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20,000 Stars In The Sky

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    It hurt to be away from him.

    This was something of a cliché, and Chrysolite, quiet, smart Chrysolite, knew it, but it was also the truth. He filled a space inside of them that had been reserved for so long, empty and searching. Everyone had told them that this was not the way things were meant to be, or, in some cases of those who thought they knew better, the way things really were, but Chrysolite had felt the reality of it so solidly when they first saw Shockwave that there was no questioning it. Their love for him was an absolute, universal law. They had been made for him, almost literally.

    And now he was going to die.  

    The Senate hadn’t cared much about them visiting him. They never had, despite their past together. It was well known how Shockwave’s work affected his victims, his subjects, and after a point it had become fruitless trying to hold back the storm of those who needed closure in seeing him again, though few of them ever got it. There was nothing to be found in Shockwave’s distinct lack of face, no remorse, no understanding, and rarely even recognition. Shockwave saw Autobots as the blueprints of an unrefined tool in his workshop, not living beings.

    Chrysolite knew this. They knew every story that was taught within the State’s school programming, every bit of literature that could be found on him in the public libraries, and some that were less public and found somewhat less legally. It didn’t matter. They had been destined to imprint upon him, and there was still nothing, even in this day and age of modern mechanics, that could change the way a spark spun.

    The Guardsmen let them into the visitation chamber and Shockwave was already there. These were conjugal visits; the Guard didn’t think to worry about what happened after the doors were closed behind them until they opened again and it was time for the final scans required to ensure there had been no passing of malware or any other unsavory elements. Shockwave’s record with Chrysolite had been clean as crystal, but that hadn’t changed their opinion of him through the vorns.

    “My darling,” said Shockwave, unmoving but with a deep, purple passion in his voice, “my dear, how I’ve longed to see you.”

    Chrysolite was at his side in kliks, flattening their servos against his wide chest plate.

    “Is there really- really no way to have a retrial? We can try again, we can-“

    “Hush, small one.”

    His claws encircled Chrysolite from behind, and the feeling was one so soothing it was easy to forget that the hands which fed them so much love were instruments of destruction to any other optic. Shockwave’s neck extended down, and he slowly enveloped them.

    “We have precious little time. Let me have my memory banks filled with only sweet things, before I go.”

    “I don’t want you to go,” was all Chrysolite could get out, stalling.

    Still, the proximity of Shockwave’s spark was enough to calm them. Humming, Shockwave pressed closer, reaching for small seams and sensitive spots on Chrysolite’s frame, and Chrysolite could do nothing but move along with him, made dumb by the emotion of the moment. They were already aroused, pathetically so, trained by the decacycles of visiting their love, their reason for being, and knowing what to expect. Shockwave was old, millions of cycles old, and his libido was sluggish for it, but his appetite for control never waned. Chrysolite fanned their fingers out, gripping the venting on his chest and backing out their hips to better accommodate him.

    “I want you,” Chrysolite breathed, and Shockwave’s great mass heaved them up and into his lap as his spike was released. It slid smoothly between Chrysolite’s thighs, sleek and dark. Chrysolite went wild with heat.

    “Shockwave, Shockwave-!”

    Their grip tightened to something that would have been painful for an Autobot, elevating their hips and grinding against him, panels snapping back to expose everything they had. It was easy, now, to feel how Shockwave’s spark spun inside his chest, enormous and loud. Perhaps it was simply the way their own called to it that made the sound so real, the feeling so powerful. There was only desperation between the two of them, serious and hard and painful. Chrysolite wanted more than they had ever taken before.

    “Come now, that’s right.”

    Shockwave positioned them, chest to chest with their aft back, and it was uncomfortable but perfect because it gave Shockwave full access to their valve. He pressed one claw in, just barely, sighing at the ease with which it gave, the warmth of the mesh as it inflated. All their sensory nodes lit up, and Chrysolite clenched down hard, encouraging him.

    “Yes, yes, yes!”

    They hadn’t realized they were crying until their optics, pressed shut against Shockwave’s scarred out sigil, began popping with loose charge. Perhaps, if Chrysolite really wanted it enough, really, Shockwave would not be taken from them, from this moment. It was illogical and foolish to wish such things, but panic made fools of everyone. They only hoped Shockwave couldn’t tell what they were thinking.

    The claw inside them pressed in hard, all the way to the back, and Chrysolite bucked back into it, ignoring the strain on their spinal strut, calling loudly. Even as the sound still echoed through the cell, Shockwave was pulling back, stirring the outer folds gently, and then thrusting back in full force. His claws were enormous, easily the size of his spike individually, but the massive strength inside him was well controlled and each prod hit its mark exactly, perfectly, without flaw. Cycles of these State overseen liaisons had given them ample time to fully memorize the schematics of one another’s interface arrays, and it showed. Chrysolite’s mouth hung open in small, airless wails.


    Shockwave didn’t respond and Chrysolite had to reboot their vocalizer, blinking away static, “Please, Shockwave! I want you, not-!”

