literature

Fraternizing 33

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Oh fraaaaaag I’m an idiot, oh frag, why did I do that—!

Nightstalker paced wildly back and forth in her berth room, wringing her servos and fluttering her wings like mad.

How in PIT did I manage to screw things up so bad? Oh, that’s right, I tortured Dreadwing. And then practically raped Optimus!

Nightstalker groaned heavily, and she pressed her palms to her forehead. Her shoulders hunched.

Aw, frag me flying, who am I kidding? That was hot. No! I’m not supposed to think that. I fragging go from thinking about him like a father to wanting to FRAG him?

She snarled again and began her restless pace around her berth room. At this rate, she was going to wear a hole through the floor.

That bot fragging son of a Cessna! HE was the one that kissed ME!

The sudden clarity of that thought made her wings perk aggressively with anger, and then, as quick as it had come, the anger deflated.

Shit, it’s the black isn’t it? Even Cliffjumper said it was sexy. Oh, lugnuts, it’s the protoform isn’t it? Prickles of heat chased up the bare protoform of her thighs at the mere thought of Optimus’s hand taking her like he owned her. Oh frag, it is, isn’t it! She groaned audibly again, shaking her fists at the vain red medic on the NEMESIS.

I knew better than to let Knockout talk me into that!

Nightstalker strode back and forth around her room, worry eating away her insides as she warred back and forth at the thought of how sexy Optimus had been and how much she wanted him, and how wrong she knew it was and how it completely skewed her look of him as a father figure.

Slag those wet dreams and Optimus’s kissing and my horny attitude and Primus else in between!

Still, Optimus’s steamy kiss invaded her processor again and she briefly wondered if Optimus was full mech or carrier mech. Primus, he had to be full mech, all dominant spike . . . but like Pit it would be hot if he was carrier mech . . . She’d never had a mech with a spike and a valve before. Against her will, her thoughts turned randy again, and she felt herself warm.

Primus slag me to Pit! I have GOT to stop that!

Just then, Nightstalker felt a ring in her communications. Blinking, she answered the call.

“Yes?”

There was a pause. “Nightstalker, please meet me in the training room.”

Nightstalker froze. After inwardly panicking for several seconds on what Optimus could want, she calmed herself down because he hadn’t asked her to join him in his berth room. Ooh, Primus—

“Can I have five minutes?” she blurted.

There was another pause. “Of course,” he stated. “I’ll be waiting.”

Nightstalker cut the transmission and groaned, unwilling arousal spreading through her systems.

Dear Primus! He’s NOT calling me back there to frag me! Aw, shit, shit, frag me flying, shit—!

Bursting from her berth room doors, Nightstalker fled down the hallway and to the showers. She turned each one on blasting cold, and she yelped.

Holy fragging PIT that’s cold!!

Nightstalker gasped and trembled under the freezing cold water, but she didn’t turn it off. The shock of that icy water snapped her out of her hot daydreams and drowned any wet valve feelings with a douse of cold that showered her down.

She stayed in there until she was literally shaking with cold before she turned off the water. She stood dripping wet a moment before drying off and hurrying to the back where she said she would meet Optimus, core temperatures still trying to get her warm enough to be regular again.

She stopped just before she entered the training room. Taking a steadying breath, Nightstalker willed her rapidly beating spark not to fuss and relax. Fluttering her wings nervously, Nightstalker walked into the room.

She found Optimus facing a wall, hands gripping his hips and helm tilted down with troubled thoughts. He quite literally jumped a little when he heard her peds before he calmed and turned. Heavy blue optics blinked, weighted down with conflicting emotions.

They stood. After an awkward moment, Nightstalker finally managed, “Yes?” The word cracked nervously from her throat.

Her word loosened his vocals immediately. “Nightstalker—”

“I’m sorry!” she burst, cutting him off. A blush of heat covered her cheeks, and she shook her head. “S-Sorry for practically—I mean, I pretty much just made it worse—egged it on—”

“Nightstalker, stop.”

