The Aby of Darkness

Summary: Sunstreaker's reputation as a ruthless fighter and violent lover are well known. But when his passion can no longer find completion, he searches desperately for the one thing to lift him into the heavenly abyss of ultimate fulfillment. Unfortunately for him, soaring in ecstasy only means you have further to fall. And the consequences to getting what you want can be just as scarring as the desire.

Warning: This is going to be a Dark and explicit fic. Don't like, DON'T READ. You've been warned!

Smut, D/s, Sticky, NON-con, Humiliation, Angst, Dark, Violent, Gore, Revenge, and a lot of other things I don't know the initials to or 'code' for. If anyone knows of anything else to be added, please let me know. I want to get all warnings and 'labels' correct. Thanks!

Rated M

AN: I'd really appreciate some feedback on this. I don't consider myself a smut type writer, but I like to expand my horizons and try to accomplish things that have a habit of eluding me. Any criticism/comments will help me to improve and honestly, I really need to know if I'm doing this right, or if I'm way off on something.

Takes place during the Golden Age when Sunny is a gladiator in the Pits. I'm using a little leeway here in making it to where he's there voluntarily and Sideswipe isn't part of the 'games'.

This hasn't been beta'ed. All mistakes are my own.

Aby- to pay the penalty of; restitution

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Sunstreaker stalked down the hall, his optics still overly bright with emotion. His spark was singing in its casing, its song as wrothful and piercing as the mech himself. His step faltered as his left knee gave out, causing him to go stumbling into the wall. With a growled curse he pushed himself upright and continued his trek, oblivious to the trail of energon he left in his wake.

He burst into the med ward, a tornado of anger and carnage. The medic started when he entered, but upon seeing his visitor, jumped to immediate action, lest he be the newest recipient of rage from the gladiator. Sunstreaker grunted when he sat on the nearest berth, his struts threatening to buckle. His gears gave a grinding hiss, and one popped with a noise that was very disconcerting. There was no doubt to the damage his body had bore during this evenings match. His opponent had been brutal, matching him strike for strike, cut for cut. They had danced a long, dangerous dance without tune, except for the thundering rhythm of the crowd and the pulsing of their sparks.

Now, his opponent lay lifeless upon the floor of the ring, his face twisted into a surprised grimace, a blade protruding from his neck.

The medic hurried to attend his patient, careful to be as quick and precise as possible, lest he earn the ire of the gladiator. Sunstreaker seemed the only gladiator not afraid of the rules or of the consequences for breaking them.

Most gladiators knew that No One attacked a medic. They were the ones that put your back to together and collected you from the grip of death. It was suicidal to harm one, for the next time you went into the ring and needed the medic's assistance, he could be 'unavailable.' Most sponsors of the fights kept the gladiators in check, by reminding them of the medics healing touch, and the consequences of harming one and rendering him useless. If a fighter was downed, and a medic was too injured to perform their duty, then the one responsible for the transgression would make restitution. Sometimes with their life.

Sunstreaker never paid any attention to the rules. And for good reason. They only got in his way. He believed that one had to be ruthless and aggressive if they were ever to accomplish anything. He had ripped off the last medics arm when he didn't attend him fast enough, and though most gladiators would have been seriously reprimanded, Sunstreaker had gone unpunished. The fact didn't go unnoticed by the other gladiators, but they wisely kept their vocalizers shut. If they were paired with the warrior in any double or triple matches, he was more than likely to turn on them, as well as the enemy. He allowed no leeway, and any perception of a slight against him was grounds for immediate termination, usually by his own servos when the victim least expected it.

The medic began his diagnostic, already calculating necessary parts and healing time. The damage was bad. The healing time was going to be longer than what Sunstreaker was used to, and that was a concept the medic didn't find soothing. Sunstreaker hated inactivity, and if he was kept from the ring for an extended period of time, he was known to attack anyone on a whim, usually resulting in their dismemberment or deactivation.

