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Onslaught leaned back in his chair, pedes on the table before him. Scattered across it were a half dozen datapads, a half-completed strix puzzle, and an ornate syk oil bottle. He held an as-yet full energon cube in one hand. Music that the humans called ‘electro-swing’ poured from speakers hidden in the room. Having downtime was a rare and precious commodity, and he had chosen to spend part of his time sequestered in his room, with orders that no one was to bother him.
Idly tossing the cube in his hand, he smiled up at the ceiling. The Nemesis occasionally leaked, and the seawater had traced along the steel overhead, the minerals creating interesting patterns. One looked like an Insecticon in flight, and another reminded him of Brawl but without his turret. The rest merely coiled and twisted about each other in ways that reminded him of those Morphobot plants that had nearly eaten the Insecticons, and a few Autobots, as well. Pity they hadn’t finished the job.
Onslaught sipped from his cube and made a face. The energon was, by necessity, of lesser quality. It had a weak, slightly oily quality that he associated with the swill given to office workers on their breaks. Such was the life of a Decepticon, officer or not. When things were good, they gorged on engex and high grade, When they weren’t, it was hyrox, which was always heavily cut with even lower quality unrefined… Primus only knew what. It was a wonder that none of them had permanent tank rot. If he were human, it would have been the equivalent of eating boiled potatoes with no salt, no butter.
The Combaticon commander forced himself to drink half before setting it down. At times like this, refuelling was chore, not a pleasure. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, but still felt the slick residue on his lips. His tank shivered slightly, and he willed it to not reject what he’d given it. After another moment, it grudgingly accepted what he’d given it.
He picked up the strix puzzle, turned it over in his hands. Bright lights blinked and flickered in response, enticing him to solve its mysteries. “If we are having the good fortune,” he grumbled aloud, staring at the strix puzzle, “our mole in Autobot base will bring back information, maybe steal the energon.”
He smiled a little. Swindle had once told him his accent (‘Vaht aggzent? I am not hearing this aggzent!’ he’d answered) and speech patterns resembled what humans would call Russian, something he’d not had before their imprisonment. Then Starscream had pulled their disembodied sparks from that wretched ultra-high security prison on Cybertron. He installed them in Earth war machines that had been old even as the war they’d been used in began. All of them, he’d noted, had new aspects to their personalities that while they meshed and blended well with who they had been, some aspects had been exacerbated.
Swindle was even more money-motivated and slickly conniving than ever. Blast Off’s aloofness led him into near-orbital distances away from his team. He, Onslaught, felt the bitter sting of failure far more keenly than he ever had when his plans and tactics went awry. Brawl was prone to bouts of rage that had landed the whole team in hot solvent with the other ‘Cons more than once. Most recently, he’d picked a fight with Motormaster over some real or imagined slight, and the Stunticon boss had twisted the tank’s gun barrel into a creative new shape. This, in turn, had brought the wrath of their one and only surgeon down upon their heads.
Which brought him to Vortex.
The interrogator had always possessed certain… proclivities, but outside the purview of his job, had been fairly normal. Since their liberation and subsequent reprogramming, though, Vortex’s needs and desires had expanded in interesting and occasionally alarming ways. Horrific ways. Ways that he wasn’t merely content to inflict upon the Autobots, but upon himself at times as well. Onslaught theorized that millions of years of sensory deprivation had done him in. Occasionally, he tried to pull other Decepticons into fulfilling his twisted desires. Dead End was one such, but even with his obsession with death, some part of his young spark knew that Vortex was someone best avoided. At least for now.
The other mech was Hook.
A charitable way to describe it was that Vortex had a medical kink, in addition to his other fetishes. A less polite way to put it was that the helicopter was obsessed with the idea of the Constructicon surgeon doing unspeakable things to him, inflicting pain and suffering in the process and not giving a single frag as to whether the crane consented or not. Onslaught had the feeling that the lack of consent was part of the appeal for Vortex.
Hook rightfully refused to engage in any such antics. The surgeon had a taste for domination and sadism, but he kept it carefully separated from his work, and rightfully so. It ensured that his fellow Decepticons could rely on him and trust him to provide them with medical care without suddenly developing an urge to vivisect them for fun. Except for maybe that pretty blue and cream-hued Stunticon, who didn’t trust anyone but his own team, and even then Onslaught had to wonder.
Well, that wasn’t any of his business. He lifted the cube to his lips and prepared to finish it off.
