Fandom: Transformers Bayverse
Author: gatekat and femme4jack on LJ
Pairing: Silverbolt/Skydive/Fireflight/Slingshot/Air Raid/Corazon Rodriguez
Rating: NC-17 mech/mech/female
Codes: Slash, Het, Xeno (Transformer/Human), Gestalt-cest, Mechsmut, Holoform smut
Summary: Corazon can't resist the fascination of a gestalt, even one too young to need organic energy yet.
Notes: klik = 1 minute, breem = 8.3 minutes; joor = 1.2 hours; orn = day/32 joor; metacycle = 6 (5.9285) years; vorn = 83 years/14 metacycle
Written in the Dathanna de Gray fanverse (community .livejournal .com/ tf_socket_fics)
Written for aughoti . dreamwidth . org , who won femme4jack's auction on community .livejournal .com/help_japan for her prompt "Tequila and High Grade" with Corazon in DdG.
This story references chapter 4 of Outside Eyes.
We've changed the title of "Science the Witch" to the "Witch of Diego Garcia", a set of one shots in which Corazon interacts with, and helps out mechs and sockets around the island.
"text" translated Cybertronian.
"text" organic languages
~text~ bond/hardline talk
::text:: comm chatter
Curandera - a traditional witch, herbalist, or midwife. Curanderos/as still are common today in Northern New Mexico (setting of Alicia and Corazon's home town), other parts of the United States Southwest and Mexico.
Mijo or mija - shortened form of mi hijo or mi hija, a term of endearment for a child or someone younger than yourself.
¡Dios Mio! - My God!
La Virgen - The Virgin (Mary)
chichi - slang for breast
Huevos - eggs (slang for testicles)
Cojones - slang for testicles
Pajarito - little bird
Muchacho/a - young man/woman
¡Ejoles! - a word of exasperation, distress, exclamation, expressed typically via a Mexican grandmother (urban dictionary).
Bruja - witch
The Witch of Diego Garcia 2: Games with Planes
When Corazon Rodriguez had "known" one too many things she shouldn't have as a 5-year old girl, she had been apprenticed to Luciana Cordova, the elderly curandera who lived in Ojo Zarco. It was a twenty minute drive from Truchas if they borrowed uncle Mateo's Chevy, so most of the time, she stayed at Luciana's little two-room adobe house, close to the sacred blue hot spring whose waters the tiny, bent witch used for her potions.
Corazon had missed her mother and father, but they, to be honest, had been a bit relieved to have her gone.
It was awkward when one's daughter somehow knew that when papa and their neighbor Stefano, went up to the highlands, it wasn't just to round up the cattle and bring them down to the valley for the winter, and that her mother and Stefano's wife, Rosa, enjoyed the times when their men were gone just as much. This was not something one wanted spoken about anywhere a neighbor or Padre Luna might hear about it.
It was very awkward when ones daughter told Padre Luna, to his face, at Mass, that La Virgen was actually a goddess, and that the baby Jesus was praying at his mama's breasts.
It was even more awkward that when she told that same priest that she knew exactly which children in the parish were from his huevos, and she was right.
So the little girl had been taken to meet Luciana, who knew immediately that she was going to be the finest, feistiest curandera Rio Ariba county had ever known.
Corazon was 9 years old when she saw her first "talkie". She and Luciana had made the trek to Santa Fe so the curandera could be at the deathbed of an elderly colleague. After they had done what they could to make the old woman comfortable, Luciana had given the girl a quarter and sent her off to explore, wanting some time alone with the dying witch.
So Corazon had made her way to the famous Lensic theater, which was showing Tarzan Escapes, and, more importantly, the first episode of the Flash Gordon serial as the matinee that day.
Even though the girl's English was not very good, when Corazon left her first talkie that day, she knew many more things.
She knew that some day her granddaughter, whose mother had not even been conceived yet, would travel through space and would walk on another world.
She knew that some day she, herself, was going to not only meet aliens, but she was going to live with them, and they'd take her to see the rings of Saturn.
She knew that in her own lifetime, everything they assumed they knew would change.
When she told Luciana about the vision, the older woman had laughed and ruffled her hair. Then she said something very strange.
