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Chapter 47: Insectipuma IV
Title: Insectipuma IV
Rating: M
Rating: M
Waking up in a nest of fur was
unfamiliar.
Waking up to something small and wet
pressing gently against his lip components was unexpected.
Onlining his optics slowly, Bombshell
quickly surveyed his surroundings, eyeing the 'bot hovering above him
quietly as his memories caught up a moment after. He remembered now
-how could he even forget? He'd spent the last few decacycles
diligently setting up every trap and ploy to get a taste of the wild
prince that had peaked his interest.
And now he had him.
“Awake; awake,” Shrapnel said
lowly, remaining his close position. His optics were a curtain of
startling amethyst and hooded secrets. “You sleep too long; long.”
“I have reason to,” Bombshell
purred, lifting a servo and resting it languidly on the youngling's
hip. His claws tightened just a tad in possessiveness as Shrapnel
placed the bolt berry (the tiny, damp item pressing on his mouth from
earlier) onto his glossa, plucking another from the clay bowl he
held.
He vaguely recalled when the prince's
handmaiden had brought the food in the other orn -blind-folded as was
tradition, to preserve the sanctity of her leader in the most
intimate of natures with his mate. The femme had brought tray after
tray of fresh fruits and meats, an entire feats, before departing
again. Remembering what waited for him outside of the berth brought
the kittycon's tanks to a hungry grumble. After three orns (had it
really been three orns?) he was practically ravenous.
And here he was: being woken by a
temptuous lil' puma and hand-fed by royalty itself. Bombshell could
almost dance in wicked glee.
“What wakes the lil' prince this
morning?,” the older mech asked, accepting another berry. His claws
ran lightly up and down the base of the heir's tail. Shrapnel, for
his part, remained amazingly unaffected.
“The rites have been completed;
leted,” he answered, “Now we must see the Elder; elder. Then my
people; people.”
Not 'our'. 'My'.
Though this self-proclaimed entitlement
would annoy him in anyone else, Bombshell silently admitted that he
liked it on the youngling. Made the fact that he'd cheated his way
into stealing the slender prince all the more rewarding.
“And what of your 'seeding'?,”
Bombshell pressed further, unwilling to get up just then. What could
he say- he was comfortable.
Shrapnel set the bowl aside, turning
out of the berth. The kittycon assumed the smaller puma would grab
the cotton gown he'd been dressed in the night of their bonding, but
the prince didn't even approach the discarded robe. Instead, he stood
straight and proper, chin lifted importantly; regal and proud despite
his nakedness. The sight made Bombshell's mouth water.
“The seeding shall continue later;
later,” Shrapnel replied, glancing shortly over a shoulder. “And
it shall continue until I have acquired the brood you promised;
promised. But not now; now.”
“You are certainly determined my
prince,” the older mech purred, sitting up finally. The insectipuma
ignored him as he headed for the bath, leaving Bombshell to trail
after him. Hot water had already been drawn (when, Bombshell had no
clue) and a myriad of perfumed oils and salts awaited them for their
bath.
Already, Shrapnel had sunk into the
steaming tub.
“Allow me to assist you,” the
larger kittycon said, bowing mockingly, approaching the youngling and
the bath.
Shrapnel did not respond as he grabbed
a clothe, soaping it, before sliding it slowly along delicate
shoulders. Bombshell pretended to clean the heir a klik longer,
dipping down the thin arms and then below the water entirely.
Shrapnel gasped as the claws found their mark, but still did not
protest even as he was pulled back against the edge of the basin; his
helm turned to the side and sharp fangs nipping at his neck cables
hungrily.
The show of fealty, and the way those
slender legs trembled -torn between wanting to close and knowing
better than to refuse his mate- sent Bombshell's circuits humming. He
would have the prince, here and now, again, just like any time
previously in the past few orns. Because he was the “chosen one”;
Shrapnel's betrothed and the only mech to ever claim and invite the
virgin youngling into a world of sinful wonders.
