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CLANG!

The sound of one Transformer colliding with another shattered the blissful silence of the Nemesis (Megatron and Starscream were both absent on an energy raid). The whole ship reverberated, and any small items not bolted down--including a few cassettes--fell over.

In their quarters, Thrust looked at Dirge. Dirge looked at Thrust. "So who do you think our fearless wing leader is banging this time?"

Dirge didn't move from his berth, where he was sprawled out full-length with a volume of depressing poetry. "Who cares? It's not me, it's not you, I say stay well out of it."

"Hey, it's not like I'm gonna go out there and get in between 'em or nothing. But it's nice to know who it is before they come down to our quarters for revenge or a second date and one of us gets slagged." Thrust double-checked the deadbolt on their quarters, then busied himself with the ritual of locking away anything remotely delicate. Not like they had many things like that, since they shared quarters with Ramjet.

CLANG!

With the ease of long experience, Thrust rode the shock waves and listened for clues about Ramjet's activities. "Huh, a bit more crunch this time, but not as much as I'd expect from a second go. Whoever it is, they're sturdy."

"Or Ramjet's banging into the wall, the ship's going to flood, and we're all going to die." Dirge didn't even bother to look up this time.

Thrust shuddered. "He wouldn't! Not even Ramjet." He didn't sound very convinced. Ramjet wasn't usually that crazy, true, but the thought of being crushed to death under thousands of tons of water--or worse, being trapped there forever, slowly slipping into stasis lock and rusting away--was enough to send any jet running screaming for the air. Suddenly the room with its bolted door started to close around him, and he was across the room and tearing at the bolts before he even realized what he was doing.

Wait. He glared at Dirge. "Cut that out."

The room returned to its normal shape and size as Dirge turned his powers off. Dirge grinned up at him. "You're way too easy to scare."

CLANG!

And there went Thrust's self-possession. "Three times? No one can take three!"

"Looks like our wing leader has found his ideal mate, then." Dirge grinned.

Thrust looked at Dirge incredulously. "But who?" He ran down the list of Decepticons on base. It was a short list: Soundwave and an indeterminate number of cassettes; the Constructicons; and...wait. The Stunticons. With their force fields. "He's doing a Stunticon?"

Dirge grinned. "Sounds like."

"CLANG!!!"

Thrust flinched at the sound--a fourth, how was Ramjet's victim taking this?--but listened carefully to the sounds that came with it. Sure enough, it did sound more like Ramjet-vs-energy field than Ramjet-vs-metal. Spend hundreds of vorns working with a crazy jet, and you got to know these things. "Huh. Well." The Stunticons were so new to the Decepticon forces that Thrust still thought of them as one of Megatron's take-over-the-world devices rather than mechs in their own right, but it wasn't as thought Ramjet was particularly discerning. All Ramjet's lovers needed was hard plating and an affinity for sadomasochism; sentience was optional. Still, though, most of the Stunticons were awfully small to satisfy Ramjet, even with the forcefields. "The truck, you think?"

"I sure hope so," said Dirge. "Dead End and I have been trying to set them up for orns, which, I must say, is kind of hard to do when your co-conspirator is that attached to his paint job. Finally got Wildrider in on it today, so it's either Ramjet and the truck or the little terrorist got caught in the middle of it. Either way, sounds like they're having fun."

****

In the Nemesis' communications room, Soundwave sat before the security screens, watching and listening.

"Boss, boss!" Frenzy ran into the room. "Ramjet and Motormaster are playing chicken in the main corridor! Or, they would be, except neither of them are the chicken...oh." He noticed the screens. "I guess you know that already. Shouldn't you go tell them to stop?"

"Negative. Danger: not yet significant. Moral-boosting effects: higher priority."

Frenzy shook his head. "That argument never flies when me and Rumble want to shake the ship like that. You just don't wanna tangle with Ramjet and Motormaster."

"If you wish to observe, please remain here. Ramjet, Motormaster, and the Nemesis can take the impacts; you cannot."

"Aww, boss, I'm a demolitionist!" Frenzy whined mainly on the principle of the thing; he had no intention of leaving Soundwave's screens. He climbed up onto a firmly bolted-down table and was almost securely seated by the time the fifth CLANG! resounded through the Nemesis.

This CLANG! was followed by a rather more distinct "Crunch!"