"You don't have to travel to space to meet aliens, mija. They've been around since before our kind, and may be on this planet long after we're gone. You know that dam they just finished in Nevada? The one that is strangling the El Rio Colorado?"
"Hoover Dam - they showed it on the newsreel at the talkie," the girl answered.
"It isn't just there to make electricity, mija. There is something inside. Something that changed us all, while we were still swinging by our tails in the jungle."
"Father Luna says we aren't supposed to talk about coming from monkeys," Corazon warned.
"Father Luna also thinks that women are supposed to make babies to say we are sorry that Eva wanting to learn about the world," the curandera said harshly, and then laughed at the priest.
Corazon, now 83 and living among aliens, grinned and cackled out loud herself as she thought about that day when she saw her first talkie. She looked around at the multitude of aliens and humans gathered for Hang 10's evening feature film, and felt, strangely, like she was looking at her kids, for all that many of the aliens had tens of thousands, if not millions of years on her. They still were like children to her - hurting, grieving, confused, playful, curious, sometimes cynical children who were figuring out their own souls and how to be people and not just war machines.
Someone was on an old movie kick, because for the last several nights, they'd shown old serials before the feature film, and tonight's just so happened to be the first episode of Flash Gordon.
She shook her head and sat back to watch - not the film, but the bright-souled, metal people who were paying various degrees of attention to it. Watching their sparks and the multitude of connections between them was as enchanting as watching a field of fireflies or a meteor shower. She just couldn't stop looking.
Jazz and Prowl were there, each spark nearly as old as the other's, though one had lived a dozen lifetimes or more, while the other had lived just the one very, very long one. And now, Jazz was carrying. It was just a speck of energy similar to, but not exactly like his, orbiting the dark-centered star that was Jazz's spark.
It would never cease to amuse her how much the other residents would giggle and give the two mechs looks when they behaved like a normal couple. Right now Jazz was curled up on Prowl's lap, far more interested in touching his mate than the movie.
Her gaze flicked to the entrance when a new mech walked in. Matte black and small like his 'mother', or carrier, as they called it - and wasn't that a secret around here! - Whiplash glided through the shadows as ink through black water until he settled near two bonded femmes he was closely related to through Jazz - another major secret! The three leaned close, their spark resonances reaching out to sooth each other from some trauma. The four kin-mechs were a fascinating lot. The two who chose to identify as 'males', or mechs, both had active darkness in the core of their sparks, while the two 'females' or femmes had only the darkness and damage that came with their lives and being raised by those who knew far more darkness than they did. If she lived that long, it would be fascinating to see if the little spark Jazz carried, with the trace of darkness in the center, would be another mech or if the difference was from another cause.
Then there were her granddaughter's mechs. Hound, who was as in balance with his spark as anyone on the island, and Mirage, who was so torn up inside it would take a mech's lifetime for him to heal. It pained her to see so much hurt in one who wasn't ready. She wanted to help him so much, for her granddaughter's sake if nothing else, but while he'd listen to her, answer her questions and knew what she was going to say for the most part, he still placed himself too far below his duties to find any balance. The incredibly strong link to Jazz was the likely cause too, she had no doubt. The lithe, dark-sparked mech had strong bonds with many mechs here, of many kinds, but among the strongest were those who were in servitude to him and those who hated him. It would worry her if the two very strongest links were not ones of deep love with Prowl and Prime.
Yet, from what she could see of the twisting paths of past and future, most, if not all of those on base would not be alive were it not for the dark-sparked mech.
What she had not told anyone yet was the connections she could see between the sparks around her and what she could only call 'the beyond', the realm of those who no longer inhabited their frames, as well as the powers of creation and destruction embodied in their gods.
Jazz's connection with the source of his darkness was nearly severed, while the connection with the source of his light was strong, full of fear on Jazz's part, but it was a connection nonetheless, and affected him more than he would possibly wish to know.
His adult creation had no such strong connection to the light, but he also had a minimal connection to the darkness. The bond to his carrier and the two femmes were the defining points in his path.
Her musings were distracted by the appearance of a couple so full of life it was nearly blinding. On a base where both human and mech were beaten down by war and loss, these two had somehow missed most of that. Skyfire was different from the last time she'd seen him; his spark larger, the energy in his frame more intense but less controlled and utterly focused on the smaller white mech with him. White light reached out to the beyond from Skyfire in dozens of strands that were making tentative connections with lives lost long ago.
