with the large red optics and the small olfactory node and cheeky little mouth. So – pretty. So desirable.
Scavenger licked his lips.
Kickback liked what he saw. Obviously. He made a kind of squee sound. His face lit up, a picture of abject delight. He sat up. Scavenger lifted his gaze, and there was the face, atopped by the fascinating twitching antennae. Behind it were pretty wings and Earth vegetation. Both were inexplicably and amazingly beautiful.
The Insecticon beamed. He spoke. "Hey! Welcome to Kickback's special forest haven!" he said.
Scavenger stared beyond him, transfixed by the organic tapestry which throbbed in an orchestra of subtle rhythm and sounds, a resonance from the ancient rocks below. A leaf nearby fluttered , catching his attention. It was intricate, a work of art, delicate veins interlocking within a scheme of cellular fusion. More movement caught his optic. A creature scuttled, small and reptilian and perfectly made.
"Wow," Scavenger whispered, "What did you give me?" He giggled. "Can I have some more."
"It's Insectifuel!" Kickback said. He sounded proud of this fact. "Our energon is many times more potent than Cybertronians'. The Decepticons used it in the war! It speeds up repairs, see – and makes 'em feel nice. But I don't reckon you should overdo it."
Scavenger did feel nice. Primus, he felt nice! Every part of him felt alive, as if with a consciousness of its own. Broken components manoeuvred and melded, as circuitry knitted deep inside and systems booted back up. Power surged into his servos, and Scavenger swung his tail up; only to find it constrained by bushes. But that didn't matter. It was fixed.
"Hey! What's the name of them mechs you hang out with?"
"We're Constructicons," Scavenger still could not believe the environment. He pulled himself up. He was on a bank, looking down through trees. They rustled, ancient Earth beings, wise and alive. How long have you lived here? He wanted to call out to them. Water lay below. It glinted, a breeze rippling the surface of the lagoon. Patterns scintillated, the rhythm of this planet, echoing those of the universe beyond.
"Mix makes stuff like this," he murmured. "But it ain't nearly as good."
Scavenger became conscious of the Insecticon again, poised; an alien statue, watching him with acute interest. His head was cocked. He cackled delightedly, and clapped his hands.
Scavenger took in the exquisite form, the face, the wings, all of it. But nothing was more obvious, more wantable than the Insecticon's wrist. He reached for it, hungrily.
Kickback pulled it away "No!" he said. You don't need it."
"But I want it!" Scavenger fell back, curling playfully like a kitten. Kickback was above him, antennae twitching. They felt nice, those things. Imagine how they were gonna feel now! Scavenger made a grab for one. "Want those too!" he giggled.
Kickback skittered back. His wings strummed. He really was beautiful, all black helm and dark face. No, Scavenger didn't just want the antenna. He wanted all of Kickback.
Getting on to his hands and knees, he lunged. But Kickback moved faster. Scavenger found, instead, himself pinned down, his wrists beside his head very much like - if he had known it - his other team mate right at that time. He giggled. The Insecticon loomed above him, wings erect, the hot metal of his chest vibrating against Scavenger's.
Desire rushed through Scavenger. But what was this with the wrists? Unlike Hook, he easily wrested free. Or maybe Kickback let him. Awesome. Now he could have what he wanted. He threw his arms around Kickback, rolling them sideways, flattening the vegetation.
"Hey – careful!" But it was too late. They'd managed to arrive at the top of the bank; and now they tumbled over the edge
The ground bumped and dinged him, metal clanking as they went down. He smelt sweet scents, felt the hot brush of panels, wings under his hands, his tail sparking as they tumbled, over and over. And all the while, the forest embraced them. Full of ancient secrets; it merged with the Insecticon, and Scavenger, part of their being, their essence.
They landed in soft organic residue, a tangled heap of mechparts. It was where Scavenger had been before he got fixed. "My hard work!" Kickback was laughing. "And here we are in the slaggin' mud!"
Scavenger stared at him. He felt – marvellous. Coolness lapped against his panels, seeped into his seams, filling him with new aliveness. The Insecticon, the sighing trees and shifting shades of green, the rippling water beyond; it all combined into the most beautiful scene, ever.