Her mouth gawked like a fish for a second before she closed it. Optimus vented heavily and lifted a servo to pinch his brow.

Finally, he said, “It is not your fault. Nightstalker, I am the one who is sorry. My behavior—was inexcusable. Please, forgive me for overstepping my boundaries.”

Nightstalker paused before saying, “Okay, forgiven, but . . . Can you tell me where that came from? I . . . just didn’t expect it coming from a mech like you.”

She heard something hitch in his systems. He rocked back on his heels with a troubled grumble before admitting so quietly she thought she had imagined it, “You are a beautiful femme.”

Nightstalker paused again. Slowly opening and closing her wings, she contemplated his words. “More than beautiful?”

His hands clenched into fists. “Irresistible,” he rasped.

Another touch of heat singed her cheeks. Great. Good Primus, she should have realized after that last stunt—Primus, how long had it been that he had been fighting that . . . ?

“Can I help?” When Optimus lifted his head with wide optics, incredulous, she blushed brightly. “N-Not like that!” she stuttered to ease his worry. She waved her hands in a negative. “I—I mean, is it the black? Or should I change my armor? You know, cover up more—”

“Nightstalker,” Optimus’s pained voice interrupted, “you do not need to change the way you are to accommodate for me.”

Nightstalker fanned her wings nervously and ducked her head. “W-Well, if it would help . . .”

There was a slow lag in the conversation until Optimus finally said, “Nightstalker, I do not think it would help enough to be of true consideration. Do not worry about your physical appearance. It—It is just—I—” Optimus struggled for his words, uncanny for him. He was trying to explain to her his hidden desire NOT to be Prime, the loneliness, his lust, his mindset about it, the Matrix—but it all choked in his throat, stuck there.

Nightstalker shifted. It hadn’t occurred to her, but . . . “Optimus, would it help if we did just have a quickie?”

“NO!” The vehement jump of his denial startled her, and she winced back instinctively. A tremble passed through Optimus, and he pressed a servo to his face. “Nightstalker,” he started in with a strained voice, “I—I am afraid that if we did that . . . that I would not be able to be satisfied with just one.”

Nightstalker nodded vigorously, letting him know she understood, but Primus he looked so low! She had never seen someone so ashamed of himself before . . .

Nightstalker waved him off easily, trying to soothe his wired nerves, and she said, “All right. But seriously, Optimus, if there’s anything I can do, just tell me. I mean—even if it’s just that I need to step out of a room for a second, or if I do something that sets it off—just anything. I want to help.”

Something about Optimus deflated, but he seemed relieved and tired. “Thank you,” he finally said quietly.

They stood there a moment longer, and when Optimus failed to say anything, Nightstalker added, “Optimus . . .”

“Yes?”

She swallowed. “About Megatron . . .”

He looked up at her then, the first eye contact they had made during the entire conversation. There was a pause, and Optimus vented sharply, putting his servos on his hips.

“Nightstalker,” he started in gravely, “are you . . . ABSOLUTELY sure that you . . . can see . . . Megatronus?”

Nightstalker nodded. “I swear. He—he’s different when it’s just me and him. He laughs. He holds me. He’s not the same Megatron.”

A heavy grumble passed through Optimus. Worried, he told her seriously, “Nightstalker, Megatron is . . . not so easily changed. I am afraid that . . . he could be deceiving you. There is no guarantee that he will not hurt you, or that he may turn against you. The Decepticons keep their namesake for a reason.” His spark hurt. How long had it been since he had heard his friend laugh with happiness . . . ?

Nightstalker nodded firmly. “Optimus, I’m absolutely sure of what I see in him.”

Though a part of him still quivered with worry and fear, Optimus heard himself saying, “Then I will turn a blind eye to these nightly excursions. So long as you can find my brother.”

************
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“Bulkhead? This is ridiculous. Put me down.”

He sputtered. “B-But that’s just not right! Doesn’t this hurt?”