    With an easy stroke, Shockwave pulled out, drawing yet another broken moan from Chrysolite and splattering small drops of lubricant down their thighs. It didn’t matter – this was a moment meant for efficiency over artfulness, and they both knew it. Gracelessly, Chrysolite brought them together, hitching their knees along Shockwave’s hips so as to pull themselves higher, angling their valve over his spike. It wasn’t until Shockwave’s cold (always, even like this) claws gripped and stopped their movements that the mania inside them calmed for a brief moment, and their optics met.

    “Let me, Shockwave, please!”

    They trembled so hard the kibble on their plating rattled. Shockwave’s thumbs soothed against the neat folds in their protoform mesh.

    “I want to savor this,” he said, and the tip of his spike twitched, just the slightest bit, against the mouth of Chrysolite’s waiting inlet, “I want to taste you thoroughly this one last time.”

    Unable to fully express themself, Chrysolite tried to moan and instead sobbed, optics growing bright and earnest.

    “Alright. Okay.”

    Purring praise, Shockwave lowered them, just an inch, the vents on his shoulders opening silently. Then another, so slowly, and Chrysolite was already panting, trying to keep still, be good for him. It was so hard when they already felt him slipping away.

    “So lovely,” Shockwave murmured, claws running down their sides, “So precious.”

    Without warning he strengthened his grip and pulled Chrysolite down in one final go, sheathing himself fully inside them. It was so unexpected Chrysolite actually screamed, a cry that reverberated through the entire room several times over, but they couldn’t hear it, lost in sensation. Shockwave was taking no more time to play around, doubling his legs up beneath himself and thrusting up fully inside their body, controlling them easily, like a toy. Chrysolite’s limbs flailed despite their attempts to control themselves, bouncing in Shockwave’s lap.

    “Sh- Shock-!”

    “Yes, let me hear you.”

    It didn’t matter if they were so loud that Trypticon himself was awoken by the noise, not anymore. The Guard wouldn’t dare interrupt such star-crossed lovers, Chrysolite thought, embarrassed for it. Shockwave’s spike could hardly fit all the way inside, but Chrysolite was strong and well trained and adored the feeling, even when it bordered dangerously on pain. Everything hurt right now anyways, and the distinction was hard to find. Chrysolite clamped their valve calipers down on Shockwave as best they could, their spike rubbing wet patterns of prefluid across Shockwave’s striped belly. Leaning forwards, they daringly licked a path across his Decepticon marking, tracing where it had been cut across by the soldiers who brought Shockwave in. His spark beat so heavily inside. They had been too cruel to him, always. Even knowing what Shockwave had done as intimately as they did, Chrysolite could not help but feel so.

    “Shockwave, please,” they were so caught up in it they didn’t notice the first clicks of their own spark chamber unlatching. “Shockwave…”

    Every circuit in their system was shooting bright charge, alive with the love they felt. It hurt so much, this love, but they did not regret it. Not at all. Their spark chamber slid open.


    Shockwave almost seemed started. Chrysolite was unable to explain, stuttering out another long moan. Their spark should have felt cold in the exposed air, but the heat was everywhere, especially pressed between them. There was no denying the immediate, powerful resonance from Shockwave’s own, even through his armored plating. Chrysolite’s sensory unit glitched for a klik, overheating from the strain. Grasping at him, Chrysolite begged wordlessly.


    Shockwave managed to keep himself steady, still thrusting, with only one hand supporting their frame. The other, without any hesitation, moved swiftly to their chest, claws dipping inside the powerful EM field surrounding Chrysolite’s spark. Warning signs immediately began to flash inside their processor and they didn’t care, a surreal joy swelling inside. They were going to become one, finally, and then no one could separate them, not the State, not death. Their entire body tightened, strung tight with the power of the moment, so much so that their overload blinded them.

    Optics offline, jaw gaping with mirth, Chrysolite collapsed against Shockwave’s chest, quite dead.

    Sighing pleasantly, Shockwave’s body heaved as he emptied himself inside Chrysolite, one last good thrust seating him near fully inside. Chrysolite wouldn’t suffer for it now. He sat and vented air softly for quite a while, letting the room cool down again. Slowly, he shifted the greying form back into his lap, half cradling them as he looked at the contents of his hand. Chrysolite’s spark had been so soft, so easy to crush. It glittered in his palm, a fine, white powder.

    Pretty, pretty. Shockwave had never had much use for aesthetics, but he supposed it was nice to have this be the last real image of his strange companion. It fit them, small and perfectly fitted to the plate of his hand. Opening the small shunt in his throat, Shockwave carefully began to consume his lover, funneling the crystal down. What a kindness he had done them, after all this time of them being the one to give to him. A perfect ending. There would be no separating them now.

    He heard the systematic clicking of the automatic locks coming undone, the Guardsmen outside making some subtle derogatory comments they were certain he couldn’t hear. Then one shouted,

    “Time’s up! Get decent!”

    Putting himself neatly away, Shockwave discarded the empty vessel on the floor, knowing it didn’t matter anymore. His spark felt, somehow, warmer. He found his claws reaching for it as he faced the doorway.