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Summary: During a mission to uncover long lost data Captain Redline (original character), a bot who keeps her emotions sealed beneath duty and protocol, accidentally stumbles upon a mysterious substance. Though she tries to suppress the chemicals control, the stoic commander is burning with need.
Mirage, a bot whose relationship to the captain has always been physical, is more than willing to give her whatever she desires.
But as lust gives way to passion and thoughts of a future emerge, they must both come to terms with what they truly want from each other.
18+ NO MINORS
WARNINGS: SEX POLLEN TROPE, Explicate Sexual Content between two transformer characters (don't like robots? Don't read), Breeding Kink, Femme Dom/Mech Bottom/Switch Dynamics, THEY HAVE BOTH PARTS, Sexual Overstimulation, Slight Size Difference, Plot what Plot? This is essentially straight smut.
Setting: Cybertron - During the war
Word count: 10,468
There is also a singular line that mentions Chromia/Ironhide but it's not an integral part of the story.
Mirage and Jazz are bros.
Also if you see the name Aurion let me know that was Redline's previous designation before I figured out what I wanted to call her.
“Infiltrate. Extract. Regroup.”
That’s all the message from Ultra Magnus had said, and Captain Redline, ever the composed field commander, received it with a flat nod.
A Decepticon research outpost, assumed to be abandoned but possibly boobytrapped, was buried deep in a ravine on an uninhabited stretch of terrain.
According to recently retrieved, half-corrupted, Decepticon datapads, it had once been a gathering spot for most of their scientists and engineers. As to what they worked on, no one was sure. The data had long since been erased.
Maybe it was for bioweapons or some barbarous spark research.
No one knew for sure, the data files were far beyond comprehension, glitching all the way to the all spark and back.
High command demanded they infiltrate it.
Perhaps in doing so they would uncover something to finally give them the upper servo in this endless war.
It was a gamble, but one that could pay off or could lead them down just another dead end.
Either way, if Optimus wanted something, that meant Redline was going to get it.
Waiting at the end of a launch pad Mirage leaned against a support beam, his stance lax, almost coy as he watched the towering femme before him ready her gear.
He had heard last cycle that she was being deployed, and just like every time before he had to be there to send her off.
“Captain,” Drawing out the ‘n’ with half shuttered optics, he called out, tired of being ignored a single klik more.
The tone of teasing within his voice always had a way of making her internal cooling system spike just a fraction of a degree, and the smug bot knew it.
Even so, the backfacing command finned helm he stared up to did not bother turning to reciprocate his greeting.
“Mirage.” Redline’s reply came neutral, collected, almost hinting at boredom.
He knew this game, it's the same one they played each time.
“daw common, don't act so happy to see me captain!”
For a mere astro-second, deep blue optics flickering off the gear before them over to the intruding bot however, as quickly as Mirage felt the tingles of her gaze, they returned to their post.
But even in that split moment of attention, her gaze lingered on him an instant longer than necessary. Sweeping like lightning from the ridge of his helm down to the prominent curve of his hip rotators, had he not been looking for this exact detail he surely would have missed it.
But he caught it.
Of course he did.
He always did.
Game set in motion.
“So I heard you’re getting deployed yet again?” It was less of a question, moreso a statement.
“Yes.”
“And you’re sure you don’t want backup? From what I heard there could be traps. All kinds of weird Decepticon science stuff. Just saying, some company might come in handy…”
Redline’s helm tilted a fraction of an inch, however her optics still did not return to him.
“You think my team can’t handle it?”
“Oh I know they can,” He paused, a grin oozing with playful smugness etched itself into his faceplates as he pushed off the wall and slowly approached. “Just thought you’d appreciate a little something, something, like me amongst all that-.”
“Mirage, you’re not coming.”
At last she turned away from the workbench of ammunition, arms folded, and helm downcasted towards the shorter bot, cutting his begging short.
The iconic Redline stoic look of silent disapproval mentally would’ve squashed any other bot as if they were no more than a pesky insecticon.
But not this steel helmed amorist.
In fact, he was right where he wanted to be.
Letting out a massive sigh, his frame slumped as he pittily pouted up to the femme, optics wide, and bottom derma puffed in faked sadness.
“Common Red, you’re really gonna deny me a creepy lab infiltration date?”
Primus, he could practically hear her denta clench the moment he murmured that nickname. It never failed to get her motor running just a little hotter.
All he needed to do was push a little harder.
“This is not a date.”
“It most certainly could be. You, me, some haunted old scrap heaps, sounds pretty romantic to me.”
As quickly as it occurred, a ghost of amusement twitched across her derma before vanishing back into vaguely annoyed apathy.
Almost there just had to secure the win.
“You’ll hold position here. I’ll be back within the cycle.”
Time for the finisher.
In a complete one eighty to his limp beseeched act, he shot up. Standing so stiff that his back strut and helm aligned, pedes flat together, and servos astutely clasped; he gave her an overly embellished salute.
“Yes ma’am!”
She stilled for a moment to take in the bipolar frivolous image before her, optical ridge creasing, and processor running through different retorts to fire back before a deadly roll of her optics dropped the conversation and she turned back around.
However, his keen optics did not miss the twitch of her derma mid turn into that darling smirk he had come to crave.
At ease he offered one last sigh before turning on his pedes to leave.
“Alright, alright fine, you win, but try not to miss me too much.”
She said nothing as his footfalls echoed back up the launch pad .
She didn’t have to.
Because at that moment he knew, he had truly won this round.
Helms kept on a swivel, servos morphed into armaments, Redline’s reconnaissance team swept through the long since abandoned, rusted, halls of the outpost.
True to their initial suspicion this base had long since been decommissioned. Dataports they had hoped to offer information had corroded over the decades, their data synthesizers unable to properly gather a single scrap of intel and energon tubing once embedded into the walls had shattered to pieces in crunched piles beneath their pedes.
It was strange, to say the least, completely unlike the Decepticons to desert anything, especially a post that appeared to once house great progress.
As they scouted deeper the captains ire suspicion grew greater.
There were no traps.
No resistance.
No signs of life.
It was too quiet.
“Weird, you’d think there’d be some kind of automated defenses left behind.” Muttered one of her soldiers, a younger mech who'd been recently assigned to her.
“Stay sharp, just because we’re not bleeding doesn’t mean we’re safe.” Redline’s cannon arm never lowered, her optics double checked corners, the darkened ceilings, the floor vents. Surely there had to be some sort of hidden ambush, some devious device waiting for them to uncover.
Yet each room yielded nothing but scrap.
That was until she reached the last sector
A smaller lab chamber, partially collapsed but mostly intact. Littered with scattered datapads on the counters, there was a strange hum in the air, low and almost organic, like the building itself was holding its breath.
As she signaled for the rest of her squad to hold, she entered.
