Toy Mech
Content rating: Explicit
Warnings: Hypnosis, Mind Control, Bondage, Biting, human death,Gore and a Bad end depending on your perspective.
Summary: Mirage is taken and used by the Insecticons. But does he really desire his freedom, or to be controlled?
Notes:
For Shadow.
Mirage felt the cerebroshell boring into his helm and his mouth opened in a silent scream.
A forced docility violated his systems. Mirage stood as if for military attention as his attackers emerged from the surrounding undergrowth in their insectoid forms.
“This one again! He was so much fun last time,” Kickback’s antennae wiggled in an emotional display Mirage could not identify. As a spy his function was to read other mecha, but the Insecticons alien body language was a mystery.
“A pity Megatron ruined our further plans for him, for him.” Shrapnel snapped his mandibles and small arcs of electricity crossed over then. “But now we have him again, and all to ourselves, ourselves.”
Primus. No. Mirage thought. Not again. I can’t betray the Autobots again. His vents did not quicken in response to his distress; he was powerless as the cerebroshell repressed all but his thoughts.
Bombshell inclined his horn towards Shrapnel. “Is this one a toy or a snack? Both?”
Shrapnel scuttled close to Mirage and transformed. He was a head smaller than Mirage, but the spy felt towered over by the Insecticon. Shrapnel brought his up hand to caress Mirage’s cheek. “Toy...for now. Why don’t we take it home Bombshell, Bombshell?”
Mirage found himself trotting behind the Insecticons like an obedient cyberhound.
Jazz had doubted the Insecticons had anything to do with the unusual electromagnetic activity in Ubud. It was likely a wider symptom of some greater plot of Megatron’s, but he wanted it investigated. He’d walked out of the Ark, feeling distant as usual from the others.
Mirage should have refused the mission--
“Nest!” Kickback chirped happily. While Mirage had been thinking they had walked all the way to the Insecticon’s ruined ship.
Inside it was cleaner than Mirage expected. There was a work bench holding half finished projects. In a corner scraps of paper with photos of earth insects were stuck to the wall. And in the center various fabrics and foam piled up in a collective bed.
I’m about to have unspeakably horrible things done to me and I’m evaluating their home décor, Mirage though.
“Do you like it Autobot, Autobot?” Shrapnel said, as if reading his thoughts. “Come now, speak, speak.”
Bombshell transformed. “Speak then toy.”
“I would sooner melt my central processor than tell you anything,” Mirage told them. He could as an ops mech, if the cerebroshell wasn’t blocking access to his systems.
Shrapnel laughed and it sounded like rough metal grating together. “Oh Autobot, we don’t want anything inside your helm, helm.”
“...but I like memory banks, they’re chewy,” Kickback pouted.
Shrapnel sighed in fond exasperation. “Don’t worry, you’ll have some soon enough, enough. But no, we don’t want information, information.”
“We don’t care about Autobot and Decepticon games unless they interfere with ours. We simply want to have some fun with our toy; perhaps we should start before dear Kickback gets too impatient,” Bombshell said.
Shrapnel smiled revealing a mouth full of sharp denta. “Of course, but no nibbling yet. It’s hard to position a frag toy when the floor is slippery with energon, energon.”
Mirage gasped. “What? Primus no I--”
“Quiet,” Bombshell said. “Interface toys don’t talk until they are told. Lie on the floor and do as we three tell you.”
Mirage couldn’t even make static with his vocaliser. He lay down on the floor looking at the purple ceiling, and gasped as solid weight slammed into his chest.
“Shiny, pretty toy,” Kickback purred. Mirage heard the whir of transformation and a hand groped at his interfacing panel. “Open up.”
Mirage’s panel opened so fast he barely had time to think before a sharp claw was trailing around the rim of his valve. It moved to his spike and pricked at the head.
“Show me,” Kickback said. Mirage felt his spike extend into a waiting hand. Claws prickled over the delicate metal. “So many energon lines here…so easy to sever.”
