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Crimson Flowers

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“Come now, pet, for the price I paid for you I expect a little more- hn- enthusiasm”

 

Knock Out let his eyes slide shut and leaned back a little in his master’s lap, his vents stuttering and his delicate claws gripping the seat.  He might, he thought to himself, have shown a little more enthusiasm if his master had any sexual ability at all. He did not say this, of course, because the bot in question was easily twice his size and his life depended upon his master’s whim.  Instead, he moaned as convincingly as he could and rocked his hips down on the thick spike inside him, calipers squeezing around it despite the jolt of pain that accompanied a poorly-timed thrust from below him. The sound he made at that was decidedly real, a gasp of pain that was willfully misinterpreted as a signal to continue, to wring more whimpers from his mouth as rough hands gripped his hips and dragged him further down the shaft.

 

“Better.  Much better.  Maybe I won't throw you out for the savages after all,”  his master’s voice crooned, slurred with lust, and Knock Out turned his head away and tried to focus on something else.  He felt sorry for their transport, having all this going on inside her while traversing the rough, scrubby plains between their home city of Tarn and his master’s ambassadorial home in Kaon.  It irked him that he couldn't see out of the window from his unpleasant seat; the first half of the journey had almost been pleasant with the view, until his master had gotten bored of reading and pulled him into his lap.  Now all he wanted to look at was the inside of his eyelids, it was infinitely preferable to the rusted old wreck currently pawing at his gleaming crimson paintwork.

 

Fortunately, his master was as lacking in stamina as he was in every other way, and Knock Out didn't have to endure for long before he gave one final thrust and spilled inside him, making his plating shudder.  He hoped his disgust would be mistaken for pleasure, or he might just find himself thrown out for the barbarians who inhabited the plains after all. One heard stories about their savagery, kidnappings and rape and even sacrificing bots to their heathen gods.  His master was bad enough, he thought as he was pushed off of the softening spike, back into his own seat where he squeezed his thighs together to try and avoid making a mess on the transport’s seats; he could only imagine how much more cruel and brutal the wild bots would be.  But they hadn't seen any sign of them since they'd left Tarn, nor anyone else on the road. Just a few wandering animals and, a few hours ago, some kind of large avian circling in the distance. Hopefully it would stay that way.

 

Knock Out drew his legs in a little, trying to ignore the ache in his valve and the aborted click of the cover he no longer possessed trying to close.  What use did a creature like him have for dignity or modesty after all? He squeezed his eyes closed for a moment to chase that thought away and then resolutely stared out of the window, watching the plains roll by.  They were beautiful in a strange way, bronze and gold and verdigris grasses gleaming in the sunlight, dotted here and there with brighter flowers in chromium oranges and blues and vivid manganese purple. Very different from his own, often praised beauty in crimson and crisp white detailing.  His master had recently decided to have him decorated with gold, and while it looked very pleasing on his wheels he wasn't so sure about the garish bands on his helm crest or the fine detail around his eyes, bright and shimmering in contrast with the black and red of his optics. The thick collar around his neck had also been gilded to match, not that it made it any more comfortable.  No, there was nothing of the natural, subtle hues that dominated out here about him.

 

The avian was back, he noticed dimly.  Or perhaps it was a different one, circling close enough for him to see the broad sweep of its wings and the long neck and tail that marked it as an animal and not a jet alt.  Wait… he frowned slightly, leaning closer to the window to see it better as it came back around above them. No avian he'd ever seen had a tail like that, or the clawed, membranous wings that held this one aloft.   That were, in fact, angling towards them.

 

The beast dived.

 

Knock Out barely had a chance to shout a warning before everything was thrown sideways, a massive talon smashing through the window where he had been moments before.  He landed hard against his master and was thrown off, sent tumbling as the transport transformed around them and swept his master up in her arms, unholstering the enormous rifle she carried in case of attack.  Knock Out hit the ground hard and wheezed as something sharp pierced his plating, pain lancing through him, and above him came the sounds of shots fired and the shriek of the beast as it dived again. He was disorientated enough that he barely managed to roll out if the way of one of the transport’s feet as she staggered back, grappling with their attacker.  The movement dragged a cry of pain from his throat as whatever had pierced his armour was driven deeper, and he could do nothing but curl up and hope he wouldn’t be stepped on. He didn’t know how badly hurt he was, but his fingers came away gleaming blue and swam before his eyes when he touched the wound and he knew enough to know that wasn’t good.

 

The monster landed close enough to shake the ground and roared, and its call was answered by other cries, more familiar.  Rescue? This far out? No, he realised as the sounds resolved into voices, a language he didn’t recognise. Nothing so fortunate.  He was still bleeding and a sudden flare of dust forced him to shield his eyes, then the world around him exploded into a chaotic cacophony of shouting and engines and animal roars, the clash of metal and the awful flapping of wings.  For a brief moment he thought he heard his master shouting, but then his voice and the shadow of the transport were gone, the sounds of something huge transforming and a massive engine roaring left in their wake. He tried to uncurl, but pain ripped through his upper body and he only managed to whimper.

 

He didn’t know how long he laid there, but eventually the beast roared its fury and the sound of wings retreated into the distance amid a ragged cheer.  Knock Out did his best to hold still, hoping that perhaps these barbarians- what else could they be, out here?- would leave him alone if they thought he was dead.  A few more minutes, and it probably wouldn’t matter. He could see the glow of the puddle of energon around him even with his eyes closed and the throb of pain was insistent, all-encompassing.  A shadow fell over him and he couldn’t even summon the strength to lift his head, let alone run or try to fight them off. The last thing he knew before he went offline was a pair of rough hands on him, rolling him onto his back, and he hoped he’d be dead before they got a chance to do anything else to him.