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Cliffjumper stretched his arms over his helm, working some of the tension out of his cables. Life on Unicron was no slice of oilcake, that was for sure, but it wasn’t all bad. The tessons were easy pickings compared to some Cons he’d tangled with during the war, he was getting laid way more regularly than he had at any other point in his functioning, and Unicron’s untamable wilds were some of the most gorgeous sights he’d ever seen. The lakeshore was his favourite, the pebbled beach clear enough to give him a good view of incoming hostiles and edged by brightly glowing trees. At least, the part he liked had trees. The desert came nearly up to the shore in one spot, and in another the mountains dropped in a sheer cliff to the water’s edge, but it was easy enough to just. Not go to those parts. They were basically on the other side of the lake, anyways.
He shuttered his optics and in-vented deeply, savoring the cool air and sound of oil lapping at the shore. Nowhere else on Unicron was this calm, the plains always rustling with potential threats, the desert chock full of enemies which would love to secret him away to their own hidden camps and make use of his frame, the mountains and forests rife with lascivious minis and all manner of larger, more lethally dangerous foes. The lakeside had its share of unsavoury characters, to be sure, but the slime monsters were easy enough to beat and anything else he could see coming from far enough away to clear out.
He opened his optics, and no sooner had they landed on the lights of the ship which made her home in this lake than he felt his lust spike. His knees damn near buckled under him, array surging to life so fast he had to physically grab his modesty panels to stop them from snapping open. Not that it worked for long, lubricant spilled out through the seams and his fingers lost their purchase, letting his spike spring free. The air which had felt so wonderfully cool in his vents made his valve rim ache and pulse with heat, more lubricant coming out in pulses as his frame begged for stimulation.
It seemed the rumours were true, then. He gritted his denta and stalked towards the oil, sealing his vents as he waded in. He kicked off the bottom and began to swim once the oil was up to his armpits, making a beeline for the boat whose occupants had shot him with some kind of aphrodisiac. A potent one, too, considering he could feel his valve lubricant slicking his thighs even through the oil. All the more reason to climb on their ship, beat the bolts out of whoever shot him, and see how they liked having the tables turned on them.
He hauled himself up onto an oil-level platform on the back end of the boat, and glared at the ladder for a moment before grabbing the rungs. He had to keep his hips awkwardly far out to not bang his spike on the rungs, but he managed to step up onto the main deck with his anger intact. “Which one of you bolt-brains shot me?” he asked, crossing his arms and looking at the gathered mechs. More than he’d anticipated, and he was already revved up. He would have to make this a quick fight, or they’d be able to force his systems to redline, cutting power to his combat subroutines in favour of keeping him from burning out his wires with too much charge.
“That’d be me.” a red mech with a targeting reticule over one optic said, sounding neither proud nor concerned.
“Nice of you to come out to us.” the chunky green one said with a smirk. “Riptide has a habit of taking liberties with the mechs he picks up on shore.”
“Hey, I’m warming them up for all of you!” the massive blue boat protested.
“Oh I’m not planning on fragging any of you.” Cliffjumper pounded his fist into his palm.
“Whoa there, short stuff.” a mech behind him laughed, grabbing him under the arms and lifting him. “No need for violence.”
“You jackafts started it!” Cliffjumper flailed, but neither his punches nor kicks hit anything.
“And we’ll finish it, too.” the mech holding him purred, hand sliding down to cup his array. Cliffjumper’s panel snapped back at the touch, but as the mech’s fingers slipped in to brush his valve lips he managed to force the panels closed again, snapping shut on his captor’s fingers. “Ooh, you’ve got spark, li’l spitfire.” his hand twisted, fingers brushing over Cliffjumper’s forcibly recessed spike, and Cliffjumper moaned as it pressurized, panels popping out of the way. “But I’ve never met a mech who can stand up to Percy’s darts.”
Cliffjumper moaned, his array throbbing as clever fingers teased around the rim of his valve. “Bastard.” he grunted, legs trembling as his struggles grew weaker, his frame shutting down non-essential functions in an attempt to center charge in his array for better dispersion through overload.
“Oohhh, nice job Mirage.” someone outside his visual field called, and when Mirage dropped him Cliffjumper found himself sprawled on the floor, his HUD full of errors and arms barely mobile, let alone his legs. “I’d say that you get to pick what we do with this one.”
“Mmm, I’ve got an idea.” Mirage purred, flipping Cliffjumper over onto his back. The mech was wearing lingerie, of all things, silver ribbons emphasizing his aerodynamic contours, drawing attention down to where his array was protected only by a patch of black lace. “I get to use his mouth, and the rest of you can have fun with his array.”
“Fine by me.” a blue boatformer leaned over him. “I wonder how much of me he can take.”
“Well, you’re gonna wait your turn.” someone else chided. “Let the rest of us have our fun before you find his limits.”
“Alright.” the boat agreed easily, and then Cliffjumper’s view was obscured by ribbon-wrapped thighs bracketing his helm. “Oh hey ‘Raj, turn around. Let us smooch your pretty face.”
“Yeah, sure.” Mirage agreed easily, his legs shifting so he faced the other way, valve hovering over Cliffjumper’s mouth. Lubricant dripped onto his lips, and Cliffjumper couldn’t help the way his engine revved. “Oh, and Spitfire? If you don’t make me overload, I’ll make you regret it.”
“My name’s not-” Cliffjumper’s protest was cut off by Mirage lowering himself the rest of the way onto his face, the taste of valve lubricant coating his glossa with a strange tang. He tried to shut his mouth, to turn his face away, but found his glossa flicking out instead, seeking more of that unusual flavour. Oh, frag. He moaned as he licked into Mirage’s valve, tasting lace and lubricant and the tang of dark energon. He’d managed to avoid the corruptive fuel until now, but the mech straddling him had so much in his systems it tainted even his lubricants.
“That’s a good mech.” Mirage purred, rocking his array against Cliffjumper’s mouth. “See? No need to fight.”
Cliffjumper tried to thrash, but his primary motivator was still largely offline, his frame burning even hotter as he swallowed more of Mirage’s lubricants. Frag, he should- he should be fighting, not cooperating. They had shot him! And yet... with every passing moment, that anger became harder to hold onto, lust burning painfully hot through his circuits. He plunged his glossa as deep as it would go into Mirage’s valve, moaning as the lace distributed charge from Mirage’s nodes over his glossa. He nearly sobbed when he felt strong hands pull his thighs apart, a thick spike-tip rubbing against his valve and a tight valve dropping down onto his spike.
“No need to fight.” Mirage moaned, angling his hips to encourage Cliffjumper’s attention onto his node. “We’ll make you feel good, little spitfire.”
Cliffjumper nipped at Mirage’s anterior node, then did it again, the lace causing his denta to slip and preventing his lips from getting a good seal to suck on it. The spike at his valve speared deep into him as he bit at Mirage’s node again, and the mech on his face overloaded hard in tandem with him. Primus, he couldn’t think. Corruptive lubricant flooded his mouth, and he swallowed as quickly as he could, warmth blooming in his tanks as his system began to process the tainted fluids.
He couldn’t bring himself to care.