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Yellowjacket's Library of Undiluted Awesome

Chapter Text

"Find any information you can on the Autobots' activities," Starscream had told him.

Soundwave was not sure this was what she'd meant.

 


My Precious Patient by Hornet

Trauma x Soundwave, Dark fic.

It was always the nice guys who hid the worst secrets.

Everyone thought Trauma was nice, but no. He was Evil. Capital ‘E’ required. Trauma and his ugly purple paint job would have done the Autobots proud. Behind all those smiles and kind words—was a monster.

Not the big, fighting kind of monster. The word kind. The one who made you do things by just talking—crafty.

Soundwave didn’t stand a chance.

Behind that closed door, Truama could use his power of…words—yeah! Words. To manipulate Soundwve into doing whatever he wanted.

Any way he wanted.

“You’ve been very bad, haven’t you, Soundwave?” Trama asked, walking around the big comm bot in the middle of the room. “Very, very bad.”

The big bot stayed quiet. His voice box was missing because the amazing Hornet cut it out long ago. Soundwave would never live to warn others.

But that was another time.

Now it was Trauma who tormented him.

“How can we make it better?” He asked. “I want to know, Soundwave. i’m your doctor. So it’s myjob.”

Soundwave shook his head.

“Well if you won’t’ tell me. I gues I’ll have to fix it for you.”

Trauma put his hands on Soundwave’s helm and leaned next to it. “You’ve been bad, so you have to make up for it. Do what I tell you, and you’ll be all clean.”

Soundwave nodded.

“Good, good. Now. I want you to get on your knees.”

Soundwave got on his knees.

“Now, I’m going to sit on this desk,” Trauma said. “And you’re going to pleasure me with those tentacles of yours.”

Soundwave flinched.

“And your interface cable had better stay put inside.” Trauma kicked his heel into Soundwave’s croch, damaging his special area. “No pleasure for you. You’ve been bad.”

Soundwave nodded.

“Good, good. Now. Let’s see them.”

Soundwave released his four tentacles, and drew them over to Trauma. “That’s right.” Trauma said. “I want them right here.” He pointed at his crouch and thighs. “Wrap them tight.”

Soundwave did. He sent one tentacle up straight through Trauma’s now open interface port, and felt around inside. Trauma felt waves of pleasure, but didn’t make a sound. He was too cool for that. He squirmed on the desk as soundwave continued to pleasure him with his many many big and long tentacles. That were also hard, like a spike—but they bent and wrapped around things.

like Trauma’s now exposed spike. It was big and hard. He looked down at the kneeling soundwave and smiled.

“I know what else you can do.” Without removing the tentacles inside of him, Trauma scooted over to Soundwave. He kicked him in the back, leaning the Decepticon over. “Don’t struggle.”

He opened Soundwav’es port and thrust inside. “Yes, yes. This is it. Be a good Con for me!”

Trauma thrust,and thrust until he overloaded. He breathed heavily, and shoved away at Soundwav’es tentacles until they retracted. He yanked out his spike, and put it away. Trauma licked his lips.

“Yes. That was good.” Trauma pet Soundwaves helm, and shoved him down. “Clean yourself up.”

“I’ll see you for your session tomorrow.” Trauma smirked. “I hope you’ll be bad for me, so you can take your punishment again.”

Soundwave nodes, and puts his head on the ground.

You didn’t say no to your Docotor. Doctor Trauma knew best.

Plus. He really liked it. He liked being a dirty, dirty ‘Con.


Soundwave scanned through the datapad's contents again, tilting his head first to one side, then the other.

It didn't make any more sense the second time through.

Yes, he frequently had therapy sessions with Trauma, the ship's psychologist, but he couldn't remember any that had been so . . . athletic.  Or that involved using his tentacles.  Like that.  In THOSE places. Inside Trauma's interface port?  Soundwave shook his head dubiously.  He couldn't imagine Trauma would approve of that.  He was a medic, and medics were very concerned with hygiene.  And Trauma definitely wasn't Evil, capital E or lowercase!  He was nice!  He would never tell Soundwave he was a bad 'Con!

Soundwave was beginning to suspect the things written on these datapads hadn't actually happened.

He decided to wash and sterilize his tentacles before his next session with Trauma, though.  Just in case.

Chapter Text

Soundwave looked through some of the other files he'd downloaded. He didn't like them. Some were about Autobots, some were about Decepticons, and most of them involved someone named Hornet either killing Soundwave's friends (his tentacles lashed ominously) or else fragging every bot in sight senseless. Although sometimes other bots were fragging each other senseless, often in highly public places.

Soundwave could imagine what Air Commander Starscream would say if bots actually behaved like that. Well, he couldn't imagine her exact words, but her general reaction, certainly. Rude! That's what she'd say.

That's what these stories were. Rude. Soundwave should delete them. Except . . . they were intel on the Autobots. Which Starscream had told him to find.

A dilemma. Soundwave shifted restlessly. He didn't want this datapad in his quarters anymore, but he couldn't throw it away . . .

Ah. The Library! The perfect place for it.


A few days later Skyquake was browsing around for new reading material when he spotted an unfamiliar datapad. He reached for it . . .

Chapter Text

Skyquake told himself he wasn’t going to look through the files. Yellowjacket was his most hated enemy. The wretched Autobot who’d murdered his dear brother, Dreadwing. He had no business searching through his files. But, the data-pad he’d found was full of random little bits of writing. All by Yellowjacket.

The Autobot was a writer. Skyquake...he hadn’t known that about his enemy. Curiosity, however, was an equally fierce opponent. Just what did that twisted soul write about?

Skyquake opened the file labeled “document-awesome” in the table of contents. And he read:

Hornet was just your average 17,000 year old Autobot living in [REDACTED].   Optimus Prime was the Autobot leader and he treated Hornet as his adopted son.  Actually Hornet was the offspring of Unicron and Primus, and he had been abandoned as a youngling and Optimus Prime had found him, but nobody knew that.  Except the part about Optimus Prime finding him, of course.  Which everyone knew.  Optimus Prime personally trained Hornet in fighting (with guns and swords) until he was the best there was and was basically awesome.

Skyquake stared hard at the data-pad screen. What on earth? Who was Hornet? Did Yellowjacket have another twin or clone somewhere? Primus forbid. But, the only ‘Bot Skyquake knew Optimus had personally taken in was Yellowjacket--was this, writing about himself?

Anyway, one day Hornet was driving around looking for Decepticons.  The Decepticons were a race of mostly fliers who hid in their spaceship the Heretic because they were basically cowards.  Hornet drove around until he spotted a Decepticon energon mine.

"DARK SWORD ENERGON ATTACK!!!" shouted Hornet and all the Decepticon workers died as energy exploded out of the special sword Optimus had given him (that was forged with the blood of Unicron and Primus).  "I claim this energon for Optimus Prime," Hornet hummed.

Skyquake was starting to doubt the authenticity of this account. If Hornet was indeed Yellowjacket, than he was masterful in the art of exaggeration. In all their encounters, Skyquake was pretty sure he would have remembered a “Dark Sword Energon Attack.”

Fairly certain.

But then he heard something.  It was like a groaning sound.  Hornet picked up a fallen Earth tree (b/c he was super strong) and found the Decepticon jet under it, of course most of the Decepticons were jets but this was the purple one Trauma.  (Purple with more purple and black.)   Who was the psi pspy head doctor.

At first Hornet thought that Trauma was groaning in pain from the tree falling on him but then he noted it was a different kind of groan.  A sexy kind of groan.  That's when Hornet noticed the tree had flower on it and the flowers were full of pollen.  (A/N: Pollen is like little organic flakes of dust that trees use, i don't know for what.)  And the pollen was affecting Trauma!!  Suddenly Hornet noticed it was also effecting him too!!

Skyquake gripped the data-pad tight in his hands. He narrowed his optics, and scrunched his brows in confusion. Why was Yellowjacket writing about Trauma? And the better question--why did he know what Pollen was?

