Author's Note:
Did a time jump in this chapter because I did NOT want to go through all the boring fluffies and boring parts (like... legit filler chapters that would have drove me NUTS) so I hurried it up since the season finale is coming up in about... 4 more episodes? 5 more? Yeah. I skipped about two episodes in here and a couple weeks.
Song: Perfect Nightmare_Shontelle
After another checkup with Ratchet, Nightstalker sat on the edge of her medical berth, swinging her legs with anxious boredom. She wanted to fly. It had been a while since she had done so, and the familiar feeling of the room getting smaller and smaller was starting to ache in her back strut.
Still, she wasn't cleared for flying—for transforming. Ratchet didn't want to risk her inflaming her motor lines again, and he didn't believe she had the strength for a flight yet. Which, it was probably true, but it didn't help with the pressing fact that she WANTED TO FLY.
So, she sat. She was exhausted from her physical therapy already, the kids were in school, and the rest of the bots were out on patrol. That left Ratchet and his mound of work he did around the silo, and Optimus on the computers decoding the Iacon database. She was BORED. And the want for flight was aching. She tapped her toes more, fanning her wings. The bots should be back from their routine patrols, though. She could wait until then, right?
"Optimus, I'm ready for a bridge."
Nightstalker jumped and cursed softly at Cliffjumper's voice. First: he scared her. Second: she didn't want to talk to him. They were avoiding each other for a reason, and neither was comfortable with even looking at each other.
The bridge opened. The bridge closed. Nightstalker kept tapping her toes. She stared at the floor. Footsteps. Her spark stilled. They stopped in front of her. A pause. He cleared his throat. She heard his intakes seize. A long silence. He walked away.
Nightstalker's wings dipped. At this moment, she wasn't sure if she was relived or hurt that he didn't speak to her. Maybe it was for the better. What could he say anyways? "Sorry I watched you get raped," and they'd move on? There wasn't anything meaningful, and Nightstalker would die if he told her how disgusting she was. Primus, she couldn't even ask him for the interface, much less even look him in the optic!
"Wait, Nightstalker!"
He ran back and stumbled to a halt in front of her, breathing hard like he had run a marathon. Nightstalker looked up with wide optics, and she witnessed his throat work hard, and he turned away, servos clenching into fists. After several seconds he looked back, and for a long moment, he just looked at her. Finally, his tight fists slacked.
"May I sit with you?"
Nightstalker just barely contained her jaw from dropping and instead gave a little nod.
"Thanks."
Nightstalker waited for him to speak, but . . . he never did. He didn't say anything good, anything bad, anything mean, anything sad, just . . . nothing. She shifted, tapping a finger as she tapped her toes. Her wings fluttered. She wasn't used to Cliffjumper not talking. It . . .
Bothered her.
"Can you say something?" she finally asked quietly.
He shifted. After a moment, he cleared his throat nervously, muttering, "I, ah . . . don't know what to say."
"Then—"
"No, no," he interrupted, "I . . . I know what I want to say, I'm just . . . I don't know if I can."
They didn't look at each other. They stared at the floor. After another moment of silence that seemed to creep on Nightstalker's metal, she finally murmured, "Cliffjumper . . . talk. I want to hear you talk."
He gave a weak laugh. "About what?"
"Anything," Nightstalker said. She rubbed her feet together nervously. "I just . . . want to hear your voice."
She missed him talking about nothing. That was what it was. She missed hearing his voice. She hadn't realized how much she had appreciated it until it was suddenly gone, and now that she had gotten a taste of it, she just wanted him to keep talking. It didn't matter about what, just . . . the warmth of that deep voice.
"My voice," he finally said. He seemed to struggle, unable to find his words now that they mattered the most. His hands tightened on the berth. "Um . . . I, ah . . . Nightstalker . . ." With a last shuddering breath, he finally managed in a rasp, "Can I hold your hand?"
Nightstalker paused. Her optics flickered to her hand nearest to him and to the floor. "Um . . . Okay."