She couldn't help beaming at the two. The smaller, Wheeljack, she was given to understand, was the reason that the socket bonds existed in the first place, and those interfacing upgrades that felt so good. She needed to thank him!
Perhaps she could talk them into letting her help when they kindled, since it was more than obvious that the two were planning to create new life.
Speaking of new life ... her gaze drifted to Blaster where the incredibly complex web of connections he had his symbiot family was utterly blazing along with the new spark close to his own. The tiny light was now making connections of its own with many of the symbiots. Not enough that any of them likely knew it, but definitely there.
She wondered if she should tell them; it would certainly give them a sense of hope. Then again, even she could not tell if the connections were those of a host with its symbiots, or simply the connections between closely related kin. The symbiots had, after all, been involved in the kindling, at least as far as Mikaela had described when she and Alicia had gossiped about the experience.
Attention was drawn back to Jazz when there was a flare of energy between him and one of the two humans nestled close to the bonded pair. It was still a curiosity to her. Among the humans claimed by bonded mechs, Amelia was the first not to be claimed by both. Her connection with Prowl was tenuous, almost completely through Jazz, and she had only the weakest connection to Miles. Yet her connection to Jazz was nearly as strong as his was with Prowl, and the protective energy that radiated off Jazz had mechs and humans alike giving her a wide berth.
The odd thing was, his connection with Prowl and Miles was clearly love. It was not the same with the journalist. She loved him, obviously, and though it had the normal flavors of eroticism that colored all the mech-socket relationships, Jazz's feelings for her could be described as a painfully strong need for unconditional, maternal acceptance. It made her wonder what his relationship to his own 'mother' had been? Had he gotten the kind of acceptance that any living sentient would need as a sparkling from his carrier? What kind of carrier had he had? One like himself, or was he the first generation to be so torn apart and remade by the Unmaker? The story was he was the first, but it wasn't as if anyone but Jazz had been alive for it, and he was a master at inventing stories.
She wondered if she would ever have the cojones to ask him? He would not take too kindly to how much she knew just by looking at him. He, like so many struggling with darkness, was a secret keeper. The problem with secret keepers was that they were the easiest types for people like her to read, and that wasn't always a good thing for people like her.
She was tempted to look deeper at the organic who now had the dubious honor of being the confidant for the master of secrets, but her attention was suddenly torn by the entry of a group of five flyers with energetic connections that were different from any she'd watched so far. In some ways they were not as connected as bondmates like Mirage and Hound, and in othes they were far more intimately tied. She knew the human name that Cybertronians had given the relationship, gestalt, but she was still only beginning to work out just what that meant to her.
They were five distinct individuals with connections that were more like those of siblings than lovers, though clearly they were all lovers as well.
She almost giggled. They were like ... a flock. The movements of one affected the movements of all, a clear pecking order, the other alpha personalities constantly jockeying to see who was the best, who should be one top. It was an incredible contrast to the mech and two humans who were so closely bound to Jazz.
Yet she'd also seen them united, combined to become Superion. Then they became one being with five tightly linked sparks; they became a single mind at the sacrifice of their independent existence.
The Aerialbots did not appear to be planning to stay. She watched as they each grabbed 2-3 cubes of Sideswipe's special brew that was being served that evening in celebration of something. It seemed that this crowd looked for any and every opportunity to celebrate now that the scattered mechs were being reunited in one place, with the promise of a near future in which the war was truly over.
Clearly the Aerials were planning on celebrating on their own, or at least outdoors where there was more room. Corazon made an instant decision and walked toward the leader of the group, the one with the most balanced spark of the five, Silverbolt.
"Hello, son," she said with a wide smile and instantly had the attention of all of them, along with a few of the nearby mechs. "Haven't had a chance to chat with you and your brothers yet. Would you mind if I join you, wherever you are taking that fancy high grade? I have some questions about gestalts, and Aerial culture that I was hoping you might answer."
Those nearby returned to what they were doing, which was generally some form of making out with a lover, while Silverbolt smiled warmly down at her. "You are welcome to join us, Corazon." He handed his cubes off to the others and knelt, somehow folding his fifty-foot height down to her level without transforming and offered his hand to her. "We were going to have a cube, go flying, and finish the evening in our hanger."