Autobots didn’t care about Earth’s habitat. Pit, even most of the Decepticons were clueless. In fact, the only Decepticon who knew anything about Earth in that detail was Dreadwing. And that was because he cared about humans.

...did Yellowjacket like humans?

"Ohhh Hornet!" Trauma moaned.  "You're so hot!  Take me!"

Thoughts of humans were put on hold when Skyquake reread the paragraph above, and the next line. What in the name of Primus?

Even though Trauma was an evil Decepticon, Hornet couldn't help himself. He just looked so hot with those purple wings and his nice blue optics and long legs.  He pulled Trauma into his arms.  "Okya, but afterwards you have to join the Autobots!" he said.

"Whatever, I will do anything to frag you," Trauma said.  "You are so hot, you really rev my engine."  He started running his hands all over Hornet's tires, hotly, like the Decepticon slut he was.

This was smut. Skyquake dropped the data-pad, his fingers fumbling in the sudden realization. The larger jet stared at the supposedly harmless thing at his feet. He shouldn’t read this. It was the sick, sick product of a terrible, horrible Autobot.

How dare Yellowjacket write about kind Trauma that way! It sent Skyquake’s energon to boiling.

But, it wasn’t...all bad. Yellowjacket didn’t seem to want to hurt Trauma in the work. What did that mean? What was his ultimate goal? Did Yellowjacket like Trauma? Skyquake’s processor spun in circles until he gave up.

He grabbed the pad and kept reading.

Well, the pollen was effecting them both and before long they were making out under the stars.  (It was night.)  Hornet pushed him onto the grass and they fragged like crazy.  Trauma basically went nuts every time Hornet petted his wings, moaning and writhing like an eel.

"Oh Hornet!  More!  MORE!  Yes, frag me with your disproportionately large equipment!" he screamed, begging for it.

"Take it, Decepticon scoundrel!" Hornet urged, humping him like a horny turbohound.  They both screamed as they overloaded.  Twice.

"Oh, Hornet," Trauma muttered, kissing him, "I am yours forever."

It wasn’t as bad as it could have been, Skyquake decided. Disturbing? Yes. Did it put a horrible image in his head? Yes. But, it was consensual fragging...for the most part. If you ignored the pollen. And that in itself was something Skyquake never would have attributed to Yellowjacket.

It was almost as if he was trying to be romantic and failing. All he was missing was the jealous lover.

"Not so fast!" said a voice.  It belonged to Knock Down the evil Decepticon doctor.  "You aren't taking my jet!" he hollered.  "Trauma get back here!"

There it was.

"No I love Hornet!" Trauma crooned bravely, hugging Hornet.  "I am an Autobot now, not a cowardly Decepticon like you!"

"Then you must die," Knock Down hummed, raising an enormous gun.

"Not so fast!" sang Hornet, picking up the Earth tree and using it to block the shot.  It hit the tree and bounced back at Kncok Down.

"Ahhhhh!" commented Knock Down as he died. 

"Hornet you have freed me!" sighed Trauma.

"Yes.  Now lets go back to Autobot base in [REDACTED]," admitted Hornet, and that is what they did.

Skyquake stared at the last bit of it. Yellowjacket the brave hero, defeating the enemy and getting the mech. What a horrible story. But, it could be nice. If the hero wasn’t a horrible, brother-murdering monster.

The jet shook his head. This was ridiculous. The story was over, he should just close it and forget about it. He had other things to concentrate on--

“Wait, it keeps going...” Skyquake mumbled to himself as he saw the scrollbar continue. After about a page’s worth, he found one more unfinished line:

It was a dark and stormy night and Hornet couldn't sleep.  He was just your average

Just how much had Yellowjacket written?

Skyquake was almost ashamed when he clicked on another title from the list.

Chapter Text

Airachnid had been leaning in the doorway to Dreadwing's former quarters for a good ten minutes, watching Skyquake, half-turned towards the window, avidly reading a data-pad. That in itself was strange; Skyquake was no fool, but hardly the literary type, and she couldn't imagine what would be so interesting that he'd indulge in it in his deceased brother's room, a place he normally only visited to brood.

But even odder than that were the expressions that kept flitting over Skyquake's face. His eyes were wide in shock one minute, narrowed in tight-lipped disgust the next. Sometimes he shook his head, disbelief etched on his features, and other times he just looked baffled.

He heaved a confused sigh as he finally set down the data-pad. That, Airachnid deemed, was her cue.

"Hey."

Skyquake immediately gave a little jump, shoving the datapad in with some others in what he probably thought was a subtle move. "Oh h-hey Airachnid."

The spider-bot's interest only increased. What could Skyquake want to keep a secret from her? As Security Director, it was her duty to find out. Not like she wouldn't have anyway.

"Starscream wants to talk to you about your next patrol," she told the large Seeker. "Something about the southern mines, yadda yadda."

His brow furrowed. "I thought we cleared that up already."

Airachnid replied with an elegant shrug of her shoulders. "That's not what she told me."

"Scrap. I'd better go talk to her . . ."

"I'll see you later," Airachnid called after him, smirking, as he hurried away. "And now," she said to herself, picking up the data-pad that Skyquake had found so engrossing.

It was open to a document, the title of it emblazoned across the screen:

Hornet’s Awesome Day

Hornet? Who was that?

Hornet (son of Primus and Unicron, not to be confused with any other Hornet or bug-themed mech!) had just finished cutting through his eighteenth evil Decepticon, andf ewas cleaning the energon off his super sowrd he had gotten from Prime when the meteor struck.

. . . what? The son of Primus and Unicron? "What the scrap am I reading?" Airachnid muttered, continuing.

Because he was fearless (and super strong!), Hornet strut over to the flaming rock and lifted it up. Under it was a weird glowing rock. He touched it and BAM. He got new super powers! The glowy kind!

With this! He could take on anything and everything!

He could kill the evil Megatron of the lowly Decepticsum!

Aha. She was reading Autobot propaganda. Ridiculous, poorly written Autobot propaganda. She could only hope that the author had a chance to get a critique in person from Megatron someday. Then this "Hornet" would learn exactly how "cowardly" . . .

Wait a minute, "Hornet"? Hornet. Yellowjacket. Her mood lightened with the realization that the work she was reading was post-humous.

Since the glowy kind also gave him super flying powers, Hornet toook to the sky and headed toward the ocean. He crashed down throgh the water and smacked into the metal. The metal came away like paper (A/N: A thin material that humans use to write on. It dissolves easily and it’s really stupid, but whatever. They like it.) under his hands.

He landed in the ship and ran toward the back, kicking down the orange citizens one at a time.

One stupid one begged for it’s life on it’s knees, yelling “Please dont’ hurt me oh great Hornet! We’re not worthy to even be killed by you!”

“Nonsense! I grant death to all who oppose me!” Hornet cried out, brandishing his sword. “DIE DECEPTICON SKUM!”

He sliced through the vehicon-wannabe like paper, and strut through the ship. He was glowing with power and unstoopppabble!

"You weren't that 'unstoopable' in real life," muttered Airachnid. She blinked as she reached the next line.

“OH GREAT HORNET” another Vehicion yelled “TAKE ME! YOUR SEXUAL PROWESS AND POWER IS TOO MUCH!”

“Ah! Another wise one! But I shall frag you another time! For now I have things to do!” Hornet said, striking a pose.

And he did.

At the back of the ship wa shis goal—MEGATROn HIMSELF!

Hornet kicked in the door and—RECOILED!

There on the berth, was Megatron! Tied up in bonds was Megatron. He was on his knees and bent over. Starscream—THE MINX—had her foot on his back. She had a whip in her hand and Megatron was gagged. (The ball kind. Red).

Airachnid bit back a snort of laugher. Well, this had certainly taken a turn! She couldn't think of anything more hilarious than dignified, uptight Starscream (THE MINX!) playing dominatrix with Megatron.

“HORNET!” Starscream exclaimed! Her wings had black paint on them and she was wearing a weird thing on her chest. It was black and had little tassles. Hornet was intrigued by them. And MEgatron tied up on the floor. “How dare you interrupt our fragging!”