Again, that halting unfamiliarity, as if he wasn't sure how to be around her anymore. Had the rape really changed things that much? But then, his hand slowly reached over.
Shaking.
Warmth covered her hand. The tension suddenly drained from Nightstalker, and her wings drooped as he settled his hand comfortably over hers. "Thanks," Cliffjumper whispered to her.
There was a pause in which Nightstalker wasn't sure how to fill in the gap of silence, but then, she heard it. Quiet crying. Felt it. Quiet shaking. Finally, he whispered thickly, "Nightstalker . . . I'm sorry." His hand tightened. He could barely veil his crying, soft sobs slipping forth. "I'm sorry, oh Primus, Nights, I'm so sorry . . ."
There were those words again. Nightstalker wasn't sure if she wanted to keep hearing them, but . . . Cliffjumper hadn't had the chance to say them. "It's not your fault."
"I should have done something!" he snapped roughly. He dropped his head, clenching his jaw and trembling in anger. "I don't care what would have happened, I should have DONE something." The hand tightened to almost crushing. "I don't care if I would have died, I shouldn't have let him do that to you. I should have done something, tried to stop him, I shouldn't have let him walk all over you like that."
Nightstalker just shook her head, staring guiltily down at her toes. "Cliffjumper, you would have just got shot and died."
"Well I would die for you!" he said roughly. He took a moment to breathe sharply and control his raging emotions before his impassioned voice rasped, "I would die for you. You hear me, Nights? I'm not going to let him do any harm to you ever again. And I'm not going to let him get away with this."
Nightstalker bit her lip sharply. "Cliff . . . I don't want you dying for me. Okay?"
"Not if Megatron's going to hurt you again."
"I don't care," she hissed at him. It was her turn for her hand to clench up. "A rape isn't worth you throwing your life away for. I'm glad you didn't—"
"Nightstalker, I would die a thousand times to protect you from that rape! Don't think so little of yourself that you don't care about how he—he—" Cliffjumper choked off, and he turned away again, fighting his embroiled emotions.
A prickle of fear chased up Nightstalker's back struts in remembrance, but she shook it off, focusing on the feel of Cliffjumper's hand covering hers. Megatron's touch ebbed away. "Cliffjumper . . ."
"Yeah?"
Nightstalker took a deep breath. "What's going on between you and Arcee?"
He shook his head, still looking at the floor with her. "Not much. I mean—It's broken off. It's been that way for a while. We . . . had a good long while now to talk things out. I mean, it's not a bad thing, Arcee's fine with it now, and it's weird because I almost think she really really wants me to be with you now considering what Megatron did, and—" Cliffjumper suddenly cut off with a wince. "Sorry. I'm rambling again."
Nightstalker gave a little shrug, focusing on her tapping toes. "It's all right. I like it."
A weak laugh spilled from Cliffjumper. "Yeah? Haven't heard that one before."
After a moment, Nightstalker flipped her hand around so she could lace her fingers with his. "Cliffjumper?"
An uneven breath shuddered in and out of him. "Yeah?"
Her throat worked. "Am I disgusting?"
Cliffjumper visibly jolted. For the first time, he looked at her dead on. "No! No, who told you—No, Nights, don't you ever listen to what scrap Megatron told you, you are NOT disgusting! You're not! I—I—" He stuttered to a halt, hand tightening its hold on hers.
She dropped her helm, hiding the tears that wanted to rise up. "So . . . if I asked you to . . ." Cliffjumper waited in the silence, but the words choked. Nightstalker shook her head. "If I . . . Would you . . . You said that you were going to kiss me a lot more. Are you still . . . willing to . . ."
The silence settled heavily between them. After a moment, he finally rumbled, "Nights . . . Look at me."
It took a greater deal of effort than she had anticipated to look up at him, but once she did, their optics locked and fused. Her spark flipped when he slowly, gently, deliberately brought her hand up with enough time for her to pull away if she so chose. Then, softly, he pressed his lips to the back of her hand.