"How's my favorite fighter?" a mech yelled, entering the med bay without announcement. He was a tall mech, dark green and brown striping, with accents of white along the crest he wore on his arms and helm. He was a high ranking businessman of the lower sector, and displayed his achievements in gaudy fashion. At least Sunstreaker thought him uncouth, but the mech was a slagging genius when it came to hosting matches and finding sponsors. He was also quite profitable with side betting, knowing how to pad the books and alter odds in a very favorable way. Sunstreaker had already amassed quite a fortune.

"Fine," Sunstreaker answered, not looking to the newcomer.

The mech stepped next to the medic, his golden optics scouring over the readouts on the medic's screen. "Oh dear, it doesn't look fine from here."

"Nothing out of the area of our medic's expertise, I'm sure,' Sunstreaker replied flatly. He was tired, and though he'd never admit it out loud, in a lot of pain. It was difficult keeping up the tough-mech bravado.

"Want to know how many credits you made tonight?" the mech asked in an oily voice that gave Sunstreaker a shiver.

"What were the odds Grotto?" Sunstreaker asked, his attention more on the medic than the gladiatorial ringleader.

"Sixteen to one," Grotto answered, his voice lowering to a devilish inflection. His smile because even more greasy as he added, "You made over four hundred thousand credits."

Sunstreaker looked to the underground boss, his optics shining in surprise. "What?"

"Oh yes, there were hefty wages placed on your opponent since he took down the City Guardian. Most didn't think you would survive," Grotto said, his glossa snaking out and tracing around his lip components in a sultry, covetous manner. "You made quite the killing, if you don't mind me saying so."

Sunstreaker offered a snort, his attention going back to the medic who started the tedious task of removing armor on his left knee. Sunstreaker's alertness doubled when his armor was removed. He didn't like being vulnerable.

"Would you like some entertainment for the evening?" Grotto asked, and there was a strange lilt to his voice that made Sunstreaker look twice. If the gladiator was honest, he thought he heard a wanton yearning coming from the ringleader.

"The usual," Sunstreaker grunted, breaking optic contact when he felt his spinal struts turn to ice. There was something about Grotto that made Sunstreaker feel cold inside. The gladiator could swear that each time they locked optics, he felt twenty degrees colder.

"Are you sure you don't want anything else?" Grotto asked, and there was no mistaking the inflection in his tone.

Sunstreaker refused to look at the mech; instead he kept his attention focused on the medic, who was disconnecting the pain receptors along Sunstreaker's legs to begin the tedious task of inspecting the busted junctions. "Take out your usual fee for your services and accommodations," Sunstreaker said, having that odd sensation of having something slither over his plating. "And take an extra five percent. Treat yourself."

Grotto gave a slow exhale, "Already deducted my usual fees," He pulled out a datapad and began typing away, offering a disgruntled grunt when he finished. "Thank you for your generosity."

"Just see to it that I'm not disturbed," Sunstreaker said, raising his optics and giving a pointed stare. "I value my privacy and I appreciate your professionalism."

Grotto allowed a disappointed look to cross his face, which quickly morphed into one of pride and adulation. "Anything for my best fighter."

"See to it that I remain happy, and I'll continue to earn you credits," Sunstreaker said, giving a nod toward the door in dismissal.

Grotto looked momentarily stunned, but realizing his company was no longer wanted by the vicious fighter, gave a curt bow and took his leave, calling over his shoulder, "Your entertainment will be waiting in your quarters."

Sunstreaker watched the lumbering mech leave before returning his attention back to the medic. "Hurry it up."

"Both knees will need to be replaced," the medic said, a quaver in his voice.

Sunstreaker glanced over his legs, flexing the joints and hearing a disturbing combination of grinds and squeaks.

"Can it wait until morning?" he asked, wanting to get back to his room and the pleasures that waited.

The fights did nothing to assuage the fire that burned deep within, an all consuming inferno of rage and passion and desperation. When he left his enemy bloody and beaten in the cage, or their lifeless corpse sprawled in disgusting manner in the ring, the fire only burned the brighter. The only way to quell its thirst was to lose himself in another, and as time wore on, many others.