Denied he might be to everything else,
but even the smaller puma knew he could not deny Bombshell this. And
this, the kittycon decided, climbing into the tub, intent on making
the heir scream and cry before tribal rituals dragged them elsewhere,
was fine enough.
xxXxXxx
“I have been waiting....,” an old
vocalizer crooned as they entered the house.
Surprised -but not really caring about
the statement- Bombshell took his time to survey the Elder's house as
the pair slowly approached the main room, from which the vocalizer
had first beckoned. It seemed odd, he thought. He may have only been
in the little home a couple times before, but he was certain that
some of the religious decor and tribal markings had been removed or
displaced.
Then again, with the low-burning
candles and the haze of smoke clutching the air like a heavy fog, it
was hard to tell. In either case, it didn't seem as if Shrapnel had
noticed any changes (for surely if he had, the religious lil' nut
would have made some sort of fuss, wouldn't he?) because the
youngling turned immediately into the den; curtails of his tribal
robe sweeping along the floor as he went. Bombshell quickly followed
-and almost crashed into his younger companion.
Taking a short step back, the older
mech glanced upwards to see what had caused the hold up and felt
surprise flicker shortly in his spark. The Elder sat upon his
cushioned throne, smoking from the hookah as per usual, but the
ancient puma did not look himself. Robe splayed open loosely, amulets
and tribal bearings seemingly thrown on haphazardly, withering limbs
covered in a myriad of toxic-looking veins with optics bright and
feverish. The old coot even had his servo creeping out of sight
behind his handmaiden, who looked equal parts ashamed and frightened
as she knelt beside the Elder.
Considering how poorly dressed she
looked herself, Bombshell could understand her expression.
“...what is this; this?,”
Shrapnel hissed, fists curling slowly at his sides.
The Elder took a slow drag from the
pipe. “Sit,” he ordered, blowing an acrid ring of smoke. The
handmaiden flinched as it curled around her ears, but did not flee.
“You have made me wait for too long. I had expected you sooner.”
No respect, no use of deference or even
proper title... This was not the same, old coot Bombshell had bullied
and bribed into giving him his way. Withered and senile, sure, but no
longer the same. Red optics glanced to the side as he noticed the
stiff jolt ran through Shrapnel subtly; it seemed the prince had
noticed the lack of title as well and was ready to throw a fit.
“We were in the bonding room; room,”
the youngling replied lowly.
“Yes, and you took much too long. How
much time is needed to disrobe an ignorant virgin anyhow?,” the
Elder returned flippantly, his handmaiden stifling a squeak as she
dropped her helm down further.
At the last statement, even Bombshell
could not mask his shock -nor could he ignore the fact that the
ancient puma was clearly fondling the poor femme, right in their
royalty's presence no less! This was certainly unfolding into an
unexpected visit.
Ears perked sky high and shoulders held
stiffly, it was amazing that Shrapnel didn't make some sort of scene
at the insult. Instead, the youngling uttered a resonating, “Leave;
leave,” and the handmaiden scrambled to her pedes immediately,
fleeing from the den.
The Elder shuttered his optics in
surprise, before they narrowed into slits, boring into the smaller
insectipuma. “I do not recall giving you authority within
this house,” he threatened, “It seems already you've disgraced
and forgotten your place since marrying the heathen, as set by the
Deities-”
“Do not talk of gods; gods,”
Shrapnel cut in scathingly, taking a regal step towards the frail
mech. “You only bring further wrath upon yourself; self.”
The Elder's patchy fur bristled, first
at the disrespect, then at the following comment. “Wrath?
What are you-”
“Silence heretic; heretic,” the
prince coolly commanded, “Or you shall be dragged out of the tribe
by your filthy glossa; glossa.”
Bombshell stood back as Shrapnel came
to a stop a few feet before the irate tribesmech, becoming more and
more interested in seeing how this would unfold. Right now, it was
like watching two vipers being dumped in a pit together, fangs bared
and hissing.
“....you dare talk to your Elder like
this?,” the old puma growled, bringing the pipe to his lip
components. “You disrespectful, little-”
The Elder's optics flared brightly as
Shrapnel silently slapped the hookah to the floor, spilling its
wasted water and toxic powder across the carpeted floor. “The
disrespect is all your own, Elder; elder,” the youngling said
coldly, not even flinching when the ancient puma leapt to his pedes.