The moment Redline stepped through the threshold of the entryway, she paused.
There was a creak from above.
She turned fast—
But not fast enough.
Old metal bent of a ventilation shaft gave way,
Pfffffffsh—
A faint puff of powdery air erupted from the ceiling vent. Pale and shimmering like star dust. Her instincts kicked in immediately as her battle mask snapped down across her face plates, engaging emergency ventilation systems —
But it was already too late.
The powder had entered her intakes.
She froze, her internal HUD flashing pop-ups as an internal scan completed.
She waited an astro-second, venting deeply, waiting for the fallout.
Yet nothing happened.
It did not hurt. Her internals did not feel as though they had begun smelting from the inside out.
It wasn’t panic-inducing. Her sparkbeat had not even increased to indicate psychological affliction.
The only indications of the substance’s presence was within her olfactory sensors, whatever it was, it smelled sweet.
Unrealistically sweet.
Like high-grade energon spiked with something impossibly decadent.
Like warm cables and static-slick armor.
Like...
Her stabilizers staggered slightly, a single servo gripped the wall to keep from stumbling.
“Captain?” One of the bots behind her took a step forward. “You okay?”
She lifted a hand. “Hold. Stay outside the door.”
The room began to shimmer faintly now in her optics, as if the corroded steel had been polished.
She could feel her vents cycling just a thread quicker and her energon pumps pushing the liquids beneath their casing just a fraction harder.
Nothing of utmost urgency, something that could be brushed off as slight panic. However what she could not understand was why her thoughts, which were usually always composed, had immediately gone to him.
Mirage.
Not just memories, but visceral impressions.
His voice, his frame pressed against hers, his cocky grin, and the way he always murmured her name when she had him strung out on the edge of overload—
No. No, no.
She forced herself upright, locking her mandible and turning back to her team. They all looked at her with concerned optics. The substance had not affected them, only her, thank Primus.
Given that so far the only adverse side effects were somewhat easy to conceal, she decided to press on.
Taking a deep intake she quailed the growing heat within her systems, for now.
‘Pull yourself together, finish the mission then deal with whatever the frag that was.’
“Continue the sweep. Mark each datapad for retrieval. Minimal interference. Anything unstable, tag for the science corps.” Her tone came out a bit more clipped than usual, a smidge more forced, yet she gave the order and her soldiers followed.
“Yes, Captain.”
The squadron resumed formation without pause, not one of them noticing the faint tension in her shoulders or the slight tremor in her frame.
Only she knew.
Only she could feel it.
The controlled slow-burning heat within her steadily evolved into a creeping, out of control, fire. It set in inside her actuators before radiating out and over her limbs, they now felt almost itchy.
Her spark was beginning to pound against her chassis and energon lines pumped harder with every step she took. Her coolant system hummed and fans clicked on, attempting to compensate, yet failing.
She was overheating.
But not from exertion.
From want.
Her field, the thing she normally kept locked down tighter than a war vault, was beginning to stretch thin against her will like a frayed cord.
She walked the corridor with practiced grace. Controlled, measured strides. Not a hitch. Not a stumble. She read datapads. She gave orders. She reviewed files that made her sick—old experiments, crude cyber-physiology attempts, horrors left behind by Decepticon science.
But nothing in the lab could hold her attention. Not when every passing klick made her internal temperature rise higher.
Not when her processor couldn’t stop looping the memory of his voice.
Mirage. Laughing in the common room. Leaning too close in the hallway. That glint in his optics when he knew she wanted him, but wouldn’t say it.
The memory of his servos on her hips the last time they touched, when they'd slipped into her quarters after a particularly brutal mission.
The way he whispered “Just say the word, Captain…”
Her vents shuddered. Her fingers curled into fists.
She couldn't stop it. Her array was throbbing just below her modest plating. The inferno of heat pulsing through her systems seemingly colbinated there.
There was pressure building in her frame, like a feedback loop of need spiraling with nowhere to discharge.
Still, no one noticed.
Because she was Redline. Captain. Commander. Stoic. Imperturbable.
This time in his quarters, sprawled across a half-reassembled storage crate like a prince on a throne. He had a holopad flickering above him, some old pre-war broadcast he wasn’t paying attention to, and an energon cube barely touched on the floor beside him.
All his reports and daily training for the cycle had been completed voors ago.
Redline had landed Thirty klicks ago still no word of their progress beyond the initial sweep.
He was bored.
He had told himself not to check the mission feed every few klicks, but, frag it, he missed her. Even if she would have scorned him half the time for “field incompetence” he still wished she would’ve let him at least tag along.
His optics blinked as the comm on his private line lit up.
::PRIVATE TRANSMISSION – REDLINE::
He sat up instantly and clicked it open.
“Mission stable. I’ll be back in approx. 40 klicks. Be waiting in my quarters when I return. I’ll need assistance with tension discharge.”
The pad fell out of his hand and clattered to the floor.
His entire frame went rigid. Vent systems kicked on high. Radial fans in his back whirred to life, trying to flush the sudden surge of heat in his plating.
“What,” he whispered.
Then read it again. Slowly.
Redline, Captain Redline, his stoic, restrained, command unit of a bot, had just asked him to be waiting in her berth.
For “tension discharge.”
Which, in Redline-code, was basically an all-out interface invitation.
His shutters closed.
Once.
Twice.
Then he launched himself off the crate and bolted toward the small washing station within his berthroom.
What followed was less preparation more akin to a pre-battle ritual.
He scrubbed every plate. Polished his finish until his frame gleamed like new-forged steel. Even swapped out his shoulder plating for the sleeker set she once told him, albeit offhandedly, “didn’t look completely ridiculous.”
His reflection in the mirror smirked back at him. Nervous, but smug.
“You’ve been waiting for this moment your whole life. Don’t frag it up. Play it cool, you got this.”
He tried to walk.
He really did.
But by the time he had made it halfway down the central corridor, Mirage’s stride had morphed into something dangerously close to a skip.
There was a bounce in his step, a twinkle in his optics, and a smile so wide it made his faceplates ache.
Bots were starting to notice.
“Hey, Mirage,” Sideswipe said, half-suspicious as he passed him in the hall, “you glitchin’? Or did you just win the lottery?”
“I am the lottery,” Mirage winked, spinning on one pede before continuing toward the command wing.
B-127 peeked out of the rec room and tilted his helm. Mirage tossed him a lazy wave without slowing.
Ratchet raised a brow from the medbay doorway as he walked by. “Why are you polished?”
Mirage didn’t stop. “Routine maintenance. Very important, ya know how it is Doc.”
The older mech’s optical ridge furrowed downwards as he retreated back to his office, scorning Mirage’s name amidst a grumble of ‘don't call me doc’.
Mirage passed Jazz next, the first lieutenant optics immediately narrowing at the chipper sergeant.