"That sounds lovely." She climbed onto his hand as though she'd been doing it her whole life, folding her surprisingly nimble legs under her and holding on to one of his fingers for balance as he stood smoothly, gears and hydraulics shifting and powering to keep her completely steady on the way up.
"Good," Silverbolt smiled at her, flicking his wings slightly before walking towards the door with the others following. "Do you mind if we ask you questions too? Rumor has it you know things no one can know."
"Oh, ask me anything you like, mijo," she grinned, pulling out her own bottle. "I brought my tequila along, and that really loosens my tongue."
A round of snickers and grins passed between the Aerials as they left. Corazon saw Hound stopping Mirage and Alicia from getting up to follow, worry clear on her granddaughter's features before the doors closed.
"Can you really see what we can't remember?" Fireflight blurted out before they were five paces away from Hang 10.
"It depends on how hard I look, hon. I can see whether your sparks are older than your frames. Some of the connections I see may give hints about who you were before, and once in awhile I have a pretty clear vision about it."
"Cool," Skydive grinned. "What can you tell about us?"
Corazon closed her eyes, and began focusing on their connections with the past, as well as with the other life forms around them. What she began to see made her heart beat fast with excitement.
"Tell you what, mijos, let's find a place to sit and you can open up your high grade and I'll tell you. It ... it may be quite a surprise."
"A good surprise? Or a bad one?" Fireflight asked, sounding bewildered.
"I don't know if its good or bad, pajarito, it just is. But conversations about your past shouldn't happen while you are walking. I know that well enough. Get comfortable and we'll chat."
"All right," Silverbolt hushed the barrage of questions about to tumble from his brothers with a wing-twitch as their direction changed a bit, angling for their hanger on the edge of the original landing strips.
Though she could feel the tension and energy she'd generated lash back and forth as they spoke silently with each other, all five kept their vocalizers hushed until the door to their hanger was shut and everyone found their spot on a berth big enough for all five suspended near the ceiling. It required flight to reach, and it was impossible to miss how the group relaxed being off the ground.
"You have a nest!" she giggled, sounding more like a delighted little girl than the vorn-old woman that she was.
"We'd prefer an aerie, but this does in a pinch," Fireflight immediately cuddled into Air Raid and Skydive, while Slingshot kept himself slightly removed from the rest. Silverbolt, she noted with gentle amusement, took a protective, hovering position behind all of them, his wings spread wide. She felt tiny sitting in front of all of them. A mouse sitting with a flock of hawks, falcons and eagles, though they did not have a strong predatory feel.
"So, understand, I can't always tell details. I can only give you impressions. What I can say, is that I'm certain your sparks are older than your frames, that they are all close to the same age and were connected before you were sparked into this life, and that your souls have not always been in the form of a spark from Primus. You were something else before you were Cybertronian."
The group looked at each other, most gazes settling on Silverbolt, while Silverbolt looked at Skydive and Skydive at Fireflight. The communications network between the five lit up to a dizzyingly level.
"So ... we used to be related organics?" Silverbolt asked cautiously, cubes of high grade passed around and quickly downed.
"I have strong impressions of a flock," she nodded, closing her eyes, focusing her much deeper sight on them. "Related sentient avian organics. There was peace, freedom, flight, and then something that terrified all of you, a suggestion of extreme pain ... torture ... and a decision to come back as you are to stop it from happening to your kin."
"What a bunch of slag," Slingshot burst out, as Corazon had expected him to from what she saw in his spark. "That is the most obvious thing you could have come up with. You are totally making it up. We weren't a bunch of smelly, squishy, feathered organics."
Air Raid reached out and cuffed him upside the helm without thinking, which caused Fireflight to giggle at the glare Slingshot gave in return.
"He has a point, even if he has no manners," Silverbolt said cautiously, two-thirds of his first cube gone and with no intention of stopping. "It's a well-known bit of history."
"But it does have historical precedent," Skydive added, speaking to his brothers instead of Corazon. "It has been stated by both priests and Prime that organics have returned as sparks."