The door chime trilled.
Onslaught made a deep rumbling sound. Had he not given orders that he was not to be disturbed? Ignoring the chime would only make it worse, however. He lowered his pedes to the floor and stood up with a soft grunt. His battle mask slid smoothly up to cover his mouth once more.
His voice growled out, “If you must be causing the disturbance, let us be done with this quickly. Enter.”
He expected to see Swindle, or more likely, his second in command walking through the doorway. Instead, the door slid open to admit a very disgruntled Hook. The surgeon carried a fancy crystal decanter in one hand. Onslaught pulled his hungry optics away from the pulsing, lavender-gold hued engex and up to Hook’s crimson visor as the surgeon glowered.
“Ah. Hook. I need not be asking why you are here.”
Hook growled. “Indeed not, Onslaught.” He bit out each word, his cultured tones short and clipped. “I will come to the point. Something needs to be done regarding Vortex.” He slapped the decanter onto the desk, causing the fuel within to slosh slightly, then stood there, arms folded.
“This is so.” He gestured to the chair opposite his desk, and Hook, not wishing to be rude, sat down. “You will not be receiving the argument from me.” His optics moved to the engex, then back to Hook.
“Good.” Hook forced himself to calm down, drawing in deep, slow pulls of air through his intake and fans. He shuttered the optics behind his visor briefly, then opened them again. “I grow weary of shooing him out of my medbay. Megatron refuses to take any steps himself, citing that this ‘sounds like a you problem’ and that he has more to worry about than my abhorrent admirer. I attempted to make it clear that a ‘me’ problem very quickly becomes an ‘all of us’ problem if I am forced to continue attempting to work around the various fetishes of a sadomasochistic helicopter. I have my own proclivities, of course, but I at least can understand consent as well as spell it.”
He ex-vented. “Megatron told me that I would find a solution or it would indeed be a ‘me’ problem. He’s had complaints from others as well.” His optics narrowed. “It surprises me that you have not heard them.”
Onslaught, of course, had heard them. Many times. The problem was, any punishment that he could think of either fed into the interrogator’s fetishes or would drive him even deeper into madness. Confining him, removing any and all stimulation had been suggested numerous times. The one time they’d tried it Vortex had been catatonic for nearly a decaorn afterwards, and they’d had sudden need of him with regards to Bruticus in battle. So that was out.
“I have. Solution is yet to be found regarding Vortex.” He pronounced it ‘Wortex.’
Hook smiled. Pushing the beautiful decanter closer to Onslaught he said, “If I may? I might have a solution regarding the blade in our mutual side. I would like the opportunity to give him exactly what he wants. No holds barred. Nothing off limits, except for touching on his phobia. That has proved detrimental to us as a whole.”
Admiring the fine gift and the wicked gleam in Hook’s smile, Onslaught nodded. “I will allow this to be done. I appreciate the respect you show in approaching instead of simply doing. Though is no less than he deserves. He is brother in arms, one of us, but this cannot continue.” Their teams were on good terms, mostly, and both mechs wished to maintain that goodwill. “What is plan you have in mind?”
“Oh, it’s really quite simple, Onslaught.” He leaned forward in a conspiratorial manner, an evil smirk spreading across his handsome face. “Listen…”
Onslaught listened. As he did so, a wolfish grin spread behind his battle mask. When Hook finished laying out his plans, the Combaticon said, “Is excellent plan. Very cunning. Will either deter him from being the pest, or awaken new fetish. Let us hope for first outcome.”
The surgeon’s optics rolled behind his visor. “We can only hope.”
Onslaught thought for a moment, then poured half the engex into a flask for later. He returned the decanter to Hook, saying, “Offering expensive fuel will only make the seduction sweeter. More believable. Vortex is many things, but stupid, he is not.”
“Indeed not.” Hook’s gaze fell upon the syk oil. “May I use that? It will be far easier to get him where I wish him to be if he is high. I know it’s in short supply right now, since Mixmaster has had some trouble obtaining the needed ingredients.”
Onslaught pushed the bottle over to him. “As you will. If it helps to resolve situation, I will gladly share.”
Hook picked up both items and stored them in his subspace. “Mixmaster has been experimenting with some Earth plants, attempting to isolate certain volatile oils from samples brought back by the Insecticons. Megatron has forbidden that energon be distilled from the plants, but he said nothing about consumables to be used during one’s downtime.” Hook smirked. “I will see to it that you get a share of Mixmaster’s first successful batch of jellies.”