“You’re up to somethin’, pretty boy.”
“Who, me?”
“Mirage.”
He just shot him a look, one that said I’ll tell you later and kept going.
The closer he got to Redline’s quarters, the more serious his systems became. The smile was still there, but his spark was now pulsing fast, loud in his audials.
For the first time in a long while, he felt nervous.
He hadn’t gotten a message like that, ever.
Not from her.
Not the cool, clipped, steel-eyed Captain Redline who gave orders like iron and commanded like she was forged for it. The same bot who only let herself be vulnerable in the moments just after battle, when her plating was dented and she allowed herself to lean into him ever so slightly.
This? This was new.
This was her coming to him.
Not because she was spiraling.
And not because she was hurt.
But because she wanted him.
And she said it.
Bluntly.
Mirage had always been the flirt in their ‘relationship’. Always the one initiating those darling moments of intimacy, always the one starting fire in their sparks, but now…
“Frag,” he muttered to himself, rubbing his servos together, a small sheen of coolant had developed between the digits and within the center of his metallic palms. Trying to keep a cap on the rush of exhilaration shooting through his systems he took harshly exvented.
Then he nearly tripped over his own pede’s as he reached her door.
Regaining his bearings he looked around the halls, nobody else was here, nobody saw him.
“Keep it together man.”
Reaching for the keypad he did not need to knock.
He never did.
She had given him the code a long time ago.
Never explained it.
Never explicitly said why.
Because she didn’t need to.
If Mirage had learned one thing from her stoicism it was how to pick up a hint or two.
It was late one cycle when they had just returned from a mission gone haywire. Mirage was shaken, his servos leaking energon unsure of which splotches where his and which belonged to Primus knows who.
He remembers the way her field quietly pressed into his in light comfort, she’d tilted her helm, those deep blue optics melting into his.
“Go get washed up.” She paused, leaning down a smidge, her helm dangerously close to his. “My door code is 28237. Don’t forget it.”
It took him a moment to absorb what she had said, his drooping frame immediately felt ten times lighter as a smile replaced his deepend frown.
The femme of his dreams, the one he had been laying it on thick for the last millenia, had just given him direct access to her personal space.
A space no other bot in all of Cybertron has the privilege of invading.
How could he ever forget it?
He hastily typed in the code, his digit punching the keypad perhaps a bit too hard but with a light click, the door hissed open.
He debated a minute about laying on her berth or waiting against the wall—classic, casual. He opted for leaning, arms crossed, one foot propped, optics half-lidded like some dramatic datapad cover model.
Sitting in the far side of the shuttle, away from the rest of the expedition crew, Redline’s systems flushed from the everlasting effects of whatever powder had hotwired itself into her. Her soldiers were compartmentalized in the rear hold, unaware of the chaos humming through her circuits.
She had held herself together just enough to finish out their reconnaissance, make a final statement up to central command and regroup back at the return point.
But Primus was it difficult.
She felt buzzed, like she had drunk a couple cubes of high proof energex. Her spark was fizzling within her chassis, the normally slowish thump now a hammering drive under her plating. Readings show that her internal temp was far higher than normal, teetering the line of being too high. Internal fans did little to ease the sweltering as a thin layer of coolant had developed overtop gunmetal gray plating and small trills of steam evaporated off of her.
However these symptoms were far from the worst of it.
The most annoying and persistent of it all to the Captain was stemming from her processor.
Rather than recaps of the mission, it kept redirecting her focus to rather inappropriate memories.
Memories she only ever revisited within the privacy of her own berthroom, certainly not in a convoy mere pede steps away from her squadron.
Yet even with eons of self restraint she could not stop them from polluting her sultry mindspace.
Mirage pinned beneath her, his servos digging into her thick armored shoulder pauldrons, legs wrapped so tight around her that his silver plated panels began creaking as her spike drove into him. Those beautiful moans of his ringing in her audials. Calling out to her, begging for her to-
“Primus…”
Huffing she tries and fails once more to rid herself of this evocation.
Opening her com channels the logical side of her processor hovers over Ratchet’s medical link, she really should see him about whatever has infected her. Yet the otherside, the one she's never allowed freerain of decision making, not amidst this war, glances over to Mirage’s private channel.
She needed to make a decision.
A few klicks pass by, Redline is left staring at her internal hud for a long time, her recent message history open.
‘Did I really just do that?’
Had she really sent that?
The corner of her derma twitched upward in a shadow of a smirk.
Yes. Yes, she had.
And she was very curious to see what state she would find Mirage in when she arrived.
Still leaned against the wall, with barely enough time to turn his helm, Mirage’s elated mood was instantly vaporized as the joviality within the room changed.
It was not just her tall, commanding , frame stepping through the doorway that caused a shutter to run down his back strut.
It was the field radiating off of her.
Unashamed
Unabashed.
Unhinged.
It hit him like an electromagnetic pulse, rattling around in his helm, frying his sensors, and reverberating down to every wire and bolt within his frame.
Never in his dozens of millennia of existence had he ever felt such raw emotions from a single bots energy field.
It was the last thing he expected, especially from her.
Staggering back one step, Mirage's frame bumped into the wall behind him.
He had spent the last 40 klicks thinking of dozens of things to say, half smug, half flirty, all charming; yet each one had been swallowed whole.
Redline’s piercing optics locked onto him, deep blue gaze siering. If looks could kill, the smaller mech would’ve been smelted on the spot.
Without a word she crossed the thin distance between them in a fraction of an astro-second.
The moment she neared Mirage, she was on him.
By the time a startled invent rattled within his intake, silver plating was already being slammed into the wall behind, large servos gripped at his tibulen, and his pedes had been lifted effortlessly off the flooring. His entire frame was caged between her and the wall.
Mirage barely had enough time to adjust within Redline’s grip before firm derma hungrily began devouring him.
The fervent kiss felt as if the captain was trying to steal every molecule of energon out of his lines.
And Primus, he loved it.
A squeaked out whimper from Mirage only seemed to hasten Redline’s assault.
Wrapping his arms around her neck, careful he already felt the hot and buzzing pressure of transmission fluid building up behind his closed panel.
Her field coiled around his like a living current, pushing against his own until he was swimming in it.
Nothing soft about it.
She was claiming him.
Her frame pressed flush against his, powerful and impossibly hot, steam seeped and coolant dripped from under heavily armored plates.
A teasing, deliberate, grind against his modesty plating only served to inflame the raging heat.
But it was not enough, not nearly enough.
In this moment she was heat.
Need.
Dominance.
After a few klicks her derma at last released his.
Venting sharp, Mirage attempted to regain a shred of his earlier bravado as a laugh wordlessly trembled out.
