Ah, the Ride Armor. One of the perks of being a hunter again, was that Vile could have an endless supply of these bad boys. Or more like repairs for his own custom gear, labeled as “Bling o’ War” by his peers, a literal gilded armor. It was too much, they said, but Vile refused to scrap or leave behind his baby.
He used “Bling o’ War” more than the standard Ride Armors because of this, looking flashy while he kicked the most ass in his unit. Not like he would allow anyone else to get to the bounty before he could, opting to rush ahead first, shoot and then ask questions never. It’s what got him in trouble before, what labeled him as a maverick in the first place, other than breaking out of jail. Among other things… but hey, that was all in the past, right? No biggie.
And so, Vile was again the first out of the hangar, several steps ahead of his hunter comrades, revving up Bling and feeling it rise to its feet below him. The violet ex-maverick flipped some switches and grabbed onto the steering, slowly wrapping his fingers around the twin joysticks. Gushing over his ride armor just felt too good to him, it should be illegal. Of course, even if it was, Vile was sure to do it anyway.
With a smirk, Vile zoomed out of the hangar and entered the battlefield ready to fight.
The mission was simple; locate and clear out a warehouse of mavericks in the middle of the suburbs. But what was the fun of going stealth when he could just station himself outside and sweep the area clean? Someone else could go inside to do the rest. Vile wanted to smash and cause big kabooms, it was the very reason why he rode out in the gear in the first place.
But it wasn’t long before he let himself get distracted by the rumbles and shifts his gear made, thinking about how easy it is to move in it. How delightful it was to have the mech’s massive hands to swipe and grab helpless enemies and electrocutes or even crushes them. How much of a power trip it was for him, making him get on a high and think of himself as untouchable once again. The armor is tall, fast, and pretty damn durable despite its gaudiness.
Underneath his helmet, Vile quickly licked his lips at the thought, pretending the little mavericks he came across were of a certain, irresistible hunter he loves flirting with. He wondered if they ever would want to play with him while in the armor? To allow him to see their pained faces as he squeezes the gear’s hand around their lithe forms, making them cry out?
Or maybe they would somehow eject him from his own gear, rip off his helmet in order to see the fear in his eyes? To have the tables turned against him, and now he’s the one in distress; writhing in the grasp of Bling o’ War as it’s piloted by the famous sword-wielding maverick hunter. Oh man. That actually sounds way too hot, to be able to feel what others felt. Vile knows how good it is when he’s at the reigns, when he’s in control. But… If he ever lost it? What if…
As he was getting distracted by all that, he unintentionally let a maverick foot soldier climb onto his armor. The maverick attempted to grab hold of him and remove him from his precious gear. As much as he would like to try his new idea out, he wasn’t going to do it with some random, nameless mechaniloid. Naturally, he whipped his arm out, producing a small firearm to pop the maverick in the head. From there, Vile grabs and tosses the damaged robot over his shoulder. He uses Bling to crush the pathetic little thing for good measure as well.
Just too good.
He doesn’t consider himself a masochist, but Vile gladly would allow his surrender, becoming submissive just once, only to feel the weight of the ride armor against him. Just for kicks. And preferably it wasn’t during a very distracting mission. Somewhere private for himself and the lovely red hunter who not-so-secretly stole his heart a few months ago.
If it was him piloting the armor, Vile wouldn’t mind it in the least.