Nightstalker arched a brow. “Not particularly . . .” She crossed her arms so they weren’t hanging awkwardly, and arched a brow. “It’s more awkward than anything. Can you put me down?”

Currently, Nightstalker was hanging upside down by one foot, Bulkhead holding her up by that one foot. Her legs were spread in an almost vertical stretch, one stretched all the way up and one stretched all the way down in a split, completely comfortable for herself, but for Bulkhead? He was just trying to wrap his processor around it.

“Seriously, Nightstalker, are you SURE you’re supposed to be able to move like that? I thought only humans could move like that.”

As he sat her down carefully, Nightstalker shrugged and cocked her head. “I can get absolutely vertical when I’m just in my protoform. The armor restricts my movement, really.”

Bulkhead wrinkled his brows, saying, “Now that I don’t wanna see.”

“I wouldn’t show you anyways.”

A hot blush of energon scorched his cheeks, and as he quickly blurted, “No! No, not like that! I just—I mean—” and finally he managed, “Autobots just don’t naturally bend like humans! That’s all!”

Nightstalker laughed, really just bemused with the easily frazzled mech. “Easy, Bulk,” she teased him with a grin. “Wouldn’t want to go frying vital circuits, would we?” and she tapped her helm and arched a brow at him.

Bulkhead laughed then, waving her off as he said, “Nah, trust me, I learned that the hard way! Never in my life will I touch synthetic energon!”

Nightstalker was about to crack another joke, which is all they had really been doing for the past half hour before Ratchet butted in with, “Would you both PLEASE be quiet or just go away and do something useful with yourselves!”

Nightstalker shrugged at the irked medical bot and said lightly, “Hey, Miko’s in detention, Jack is at work, and Raf is doing homework like a good kid. Heard he’s got a paper to work on . . . Beside the point, me and Bulkhead are just goofing off some.”

Bulkhead smiled and waved his servos. “Aw, shucks, Ratchet’s right, Nights. Why don’t we go to the back and try to teach you how to fight again?”

“Again?” Nightstalker groaned. “But Bulkhead, I SUCK at fighting!”

He grinned, optics twinkling. “Now see? That’s why you need practice!”

Nightstalker dropped her helm in her hands. “I would do anything, literally ANYTHING not to go and fail again.”

Eerily prompt, the shrill beeping sounded through the silo. Bulkhead arched a brow at her before shaking his head with a grin. “What is it?” Bulkhead asked, coming up behind Ratchet.

Nightstalker tagged along, head cocked as Ratchet answered, “A high frequency signal with an embedded message." The skeptical tone of his voice was clear.

“Again?”

Ratchet gave a curt nod and narrowed his optics. “Starscream. ‘I have obtained information of extreme interest to you. Bring medical kit.’”

Nightstalker arched a brow at the medical bot, and he grumbled under his breath before saying, “Nightstalker, you stay here. Keep the bridge open. We’ll be right back, I have no doubt.”

Nightstalker watched as they filed out, Bulkhead first, blasters drawn already. She waited idly by the ground bridge, wondering what else Starscream could pull out of his afterburner—whatever it was, it was sure to be interesting. Arcee and Bumblebee showed up soon after, each looking curiously at Nightstalker by the bridge. She shrugged.

Of course, she wasn’t shrugging when Starscream reported losing his T-Cog to M.E.C.H and that Airachnid was rogue and commanding an Insecticon. Like the others, she had assumed that the Insecticons were still only on Cybertron. In her time as a Decepticon, she hadn’t heard anything about a fleet of Insecticons being jettisoned from Cybertron—or any drones for that matter. To add insult to injury, the coordinates Starscream provided were in a Decepticon mine, where he claimed he had been attacked. Ratchet attested to the injury he had repaired. And, since Cliffjumper still wasn’t back from an energon scouting mission—who knows what had distracted him since he was supposed to be back when Arcee and Bumblebee had returned—Nightstalker got to go with the team out to confront this Insecticon.