“You-” He had to bite back a wheeze, vocalizere crackling slightly as her tibulen strut shifted once more against his panel, “You’re not even gonna say hi first?”
Redline’s helm tilted slightly, optics dimming in focus.
Her voice was low, rough, as if she had just awakened from deep rooted stasis.
“Hi.”
Servos shifted, the denting grip once on his tibulen slid down to grip his aft as her frame further pressed him into the wall and her tibulen angled upwards between his to keep the bottom of his still covered array perfectly aligned with the top of hers.
Mirage gasped -
‘Frag’
He could not help it.
Smaller digits clutched at the thick tracked treads on her shoulders, optics already half-lidded once more.
“O-okay- we’re doing this-I-I just-”
Sliding their panels together again Redline choked out his words once more.
Mirage barely registered that his modesty plating had snapped open in response.
Redline virtually growled at the sight of Mirage’s dripping valve, the tone rumbling low within her overheating chassis. The sound sent pulses of lust shooting through his spark and straight down it his array.
The captain has never acted like this.
Never allowed herself to act like this.
Always upholding herself with utmost dignity not only as an officer but as a leader, a mentor, someone for other bots to look up to; But right now it felt as if an uncontrollable storm was brewing within her processor, clouding all sense of hard driven self restraint and order.
Servo’s slide behind Mirages back strut, supporting him with frightening ease, while her other hand snapped open his panel with a practiced flick. His frame shivered, heat surging from his core like he’d been lit up from the inside.
Her own modesty cover retracted and her fully pressurized spike emerged. Hard and slick, it firmly pressed between them, the weeping, overly flushed tip already leaking pre-overload fluid onto Mirage’s abdominal plating.
“Primus Red… you’re really not messing around huh?”
That fragging nickname nearly sent the captain off the deep end, the haze of andor surged, and a violent shiver raced through her frame.
Her intakes were ragged, shallow, as she tried to regain a smidge of control, yet failed.
Optics stared into his for an astro-second before her helm tipped down to meet his, never breaking their optic contact.
“I need you.”
Then she slammed into him.
Mirage yelped, optics flaring wide, as his helm shoots backwards onto the wall with a loud clunk. Calipers dilated fully to try and take every inch of her yet struggled.
There was no build-up.
No teasing.
No slow grind to ease him into her size.
Redline instantly began to drive into him, thrusts unhinged, frantic; like she had been waiting for eons for this.
And he took it.
Eager.
Writhing.
Absolutely lost.
Desperate digits reached over, clawing at her armored back plating just above heated vent slats as his tibulen bucked reflexively every time she thrusted again.
Harder.
Deeper.
Her field wrapped around him like static, every press a command, every motion a claim.
Mirage could barely keep his optics from rolling back.
“I-, Red, you’re- frag, you’re gonna overload me too fast,”
She did not respond verbally, instead her helm slid off of his and lowered, her denta bared as she bit into the sensitive side of his neck cables.
Mirage’s vocalizer tumbled out a shrieked moaned. The beautiful sound echoed into her audials and caused a low rumbled groan to bloom from her own.
The wall creaked beneath them as she pounded up into him.
Fast.
Relentless.
Mirage’s frame jolted with every thrust, his mirrored thrusts seizing as he began to shake.
He was not even pretending to hold back anymore as he previously had for every encounter before this.
Every moan, every cry, every helpless little “Oh, Primus, yes-” echoed off the walls, unfiltered and high-pitched.
Uncaring to who heard it.
Uncaring to what others would think when they realized the captain was fragging a low rank.
All that mattered in this moment was them.
Redline was dripping coolant and the small trails of steam turned to clouds as heat radiated off of her like molten steel, but she did not slow. She could not. Something in her, deep and ancient, not strategic nor logical as her usual processor functioned, was clawing its way to the surface.
In the eons that the two had been ‘together’ she had him a hundred different ways. Against walls. In her berth. In the field. Scrap, even a few times in meeting rooms long after everyone had left.
Stolen moments behind locked doors in hushed voices between two frames needing release.
That’s all it had ever been.
Never like this.
This was not just release.
This was drive.
An almost biological need.
She had to go deeper.
She wanted to feel him stretch around her to the fullest, feel the end of him, the resistance of that soft, sensitive gasket ring at the very end of his valve.
And when she found it, when her spike brushed up into it, pressure meeting pressure, Mirage screamed.
His whole body arched, spark flaring so bright she could feel it through its chamber and plating. His valve fluttered around her spike, walls contracting so tight she herself gasped aloud at the sensation.
“F-frag, RED-”
He was clinging to her now.
Digits scrapped at gunmetal paint, curling chips off beneath their grasp. His helm leaned forward, burying his faceplates into the junction of her neck cables and shoulder plating like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.
Slowing her pace slightly, she rolled her fully sheathed spike into his valve, right against his gasket.
It was deep, deeper than the mech had imagined possible.
He felt full.
Again and again her tibulen rolled in agonizing thrusts until Mirage was a mess of moans. He felt his overload fastly approaching, at any moment he knew it would overtake his senses.
Then-
She said it.
Low.
Ragged.
Possessive.
Something she did not think twice of before saying.
Something that rose out of the deepest recesses of her processor.
“I'm going to put a sparkling in you.”
Mirage froze.
His vents stopped.
His spark skipped two pulses.
Then-
He let out a choked, broken moan, the pitch sharp enough to sound like a sob as he overloaded.
He wanted to still, to relax, to let the pulses of pleasure run through his systems, yet something in his coding demanded he keep going.
His frame jolted up, forcing her spike to slide halfway out before slamming back down to meet her.
Wild and uncoordinated he moved, to which she swiftly adjusted to match his pace tenfold.
The idea, the filth of it, something so instinctual, something impossible, hit him like a freighter and lit his processor ablaze.
As much as he tried to keep going, his frame was growing tired with each passing klick, not used to such rigorous fragging.
“Scrap- Red, I-I can’t-”
She slammed into him again. Right to the hilt of her spike, feeling the rim of his gasket nuzzle the head.
Already reaching the limits of overstimulation the poor bot nearly blacked out.
“You can’t?” she murmured into the side of his helm, right beside his audial, voice thick with heat and intent. “You can take it. I know you can.”
It was becoming too much for Mirage, his frame was shaking, yet she did not stop.
“Carry my sparklings. My pretty little carrier-”
Mirage shattered.
Another overload hit him like a plasma blast right to the spark.
His spike, though untouched, throbbed as transmission fluid shot out to paint their grille plates and his valve convulsed around her spike so tight she nearly overloaded right then and there with him.
But that same burning, visceral, heat within her systems demanded she kept going.
His voice cracked, fizzling out into nothing more than glitched static as she kept thrusting through it, unrelentingly milking every astro-second of it from him until he went limp in her arms.
The inferno reached a boiling point, just below her plating, bursting at the seams of her protoform.