"I can repair the minor damage in a few kliks," the medic said, his fingers retracting to reveal the instruments of his trade. "The more intricate damage can be repaired tomorrow."

Sunstreaker offered a curt nod, his expression never changing as the medic set to work. Two hours later, the gladiator was hobbling down the corridor to his private chambers. He smiled as he passed the doors that lead off into other quarters, most of them uninhabited. It took a lot of hard work, dedication, and pain to make it this far in the gladiatorial circuit. One had to earn their way into these accommodations, though very few had been granted access to this level.

Many of the fighters had been bought or sold in the Pits, but Sunstreaker had willingly allowed himself to be pulled into the hypnotic spell of the crowd. It didn't take him long to display his prowess, and earn himself a place among the plush quarters of the most profitable gladiators.

The roar of the crowd. The screams of the victims. The chants of life or death. The taste of energon upon the body. Powerful hands grasping empty spark chambers. The sheer joy of watching another's life ebb away at your fingertips. To feel the final pulse of their life.

Oh yes, Sunstreaker found it all intoxicating and he went willingly into the depths that terrified so many others. Delicious. Beautiful. And by Primus if it didn't make his spark pound in excitement and lustful anticipation. The fights, the pleasure bots that inevitably waited just behind his door, it all culminated into a writhing beast, full of greed that always hungered for the next offering. But there never seemed to be enough to satisfy him. At least, not for long.

Sunstreaker stopped at his door and keyed the code, though why he bothered having a coded lock was a mystery. Grotto had his combination, which is why when Sunstreaker opened the door, there were five pleasure bots waiting patiently in his quarters. Two mechs and three femmes, all light build, enticingly painted, and obedient to every command. Sunstreaker gazed at their expectant faces, realizing he didn't know a single designation among them.

Oh well, it wasn't like he would be calling out their designation during overload. But they all most certainly did know his designation, and many had chanted it to the heavens and galaxies beyond as he took their bodies and sparks.

A feral smile graced his face as he closed and locked the door, palming the extra security measure into place. No one would be leaving without his consent. Not like any of the pleasure bots would. They were bought, sold, and traded like common goods between the upper class. They were trained to do their master's bidding and were always eager to please. Sunstreaker vented a soft sigh, watching as a pale green femme approached, carrying a tray with energon goodies and high grade.

He smiled, accepting her offered drink and downed a good quantity in a few mouthfuls. He mused to himself as she picked up an energon treat and offered it to him, it was nice to have subservient beings at your beck and call. It was truly a rare commodity, especially with a new Prime demanding the freedom of all.

The pale green femme placed the treat in Sunstreaker's open mouth, her fingers brushing along his bottom lip as he allowed the sweet to dissolve. It warmed his analytical sensors and made his glossa tingle. He glanced to the two mechs standing by his berth and nodded to the stack of neatly folded cloth.

"Attend me," he ordered the mechs.

Both immediately jumped into action, grabbing cloths. They approached cautiously, mindful of the dangerous animal they were about to intimately engage. One wrong swipe of a cloth and one would be lying on the floor with their spark ripped out of their chest. It had been done once before in their presence.

A very stupid mech, new to the life of pleasure slave, had rubbed too vigorously along the fighter's injured body. Instinct had taken over and before any one knew what happened, the young mech was laying on the floor, his spark chamber gripped in black hands. They all had paid the penance for the transgression, Sunstreaker having brutally interfaced with each and every one, leaving all the pleasure bots in pained silence. That lesson had been learned well, and now all who served him, did so with the utmost care and reverence.

Sunstreaker nodded to the other two femmes in the room and growled, "Assist them."

They bowed their head in obedience and joined the two mechs, who were carefully massaging the latches and seams of Sunstreaker's armor. Carefully, the mechs removed the battered armor along his back, setting it aside for later attention, their cleaning cloths delicately polishing the dusty, thin plating that protected his protoform.