“You have-”
Bombshell's tail flicked in surprise
when he saw the withering mech raise a servo to strike the prince.
The kittycon's hesitance proved to be a good thing- with a crash, the
Elder was pinned to the floor in the next moment, tribal beads
wrapped around his neck and wrist like a choke collar; a pede
pressing the patchy helm into the ground. Above him, Shrapnel stood,
lavender optics glowing brightly and servo wrapped tightly around the
rest of the beads, holding it high as if it was a leash.
“You; you,” the smaller insectipuma
continued from earlier, “Have disgraced not only the clan, but
yourself as well; well. To be worthy of the title 'elder', one must
be wise, unbiased, oversee and put the best of the tribe before
anything else; else. You have failed to do this; this.”
The Elder tried to spit something at
the youngling, but he was quickly silenced.
“You tried to disgrace me, by selling
me to an outsider; sider,” Shrapnel hissed, anger slowly seeping
through his cool persona, “And all for a fix; fix?! If the
tribe knew of your grasping desires, they'd be as disgusted as I; I.
But, you are lucky- they are ignorant and you would have gotten away
with this madness if not for one thing; thing. Me; me.”
The prince pressed harder on the other
puma's helm, grinding an ear under his heel. Bombshell canted his
helm to the side, unable to keep the smirk from growing on his
faceplates. He had never seen this side of the youngling -the
control, the righteousness, the authority- and he was becoming more
amused by the astrosecond.
Bending low, Shrapnel canted his helm
at the wheezing Elder, meeting the older tribesmech's one viewable
optic. “Do not fret, Elder; elder,” he soothed mockingly, “I
will not address your crimes or addiction to the others; others. But
know that your station no longer holds any value; value. You will
shortly die and there will be no ceremony to honour your sinner's
spark; spark. What becomes of you after, the Deities shall decide;
decide.”
The beads clinked as they slid from the
ancient puma's throat, Shrapnel dropping them on the table as he
turned away fluidly. Bombshell felt his circuits hum faster and
hotter as the little prince approached him regally; his spark even
giving a little pulse when the youngling drew up to his side, a thin
servo resting on one of his scars. The kittycon was tempted to wrap
an arm around Shrapnel but cupping the heir close would shatter this
perfect moment.
Of a prince, willingly coming and
surrendering to his thief's command.
Besides, Bombshell was enjoying the
Elder's horrified and sickened look towards the both of them.
“Goodbye, Elder; elder,” Shrapnel
announced, not even looking back at the frail puma, “I doubt we
shall see each other again soon; soon. And when I return; return...
it shall be with my heir at hand and salvation for my kin; kin.”
When he....? Bombshell shuttered his
optics in confusion, slow to realize that his new bondmate had
already left the room. Realizing that things were no longer following
his plan, the mech hurried to leave as well, calculating how this
change might impact his own life.
“I don't remember agreeing to you
coming with me....”
Shrapnel paused in the entry way,
looking back at his mate. The look he gave was a flat one -a snideful
one. Bombshell was tempted to growl at the look. He didn't like being
dismissed, especially by young, self-righteous brats. But then
Shrapnel turned his optics away.
“You vowed to give me an heir; heir,”
he said, straightening his robe. “Did you intend to leave me here
while you returned to the city, like some stray whore; whore? Or are
you so capable of giving up your hedonistic lifestyle to join me in
my tribe; tribe?”
Bombshell was silent for a moment.
Truthfully, that had been his
plan but it seemed that such an option was not even going to be
discussed by the prince.
“...you will not like what I do nor
will you have any place to complain,” the kittycon forewarned, “And
if you come back with me, I expect to find you ready and waiting in
my berth. Constantly.” He grinned, confident that the idea of
making the prince a pleasure 'bot would dissuade Shrapnel from
pressing for this move.