Redline felt as though she would combust.
One last thrust.
Deep.
Hard.
She all but roared out a moan through gritted denta as her overload at last rippled through her.
Her field blasted outward in a shockwave of heat and satisfaction.
Helm dropping to Mirage’s shoulder, her whole frame shook.
For several long shaking moments they stayed like that, tangled, wrecked and overheating. Their uneven, labored, intakes were the only sound within the dim, now quieted room.
Redline’s spike was still nestled deep inside Mirage’s valve, the pressure beginning to ease…or so she thought.
Not bothering to remove herself just yet the large femme easily held him within her arms as she moved them to the berth.
They both lay tangled, chassis’ rising and falling, trying to regulate their sparkbeats, attempting to ground themselves in the calm after the storm.
Redline’s digits traced lazy patterns over Mirage’s back plating, occasionally rubbing at his fenders or brushing over his wheels, her optics half-lidded in exhaustion and almost complete satisfaction.
Mirage’s voice was a hoarse whisper, barely audible over their shared intake vents.
“Frag… you planning on going another round, or should I start calling the medics now?”
A teasing grin tugged at his faceplates despite the breathlessness.
Redline’s response was a slow, experimental thrust, just enough to send a fresh jolt rippling through them both.
Venting inwards in a sharp gasp mirage’s valve instantly clenched around her spike.
“Frag,” he choked out, fingers digging into her shoulders as his back strut arched off the berth.
It felt incredible, but far too overstimulating as the mesh of his valve began to grow sore, pleasure started to overlap with pain.
Even so, they both knew this was not over.
Not by a long shot.
Her optics darkened with a reignited hunger, yet through the haze she immediately recognized his slight discomfort.
Throughout each of their encounters Redline had always maintained a strict intolerance for any masochism, it simply was not in her coding to find inflicting or taking pain arousing.
Mirage whimpered in defiance as she began to pull out, hips twitching, valve exhausted, but still oh so needy, he did not want her to stop. Not when he had dreamed for so long for this moment.
The moment Redline took charge.
When she finally let go.
“No please! Wait,” Gasping he reached a servo down, digits attempting to redirect her spike back into his valve. “I can handle it! I-I want to keep going.”
His words were eager, honest.
But it did not seem to bring her back.
He had lost.
As she rose up off of him, moving his legs from around her grille plates and his servo away from her spike; his spark sank.
Thinking she was done with him and off to self service or worse ready to send him back to his own berth, he was not prepared for what happened next.
The captain paused above him, her optics gazing down to his searching for a flicker of uncertainty… and then she shifted once more.
Rolling her frame forward she adjusted her bulking legs to either side of his slender tibulen. Poleyn clad knee rotators locked down against the berth, bracketing him beneath her.
He was confused for a moment before a quiet slide of metal revealed the entirety of her array to him.
Mirage’s optics dilated.
Her valve, something the bot had rarely if ever seen, let alone be offered, was right there.
Wet.
Hot.
Thick trails of transmission fluid dripped from Redline’s pulsing core just above his semi-pressurized spike.
Redline has always spiked Mirage. That was what they had both agreed upon during the earliest stages of their entanglement and were both more than comfortable with.
She had entertained the idea of him topping her a few times within her processor over the decades, but never offered it, for he never asked. Mirage on the servo had, on many occasions, fantasized about it in great detail. Yet never acted on it, never asked. Being spiked by the captain was simply too good, why would he ask for more when he already had what he wanted?
But now that it was right in front of him…
The silver bot swallowed hard, processor glitching, and spike twitching to full pressurization.
“Wait,” he breathed, voice cracking slightly. “You want… me to…”
Mirage was in utter disbelief.
Large, impossibly warm, servos cupped his face plates between their massive palms. The edges of Redline’s derma peaked upwards, cracking her usual stoic facade in a soft, barely there smile, two rare sightings in one cycle. Deep blue optics were ablaze with heat, yet held so much sincere devotion. The two combined to make Mirage’s spark flutter.
“I trust you.”
Three words.
That’s all she gave him.
But they shattered something inside him.
Mirage let out a breathy, half-laugh half-moan, nervous and desperate all at once. He felt his spark pulse within its chamber not from the combined yearning but with something else, something he could not quite describe.
“But we’ve never-” he stammered, spike twitching against the hot air of her open panel. “Not with you. Not like-this. I- Scrap, I don’t even know the last time I spi-”
She shifted her hips just enough that her valve brushed the head of his spike. A shudder rocked through him, his frame bucking helplessly.
“It will be okay. Do you trust me?” she asked simply. Her voice was low, edged with the same command she used in battle… but this time, it was not about control, no it was laced with undercurrents of tender care.
It was permission.
An invitation.
In complete clarity their optics meet.
“I’ve never trusted anyone as much as I do you Red.”
Mirage’s optics fluttered away from hers for a moment as she reached down, guiding the tip of his spike to her entrance.
The slick heat of her valve squeezed against him, and his whole body trembled.
“Oh frag,” he whispered, voice high and strained. “Oh frag, oh-Primus, you feel—”
She sank down lower, slow and steady.
Taking him.
Her venting hitched. Back strut arched slightly, the newfound pressure made her plating twitch. Her valve fluttered around his spike, adjusting, welcoming the new sensations in ways that left both of them gasping.
Mirage’s digits dug into the berth, the metal scraping, as his spike was engulfed inch by inch.
“Red.” he moaned.
When she was fully seated on his lap, her servos settled on his chassis, and a quiet exhale escaped her derma.
She had not expected him to feel so… good.
Neither of them spoke.
Because in that moment, with his spike buried within her, something neither expected to happen was finally, finally coming to fruition, they did not need words.
Redline moved slowly at first, hip rotators rolling in steady, deliberate motions. Mirage’s spike dragged against her inner walls with every pass, each slide slick, hot, and intimate in a way that nearly broke him.
His servos flew off of the berth and up to her aft, digits splayed across the thick, nearly indestructible, plating, trembling as she rocked atop him. He could feel the pulsing of her valve’s mesh each time she sank down.
“F-frag-" Mirage moaned, his helm thrown back. “You-you’re gonna fry my circuits, I swear.”
She rode him steadily, watching the way his faceplates twisted in pure pleasure, the way his sparkbeat thrumped beneath her servos through his chassis.
“Don’t fall apart yet,” she said, voice low, thick with arousal. “You’re doing fine.”
Mirage let out a shuddered laugh, breathless and overwhelmed, his claws tightening on her aft as her pace quickened.
His systems were on fire.
But somewhere under the haze, memory sparked. Instinct kicked in. Old movements buried deep in his processor from eons ago, once dormant, almost forgotten, now reawakened.