“Patience, Kickback. Patience, patience,” Shrapnel said. Mirage heard the Insecticon’s footsteps as he circled like a rust shark.
“I’ll take this end,” Bombshell said as if he was discussing a divided oilcake. He clambered onto Mirage’s upper body and got into position over his face. His panel opened revealing an erect spike with yellow and purple biolights running down it.
Mirage grimaced and turned his head away. He hadn’t been told he couldn’t after all, but he would regret that.
“You do not refuse us. You do not harm my swarm...and you enjoy this. You want to be our frag toy, you want to pleasure us,” Bombshell ordered.
Mirage’s lips closed around Bombshell’s spike and then his own spike was engulfed by a tight warm wetness. Mirage moaned and began to lavish his tongue on Bombshell’s spike as Kickback began to rock back and forth.
“There’s a free hole...Shrapnel…” Kickback called out to his leader.
“Was only enjoying the view, view,” Shrapnel said. Then Mirage’s valve clenched in anticipation as Shrapnel walked around to position himself. “Don’t smack me in the face with your wings, wings.”
“That only...happened once!” Kickback whined, his valve clenching and hips grinding hard enough to scratch Mirage’s paint. Mirage felt overload building, the head of his spike becoming more sensitive.
“—No! Don’t overload yet!” Kickback yelled, his claws digging into Mirage’s chassis hard enough to crush the metal and draw energon.
Mirage whined and then gasped as Shrapnel’s spike shoved into his wet valve. Bombshell thrust hard into his mouth, the acrid taste of his pre-fluid like the finest highgrade to Mirage’s hazy processor.
Shrapnel began to thrust hard and fast and Mirage’s whole body felt like it was bursting with unreleased charge. Bombshell then thrust for one last time hard and his overload spilled down Mirage’s throat.
Kickback shrieked though his overload, his metallic wings fluttering as his visor flashed. Shrapnel grumbled under his breath as he pushed a wing out of his way and thrust a few more times, overloading in hot spurts into Mirage’s valve.
“Overload,” Bombshell purred and Mirage screamed as a painful, wonderful overload crashed his systems into a momentary blackout.
Moments later Mirage felt Bombshell pulled out of his sore throat. His clawed hand stroked Mirage’s cheek, and he lent into the touch.
“Oh this is a good frag toy. I can’t possibly eat all of it,” Bombshell said, his visor dimmed in pleasure.
Kickback shakily removed himself from Mirage’s still erect spike with a squelch. “I could manage a fuel filtration system, or a memory bank.”
“You and your memory banks, banks,” Shrapnel replied.
Bombshell caressed Mirage’s head as a drip of transfluid escaped his mouth. “But then it wouldn’t be programmed to pleasure us as well. What do you think toy?”
“I...I…” Mirage frowned. He looked at the Insecticons, his...something. “I want...more.”
Shrapnel looked at Bombshell. “Did you add something extra to that cerebroshell, shell? Or is he just a slut?”
“My devices can awaken...suppressed desires,” Bombshell said. “Perhaps he doesn’t want to have to think for himself, perhaps the Autobot wants to be used?”
Mirage looked at his. His. Owners. That was the word. Lines of code slowly slotted into place around the shell’s intrusive programs.
“Do you pretty Autobot? Do you want to play until we get bored?” Bombshell asked.
Mirage didn’t reply, but his still open interface panels and the heat pouring off his frame answered for him.
“Use your words toy, beg for it, it,” Shrapnel said.
Mirage looked into his visor. “Please, use me. Fuck me.”
“What is a ‘fuck’?” Kickback asked.
“The human version of a frag I believe,” Bombshell replied. “ Fuck . I like that word, very visceral.”
“Please,” Mirage begged and spread his lubricant smeared thighs.
“The transfluid receptacle wants us,” Kickback sniggered.
“Should we, we?” Shrapnel asked, smirking. “Should we take pity on our slut? Or do we watch him squirm, squirm?”
“Watch him...perhaps I’ll make a video, show all his Autobot friends?” Kickback said.
“How will you do that with my spike in your valve?” Bombshell said.