"I said so," he murmured. He kept his optics fixated on hers. "Now, I promise you. I will keep kissing you as long as you allow it."
Nightstalker's spark flipped in its spark casing again, and little whispers of pleasure ghosted up her arm from the point of contact with his lips. He finally pulled away, and Nightstalker nodded, dropping her head back down.
Both mech and femme jumped when the computer beeped at them. Optimus, on the other side of the base, picked up the call, and his deep voice rumbled across the room. "Agent Fowler."
"Your package is headed in," they heard Fowler say. "Got it custom built in record time. The boys bringing it in are good men. They've got my clearance, so there's no need to worry."
Cliffjumper shifted next to her as Optimus said, "Thank you, Agent Fowler."
"It'll be there in about half an hour. Try not to scare the guys, will ya?"
A faint rumble of laughter. "Of course."
The conversation ended. Nightstalker and Cliffjumper shifted next to each other, Cliffjumper because he was uncomfortable and Nightstalker because she sensed that he knew something she didn't. Before she could ask him, he suddenly spoke up in a nervous spill.
"It's a pole. I mean, I told Optimus about your pole dancing, I'm sorry if you didn't want me to, but you just look different up there, you know? I mean, you look good. I mean—! Frag. I mean that you look how you do when you fly. Free. Happy. So I mean, I took some liberties in having Optimus have Fowler get you one since you opened up so much on it, and I thought it might help you get stronger quicker. I mean, since it clearly takes a lot of strength and skill and balance and stuff, but I mean . . . Oh Primus, Nights, you were beautiful up there."
His voice ended on a mortified yet reverent whisper, and his hand tightened on hers again. After a moment in which Nightstalker was too stunned to get her vocals to work, she finally managed,
"Thanks."
For some reason, having the pole changed everything.
The day it had come in, the day she had finally talked to Cliffjumper, she had just stared at it for so long where it had been installed in the back. The juxtaposition of emotions it held confused her and made her hesitate. She wanted to dance on it. She REALLY wanted to dance on it since Cliffjumper had such confidence in her. But it reminded her of Megatron, and she got prickly chills by just being around it.
In the end, however, Nightstalker danced on it.
Granted, that first week had been spent just working hard at improving her strength and flexibility as she knew how tough she would have to be to get up on that pole again. The humans were also very sweet with their encouragement. They each created a cd for her, Miko's full of angry speed metal, Raf's with a sort of electronic alternative sort of sound, and Jack with a combination of classical rock, powerful soundtracks, and a rap song peppered here and there. Interesting sorts of music, Jack listened to. But the last cd she received was clearly a collective effort of all. It came with a note attached, saying only, "For confidence," and then, in a scrawl that was clearly Miko's, "And to kick ass and feel sexy again."
Nightstalker could only laugh at that.
In reality though, she enjoyed the cds very much, the latter of them having empowering music like "Stronger" by both Britney Spears and Kelly Clarkson; "Headstrong" by Trapt; "Dirty" by Christina Aguilera that made her want to feel sexy; "Baby Don't Cry" by Tupac that tore her soul out; they even had her most favorite, "Dream On" by Aerosmith on there.
What killed her, though, was when she saw the very last song listed on the cd:
"Off With Your Head" by Mz Ann Thropik.
She could practically feel Cliffjumper's optics welded to her at just the thought of the song. It haunted her, the sultry guitar and the dissonant piano cords and heavy bass that rattled her chassis. With Cliffjumper it was a constant war with herself. All she could think of was that look in his optics when she had looked down on him, that magic, seductive moment where she thought he had looked all the way into her soul and could ravish her without even touching her. It scared her to think of it, to give him such power, but by Primus did she want to give him. She wanted to allow him complete domination over her, and it terrified her after what complete domination had done to her before—raped her within an inch of her life. She couldn't dare it, and so she never touched the cd out of fear of one song.