“Is very generous of you, Hook. I wish you the good luck with Vortex.”
Hook’s only answer was another evil smirk.
****
Vortex reclined on his berth, helm propped up by his hand. On the tv screen, the events of a human-made horror film played out in full-blown, gory detail. ‘The Sadness’ had come highly recommended, and Vortex could see why. Torture (self inflicted and otherwise), necrophilia, and worse. The bloody slaughter onboard a high-speed train had made him laugh out loud. Too bad it was all just exceptionally well done special effects. Idly, he wondered if the virus which had caused the blood-soaked insanity could actually exist in real life. He didn’t really want that, though. Humans were too fun to mess with, and tormenting them always got a rise out of the Autobots.
He was in the middle of wondering if Swindle might be able to procure some of those fragged up Mexican drug cartel murder videos or better yet, one of those actual snuff videos that turned up on the galactic black market. Organics, mechs, he didn’t care. Either way, it would get a rise out of him, and that’s what--
His comm line beeped.
Vortex growled. The scuzzy security guard who’d tried to abandon the two human femmes to their fate earlier in the film had just rounded a corner and come face to face with a literal blood orgy. He paused the video, wondering just who the frag it was who was interrupting--
Ahh.
//Well, hello, Doc,// he purred across the comm. This was a pleasant surprise. On the screen, the humans remained frozen in a crimson tangle of hungry flesh. His optics took in every exquisite detail. Maybe Swindle knew of something that could make mechs uncontrollably horny and violent? He imagined himself in the midst of such a horror and shivered with pleasure.
Hook’s voice slithered across to him. The sound of such… hunger went straight to his spike in a way that even the grotesque images on the screen could not. //Hello to you, Vortex. I trust that I am not intruding?//
The heliformer grinned. //Not at all, Doc. What’s on your mind?// Vortex thought that he had a pretty good idea. That was a ‘Frag me senseless’ voice if he’d ever heard one. Though Vortex didn’t mind the idea of being the one getting fragged by the handsome crane. That was the whole point of his constant pestering, wasn’t it? He smirked and stretched his long limbs, rotors perking into a V on his back.
//Firstly, an apology, of sorts. Your constant attempts to lure me into fragging and torturing you have been… flattering. I have been a fool to not recognize it sooner.//
His rotors switched and swayed as Vortex sat up. //Go on...//
Hook’s wicked chuckle made Vortex’s spike ache. //Why don’t you come to my medbay? We’ll share some engex that I’ve been saving, and we can discuss it further. I might even let you punish me for my churlish behavior.//
Vortex grinned. //Listen to you, Doc.// His optics narrowed behind the visor. //What led to this oh so delicious change of spark, hmmm?// The copter was a horny sadomasochist, but he wasn’t a fool.
Hook chuckled. //Well. Let’s just say that I admire perfection, and you, my dear, possess a near-perfect form.//
Vortex grinned. This was getting good. He’d been after Hook for ages. The crane was hotter than the Pits, which was part of it, certainly. What Vortex really longed for was for him to use all those wicked instruments and tools on him, not to heal, but to torment. To peel his armored skin back from cables and struts and protoform. To slice and lacerate even as he thrust his engorged spike (in Vortex’s fevered imagination, the spike was long and thick, vivid purple with emerald green biolights) inside a valve that had already been cruelly tormented, swollen and dripping with need. Still…
//So, Doc. What holds me back from being complete perfection?// He purred in approval at the praise. He wasn’t an egotistical mech, but who wouldn’t enjoy being drooled over by someone as good looking as Hook? He laid back on his berth, head down, legs propped up against the wall and crossed at the ankle. He laced his fingers over his chest. Under the he felt the smooth thrum and vibration of his fuel pump and spark, the latter of which was spinning a bit faster since the comm had begun.
A cruel edge slipped into Hook’s voice. //Oh, we can see to that once you arrive. I’ll be in the medbay. Don’t keep me waiting, Vortex. I might get impatient and change my mind.// He ended the comm, leaving Vortex bereft of his voice. Just thinking of the surgeon’s sharp tone sent a delicious shiver down his dorsa, making his rotors quiver. His spike pushed even more insistently against his panels. He grunted and sat upright once more. It could wait for Hook’s long-awaited touch.