In truth, as they descended into the dark mine, made even darker by a stormy night, she didn’t know why Optimus had wanted her with them until Bumblebee pinged her privately that it was her electrical whips. If the Insecticon was full grown like they prepared for, it would be a formidable opponent to make even Optimus struggle beneath its might. However, her electrical whips wouldn’t care how thick the armor of the Insecticon was—if she got the tips of her whips into the briefest gap in armor, it would shock that Insecticon to the core. The shocks of electricity could penetrate even the most impregnable armor there was of any caliber.

However, as Nightstalker wasn’t prepared for a shrill and frustrated voice of her mentor screech, “FINISH HIM!” Nightstalker halted, spark thundering in her chassis. She wasn’t ready for another confrontation with Airachnid, not after how easily she had pinned her down before—!

“Whoa,” Bulkhead breathed, optics dilating wide. “Scream never mentioned Megatron!”

Megatron? Nightstalker snapped to the conversation immediately, ducking around Bumblebee for a clear view at the scrap unfolding below and—oh Primus, the energon! It was everywhere! Raking her optics over Megatron, she found several leaks, but the source of the one that worried her most was centered in the lower left of his neck, gushing bright blue energon at an alarming rate. One of the secondary energon lines near the primary energon line in his neck must have been severed in that blow. Nightstalker felt her knees go a little weak at the thought, and she grabbed hold of Bumblebee’s back for balance. Not only did he have to be in intense pain, but if this battle drew out too long, Megatron would merely bleed himself dry.

“Arcee, no!”

Nightstalker jumped three feet out of her protoform at Optimus’s shout, but of course, Arcee had spotted Airachnid and was already charging her at full throttle. Nightstalker felt her energon tanks churn. Yes, Arcee could go take care of Airachnid, she would just sit here and let her take care of that, keep her from having to deal with it. Instead, Nightstalker’s orange optics drew back to Megatron, and she felt the world slow a little as she watched him battle.

By Primus he was . . . magnificent. For the first time in her life since Kaon, Nightstalker watched Megatron battle, a sneer of absolute hatred curving those devastating lips and baring teeth. Each blow was filled with raging might, and his wicked blade flashed in the murky darkness of the cave. She felt the crashes rattle in her backs struts, and his movements were like a deadly dance, fatal to his opponent, and she remembered:  Fli-Ni next to her as they crouched in the illegal gladiator pits to watch their hero battle, remembering the roar echoing faint in her audio receptors of, “No one defeats Megatronus!”

His broad shoulders shifted, menacing in their sudden change in aggression, and Nightstalker knew with one look that he was moving in for the kill. His lunge was deep, and with a feint, had slighted his blade away and gave a wicked round-house kick under Insecticon’s jaw. While the beast tried to get back up, stunned, Megatron’s optics immediately honed in to where Arcee had run off Airachnid, searching for his foe. His optics swept the area, and Nightstalker blinked as they suddenly settled on the Autobot troop and then, zeroed in on her.

“So many surprises today!”

What that meant, Nightstalker couldn’t be certain. However, she tensed for the attack as the Insecticon pounced from behind, but Megatron easily fell back into the fray, ducking under the bug’s attack and grabbing its extra appendages. With a dangerous snarl, Megatron kicked the Insecticon right in the chest, ripping off those limbs and making the fiend shriek. Megatron threw the sparking ends down, body form so aggressive and furious that Nightstalker couldn’t help but find it delicious. He rushed forward, and with a last and mighty roar, decapitated the full-grown beast.

The body fell to the ground with a crash. In the sudden silence, Megatron’s labored breaths were easy to hear, and he spread his arms instinctively, proclaiming,

“Let that be a warning to anyone who dares to cross a gladiator of Kaon! Be they Decepticon—” Nightstalker dumbly followed the group down as they all confronted the weakened Megatron, guns drawn. Nightstalker didn’t pull hers, spark fluttering in fear. Megatron glared at them all. “—Or Autobot.”

Nightstalker blinked, energon tanks churning as Megatron’s first step towards them was without his blade drawn; his knees gave a deceptive creak. The second step was no good—Nightstalker felt her spark jump in amazed horror as the Decepticon leader pitched heavily to a knee and collapsed completely.