"Go Ramjet!" Frenzy pumped one hand in the air; the other was busy holding onto the table. On the screen, Motormaster's force field had finally ruptured, and Ramjet's badly-dented nosecone had scored a direct hit on Motormaster's cab, shattering his windshield.

Frenzy quietly tapped into the systems to get himself a good recording. Soundwave knew what he was doing, of course, and Frenzy knew he knew, but he politely continued monitoring the security footage. Morale was important, after all.

****

Back in Thrust and Dirge's room, Dirge's comlink exploded into life mid-sentence. "--see this! Ramjet's through the force field! And Motormaster doesn't even see me anymore, I'm not sure he even can, he's so busy going after Ramjet, there's broken glass everywhere! You should come see this, Dead End, you too Dirge, hi, thought I should cut you in, woo hoo, and now Motormaster's getting up, he's transforming, and--"

CLANG! This clang was softer and came through the comlink as much as through the walls of the ship.

"Oooh, right in the undercarriage! That's gotta hurt!" Wildrider laughed. "Guys, you've gotta see this. Motormaster just looks so funny when he's trying to double over in pain!" There was a crackle of static, or maybe broken glass. "Now Ramjet's doin' it! Motormaster just punched 'im in the cockpit! Broken glass everywhere guys, I guess Dead End really wouldn't wanna be here, it's doing a number on their paint jobs--not that all that white and gray does anything for anyone anyway--anyway, so now Ramjet's getting his tailpipe kicked! Or whatever it is you jets got. Hooboy, I hope Ramjet's got a lot more nosecones in storage--"

"He does," said Thrust.

"Actually, I think he's down to his last three," Dirge added, though neither of them bothered to go to the storage closet and check.

"'Cause he sure ain't reattaching this one!" More laughter, mixed with the sound effects of Ramjet and Motormaster's battle and the rev of Wildrider's engine.

And then Wildrider's radio cut off with a screech and a crunch.

Thrust and Dirge looked at each other.

Then the comlink came back on. Dead End's distinctive voice took up the commentary. "From the sound of it, Wildrider just collided with the wall. I am judging from the lack of yelling on Motormaster's part that this was an accidental collision, rather than the result of him being thrown. In either case, we have lost our commentator."

And Thrust had just started getting interested, slag it. "Can't you find out over the gestalt link or something?"

"No more than you can find out over your trine bond," Dead End said disdainfully. "And if I could, I would get to feel all the lovely pain my brothers are in, and unlike your wing leader, I would not appreciate it."

"Point taken." Thrust considered the scene in the hallway. He looked down at Dirge, who had quietly gotten back to his depressing poetry. "Well." He said into the comlink, which had just gone dead.

If Thrust really wanted to know, he could look for the security footage tomorrow. When the coast was clear.

*****

Ramjet, meanwhile, was having the time of his life. He hadn't hurt this good in vorns. Every time he moved his head, little explosions of pain reminded himself of the six--SIX--collisions his current paramour had taken. Really, he needed to know more Transformers with forcefields. Such stamina! And still going, even now...such strength!

He put forth a few token blows, to encourage his partner, but mostly wiggled and screamed his encouragement and bliss. And such bliss it was to be naked, coneless, weapons twisted off by brute force, cockpit shattered, lovely dents all over his plating--he'd keep those as long as he could to remind himself what a good time he had had! Motormaster's canopy had resisted his brief attempt to pry it off, and it was deeply erotic to lie naked while his partner's head was so completely covered

And the dirty talk! Not so creative, maybe, but Motormaster sure had volume! Ever since they'd first started banging, it'd been all, "Slagger!" this and "Crazy afthead jet!" that and "I'll frag you so hard--!" the other.

And his feet. Ramjet definitely considered himself a head mech, but Motormaster's feet were his cockpit (or whatever you called it on a truck, Ramjet would have to learn more about trucks if he was going to be dating one), which made them sort of his head, and ever since Ramjet had gone down beneath Motormaster, the broken glass on Motormaster's feet had been rubbing violently against Ramjet's wings. Which, again, not his primary erogenous zone, but the pain was delicious and he was going to be so tempted to keep those scratches.

All told, it really wasn't going to take long for Ramjet to overload. When he could feel himself getting close, he lashed out, one last strike against Motormaster, a fist to his face to encourage him to do his worst, and to reach his own climax, and the answering strike to Ramjet's faceplates sent the jet screaming over into overload, sending out a field flare into Motormaster's body that dragged him down along with him.

