Disclaimer: Don't own Transformers…

Warning: Very unbetaed… SMUT!

AN: Oh, I feel so bad now. It's been so long since I undated this story despite having been updating other stories on the regular. Sadly, when I get to smut parts it takes me an inane amount of time to buckle down and write it, yet once I get started it's done in about an hour. Weird. I'm so sorry to all those who have been waiting patiently for the update. Here, I wrote you smut to make it better. (Pre-warning, this is my first ACTUAL smut scene that wasn't just a brief mentioning. So please forgive me if it is not up to your guy's standards.) Please enjoy!

Twisted Perception

Chapter Seven: Pain III

Ramjet shuttered his optics and let the feeling of wholeness wash through him, nearly giving him the sensation of being overcharged with its sheer intensity. However, memories of events and words long passed flittered through his processor, each burning into him more painfully than that last, pushing him further and further into the darkness and away from the warmth of his trine bond. He internally squirmed against it, the cold wall that held him contained.

Vivid visions of dented wings quivering in agony and plating buckling under his merciless iron grip assaulted him with wave after wave of regret and shame. He remembered his trinemates pleading with him for mercy, a mercy he would not give. He remembered the first spark of fear that would forever become part of his trinemates' very beings, the helplessness that they would come to internalize as their own and let consume them. He remembered how he'd savored their fear with zealous in those early vorns.

He had been so blind back then, so volatile, prepared to do anything to feel some sense of gratification, even at the cost of his trinemates. He had been young and willing to do anything to quench his thirst for acknowledgement and respect from those he'd for so long held in high regard: the Legendary Pit Gladiator, Megatron, and his Famed Air Commander, Starscream. He had not seen, had not understood, that he was merely destroying everything he'd ever needed in pursuit of something he'd never have.

He still doesn't have it.

Sometimes, when he is sure no one can see or hear, he curls in on himself and weeps in anguish, for the pain, for the misery, for the trust he no longer has from in his wingmates- or from himself. He weeps until his likeness is reflected within pools of coolant, smeared upon the floor like great lakes of mercury shining in the light of his optics against the darkened room, dull and distorted. And still he weeps bitter tears, long after the time of the moon's dark shadow's passing.

Even now, which his trinemates naught but a few feet from him and within easy reach, he feels isolated, afraid to touch, to seek comfort, in fear of the fright he will see in their expressions when he reaches out to them, but also unable to stay away in fear of the pain and darkness that will plague him so viciously in the absence of his wingmates. He is pulled in many directions, each equally as strong, but all equally as wrong as well. It is tearing him to pieces, and he has no escape from its crushing presence.

Sometimes he recalled that night when he'd found his trinemates missing, leaving naught but empty quarters in their wake, and the anger he had felt at being abandoned so readily. He had pursued them of course, driven on by his fury and his desperation to not be forgotten by the only stable presences to have ever entered his life, and attempted to force open the bond that had for so long been tightly shut.

They had denied him.

When he had found them his vents were swirling furiously in rage and stuttering from the force of his venting, armor shaking from suppressed wrath, clicking erratically along his weapon's holster and joints. They had been with their Air Commander, Starscream, and his trine working valiantly on moving the large shuttle, Skyfire, towards a swirling mass of dense light very much in the likeness of the spacebridge.

He had been too angry, too hurt then. He had acted without thought, making a beeline towards them with his weapons primed and head lowered in an offensive maneuver, ready to claim them back, even against their will. They were his past, his present, his support and the stable presence that kept him grounded, and he was losing them.

He had not expected them to throw open the bond at the last moment before impact.

The pain had been indescribable, the hurt and the torment from so many vorns of abuse by his own hands, the overwhelming, raw fear they held for him, more so than they'd ever felt for their own fraction leader, the one who could have them killed with a simple unfavorable flicker of his optics. He felt their terror and anger at his betrayal the first time he'd ever taken hold of Dirge's wing and snapped the appendage off in his first of many fits of sadistic rage. But most of all, he felt their grief for his fall from grace and the unspeakable humiliation they felt for not being strong enough to stop their own torment from the hands of the one they were suppose to look to for protection. And Ramjet felt this all, the vorns of misery and hurt, within the span of a mere spark pulse, a moment of perfect clarity of what he had become to them; monster.

Oh, how he had screamed, in pain, in fury, in shame, in confusion, in abandon. He had curled up on the ground before his trinemate's feet, unable to form coherent words as he babbled for forgiveness and mercy, tearing at the pain and filthiness that seared his spark from within its chamber, agony staining his face as it rooted into the organic muck beneath him.

It had been the first time in known history that a trine bond had been used as a direct weapon against the leader, and Ramjet had almost not survived the repercussions.