"Nothing's been for nothing," Scavenger whispered, reaching a hand out to brush Kickback's face. "I think you're like - the greatest being the universe ever created."
Kickback didn't seem unhappy about that. Not at all.
...
Back at the Decepticon Base …
Hook's face when he overloaded was easily the most beautiful thing Shrapnel had ever seen. Or could remember seeing.
And he felt better. Relieved of charge, and more confident of how far he could go, Shrapnel let go of his wrists. Hook's arms instantly came around him, stroking at the antlers. Although they tingled deliciously under Hook's touch, Shrapnel had spent enough energy to control the channel sequence. He nuzzled in, enjoying the attention.
Yet still, he was cautious. Explore him. Don't harm him. And the antlers were risky.
Shrapnel looked straight into Hook's optics. "Put your hands behind your head, and hold the head of the berth, and lie still, still," he said. "This is important, important. Do not touch my antlers, antlers."
A belligerent glint, flashed in Hook's optics. His gaze flickered to the antlers. He looked for a moment as though he would challenge this. Interesting, Shrapnel thought, liking that side of Hook. But he fixed his with an optic flare just the same. Hook complied.
"Good, good …" Shrapnel began to kiss down his body, his mouth roving sensuously. His hands moved over Hook, exploring metal, liking the feel of it on his mouth as he moved to neck cords, and then chest plates. He fondling joints, licking into seams, tracing them with his glossa. Hook moaned, his pleasure acute. He didn't let go of the berth.
Shrapnel moved lower. One hand ghosted over a connection panel which throbbed and slid open. The other slid over Hook's warm codpiece, feeling down and between his legs to a valve which also opened, a moist cavern under Shrapnel's fingers.
Shrapnel's charge surged again. His spike shifted. Oh he'd like to spike him; feel the walls of that valve close around his hugeness. But that was another thing Hook would need to get used to.
He turned his attention instead to the two conventional panels on Hook's hips. They were open, Ports sparked intermittently, the cables twitching. "Nice, nice…" Shrapnel murmured, liking what he saw. He stroked the cable and it quivered. Without further hesitation, his mouth moved on to the panel.
….
Later, Hook would have great difficulty recounting the intensity of the sensations as Shrapnel's mouth kissed and licked at that panel, his glossa swirling around the connection. Hook shuddered as he bit it gently; then it was getting pulling out, and oh Primus, Shrapnel had it in his mouth. Hook's hands clutched at the berth behind him as he arched up.
"Keep still, still …"
Hook onlined his optics to see Shrapnel poised over him. The connector cord trailed from his mouth. "Hard …" he said, as currents scintillated up through the connection and to his core. And it was – both keeping still and not touching the antlers.
For the antlers were right there. They glowed, and back was the iridescent blue shimmering with many colours. Oh how badly Hook wanted to touch the antlers. Soooo badly…
But the sensations in his connector were new, distracting, exquisite. Shrapnel sucked, gently, sending tingles fritzing into Hook. He offlined his optics, his fingers digging into the berth as he burned for connection. And more was going on. Hands were running over his pelvis, over his codpiece and then, there were fingers at his valve.
All Hook's lust diverted to between his legs. He shuddered. Opening his legs, he pushed on to the fingers, wanting Shrapnel in any way he could have him.
And then, he was being filled, the long fingers exploring the walls, the ceiling. They reached the deep node… and then his connector was fritzing as Shrapnel's glossa caressed it; meanwhile Shrapnel's other hand was on his port, the fingers exploring…
"Oh Primus…" Hook threw his head back, unable to believe the height of the sensations combined.
He was nearly there again. The fingers probed, setting off reactions which seared up to his core and spark. He began to pant hard, as Shrapnel's fingers and mouth moved faster.
"Don't stop!" He was so close again. He was going up and up and up and Primus he was going to come again and he wanted to touch Shrapnel… oh yes he really really wanted to touch Shrapnel…
As he went over the brink, Hook couldn't help it. His hands left the berth-head and reached out, one landing on the Insecticon's helm but the other closing round an antler.
The smooth metal throbbed in his hand for an instant. Before the universe exploded in another mass of blinding white light, pleasure and delicious searing heat.
…..