-*-*-*-
It took less than a breem for Vortex to make his way through the Nemesis’ winding corridors to the medbay. The few other mechs he encountered along the way either greeted or him or hastened to get out of his way, depending what they thought of the mad heliformer. Vortex ignored them all. His mind and focus were laser-focused on what lay ahead of him. He didn’t want to consider all the delicious possibilities. Expectations could lead to disappointment, and he decided that he would much rather savor the pleasures as they came rather than imagine what might or could be.
He grinned behind his mask as he stepped into the medbay. Music greeted him. Some sort of human classical slag. He had no idea who’d composed it, nor did he care, but asking of it would please Hook. That in turn would ensure that whatever lay ahead of him would go down without a hitch.
“Ah, Vortex. I’m in the surgical bay. Kindly join me.”
He giggled to himself. “Gladly, Doc.” A moment later, he saw Hook stretched out in languid repose atop his surgical slab, one pede dangling with artful negligence. It was as brightly lit as ever, as though the Constructicon were performing some vital surgery. Good. It allowed Vortex to take in every long line, every solid joint and strut on that magnificent form. His optics roamed Hook’s supine frame devouring the cables of his neck, then the thigh junctures. How many times had he imagined those legs squeezing his helm as he licked and sucked the powerful cords and fuel lines there? Imagined biting them hard enough to taste energon before moving to the panels between them and swallowing that luscious spike in one throat-stretching gulp?
Hook rebooted his vocalizer. The sound brought Vortex out of his lascivious reverie. “Ahh, so you are still functioning. I had begun to wonder.” His lips curved in a wicked smirk. “I had inquired as to whether or not you cared to join me in a drink?”
Without waiting for an answer, the surgeon stretched before sliding off the slab. Every movement made with slow, sweet perfection. Vortex hadn’t known that the larger mech could move so gracefully. His spike strained in delicious agony against his panels. As he watched, Hook crossed the surgical bay to pour them flutes of lavender hued engex. Tiny motes of light sparkled and danced.
“Oh, mech. You’re bustin’ the good stuff out for little ol’ me? Hee. You must really like me.” He shuttered one optic in a saucy wink.
“Indeed so,” was Hook’s only response as he returned to the heliformer’s side. He allowed his fingers to brush the back of Vortex’s hand as he handed him the flute. The shiver that raced down the interrogator’s dorsa almost made him drop it. As he watched, Hook returned to the slab and hoisted himself atop it. The engex in the crystal flute sloshed the tiniest bit.
Sipping his drink, Hook patted the slab next to him. His optics drank Vortex in inch by inch. “Come.”
Vortex giggled. “Gonna take a lot more than that, Doc.”
Hook allowed himself a small chuckle. “Oh, there will be more. Much more.”
He joined him on the slab. Now they sat shoulder to wheel. He trembled anticipating those powerful arms wrapped around him. Strong purple hands pinning his own over his head as the surgeon rammed into him with deep, vicious thrusts. Marking his throat with bites hard enough to draw energon. Passion born of hatred always felt delicious.
Then Vortex would return the favor. He took a wicked, sinful pleasure in turning protests into pleas for more, harder, deeper. Perhaps he would bind Hook with his own load line and take what he wanted, tormenting the doctor with pain and pleasure until noises his own team wouldn’t believe came from his elegant lips.
Make him whimper. Make him beg.
Vortex pulled his mind back to the here and now. He slid the battle mask hiding his mouth away and winked at Hook before sipping his engex. Oh, Primus. It was the good stuff for sure. It slid down his throat like a liquid overload, prompting him to moan a little. A moment later, his fuel lines felt full of honeyed fire.
“Ohhh,” he purred. “That’s the best I’ve ever had. Where’d you get it?”
Hook smirked. Leaning close to the heliformer’s audial, he breathed, “I have my secrets, Vortex. Perhaps if you’re a good boy, I’ll let you pry them out of me.” He followed this with a liquid slide of his glossa down his victim’s neck cables.
Vortex nearly dropped his engex. “I—oh, damn, Doc. I dunno if I’m going to finish this drink if you keep talking like that.” He grinned with wicked delight.
The surgeon smiled. The expression held a cruel glint, like the edge of a dagger slipped into a lover’s fuel line as they lay in repose after interfacing.
“Then perhaps you’d best hasten to finish it, my dear Vortex.” He tended to his own engex, sipping it lightly. His glossa darted out to sweep across still smiling lips, taking in the stray drops. Vortex grinned and down the rest in one long swallow. His hand had the slightest tremble as he handed the flute back to the surgeon.