Okay, so Airachnid COULD think of something more hilarious, and that was Starscream "with little tassels" on her chest. She idly wondered how Starscream, who was built like a bundle of twigs, was supposed to have tied up Megatron in the first place.

“You call THAT fragging?” Hornet mocked. He pointed at his (still totally glowing with super powers chesT) and laughed. “I’ll show you fragging! Move over, Sister!”

So Hornet schooled them.

He plugged into Megatron (helpless and tied up from his perverted ways ) and then fragged him into the ground until he moaned through his gag.

Oh yes, the little dead Autobot had gone there. Pervy little thing. Maybe he would have switched sides if Megatron had gone into battle with tassels on his chest?

Starscream, flustered and impressed took notes like that Trauma guy while squirming. Her wings fluttered and her knees knocked. She threw the pad in the air. “OH HORNET! I can’t take it any longeR! Frag me too!”

Airachnid seriously considered sneaking the data-pad into Starscream's room as an "anonymous" gift. But only if the spider set up some cameras first to capture her unfiltered reaction.

“Of course! THer’es enough of me to go around!” Hornet thrust one last time in Megatron and then stabbed him. Right through the spark.

It was his gift. One last frag before killing him.

How sweet.

“Come! We will frag on his dead corpse and his energon shall be our lube”! Hornet cried throwing out his hand!

“NO! Lord Megatron!” Starscream cried. “HE’s dead! But…but you’re so sexy!”

Starscream fell over her dead lord and spread her legs “TAKE ME!”

"Oh Screamy," Airachnid snickered. "YOU MINX."

So Hornet did.

She overloaded six times before he wa done. And then he stabbed her too.

Because that’s what happened to evil Decepticons.

Hornet blew up the ship with a power bomb and went home. Prime rewarded him with praise and gave him control over all the Autobots—as was his right!

Autobots, Airachnid reflected. They were out of their Pit-forsaken minds.

It was awesome.

"Yes, it was, sweetie. Yes, it was."

Chapter Text

Backfire stretched his arms over his shoulders and flicked out his wings. Another security detail done, and the sooner the better. Airachnid had been in an amused mood for some reason, and an Amused Security Director meant bad things for everyone involved.

He preferred not to get into the details now that it was over.

The Citizen dropped his hands back down and concentrated on the data-pad in his hands that he'd picked it up at the end of his rounds. The poor little pad had been left abandoned on a hall bench near the Security office. With no one around, he couldn’t leave it there. Backfire found a small library tag on the back, so he decided to do the good thing and return it before crashing in his quarters.

Though, he was a little curious what was on it. Backfire ducked into an empty hab-suite, and flicked his wings happily. Whether a good book or a game, Backfire hoped it was something good. He had the time off.

The Citizen flipped the pad on, and his fingers twitched at the title of the open document.

Love Comes on Many Legs

Now what was this? Backfire looked behind him and stepped back until he sat on the berth. Well, this was different.

It stareted out as a routine examine.  "This had better not take long," Airachnid sighed in a bored tone, hopping on a medical berth.  The spider lady crossed her legs, disgusted to be wasting time on medical check ups.  She would much rather be clawing her way through Autobots like the complete psychopath she was.

"You always say that, but it never does take long," Knock Down said impatiently.  He got his medical tools out whilte he quietly admired the spider lady out of the corner of his optics.  She was crazy as frag, but also attractive in a sleek sort of way.  Her chassis was a glemaing white, decorated with bright green and yellow, as poisonous as her namesake.  (A/N: Because spiders are poisonous.  And arachnid means spider.)  His gaze fell on the spines on her sipder legs and the shine of her chestplates and arms that he could almost see his reflection in.   'Damn you are fine, girl," he thought.

"What is taking so long, doctor?" she asked, wiggling her legs.

"Uh, nothing," said Knockdown.  He quicly stepped forward and started examining her.  He secretly reveled in running his hands over her trim body as he examined her joints and plating.  Primus, she was sexy!

Backfire stared at the Data-Pad. He knew...he knew what this was! Backfire hadn’t gotten there yet, but he’d recognize this scenario anywhere. He’d read enough of it to know--after all. He’d found someone’s secret stash of smut. He knew some of his peers liked to write romance about the higher ups, but to leave it out in the open? Backfire chuckled and wondered what poor Citizen was missing their cache.

He hoped there was an author name somewhere, because he was planning to give them a hard time once he’d read through this. 

Airachnid watched the doctor as his hands brushed over her gleaming armor.  His blue wings and finish always seemed extra shiny.  Probably because he was never in battle, she thought.  He just flew around and then landed to do whatever with wounded Decepticons.  Maybe if she took him aside and taught him how to fight . . . It would be kind of fun to fight Autobots together, see who could get the highest kill count . . . "Primus, what am I thinking?" she thought.  "He'd never be interested in something like that . . . would he?"  She wondered why it was so hard to take her eyes off his sleek wings and his lovely blue optics.   Her eyes were more green than blue.  Just another way they were different.

"Well . . ." Knockdown said.  Airachnid was in perfect health, like he had known she would be.  Why wouldn't she, she practically lived to do battle.  It was almost like she was an Autobot instead of a Decepticon.  And for some reason he hated the thought of her getting up and leaving his medical bay.  He ran a hand over her almost oragnicly shaped thighs almost without thinking about it.

Airachnid let out a low, surprised moan.  She hadn't been expecing his touch, but it felt . . . good.  Really good.  Knockdown started to pull his hand back in surprise, but she boldly grabbed him by the wrist.  "More," she demanded urgently, hardly knowing what she was saying.  Suddenly she had a wild desire to frag him into oblivion.  Like a real organic spider.

Backfire paused on the page, and tilted his head. His blue visor glowed as he concentrated. Something was a little off about this particular work--and it wasn’t the focus on Airachnid being fierce and dangerous. What was with the focus on calling her organic?

As the Citizen glanced at the next line, his wings hiked up and he was distracted for the moment as the work went in the direction he’d predicted.

Knock DOwn feldt like all his dreams were coming true.  This sexy creature was coming on to him!  And little did she know that his boring exterior hid ragin passions.

He climbed onto the berth with her, not even caring that Trauma or anyone could walk in at any moment, and boldly rubbed his interface palnel against hers.  "Oh Airachnid . . ." 

"Oh Knock Down . . ."  She wrapped her legs around him and humped vigorously against his thights.  She grabbed his arms for more leverage and practically scraped his paint down to bare metal, she was so full of lust.  "Come on, doctor, take care of me, I need it!!"

Knockdown realized this wasn't a normal situation because Airachnid wasn't a normal bot.  She had scanned a spider form as well as an aircraft.  Which meant she had urges that other Cybertronians didn't.  Ones that would need special attention!  Fortunately he had seen a Human television show that had shown him what to do.  SMiling widely, he slid down and pushed her legs apart, putting his helm between them.  Airachnid groaned and writhed as he licked and mouthed around her paneling down there. 

"More, doctor!" she urged as her paneling slid open, reavealing an interface port that was way softer and more organic thatn anything he was used to, almost like human interface equipment.  Even so he hardly needed the encouragement!  He licked like crazy, his glossa twirling deep.  She tasted so good, he could do this all night.

Backfire wondered if he should stop reading. He squirmed a bit in his seat, uncomfortable in more ways than one. This was Airachnid. His boss. If she caught him reading smut that focused so heavily on her organic alt-mode, would she be upset? He knew she liked spiders, but this wasn’t talking about spiders. 

Knockdown was doing things that humans did.

Not that Backfire knew anything about human reproduction or sexual habits. Backfire nearly shut off the bad before the embarrassment could somehow signal others into the abandoned room, but he glanced at the next line. 

Backfire pulled a leg toward the berth, and his hands clutched tighter around the data-pad.

 "Oh-h-h~" Airachnid trilled.  It felt amazing, and she couldn't believe the medic was actually doing this.  Most Cybertronians were disgusted by her "weird" interfacing equipement, but Knockdown actually seemed turned on!  Everything was going so well, she decided to take a massive chance.  She pushed him away, eyes begging to get his attention.  He looked up inquiringly, his white face slick with her juices.  She blushed at the sight (another organic trait, which made her face get pink.)