Olympic Forest National Park, Washington USA
He was the greatest being in the Universe? Aw yeah, Kickback liked that! Maybe he should give Scavenger more Insectifuel. In fact, he would.
Why not? During that ungainly descent, Kickback had had just enough of the Constructicon banging against him to remind him totally of his previous 'ideas' and arouse him thoroughly. Now Scavenger was so obviously better, Kickback wanted him like crazy.
It felt nice, having Scavenger drew energon from his wrist. Kickback's arm went all tingly. The tingles travelled, sinking into his core, his spark. He shivered, then decided Scavenger had had enough. Pulling his wrist away and closing the conduit valve, he launched himself on top of the Constructicon.
After all, that was what Scavenger wanted before, wasn't it? And he obviously still did now - Insectifuel or none – for he was pulling Kickback into a kiss. And it was nice. He tasted sweet and oily and Cybertronian. And his chest throbbed, right under Kickback's own throbbing spark.
Scavenger squirmed in the kiss. His hands were on Kickback's wings, feeling and stroking. So nice! So different from how Shrapnel held them. Kickback's fingers explored, sliding over Scavenger's arms, his neck, up and over his helm. He wanted to feel him all, so fascinating; his body, so different.
He ground his hips, feeling heat radiate from Scavenger's codpiece. Oh yes, that was nice… Kickback wondered if he should get his spike out yet. He wanted to. Oh hell yeah - the thing was hard against the cover, throbbing madly. Sensation fritzed down his thighs, accentuated by the tread things rubbing against them.
That tail thing. He wanted to get at that. Kickback's hand slid down, Kickback's side, sliding over his hip, his thigh. Kickback fingered the tread things. Oh yes, they were beautiful; and by the hive he was gonna have to stick his spike in soon or he might explode. But then, Scavenger was squirming uncomfortably.
Kickback broke the kiss. "What's the problem?" he chirped.
"My tail!" Scavenger giggled. "It's caught." Dreamy optics stared up at the Insecticon. "It's better for me on top."
"All right!" It sounded good for Kickback, too. He rolled off Scavenger and lay on his side, energy racing through him as he watched the Constructicon organize out his tail. Frag it was sexy. Definitely, he'd feel that next. Kickback's spike bulged and throbbed as Scavenger straightened himself. His optics wandered to between Scavenger's legs. His valve was open. A trickle of liquid ran down his thigh.
"Oh mech!" Kickback sat up, antennae twitching. He could not take his optics off the valve. But, he thought, he should clarify matters. "D'you wanna sit on my spike?" he asked. "Or did you stick your spike in me?"
Bombshell would reproach him for that, he knew. Often had he been spoken to about his 'approaches.' But heck, if you wanted to know something, you had to ask, didn't you?
Yeah - that was right. Because Scavenger looked delighted. "I wanna be spiked," he said.
And now he was on Kickback, pushing him down as more warmth radiated from his chest. Kickback pushed his own chest against it, as his hands wandered, feeling up and over Scavenger's aft. And then there was the tail. Kickback touched it. The tail stiffened in his hand. Kickback could wait no longer. He had to get his spike out.
"Sit back", he said. And get ready. "You're gonna love this!"
…..
Kickback loved their faces when they first saw it. And Scavenger's was extra good. He stared at the spike, a massive pillar rising before him, in awe.
"Whaddya reckon?" Kickback asked.
"It's fantastic!" Scavenger whispered. "But I think we should play a bit first after all. I need to open up."
Oh how Kickback loved this directness, this lack of games. With Shrapnel, games were so often the norm.
Sliding down Kickback's thighs, Scavenger took the spike in his mouth and – oh by the Hives that was blissful – started to swirl his glossa around the tip.
Kickback moaned, shuttering his optics. Holding his spike at the base, he arched his hips up as the tongue kept up its activities, sucking and swirling and flicking.
"Frag you're good!" Kickback's hand came up to caress Scavenger's helm.
It was wonderful. The sounds of the forest, the mud in his seams, the delicious scent of the forest and of Scavenger.
Scavenger shivered, his tongue moved faster as Kickback's charge went up.
"You're gonna make me blow," he said.
But Scavenger stopped, panting. "I'm open," he said. "Let's frag. "
Kickback wasn't about to refuse.
Thank you for reading!