With a quiet groan, Ramjet rolled to his side, facing away from his trinemates as he remembered those shaking, hesitant hands that had lifted him from the mud after he'd thrashed himself into exhaustion. Remembered how he had shivered and shied away from their touch when at last they had believed him safe enough to approach. Remembered the pain that had lingered in his spark even as he was gently placed beside Skyfire. Remembered the gently whispered apology of his trinemates for what they had done and the irreversible damage it had caused to his spark.

It had been those gentle whispers that had undone him, and he had lain silent after that, bathing his trinemate's hands with silent tears.

"Ramjet." Dirge slurred tiredly when his spark recognized the sharp stab of pain in his spark, knowing instinctively that his trineleader was suffering under the memories of his past mistreatment of them. "Ramjet, hold me please. I want you to be close." He called out gently, knowing that nothing else would convince their anguished leader to touch and seek comfort from them unless they initiated it the first contact.

There was some shifting, and soon Dirge felt familiar arms wrap around him, warm and protective has it had been before the war, and so very right. But those arms were shaking ever so slightly, wound tight with the need to breakdown completely into a mass of self-loathing and at the same time give his undying attentions to his wingmate, to be the leader he should have always been, should have remained. But the moment another pair of hands wrapped firmly around Ramjet's waist and pulled both he and Dirge into a fierce embrace, Ramjet finally gave in, burying his face into Dirge's shoulder and weeping bitter apologies to the trinemates be believed he did not deserve.

They stayed that way through the night, bonds wide open and energy fields synchronized as it had always been meant to be, Dirge caressing Ramjet's face with slow, devoted caresses and placing light kisses on those quivering lips and Thrust slowly working out the tension in his trine leader's back and wings, whispering sweet things into his audio receptor, a soothing lullaby long forgotten since the war.

And as he drifted off into peaceful recharge for the first time in so many vorns, Ramjet wondered, with what little strength he possessed, how he'd ever forsaken this for power, this beautiful, beautiful thing called love.

Skywarp held the hand of the bot lying beside him with the same reverence he had once looked upon their former leader with, the overbearing authority that was Megatron, and placed a gentle kiss on the palm, relishing the soft moan that escaped Thundercracker's lips as he recharged unawares of his trinemate's attentions, a vision of temptation laid out for the purple seeker's feasting optics. The purple seeker's engines all but purred at the breathy sound, his need to reconnect with the other seeker growing with each pleasant lap of warmth that cascaded firmly into the deepest crevices of his spark and settled within its very core, sparking a surging desire that he had felt for no other after he'd met his bonded all those millennia ago.

And why shouldn't he be able to take his mate as he pleased, when he pleased, how he pleased, just pounce on top of his beautiful trinemate and ravish him numb before he had even had a chance to rouse from recharge, as fast and brutal as he desired, relentlessly, without a thought as to the other's discomfort so long as he achieved overload at the end of it? Wasn't that what Skywarp was known for, his brutality and sadistic glee in all things perverse in nature, even the torture of his own sparkmate?

Yes, that is how the other Skywarp thought, Decepticon Skywarp, but that was also the Skywarp he could gradually feel crumbling away with each gentle stroke laid upon his chassis, with each smoldering gaze directed his way when he waited just a little longer to sate his raging lust in favor of provoking his mate's, was just a little bit more tender in his touches, just a little more loving with his kisses. The other Skywarp was slowly cracking under the once more caring touches of his mate, giving way to a new, softer Skywarp; not what he once was, never as he had been before the war, for such hopes of return are forever lost to them, but something just as good is being formed from the shell of Decepticon Skywarp, just as desirable.

And so the purple seeker stroked enticingly at the royal blue plating, nibbling and nipping at that twitching hand, watching with ever-growing fascination as his mate's face twisted into an expression of bliss with each touch. He purred his eagerness as those hazy amber optics slowly cycled on, revealing an exceptionally adorable Thundercracker to be a bit confused at the situation, but so very eager to continue with the pleasant caresses. His intakes nearly hitched when that much lavished hand began to trace a sensual path up the black arm, a feathery ghost of hidden sensor nobs.

With a clumsiness completely out of character for any seeker that betray just how groggy the other seeker's processor was at that moment, Thundercracker pulled his mate on top of him with a dull clank and trapped the rapidly heating frame between his quivering thighs, rubbing his knees and calves wantonly along the pelvic plating, creating sweet friction in secret places that had only recently been receiving the attention it so craved. His usually precise hands caressed randomly over the hard, unmoving frame above his, sneaking clever fingers into seams and giving casual messages on any plate his disoriented grip could reach, paying special care to the wings.

By Primus, it was slow and soft and so sloppy it was like they were going at it for the first time all over again, and despite his past preferences Skywarp couldn't help but think that this was perfection in the making.