“What? Oh, ” Kickback purred. In moments panels were opened as Bombshell thrust into Kickback. Mirage whined as his own valve clenched down on nothing.
“Oh dear, poor toy,” Shrapnel mocked. He walked over to the other Insecticons and soon Kickback was being fragged by two spikes.
I wish...that was me...I think? Mirage thought. He brought his hand down to his valve and put his fingers inside with a squelch. He rubbed his already sensitive and swollen node, but it brought him no relief being unable to overload.
Kickback whined loudly as he overloaded, his wings scraping the floor. He lay panting for a long moment, Shrapnel hissed his overload. But Bombshell walked over to Mirage.
“Stop that,” Bombshell ordered. He thrust his spike inside Mirage and overloaded, Mirage whimpered as the hot transfluid filled his valve. “You were right Kickback, this is a very good transfluid receptacle; you really should record this.”
“...I will...in a bit,” Kickback mumbled from where he lay on the floor.
Bombshell pulled out and pinched Mirage’s swollen node between his fingers, making Mirage scream in pleasure and pain. “I could just eat that like an energon treat, look how aroused you are; you enjoy being our fuck toy so much don’t you?”
“Yes. Yes please. Please let me overload,” Mirage sobbed.
“Say you like being our slut, our transfluid dump! Say it! Tell all Autobots, tell Optimus Prime. You are the Insecticon’s pet whore! Whore!” Shrapnel demanded.
“I...I am your transfluid dump, your slut. I…” Mirage gasped as Bombshell rolled his node in his fingers. “Fellow Autobots I am...a pet…Optimus I’m their whore.”
Kickback whispered into his audial from behind. “Overload toy.”
Mirage screamed. His vision blacked out and moments later he was met with his HDU rebooting. His throat hurt and dripped warm energon, Kickback smiled and licked his pink stained lips.
“I’m done,” Bombshell said. “I’ve had more than my daily dose of degradation and have plenty of memory files for the self service bank.”
“Eat? Do we eat him?” Kickback said hopefully.
“I have a better idea, idea.”
Hours later Mirage was dumped where they found him, his throat marred with a parting gift of Kickback’s sharp teeth. The cerebroshell removed and shoved into his subspace.
“Goodbye toy, you betrayed your Autobots again, and overloaded for the enemy – and that is sweeter than any memory bank,” Bombshell said.
“Sweeter? Are you sure?” Kickback said.
“Don’t ruin my Autobot shaming Kickback,” Bombshell replied.
Mirage sobbed.
“I think he’s shaming himself for us, for us,” Shrapnel laughed. With that all three insecticons took off in a hum of metallic wings.
Mirage’s comms crackled to life. He gave his co-ordinates and waited for rescue.
Sex and hunger were closely tied for the Insecticons. After leaving Mirage to be found by the Autobots, they needed to sate themselves. So the Insecticons took to the skies and flew across their domain to a nearby village.
Those villagers respected and feared them so put beast and grain aside. In turn the Insecticons did not eat these humans; they could control their impulses if it led to long term gain. A large bag of rice each month and meat on their doorstep was better than a one time feast and having to fly to the next village every time their instincts craved grain or flesh.
The Insecticons also helped keep away foreign developers who saught to ‘modernize’ the area and ‘access its resources’ by driving the locals away. They did this not out of charity, but to preserve their dominance over this land, and the swamp they called home.
“Look down there,” Kickback inclined his head downwards. “They do not smell like our humans, or look like them.”
“Let us investigate, investigate,” Shrapnel said. They landed in front of the group of humans.
“What on earth?!” a human with a gold adornment on its wrist exclaimed.
“We are the Insecticons. This is our land, our territory, territory,” Shrapnel snarled.
“No, this land is mine,” The human pulled up a piece of paper. “The farmers who own this land sold the deeds to me.”
The other humans who had not gone running and screaming, backed away. Including the ones with the projectile guns; one of them muttering about the locals warning about the bugs. Shrapnel scented acrid smoke from the weapons, but no blood. Meaning their human villagers had not been harmed.