Corazon smiled. "It won't hurt my feelings if you don't believe me. It could certainly be a product of my imagination. Just the sort of thing some silly bruja pretending to have the sight would say. Let me ask you this, though. Would you put it past Wheeljack to ask Prime to try to summon organic avian sparks from the Allspark for his creations?"
The brothers looked at each other, then answered as one.
"If it occurred to him, he'd do it," Silverbolt said with certainty as Slingshot glowered. "If he could figure out how, all sparks would be organic."
"Well, that would be silly of him," Corazon sounded ready to go scold Wheeljack to his face. "The universe needs all kinds. But mixing things up a bit isn't bad at all. You are Cybertronians now, fully, and nothing in your past can change that. But you have an experience in your sparks that grants you a perspective others of your kind don't share. Have you ever felt like you were different - beyond simply the difference of being fliers among a faction that is mostly grounders?"
"Plenty of times, but we're an Aerial gestalt with Seeker coding, a Wheeljack creation and despite what folks say, younger than Bumblebee," Silverbolt spelled it out. "Different doesn't begin to cover us."
Corazon took a swig of her tequila. "Young, handsome, misunderstood. You are going to have all of the hopeless romantic muchahos and muchachas flocking your way when you are ready to claim," she laughed, then laughed even harder at the confusion on their faces. "Ok, my turn. What's the difference between Aerials and Seekers? And why is it significant that Wheeljack gave you Seeker coding?"
Silverbolt motioned to Skydive.
"Seekers are a relatively new sub-species of Cybertronian, though they pre-date the war by generations. They are coded as combat fliers, but also with very strong social coding to bind into trines that balance each other out; a leader, known as "order", a thinker, known as "vision" and a warrior, known as "action". They also have very strong social coding that demands that leaders be followed, and every trine leader must follow the leaders who outrank them, all the way up to the Winglord. They only reproduce by carrying, and to be a Seeker you have to be carried by a Seeker.
"If you are a flier with Seeker coding but weren't carried by one, you're a combat Aerial, or Seeker-kin. Most happen when a Seeker kindles with somebody that isn't one, but Jack somehow figured out how to add the coding to us. It makes us more social, more loyal and a lot more aggressive. Aerial is a catch-all term for a flier that isn't a Seeker."
She watched their energies closely while Skydive spoke, looking at the thin, tenuous connections between them and the other flying mechs from their faction ... and a few from the other side.
It was a conflicted relationship, at best. Slingshot resented the Seekers, and at the same time wanted to be one. He had a strong desire for a trine, for the balance that came from being the warrior, flying on the left wing of a strong leader. His own gestalt did not provide the balance he craved. It helped her feel more compassion for his rudeness. He was forced to live out of balance because he had too much Seeker code in him.
On the opposite end was Silverbolt, who didn't truly have enough of the coding to keep his more aggressive brothers in check, though he took his duties as leader very seriously and tried to be what they needed, even when he didn't understand it.
In time, she could see the possibility of a trine within the gestalt. Skydive was already a perfect vision, and both Air Raid and Fireflight had leadership potential, given time and need to grow into it.
"What are you seeing?" Fireflight asked, interrupting her reverie. The seemingly innocent, distracted Aerial picked up on more than he let on.
"The Seeker code ... it's stronger in some of you than others. It makes it difficult for you all to try to be what the others need, to find balance," she said carefully, not wanting to offend.
Silverbolt simply nodded. "I've noticed," he said quietly, now almost halfway through his second cube of high grade. "We were the first to have the code artificially added, at least as far as anyone knows. From what doesn't get said around us, we're lucky we're not completely glitched. It was never meant to function outside of kindling-created mechs."
She watched with gentle amusement as the seemingly distracted and oblivious Fireflight immediately launched himself into their leader's lap and comforted him. He ran his talons along his larger brother's chest and chirped in some language all their own, as well as communicating across the bond that she could watch, but not hear or feel. The leader was hurting a great deal. He did the best he could, tried so hard, but in the end, couldn't be what they truly needed and they all knew it.
When direct comfort didn't seem to help, Fireflight gave a pathetic sounding chirp, his wings quivering and armor clicking in a display of distress better suited to a sparkling, but she watched with a private smile as it did the job, just as Fireflight intended. Silverbolt may have a hard time accepting comfort, but it made him feel much better when he could give it. The display worked its magic on the rest of his brothers as well, and in less than a minute there was an aerial-pile of caressing hands and soothing hums.