"Knockdown," she began, still blushing, "would you frag me . . . in my beast form?"

Knock Down's systems began to heat up with desire, but at the same time he turned away, a frown on his face.

"What's wrong?" Airachnid choked out.  Oh no, how could she have been so stupid!  Of course he wouldn't want to interface with her ugly, digusting organic form!

"I'd like to," Knock down bgan, "but . . . "

"But what?"

"But I have a terrible secret," he confessed.  "There was a human in the airplane that I scanned for my alt mode, and it made my interefacing equpiment . . . unusual." 

"Unusual how?" she asked iwht her eyes alight with curiousity.  In answer he retracted his panel to reveal . . . a spike! (Sort of like what the Garrunians of Garthus V have, combined with what human organics have.)  It was long and hard and dripping with sweat.

Backfire stared at the screen, his systems warming up. He’d never read anything like this before from any of his friends. This was different.

He’d never met an author with enough of a human fetish to add their parts to Cybertronians this way.

Backfire scrolled down the screen as Knockdown--No. The fake Knock Down turned to Airachnid for the same affirmation and acceptance he seemed to be showing her. Backfire’s intakes hitched as the next line moved to the top of the screen:

"Are you disgusted?" he asked fearfully.

"No," she said softly.  "I think it's sexy. In fact, It makes me want to frag you even more, you sexy bot."  And she got off the berth and transformed into her spider mode.

Knockdown couldn't hold back any more, he was beside her in one bound, his wings quivering with excited as he pressed into her heat.  She moaned as their bodies moved together, scraping and rubbing against each other as they fragged.  Airachnid was going crazy every time she felt the spike between her legs and Knock Down kept stroking hre spider legs as he groaned in pleasure.  They overloaded at the same time, shuddering.

"That was amazing," Airachnid groaned, panting as she let herself collapse to the floor.  "I could do that forever."

"That's good," Knockdown panted, "because I'm scheduling another checkup for you for tomorrow." 

Backfire pulled the scrollbar up, but didn’t find any more. That was the end of it. His wings flickered in annoyance, and tapped the screen with his finger. That--that was great!

Whoever wrote this really went outside the box. And the lesson of acceptance even having such odd and unique forms? Amazing. He’d met Citizen’s who’d snub you if your wing shape wasn’t exactly the same as theirs, or if your parts came from the wrong date. No, this was fantastic. Backfire nearly hugged the data-pad to his chest. Who would abandon this? 

He had to know who the author was.

Backfire clicked to the table of contents and browsed through titles, hoping for an author name--There! 

“My Precious Patient” by Hornet.

Hornet? Backfire thought to himself. Who was that? The short story was about Trauma and Soundwave--and was rather dark at that--but gave no clue about the author. Backfire kept flicking quickly through other documents, making note of titles that looked good, until he found a few with Hornet himself in them. Wait. there was a pattern. 

Hornet was an Autobot in all these works.

An Autobot wrote these. And the only bug themed Autobot he was aware of was...Yellowjacket. Backfire’s current favorite author was a dead Autobot. Wasn’t that just great. There was no way he could share this now! They’d think he was a traitor.

The Citizen’s thumb clicked the screen on accident and pulled up another work. He should put it away but--the writing was so good.

Backfire wondered if Bumblebee had picked up the same writing talents from his original CNA donor the way Knock Out had gotten medical skills from Knockdown.

Chapter Text

It was unfair, Knockdown admitted to himself later, to assume that the stories were written by Trauma simply because the first line he happened across was "Trauma thrust, and thrust until he overloaded."

But at first that seemed to be a reasonable assumption. The story was about Trauma (interfacing with Soundwave during a therapy session, of all things), the data-pad it was stored on had been found on a counter in the medbay, and Trauma had an extensive collection of romance novels that he naively thought nobody knew about.

Knockdown pursed his lips and made a mental note to speak with the therapist about the ethical implications of writing dirty stories about his patients. Damn it, he didn't have time for this—not on the day they were inoculating over thirty Citizens against some of the more common biochemical agents that the Autobots liked to use. But he couldn't let a member of his staff go around writing dirty stories about his patients like . . . like . . . He glanced at the data-pad.

“You’ve been very bad, haven’t you, Soundwave?” Trama asked, walking around the big comm bot in the middle of the room. “Very, very bad."

Right, like THAT. It was unethical at worst and extremely creepy at best. At least, he comforted himself, he trusted the therapist to have more sense than to abuse his professional boundaries in the real world, particularly with Soundwave, who could effortlessly rip him in two.

Frowning, the cyan mech skimmed over another story where Trauma switched sides for reasons Knockdown couldn't really follow, something to do with "pollen." Well, that was a little concerning. He couldn't believe Trauma would ever defect, but he would have to be careful to keep this from Airachnid just in case. No matter what nonsense Trauma had written, he was still part of Knockdown's staff.

And then . . . then Knockdown found "Love Comes on Many Legs". He was not really surprised, at this point, to find himself in a starring role, but with Airachnid, really? The bot who kept releasing her disturbing, scuttling little organic insects in the medbay when he wasn't looking? Far be it from him to castigate a fellow Decepticon, but he really suspected she was a sadist or a sociopath or—well, Trauma would know the exact terminology. His eyes kept flicking down the page.

"Oh-h-h~" Airachnid trilled. It felt amazing, and she couldn't believe the medic was actually doing this. Most Cybertronians were disgusted by her "weird" interfacing equipement, but Knockdown actually seemed turned on! Everything was going so well, she decided to take a massive chance. She pushed him away, eyes begging to get his attention. He looked up inquiringly, his white face slick with her juices. She blushed at the sight (another organic trait, which made her face get pink.)

"Knockdown," she began, still blushing, "would you frag me . . . in my beast form?"

Knockdown stopped reading, feeling faintly ill.

At the same time, he was glad he'd taken a closer look at the stories. He decided they couldn't have been Trauma's work after all. Knockdown had received hundreds of medical reports from Trauma in his time and he was confident that that therapist was a better writer than this, being able (at the very least) to spell "equipment" correctly. So who, then, was the author? Knockdown tapped his finger to his chin before picking up the data-pad and entering the medbay.

"Hey boss!" Jumpstart greeted him cheerfully. He and Ampule were distilling raw energon into medical grade. Knock Out, the medical team's latest adoptee, was languidly untangling several coils of wire.

"Does this belong to any of you?" Knockdown inquired, holding up the data-pad. The Twins stared at it curiously but without guilt before shaking their heads. Knock Out frowned in concern for a moment, but his expression relaxed as he picked up a data-pad of his own from beside his elbow.

"Not mine," Knock Out said, waggling the data-pad that was always at his side, 1001 Sudoku Puzzles.

"Hmm." Having discovered nothing (but reaffirmed Knock Out's strange and sad devotion to sudoku), the blue CMO retreated back to his study. Apparently, then, the stories had not been written by his staff. He promptly pushed the stories to the back of his mind (along with everything else that was not directly related to the medical bay, his patients, or his staff), tossed the data-pad on a corner of his desk, and forgot about it.

A week later he caught sight of the corner of a data-pad under a stack of holo-papers and fished it out. He stared blankly at it for a moment before remembering, oh yes, the dirty stories. A new file had opened at random when he'd tossed it to the side, it seemed. A line caught his eye . . .

There. In the center—Knock Down. The Evil Doctor.

Knockdown rolled his blue-on-black eyes and pushed the data-pad aside again. He had work to do. He began working his way through yet another pile of reports. Or tried to. His optics kept sliding towards the gentle glow of the data-pad until at last . . .

"Scrap," Knockdown muttered, pulling the offending device towards him. He tapped his finger twice on the screen until the cursor blinked, pressed the backspace button twice and another key once.

There. In the center—Knockdown. The Evil Doctor.