During this time, the bots were very busy. Smokescreen took Jack out on a foolhardy mission that ended up a huge success as Optimus gained the Star Saber. And then, the devastation when Megatron came back with the Dark Star Saber and shattered the magnificent blade like glass. Through it all, they could only be thankful that Smokescreen managed to save an Omega Key. That was HUGE—collecting these keys that were supposed to revive Cybertron.
And, through it all, Cliffjumper continued to place kisses on her. Be they on her hand, on her cheek, the back of her helm, her toes, her knee, he kissed her, but never ever on the lips. She wasn't sure what to think of it, but he was still kissing her. Did he not want to kiss her after Megatron had done so? The thought made her sick. So instead of thinking about it, she continued practicing on the pole, dancing away her problems and thoughts and the urge to fly that was slowly killing her from the inside out.
Thus it was that Smokescreen really wanted to see Nightstalker do this pole dancing.
At first, Nightstalker had been uncertain, and Ratchet had literally flown off the handle at Smokescreen for even suggesting it. But then, the more Nightstalker thought about it, the more she wanted to do it. She wanted to prove to them that she wasn't weak. She wanted to show them that she could do something right and that pole dancing, as arbitrary as it seemed, was not the horrible slut-stereotyped thing it was made out to be. It could be an art, and she wanted to make it an art for them.
So she was going to pole dance for the team.
It sounded weird, it felt weird, but in her spark it felt right. She needed to do it for the sake of her own sanity, as weird as that sounded, so she picked up the cd the kids had put together for her, her support cd, and she found a song. One song that really messed with her spark because it made her realize that going back to Megatron had been the dumbest thing she had ever done, and that she knew better. It sang to her why she had always gone back, even though she knew it was wrong, but it also sang to her that she would never go back. This would be her last dance to Megatron, a dance to finally free herself from all he had done to her.
"What do you mean we can't watch!"
Nightstalker winced slightly at Miko's loud, accusing voice, but she merely gave a small smile to the humans. "I'm sorry," she said again, "but I really don't think you guys need to be watching yet. Maybe in a few years."
Miko groaned in frustration. "But I thought you said it wasn't that provocative!"
Nightstalker gave a little sigh, cocking her head. "Miko, I highly doubt your parents would approve."
The young human frowned and crossed her arms. "Well . . . They wouldn't have to know!"
Jack grabbed her arm. "Look, Miko, just let it go. If she doesn't want us to watch, we're not going to."
Miko sputtered. "You're—but that's—AUGH!"
Miko stomped off angrily that she was going to miss it, but Jack just gave a shrug and a smile. Raf smile too, giving her a thumbs up and saying, "Good luck!"
"Break a leg," Jack echoed.
Nightstalker smiled and thanked them both before heading into the back with the rest of the bots. Smokescreen was excited—he kept jittering back and forth from one leg to the other. Optimus, Arcee, and Cliffjumper were passive. Bulkhead seemed a little nervous, and Ratchet all around didn't like the idea of it, not only because the others would be watching but also because he didn't like the idea of pole dancing in the first place.
Bumblebee's wings perked up when she walked in. *What song is it?* he chirped.
Nightstalker stood to the side. "The first one." She began to remove armor, but she kept on the extremities that covered her diamond zone. Then, she went and stood in front of the pole, leaning her helm against it. "Go ahead and start it."
*Okay!*
The piano started in immediately, and it wasn't until Shontelle's voice started singing that Nightstalker began to move.
Sometimes we fight, sometimes I cry
Why don't I just tell him goodbye
Sometimes I should, but sometimes I don't
Build up the strength to say that it's wrong
They were easy moves right now—she wasn't even on the pole, just dancing around it, little kicks and a cartwheel here and there, a sort of modern style jazz that moved her body as the words poured out of her spark.