Mirage had been with others before Redline, back when he raced the circuits of Iacon. But that was long before the war, before he ever made moves on the captain. Even then he rarely if ever spiked his lovers. But the deep rooted motions were still floating around his processor somewhere.
His pedes, once slack, began to shift.
Slowly.
Tentatively.
He planted them flat against the berth.
His rotator joints flexed.
Redline noticed the change immediately- his tibulen lifting just slightly to meet hers on her next downward push.
She paused for a moment.
Just long enough to look down at him, slight surprise flickering in her optics.
Mirage stared back at her, derma parted slightly open, vents roaring.
“I-I remember how to do this,” he muttered, a wild glint of pride behind his flushed expression. “I think.”
Redline’s icon smirk fully blossomed across her faceplates, unabashed.
“Then show me.”
Mirage’s digits slid higher, securing around the small of her abdomen, grip tightening. On her next rise, he met her with a slow, shallow thrust.
The motion made her vent sharply, steam seeped out as the heat within her reached a pitch once more, her frame stuttered just a tad.
His confidence surged.
He did it again.
A little deeper.
A little stronger.
Her valve clenched around him in response, and his optics flared.
“Oh frag, you like that?”
Her only answer was a low groan as her frame ground down harder into his thrust.
They found a rhythm together, slow but building, Redline riding him with expert control, Mirage meeting her halfway with rising confidence.
Their fields braided again, sparking violently as the pleasure between them mounted.
“Holy scrap,” Mirage moaned, thrusting up again, smoother this time. “You feel-so tight. I forgot-...how good this could feel. Frag, Red-”
She leaned down, her forehelm pressing against his, her voice just above a whisper.
“Don’t you dare stop.”
For the third time within the voorn Mirage was caught off guard by the captain. He had not expected this, any of it.
Not the sounds she made.
Not the way she melted.
Not the way she unabashedly fragged him.
Redline’s helm tilted back, optics fluttering closed as a raunchy, unfiltered moan nearly spilled from her vocalizer. It was delicate, started off quiet, before rising, growing louder the second time.
But she refused to let it completely out. Still holding an ounce of restraint.
Within that moment something inside the meche snapped.
Without thinking, Mirage’s servos slid back down to her aft, grabbing servofuls of armor and pulling her halfway up his spike, just far enough for the tip to rest near her entrance, then he slammed back up into her.
Redline cried out.
Breaking the thin scraps of remaining silence within her, her mandible unlocked and denta opened allowing a pure, guttural, unfiltered moan to fully resonate in the room.
The sergeant’s processor nearly glitched as he committed the sight and sound deep into his memory banks. Staring up at her in utter disbelief, his spike twitched violently inside her tight, leaking valve.
Something in his neural net rewired.
He thrusted in again. And again. Harder with each pass of his rotator.
“Please-please do that again…I-I need it..please.”
Redline could not muffle her moans anymore, each time his spike pushed up into her valve, slick and deep, the air was filled with both the wet, obscene sounds of their bodies connecting and her loud free flowing whines.
She was not used to this, being fragged like this. Taken.
Transmission fluid leaked in hot trails between their frames, pooling messily against his lower abdomen and on the berth beneath them.
“Mirage,” she gasped, her voice shaking. “Don’t stop-”
He wasn’t planning to.
The sounds she made, the way her field burst around him in staggered waves, it drove him deeper into frenzy. His thighs were trembling, spark burning bright, but his grip on her aft held her firm, dragging her down into each violent, wet thrust.
“You sound so fraggin’ pretty,” he panted, grin curling over his derma. “You’re gonna overload for me like this, aren’t you? Loud. Messy.”
She could not even answer, her optics rolled, denta open as her moans spiraled higher, uncontrolled, real.
And Mirage could feel it.
She was close.
So close.
Her valve was clenching tighter, her venting more erratic, her moans rising in volume and desperation. But she had not overloaded. Not yet. There was something missing.
And he could tell.
Not just from her body but from her field. It stuttered in waves, surging and retracting like it was caught in a feedback loop.
She needed something more. Something extra.
And Mirage, spark pounding and optics half-lidded, knew exactly what.
Still pushing up into her with fast, strong thrusts, he let one servo slide from her aft, trailing across the mess of slick transmission fluid pooling between them.
His two of his digits ghosted over the base of her valve, the seam where they were connected slick, hot and dripping.
He paused.
Redline’s optics cracked open, dazed but watching him.
“What… are you-”
He smirked, breathless and shaking. “Trust me.”
His fingers slid up, between her valve folds and found it.
Her external node.
Small.
Overheated.
Pulsing.
The moment he touched it, Redline’s frame jolted so hard her valve seized around his spike in reflex.
She whined. Sharp and high.
Mirage’s spike throbbed in response.
“Ohhhh frag, that’s the spot, isn’t it, Captain?”
He rolled his digits over it, first soft, then pressing down in small, precise circles.
Her valve gripped him.
Her helm fell forward against his chest, servos shaking beside his head.
“Miraaaage-”
Hearing her say his name like that, pleading, lit him on fire.
He thrust up rougher now, meeting each motion of his hips with slow, firm flicks against her node. The combined stimulation was devastating.
Every time he bottomed out inside her and pressed on that sensitive point, her frame jolted like it was short-circuiting.
“You gonna overload for me now? Let go, Red.” Overwhelmed by how hot and soaked she was around him he felt his own overload begin to crest.
She was close.
And he could feel it.
The buildup was there, vibrating through every inch of her armor. All he had to do was keep going.
And he would.
He would not stop until the unshakeable Captain Redline broke for him.
She was right at the edge now.
Mirage could feel it. Her vents stuttered, thighs shaking around his frame, valve pulsing in rhythm with his spike. The way her spark was flickering so bright behind her chest plates, her helm low against his.
She was slipping.
And he wanted to push her.
Not just physically.
He wanted her to feel what he felt.
Raw.
Wanting.
Overwhelmed and full to the brim with something far deeper than lust.
He remembered what she’d said before. The way her voice dipped, low and possessive- ‘I’m going to put a sparkling in you.’
Primus. That phrase had never left him. It had seared itself into his processor.
And now-
It was his turn.
Still thrusting up into her, still working her external node in messy, wet circles, Mirage tilted his helm just enough to pant into her audial, his voice breaking and gasping between every other word;
“Y-you—ahhh—you said… you were gonna—put a sparkling in me.”
Redline let out a wrecked gasp, her valve tightening violently at just the sound of it.
“Now it’s your turn,” Mirage moaned, his spike jerking deeper into her soaked valve. “Let me-f-frag, let me fill you up, cycle after cycle, until your panel won’t close.”
Her optics snapped open wide.
He was not smooth like her.
He was not calculated.
He sounded like he was barely holding on, like the words were spilling out because he couldn’t not say them.