Almost as quickly as it began, it ended and the brothers parted, settling back to where they had been to start with, though Fireflight remained attached to Silverbolt's lap.
"Are Perceptor and Drift courting you?" Skydive asked out of seemingly nowhere.
"Well, Perceptor likes to study me," she said with a cackle and a wink, downing another shot-sized drink of her tequila from the bottle. "He can't seem to get enough of the probings. But courting might be a strong word. I'll help them kindle if they want an old hag like me, but I've never been good at being the exclusive type, not even with aliens." She grinned at the group and wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. "If I ended up doing the socket samba with you, it wouldn't be cradle robbing, would it?"
Five blank looks were their response, before they looked at each other in even more confusion and scanned her thoroughly before exchanging a series of looks with each other again.
"I think she means to ask if we're too young to interface," Skydive said hesitantly.
Corazon howled with laughter at their confusion, taking another large swig from her bottle.
"Oh, you are all just too precious for words. Si, mijos, that is exactly what I was asking. I think there is a special hell reserved for crones like me that want pretty young things like you."
"We have the upgrades and protocols for interfacing, with each other and with sockets," Silverbolt said, though he still looked a little confused. "In years, we're much older than you are. Relative ... you probably would be 'robbing the cradle' in a manner. Not that we're objecting."
"But I won't end up in the brig? I'd get cold and lonely there," Corazon swept them all with wide smile. "All things are relative when it comes to age. Not only are you young for your kind, your souls are so young and pretty and I'm such a naughty old bruja. I might give you all the wrong ideas about organics."
"But how could you do that?" Fireflight asked, genuinely confused. "You have great energy, some of the best on base. Everyone wants to give you a try."
"You won't end up in the brig," Silverbolt stuck with the part he understood. "We are fully upgraded mechs. You won't be our first socket charge."
"Just close to it," Air Raid grinned and shifted to crawl towards her, his wings quivering in anticipation as he reached out to pick her up. "It's a rush even though we don't need it yet."
She wondered briefly how having formerly organic souls affected the need, but decided to dismiss that thought completely looking at the pretty flier with such strangely humanoid features, more humanoid than nearly any of the mechs on base. Probably another Wheeljack special, she guessed.
"Are we going to do this here, or do you all like to play around in the sky?" she asked breathlessly, pulling up her long silver braids so any who wanted to could plug into her shiny new socket.
Slightly drunken grins spread among the Aerialbots and half finished cubes were downed.
"Oh yeah, we are so going to fly," Slingshot grinned even more as the gestalt began to move, going airborne right off the giant berth.
"Want to ride inside, or in my hands?" Air Raid shivered in excitement as his cable plugged into her socket, giving her a taste of what it meant to be a natural-born flier in the air.
"Ay, Dios mio! Let's see if I have the huevos to be in your hands," she called over the roar of five sets of thrusters. "If you end up needing your hands, you can put me inside."
~Will do,~ he opened up to her across the cable connecting them, absolutely delighting in her reactions to flying.
Corazon screamed in delight, like the little girl she was at heart as she felt herself become Air Raid, thrusters taking them into the moist tropical air above the Indian Ocean, still in his root form. He was meant for the skies. Not only in his coding and frame, but his very spark, which had flocked with his brothers long before this lifetime.
It wasn't long before she was allowed into the gestalt link and felt what he did of his brothers as they twisted and dove, darting playfully this way and that. Silverbolt relatively close to the waves, Fireflight continually being pinged by the others to keep him from hitting a wave, everyone fully enjoying the slightly overcharged excursion.
~Space/'face/play?~ a thought-feeling tricked across the gestalt bond from someone ... probably Fireflight ... and was met with resounding approval from everyone but Silverbolt.
~Come on Bolts,~ Fireflight cooed at the acrophobic Aerial. ~You can't fall up there.~
Corazon's resounding YES to the idea swept through the gestalt in a searing blaze of organic pleasure.
~Saturn?~ she begged, a lifetime of yearning for space and watching humanity take its baby steps towards the stars caught in a single word. She felt her pleasure and excitement catch Silverbolt and push his fears far enough down to agree without another thought.