Sometimes I hate, sometimes I love
Sometimes I hurt, sometimes I don't
Sometimes I wait for him to change
But it's okay, I've disguised the pain
Nightstalker bent backwards until her hands touched the ground, and she flipped into a handstand, stretching her legs up, open, closed, open the other way, close, kick back, straighten and hold. They were easy moves, just filling the time until the first chorus when things sped up. She needed to conserve her energy.
And I don't ever wanna leave him alone
They say I'm brainwashed but I'm in love with this man
She rested a hand on the pole, and she walked around it, throwing her head around as she felt the words sink in her spark. It was exactly the kind of relationship she had with him, and she hated it. And the fact that she was scared if he offered her an apology that for some Primus-forsaken reason she would want to go back to him and trust that that was the good hidden deep inside. She couldn't believe that—there WAS no good left in him.
Keep telling myself that it's not worth it
I already know I don't deserve it
But if it's from you I don't mind hurting
Nightstalker then grasped the pole with both hands, and she lifted her feet of the ground, twirling once, twice, and then she brought up her knees and grasped the pole, pulling herself up. She arched her back until she was in a backbend, let go of one hand to touch her neck, and extended one leg straight up so she was in a split and her toes pointed both to the ceiling and to the floor. Smokescreen let out a hoot of encouragement, and as he did, Ratchet suddenly got more worried.
She barely heard the medic as he called out, "Now, Nightstalker, you be careful! If you fall and hurt yourself I'm not fixing anything broken!"
Nightstalker ignored him, pulling herself up a little more on the pole as her spark writhed in remembrance of what Megatron had put her through.
This is my perfect nightmare
So when will I wake up and scream—
Then, with a grit of her teeth and a slight, angry curl of her lips, Nightstalker threw herself into a complicated series of spins.
NO WAY, NO WAY, NO WAY, NO WAY
NO WAY, NO WAY, NO WAY
She pulled her legs up with her hands clinging to the pole, flipping upside down and spreading both legs while spinning. She then twisted, closed her legs and stretched out, using her thighs now to spin on the pole as she spread her legs in a split parallel with the floor. She turned again, curling in on herself and brought both legs in, spinning faster and faster, and she uncurled, extending so one hand was holding her feet and pulling her faster and her other hand sliding up her neck. Faster and faster—
But if it's from you I don't mind hurting
This is my perfect nightmare, perfect nightmare
Her stomach plates curled and strained as she sat up, extended her legs and twirled with what looked like effortless skill, and she locked one knee around the pole, stretched the other down and spun, the world a blur to her optics as she shook off Megatron's grip on her. She was faintly aware of Bumblebee calling out supportive things, Smokescreen hooting and hollering as her own personal cheer group, and she could practically feel the strain from Ratchet as he watched her contort into pretzel positions at precarious heights with the threat to fall and break something at any second, but they faded from her mind. Megatron would haunt her no longer.
Sometimes I keep my cool, sometimes I let him know
Sometimes I even pack my bags to walk out the door
Sometimes I feel safe, sometimes I really don't
Sometimes I promise that I'm ready to let him go
But I don't ever wanna leave him alone
They say I'm brainwashed but I'm in love with this man
She stretched separate legs to the ceiling and the floor bent upside down in a split as she spun on the pole, and with no small amount of strain, leaned her split away from the pole for several seconds in an overextended twirl. Then, she brought herself in close, switching positions fluently and quickly, one after the other, swinging her legs, snapping her hands and locking her body into different positions.
Keep telling myself that it's not worth it
I already know I don't deserve it
But if it's from you I don't mind hurting
Nightstalker, halfway down the pole, kicked her legs into a split and did a mock fall to which Ratchet literally jumped, but she landed on the ground in her split without hurting herself. Bulkhead, however, flinched. Twisting around and curling from the floor up, Nightstalker allowed her body a small break in between to rest as she spun a couple times, using the pole as leverage as she locked an ankle behind it and swirled around like a twister of fluent water, neither breaking her graceful strides nor stutter stepping.
