Stress Relief, a JoJo's Bizarre Adventure fanfic

This is me, still not giving a fuck about the fact authors are technically not supposed to post porn on FF.Net. Man up, FF.Net.

---

Title: Stress Relief

Summary: "You're less selfish than you make yourself out to be."

Pairing: Gyro/Johnny

Warnings: Slash, PWP porn, fluff.

Disclaimer: If I owned JoJo I’d make Stone Ocean merchandise, pronto.

---

By the way Gyro lazily ran his tongue across his collarbone, Johnny would have thought he didn’t have a care in the world.

But there was something in every action and every time he looked into his eyes that made Johnny aware of the pressure Gyro was under. The pressure to win. The pressure to save that boy.

So Johnny was silently grateful that Gyro would want to do this kind of thing with him now. He supposed it made him feel privileged. After all, he really liked Gyro; liked how soft his hair was, how muscular his arms were, how strong his spirit was. And he supposed, since what was happening was happening, that Gyro really liked him too.

Gyro pulled Johnny’s shirt up in a way that trapped his arms above his head, revealing various scars, most likely from his jockeying days. He smiled when Johnny trembled slightly as he caressed one that wormed from his hip all the way to the middle of his abdomen. “Is there a story behind this one?”

“Not even.”

Gyro laughed softly, his hand snaking down, slipping under the waistband of Johnny’s pants, grasping at what he found. Johnny’s sharp intake of breath spoke volumes, the jockey biting down on his lip to stop himself from crying out.

“Make as much noise as you want, Johnny. Ain’t no one out here who can hear you.”

“You – you can’t be too careful.” Johnny gasped.

“No... I suppose not.” Gyro began to undo the button of his pants, momentarily letting go of Johnny’s cock to pull them down to his knees. “Hey, you wanna do this too? Swing your legs up over... oh shit.”

Johnny frowned at him, clearly annoyed at what he perceived to be an intentional insult. “Hey!”

“My bad. Really.” Once Gyro had removed Johnny’s pants, he leant down, giving him an apologetic kiss. He looked down. “Wow, it’s pretty hard, isn’t it?”

“So’s yours.”

“Think you’re ready?”

“Y... yeah.”

Gyro reached over and found the bottle of oil he had put aside in case. After all, Johnny wasn’t a woman and his lack of... lubricating anatomy could prove to be incredibly painful if they weren’t well prepared.

Pouring some into his hand, he stroked and covered his own member in it before slipping an oil-coated finger into Johnny, who gave a moan of both shock and delight. “Is it ok?”

“Kinda cold, but... it’s fine.” Johnny whimpered softly, his cock twitching as Gyro added another finger and twisted them both around. “Are you going to?”

“If you want.”

“Of course I do!” Had he been able to, he might have wrapped his arms around him. Johnny couldn’t help but feel slightly touched that even in this kind of situation, Gyro would still think about his wellbeing. “I’m not backing down now. Not when we’re both like this.”

The Italian chuckled. “You’re less selfish than you make yourself out to be.”

“’Course,” Johnny muttered, reclining a little more as though he was trying to prove a point. “Come on...”

“... But you’re still impatient as hell.” Gyro, removing his fingers, guided his cock to the jockey’s entrance before looking at him as though to ask, “Are you sure you really want this?”

Johnny nodded, his cock now a deep red from being teased with the prospect of sex. He wouldn’t be able to hold much longer. Gyro was right. He was impatient as hell.

But then he felt something slide into him and he gave a shout of pleasure and mild discomfort. It wasn’t nearly as painful as he had thought it would be, but that might have been because of all the oil Gyro used.

“You ok?” Gyro grunted, his features distorted with some sort of satisfaction.

“It feels... weird. Good weird.”

“Good weird...” Gyro repeated those words to himself as though they were amusing or fulfilling or both, and began to rock back in forth inside him at a hard, steady pace. ‘Good weird’ was getting better and better with each motion.

“You’re squeezing really tight, Johnny.” He panted. “It’s kinda scary, to be honest.”

Johnny couldn’t think of anything to say in response, another delighted moan passing his lips instead. Gyro, lifting his legs up onto his shoulders, leaned in and gave him a firm kiss.

The thrusts were getting faster and stronger and Johnny squeezed his eyes shut, concentrating on the blissful, intense feeling, on Gyro’s inside of him. It was getting to be more and more difficult to bear and he knew he had to release soon.

So did Gyro, judging by the way he was practically sinking his nail into Johnny’s thighs, and by the way he cried out before splashing a thick, milky substance all over the other man’s chest. Johnny followed soon after, his cry echoing through the desert and back arching off the sheet they lay on, his cum mingling and mixing with his lover’s.

Gyro collapsed next to him, his breathing deep, body matted with sweat. He propped himself up on his elbow and observed the dazed Johnny for a few minutes with a grin on his face. “How was that, then?”

Finally wriggling free of his makeshift bonds, Johnny tucked the strand of hair that had fallen into his eyes during their lovemaking behind his ear. “Wonderful. Was it... for you?”

“Of course.”

“That’s good.” Johnny laughed in something that sounded like relief. After all, he had been worried that his ‘performance’ would not be up to scratch. Clearly it was something that didn’t matter any longer. “But, uh... you think you can give me a hand with cleaning up?”

“Right!” Gyro sat up suddenly as though he had forgotten about it. “Pretty sure I put that cloth somewhere around here...”

“Thanks, Gyro.”

“No problem.”

“No, I mean... thanks for taking the time to... do this with me.”

Gyro looked at Johnny, surprised, before grinning for the umpteenth time that night. “You make it sound like it’s a chore.”

Without realising it, Johnny had grabbed his hand. “Well, with everything going on, I don’t think it would cross many of the contestants’ minds. Especially with how much you’re going through.”

