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It pained her spark to have to do this.
Kiloton laid in her tent, mulling over her processor. It had been so long since she’d laid an optical sensor on another Decepticon. Last she’d seen any of the Conclave, she’d been looked over in the preparation for the March on Iacon, and when she dared to question Megatron’s judgment, she’d found herself beaten and thrown from their ship by the very Transformer they’d picked over her.
It was humiliating. Megatron couldn’t even look her in the eye as she was dragged overboard.
And yet… if it weren’t for that awful day, she wouldn’t have met them. The Torchbearers from Caminus, lost just as she was to this sea of rust, who’d taken her in as one of her own.
Jumpstream, who gave so much for her.
Dust Up, who filled her with passion.
Skyburst, who tended to her wounds.
Stormclash, who kept her skills honed.
Rust Dust, who inspired her to keep going.
Pyra Magna…
Oh, Pyra Magna…
Pyra, who had driven her with such purpose, such conviction, to keep moving forward with the Knights of Cybertron in her spark…
It pained her that she’d have to die in order for Megaempress to live again.
The silver-and-black Decepticon sat up, taking the electronic paint canisters in her hand. It had been such a touching gift from the Torchbearers—the mark of their own colors to show that she was truly one of them.
If only she weren’t about to commit their biggest sin.
Pyra Magna laid in her tent, her berth feeling as uncomfortable as ever. It had been a trying day venturing across the Sea of Rust, and everyone had finished the journey exhausted, even if stasis was hardly on their minds. They’d set camp in the shadow of some cliffs, hoping to wait out a bad rust storm approaching off the horizon. The Rust Renegade’s Leader had felt tested by the past few orbital cycles. Her team already had a limited amount of rations at their disposal, and with the arrival of their “Guest from the Skies” halfway into their trek, they’d had to stretch their supplies thin to restore her back to shape.
Everyone had made sacrifices, and it had begun to catch up with them. Jumpstream was malnourished, Dust Up was exhausted from their “nightly studies” together, Skyburst hadn’t had time to oversee anyone else’s wounds, Stormclash had nearly lost an arm in a sparring duel, and Rust Dust had… she’d…
It was a miracle they’d been able to save her before the Rust Worms got to her.
All-in-all, the season had left Pyra feeling tested, and worse still, pent up. Everyone could feel it. That strange static sensation in the air. That odd scent that tickled their noses and caressed them with the gentlest of touch. She hated to admit it, but she felt jealous for how Dust Up was able to work off her excess charge with Kiloton. All she had were her servos.
Pyra groaned as a wisp of heat flickered in her chamber, a slight hint of condensation trickling down her plating. Her valve ached, yearning to sense something against its metal skin. She sighed, and retracted the plating around her crotch.
The cool air tickled against her exposed valve, and she reached to rub herself slow and steady with her digits. A gentle caress was all she needed right now, something to remind her that her needs mattered.
A faint whine stirred in her voicebox, and Pyra began to stimulate herself harder. Faster. More than she had in Solus knows how long. She didn’t know where this energy was coming from. Her frame ached as a static touch clung to her, caressing her joints and massaging her all over. Her all the way from her pedes up to her chevron, it swirled around her, enveloping her in charge.
Pyra vented. Hard. She hadn’t realized how much she needed this.
“I thought I heard someone pleasuring themself.”
Pyra froze, like the static had seized her and held her in place. That odd scent hung in the air, thicker and more intense than usual. It felt spicy on her olfactory sensor, with a heat that she could feel on her glossa. She looked to the opening of her tent, and spotted a familiar-looking figure standing in the moonlight.
“K-Kiloton?!”
Kiloton’s red optics narrowed, her smile hiding the faint growl in her voice. “You told me the Way of the Flame told us not to spill our transfluid in solitude.”
“I-I know, but… look, it’s been a very ha—”
“I never told you to stop.”
The hand against Pyra’s crotch buckled, taking to massage her valve once again. Pyra did her best to hold back her moan as she felt the digits graze against her anterior node. Somewhat didn’t feel right. It felt like something, or someone, was taking her body on a joyride.