~Now you have to go inside,~ Air Raid said, half in apology, before transforming and setting her in his cockpit. Buckles secured her on their own, and she knew without being told that they were all taking the acceleration and climb conservatively out of respect to her frail organic form.
Connected to the gestalt through Air Raid, she felt Silverbolt ping their flight pattern to command and receive instant approval, along with admonition from Jazz to keep her safe or there would be hell to pay with Mirage.
~Do I need a helmet, or a spacesuit or something,~ she asked, her mental voice trembling with excitement as Air Raid showed her the flight path that would take them to Saturn and back, including a close encounter with several of Jupiter's moons.
~Nope, you're safe inside us,~ he promised, and she felt agreement from the others filter in. ~What else would you enjoy?~
~Everything! Anything! Just let me feel what it is like to be you ... to fly through space as someone who belongs there, mijos.~
Without words her emotion flooded them ... how she had longed for and looked to this moment her entire life, ever since her vision as a child. That she could, literally, die now feeling as though her life was complete having done this with them, not that she had any plans to meet her maker that soon.
In return their pleasure of both spark and processors at sharing this washed through her. Without being asked, Air Raid offered her more feedback from his systems, to let her be him, even control his body, once they passed the moon and were in relatively open space.
The curandera gleefully complied with a caress of pure gratitude, then a loud 'whoop' as she began spinning in zero g, allowing the others to guide her and make suggestions at what stunts to try next.
~Wheeeeeee! Fantasticimo!~ she cried out as she began to race with the others, trusting that Air Raid would stop anything bad from happening if her poor organic brain didn't catch a danger in time.
~Such wonderful energy,~ the jet she was in groaned against her mind in ecstasy bordering on an overload. ~You're so intense.~
~Have to be!~ she laughed. ~Our lives are too short to be anything but! This is so good! Ejoles! Watch out Fireflight!" she cried out as the red jet nearly collided with an asteroid, which, naturally, led some sort of uniquely Aerialbot game of dodge, hide and chase in the asteroid belt between Mars and Jupiter. Corazon could only scream in delight, trying to keep up and use her mammalian brain's unique attachment to movement and pattern recognition to keep Fireflight from ending the flight early.
~He's tougher than he looks,~ Air Raid chuckled when too much of her attention focused on the flighty Aerialbot.
~He is so perfectly named,~ she giggled, brushing close to the more stately flying Silverbolt with a teasing dip of her, or rather Air Raid's wing and wiggle of his tail. ~How do you all get your names, anyhow? Do you choose them?~
~Yes, all mechs come online knowing their designation,~ Air Raid told her. ~It's attached to our sparks as far as anyone's worked out. It's not in our frames, but we know it when we first boot up.~
Corazon lost herself again in the play of the jets, which was quickly becoming more flirtatious as they moved between the larger asteroids. She had to consciously remember to think and move in three dimensions, which came so naturally to Air Raid and his brothers.
They flew by Ceres, the dwarf planet and largest body in the belt. It was large enough to have its own gravitational field, and Slingshot, after being urged by his brothers, demonstrated his unique skill when it came to using such a field in maneuvers, catapulting himself toward them at twice ... now five times the speed his own engines were capable of. He flashed by the rest, calling out to them to catch and face him as he rocketed toward Jupiter.
Powerful engines roared to full power, causing their frames to vibrate as the four strained their limits in an effort to catch up, all of them eager for the chase to end, but not eager enough to call Slingshot back to them.
~What will you do with him when you catch him?~ she asked playfully, her small body responding with all of the lust that flowed through the gestalt. The small part of her still aware of her own body felt herself spread her legs and throw back her head in desperate desire as the sheer speed overwhelmed her. Had they been in the atmosphere, the g-forces would have crushed her.
She gasped when she first saw the glowing ball of Jupiter through Air Raid's optical sensors, revealing the eddies and storms of its turbulent clouds with detail no earth built probe or telescope could ever display. The planet literally seemed to sing to her.
She was so taken with it that she did not even notice Slingshot in ambush until the mech was on Air Raid, fingers pressed against plaiting, working against sensor ports that set his circuits and her body on fire.
There was a whine of desperate want and Air Raid took control back, transforming in Slingshot's embrace and pressing into his brother with a kiss and knowing hands.