Gyro squeezed it reassuringly, his other hand ruffling Johnny’s hair. “Put it this way. Everyone needs a little bit of stress relief now and then.”

Then, after tilting Johnny’s face up and giving him a gentle kiss: “Besides, I’d be happy to do it all again.”

END

A/N: If you’re reading this note, you (probably) read this fic all the way to the end. Congratulations! I haven’t begged for reviews for a long time, but I’d really appreciate it if you could leave me a quick note telling me what you thought of this fic, writing-wise. I think I might be writing more porn from now on, so it’d be cool to know what to improve. Thank you!

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Control, a Heavy Rain fanfic

Title: Control

Summary: “You don’t question my methods.”

Pairing: Blake/Jayden

Warnings: Slash, porn, non-con, spoilers, cussing (but that’s probably the least of your worries).

Disclaimer: Sorry, Quantic Dream. Sorry, David Cage. (But not really.)

Note: So there’s this giant plot hole. Did Jayden ever cop (haw haw) a telling off, or worse, for letting Ethan go? If there was, I must have missed the memo. Or I just can’t remember.

For Hal. HAPPY BIRTHDAY, BRO.

---

Agent Norman Jayden liked control, liked certainty. And while the nature of his work did not allow him those luxuries most of the time, he found himself more than capable of dealing with those niggling little issues.

Except Lieutenant Blake was not a niggling little issue. Lieutenant Blake was a huge issue, and there was nothing Jayden could do about it. Or so one would think, but Jayden was beginning to develop a taste for taking matters into his own hands. Like I need reminding. Helping Ethan Mars escape...

But now that the most important thing had been taken care of, it was time for him to confront Blake. Anger pulsed inside of him as he remembered the way Blake had manhandled Ethan Mars. Then again, maybe ‘manhandled’ was too gentle of a word.

Feeling the ARI bump comfortably against his chest, tucked safely in his shirt pocket, he got up from his chair and went to open the door to find the lieutenant. Except Blake found him first, practically knocking the door down as he stormed into Jayden’s tiny office.

“Jesus Christ, Blake! What the hell is wrong with you?”

“I should be asking you the same goddamn thing, Jayden.” Blake hissed, advancing on the agent. Even with a good five feet or so between them, Jayden could see a vein throbbing in the man’s forehead. “Letting the Origami Killer go? What the fuck were you thinking?!”

“Origami Killer or not, you had no right to treat him the way you did!” Jayden found himself shouting back.

“Right, right.” Blake’s glare turned into a derisive sneer. “So you’re pissed because I smacked him around a bit, huh? Maybe you folk over at the FBI do shit differently, but over here, it’s called necessary force.”

Jayden felt something inside him snap. In a sudden, uncontrollable moment, he swung his arm out, smashing his fist into the side of the lieutenant’s face. Blake stumbled backwards, knocking his head on the corkboard. Despite the severity of the situation, the corners of Jayden’s mouth twitched into a smirk of mild satisfaction.

Blake staggered, rubbing the back of his head as he recovered. “Y-you think this is funny? Oh, of course you would... after all, what the hell kind of a reason do you have for letting him go, huh? You’re not taking this seriously, are you?”

“Like you’re one to talk! I’m beginning to think that the only reason you’re even on the goddamn force is because you can beat people up without repercussions!” “I’ve told you, again and again... it’s necessary force.” With that, Blake lunged forward, throwing a punch of his own, sending the agent sprawling face-down onto the desk.

Jayden choked a little, wiping a spot of blood away from his lower lip. Blake could punch, he’d give him that much, but it wouldn’t faze him. “Don’t you have any integrity? It doesn’t have to be that way! It – ” Click. He heard the sound and felt something cold around his wrists. As though the chill of the metal had wormed its way into his bloodstream, he froze. “What are you doing, Blake? Hey, what are you doing?”

The silence behind Jayden caused him to panic slightly. He struggled, trying to force his wrists apart, his chest pressing heavily against the worn wood of his desk. He couldn’t see what Blake was doing or hell, know what he was planning to do, but he knew that either way, it couldn’t be good. If he could get himself onto his back, he could probably get out of the situation...

But Blake got there first. In a sudden act of brutality, he grabbed Jayden’s hair and slammed his face down onto the desk, causing the agent to emit a pain-induced expletive. “Son of a bitch! Don't you get it? You’re committing a federal offence!”

"Federal offence, my ass. But speaking of ass... you've got quite a nice one, don't you?"

“What the hell, Blake?!” Jayden shouted again, this time more panicked. “Don’t fuck around! We’ve gotta go find Shaun Mars, pronto!”

Eerily calm, yet in a voice that was dripping with venom, Blake muttered, “I’m going to show you FBI hot-shots that you’re not so high and mighty.” Blake pulled Jayden’s head up and punched him square in the nose, bloodying his shirt. Then, as though in anticipation of the agent’s next move, he forced him to sit up and buried his fist deep into his stomach. Jayden was winded now, collapsing face-down and back onto the desk as he gasped for breath.

The room was beginning to spin again, but not so much that he couldn’t recognise the feeling of a pair of misguided hands pulling his pants and briefs down.

Oh no. No no no no no no no –

“No, BLAKE!”

And as he screamed Blake’s name in fear and agony and horror, unbearable pain shot through him, something that felt like it was ripping him apart. And as though he couldn’t be angrier, couldn’t be more disgusted at that son of a bitch, he smashed his hands in vain against the ever-warming surface of the table as Blake groaned, “Hah, aren’t I fucking lucky that this room is sound-proof?”

“Blake, STOP! You can’t - !”

But he knew his words couldn’t reach him. After all, was there ever a point in time when they had?

With every rough, unsympathetic thrust, with every droplet of blood that escaped from his lower lip as he bit down on it, trying to bear the pain, Jayden felt himself slipping further and further away from that thing he held in such high regard.