This is my perfect nightmare
So when will I wake up and scream
It was a perfect nightmare. Everything she had with Megatron. What she thought a dream, the horrible façade of a nightmare and a life wasted. But not anymore. She wouldn't fall for his tricks again, and she would live her own life! She wouldn't ever let him touch her again!
NO WAY! NO WAY! NO WAY! NO WAY!
NO WAY! NO WAY! NO WAY!
In probably the most passionate frenzy of the song, Nightstalker shook her head, whipped it back and forth as the words reverberated in her spark, grasped her helm, tossed it back and forth, and fell with a slam to her knees, still lashing her helm back and forth almost violently before falling dramatically on her back in defeat. Then, she rose up.
But if it's from you I don't mind hurting
As she slowly, seductively sat up, knees and chest leading as one hand held her neck and the other slid down her stomach, her optics locked with Cliffjumper's. Her in takes seized, the turbulent passion that raged inside him both scaring her and inciting her; it seemed to swallow her and smother her in the room.
This is my perfect nightmare, perfect nightmare
She couldn't break the optic contact with him. Something about the sheer ardor that burned there was magnetic, and she forgot the others in the room as her spark fluttered nervously. Cliffjumper didn't blink, didn't move, seemed petrified in stone, but with the way his optics danced slightly, she knew there was a connection more than just a few kisses.
Hoping he's changing, but I'm scared he's not
Can't see a way to leave, help me open my eyes
The bridge of the song opened up, and Nightstalker faltered in her dance, managing to turn over, hands and knees, but she couldn't look away from Cliffjumper with that possession and the affection that touched the borderline of being complete arousal at the erotic dance she presented him. She arched like a cat, and his optics drew over her curves momentarily before that insatiable heat in his optics burned through her again. Her spark tripped; help me open my eyes. For the first time in her life, Nightstalker thought she was actually seeing truth instead of lies.
Keep telling myself that it's not worth it
I already know I don't deserve it
But if it's from you I don't mind hurting
This is my perfect nightmare, perfect
As Nightstalker numbly moved her body back to the pole, as she climbed up high again, she realized what she had been missing the entire time she had danced. She wasn't dancing for Megatron. She had never been dancing for Megatron. She wasn't even dancing for Smokescreen because he had asked her. As she flipped upside down again, back resting against the pole, she looked down at Cliffjumper again. Her hands tightened, and she flexed her legs, bending them so far back in a backbend that they touched the tips of her wings. She witnessed his throat bob, and his mouth parted with a needy breath.
Her entire body was tense with the rigor of holding the pose, but she held it a mite longer than she had meant to, intoxicated by the lost, seduced, and near desperation those optics held. Finally, because of her body, Nightstalker had to let go of the pose and flip straight up again, muscles screaming at the abuse.
Keep telling myself that it's not worth it
I already know I don't deserve it
But if it's from you I don't mind hurting
This is my perfect nightmare
So when will I wake up and scream
Nightstalker locked a leg around the pole, fell back to an upside down point of view, a hand gripping upwards for support and the other grabbing downwards above her head, and her free leg stretched out and down in a pose as she twirled several times, body fluent and never pausing or ceasing. Heat filled her body as she spun around the pole, contorting and flexing with the grace and strength of an acrobat.
NO WAY! NO WAY! NO WAY! NO WAY!
NO WAY! NO WAY! NO WAY!
She twisted upwards, locking her ankle around the pole and kicking up her other leg, and she grabbed it midair, taking it around and pulling up behind her head, a scorpion that stretched her body to its limits as she spun to the beat of the music.
But if it's from you I don't mind hurting
This is my perfect nightmare, perfect nightmare
Her body flowed like liquid, surreal and twisting and contorting, and her body undulated towards the pole before she lied out straight, completely parallel with the floor and perpendicular with the pole. Her body strained to hold it straight, but she succeeded.
NO WAY! NO WAY! NO WAY! NO WAY!
