camfield: Koolster knows how to use it. (Koolster)
[personal profile] camfield

This is, like everything I write, wildly overdue.  My apologies OP, for dealing with me and my shortness in this part.    First part can be found Here.



Hound slammed his fist into the wall.  Orange paint chipping off, leaving a gray patch with black streaks courtesy of his own paint.

Behind him, a red mech stood silently.  Staring at Hound with hooded optics.

“Primus I hate you so much.”

His hands clenched and unclenched.  A snarl  ripping free from his vocalizer as he turned and threw a punch that crashed into the red helm.  A barely there flash of numbers before the fabricated metal dented inward, showing the same black streaks that were present on the wall.

It wasn’t really enough, not for Hound, but it was the only thing that let him connect.  He hated Blaster with every fiber  of his core.  Hated that because of Blaster’s orders, he had lost any chance at having symbiots again.

Black hands vibrated with the energy he kept under control.  Fingers digging into the hardlight hologram.  Rending created metal from a created frame slowly, methodically.  Hound writing code as smoothly and quickly as he could to support the image of energon dripping down both of them and pooling on the floor.

Losing himself in the delicious rush of emotions that coursed through his wires.

Hound painted himself with purple code.  Drawing the symbol of his frametype across the planes of his face.  Shuttering his optics and venting as the tingle of active code fluttered on his derma.

With his optics still shuttered Hound stroked down, lines of purple appearing wherever his fingertips touched armor.  Cupping his crotchplate and letting his helm drop back, thighs spreading as he touched himself.

The imagery of painting himself with Blaster’s energon gave him a charge that nearly hurt.  He needed no encouragement to pop his spike cover open,  cord extending into waiting fingers.  With each stroke he applied more data.  With each stroke he applied more energon.

With each stroke he imagined Blaster dead at his feet.

His overload was strong enough to interrupt the data stream and let the purple code spiral from his frame, fingers covered in transfluid that was nearly the same color as energon.  Making a fist and letting it squelch through his fingers.  Smearing it between them and onto the hologram that still stood in front of him.

Someday he’d have his own.  Whether or not they let him.
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September 2013

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