There was no more control. He couldn’t even stop himself from crying out in torment as Blake used him for all of his perceived worth. And all of a sudden, as though he was abruptly submerged in the sheer harshness and logic of reality as Blake came inside of him, he knew that even after all of this was over, it would still be useless. He wouldn’t be able to change a goddamn thing. How many more people would suffer at Blake’s hands? Now, even he was just another number Blake could add to his tally.

It was a feeling he was not accustomed to knowing – a feeling that others had called ‘despair’.

“Get it now, nancy-boy? You don’t question my methods.” Blake spat, and a glob of saliva landed on his cheek. Jayden didn’t move, even as Blake undid the handcuffs, even as Blake fired one final, cruel barb at him: “Good fuck though. Haven’t had one like that for a long time.”

Then he was alone.

Agent Norman Jayden could feel the top half of his suit sticking to his skin, the throbbing pain of his damaged insides, the semen trickling down his thighs. The air was suddenly still and everything was quiet.

But despite it all, he still couldn’t move.

END

A/N: NORMAN JAYDEN BAD END

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Starstruck, a JoJo's Bizarre Adventure: Steel Ball Run fanfic

Title: Starstruck
Summary: I'm content to wonder, if only by your side.
Rating: K+
Pairing: One-sided Johnny/Gyro
Warnings: Slash.
Disclaimer: ARAKI'S FOREVER

The stars shone brightly up in the night sky and Johnny Joestar, poking his head out from beneath his blanket, stared up at them. He wondered how many more kilometres they had to travel before they could see a different set of stars. Then he wondered if it was even possible, and briefly contemplated turning to ask Gyro.

But upon tilting his head slightly to look at his friend, he noticed how peacefully he slept.

It was then that Johnny felt a twinge of something, something much stronger than basic camaraderie. Perhaps even stranger for him, he knew what that twinge was almost immediately.

And Johnny supposed it was well-founded. It was the secret of the spin, yes, but there was something else that drew Johnny to him. Something about Gyro, like the way his hair flowed as the wind whipped past them or his posture while he rode Valkyrie.

But then, he had spent much of his time (when they weren't racing as fast as they could or experiencing near-death at the hands of Stand users, that is) wondering why Gyro had bothered to stick with him so willingly. Why did Gyro place so much faith in him, a champion jockey turned cripple? And how could he forget the times when it would have been so much easier to run and abandon Johnny to the Reaper?

He secretly hoped it was because Gyro returned the same bizarre, unfamiliar feelings – but it was far more logical to assume that Gyro was just a man who believed in honour.

Regardless, Johnny smiled as he thought of the man who shifted beside him, clutching his teddy bear. At the very least, he knew he had uncovered Gyro's soft, gentler side and that he could trust him. At that moment, it was far more than enough.

Glancing up at the skies once more before closing his eyes and snuggling his head into his arms, he briefly reminded himself to ask Gyro about the stars in the night sky in the morning.

END

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Bitter Fruit, a Persona 4 fanfic

Title: Bitter Fruit
Summary: You know what the most horrible feeling in the world is, right?
Rating: T
Pairing: One-sided Kanji/Yosuke, one-sided Yosuki/Souji.
Warnings: Slash, angst
Disclaimer: Belongs to Atlus. WHERE IS STRANGE JOURNEY, FATLUS? MAKE IT HAPPEN!

You know what the most horrible feeling in the world is, right?

Maybe for you, it's being unable to tell your mother how much you love and care for her instead of having to show her in some crazy, roundabout way. Thought I admit that I'd like to see how you do it this time.

Maybe it's despite the fact that they are your friends, no matter who you are and no matter what happens, but you still can't bear to know that they saw you like that, in your weakened and exposed form. You were ugly.

And even though you suppose the whole experience made you a better person and allowed you to face up and deal with the truth, maybe you feel horrible that you still have to be tough and brave and put on a show for everyone. But maybe that's just who you really are. Maybe you've been at it for so long that it's been chiseled into your psyche now.

But is it really a reason to hide from your friends, from those who love and support you? Why hurt the ones that want to help? Maybe that's where all the guilt you secretly harbour comes from.

Or maybe the most horrible feeling in the world is the fact that the one you're in love with – yes, him – is oblivious. Perhaps not completely, but you can see him clinging to the past he had. Because when you're sleeping with him and despite the desires and strong emotions at your core you know it's all a meaningless fling.

And this is all cemented even further when he mouths and sometimes moans a name that is not yours. It just makes you want to grab him and shake him and tell him he needs to wake up to reality and that Souji isn't there anymore, that he never really shared those feelings Yosuke nurtured so tenderly.

Or maybe the most horrible feeling in the world is the fact that you can't say those words at all, and it sickens you. Deep down, it's a rude slap that one could easily turn back towards you, and you know it would make perfect sense.

Whatever the most horrible feeling in the world is, I can see a common point between all of them.

You don't have the courage to say what you feel.

And you can't figure out why you don't.

END

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The following crazy crossover fanfic is for my good pal BobTheDarkOne/Recess Rapist, because it is his birthday. We were chatting and then he mentioned WOW MAYBE THIS PAIRING WILL BE AWESOME BECAUSE THEY BOTH HAVE LIGHTSABERS.

Anyway, I don't know what I've written either. Masked Man is pretty OOC, but I am going to blame the fact that I have been reading Tatsumairi doujinshi.

Title: All In A Day's Work
Summary: Travis' next mission is not what he expected.
Pairing: Travis/Masked Man
Warnings: Strange slash, M3 SPOILERS, cussing.
Disclaimer: NMH belongs to GHM and Mother 3 belongs to Nintendo, amongst other folk.

---

Jeez, peace in its most extreme form is not ideal, thought Travis as he hopped off the bizarre little bus he had taken from Santa Destroy all the way to this strange place. He had forgotten what this place was called - that is, until he looked up and saw a large sign - New Pork City. "Sounds pretty fruity to me." He muttered to no-one. And fruity it was; with its colours and bright lights flashing non-stop, there didn't seem to be a single corner that was touched by darkness. He had never been to a city quite like it before.