NO WAY! NO WAY! NO WAY!
She swiveled her body around once, flipping her legs wide and turning before she pointed both legs up diagonally and leaned back into a backbend, upside down and arms outstretched as she slowly let herself sink to the floor. Her head touched gently first before she allowed her weight to rest on her shoulders, and as she did so, her optics locked with Cliffjumper's again. Smothered fires crackled between them.
But if it's from you I don't mind hurting
This is my perfect nightmare, perfect nightmare
She opened up her legs, letting them slowly rotate down so she had both feet on the floor. Then, she flipped her upper body up and buckled her knees, overturning herself so that her knees ended up pointed towards the pole, belly up, and her head arched backwards towards her audience as she looked back at them.
Perfect nightmare.
There was a long beat of silence in which Nightstalker could only stare at Cliffjumper and those optics that blazed fierce with passion, spark in her throat, one hand flat on the floor and the other against her neck. His throat worked again; his fingers twitched; no one dared say anything, seeing the change through the second half of the dance to where Nightstalker had danced only for Cliffjumper.
Until Smokescreen broke the perpetual moment with a well placed howl of excitement.
"Oh man, Nights, that was SICK!"
Amused at his human slang, Nightstalker finally broke her optic contact with Cliffjumper and sat upright, standing up as she felt the strains in her protoform from the dance that had probably been too much for her recovering body. But with the ecstatic look on Smokescreen's face, she deemed it worth it.
She smiled nervously. "It was?"
"Yeah!" Smokescreen exclaimed enthusiastically. He grinned, brushing past her to the pole. "You've gotta teach me how to do that!"
Nightstalker rolled her optics as Smokescreen tried to do one of the basic twirls, but he simply slipped down and fell, metal scraping on metal. He was acting silly, but she knew it was for her benefit to make her feel at ease. She appreciated him, honestly, even if he DID get on her nerves sometimes. "Newsflash," she said cheekily, "you can't do it in armor."
All the air gushed from her when Bumblebee picked her up with a happy whirl, buzzing, *Nights, that was really cool! I didn't know you could do all of that!*
She began to relax some now, realizing that they weren't judging her negatively for the pole dancing—even Arcee looked begrudgingly impressed. "You really think so?"
"Nights, that was totally wicked!"
A groan interrupted them, and Nightstalker's optics popped when she saw Miko—of course, she shouldn't be surprised—with a sheepish Jack and a blushing Raf trailing behind her. She planted herself in front of her, grinning up. "Nightstalker, was awesome! I mean, I thought pole dancing was just for sluts, but it was really cool! It looked so hard."
"What Miko means," Jack interrupted with a sharp elbow to her ribs; Miko yelped, rubbing her side with narrowed eyes at the boy who was trying to hide her poor choice of words, "What Miko means is that that was really impressive, Nightstalker. I mean—I'm absolutely certain none of us could do it."
Raf, in all his cuteness as he tried to wrap his mind around it, could only say, "I didn't know Cybertronians were as flexible as humans."
Nightstalker knelt to them with a smile, curling her fingers around Raf, and Bulkhead's booming laughter filled the room. "Nights, you're so flexible it's PAINFUL. If I had a little of that, I'd be a happy mech!"
Nightstalker grinned as Ratchet muttered under his breath, unwillingly expressing his bedazzled response with the grumble that he still didn't like it. Optimus looked down at his grumpy medic fondly before he nodded, saying, "I am very impressed, Nightstalker. You've shown us that you are a femme of many talents, and one with ample flexibility, strength, and grace."
Miko waved her hands, fixing Nightstalker with a serious look. "Beside the point—that. Was. Awesome."
Bumblebee tinkled a fun laugh. *You can say that again!*
"That was AWESOME!" Smokescreen shouted, still trying to figured out how to do what Nightstalker had done previously. That made a round of warm laughter pass through the bots, and Nightstalker turned, looking and listening for the one voice she wanted to hear . . .