“There’s a good femme,” Kiloton chuckled, “Keep touching yourself for me.”
Pyra stammered, her thoughts in a haze as the scent invaded her very sense of being. Kiloton’s voice echoed in her processor, commands whispering again and again in her audials.
“I never told you to stop.”
“There’s a good femme.”
“Keep touching yourself for me.”
Her mind felt like it was being hacked into raw data. She could barely put together a coherent thought that wasn’t one of the commands embedding themselves deep in her mind. “I-I er– It’s-s n-no… not-t-t…!”
“Not right? Please, look at you… so desperate… so needy… all pent up like a turbofox in heat.”
Her body felt like it was on fire, like her very protoform would melt from the heat building in her frame. An unpleasant, quaking groan erupted from Pyra Magna’s voice box, guttural and needy. She began to vent. Hard. Her lips quaked, stammering out “H… hotttt… s-so… ha… h-hot…”
Kiloton slunk inside, sitting on the berth next to the hot mess that Pyra Magna had become. Amid the spicy scent of pheromones she perfumed when using her outlier ability, Kiloton smelled a particularly pungent aroma—transfluid. Pent up transfluid. Like the scent one would smell when one had gone too long without an overload.
She eyed the Pyra’s valve, licking her lips at the sight of her plump folds being stimulated by the Torchbearer. She leaned forward to meet Pyra’s helm, and whispered deep in her audial. “You should be careful not to defile yourself like this, Pyra,” she cooed, “You know what the punishment is for that, don’t you~”
Pyra flung her helm back as Kiloton licked her glossa against her audial. Her coolant felt so good on her overheating helm. She wanted more. She needed more. She needed to defile herself. She needed… She needed…
“That’s right,” Kiloton mused, “I don’t even need to say it. You need me, don’t you?
That was right. She needed her. She needed to say how much she needed her. There was only one femme on her mind and she wanted her desperately.
Kiloton repositioned herself, retracting her plating to place her cool protoform against Pyra’s burning figure. “Go on… Say it for me~”
“I… I need… I need…”
She gasped as the figure atop her leaned in deep to her, her piercing red optics drilling deep into her processor with a hungry, desperate grin.
“Say. It. For. Me.”
Pyra flung herself back against the berth, erupting in a violent yell of passion. “RUST DUST!” she roared, “I NEED YOU, RUST DUST!”
Kiloton gaped as Pyra Magna overloaded beneath her. The Torchbearer Commander bucked and ground into her partner’s valve, until finally, she came to a rest, her thoughts woozy from the experience.
“Rust Dust…?”
Pyra Magna let out a faint wheeze. “Ugh… that felt… that felt…”
“Rust Dust?”
“What do you mean RUST DUST?!”
Movement stirred outside in the camp. The others had been woken up by the commotion. Not good.
Kiloton gritted her teeth. “Great, and here I was wanting to take my sweet time with this.”
Pyra raised her head from her berth. “...Wha—?”
Plush lips descended upon Pyra’s face, pinning her against the berth. Kiloton’s servos roamed over her figure, caressing gently as that thick, spicy scent of heat drew her back into that enveloping sense of pleasure. Need ensnared her mind, and her thoughts honed in on Kiloton’s lips. So much so, she hardly noticed her plant two electronic paint canisters on both of their chassis.
Kiloton tore back from Pyra’s lips, leaving her panting in the heat. “There, that’s better, don’t you think? My colors suit you well, but I think yours suit me much better.”
Pyra stirred, and looked down to her plating. Her Torchbearer colors were gone, replaced with a silver-and-black finish not unlike the Slagmaker himself. But Kiloton?
Kiloton looked just like her.
Exactly like her.
For Pyra Magna, the effect was like an out-of-body experience. To the unprotected optic, one could even go so far as to say they’d swapped bodies. All bar one detail.
Pyra Magna’s eyes were blue. Kiloton’s eyes were a deep, enthralling, pulsing red.
“That’s right, Pyra. I’m you, you’re me, and this…” Kiloton reached for her subspace pocket, brandishing a laser pistol. “…is a gun.”