Somehow, he felt an odd desire to walk around, get himself on one of the several Ferris wheels. See the whole city from up high. Travis guessed it was his, ahem, rather immature nature shining through. But he couldn't spare the time – there was a reason he was here.

He recalled how Sylvia had called him up late a few nights ago, telling him in her smooth voice about how she was sending him on a little excursion to some weird place thousands of miles away. It wasn't a ranked battle, but she had supposed Travis would be bored when he wasn't killing people, or something like that. He wouldn't need to pay for this match either. “Think of it as the bonus stage, yes?” She had chirped. He accepted without question.

This guy he was supposed to be assassinating, King Porky, looked like he had made quite a name for himself. A full city named after him. Kids and their mothers alike all totally pleased with how fantastic a ruler he was. Not to mention all the soldiers dressed in pig head-shaped helmets.

Wonder if he can get any? Travis snorted to himself, realising shortly after that he sounded like a pig. How fitting. He groaned.

He eventually found his destination, a gaudy, impossibly tall building. The sign on the front showed the words: 'Empire Porky Building'. Trying to make his way inside, he was stopped by a man in a rather formal outfit, a long moustache reaching down to his chin. “Hold it there, son. I'm going to have to ask what your business here is.”

“Me?” Travis pointed innocently at himself. That particular moment didn't really call for balls-to-the-wall action. Too many kids around. Carnage was going to have to wait. “Just a tourist.”

“Go on ahead, then!” The guard smiled kindly. “I mean, there was no way I was expecting you to say that you were an assassin or anything. That would be pretty silly, huh?”

“Definitely. Yep. Well, thank you.” Travis stepped past the waving guard, his beam katana knocking comfortingly against his leg as he strolled towards the elevator. He had a feeling he didn't need to worry about the guard anymore anyway. He seemed pretty incompetent.

Travis entered the lift alone, pressing the button next to a little gold plaque that read 'Throne Room'. He figured that of all the places in this goddamn building, the guy would probably be there. Hopefully with a harem of women.

Licking his dry lips, his hand moved automatically towards the katana on his waist as the lights on the elevator display blinked closer and closer to a capital 'T'. 'T' for 'Travis'. 'T' for 'Touchdown'. It was like he was destined to be there.

So as though he was reaching out, ready to grasp this opportune moment - to spill blood, to impress Sylvia, to do all those things he had been living for thus far - he jumped out from behind the lift door, the beam of his weapon flashing.

He had expected... something. But the empty, lavish room was devoid of all life, betraying his expectations. No bodyguards rushing to restrain or beat him senseless. No fat, grinning King Porky (as he had been led to believe from all of those posters and statues scattered around the city).

And of course, no babes.

Travis sighed loudly, his voice bouncing off the marble walls, taking a seat on one of the steps leading up to the massive throne that sat on a platform at the back of the room. I guess I could've gotten the wrong room, he thought to himself as he pulled the worn, leather glove off his right hand, rubbing his calloused fingers. Now, where else would a King be...

But it was a mistake to be distracted, as Travis realised just in the nick of time that something was swooping down towards him. He evaded whatever it was, rolling over to the side while grabbing his katana, its blade extending as he pressed the small button on the side. No way in hell could an animal be that big...

It wasn't an animal, but a pint-sized man. Or rather, a kid. A kid with strange, mechanical wings was wearing what looked a lot like an aviator's suit, complete with a helmet and a visor that masked his face. “Now I've seen everything,” Travis muttered, scrambling to his feet and holding his katana up, ready to strike. The kid drew a weapon very similar to his own.

“Did you come here to kill Master Porky?” He asked, hovering in midair, his voice surprisingly deeper than what Travis had been expecting. Maybe it was a man after all. A midget.

“Well, yeah. I'm an assassin, so don't get in my way!” Feeling oddly pleased at his rather macho taunt, Travis lunged forward, his leg muscles contorting as he prepared himself to perform a jumping slash. But the Masked Man dodged easily before propelling himself towards the assassin, his sword skimming dangerously close to his face. “Goddammit, that wing shit is cheating!” gasped Travis, struggling to regain his composure.

It was a little hard to do so, what with this crazy guy zooming around the room too quickly for Travis to keep up. However, for him, pussying out was not an option. He knew that he had to complete this mission – if only to impress Sylvia.

But of course, this was all before he saw the Masked Man aiming at something above his head. And gravity worked against him. Somehow, his consciousness faded before he could feel any pain.

*

When Travis awoke, his first reaction was to grope at his waist and at the ground beside him for his katana. After all, that freak might be standing right above him, ready to deal the finishing blow.

What seemed like forever passed, and Travis finally gave up and opened his eyes, ready for a fatal injury. Nothing happened. All that he could sense a change in was his physical condition. His chest ached when he breathed, and a sharp pain shot through him as he tried to sit up.

“I wouldn't do that if I were you.” The suddenness of the warning and the realisation that the Masked Man was sitting on the stairs not three feet away from him, albeit even in the same room as him, made him yelp in surprise.

The Masked Man sighed, as though he was used to such a negative reaction from people, fumbling at something wrapped in plastic. He soon pulled a serve of hot dog sushi out of the packet, tossing it at Travis. “Here. I can tell you don't live around here, so... it'd be cruel to make you crawl all the way home with those broken ribs of yours.”

Travis stared suspiciously down at the strange item of food in his hand where he had caught it.

“It's not poisoned, ok? If I wanted to kill you I would've done so by now.”

“Then why didn't you?” Travis asked, stuffing the sushi into his mouth. “I thought you were supposed to protect the King or whatever. Aren't you afraid I'll come back and kill him for real?”