“Good boy,” Hook purred.
Vortex grinned again. The sweet burning sensation in his fuel lines felt almost painful. He purred again and rubbed his chassis lightly against Hook’s shoulder. Whatever was in that engex? It made him feel hot and shivery, cuddly and achingly horny all at the same time. Of course, the horny might just have been what he was already feeling along, but…
...but…
“Hi, Doc. Did we have an appointment today?” Vortex’s goofy grin prompted an answering grin from Hook. He looked around the surgical bay. So many pretty colors! Hook shone with a glowing, nearly angelic light that belied the evil smile on his face.
The surgeon ran wicked, teasing fingers over the heliformer’s pretty rotors. “Why yes, we do. For surgery.” He caught Vortex in his arms as the other mech slipped off the slab and towards the floor. He could have been the merest handful of titanium for all the effort it took. He lifted the heliformer and laid him out on the slab before beckoning to someone in the surgical bay’s scant shadows.
“Prepare him for surgery, Scavenger.” He allowed himself to indulge in a rare show of affection towards a teammate outside of interfacing by stroking the power shovel’s cheek. “I’ll be back in a few breems.”
Scavenger grinned behind his square battle mask. “You got it, Hook!” He got to work as Hook nodded and left the surgical bay.
****
*Wakey wakey, Sleeping Beauty.” Hook punctuated his words with a tap to Vortex’s helm right above the rotary’s visor.
A soft red glow pulsed and solidified into its normal crimson hue as he came fully online. Behind his mask, his lips curved into a smirk. “Hey Doc. How long have I been out?” He purred and made to stretch. Hmmm.
“Ooh. I can’t move. You must have fragged me good.”
Hook chuckled and bent low over him. Their visor-shielded optics met. Hook’s smile betrayed nothing, nor did his tone. “You could say, that, Vortex.”
“Was it as good for you too?”
“Oh, it was exquisite,” Hook assured him. Strong fingers teased at Vortex’s helm, then moved to cup his battle mask. He stroked a thumb over it before leaning down to plant a kiss on it.
Vortex retracted it, allowing their lips to meet. His tongue flicked at the other mech’s mouth before thrusting in, tasting and teasing at the plush slickness. Hook met the invasion with a sharp nip, making him shudder.
Rather, he ought to have shuddered.
All the right neural pathways were working in his processor. The intermixed pain and pleasure fired up his circuits in that deliciously familiar way. A little moan flared in his throat. That was to be expected, too.
Something was wrong.
He ought to have felt his spike pressurizing, getting hard and straining upward, seeking contact, either with his own hand or a willing—or not so willing—mouth or valve or aft port. He should have felt the delicious, aching need of a valve growing slick and wet, the sensitive node throbbing, the agony of unfulfilled, escalating need making his entire frame shiver in ways that demanded to be sated via intense sensation.
Vortex tore his mouth away. His mask snapped back into place. Forcing the tremor out of his voice he said, “Hoooook? What’s going on? I feel…I feel really fragging weird.” He stopped himself just in time to avoid saying “I feel nothing below the neck.”
Hook smiled. “You know how you’re always hassling me to alter your form, in this way or that, to maximize your pleasure, the suffering of others, or both?”
Vortex’s optic ridge furrowed. “Oh come on. I don’t hassle you. I ask you nicely, right?”
“Of course. And do you recall what I told you?” The surgeon moved away to check on some nearby devices and monitors.
Vortex tried to turn his head to watch him, and found that his helm had been clamped in place. Ooh. They’d gotten kinkier than he could remember.
“Ummm. Something about it not being necessary because I’m near-perfect as-is?”
He heard the smile in Hook’s voice as he said, “Correct, Vortex. However, I was wrong.” He reached overhead and fiddled with something just out of sight. “Do you believe that to be possible? That I could be wrong?”
Something in his voice gave Vortex a rare sense of foreboding. “Never gave it much thought, Doc. Tell you what. How about you stop talking so much and bring that cute aft over here? You think too much.” He grinned with a wicked glee only slightly tempered by his unease.
“Of course.” Pulling something along overhead, Hook returned to the operating table. He arranged the mirror directly over it, giving the rotary a fine view of his work.
“Perfection, my dear Vortex, is achieved when there is nothing left to take away.”
