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"It is over, finished. Just too bad we couldn't bring them back for a fair trial!" Impactor looked down regretfully at the cold gray frames of Squadron X.
"They were worthy foes," Springer agreed, putting an arm on his leader's shoulder. "Come with me, let me...make you feel better."
"But you are the one who is wounded!" Impactor looked down the broad hole in Springer's wide chest in concern. "I couldn't let you do that...for me..."
Springer puffed his chest even wider, showing no pain. "That? It's nothing--compared to our victory. Celebrate with me tonight, my leader."
"After what you have done for us...I could do no less, Springer." Impactor pressed his lips against Springer's, gently at first, then harder, as Springer took the initiative, battling tongues fiercely even as Springer opened himself for his leader. His wet valve took Impactor's spike as easily and willingly as his chest had taken Impactor's gunshot.
And when they were finished, Impactor held Springer gently, neither of them knowing how close they were to their final, fatal separation.
-- Wreckers Declassified: Supplemental
Springer had never said no.
Why would he have? He was almost always up for a frag. He was hot, Impactor was hot, and even when he wasn't ready right away, the look on Impactor's face when he shoved his spike into Springer's dry, tight valve was always enough to get Springer hot and wet around him.
(Until he saw that same expression over the dead bodies of Squadron X.)
That day on Pova, he had said no for the first time. He said no, and felt Impactor's weapon burn through his chest anyway. And it hurt. He hadn't believed Impactor would do it, even when the gun pressed against his back, not until the rounds burned through his midsection.
(Why would he have realized? Springer had never said no before.)
Springer said no for the second time later that day, on his back with metal plate nailed over his midsection, and that time, he expected to be ignored.
Maybe he should have found himself some 'circuit dampeners' then. But he wanted to feel it, wanted to feel Impactor inside him one more time, wanted to know deep inside that he was doing the right thing in turning his commander (lover, friend) in.
He wasn't expecting it to feel good.
Impactor wasn't gentle, but he was never gentle. His hands lingered over Springer's wound hardly more than they usually did, as if this were an ordinary mission, the wound from a Decepticon weapon.
He pulled Springer into position with as little concern for his comfort as ever. The burn in Springer's back from the stretch was almost familiar, comforting, as rough fingers manually released his valve cover. A finger touched the dry hole, testing it, and then Impactor grunted in satisfaction -- "Always tight for me" -- and Springer felt the familiar burn of Impactor's spike spreading him open.
The familiar burn, and the familiar look on Impactor's faceplates. Though the triumph on Impactor's face brought to mind the defenseless dead bodies of their enemies (and was Springer himself such a defenseless body, to Impactor?) Springer's body still heated in response. The burn lessened as his valve relaxed and lubricated, shaping itself to Impactor, and Springer moaned, helplessly.
And, as usual, Impactor growled, holding Springer tighter and working him harder, and Springer was for a moment terrified, wondering if that was what Impactor wanted all along -- the conquest of an unwilling body -- but the thought, like all of Springer's doubts, fled away under the pleasure of Impactor's thrusts, even the pain in his chest amplifying the pleasure as Impactor pressed close into him, silencing Springer's moans and cries (like he had silenced Squadron X) with his mouth, biting and kissing and crushing any resistance Springer's worn body managed to put up.
Impactor hit just the right place inside, and Springer overloaded. For a moment, everything was as it had been, fear and pain vanishing in the intensity of overload in a body hardly able to sustain it. His systems crashed and forced him into temporary, blissful unconsciousness.
When Springer came back, Impactor was gone, the ache between his legs and the drip of Impactor's fluids from his valve demonstrating that he had indeed been there, and had taken his pleasure while Springer was offline.
It wasn't the first time that Springer had awakened alone and full of fluids. But it would be the last.
It was time he made a stand.