Satisfied, Ramjet slid into recharge.

*****

Wildrider regained consciousness, upside down on his hood, on the opposite side of the hallway from where he thought he had been before. He had vague memories of careening off several walls before he'd finally lost consciousness--the force field would protect him from impact, but it didn't do anything about momentum. "Ouch," he said, and then, "That was awesome, I'm gonna have to convince Motormaster to knock me against a wall again!"

He transformed to his bipedal form so that he could right himself, then stared in delight at the wreck of the hallway and the two damaged and offline 'Cons in the middle of it. "BEST PLAN EVER," he said, transforming back into vehicle form so he could break anything in the hallway that wasn't already broken. Which wasn't much, but Wildrider took his pleasures where he could get them. Leaving Ramjet and Motormaster to take the blame, he zoomed back through the Nemesis to harass his brothers and give Dead End his report.

*****

Motormaster came online, in the middle of the Nemesis' main hall, on top of Ramjet, multiple damage warnings lighting up his CPU.

He was sore, confused, and yet feeling oddly satisfied. "Slagger," he grumbled, looking at the dents and scrapes in his body. It was going to be hell to pay getting all that repaired, and until he managed to bribe, cajole, or threaten the Constructicons into doing so--or until Megatron decided he was needed for battle, never mind how he got himself fragged in the first place--his broken forcefield was going to be an open invitation for anyone who wanted to take advantage.

But as the squishies said, you shoulda seen the other guy. Motormaster looked down at Ramjet: cone torn off, weapons twisted and tossed aside, both wings twisted and scraped, plating a mass of dents. Motormaster's mood improved immensely.

Motormaster might be a mess, but he won, and Ramjet oughta think twice before slamming cone-first into Motormaster next time!

He picked himself up and headed off to the Constructicons' repair bay. If he was lucky, he could catch them before Megatron came back with the casualties of the latest energy run.

*****

Ramjet was only slightly disappointed, and not at all surprised, to come online alone on the floor. It wasn't as though the sort of 'Con who could give Ramjet what he needed usually wanted to cuddle afterward. He could always track his new lover down later.

Still, best to get out of the way before someone came by to hurt him in a way he wouldn't enjoy. Ramjet pulled himself up from the ground, savoring each ache and pain of stretched bolts and ruptured cables. He paused to pick up his cone, his weapons, and a few other large pieces of plating--some of it could be salvaged, and Scavenger was sometimes willing to take interesting pieces of scrap in exchange for repair work.

When he came across a piece with purple and white stripes on it, he beamed. "A souvenir!" He it up and clasped it to his broken cockpit. "Motormaster, you were amazing. I will keep this until we meet again, as a token of our passion!"

Beaming, his arms full of scrap, Ramjet returned to his quarters. He could get himself repaired later; for now he was enjoying the afterglow.

*****

Long Haul was bored. At least he wasn't hauling things, but he'd wanted to be in on the mission, he'd signed up for the mission--like always--and he'd been turned down, like always, unless Megatron wanted something built, something hauled, or Devastator.

The commotion in the main hall had been entertaining for a bit--the Constructions had a tap into the main surveillance system, and he and Bonecrusher had settled down with a cube of energon to watch the fun--but now things were quiet.

He was just about to plug himself in for some well-deserved recharge when Motormaster walked in the door. "Hey. Where's your boss?"

Long Haul and Bonecrusher looked at each other and snickered. Bonecrusher looked up, not bothering to move. "That'd be me. What's it to you?"

"You? Isn't it, like, the crane or the shovel or somebody?"

Bonecrusher rolled his optics. "No." Explaining the Constructicons' hierarchy to non-Constructicons, especially a new-built quintad leader like Motormaster, was a waste of time and processor power. "You can tell me what you want, or you can get out." Or start a fight about it. Neither Long Haul nor Bonecrusher would mind, but it looked like Motormaster wanted to come out of Constructicon headquarters in fewer pieces rather than more.

"I want--I would like some repairs," Motormaster said. "Please."

The Constructicons laughed at him. "What, Ramjet too rough for ya?" Long Haul said.

Motormaster hauled Long Haul up by the top of his tray. "I'm here for repairs, not to be laughed at. Now where's Hook? Or Scrapper?"

"What, now they have names?" Long Haul looked not entirely displeased to be suspended midair. Hell, for once someone was hauling him, rather than vice versa. "Too busy to fix the likes of you."