Much better. Except now that he was looking, that was hardly the only place whoever-it-was had misspelled his name. Knockdown paused before scrolling up to the top of the document.

Maybe he could determine who had written the stories, maybe not. But at the very least he could make sure they got his name right.

Burden of Friendship by Hornet

Pair: Ratch & Jack

Friends were the enemy.

You had allies and partners in battle. Team mates. But never friends. Friends were trouble. Emotional attachements dragged you down. If you cared you made mistakes. Mistakes got you killed dead, or stabbed in the back. Smart soldiers kept to themselves.

Ratch and Jack weren’t smart.

They weren’t just friends. They were attached.

Knockdown's optics narrowed, slid sideways to a shelf stacked, like all of his were, with data-pads, before returning to the story.

Hornet knew about it because he’d seen. He’d seen them sneak off in the night and frag like wild animals. Spike (A/N: Like human interfacing equipment. I know we don’t have them but it like, works better than just wires and stuff.) into port (A/N the human female equiv…but we have both b/c Cybertronians are better). Jack always topped. He’d pound crazy doc Ratch into the berth so hard they had fix each other afterwards.

Knockdown didn't understand any of this except the last sentence. Spikes? Human interfacing equipment? DID humans interface? He'd never thought about it before. He supposed they might.

But that was normal. ‘Bots fragged.

It was afterwards.

They’d lay there together. Cuddling and saying things to each other like. “That was great.” and “Yo’ure the one for me.” Romantic stuff.

It could have been Airachnid, he thought suddenly. It could have been Airachnid herself, writing this . . . this nonsense. Those Citizens they'd been tending, they were from her crew, weren't they? Of course, that would mean facing the disturbing prospect that she had written the story about her wanting him to interface with her in her spider mode . . .

Hornet let them keep it.

‘Cause it got them in trouble. The way those relationships do.

Knockdown's optics were half-lidded and his expression was calm. His expression was always calm. It could have been Airachnid, leaving the data-pad there, knowing he'd find it . . . Oh, but that was ridiculous, paranoid. She wouldn't be that . . . that cruel.

(But isn't she cruel? some part of him whispered. And she was never your friend, not even in the beginning. Just Brakeline's.)

After a few minutes he slowly reached out with one finger, scrolling down.

‘cause when Jack was captured by the evil Decepticons, for being a show-off idiot trying to wield a sword as good as Hornet, Ratchet lost it.

He had to get his lover back.

In exchange for four weeks rations of high grade, and pain-free check-ups, Hornet took pity on the lovesick idiot, and helped him sneak out the back.

And watched Ratchet drive off toward the sea-side.

The crazy doctor was determined to get his wild wrecker back. He dove into the water and crashed through the weak metal of the floating tin can.

Ratch fought on, fueld by that weak emotion known as ‘love’ that somehow in his hands gave him strength.

Knockdown's wings didn't exactly relax, but they did lower a fraction. "Evil" Decepticons, Ratchet and Wheeljack . . . this was just a silly story, a ridiculous yarn written by someone who thought Autobots were 'cool' just because they were crazy. Bumblebee, maybe. That would explain the character named Hornet.

He fought, and sliced. Tearing through everything. He even got a sucker punch in on the creepy spider lady. “You’re hot, organic beast! But you’re not my Jack!” He shouted slicing her in half with his blade. Coated in energon he continued forward.

More evidence that this was not Airachnid's handiwork. Dramatic death aside, she would be well-aware that she was not, in fact, organic.

His destination was the medical bay.

He dispensed with the twins, knocking them both out in one spin. And then he thrust his sword into Trauma’s spark chamber. The handsome purple bot cried out, as Ratch pulled his blade free, and fell over. He twitched, still alive, and crawled away into the hall. Ratch left him. He wasn’t want he wanted.

And there went his staff. Though he did wryly note the resilience of "handsome purple Trauma", who was able to stagger away after being stabbed through the spark.

There. In the center—Knockdown. The Evil Doctor. Ratch’s rival.

He had never considered himself Ratchet's rival, but all right. There was a sort of logic there, he supposed.

“I see you’ve found me,” Knock Down cackled, snapping a glove on his hand (A/N: Human doctor’s do this and it’s really cool.). “Looking for this?”

“JACKIE!” Ratch cried out. His Wheeljack was tied down to a table, his insides open—half disected. His interface equipment was open and seeping. “You monster!

“You want my guinea pig back?” Knock Down inquired. He pulled out a rifle. “Come and get him.”

Knockdown. Knockdown. Was his name really that hard to spell? And had his fictional counterpart really just pulled a rifle out of nowhere? What on Cybertron was a guinea pig?

Their fight was epic. With skills that almost were as bad ass as Hornet’s, Ratch charged the teal jet. He used his weight to crush Knock Down’s wings. Blade against gun barrel. They fouhgt.

Knockdown! Not Knock Down!

Ratch was victorious. He cut the other doctor’s head off with a single swing, and the blade lodged into the side of the table that held Jack. He propped his foot on Knock Down’s body, and leaned over the table. Alone with the rest of the ship gone, and Jack tied down—Ratch was honest. A fool, but honest.

“Jack, oh I missed you.” Ratch pet Jack’s face. “It’s just not the same without you. I was scared you were lost.”

Knockdown's eyes dimmed. Keep scrolling. Keep scrolling. Almost at the end.

“You’re an idiot,” Jack said. “Cming to save me. You could have gotten yourself killed. Then who woul dI frag?”

“You’re the idiot,” Ratch said. He was a fool in love, but he wasn’t stupid. He heard the ‘I was worried about you too’ in Wheeljack’s voice. He was so in love, he couldn’t control his passion! “Speaking of fragging.”

Ratch climbed up on the berth, dragging energon everywhere. He settled between Jack’s legs and released his spike. “I think I’ll claim my reward for rescuing you. Right here. You don’t mind right?”

Sort of turned on, Jack could only nod quickly and opened his port and his legs twitched in excitement. Ratch thrust inside and moaned. “Oh Jackie. Jackie.”

“That’s the spot, Ratchet!” Jack said, he thrust up with his hips. He wanted Ratchet inside deeper.

They were one like this. It was all very romantic.

Knockdown scrolled onward, eyes on the screen but not really seeing the words, not paying attention to whatever organic mating ritual was being enacted.

Not that Hornet liked that sort of thing. He felt it was foolish to be so attached.

But, they fragged regardless. Saying words of love in each others audio inputs because they knew no one would hear them out here. Ratchet continued to frag Wheeljack, enjoying being on top for a change in addition to getting him back. Jack liking Doc Ratch being so manly.

It was their moment.

When they were finished. Ratch freed Wheeljack and threw him over his shoulder.

He carried him all the way back to the AUtobot base, where he proceeded to patch him up—so he wouldn’t die—and frag him all night.

And all of the next day.

Knockdown pushed the data-pad aside as he stood, moving stack of data-pads five at a time from their neat rows on the shelf above his desk. The remaining ones clattered onto their sides, and he removed them too. He tossed aside a wrinkled car magazine, folded back to the entry on the Aston Martin Vanquish that he'd studied when Knock Out came on board, battered and missing a door.

Finally he found what he was looking for. A drawing, a sketch. Dreadwing had been a bit of an artist. Dreadwing had drawn them, sunning themselves on the deck of a starship that was not yet underwater.

There they were—Brakeline, chrome and headlights gleaming in the sunlight. Knockdown, one leg propped over his partner's, blue wings spread in the warmth as he tilted his face towards the sky.

Becausse it was love.

Sappy, foolish…love.

Smart soldiers kept to themselves.

It got them in trouble, the way those relationships do.

It's just not the same without you.

Chapter Text

“Trauma,” Knockdown said, his voice chilled. The named purple jet flinched, but obediently turned toward his boss when he called, “Come here.”

“Yes, sir?” Trauma asked. Knockdown waved him into the office without another word, disappearing behind the door. Trauma’s wings flattened farther agains this back, and he bit the edge of his finger. His boss was in a bad mood. That was never good. “Coming.”