And he wasn't there.
Nightstalker frowned, standing and looking for Cliffjumper. "Hold on, you guys," she muttered absently, brows cinching. "I'll be right back."
She took off out of the room, Bumblebee's call of, *Wait! You're armor!* drifting behind her as she left the room and into the halls. She looked left and right, didn't see him either way, and moved on, going towards his berth room, assuming that that was where he would be. Her processor moved her legs without much consent, without much thought as she tried to find him, but she didn't have to look long—she turned around the next corner and found him, hands and forehead pressed to the wall as he shuddered in tense breaths. Hearing her footsteps, he jerked and stood straight, luminous optics dancing as they drew down her half-armored form.
". . . Nights?"
She opened her mouth to respond, and then closed it. Was did she want? Why did she follow him? She didn't know. She just stared, throat working a little as his optics undressed her with a look before he blinked hard and shook his head. His throat bobbed as he expelled another controlling breath, slacked his tense hands, and opened his optics to look at her again.
"Nightstalker . . ."
He paused, turning away and shaking his head again. Finally, he turned back, and he stepped towards her, coming to stand right in front of her. Her wings fluttered.
"I'm going to kiss you," he told her. He hadn't even touched her, but she could feel a worm of unrest curling around in her stomach plates. Kiss her when he seemed like he was on the very precipice of his control? He seemed to realize it too, catching on by her stiff posture and fanning wings. "Trust me. Wait—that came out wrong, I'm sorry. Will you LET me kiss you?"
Numbly, Nightstalker found herself nodding.
A sharp intake seized, and Cliffjumper wet his lips, hands shaking both in fear and desire. His unsteady hand brushed her cheek, and Nightstalker shivered. "Trust me," he instinctively rasped, so worried he almost didn't trust himself. With a quick breath to steady himself, Cliffjumper leaned down and pressed his lips to hers.
The feel was different than it was in the cave. Nightstalker stiffened feeling that edge of passion that made him kiss harder than he had before and his fingers to grip her face tighter than he had last time.
This is Cliffjumper, this is Cliffjumper, this is Cliffjumper . . .
She kept telling herself that, a desperate repeat in the back of her mind as she let him kiss her so ardently. He parted her mouth open, a ragged gasp catching as he swiftly slid their glossia against each other before he withdrew his glossia, the pressure of their lips intoxicating.
Still, as he kissed her almost without restraints, a cold panic began to settle in her stomach and slice the heat to ribbons. For one paranoid second, all she could think was, He's smothering me, he's smothering me! and then, it didn't matter who was kissing her. Her processor fritzed—he was still kissing her, he couldn't stop, he was going to rape her.
But as her mind started to snowball back in that direction and she started to lift her hands to push and attack him, he broke their kiss apart with a thin gasp. He pressed their cheeks together, trembling as much as she did, and he bowed his helm, hand loosening and cupping her cheek gently. Nightstalker tried to control her shaking. Then, with a heavy breath, he dropped his hand and leaned back, releasing her.
He closed his optics and gave a weighty sigh. "I can stop," he said softly. His optics opened, and the fear shadowed in the back of his optics seemed to fade. Their optics locked, and he nodded to her. "Thanks," he rasped. "I . . . I'm going to go for a drive. Blow off some steam."
Again, Nightstalker nodded numbly. He hesitated like he wanted to say something else before he turned and hurried out of the silo. Nightstalker watched him go, and she pressed her fingers to her used lips.
He kissed me like that . . . and I LIKED it.
It was as if she had a sort of epiphany. She stood there, trembling in fear and excitement, amazed at herself like she had thought that she would never enjoy passion again after Megatron. Like this, she happily found herself proved wrong.
*Nights?*
She jumped, not expecting Bumblebee's voice, but she whirled around to him where his optics were dilated a little in worry. *You all right?*
She softened with a smile. She hugged him tightly, and he returned that hug with no reservations as she murmured, "Actually . . . I think I will be."