Kickback grinned. He transformed and grabbed the paper from the human, he looked at it studiously – then stuffed it in his mouth and ate it.
“We don’t care about your paper human,” Bombshell said.
“But it makes a nice appetizer!” Kickback added.
“What? But these are legal documents. If you want a share in the profits from this land, perhaps we can come to a deal,” The clueless human said. Still too foolish to run, like a more stupid version of Swindle.
“We’re going to eat you idiot!” Kickback said and jumped at the human. He went for the belly, tearing at the soft fabrics and flesh to feast on the organs inside. The human’s scream cut off quickly as his body was ripped apart.
Shrapnel was far too hungry to share a human. He looked to where the other humans were fleeing back towards the village. “Let’s hunt, hunt!” He and Bombshell took off in a hum of wings.
From above Bombshell spied one of the humans trying to gain entry to a house, thumping at the door to break it down. He laughed, the humans who lived here would never be so foolish to shelter an enemy of the Insecticons. “I shall take this one Shrapnel!”
He swooped down to claim his feast, not bothering to transform. Bombshell tore through the human’s primitive armor with his mandibles, tearing off its head and sucking at the blood that squirted from the stump.
There was a creak behind him, then the sound of a door shutting. The villagers rarely interacted directly with the Insecticons which suited them just fine.
Shrapnel could order Bombshell to share his prize, but why share when he could simply catch his own prey? Shrapnel took to the air once again, he heard a scream and flew to where he scented blood.
A villager stood over a human in uniform, her grub behind her. A simple knife in hand.
Shrapnel clicked his mandibles. “...did you steal my hunt?”
The human pointed with their shaking thumb at the body, which twitched and groaned. Now he looked closer, Shrapnel could see the human’s belly was bloodied but the rest was intact.
“Leave,” Shrapnel said. The human picked up its grub and left, it knew not to antagonize him.
Shrapnel stood over the human, his insectoid limbs forming a cage. “Foolish prey, did you not think our humans could defend themselves, themselves? They knew we would come eventually and kill those who dare invade our land.”
“Why would Decepticons...defend humans?” the human gasped.
Shrapnel snarled, “We are not Decepticons!” his mandibles crackled and he speared them into the human. The scent of burning flesh soon filled his sensors. When he was finished a charred corpse remained.
Just how he liked his meals, crispy. Shrapnel transformed his larger mandibles out of the way and tore off chunks of cooked flesh with his smaller mandibles; unlike the stag beetle he resembled, Shrapnel’s mouth parts did not impede his feasting. He savored the hot flesh and ate at a leisurely pace, waiting for his swarm mates to comm him.
The Insecticons did not mind being dirtied by the hunt, but despite the Decepticon and Autobot alike thought, they were clean creatures. Shrapnel as the leader groomed Kickback and Bombshell who chittered contently under his ministrations.
“That Autobot, I wonder what he’s doing now…” Kickback said.
“Being crushed under his own shame, shame?” Shrapnel replied.
“Soon we may find out,” Bombshell said, his plating loosening as he relaxed.
“Go on, on,” Shrapnel prompted.
“I carved a comm number into the cerebro shell we left him. He’ll come back to us, what we can give him no one else can,” Bombshell explained.
“Being used?” Kickback said.
“Being controlled, being truly powerless. Being truly wanted even as a plaything, I sense a distance in him from others that he longs to fill. Autobots quibble about ethics, and he would never go to the Decepticons…” Bombshell continued.
Shrapnel clicked his mandibles. “If he comes back to us willingly, no shell, he is ours, ours .”
Mirage stood up from his med berth, between his legs still ached where Ratchet had checked for internal damage. “Are my repairs completed?”
Ratchet frowned. “Mirage--”
“Any discussion of my previous medical condition is classified to special operations officers only,” Mirage snapped.
“That’s bullslag and we both know it; I still can pull rank…” Ratchet sighed. “I won’t, but I strongly recommend you go to Smokescreen.”
“Noted,” Mirage replied.