The femme holding the serving tray offered another energon goodie, her optics shining with youthful intent. Her willingness to please radiated like a birthing star. Sunstreaker smirked, plucking the small glowing treat from her hand. He grabbed the tray and set it on a small side table before returning his attention back to his receptive audience. As the tingling warmth continued to spread throughout his oral cavity, he placed the other treat against her lips in invitation.

She immediately complied, allowing the gladiator to slip the small confection into her mouth. Her lips closed around his fingers, sucking gently on the digits.

Sunstreaker's optics darkened. With a growl he withdrew his fingers, grasped her shoulder and forced her to her knees.

"Pleasure me," he demanded, his interface covers sliding back to allow his spike to fully pressurize.

Without hesitation she wrapped her lips around the tip of the spike, the warmth of the energon goodie making her mouth hotter than normal. Sunstreaker gasped, feeling the tingling sensation envelope his spike as she started to explore his length. Her glossa traced the grooves along the spike, slowly rolling over hidden nodes. Little pinpoint tingles indicated sensor nodes priming for charge. She rolled her glossa expertly over each node, slowly working her way down the spike. When the tip brushed against the back of her intake, she applied a little suction, twisting her glossa along the underside and earning a lustful gasp from her master.

Sunstreaker gave a pleased purr, his hands gently cradling the green femme's head as she constricted her mouth, undulating in a delicious rhythm that brought Sunstreaker climbing frantically to his peak. He thrust forward, pressing his spike into the exquisite rolling of her mouth. Her intakes sputtered momentarily, but she didn't protest his rough handling. She relaxed her body, allowing him to set an erratic, jerky rhythm, his hands steadily tightening their hold on her helm as he tried to culminate his pleasure.

The two mechs and femmes disengaging his protective armor carefully maneuvered their fingers along the latches, mindful to not break the gladiator's concentration as he sought release. Piece by piece the armor was placed on a nearby table to be cleaned. The two femmes slipped their smaller hands between the seams along Sunstreaker's abdominal plating, easily accessing the tiny latches and sliding his abdominal armor away to reveal the battered body beneath.

Sunstreaker felt the coolness of the room sweep across the thin paneling of his protoform as the last of his armor was removed. The sudden gust of air along his torso, coupled with the heated friction of the femme's mouth, was enough to send Sunstreaker spiraling into overload. He detruded violently, his fingers denting the malleable metal of the green femme's helm.

She struggled against his onslaught, pain bursting across her neural net as her face was squeezed by violent, viselike hands. Each thrust scraped across her intakes, causing her to gag. But Sunstreaker was insistent and demanding. He held her head firmly in place as he pumped his hips, relishing the abnormal contractions around his spike as she sputtered to take all of him. His transfluid exploded, hot and fast into her mouth as he sunk his spike one last time into the inviting heat, uncaring of her choked murmurs and watering optics. She struggled, disoriented from the pain along her helm and intakes, but still trying to please her master by swallowing his transfluid.

Much to Sunstreaker's chagrin, there wasn't as much transfluid as he hoped. When he first mastered the nuances of pleasure, his transfluid seemed to be an endless stream. He often commented that he could fill a femme so thoroughly; she'd taste the flood of his transfluid from her valve.

Now, barely a couple of mouthfuls would escape. And the gladiator felt jilted every time he didn't see a valve overflow with his essence. What could have caused such a disappointment?

It didn't have anything to do with him, certainly. He was healthy, vibrant, virulent, and very active in all interfaces. He had visted the medic many times, but was already released with a fully functioning bill of health.

He released the green femme's head, indifferent to the dents along her helm and watched as she swallowed hard, coughing slightly when her intakes twinged. After a few seconds, she regained her senses, and following true to ingrained protocol, she leaned forward and began to bathe his now limp spike with her lingula, cleaning away the evidence of earlier arousal.