Each part of him—limbs, torso, hands, even his spike and valve array—had been detached and removed. Torso from his neck. Arms from his shoulders. Hands from the wrists. His legs from his pelvis. His spike and valve had been delicately removed with careful precision then fastened to the surgical table.
His tanks, ventilation system, and fuel pump had likewise been removed and laid aside, and yet, Vortex could see them working and pumping. His spark chamber pulsed, open and vulnerable. The only thing preventing his total surgical dismemberment lay in how Hook had taken great pains to keep the fuel lines whole and intact.
Now he understood why he’d felt no reaction, couldn’t move, couldn’t shiver. Indeed, he felt no pain. The crane had no doubt switched off his pain receptors. The only pleasure he’d had was when Hook had kissed him.
Vortex tried to speak, and his vox only produced a small, dry click.
Hook leaned over him, blocking his view of his neatly vivisected body. “Is there a problem, Vortex? It would seem that Ravage got your glossa.”
“I–what the fuck, Hook. What did you do to me?” Vortex wasn’t afraid, not exactly, not yet. The sensation of being reduced to a head on a slab, that head being the only source of sensation, fascinated him. He knew the rest of his body was there. He’d seen the pieces. He’d seen the fuel moving through the lines in a lavender-pink shimmer of living fluid. He wasn’t sure if he should congratulate the surgeon or curse him out.
“I should think that would be obvious.” Hook caressed the rotary’s helm, then trailed his fingers down the fuel lines to his torso. They dipped and explored, caressing seams and exposed wires that would have been delightfully sensitive to such attention. He bent low over Vortex’s torso to nuzzle an interface port before licking at it.
A tingle of current met his slick glossa. Hook savored the sting, purring. “Pity you couldn’t feel that. Licking your port just now. You can imagine it, though, can you not? The little sizzle of pained pleasure the lubrication of my mouth brings. The shivering surge along your wires and circuits.” He did it again.
Vortex moaned in frustration. He knew those sensations by heart. The memory triggered an urge to clutch at the silksteel sheets on his berth, twisting and shredding them in his taloned hands. He grit his teeth to choke back another sound when Hook looked up at him, smiling.
“So many things I can do with you, and you won’t get to enjoy them.”
With a grace belying his bulky frame, the surgeon swung himself atop the slab and straddled Vortex’s torso. He settled in, his panels directly in view.
The rotary gave him a petulant glare. “You think you’re so clever, don’t you? We’re not gonna play this little game. I don’t have to play it.” Vortex’s processor pulled up the program that would allow him to shut himself off altogether and block out anything else that Hook cared to do.
It was password protected.
“Ooh. Well played.” He tried to shrug, remembered that he didn’t currently have shoulders, and settled for a defiant grin behind his mask.
Hook’s wicked smirk flitted and was gone. “Do you think me a fool, Vortex? I have your mental and physical health records stored away. This would hardly present the lesson I wish it to be if you could simply run away into stasis and lock the door.”
“Hey, if I can’t enjoy this, why should you?”
Ah, but you are enjoying it. Admit it. This is actually kind of hot. Play your cards right, and you’ll have that big green slut on his knees, begging for it.
What he wasn’t enjoying was that something was making him far more emotive and open than he normally would be. He didn’t have time to ponder it, however, as Hook interrupted his train of thought.
“Ask yourself if I enjoyed your constant unwanted advances, and you’ll have your answer.” He took a moment to admire the teal and gray copter’s form. Sleek and deadly. All sinuous curves and lithe limbs. “Though you really are very pretty, I’ll admit.” He resumed running his hands over Vortex’s torso.
Now his hands found Vortex’s rotors. The fingers plucked at the edges the way one might play the electrolyre. The rotary’s visor fuzzed, going pink with static and he yelped in surprised delight.
“I felt that! Frag,,,frag, Doc, do it again!”
“Did you now? Hmmm. Perhaps I missed a spot when vivisecting you?” Hook flashed Vortex an arch look. “Perhaps I ought to correct my mistake?”
“N-no…don’t. Let me… lemme have that, at least.” He twitched them, gasping as his rotors made prolonged contact with the metal beneath them. His visor went pink.
“Only if you promise to behave yourself, and keep your word.” Hook leaned down and nipped Vortex’s mask. “Open up.”
Vortex did as he was ordered. This was more than just kind of hot. It felt like his processor was melting.