Mirage left medbay then began the walk to Jazz’s office. The looks of other Autobots felt piercing as he passed Fireflight he heard him whisper:
“There he is. The insecticons got him again.”
“Shhh. Primus ‘Flight, not so loud,” Blades replied. “Come on, before he hears you.”
That wasn’t the only time. More Autobots and more whispers. Between Mirage’s legs ached in response, so badly he wondered if he could make it to Jazz’s office. He could guess how that blue Stunticon felt.
Jazz’s office as always was organized chaos of human and Cybertronian musical ephemera. Mirage sat in the seat in front of his desk stiffly. He handed over the datapad he’d been working on during his repairs.
“As it says in my report, the Insecticons have nothing to do with the electromagnetic activity in the region. May I leave?” Mirage said.
“We both know that isn’t why I called you here Raj,” Jazz said.
“I have completed the mission and handed in my report,” Mirage replied frostily.
Jazz’s gaze was piercing. “Raj, I ain’t exactly a good example of talking about trauma from a mission – you know how much Ratch’ is on my aft about seeing Smoky more.”
“I do not have trauma, and my injuries were minor,” Mirage replied.
“I can’t force you to talk about this--”
“Yet you are attempting to.”
Jazz sighed. “Go to Smoky if you feel like talking. If it affects your mission readiness I’m gonna have to put my ped down and make you go. I don’t wanna do that, but you know the rules of this gig.”
Mirage kept his face impassive. “Noted.”
“I know you ain’t one for socializing outside of ops, but try to stay around mechs. It helps.”
“And if they do not wish to be around me, if they believe I am compromised again?”
Jazz’s smile turned dangerous. “Anyone, especially Cliffjumper, starts saying slag, tell me. I’ll set them straight.”
Mirage nodded, he left the office quickly and headed to his hab suite. Again the gaze and whispers of other Autobots followed him.
He locked the door and went to his berth. Between his legs still ached, but it was not with pain, it had never been with pain (Ratchet, his face full of pity as he checked Mirage’s valve said it was a normal reaction, Mirage couldn’t help but burn with shame and arousal at knowing Ratchet knew. )
Mirage fluffed up one of his recharge pillows, lay back and opened his panels.
The next few minutes was a wet and shameful overload to the thought of smaller hands parting his legs, teeth grazing his thighs. Mirage gasped in overload as his valve tightened around his own fingers. He lay panting like an animal and embarrassment washed over him.
This wasn’t the first time he’d fragged himself to thoughts of the Insecticons. Primus, he kept praying each time would be the last. But he couldn’t stop thinking about that mind-blowing overload, being used and fucked …
It wasn’t consensual. I shouldn’t want this. Mirage told himself. No Autobot would give this to me; they’d think I was traumatized for wanting this, a freak.
But it had been so easy with the shell in his head. No questions of loyalty, no doubts.
I shouldn’t be turned on by thinking of the other Autobots pitying me. Being ashamed of my...my behavior with the Insecticons.
A few hours later, spike in hand, he still lusted after the memory of red optic bands and sharp claws.
Carved into the cerebroshell that had been shoved into his subspace was a comm number. Mirage’s hands shook as he read it over and over.
Bombshell’s comm number.
Mirage remembered how it felt when the device entered his helm the first time, how it felt the second time. He remembered the terrifying sense of loss when this shell had been removed.
“Off for a drive, Mirage?” Bumblebee asked, standing in the exit to the Ark.
Mirage nodded. “Yes.”
“Mirage I know you’re not a big fan of Sideswipe’s ‘secret’ recroom drinking parties or games night, but if you ever want to hang out--”
“I want to drive,” Mirage said sharply, then added. “Thank you.”
“Okay. Just remember we’re all here for you,” Bumblebee said.
Mirage nodded, then transformed and gunned his engines. Traveling faster than was strictly legal but it wasn’t like he was some crash prone organic driver who couldn’t handle anything over 300mph.
It didn’t take him long to get out of the Ark’s immediate security perimeter, or to employ his ops commline scrambler. He stood next to an old organic rock formation, shaded from the sun.