His arms shook as he pushed against the ground. “It seems I am unarmed and at your mercy,” Megatron said, a touch of irony in his voice. He looked up, glaring defiant daggers into the Prime’s optics. “So tell me, Optimus, do you intend to take me alive? Or, end this here and now?”

Nightstalker looked wildly to Optimus who stood indomitably in front of Megatron. Neither his blasters nor his blades were drawn, but his optics were shielded.

The Prime was weighing his options. There was no way they could take Megatron captive—that was a fact. They did not have the means to keep him restrained. This was his chance—one blow was all it would take to end the war for good. But Megatron was far from admitting defeat—his cold, red optics smirked inwardly with the belief that the Prime wouldn’t do it—couldn’t. Never had. And wouldn’t now. With a rare urge of aggression, Optimus WANTED to pull the trigger. He wanted Megatron to see how wrong he was and that he was no one’s glitch. After all he had done, the Prime wanted him to die with a stupid look of astonishment that he had the cogs to do what he should have done long ago.

Yet, he was conflicted with the thought of Megatronus. Not only had Nightstalker positively proclaiming that she could see Megatronus in Megatron shaken him, but seeing Megatron battling below had stirred old memories—ones the Prime had tried to bury for millennia. He wanted to give Megatron another chance in the hopes he could find his good friend Megatronus, but where had that led him before? Again and again he had fallen for it, make-believing that Megatron could possibly hold a shred of his true self. For that, Optimus had lost countless soldiers, countless battles, kept this forsaken war alive for millennia.

His spark pained. He had to end it now. For all they had lost. Killing this part of himself was a sacrifice he had to make—Orion fought wildly, but the Prime transformed his ion cannon and leveled the muzzle to Megatron’s helm. The Decepticon leader narrowed his optics, assessing this and studying his foe, gauging him. Nightstalker may think she could see a part of Megatronus still in him, but was it true? He couldn’t wait long enough to find out. They had to end this.

Nightstalker’s spark hit her stomach when Optimus suddenly aimed at Megatron. He was planning to kill him? But—She had—She thought—Hadn’t he wanted her to bring back Megatronus? Did he have that little of faith? As the ion cannon whined with the charge of an attack, Nightstalker’s peds moved her forward, and she jumped in front of Megatron, spreading her arms.

“Don’t!”

Both Bumblebee and Bulkhead burst, “Nights?” in a chorus, but Optimus just blinked, optics whirring slightly. They were waiting for an explanation—Optimus knew it; or, he thought he knew it. She hadn’t told them she owed her life to Megatron for allowing her to survive Kaon. She owed him this. She had to—had to . . . She felt her knees go weak as Optimus didn’t remove the weapon, something cold in his optics.

“I—I—”

Her words failed her. Hadn’t Optimus said he would never terminate a defenseless opponent? Didn’t even Megatron fall under that rule? It did for Airachnid—he had said it so today to Arcee. Did he break his word that easy? Megatron was so close she could feel his heavy breaths on the back of her leg.

When she failed to summon an explanation, Optimus stated evenly, “Nightstalker, step aside—”

A crash sounded from above. Nightstalker shrieked, ducking and covering her head from the fall of rocks as all the Autobot blasters pointed upwards to the crumbling ceiling. Laser fire exploded from above, and while Nightstalker cowered down, almost pushing into Megatron for protection, he looked up, unflinching.

“The surprises never cease,” he murmured. Vehicons fell on either side of the Autobots, forcing Optimus to widen his stance and, while keeping his blaster at Megatron, point the other to the Vehicon at his back. Nightstalker looked up, blinking at Dreadwing who lugged his heavy cannon and pointed it at Optimus. Her spark fluttered.

Oh scrap.

Nightstalker backed off to the side, none of her weapons equipped, and really, no one spared her a glance now, even the Decepticons.