Hook’s glossa invaded the rotary’s mouth, sliding over the sharp fangs. Vortex could still bite if he chose to do so, and that added a dash of dangerous spice to the game. Their tongues slipped around one another, slick and hot as Hook’s fingers skittered lightly over one rotor.
Vortex shivered. His teeth grazed the invading glossa then nipped at it. Hook rewarded him with a low groan, then when Vortex freed him, sat up once more.
“Good boy.” He settled in on Vortex’s torso. Hook paid no mind to the soft snap as the rotary’s mask slid back into place. It didn’t matter. He didn’t need Vortex’s intake.
Yet.
He smiled and picked up one of Vortex’s hands. He stroked the sharp lines of Vortex’s talons, then kissed each in turn. His optic visor never left the interrogator’s as his glossa flicked out, licking at one before sucking it into his mouth.
The only clue as to how this might affect Vortex was how static tinged his visor pink along its edges.
“Mmm. Feel good? Oh, how remiss of me. You can’t feel it.” He picked up the other one now and stroked both disembodied hands down his torso. They moved over his supple sides to his pelvic array.
Vortex’s teeth clenched.
Hook pretended not to notice. He moved the heliformer’s hands back up before they strayed too close to the still-covered pelvic array. “Maybe if you’re a good boy I’ll let you feel me.”
“Heh heh. Keep it up, Doc, and we’ll see what happens when I get my hands on you.”
Hook chuckled. “You already have your hands on me.”
Well, he wasn’t wrong about that.
How much arousal began in the processor, as opposed to the frame? He couldn’t feel a damn thing except on his torso, in that one little spot, and yet Vortex felt incredibly, achingly, horny. His helm (he was his helm) quivered with the urge to lift detached hands to the mech straddling his waist and push him down on his spike…which he also couldn’t feel.
But oh… wait. Vortex had entertained himself for vorns upon vorns in The Box by *remembering* how things felt. The wind on his rotors. Sunshine on his faceplates. A plush, wet valve wrapped around his eager spike.
It hadn’t worked well, but he figured it had kept him from going even more crazy.
Hook popped his panels open with a smirk. His hard spike thrust upward, vivid green with pretty purple lights running down its length before moving to encompass a plump-lipped, green and purple valve. A slick trail of lubricant flowed from it, coating Vortex in its warmth.
The rotary called to mind what the soft wetness would feel like on his frame but it slipped away from his mind like sand through his fingers. He bit back a frustrated growl. This wasn’t like him. Vortex prided himself on staying strictly in control. He had an excellent poker face even behind his battle mask. This was utterly maddening on so many levels.
Helpless, both physically and mentally.
“You. You put something in that drink. Not just knocking me out.” He chuckled even as his mind churned furiously. “I’d ask what it is, but I like getting results the old-fashioned way. Letting people feel things.”
Hook chuckled. “Took you this long to figure it out.” He moved the dismembered hands up and down his torso. The digits dipped ever so close to his array then slid back upwards. “I would think that an interrogator would catch on much sooner.”
He leaned down to kiss Vortex’s mask, then climbed off. Hook put aside the hands, then picked up the detached helm. “Wouldn't you just love to feel me, Vortex? Run your hands all over me? Shove your spike deep inside my valve and port? No need to say anything. I can tell.”
He chuckled, and turned Vortex’s helm so that he could see a monitor. It was lit up with a scan of his processor. While the rotary was no doctor, he had an excellent understanding about anatomy, and knew exactly what he was looking at.
His arousal centers were on fire. Bright reds and oranges blazed, drowning out the smaller fear indicator (yellow) and overwhelming curiosity (bright pink). He sniggered. “Ooh, pretty. Nice coloring job, doc. You even stayed in the lines.”
Hook replied with a chuckle of his own. “Very sassy for one in your position. But I have another use for that mouth. Retract your mask.”
Vortex grinned and did as requested. It wasn’t as if Hook hadn’t seen him without it any number of times. On the screen, the pink hues pulsed.
Even so, Hook purred. “Don’t worry. It’s not like I haven’t already seen the pretty face I’m about to fuck.” His hands got a better purchase on Vortex’s helm and drew him downward.
“Open wide.”
Vortex grinned. His jaws opened as far as they could and he took the invading spike in as far as it would go. Considering that his intake was no longer attached to the back of his mouth, it went very far, indeed. He wasted no time lavishing his pierced glossa all over and around the head, working the little stud into the stud.