“Gonna- I- I’m gonna spike you so deep your system won’t flush it out- gonna give you a sparkling-”
Her moan in response, half sob half roar, was unlike anything he had ever heard from her.
Mirage did not stop.
He could not.
Redline’s whole frame trembled. Her vents failed, optics burned a bright cyan, and her spike, bouncing between their frames untouched, pulsed instinctively, but she didn’t care.
Because that was the final push.
That voice.
That need.
That desire.
Redline’s valve clenched tight, and she shrieked, helm thrown back, fully seated on top of Mirage, internal walls rippling around his length as her overload hit like a tidal wave.
Mirage felt the moment she broke.
Her valve seized around him in pulsing, fluttering contractions, and her spike gushed transmission fluid onto his chassis. Her whole body trembled above him, optics flaring, mouth open in a raw moan that felt like it ripped through the very air.
That sound, that fragging sound she made-
He tried.
Primus, he really did.
He wanted to hold on, to let her ride it out while he worshiped her, watched her fall apart completely because of him.
But-
The heat.
The rhythmic, impossible tightness of her valve gripping him, squeezing like it didn’t want to let him go.
The mess of fluid spilling out of her with each pulse, coating his hips, pooling where they were connected.
“Oh frag, oh frag-”
His hips stuttered. His grip on her faltered.
And then-
It hit him.
His spike throbbed violently inside her once, twice, and then he was coming undone.
“Redline!”
The overload exploded through his frame, white-hot and sharp. His spark flared in time with hers, his spike pulsing inside her valve with thick bursts of transfluid as he overloaded deep, buried to the hilt.
His servos clutched her close as he overloaded, frame shaking beneath hers, panels locking up with every jolt of ecstasy.
They were tangled. Slick. Well beyond overheating. And so full of each other.
His derma barely moved, gasping out a final, broken phrase into her neck cables:
“…you’re so fragging perfect.”
Redline had moved off of Mirage, opting to lay beside him on the berth. The moment his spike left her it instantly depressurized, leaving behind the pools of transmission fluid on his abdomen plating.
The mech stayed laying on his back plates, staring up at the ceiling as if stars were still spinning above him. His limbs felt like molten metal, spent, trembling, and absolutely wrecked in the best possible way.
A lazy, boneless smile tugged at his derma.
“Are you okay?” Murmured beside him, voice deep and rough like she’d been breathing fire the whole time Redline gazed over at him.
He huffed a half-laugh. “Okay? I don’t even know what planet I’m on.”
She turned her helm toward him, optics diming with amusement. Her servo lifted lazily, tracing idle circles against his chassis, just over his spark casing.
They did not speak for a while.
There was no need.
But Mirage’s processor was loud.
Because three little lines replayed in his processor like a corrupted memory loop.
‘Im going to put a sparkling in you…’
‘Good carrier.’
‘gonna give you a sparkling-”
They had done this song and dance a thousand times.
But never like that.
Never with her taking him then letting him take her.
And never… never with phrases like that.
It did not sound like his usual dirty talk.
Not really.
The heat of the moment had made it easy to say. In the haze of pleasure it had made perfect, undeniable sense to agree and say it. The words felt natural, instinctual even.
But now?
Now his spark beat refused to settle, not out of nerves or residual lust, bit something more…
Hopeful but utterly terrified all at once.
The captain and the Sergeant had never fully discussed the extent of their ‘relationship’ other than boundaries during fragging so it had always been assumed to the silver mech that that's all this ever was. But now, it felt as if their dynamics had shifted.
Mirage swallowed, his intake suddenly felt dry.
Optics flickering sideways to her, she had closed hers relaxing onto the berth, her venting already beginning to level out.
“…Hey,” he said, perhaps a bit too quietly.
“Mm?” She did not open her optics, but her helm slightly tilted in acknowledgment.
“...Did you mean it?”
Redline optics at last opened, her gaze staring over to him, not tense. Just… still.
“You said…” Mirage licked his derma, trying to play it casual, even as his spark flickered nervously. “You wanted to put a sparkling in me. Did you mean it? Or was it just heat of the moment stuff?”
She remained silent, her usual stoicism reclaiming its place upon her faceplates as her field flickered, not recoiling, but tightened, like the question hit deeper than expected.
It took her a moment to answer, her processor trying to switch back to logical thinking but with something so emotionally charged this feat was impossible.
“I do not know.” Her voice was significantly quieter than her usual commanding tone, softer. Yet her words still struck his spark like a stray blaster bullet. It stung.
But she kept speaking before the burn truly set in.
“ I did not plan to say it. I did not think it through. But the moment it came out, it felt right.”
The hurt within his spark turned giddy. However when her gaze shifted to him fully, he froze, she was searching his expression. “You said it too.”
“I did…” He paused, truly looking within his spark processor before continuing. “And… I think I meant it too.”
Silence again befell the berthroom, heavier this time. Not uncomfortable, but unbearably fragile. Like one invent out of place would shatter the delicate field around them.
The large femme’s frame shifted, her servos coming around Mirage’s frame, pulling him closer and resting his helm directed atop where her spark chamber laid beneath her chassis.
“Maybe we did not mean it like a promise… But maybe it's something we want.”
Mirage felt a swell of optical lubrication pool in his optics, he tried to shudder it away has his helm lifted off of her to look into her optics. She met his haze unrelentingly.
“You want that?” His voice barely whispered out of his vocalizer.
“I want you.” Mirage ex-vented shakily, his spark pulsing harder in his chassis than ever before. He leaned up, pressing his forehelm against hers.
“Yeah, me too.”
They did not speak any more after that.
Mirage tucked his frame tightly into hers, his servos curling gently around her chassis while her own found his tibulen again. Not in want, nor dominance or lust, but in reassurance.
The two lay in a tangle of limbs, the silence full of unspoken promises. It was quiet, intimate,
Until-
KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK
The moment was shattered like a dropped cube of energon.
Redline’s frame stiffened beneath Mirage as the smaller bot let out a low, exasperated wheeze into her shoulder.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Captain, are you decent yet?” Came the very distinct, very unimpressed voice of chief medical officer Ratchet through the door.
“Slag…” Redline swore beneath her exvent as Mirage instantly tried to roll off of her but winced when his hip rotator clicked audibly.
“Okay, okay, just play it cool.”
“I am not answering the door looking like this.” Redline pushed herself up, grimacing when she felt the stickiness between her legs and on her abdominal plating. There was transmission fluid both hers and his leaking down her inner thigh plates.
Mirage tried to get up to help but she immediately ordered him to stand down.
“Stay there, don't move.”
Redline was already moving with sharp efficiency, grabbing a cleaning cloth from her desk, wetting it with cleaner and hastily wiping at the mess smeared across her. Her denta clenched in a hiss as she brushed over her over stimulated array.
Another series of knocks, more impatient this time hammered at the door.