Sunstreaker watched the femme with intense optics. If the problem didn't dwell in him, surely the fault was with his partners. He observed as she meticulously licked every inch of his spike, her glossa systematically swirling back and forth, slowly circling and dipping into the grooves and tracing over the sensor nodes. She gently pulled the tip into her mouth, sucking quickly on the end with hurried puffs, while her lingula wove around the now relaxed slit that expelled lubricate and transfluid. When she was finished with the spike, she started along the edges of his interface panel, showing just as much attention.

Something seemed to snap inside the gladiator. He grabbed her head, forcing her away from his body. Her optics looked surprised and expectantly into his own. Sunstreaker forcefully shoved her back, making her go sprawling on the floor. She remained motionless, waiting for his command.

Sunstreaker stared down at the femme, taking in her demeanor and submissive manner. He could ask anything of her, and he knew she would perform to the best of her ability. It was invigorating to have that kind of control. But it was also very disappointing.

Something felt wrong.


He didn't know what it was, or its source, but there was a strange, itching along the back of his processor. Like something wanted attention, yet its demands were being ignored. And through all his life, Sunstreaker knew that if he went unfulfilled, it could lead to all kinds of unpleasant things.

"Show me your valve," he said, optics drifting from her face to the junction of her legs.

Without question the panel retracted, showing a very lubricated valve. Had any other mech witnessed such a sight, they would be overwhelmed with the need to claim and ravish the femme until both parties felt gratified. But Sunstreaker didn't feel any inclination to shelter himself in the awaiting valve. If anything he felt disinterest in her offering, knowing she lubricated and bent to his will without thought.

He wasn't sure what motivated him, but he commanded in a deep tone, "Overload."

Since the femme's body hadn't sustained any stimulation, there was no charge for her to concentrate on and allow to overcome her senses. Regardless, she tipped her head back, displaying her wet port in open observation and moaned, lubricant pouring from her valve as she mimicked an overload.

Sunstreaker couldn't explain it, but he felt disgusted. Her display would have had a normal mech on his knees in pleading supplication, begging to join her in ecstasy, but Sunstreaker found her attempts hollow. There was no emotion behind her display. She had no true desire behind her motives. She was faking her pleasure just to appease him.

"Get out," Sunstreaker growled, his lip curling in distaste.

The femme's head snapped to attention, her optics wide in fear. Perhaps she did something wrong? Maybe there was something else her master demanded of her, and she wasn't providing him with the distraction he desired. She sat up, slowly rolling her hips, her glossa pressing along her lip components, her optics traveling to the mechs still limp spike. Her intentions were clear.

"I said, get out!" Sunstreaker snapped, his voice rising to a gruff shout that caused the pleasure bots to jump.

The green femme scrambled to her pedes, wobbling unsteadily as the damage to her helm made itself known. She approached the gladiator, trying to assuage his rejection, but she never got the chance to speak. Sunstreaker's hand lashed out, cuffing her on the cheek and sending her spinning around like a dancer.

Sunstreaker's palm slapped the controls before he grasped her by the back of the neck and forcefully tossed her out of his quarters. The four remaining pleasure bots exchanged scared looks, but no one dared to vocalize their concern. The gladiator was just in his normal, volatile mood.

Sunstreaker nodded to his discarded armor and glared at the two mechs as he growled, "Polish it and leave."

The two hastily jumped to obey his command, thankful his ire wasn't centered on them this evening. Both mechs worked in silence, secretly glad the femmes were going to take the brunt of the gladiator's lust.

The two femmes instantly went to Sunstreaker, their nimble fingers stroking his protoform and caressing the wires they knew to be extra sensitive. Sunstreaker's venting hitched with their attention, closing his optics and allowing their well educated digits to play his body like talented musicians. Blindly he guided them to the berth, gasping as a mouth found his main fuel line along his neck and began to suck along the protective mesh. The other femme concentrated her efforts along his chest, her lingula sliding sensually along the seams that hid his spark chamber. Both femmes continued to stroke and explore his body, feathery touches ghosting along his interface panel, before firm fingers twirled the pressurizing spike into complete hardness.