Trauma entered the office and nearly turned right back around. Knockdown’s data-pad shelf had been cleared off, most of them having made it to his desk. The neatly ordered pads had spilled into a cluttered mess, and a few were on the floor. For Trauma’s clean and perfectionist boss, it was downright startling to see thing in such disrepair. Among all of the scattered pads, was the edge of a large sheet face down on the desk. Trauma had a suspicion he knew which one it was.

Knockdown was definitely having one of his bad days.

Prepared for what might be their first therapy session ever concerning one of their usually unspoken Lost, Trauma folded his hands. “What did you need, sir?”

“I found this document data-pad lying on the medbay counter,” Knockdown said, holding up said item. Trauma stared at it, surprised at the unexpected topic. Knockdown flipped it and placed it flat on the desk, screen-side down. Long fingers pressed it across to Trauma. “Knock Out and the Twins claim it isn’t theirs. Does it belong to you?”

Trauma looked at the back and shook his head. “No sir. I haven’t brought any of my personal data-pads into the medbay.”

Knockdown nodded, and tapped his finger on the desk. His shoulders and wings drooped half an inch, and he looked away. “I didn’t think so, but I had to ask.”

“What is it?” Trauma asked, watching Knockdown’s optics flicker to the side. He’d bet his medical profession that whatever was on that data-pad was what made his boss so upset. “Is it important?”

“It could be,” Knockdown said. He cleared his throat and folded his hands on the desk. With the bluntness of delivering a medical condition, Knockdown said, “It contains a great number of amateurish works of fiction depicting the Autobots as the heroes, and the Decepticons as evil. About 80% of them are pornographic in nature, exceedingly violent, or a mixture of the two.”

“Oh,” Trauma said. He stared at the back of the pad, unsure of what else to answer to the blunt statement. “I see.”

“I’d like to consult your expertise on the matter,” Knockdown said, “and decipher the author, since it doesn’t list a name, aside from what I’m assuming is a pseudonym. While sometimes it’s normal to fantasize this way...after reading so many and specific details, I find myself concerned for the author’s mental health.”

Trauma stood straight, and flexed his wings out. If finding the author could give his boss some comfort, he would do it. “I’ll give it my best, sir.”

“Good, oh, and one more thing,” Knockdown leaned back in his seat, and rubbed the corner of his mouth. He opened it, and then shut it in an odd show of hesitance. Knockdown shook his head, and regained his professional demeanor. “The subjects in the pornographic material happen to include ourselves. You may want to brace yourself for some uncomfortable situations.”

“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind,” Trauma said, biting the edge of his lip. He took the data-pad off the desk, and nodded at Knockdown who had already turned away to start collecting the fallen data-pads.

Trauma left, determined to figure out the author!


Trauma never wanted to meet the author.

Trauma bit the side of his thumb hard enough that he’d have a dent to fix later. The data-pad was dead center on his desk, open to the eight or tenth story he’d read through. Truama whined, cursing his love of therapy for the first time since Soundwave became a full-time patient. Knockdown had warned him about the content on this data-pad. He had. Plainly, and clearly with no hint of beating around the bush.

Just not. It wasn’t good enough!

“Who on earth wrote this?” Trauma said, holding the sides of his head. He moaned, elbows hitting the desk. The data-pad was laughing at him.

Between Autobots fragging Autobots, Decepticons fragging Decepticons, Autobots and Decepticons fragging each other, there was this author stand-in “Hornet” behind all the scenes. He fragged, he killed things, and he was clearly the shared protagonist across the board, and was in 70% of the works. Hornet had to be a stand in for the author.

But who was Hornet?

What Decepticon on this ship had fantasies about Trauma raping his patients? Or his boss fragging his least favorite crew member?  Or even knew so much about humans? Trauma had considered Dreadwing when he noticed the human-trend, but some of these were time stamped after his death. So it couldn’t be him. A Citizen maybe? It didn’t make any sense! He rubbed his eyes. And so, so, many of them ended with Trauma and Hornet getting together.

It was downright unnerving.

But Trauma had to persevere. He had an idea of who the author might be--with the insect theme and all--but he’d give it one more work before coming to any final conclusions.

And if didn’t confirm it with this one, Trauma refused to touch another. Knockdown would just have to deal with the author being “Hornet.”

Trauma clicked open the next story:

Stunning Transformations

"Ugh, I'm so bored," Hornet groaned.  He was on patrol with Cee and Cliff, the mercenaries.  They were good fighters, but they kept to themselves and didn't like talking to the other members of the Autobots.

"Will you keep your mouth shut?" Cee asked, doing a wheelie in her motorcycle mode.  "Let's just get this patrol over with and go home."

"Unless we spot some Decepticons first," Cliff said, revving his engine.  He was a muscle car with organic cow horns on the front.  "I love that sound they make when you shoot 'em in the wings."

"Well, if you do see some, try not to splatter energon all over my paint job," Cee grumbled.

Hornet stayed silent, scornfully.  Cee and Cliff liked bragging about how many 'Cons they took down, but they were hardly even real Autobots.  They'd work for anyone who offered them enough money or energon.  They had no loyalty to anyone but themselves.  They disgusted him.  But they were still offically part of the team so he had to support them.  Because HE was loyal to the end.

Trauma hummed, tapping his finger on the desk. This one was starting out--not that bad. It almost seemed more personal than some of the others. If he took that at face value, he could deduce that “Hornet” valued loyalty to the cause--which was more of a Decepticon Trait than that of a 'Bot.

Perhaps the author was confused about his alliances? Wanting to be loyal, but realizing his values didn’t match up with his faction?

"Look over there," he said, chanigng the subject.  "I'm getting a reading, let's check it out."  The Autobots had recently begun decoding informaion on all sorts of incredibly powerful weapons that had been stored on Earth.  They were a big help, especially since the dumb Decepitcreeps didn't know about them.  The more relics they found, the faster they could crush the Deceptiscum in their stupid tin can ship. 

So Hornet led the way as the three Autobots went to find the relic. Before long they were digging through the Earth soil for it.  They pulled up the canister and unscrewed it.  It looked a little like a Human satellite dish (A/N: a device Humans use to control satellites).   Just then, Hornet heard the whine of jet engines.  He looked up in the sky and saw--Decepticons!!

Truama leaned back in his seat. It looks like this would be more about battle than interfacing. The therapist tried not to be too relieved.

But the artifact concerned him. Had they found one that looked like a “satellite” dish? Or was it just something that “Hornet” made up?

The jets circled around, led by the black jet Starscream.  Fortunately Megatron wasn't with them, because only Optimus Prime was strong enough and awesome enough to defeat him.  But the other jets were vicious and dangerous too.  They opened fire as the Autobots grabbed up the relic and ran into the rock formations for cover.

"Take this, Decepti-jerks!" Hornet shouted, pausing to fire off a volley of shots. One of them hit Starscream in the wing and he saw her spiraling down somewhere.  But before he could celebrate his good fortune, Dreadwing and Skyquake took point and led the armada overhead again, their shots blazing into the ground and narrowly missing the three Autobots.

"Scrap!" hissed Cee.  "What are we going to do?"

"There's no way out of this rock formation, it's a dead end," Cliff said worriedly, punching the rocks (like that was going to do anything).

"There's only one thing to do," Hornet said bravely.  "You two draw their fire while I sneak out and use the relic on them."

“Hornet” definitely had leanings toward attempting to be heroic, here and in other stories. Another trait more suited to the Decepticons than Autobots.

It’s like he wanted to be noticed.

"But we don't even know what it does," Cee complained.

"It's a weapon of some sort," said Hornet.  "I can tell."

"OKay, Hornet, we'll go with your plan," Cliff agreed.  On the count of three, he and Cee ran out, drawing the attention of the Decepti-jets.

Hornet picked up the dish-shaped device and ran, circling around the rocks.  He knew he didn't have much time until the Decepticons noticed him.  Suddenly--he rounded a corner and almost ran straight into the Decepticon medic, Knockdown!!  He and the lavender jet, Trauma, were tending to Starscream, whose wing was still steaming.