[0.59695.5900]
[Who is this?] Bombshell replied.
[Mirage. My coordinates.]
There was a long silence.
[Tell me...why? Why should we take you back?] Bombshell said.
Mirage hadn’t prepared for that response. [I...I need it.]
[You need...to be our toy again. To forget your isolation from your hive? To have your processor silenced of all those difficult thoughts?]
Mirage’s panels burned. [Yes.]
Bombshell laughed. [Good.]
There was a sharp pain in the back of his head. Because of course the cerebroshell had a tracker inside, of course he’d never checked it. Of course Insecticon technology was undetectable by--
--wings fluttered behind him as he stood to attention, fear and anticipation swirling in his processor. There was the sound of transformation.
“He came back? Interesting, interesting,” Shrapnel said.
“Do we eat him this time?” Kickback asked.
“Quiet toy. No more thoughts,” Bombshell whispered.
And Mirage did not think as their hands claimed him.
Mirage didn’t worry about where the Insecticons had taken him. He was their toy, their slave to do with as they pleased. He was free, free from the Autobot’s words and optics. Free from explanations and expectations.
He was theirs and that was what mattered now.
“Hold still, still,” Shrapnel said. He bound Mirage’s hands behind his back and his ankles together with a glowing rope, in such a way he could not easily stand up on his own. But could spread his legs wide open.
“Very nice, a perfect little treat,” Bombshell purred. “I could eat him up.”
“Not before I interface with him!” Kickback said. He leapt at Mirage and went straight for his mouth, claiming it in a biting kiss. Mirage tasted his own energon as he kissed back and his tongue was nipped by sharp teeth. Kickback pulled away, licking his lips.
“I didn’t even tell him to enjoy it,” Bombshell whispered to Shrapnel.
Shrapnel laughed in response as Kickback began to finger Mirage’s valve. “The Autobot slut really doesn’t need any encouragement to ruin himself, himself. It was within him the whole time, the need to be used."
“You like this frag toy? Of course you do, it's what you’re made for, to be ours to enjoy,” Kickback said.
Mirage’s engine revved and he pressed into Kickback’s sharp claws.
“Or to deny.” Kickback withdrew his fingers and Mirage whined at the loss. “Don’t expect kindness, we are your owners, we are Insecticons—you knew this when you came to us.”
Shrapnel smiled. “Shall we make you beg again toy? Beg to be filled with our fluid, fluid?”
Mirage frowned, should he answer yes or no? It was hard to think though the haze.
“...I think the slut is too far gone for rhetorical questions,” Bombshell said.
“Then beg, beg for us, us,” Shrapnel hissed.
Mirage began, “Please--”
“Put some effort in!” Kickback said, antenna twitching. “What do you want us to do?”
“Fuck me. Fill me with your seed! I am yours to use,” Mirage pleaded. His spike has been pressured now and aching with painful need. His legs spread wide, valve dripping and clenching on nothing.
Shrapnel hissed and soon his spike thrust inside Mirage. This wasn’t like the last time, his thrusts were harder and wilder. “Mine to keep, mine to consume, consume.” He hissed in Mirage’s audial.
Mirage moaned as the harsh thrusts brought him closer to overload. His hands strained around the bondage, desperate to touch his spike. He gasped when someone nipped the back of his neck and reached around to grasp it.
“Don’t move,” Bombshell ordered. Mirage’s frame shook with effort as his spike was grasped and rubbed. The tip grazed with sharp claws.
Shrapnel overloaded and bit into Mirage’s neck hard. His teeth puncturing enough to leave energon dripping down Mirage’s throat. He gave a bloody smile and began to lap up the energon with his tongue.
Bombshell gave one final twisting pump to Mirage’s spike and dared to flick his proboscis free of his mask to catch some energon for himself. Shrapnel hissed, his mandibles crackling. “How dare you, you!”
Bombshell transformed in response and jumped at Shrapnel, knocking Mirage aside like an empty energon cube. He was unable to get up due to his bindings, and the sound of fighting Insecticons was loud behind him.