"Our will is to please you, Master," a voice said huskily next to his audio before the lips once against claimed his neck.

Sunstreaker felt something rise like acid in his tank. His optics flew open to focus on the black helm that nuzzled his neck with such fervor.

She was just another mindless drone, only here to do his bidding and offering no real emotional connection.

Well, if their only function was to see him sated, then he may as well make the best of it.

Sunstreaker resigned to the fate that was so cruelly presented to him. Swiftly he spun one femme around, bending her across the berth. She immediately grasped the edge, opening her legs and preparing for his intrusion. Sunstreaker offered a grunt of derision and buried himself in her valve with a mocking sneer.

The other femme continued her exploration, her hand dauting the contracting abdominal plating as he started to withdraw. He groaned as her hand circled the base of his spike, applying a steady pressure. Her fingers massaged along the complex design of spike sensors, before drawing lazy circles at its junction. Sunstreaker jolted as his protoform was stimulated and rocked his hips forward, the femme's hand trapped between his spike and the other femme's body. He withdrew slowly, allowing the contracting valve to massage his spike in its erotic way before slamming forcefully back into the femme. As he withdrew for another potent thrust, the deliciously talented femme's fingers squeezed the base of his spike for added stimulation, the femme below him started to moan. Her voice quickly escalated into gasping adjectives and encouraging titles for the mech that was bringing her such pleasure.

Sunstreaker stopped mid-thrust, his optics zeroing in the side of her face as she cooed and praised his prowess, her cheek rubbing against the pillowed texture of the berth. A litany of flattery fell freely from her lips as she continued to move against him. He pulled back, looking down to where his spike was still partially concealed in her body, and gazed with apathetic optics as she writhed against him, trying to reseat his spike. Little whimpers escape in protest to his absence, turning into a wanton keen.

Snarling in contempt, Sunstreaker grabbed her hips and forced their bodies together. A strangled noise escaped her vocalizer at the sudden impalement, but before her processor could register his presence, he withdrew again. His spike started to rage with his emotions, demanding satisfaction. He complied, every intention of punishing the femme, though any thought to her actual transgression was vacant from his processor.

Sunstreaker opted for sheer force as punishment. He grasped the edge of the berth as an anchor and drove forward, burying his spike to the fullest, the action causing the berth to jump in perfect time. The femme let out a choked scream at the frantic pace. The wonderful charge that had been building, now shattered by the mech who wanted nothing more than to viciously tear her apart from the inside out.

The femme who had been caressing his body, gave a startled gasp. She watched helplessly as her master drove relentlessly into the crying femme. She reached for him, hoping to distract him from his ferocious attack, but Sunstreaker wasn't going to be dissuaded.

As fast as lightning, his arm whipped out, striking the intervening femme across the face and sending her crashing to the floor in a dazed heap. Brutally Sunstreaker pitched forward, focusing all his attention on the yielding valve. His overload tore through him abruptly, blanking his sensornet as the charge overwhelmed him, his transfluid jetting into her awaiting valve. A few spastic jerks and he withdrew with a wet pop, spike still fully pressurized and begging for more.

Little stars erupted across his visual relays from the charge still coursing through his body, their essence burning along his vision in dancing patterns.

Sunstreaker's unfocused optics strayed to the valve that just dispelled him and noticed the thin dribble of escaping silvery transfluid. The femme muffled her sobs, hoping not to stoke his ire. She kept her legs open in invitation, though tremors rattled her plating from the pain she was undoubtedly feeling in her valve and spinal strut.

Sunstreaker's might was overpowering, his interfaces always so intense it took a long time to recover from his brutal affection. Not only were interface arrays overworked, but the entire body suffered from his aggression, struts bowing, cables snapping, wires and lines severed by pinched plating or overzealous denta. Sunstreaker was never a gentle berth mate.

With a contemptuous look, Sunstreaker slapped the femme's legs, the action causing her thighs to collide with a dull clang. She couldn't stop the pained cry from escaping and slid herself from the berth, curling into a ball on the floor. She was sure her valve lining was torn, and something was burning and twitching deep inside that would need medical attention.