"Give us a cube each and we'll fix ya." Bonecrusher put in.

"You?" Motormaster looked them over. "Two cubes to be repaired by a dump truck and a bulldozer? Might just as well make Drag Strip and Wildrider fix me."

Bonecrusher shrugged. "Save yourself some effort--I'll finish the smash up job for free."

Long Haul grumbled, "Always Hook this, Scrapper that, Devastator the other. I'm a Constructicon too! And a Decepticon warrior!" He stood up and glared at Motormaster.

"Oh yeah? Show me."

Long Haul unsubspaced his gun. "Right, then."

Bonecrusher grabbed Long Haul. "Not in here, you dumb trucks."

"I never get to have any fun," Long Haul grumbled. But he backed off, and so did Motormaster, who wasn't actually up for another fight just now.

"One cube," said Motormaster.

"Two. One now, one after you're repaired. You do want to get Ramjet's little....love bites," Bonecrusher leered, "Off of you before Megatron gets back, right?"

Motormaster stared. "What the slag do you mean, love bites?"

Bonecrusher put out a hand. "Cube."

"Fine." Motormaster handed it over, and lay down on the repair berth.

Long Haul started clearing out the broken glass in Motormaster's pedes. He whistled. "So, was it good for you too?"

Motormaster sat up and glared. "And whatja mean by that?"

Bonecrusher pulled the shorted-out forcefield generator out of Motormaster's systems and examined it. "Are you two idiots going steady now? 'Cause we'll need some more spare parts."

"The frag, you two! We were fighting not...fucking. And after the pile of slag I turned him into today I doubt he'll be coming back for seconds!" Motormaster threw a fist in the air, menacingly.

Bonecrusher and Long Haul looked at each other and started laughing.

"The slag's so funny?"

"If you don't know, we're not telling." Bonecrusher said. "Now do you want those repairs or not?"

Motormaster looked from one Constructicon to the other. He was, frankly, too achy and tired to do anything about rearranging their faceplates. "Fine. Get on with it." Crazy Constructicons.

Long Haul and Bonecrusher grinned at each other. 'It's been a long time since we've had such stupid virgin metal,' Long Haul said over the internal link. 'Wonder how long it'll take him to figure Ramjet out?'

*****

Dirge and Thrust barely looked up when Ramjet came back into their quarters. Paying attention would only encourage him. They noticed, of course; the Decepticon Army's heaviest seeker, dented and scraped, arms full of weapons, body parts, and other random detritus, his own and Motormaster's, was completely unignorable. And all topped off--since the cone was in the armful of scrap--with an expression of utter bliss.

'It worked,' Dirge sent to Dead End.

"I'm in LOVE," he announced to his pointedly not-listening comrades. "He's huge! He's gorgeous! He can take six head-on collisions!! He's such a LOVELY SHADE of grey and purple and black!" Ramjet dumped everything in onto the floor except for his piece of Motormaster, which he clasped in his arms, then threw himself face-down onto the berth. "I hurt so wonderfully. I can feel his fists and his feet and his cockpit all over me."

"It's not a cockpit, it's a cab." Dirge said, forgetting for a moment that he wasn't paying attention to Ramjet.

Ramjet looked over at Dirge. "A cab, yes, thank you! Do you know about trucks? Clearly I must learn all about trucks! I had no idea anything could be that satisfying!" Ramjet jumped up, ignoring--or enjoying--the pain, and threw his arms around Dirge. "A cab and wheels and--and--he was wonderful, Dirge!"

Thrust took advantage of Ramjet's distraction to vanish out the door and seek a safer part of the Nemesis. Dirge gave a dirty look in the general direction of the door as it clicked closed, leaving Dirge to his fate.

But Dirge was not without resources. He turned on his fear-engines as high as he could without actually being in the air. Close exposure to the note of Dirge's engines would send unprepared enemies fleeing from the battlefield.

Ramjet backed off a foot or two, just enough so that his broken glass and torn and twisted plating was not actually scraping off any more of Dirge's paint. I'm going to have to get all of that buffed out and repainted, Dirge thought gloomily. Maybe Dead End will help out if I bring him some more tragedies.

Sharing culture with Dead End was going to have to wait, though, because Ramjet wasn't letting him go, or shutting up about the wonders of a really large truck.

Dirge settled in to wait until Ramjet passed out from the energon loss.