Rather, the youngling turned his helm
to face him; lavender optics narrowed playfully and a sneer growing
quietly on his mouth. “You are now my mate; mate. Though made
through the machinations of a wasted addict, there surely was a
purpose in such an action passing; passing,” Shrapnel stated, “The
Deities are watching us, heretic; heretic. They know the role you
shall play in both mine and my tribe's fate; fate.”
Ah. Now that certainly explained why
the smaller puma was being so agreeable in this whole affair. He
should have been content that this meant Shrapnel would cooperate,
but truthfully, having the tables flipped on them and him being the
one made out like some god-directed empty doll was.... souring,
to say the least.
Bombshell would have to rectify this
somehow and enlighten the prince on who was truly in control of his
thoughts and actions. “So....,” he purred, grabbing Shrapnel and
pushing him into the nearest wall, “You'll do whatever I say....?
No matter the obscenity of it?”
Lavender optics hardened. “I am no
whore; whore...”
Bombshell smirked, loving that look of
indignation and pride. It was enough to get him to lick his lip
components hungrily. “No, my prince,” he husked, leaning down,
“You are much.... much... better than a simple whore....”
Shrapnel could not reply as his mouth
was captured, large claws curling around his hips and aft
possessively, keeping him trapped. Once he was certain he had ravaged
the youngling's intakes straight from his vents, Bombshell drew back.
“Let's go see your 'people', shall
we?,” the kittycon suggested to the dazed prince.
Beautiful optics narrowed at him before
Shrapnel shoved away with the softest of huffs; helm held high
proudly and gait determined as he headed for the door.
xxXxXxx
The crowd surged forward to the dais, a
stinking mass of food and energon and drink and fluids. They had
barely a wink of rest since a few orns ago; too wired to recharge,
too excited to give up the festivities. A royal only wed every few
decades, after all. With laden arms and aching palms, the band picked
up a rolling drumbeat, signaling their prince's approach. Amid all
the excitement, the celebrators did not notice the cloaked figure
that slipped amongst them.
Warily, the figure moved through the
crowd, clutching their cloak tight around their shoulders; getting as
close as he could... and dared to. As the drum roll came to a finish,
lavender optics focused on the small puma coming into view on the
dais.
The Deities be....
Shrapnel looked even more beautiful now
than he did before. Did he see him? Among all these 'bots? The figure
tried not to flinch as another mech stepped up to the podium, all
scars and bulk, to a roaring cheer from the crowd. This stranger then
took up position just behind Shrapnel's left-hand side -the rightful
place of bondmates to the throne.
Lip component curled up and over a pair
of fangs, the smallest hint of a growl escaping before it was
silenced entirely. He, Kickback, had been the Chosen one -to bond and
make his cousin happy. For stellar cycles that had been his
Gods'-given destiny! Then suddenly, while out in the far woods for
his final training, he was attacked.... by his own kin.
The terror of such a betrayal had
thankfully not rendered him meek; still, it had been a struggle to
fend off five assailants by himself. All of whom he had grown up with
as well. The knowledge that energon now stained his servos had almost
deterred Kickback from returning. The murder of kinsmen was not a
crime easily forgotten or forgiven -by Tribe or Deity- but the
thought of his cousin had convinced him to make the long trek home.
....only to find this.
The confusion, anger, concern,
suffering -all for nothing! For the very mech that had been his
driving force had been traded off, to the slimy vendor he remembered
from the city no less, claimed and already defiled.
The crowd babbled about him, not
noticing the way their own kinsmech folded into himself, spark
withering slowly into his chestplates.
Before him, Shrapnel spoke, strong and
true, and not once did he denounce the scarred outsider that stood at
attention up on the podium with him. In fact, the prince almost...
praised him. Venting weakly, Kickback slowly shuffled back, trying to
escape the tight crowd unnoticed. Even if he still wanted to barge
forth and save his cousin from this ridiculous lie, such an act had
been ripped from him completely.
He was cast out, dead to his kin,
forgotten and of no significance any more to Shrapnel it was obvious.
He had lost.... Tears pricking at his optics, the youngling managed
to turn away from the rest of the celebrators; missing their gasps
and disbelieving optics as the prince announced his temporary
departure.
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