Oh, he hated Hook so, so much And absolutely adored him. This was the most fun he’d had in ages, never mind that he couldn’t feel anything aside from the big green cock pounding his mouth, using his helm as a frag toy. The urge to bite it off entirely came forth but was quickly squashed by his damned loyalty chip. Megatron wasn’t about to let him cause any harm to his loyal builder crew, after all. A bitter shiver vibrated through his helm at the thought. Damned chip. On the heels of that thought came the concept that he wouldn’t get to tie the crane down and ride him until he begged Vortex to stop if he bit his damn cock off.
Hook rewarded him with a growl of pleasure. His handsome features wore an evil smirk. His hips thrust forward, grinding his pelvic array against the rotary’s face before pulling back. He felt warm air against the tip as it pushed through and out the other end of the rotary’s helm. His fingers dug in deeply, denting the metal, and Vortex groaned around him.
Of course he could feel pain inflicted to his helm, and it was exquisite Vortex sucked in a shuddering vent that went nowhere through his nasal sensor. He bit back a whimper as the surgeon’s sharp nailplates raked against the coverings over his audials.
So, so good. He let his fangs press in slightly, not to damage, but to tease. Hook made a muffled grunt. Vortex grinned. Scratch a sadist, find a masochist. He went on nipping and nibbling, occasionally releasing Hook to lave his spike with his glossa. He thrust the pointed tip inside, eliciting a gasp from the crane.
Hook’s fingers dug in harder. This was getting out of hand, and he found he didn’t care. Skull-fucking Vortex was even more exquisite than he’d expected it to be. He thrust deeper and harder, occasionally wincing and groaning as the sharp teeth caught and held, only to release. He pulled the dismembered helm down to meet his vicious thrusts. His vents came in short, hard gasps as he shuddered on the edge, trying to hold back, trying to prolong–
Then he did overload, forcing mouthfuls of transfluid into Vortex’s mouth. It had nowhere to go but out. It splattered and spilled out the other end, decorating the pristine floor in lavender-hued cum. Hook’s helm fell back, bumping against his crane arm as his howl of triumph and release filled the room.
Shuddering, he staggered back until his aft bumped the medical berth. He collapsed atop the rotary’s various pieces and laid there a moment, gasping in vents of cool air to ease his overheating systems.
His deflating spike slipped from Vortex’s mouth. The rotary sniggered. “That good, eh? Shall we do it again some time?”
Hook flashed him a glare, then put him aside. Staggering to his feet, he said, “I ought to have known better.”
The Combaticon licked his lips clean then sucked on his own tongue thoughtfully. “Yeah, you really should have. But that’s a you problem. Now you also have another problem.”
“A chatty smart-aft in my repair bay?”
Vortex giggled. “Well, yes. But also no. See, I figure I know why you did what you did.” He hummed in smug amusement. “You were trying to teach me a lesson. Make me leave you alone. But here’s the thing, Doc. I’m a sense freak. To an extreme degree. I love trying new things. Being locked in a little box with no feelings at all will do that to a mech.” He thought for a moment, enjoying the view as Hook cleaned himself up.
“You only made me hotter for you. It was a fun little game. Even the bit with you drugging me. I had fun. I got off on it mentally if nothing else. But that just makes me wanna see what else you’re capable of.” His voice took on a menacing tone. “But if you know what’s good for you and your cute little power shovel team mate, you won’t force me to emote again.”
“Threats are hardly going to get you more of what you want, Vortex.” Hook finished tucking everything away then closed his panels.
“Oh, I think they will,” he purred. “Last time I checked, your team is still in the slag with Megatron over that ‘Let’s be friends with the Autobot builders!’ stunt you all pulled. He’s not going to look too kindly on you if you make his prize interrogator sad.” He snickered.
Hook folded his arms. He could hardly argue that point. “You should know that Onslaught approved my idea.”
Despite not currently having a body, Vortex appeared to nod. “Oh, I figured as much. He really doesn’t get it either. But speaking of such, you’d best get to putting me back together. We wouldn’t want anyone thinking you’d deactivated me, hmm?”
“I hate you,” Hook hissed, but did as Vortex indicated.
“We’ll see how long that lasts.” Vortex grinned behind his mask. “I think you and I are about to become very close. How about the same time, next week? Come see me in my office.”
Hook didn’t have to see his face to know that a sinister grin lurked on his lips.