Uncaring, Sunstreaker turned to the femme who was still slouched on his other side, her optics slightly out of focus due to accidentally hitting her head on the wall when the warrior had backhanded her. Sunstreaker didn't seem to register her injury though. Roughly he pulled her to her feet, and gave a hard shove. The back of her legs hit the edge of the berth, tripping her so she landed heavily on her back. And before she could focus on the shadow looming over her, Sunstreaker grasped her legs and hooked them over his shoulders before burying himself in her valve. She yawped at the intrusion, but like all pleasure models, her valve was already well lubricated. Sunstreaker slid smoothly into her body, her fluids coating his spike.

Brow furrowed in concentration, Sunstreaker rocked his hips, feeling the tip of his spike strike the sensors in the back of the femme's valve. She gave a soft mew as the friction awakened her sensor nodes, all coming alive and returning the charge from the thick spike sliding elegantly across their tender surface. Not needing further encouragement, Sunstreaker braced her legs against his shoulders and placed his hands on her hips, forcing her to meet his thrusts. The shifting angle and oversensitized nodes gave a crackle, before the valve spasmed in overload. With a roaring curse, Sunstreaker erupted, slamming his spike into the clenching heat, his body twitching as the spasms milked the length of his spike, selfishly drawing out every last drop of his transfluid.

Finally sated, the gladiator rolled off the femme, his limp spike pulling free with great reluctance, haloed by a crown of silver. Sunstreaker felt his spark pound against its casing as his systems tried to cool themselves. His fans whirred as his vents sucked in air to dispel the heat that had built. Distantly he heard soft feminine voices and with bleary optics, noticed the two femmes murmuring at the edge of the berth.

"Bathe me and you may go," Sunstreaker said, feeling suddenly very dirty. The thin plating covering his protoform felt soiled and entirely too tight fitting for his comfort for some reason.

The two femmes mumbled acceptance and collected the discarded cloths from the two mechs busily buffing dark gold armor into a lustrous shine. Sunstreaker lay half dozing, feeling the soft swish of brushes across his frame, followed by the gentle pressure of a soft cloth swiping along his body. The movement was relaxing and the femmes were done far sooner than Sunstreaker expected. He could have spent all night enjoying their meticulous cleaning.

With a drowsy wave, Sunstreaker excused the four pleasure bots, who bowed low and took their leave in a hurried manner. Sunstreaker didn't care. For now, he was content, though the little voice in the back of his processor chastised him for accepting such a pittance of fulfillment. There was more to interfacing than quick pleasure and willing, mindless drones that felt nothing for the ones possessing their bodies.

Sunstreaker powered down his systems, preparing for the early morning that would find him under the surgeon's scalpel, and then the long, tedious boredom of rehabilitation. Perhaps while he healed, he could ponder on what was missing? Finally find that elusive piece and like everything else, have it pinned beneath him, submissive to his desires.

As Sunstreaker cycled into recharge, his processor churning, his spark gave a happy flip in its casing, letting him know he was headed in the right direction. Soon, he would be truly satisfied. His spike gave a twitch in exhausted agreement.

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Told ya it wasn't going to be pleasant. Yes, Sunstreaker is a real bastard, and after reading through his profile, I added a bit more to get the point across that he really isn't someone to mess with. In or out of the berth. They couldn't show his true nature in the cartoon, or even to a decent degree in the comics, so here's a full Dark Side Sunstreaker.

Like it? Hate it?

Bullseye? I missed the intended mark by a light year?

Unbelievable situation? Plausible scenario?

Too much smut? Too little?

Pity for the pleasure bots? Jealousy over the pleasure bots?

So shall I continue or did I do so horribly I should just delete the post altogether?

Seriously folks, I'm WAY out of my comfort zone here.

Any thoughts would be treasured, even if they're severe criticism. At least I'd be able to say I gave it the 'old college try'… whatever that means.

My audios are tuned in.

-end transmission-