The Masked Man's mouth curved into a smirk. “I know you won't.”

“Fucking hell.” Travis sat up properly this time, feeling much better than he did a minute ago. “What kind of an assumption is that? You don't know me or anything.”

“Hmm.” The Masked Man scanned Travis, as though re-evaulating his previous comment. “Well, you're wearing a shirt with ten year-old girls on it.”

Travis gaped at him. “Wh-what the fuck does that have to do with anything? If I had my katana I swear to god I'd -”

But then much to his surprise, The Masked Man walked over to him, just so that he was face to face with the assassin. Even stranger yet, he planted his lips firmly on Travis'.

“Mmmf!” Travis flailed his arms wildly. He was sure there was some sort of law regarding this kind of thing, especially now that since the Masked 'Man' was so close, he was sure that he was younger than he expected. He could only imagine jail time.

The kiss eventually stopped and Travis wiped his mouth thoroughly while the Masked Man stared at him, a smirk still plastered on his face. “If you're wondering why I did that... I guess it's just amusing, guys like you. The depressing sort. Guys like you... I don't think you can get any, can you?”

“Don't pity me, fucking kid! You're too young to think about that kind of shit.”

“Hahaha.” The Masked Man chuckled, and in the way the light caught his visor, Travis could see his gleefulness beaming through the single eye. “You know, I like you. You make me... forget my worries.”

The Masked Man threw Travis his katana and his leather glove. “Oh, and don't forget these.” Smiling once more, he vanished before his eyes.

Travis was left sitting upright in the middle of the throne room, utterly confused. It was only after a few minutes had passed that he finally willed himself to stand up and walk over to the elevator, ready to leave New Pork City, wondering how he was going to explain his defeat to Sylvia.

“... Goddamn.”

END

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Spill, a Yakuza/Ryu ga Gotoku fanfic

Title: Spill
Summary: What's with you two?
Rating: K+
Pairing: Majima/Kazuma, vague hints of Kazuma/Sayama
Warnings: Slash (of course), mild het.
Disclaimer: Not mine, no sir.

Kazuma honestly had no idea what Kaoru had meant when she said, “Come on, we're going out.”

This time it seemed like she was doing all the leading around, ducking into various restaurants and giving the menus glances so quick that Kazuma could barely keep up.

He could barely keep up with whatever she was thinking anyway. There had to be some purpose behind this, right? He supposed it was what most people would call a 'date'. He couldn't really be sure, being unfamiliar with the concept of 'dates', despite having been called out by some women while working at ADAM.

So it was at a table in Sushi Gin that the whole night took a weird twist, one that made him think. Kaoru was picking at a piece of sashimi, swirling it around in her plate of soy sauce when she decided to ask: “So, what's the relationship between you and Majima?”

“What do you mean?” he asked calmly, trying to choose another portion of raw fish from the dish in the center of the table.

He thought he heard her mumble: “Jeez, you know what I mean”, but he was unsure and just continued staring down at the dish. She lost her patience. “Oh, come on! You know!”

“Uh... no. No, I'm afraid I don't.” Kazuma said honestly. She gave a frustrated groan.

“You and Majima seem... close.”

“Well, yeah. I mean, he is a higher rank than me and all that -”

“That's not what I meant, Mr. Kiryuu.”

Kazuma stopped, puzzled once more. He thought he was really onto something there, beginning to understand her, but he supposed he was wrong. But then, he had no idea what she could possibly be hinting at. 'Close'?

“He... you know, he took care of me and all that.”

“'Took care of you' how?” Kaoru stared at him across the table, her eyes seeming to pierce into his heart. He had to admit that it made him slightly nervous, but he still couldn't say that he knew what she was getting at.

“Like... a... brother? Like they always do in the yakuza?” he answered honestly, but she sighed, exasperated.

“Do I have to spell it out for you, Mr. Kiryuu?” she said rather loudly, causing more than a few patrons to turn their heads and whisper amongst themselves. Realising the reactions of those around her, she lowered it to a more respectable volume. “I'm asking you if you and Goro Majima are, or were, lovers.”

Certainly, it was enough of a question to make Kazuma almost spit out his piece of fatty tuna. Kaoru cocked an eye at his strange behaviour as he spluttered, embarrassed. Indeed, it was the first time she had ever seen him act in such a way.

“It's there a problem, Mr. Kiryuu?” she asked. “I'm merely asking you a question. You don't need to be embarrassed or ashamed.”

“What's with that kind of question?” Kazuma was wiping his face bashfully, avoiding her gaze. “It's a pretty personal one, don't you think?”

“It's just, given your... interactions... I'd like to know the full story before I jump to any conclusions.” She stared, meaning to be forceful in her actions, but knew that she couldn't be so cruel as to pry an answer out of him if he didn't want to discuss such personal matters.

She sighed. “Actually... don't worry about it. Please pass me the ginger.”

He did so, finally looking at her as though he was trying to prove that her question didn't affect him that much. But she knew it did.

Nevertheless, he shrugged, resuming his enjoyment of his meal. She looked up from her plate briefly, watching him as he helped himself to some radish. Don't worry, Kaoru, she thought to herself. You'll find out someday. He'll spill.

END

A/N: Or is it? Maybe this will turn into a rambling multichap.

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Half-Time, a Metal Gear Solid fic

Title: Half-Time
Summary: Egotistical and irresistible and so... alive.
Rating: M
Pairing: Liquid/Solid
Warnings: Incest, slash, non-explicit porn, PWP.
Disclaimer: Kojima's.
Notes: Oh god, this is so old. I'm posting it now because I just found it and I like it.

Arrogance. It was all there on his handsome, smirking face, plain and obvious. It seemed to suit him and although it was the only facial expression conveyed, Dave didn't seem to mind. After all, it was impossible to know how he was truly feeling anyway. It seemed to calm him, even if it was just a little.