Dreadwing didn’t so much as flinch at the sight of Nightstalker this time. “Deliver Megatron to us,” he said flatly to Optimus, “and I will allow you to live.”

“Never trust a ‘Con!” Bulkhead growled verbally. “Kick Buckethead’s bucket!”

Optimus narrowed his optics at Megatron before looking up. “Dreadwing, do I have your word?”

There was a tense stretch of silence in which Dreadwing’s optics narrowed at Optimus as he considered his very few options. As he weighed those options, Nightstalker looked around, noting the Vehicons posted high that she had missed before. She could hear Bumblebee’s optics whir in the silence before finally, Dreadwing put away his weapon, anchoring it on his back in submission.

Optimus hesitated a moment, but then withdrew his ion cannons.

Nightstalker let out a breath she hadn’t known she had been holding. Bumblebee and Bulkhead moved back to Optimus’s side as Dreadwing came forward and supported Megatron. Nightstalker shuffled to the Autobot side.

“Dreadwing may have given his word,” Megatron snarled, “but I did not! Destroy them!”

Nightstalker shrieked when blaster fire erupted all around her, and she cowered back. Megatron and Dreadwing took off, and before she knew it, Nightstalker had transformed and chased after them. Optimus’s shout followed her, but he was pinned with his soldiers.

The wind screamed in her face. Nightstalker followed them, calling out, “Megatron, wait!” He slowed, allowing her to catch up while Dreadwing fell back, keeping her in his sights. After a moment, realizing she either had too much to say or nothing, Nightstalker broke away from them and coasted down.

She landed in the trees, spark sputtering irregularly. Did that count? Was she debt free? No, no Dreadwing had interfered. That was like half-assing her debt payment. She—

Deep engines rattled the air. Nightstalker gasped and jerked around, Dreadwing landing directly in front of her. Her orange optics widened, and she backed away several steps, fingers twitching with the urge to find something to protect herself with.

Oh Primus, he’s going to gut me and rip me to pieces for torturing him . . .

She couldn’t imagine what the great seeker was going to do, but as he took very, VERY deliberate steps towards her, Nightstalker whipped out her blade, brandishing it at him.

“Stay back!” she squeaked with failed bravado. “I—I’m not afraid to use this!”

He didn’t even flinch, but instead grabbed her hand with blinding speed and bent it backwards. Nightstalker gasped, dropping her weapon, and she looked up at him, orange optics bugging huge.

He narrowed solid red optics at her. After a tense beat of silence, he finally started to say, “You’re . . . name is . . .” Then, his lips slanted in a fierce frown. “You’re mother’s name . . . is Ampere?”

Nightstalker’s jaw dropped. “You knew my mom?”

Dreadwing started to say something, and then stopped. If possible, his glower darkened even more, and he scowled, slinging her away so hard she stumbled backwards and fell on her aft. He turned sharply on his heel and took off without a second glance at her.

Nightstalker jumped to her feet. “Wait!” she cried. “You knew my mom! Come back!”

But he was gone. Nightstalker looked blankly at the sky, wishing with all her might that he would come back and straighten some things out, or at least say how he knew her mom, or—or—just something! Nightstalker jumped three feet out of her protoform when her communications crackled to life.

“Nightstalker,” Optimus said, “Arcee is in need of an assist.”

Finding her coordinates was easy. “I’m on it,” she said back, taking off and making a quick and easy flight to Arcee. Nightstalker had to blink at the femme caught completely in Airachnid’s web. Arcee narrowed her optics.

“Don’t even ask what happened,” she muttered. “I’d rather not tell it more than once.”

Nightstalker gave a vague shrug and took out her blade to cut her free. When she failed to say anything, Arcee added, “What’s wrong with you? You act like you’ve seen a ghost.”

She gave another vague shrug. “Knowing me,” she finally muttered, “I might have.”
Sorry it's been a while since I updated this one, had a little trouble's writing it and finals are this week, but I'm happy with it now ;)


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Ellie-Chandler's avatar
I'm at the edge of doing a Prowl table flip.
I can't handle this.