“Oh poor pet, did they forget about you? Do you think they’ll recycle you as a snack” Kickback taunted. He did not help Mirage to his feet, and instead rolled him onto his back . “You wouldn’t mind that though, would you?”
Mirage tried to think, would he? Would he give himself over to them entirely? Put his spark in their servos as they ripped it free from his chest?
Kickback smiled and shoved a sharp talon in Mirage’s valve, he added another and then thrust and circled. Mirage whined, still unable to overload due to their earlier command. “Such a slut, getting off on just fingers— overload !”
Mirage obeyed his command and cried out, energy surged through his frame; it was not as intense as the overload back in Bali, but what his owners gave couldn’t compare to anything before.
“Kickback!” Bombshell yelled. There was a crackle of electricity as that moment of distraction gave Shrapnel an edge to win the fight. Shrapnel screeched in victory and soon there was the sound of clanging plating and scent of sex.
Mirage laughed and Kickback joined in his laughter. Part of him screamed this was wrong, he shouldn’t be laughing, he should run.
Then Kickback moved his head down to suck Mirage’s node and Mirage didn’t think about anything for a while. He felt warm and floaty, like a hot oil bath back in the towers.
“Move, move,” Shrapnel commanded, pushing Kickback aside. He touched Mirage’s node and Mirage yelped as a small spark of electricity stung him. Shrapnel smiled cruelly and then grabbed Mirage’s spike, it was already erect and Shrapnel smugly sat on it.
“Never lets us do that,” Bombshell muttered.
Mirage payed those words no mind as he was ridden hard and fast. The head of his spike became more sensitive as overload called, Mirage groaned as Shrapnel’s valve contracted tightly around him.
Shrapnel removed himself and commanded: “Lick me clean, clean.” Mirage obeyed, his tongue deftly licking his own transfluid from the purple biolight decorated valve. “Good toy, toy.” A surge of affection from those words filled Mirage’s processor, as intense as any overload.
Then an erect spike was practically thrust at his face. “Take care of this now, now.”
Mirage purred and licked at the spike’s tip, teasing with his tongue. Shrapnel grunted in impatience then thrust his spike into Mirage’s mouth. Taking the hint, Mirage began to suck and swallow enthusiastically.
“Remember to swallow the fluid receptacle!” Kickback chipped. Mirage jumped as his aft was slapped.
“Kickback!” Shrapnel said, voice strained. “Not while I’m using the frag toy, toy.”
Mirage soon recovered to suck again, focusing on nothing but pleasing his owner. His helm empty of anything but Shrapnel’s chirps of pleasure and stiffening spike.
Shrapnel’s hand curved possessively around his helm, sharp claws digging in.Mirage closed his eyes, leaning into the touch and sharp claws. Shrapnel grunted and warm tangy transfluid filled Mirage’s mouth, he swallowed it gratefully.
Mirage was tired, so tired. So warm. He wanted to recharge and found himself resting his tired helm against Shrapnel’s thigh. He would continue if his masters wished it, for that was his function.
Shrapnel smiled. “Good, toy. You have a choice, choice.”
Mirage whimpered. Primus, no. He didn’t want to start thinking again!
Bombshell laughed. “Don’t worry toy, you will like this choice. It may be the last you ever make.”
Shrapnel moved Mirage like he was weightless, and adjusted him so Mirage’s helm was in the Insecticon’s lap. When he looked up, all Mirage could see was the burning red of his visor framed by sparking mandibles. The other Insecticons soon crowded themselves into his vision.
“Would you give all of yourself to us toy, toy? Let us keep the cerebroshell in and forget the Autobots, forget having to think. Be our frag toy forever, forever?” Shrapnel asked.
Mirage looked between his owners at the stars in the sky. He thought about the other Autobots, forever distant from them now as if he was trapped high up in those long destroyed towers.
He thought of no more thought. No more decisions, no more expectations beyond those of his masters. No identity beyond being their toy, no needs beyond what they dictated. No future to fear, no past to remember.
“Yes.”