However, Dave knew that with the twisting, harsh body and seductive words lay a human above him, warm-blooded with a heart pumping, just like him. Under these circumstances, he could act no differently from Dave himself. Except that right at this moment, in Dave's eyes, he was irresistible. Egotistical and irresistible and so... alive.

As he moved fingers, hand, mouth downwards, holding him in his grasp and charms, his eyes spoke of something obscure, yet so wonderful. Obscure, but it was happening. And Dave never wanted it to stop.

And he thrust in, forceful, hard, rough. Yet beneath that, there was some sort of gentle kindness, maybe because Liquid knew he was his own flesh and blood, his brother. Perhaps that was why he was so alluring to begin with.

Yes, what was before him was most definitely real.

END

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Anxiety: Chapter 6, a Transformers fic

Anxiety, Chapter 6. In which the Autobots take action.

In his mind, Ultra Magnus quickly counted the number of Decepticons. We're outnumbered, he thought solemnly, sincerely wishing that Rodimus had taken his advice and brought more than just a handful of the Aerialbots and the Protectobots. “We definitely can't take any off their duties on Cybertron,” the leader had reasoned. “And we can't wait for men to arrive from Earth, given the state of the space bridge.” Hmm, Rodimus did have a point...

... and as he thought that, he found he did too, except this one was ramming squarely against his chest. Somewhere, he could hear Rodimus shouting, “Magnus!” as the force of the hit sent him flying backwards. He managed to regain his balance just in time to see Galvatron lunging towards him again, parrying the would-be blow to slam his elbow into the Decepticon leader's back. “I've got this under control, Rodimus!”

Rodimus gave a signal in the affirmative and turned back to the remainder of his troops, quickly issuing his orders. Magnus had been right; they should've brought more soldiers, regardless of the shortages on Cybertron. He growled softly, remembering the circumstances that had led them to this battle...

“Rodimus Prime, sir! Emergency transmission!” Blaster saluted as Rodimus rushed towards the console, allowing the transmission to feed through. A robot's urgent face, humanoid though far different in appearance than a Transformer's, flashed up on the screen. Rodimus recognised the robot as an Enkian and vaguely recalled having met a few of them during his intergalactic travels.

“This is Dr. Molbane from the Planet Enk. Please, we need your assistance in a very important matter. Am I speaking to Rodimus Prime, leader of the Autobots?”

“Prime here.” Rodimus nodded. “What's the situation, Dr. Molbane?”

“I'll try and relay the events as quickly as possible. A few cycles ago, a civilian brought in a test subject, who attempted to resist capture. We incapacitated him, but his comrades stormed the building where he was being held and rescued him. I-I think they've left Enk, but before that, they... they razed whatever they could. They've caused so much destruction and caused so many deaths, I... I...” The Enkian's voice faltered. “Please, we need you to dispose of these monsters before they return to satisfy their sadistic inhibitions!”

Rodimus and Blaster exchanged an uncomfortable look. As sad as the situation was, they weren't sure that it was a good idea to spare troops to go hunting for a handful of assailants. That, and the doctor seemed like a panicky sort. Rodimus sighed softly.

“What can you tell me about these, uh... monsters?”

“I remember I saw them transform.”

This made both Blaster and Rodimus sit up immediately, alert and listening. “Decepticons?”

“I... yes, I think that's what they were called. They rescued a purple one, one with two horns on his head. They were led by a blue one with wings.”

“Dammit, that's them all right.” Rodimus muttered. “Look, we'll do something about them, Dr. Molbane. Just sit tight, I'll contact you when I'm close to your planet.”

“Thank you, Rodimus Prime. You really are as gracious and merciful as they say.” The doctor, somewhat relieved, disappeared from the screen.

I'm really not, thought Rodimus, feeling a pang of guilt at the fact that he would have refused their request if the attackers had not been Decepticons.

That reminded him – he had to contact the Enkians. Quickly flipping through his memory bank for the transmission frequency Blaster had given him, he sent a brief message: AT THE OUTSKIRTS OF ENK. CURRENTLY ENGAGING DECEPTICON TROOPS. Which led him to wonder why he hadn't been targeted yet.

He knew he had spoken too soon as a beam whizzed past his head, knowing that several more would inevitably follow. He sidestepped them quickly and charged towards the Sweep that had fired the shots, raising his own blaster and pulling the trigger.

*

Amidst the mayhem, Cyclonus made sure that he stayed close to the Decepticon leader, whose fury at being ambushed had driven him to single-handedly take on First Aid, Fireflight and Slingshot. At this point, Ultra Magnus had turned his attention towards Cyclonus, taking calculated swipes at him. “What is your problem anyway, Cyclonus? Attacking innocent townsfolk and destroying half their city?”

“I don't need to explain my actions to you, Autobot scum. But how would you feel if you were separated from Prime?” Cyclonus smirked, managing to kick Magnus in the shin and catching him in a fierce headlock. “It was the same thing. Oh, the agony they put me through... although it's nothing compared to what you'll be feeling when I'm done with you.” Magnus gasped and struggled as a hand inched towards his optics. Next he heard was a loud groan of pain as Cyclonus' grip loosened enough to allow him to wriggle free.

Rodimus was beside him, blaster ready, pulling him away from the Decepticon. “You ok?”

“I'm fine now.” He managed a smile of thanks, scanning the battleground to gauge the progress of the other Autobots. A wave of anxiety settled over him as he realised that unless they were able to tip the battle in their favour, the battle would continue this way for a long time more. Time was something they didn't have. Rodimus must have realised this as well, for they both looked at each other, nervous.

At that moment, Rodimus' transmitter began beeping and he activated it. “Rodimus here.”

“Rodimus Prime, Dr. Molbane here. You're having trouble, I take it? We... we have something you may be able to use to turn the tables. Us scientists have been dabbling in weaponry for the last few months. It's merely a prototype, but... we can offer you a bomb.