For a minute they just all stared at each other, and then Starscream shrieked, "Kill them, you fools!"

Hornet dodged theri fire and swirled around with his sword.  He stabbed Starscream through the spark and cut off part of Trauma's wing.  The big jet collapsed in pain, writhing on the ground.

Trauma’s wing flicked reflexively.  He’d been injured before in these things, but it still didn’t make it any easier to read through.

Of course, poor Starscream, too. Getting stabbed through the spark was decidedly worse than having your wing clipped.

"Knockdown, help me!" he begged.  But the blue Decepticon took one look at the situation, transformed at a run, and took off.  "You're on your own, Trauma," he said as he fled like a coward.

If Trauma ever did find this “Hornet,” they were going to have a firm discussion about his boss. Just because Knockdown was cold and calculating, didn’t mean he was evil. He would never abandon his staff that way!

Absolutely unthinkable.

Whoever was writing this clearly wasn’t all that familiar with the good doctor.

He’d have to have met him recently!

Trauma stopped his thoughts, and tapped his fingers on the desk. Recently.

Another point to his earlier suspicions.

The purple Decepticon cowered away from Hornet, but Hornet ignored him.  He had more important things to do--even more important than getting rid of Decepticons!  He waited until the other Decepticon jets were flying overhead, set the timer on the relic, and ran for cover!  He didn't know exactly what the relic was going to do, but it was a safe bet he didn't want to be around when it went off!

Moments later the Decepticon jets were transforming--not into robot mode, but into smaller, organic forms.  Unfortaunately for them, thse organic forms were not able to fly!  They screamed as they fell out of the sky and crashed to their deaths on the ground. 

Trauma flinched. Well that was unpleasant.

"The device turned them into humans," Hornet whispered in amazement, going back to retrieve the device.  Cee and Cliff drove up to congratultae him. 

"That was a great plan, Hornet!" Cliff admitted.  "You really saved our gears."

"It was nothing," Hornet said modedstly (but not truthfully because he really had saved their gears).

Modesty. Another Decepticon trait.

Trauma scrolled up and down the screen re-reading a bit of earlier. Saving the day with quick thinking, and fast motions? Definitely something a scout would know. Sword? Flashy. Someone who wants attention.

“Hornet” was mostly definitely a smaller mech.

Trauma scrolled down the tablet and saw the end was near. He might as well power through to the end and compile his notes.

"Hey, what's that?" Cee interrupted, pointing.  Hornet looked at where she was pointing and saw a small organic human trying to crawl away.   It was small (like humans are) and was wearing organic clothes (A/N: usually made of other organics, like sheep) like humans do.  Its clothes were a black shirt covered by a purple and dark purple coat.  Hornet picked up the little creature by the jacket and saw that its organic optics were blue.  It also had purple hair (A/N: like fur, but it grows on the helm).

"What is that, Hornet?" questioned Cliff.

Hornet had been asking him the same question, and had answered himself!  "I think . . . It's Trauma!"

"It is me," the former Decepticon medic sobbed openly. "Knockdown abandoned me and now look what happened!"

"Well, you should be glad he abandoned you, because otherwise you would have crashed and died like all the others," Hornet reasoned.

"Not that it makes any difference," Cee said, grabbing him out of Hornet's servo, "because we are going to end you right now!"  That just made the former jet sob harder.

"No, Cee!" Hornet said sternly, jerking the human out of her grip.  "He is no longer a worthy opponent for us."

"Please don't kill me!" Trauma cried.  "Hornet is right, I can't hurt you, and even if I could I wouldn't want to.  The Decepticons abandoned me like the cowards they are!  I hate them all!!!"

"You see, he can be a valuable asset.  And he will know lots of things about the Decepticons," Hornet said, cupping the fragile creature in his hands.

"Oh yes, I will help you anyway I can!" Trauma agreed eagerly.

So Hornet took the human back to Autobot base and Optimus Prime rewarded him for his foresight.  He made a little house for Trauma and locked him in every night.  Trauma didn't care because Hornet was nicer to him than the Decepticons had ever been, and together he and Hornet found out tons of stuff about humans.

The end. 

Well, that sealed the deal.

Caring for the weak? Protective instincts? These were definitely written by someone with a kind spark, trying to fit in with those of evil.

There was no other doubt in Trauma’s mind. “Hornet” was in fact their very own little clone Bumblebee. 

It made so much sense!

He was a clone of an Autobot, so he clearly had leanings toward their alliance. However, he was kind, and from what Trauma could tell, invested in doing what was right--the total opposite of the Autobot cause. He was definitely Decepticon material. Bumblebee likely had developed a complex.

Trauma sat up in his seat. What if he was meant to be an Autobot, but was rejected when they discovered his kind nature? The jet bit the edge of his lip, his wings flicking. How hurt and worthless must he have felt?

Maybe these stories were a way to act out the ‘What could have beens?’ with the side he was originally supposed to be on. Little day dreams.

Trauma wasn’t sure yet why so many of them were pornographic in nature, but he supposed that could be discovered through a few good therapy sessions. It could just be as simple as a youngling discovering himself.

Now, he knew who the author was--and he definitely was going to make sure Bumblebee and him had a long chat--but... 

How on Cybertron was Trauma going to deal with Bumblee’s obvious crush on him?

Chapter Text

"Bumblebee, I'm glad you could meet with me on such short notice."

"Sure, Trauma, no problem."  Bumblebee shifted in his seat uncomfortably.  Why was he here?  The therapist had been very firm, insisting that he needed to talk with Bumblebee immediately.  He looked at Trauma's face for clues, but the purple jet's gaze was directed at a data-pad in the middle of his desk, its screen a glowing rectangle.

"Do you recognize this, Bumblebee?"  Trauma slid it towards the scout.

"It's a data-pad?"  Bumblebee shrugged.  They all looked the same, what exactly was he supposed to "recognize"? 

"Take a look at it, please.  I'd like to know if any of its contents are familiar to you."

Puzzled and a bit apprehensive, Bumblebee picked up the datapad and looked at the screen.  In increasing bewilderment, he found himself skimming a story where several Decepticons died messy deaths at the hands of "Hornet", ending with Trauma turned into a human for some reason.

And what was this button on the side?  Index?  Were there more . . . ?

Oh.  Oh yes.  There were more.

Bumblebee's optics grew wide as he chose a story at random and found himself reading about "Hornet (son of Primus and Unicron)" and his battle and, uh, sexual exploits with the Decepticons. 

"What did you think of it?"  Trauma was giving him a fixed look, searching and expectant.

For one panicky instant, Bumblebee wondered if Trauma had written these and wanted a literary critique.  "Um, umm . . ."

"Bumblebee, it's all right.  If a bot needs to get out his frustrations, I would rather see them come out on paper, as fantasies, rather than through actual violence or bad behavior.  But at the same time, writing about real bots can be seen as an invasion of privacy and rather hurtful."

Oh scrap, oh scrap, oh scrap, Trauma thought HE had written this.

"I didn't—!  I wouldn't—!"  Bumblebee clutched the data-pad to his chest, then shoved it away as though it had burned him.

"Bumblebee."  Trauma made a calming gesture with his hands.  "I'm not judging . . . the author . . . for their interest in certain themes or, ah, people.  I'm just saying perhaps that bot . . . whoever they might be . . . should think about the effect their writing might have on others.  Perhaps the author thought their works would never be seen, but it's very hard to keep a secret on a ship. 'Three may keep a secret, if two of them are dead,' as the old saying goes."

"But I didn't—"

"I'm going to step out of the room for a few minutes, and when I return you're going to tell me what we should do with this data-pad, all right?"

"Um.  Yes.  All right."  Bumblebee's faceplate was burning with heat as Trauma left.  He wanted to sink right through the floor.  Why?  Why did these things happen to him?!

He picked up the data-pad, glaring at it. His thumb brushed against the screen and a new story opened from the index.