The blue seeker moaned in bliss as the frame above him began to grind and push him farther into the berth, his still hazy optics trying, and failing, to focus on the determined face hovering above his as large hands soothed purposely other his plating, slipping under loose bits of armor and caressing the protoform beneath. He leaned up as much as he could to place messy, open-mouthed kisses all along the strong chin and full lips, surrendering to the pleasurable sensations immediately the moment those lips sought his own and thoroughly plundered into the warm depth of his mouth, not as hard as it had once been, but infinitely more passionate. His systems continued to warm quickly, wings twitching in want.

"Skywarp." He moaned out in need, mouth gaping open shamelessly in his pleasure intoxicated state, optics flickering and face scrunched up in bliss, hands rubbing frantically at the other's interface panel, running on pure instinct as he mock thrust his hips into the plating above him. "Want you. 'Warp. More."

That did it, of all the times they had interfaced in the Decepticons forces, all those millennia of viciously ravishing his mate until near stasis lock with as much force and enthusiasm as he could conjure just to get a reaction from the blue seeker, not once had Thundercracker called out for more, not since they'd begun to lose themselves to the war. It had only been over these last few months that Thundercracker had finally found his voice again in these moments of bliss, and after so long of wanting that acknowledgement, to know his mate still desired him in this way, Skywarp could not hold himself back when he heard that voice pleading for him.

He wanted to pleasure his mate in every way possible, his beautiful, beautiful Thundercracker. Still his, even after all that had happened, still his and only his.

Skywarp's codpiece slid back with a telltale click, his spike immediately pressurizing to its full height and twitching with a burning need, a pearl of precum shining at the tip. Thundercracker, having finally woken enough to focus his optics, groaned appreciatively at the sight, for once not dreading how painful such impressive interface equipment would be to have inside him. His hands reached down eagerly, wanting to touch and bring pleasure, but it was not to be so as a much more oriented hand easily took hold of his palm and began to place gentle licks along the fingers.

"'Warp." The blue seeker whined tiredly, fingers curling around the hand in his grasp, his port panel sliding back eagerly as he tried to sheath the spike into himself with fever, wanting the closeness, the knowledge that his mate could bring him such unbelievable satisfaction.

No luck, Skywarp didn't move, only stared down at him with that determined, desire-latent gaze, lips curled into a devious smirk and tongue lightly stoking over his upper lip even as his hands repeated sensual patterns along his plating. Skywarp, not Decepticon Skywarp, not post-war Skywarp, but this new Skywarp with his roguish smile, but tender, adoring hands: Thundercracker's Skywarp, his mate, his beloved.

Slowly at first, Skywarp leaned in close and begun to push himself into the tightness of his mate's port, savoring the feeling of those silky walls pulling on his spike, trying to draw him in faster, and he cursed his old, impulsive self for having never appreciated just how wonderful his mate had been in this, cursed how he'd overlooked these indescribable pleasures for something as mundane as a quick overload. The hips beneath him bucking against his steadying hands impatiently, the breathy moans and hitching intakes of his mate, those smoldering optics gazing intently into his own, demanding silently that he be pleasured. Perfect.

His thrusts were deep and powerful, slow and demanding, demanding not just his own pleasure, but that of his mate's, a demand on himself to bring his mate to overload on the force of his passion alone, so that when next Thundercracker thinks back to this night he will shiver in anticipation. His well built back arched with each drive forward, wings hitched high upon his back, putting everything he had behind each thrust, holding his mate down as the blue seeker writhed and spasmed beneath him in abandoned, unable to form rational thought or words. And still those relentless thrusts continued, hitting every sensory nob in the back of the constricting port, forcing incomprehensible screams of ecstasy from his lips.

"T- TC. Hm. You are so beautiful." Skywarp forced out, bracing himself over the other in a position of crumbling control, their finger intertwined as he held their hands on either side of his mate's helm. "I can't- hold back…TC. Love you."

"Don't hold back- any l-longer. Lov-e you."

With that Skywarp flew into frenzy, lifting his mate up by the hips to angle just so for maximum penetration, speeding up his thrusts and burying his face into Thundercracker's cockpit, just feeling the way their frames moved together, the joy of being wholly accepted into the other's embrace. Faster and faster the thrusting became, more raw, less controlled, needy and insistent, and the blue seeker only drove the rising madness on, thrusting his hips upward in time with his mates, caressing the helm upon his chassis despite the flashes of light bursting before his optics each time his sweet spot was struck; a true, willing surrender to his mate's desires.

They overloaded that way, Skywarp wrapped firmly in Thundercracker's embrace, and Thundercracker writhing helplessly under the warmth and protection of his mate. And they were sated, both of them, as they drifted off into recharge together, as one.

Down the halls of the Moon base, locked within the confines of his room, a red minibot roared in frustration. "Fragging seekers! Some of us are trying to get some recharge!"

AN: Smut…smut…smut. I did it. I actually made it past my angst kink and got some smut done! I feel very accomplished at this moment and now must go get a piece of chocolate to celebrate my first Transformer's smut. Tell me what you thought.

Please review…