A bomb? Rodimus glanced at Magnus, who seemed to weigh up the consequences of using such a weapon in his processor before nodding. After all, they couldn't expect to win wars without taking a few risks.

“We'll take it, doctor.”

“If that is the case, we will transfer the bomb into your possession once you reach our headquarters. I will give you the coordinates.” Taking note of them, Rodimus shouted, “Autobots, follow me!”, pathing his way towards the large building in the middle of the planet, the other Autobots hurrying after him as quickly as they could.

Galvatron let out a loud growl, optics sweeping across his troops. “What are you fools waiting for?! AFTER THEM!” Several of them looked uneasy but obeyed the command nevertheless, leaving Cyclonus and his leader floating a few meters away from them.

“Lord Galvatron, is this a wise decision? I overheard whoever was communicating with Prime mention something about... a bomb?”

Galvatron merely laughed harshly, beginning to ready his thrusters to jet off towards Enk. “Even if they did have that weapon, do you really think they would be foolish enough to use it? They'd take out the population of that city and perhaps even themselves!”

I'm sure they're not THAT foolish, Galvatron, Cyclonus thought rather glumly. Not to mention we know nothing about this bomb. It might be some new technology we've never seen before... “Forgive me, Lord Galvatron, but this might be nothing we've ever encounte-”

But Galvatron, clearly in a good mood, merely pushed him aside while flying past him and laughing. “Cyclonus, Cyclonus. You worry too much. If you're right about this whole bomb thing... you can say 'I Told You So'.”

This left him not knowing what to expect.

*

The Autobots had landed safely in the Enkian capital's town square and began hurrying into the scientists's headquarters. On their way in, they ran past crowds that had gathered to see them land, noticing that their expressions were fearful, a few full of anger and rage. It was small moments like those that made Rodimus hate the Decepticons even more, seeing how they had drawn a peaceful, trusting planet unnecessarily into their feud.

A guard, seeing this unusual party, nodded curtly and marched towards a large hall in the center of the building, the doors sliding open to reveal a round table, several Enkians gathered around. One of them looked up upon hearing the soft clinking of metal hitting gray stone, his mood visibly brightening slightly. Rodimus recognised him as the Enkian he had been keeping in contact with.

“Rodimus Prime and his Autobot warriors. Thank you for coming to our aid.” Molbane bowed his head and the others followed suit.

“Just doing my job.” Rodimus smiled, only to be nudged by Ultra Magnus. He cleared his throat, “So as not to prolong your suffering, please give us the weapon we agreed to use to destroy the Decepticons with.”

“Doesn't mince words, does he?” One muttered, as a small chest was carried out. Keying in a long and complex security code, the lid swung open and Molbane lifted out a simple-looking device with a keypad on its top. It was no larger than a standard energon cube.

“Let me quickly explain. See this keypad? You need to enter a code to activate it. The code is 8812. After that, press 1, and then the number of seconds before the bomb explodes. I should also mention that once you set the bomb, it can't be deactivated. Are these instructions clear?”

Not very articulate for a scientist, is he? Rodimus smirked a little and Magnus elbowed him again.

“Crystal.” He was handed the bomb, eyeing it slowly as he tucked it under his arm. “The only problem that remains is where we're going to detonate this thing without harming your people or causing further destruction...”

“Lead them northwest from here, 300 klicks.” Another Enkian spoke up, pointing in the direction they needed to head in. “There's a canyon there. If the bomb fails to destroy them, the rockslide will.”

“Gotcha. We'll take 'em out, don't worry. This'll be beneficial to both our species.” Rodimus bowed respectfully to the Enkian council and were led out. As soon as they were out of the building, they took to the air, dodging one or two Decepticon shots.

“Gee, what was with that sarcasm?” Ultra Magnus asked, somewhat displeased with his friend's comments earlier.

“Hey, we're about to beat the Decepticons, right? I guess some of my happiness leaked out.”

Magnus sighed. “Don't get too confident, Rodimus.”

“Me? Never.” He laughed, landing and signalling his troops to do so as well. Upon noticing that the Decepticons were about to land and attack them from the ground, he said, ““Alright guys, you know what the plan is,” and quickly keyed in the code Molbane had given him and set the time: thirty seconds.

And what a frantic thirty seconds they were too.

Almost as soon as the Decepticons hit the ground running, most of the Autobots had taken off, with Rodimus remaining to hurriedly bury the bomb under a small pile of rocks. His men made sure no-one had noticed this by keeping them busy, firing wildly at them from almost every direction. Soon, Rodimus followed them and they flew as fast as they could, not wanting to get caught up in the explosion.

Only then did Cyclonus realise the danger they were in. Scourge noticed his sudden distress. “What's wrong, Cyclonus?”

“That damned coward! He's planted a bomb somewhere!” He yelled, causing every Decepticon to scurry and begin scanning the rocky terrain for something made of metal.

“There is no time, you fools!” Galvatron was in the air now, ready to retreat. “We must not-”

And suddenly, there was a flash.

*

Back on Enk, several Enkians sat perched around asystem that had been cobbled together purely for the purpose of assisting the Autobots in their battle. The bomb had detonated successfully, taking the rocky walls surrounding the small, barren battlefield with it.

“No life readings detected, sir.” said one Enkian, throwing down his headset in relief.

“Well done everyone,” said the lead scientist, smiling victoriously. “Well done.”

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Anxiety: Chapter 5, a Transformers fic

Anxiety, Chapter 5. In which they are reunited.

The busy city at the center of the Enkian capital was almost completely ruined.

While not directly causing death to any civilians, eyewitnesses stated that the alien robots that had mysteriously arrived on their planet had destroyed several buildings and monuments, the debris injuring and killing hundreds. They had last been seen, much to everyone's relief, leaving the planet – no doubt to return to wherever they had come from. But grief and sorrow was rife amongst the Enkians, as most had never seen such destruction in their long lives.