She was not even aware of her body still safe in the cockpit on his back. She lost herself completely in the power of two space-faring mechs whose thrusters and fields worked effortlessly to set the other ablaze. Air Raid's body was alive with the sensors needed to navigate the rich and complex environments he was designed for, both atmospheric and beyond.
Then Fireflight was there, pressed against Air Raid's back. His thrusters were up by his brother's head and his face between the other's legs as he playfully teased Air Raid's valve cover.
It wasn't long before her ride slid the cover open, allowing his most playful brother full access to his valve even as demanding clawed fingers scrapped against the front cover. Slingshot wanted his spike.
With a mental nudge, she managed to get Slingshot to move into the same position in front as Fireflight was in back, allowing Air Raid and Slingshot to simultaneously swallow the other's thick spike while the vacuum of space swallowed the mewling sounds in Fireflight's throat as his glossa delved deep into his brother's valve, his legs clamping both of the other frames to hold them together.
In the open sharing that was the gestalt link at full bandwidth, Corazon could feel/see/know where all five were, and not just what they were doing, but what each member of the gestalt got from it. Deep down, she understood that they only opened up this much when interfacing. It hurt too much when they were thinking.
But at moments like this, it was right on a level unlike anything she had felt. A rush of yes and now and together drew in the remaining two - Silverbolt gladly filling Fireflight's valve even as Skydive did the same to his leader.
There was no sound, but with their minds linked even more deeply than bonding; they didn't need any help knowing how to touch or what the others enjoyed. Each touch, thrust and move sent just the right licks of pleasure across the five frames all working to draw out the overload until it couldn't be stopped.
Her strong yet elderly body didn't stand a chance as mind-shattering orgasm after orgasm flooded through her without her ever being touched physically. For a brief moment, she feared that her heart was about to stop from it all. But the fear was brushed aside with laughing assurances from all that the Hatchet would never have left her with organs the couldn't handle the stain, and even unclaimed, the basic nanites that went with her socket were keeping her healthy.
Not that she would have minded dying this way.
She was vaguely aware of her energy flowing into Air Raid's spark, which reveled and pulsed at the sweetness of it, enjoyed the taste, but did not consume it. Instead, it dissipated as shared sensation among his brothers; appreciated, but not needed. Their sparks were still too young.
She didn't have time to consider it when the next overload took the gestalt and she was carried away on waves of bliss again.
She had a vague memory of Air Raid somehow placing her in Silverbolt's hold, the smaller jet belly to belly with the futuristic atmospheric shuttle whose earth alt did not yet exist. When she became more aware, she was strapped in a luxurious seat, covered in a soft blanket, a tube of sparkling water in her hand to sip at zero-g. She was surrounded by window-like screens giving her a close-up tour of Saturn's rings.
"Oh...OH!" she gasped, stunned by the colors and shimmering light, the ethereal beauty of something she had dreamed of seeing her entire life.
"We'll tour the rings as long as you like," Silverbolt's warm voice caressed her from all sides as he skimmed within feet of the icy crystals and dust.
"Forever?" she asked with a laugh. "You are totally indulging an old woman, mijo, and I adore you for it."
She watched in silence for a time, then lifted her hair in a silent plea for Silverbolt to connect so she could experience the majesty through his own sensors, while at the same time focusing in with her own sight on the Aerialbots, the gas giant, and its moons.
He connected without hesitation, flooding her mind with his own experiences and those of his brothers as they channeled their own sensory readouts to him. The EM fields of the planet and its moons and rings literally did sing to them, and they joyfully shared other memories of gas giants, supernova and galaxies she would never see with her own eyes, but could be shared as though she had been there herself.
Suddenly, a soft finger was wiping a tear away from her wrinkled face. She opened her eyes to find herself surrounded by five devastatingly handsome, and very young men who seemed to have emerged from a multiethnic fantasy representing the very finest humanity had to offer.
Not one had a stitch of clothing on, and all were very eager in a well-endowed way.
"Since you seem to enjoy 'robbing the cradle', as you put it," Silverbolt's voice came from the tallest of the five - a handsome, muscular African man with serious, beautiful features.
"I've died and gone to heaven!" She exclaimed before her mouth was claimed, and five perfect, young masculine bodies fulfilled fantasies even her wild and free mind had never before imagined.