The Secret Seeker by Hornet

Disclaimer: Hornet is a fictional character and is no way related to any Autobots living or dead and does not represent the ultimate glory and ideal set by the symbol of the Autobots, Optimus Prime. Because if he was real, he’d probably be killed for treason. But he’s not. he’s fake. Hornet is not real.

 

A/N: Hornet and Bluewing have Spikes and Valves just because. I’ve typed this note enough. You knw by now.

Even his brief skimming of one or two of the other stories had given Bumblebee an idea what spikes and valves were.  He . . . wasn't sure how he felt about the idea.  Humans were awesome, but . . .

Well, then again, there were worse ideas?  He wondered if anyone actually made such a thing.  Modifications and so on . . . Giving himself a shake, he kept reading.

Hornet was the chosen child of Optimus Prime. Son of Unicorn and Primus. He was strong. And the embodiment of the Autobot ideal. He was a great warrior. And he was good looking.

Bumblebee read the "son of Unicron and Primus" line a few times to convince himself it was really there.  Sure, every bot daydreamed about that kind of thing when they were a youngling—Bumblebee had too—but—

Oh scrap. He knew who had written this.

But he also….had a secret.

Hornet met that secret a few years ago. He’d been doing recon work on the local populus of the planet—like good scouts should—root through a dump to find anything that woud look cool in his room. (Those tended to be the best sources of information.) He was mind his own business when he ran into him.

Bluewing was a big ol’ Decepticon Seeker. He wasn’t too tough, and Hornet’d fought him more than once or twice. Big guy. Slow. Kinda’ dumb.

Thank Primus it wasn't a run-in with Trauma, like in "document-awesome", because Bumblebee didn't know how he was ever going to look the therapist in the optic knowing Yellowjacket (he had to be the one writing these things) had referred to the lavender jet as "a Decepticon slut." If Bumblebee needed therapy after reading this stuff, he sure as scrap wasn't going to be going to Trauma for it.

Bluewing, though . . . who would that be?  Usually Yellowjacket referred to the Decepticons by name in his stories (albeit misspelled).  Maybe Bluewing was a Citizen?  But they were orange.  Soundwave or Knockdown, then?

The big guy was rooting through the same junk yard and Hornet, and that was wrong. This was his place! What’d that big Seekr think he was doing? So Hornet decided to give him a piece of his canon.

Hornet attacked, all a blaze and fury but Bluewing was good. He fought back and then in their scuffle they knocked ove ra table and he shouted, “SLAG!”

“You idiot! That table was great!” Bluewing shouted at Hornet. “Do you know how hard it is to find human stuff that isn’t broken!?”

Hornet stopped and looked at the table. It was nice. Or it had been. Hornet looked at Bluewing. “You like human stuff?”

Bluewing stopped and put his hands down. He looked confused, which was okay because Hornet was superior in every way and he was dumb. But Bluewing asked “Do you?”

That was when the secret thing happened.

Bumblebee could feel his spark spinning crazily in his chest as he stared at the data-pad.  Someone who liked "human stuff".  Who was a flyer.  Who was blue.  He hoped he was wrong.

Hornet, totally still loyal to Opitmus Prime and hte Autobot cause in all ways shapes and forms, started meeting up with Bluewing once a week. They’d trade the human things that they’d found in recon. And swap stories.

It was sort of nice. ‘Cause the other ‘Bots didn’ tget it. They didn’t understand just how cool the little humans were. And all their stuff. Bluewing had a thing for their baseball hats, ‘cause they came off when he flew over his head. But Dreadwing was more impressed by the chess set that Hornet had pulled out of the dump. It was awesome and the seeker really liked it. He came back wit a little hula woman to put on Hornet’s dash. It was cool.

Oh frag, Dreadwing. 

Dreadwing, who had collected human books, electronics, clothing, furniture.

Dreadwing, who had been killed by Yellowjacket in the invasion of the Heretic. 

Dreadwing, who had an extensive collection of baseball hats and a complete chess set in his room . . .

They’d talk about humans. And exchange stuff. and sometimes they’d just sit and talk about the humans they’d seen running around. Hornet was depressed he had to meet up with a dirty, no good ‘Con to talk about it or show off his cool human stuff. But Bluewing was okay. He was sort of a dork.

Then why did you kill him?

And totally helpless against Hornet’s attractiveness. He was weak. He wanted the Hornet.

Seeing as Hornet had tamed a few Seekers in his day, he had no problem satisfying the big blue mech’s many, many needs.

“Come on Blue,” Hornet said, his back digging into the pile of junk they’d been rooting through earlier. Bluewing was holding him up and had his spike all the way inside Hornet’s port. Normally Hornet did the topping, but Blue was shy and stupid. He needed the confidence boost. Hornet could be nice if he wanted. “Harder!”

“But you’re so small,” Dreadwing said, his hands around Hornet’s waist. They gripped tightly, and his head loomed over Hornet’s head as he stood straight up. He pushed forward, and Hornet could see stuff leaking out of his own empty valve. Yeah. Hornet was that hot. “I don’t want to break you.”

“Who’s the Autobot here?” Hornet reminded him. “You aint’ gonna’ break nothing, you weakling ‘Con!”

“Oh yea?” Dreadwing said. “We’ll see about that!”

Had it been an actual affair?  Disregarding the stuff about "spikes" and "valves" . . . had they held each other?  Had something new and beautiful and stronger than inter-faction hatred been built there, on a litter of broken junk and unwanted rubbish?

“There ya go!” Hornet shouted when Dreadwing picked up the pace. A bunch of junk tumbled down on the top of them when he slammed Hornet up into the rubble, and it shook the entire thing. Dreadwing huffed and groaned, but he kept going in and out, and it felt. Amazing. “You’re not bad at this…for a ‘Con.”

“Brat,” Blue said. He shifted again and Hornet nearly moaned. Who knew a ‘Con knew what he was doing? Hornet pushed down, and made Dreadwing flinch when his spike went deeper than he planned. That’d hsow ‘em who was boss. Blue snorted, “Double brat.”

But, the big seeker’s stamina wasn’t nearly enough to keep up with Hornet, of course, so he finished up quick. He pulled out and Hornet sat in his lap when he fell back, exhausted. Dreadwing fell on his back, and Hornet crossed his arms on his chest.

What had Jumpstart and Ampule actually told him about the invasion, about Dreadwing and Yellowjacket?

"He was leaning over Dreadwing, all covered with energon, and his hands were right in his chest."

"Knockdown said his spark chamber had been crushed, but we didn't know it at the time  'cause just then Ultra Magnus came through the smoke and we had to run . . ."

"Megatron was so angry when he heard.  Of course, we were all angry, but especially him and Skyquake--"

"He hated that he couldn't protect Dreadwing.  But at least he tracked down Yellowjacket before he could leave the ship."

Ultra Magnus.

A crushed spark chamber.

Hands pressed into a chest, all covered with energon.

Two bodies.

“You’re such a wimp,”  Hornet said. “How’d you ever survive this long?”

“Lucky, I guess,” Dreadwing said. He rumbled and rolled the two of them over into the junk. He picked up an old television (A/N: A think humans use to watch broadcasts on a little screen). “Why?  You plannin’ to shoot me?”

“Maybe,” Hornet shrugged and pulled at a loose panel on Bluewing’s chest. “You’re a big enough target.”

“But then who’d you talk to?”

“I dunno,” Hornet said. “Guess you’re my secret.”

“I don’t like secrets,” Dreadwing said. He subspaced the television, and turned so that he could draw little pictures in the dirt. He was always doin’ that. “Ya know?”

Hornet didn’t. Secrets were what let this work. The awesome Hornet was awesome and all. He was loyal. He loved Prime. But this…no one would undertand this.

They’d probaly get the human thing sooner than this.

“You’re an idiot, Blue.”

Dreadwing didn’t disagree with him.

Bumblebee quietly set the data-pad down. After a moment, he pulled out a blank data-pad and began transferring the files.  Trauma would want these stories deleted, but . . . that wasn't right.  There were horrible things here, but also some truth.

For now, until he decided what to do, Bumblebee would keep quiet about it.

Three may keep a secret, if two are dead.