“Captain. Your soldiers filed a contamination report. I am required to perform a full scan for foreign particles before you drop dead or start growing an extra limb. Open the door.”
“Just a moment, doctor.” Redline called back, voice flat, faking her usual indifference despite the inner chaos.
Tossing mirage another cleaning cloth she gave her frame a look in the small mirror. Her faceplates were still flushed, modesty plating a bit scruffed, and her optics were a bit unfocused.
Not ideal.
But somewhat passable.
Taking another deep intake she steadied her field, trying to reel it back in.
The door cracked open, just enough for Ratchet to see a sliver of her shoulder plating and helm, nothing more. Certainly not into the room to see the still flustered sergeant on her berth.
The medics' optics narrowed up to her.
“I heard enough through the walls to know your vocalizer still works.” Ratchet’s voice was dry, devoid of humor.
Redline did not flinch.
“And I am still standing. So you can file the report, I'm not growing any extra limbs and am functioning properly.”
“I still need to scan you.” His tone left little room, even for such a high ranking officer like her, to argue with. “And quite frankly, given your very obvious mood swings, erratic field spikes, and that-” HIs optical brow twitched in annoyance. “Ruckus, I wouldn't be surprised if you inhaled something that temporarily melted your behavior inhibitors.”
The captain said nothing.
Leaning in, the older mech's voice lowered a few decibels. “Should I be checking on Mirage too?”
Hidden behind her frame and the door, Mirage's field surged in panic.
“That will not be necessary.” Redline's reply was clipped, her denta slightly clenched, but stone cold.
Holding the captain's gaze was no easy task for any other bot, but for the seasoned medical chief he looked up to her with utmost ease. A quiet standoff. Finally after a few atro-seconds of tension, he sighed, clearly too old and too tired to fight her on it.
“Fine. I’ll write it off.” He turned to leave, but not before one last jab. “But, if I get one more report about sounds coming from this corridor, I'm submitting a requisition order for structural dampeners and emotional suppressors.”
“Acknowledged.”
Closing the door, before she could say anything more the bot on her berth exploded with muffled laughter, his faceplates buried in the berthcover nearly in hysterics.
“Emotional suppressors AND dampeners?” Mirage was practically wheezing. “By the allspark, what does he think this is? A seismic event? Were we shaking the walls that bad?”
Redline gave him a flat, deadpanned look, her arms crossing over her chassis.
Mirage only grinned up at her. “No seriously, did you see his face? He looked like he wanted to sterilize the whole west wing!”
Walking over to the berth she sat on the edge, right at Mirage’s pedes, her optics looking over to him but said nothing.
“Do you think we should apologize to the old mech?” He asked.
“No. Definitely not.”
“Maybe we should send him some energex? He might need it to forget what he heard.”
“You sending him energex is a valid reason for him to file a complaint and weld your modesty plating permanently shut.”
Mirage barked out another laugh. “Would be worth it.”
Redline shook her helm, even in the dim darkness of the room Mirage could see the faint twitch of her derma curling up into her iconic smirk.
“In all seriousness Red, you sure you’re okay though? With that slag you vented in?”
“I'm fine, whatever it was, it should not be contagious.” His smile morphed into a pout at her reply.
“A real shame, I wouldn't have minded catching whatever made you like that.”
Her optical ridge raised at him in silent skepticism.
“Well, actually I would’ve liked a little warning first. You turned me into a chew toy there for a klick,” Trying to sit up the bot winced, his rotators ground painful against each other, soreness from such rigorous ‘activities’ already setting in. “Yeah definitely gonna need my own medical check up after that.”
“I’ll tell Ratchet you’re on your way.”
“Do. not.”
BONUS SCENE
Because I love Jazz :(
The next cycle came like a slow download, heavier than expected, slightly glitchy, and with a lingering soreness that Mirage was trying very hard to ignore.
He could walk normally.
Truly He could.
He just… didn’t really want to.
Everything below his hip struts felt like it had been dismantled and lovingly reassembled by someone with a serious kink for creative geometry.
It felt as if his hip rotator had been rusted over and Primus did was his array under its modesty paneling pulse with soreness.
Still, he had reports to file and was already late.
He straightened out his plating, adjusted his audial fins just right, and set off down the hall with the determined gait of someone trying to look casual while actively fighting a limp.
Naturally, that’s exactly when Jazz appeared.
Leaning against the wall just past the mess hall entrance, the First Lieutenant didn’t even bother to say anything at first. Just raised an optical ridge, watched Mirage approach, and smirked.
“...Don’t,” Mirage said flatly before Jazz even had the chance to speak.
The other mechs grin widened. “Don’t what, Sergeant?”
“I know that look.”
“Oh this look?” Jazz tilted his helm. “This is my ‘I definitely know who turned the west wing into a fragging soundscape last night’ look.”
Mirage groaned, stopping short. “Seriously? You heard that?”
Jazz made a noise somewhere between a chuckle and a hum. “Heard? Bro, the training deck heard that.”
Mirage could not help but wince.
“We thought Chromia was finally giving Ironhide the business end of a high-grade frag session, but nope.” The lieutenant leaned in, intruding on Mirage's personal space, his tone laced with amused judgment. “Turns out it was you and the captain Redline, and let me tell you..”
One of his digits came over and tapped the side of the silver bots helm.
“I heard both of you. Her? Purring like a tuned engine. You? Sounded like you were about to short circuit halfway through. Moanin’ like a rookie's first interface.”
Heatwaves of energon rushed into Mirage’s face plates in vibrant shades of blue embarrassment.
“I did not.”
Jazz’s smile unevenly turned into a smirk. “Oh you did. Little whimper at the end too, real high pitched.”
One of Mirage’s servos slapped over his face plates, he so desperately wished he could melt into the floor.
“Primus, I am never going to live this down.”
Jazz clapped a servo on his shoulder. “You might. In like… a few thousand years.”
Mirage slumped a little.
Jazz leaned in, his helm beside Mirage’s audia, voice dropping to a faux-serious tone. “So tell me… how’d you bag the captain, huh? Did you challenge her to a duel? Offer up your spark? Win her over with bad puns and backflips?”
“It’s none of your business.”
“Oh, it's definitely my business now. That’s public domain audio, my guy. I got field recordings.”
“You do not.”
Jazz winked. “No. But if I did, Wheeljack would’ve already remixed it with a bass drop.”
Mirage groaned again. “Can I go limp back to my post in peace?”
Jazz took a step back, raising both servos in mock surrender. “Go ahead. Limp off into the sunset, lovermech.”
As Mirage turned, Jazz called after him—
“Oh, and Sergeant?”
Mirage paused mid-step.
Jazz grinned. “You look real cute in a victory limp.”
Mirage muttered something profane and didn’t look back.