No-one knew why those robots had landed on the planet, or how they had been able to do so in the first place. All the Enkians knew that the Peacemaker, the name given to the large shield that hovered over their planet, honing in on and incapacitating anyone and anything that drifted too close, would have prevented anyone from getting in. Some were beginning to question whether the scientists in charge of the machine were capable of operating it correctly and whether they did in fact need a military service. Others were too concerned with their own wellbeing to ponder such cynical thoughts.

The scientists, however, had realised. The horrible truth was that they were incompetent. Having been so excited about having captured a live, rare specimen, no one had taken any notice of the fact that he had slammed himself roughly into the Peacemaker's control panel, disabling it. And as for why they were here, it was obvious. They were his loyal comrades, the one the Decepticon had talked about when he was cornered.

They scurried about what had once been their haven, full of knowledge and data about the strange things they had encountered. But it was gone now, most of it charred and inaccessible. But most importantly to them at that moment, the console that controlled the Peacemaker has been completely destroyed. It was marked now by a hole that had been melted around the edges, no doubt the result of a high-energy beam being at it. The scientists stared at it as despair began to set in. But of course, there was one solution left...

Somewhere else in the capital, Foll sat at his workbench, head buried in his hands.

---

Without a doubt, the successful locating and rescuing of Cyclonus had given the Decepticon a considerable boost in morale. Everyone was much more jovial and lively than they had previously been, but Cyclonus remained quiet, having barely said two words since they had left Enk. Scourge noticed this and fell back to fly beside him, meaning to have a quick word. “Are you alright?”

Cyclonus smirked slightly. “It's not like you to ask that kind of thing.”

“I'm just concerned. Concerned for a friend.” Scourge shrugged, as though his words were the most casual in the galaxy. Yet deep inside he had meant this sincerely, and was relieved when something flashed in Cyclonus's optics. Somehow, he knew that this meant he was truly grateful.

“Lord Galvatron!” Someone exclaimed, and the group stopped, assembling themselves around Cyclonus as though they were presenting him. Cyclonus saluted as Galvatron stood before him, accompanied by the Constructicons. He opened his mouth, trying to find the right words to use to greet the leader with, but was cut short by a crude bark.

“You FOOL! You thought you could take your time!?”

Cyclonus winced, expecting a painful blow. Yet it never came, and he could suddenly see something about Galvatron's manner that he would never expect anyone else to. It wasn't like Galvatron to pass up the opportunity to inflict a violent blow upon his troops, let alone meet up with one who had gone missing for a few cycles upon his rescue. He himself could scarcely believe it, but there was only one logical conclusion he was able to draw from this: Galvatron had missed him. And there was something about this that made Cyclonus indescribably happy, that made the corners of his mouth twitch into a small smile. He had meant for it to be a very quick smile, one that no-one else would be able to catch, but Galvatron certainly did, for he shouted: “What are you grinning about?!”

“N-nothing of course, Lord Galvatron!”

“Laughing at the inconvenience you put me through?!”

Galvatron looks as though he's about to bust a gear, thought Scourge, but was relieved at the reunion between the two. He knew it was something that everyone would welcome, something that would mean an improvement in Galvatron's mood, no matter how slight. But then at that moment, he saw something approaching them at a high speed. Adjusting his optics, he realised what it was.

“Autobot troops!” He shouted, immediately scrambling to draw his blaster.

“What?! How did they know of our position?” Galvatron fired a few shots into the advancing convoy, before giving a yell and charging into them headfirst. The remainder of the Decepticons glanced at each other for a moment, the same thought passing through all of them: He's slaggin' crazy. They turned to Cyclonus, seeking guidance from someone with sanity hardcoded into him.

Perhaps he was still somewhat shaken from his experience with the Enkians, but there was something odd about the way his comrades looked at him, as though his absence had made them appreciate him so much more. So when he raised his arm, pointing them towards their enemies, he felt proud, mighty, and most of all, like he could do anything. “Decepticons, charge!”

And as they did so, rushing forward, weapons and fists at ready, Scourge eyed his fellow Lieutenant as he jetted by, as though trying to say Yeah... I'm really glad you're back.

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Pit Stop, a Silent Hill: Homecoming fanfic

Title: Pit Stop
Summary: It's just payment.
Rating: M
Pairing: Travis/Alex
Warnings: Slash, kind of but not really graphic porn.
Disclaimer: Silent Hill is not mine because I am a complete and utter pansy.

---

BUT FIRST, A NOTE.

Today I received a review from la-raton, in which I was informed that fanart had been drawn based on that one fanfic I wrote about Alex and Travis and, um, payment for his truck drive to Shepherd's Glen.

Have a link to the fanart.

I really, really like it, especially since it's not SPARKLY KAWAII MOEMOE ANIMU bullshit. Again, thank you la-raton!

----

Maybe he should have known that he wouldn't be able to rely on the kindness of strangers alone. Or maybe he had been taking it for granted, especially after something as horrible as war.

He had walked for about half an hour before deciding it would be far easier to flag down the truck that was pulling past. The driver, kind enough, allowed him to hop in.

A few words of good nature were exchanged, such as, “Where are you going? You a soldier? How long have you been away from home?” Alex answered them all, and thought that he rather liked this driver with his gruff laugh and coarse hands.

It was a good three or four hours later, when Travis had stopped the truck at a small diner that those hands were wrapped firmly around his hips. It's just payment, Alex thought, yet he was perfectly willing as the trucker gave a throaty murmur of, “You've got a pretty mouth, boy,” his breath reeking of something alcoholic.

Those hands weren't so unpleasant either, as they snaked past briefs to fondle that thing – that thing Alex hadn't touched or even thought about for a long time, because it sure as hell wasn't as important as preserving one's own life.

Well, that's what he would think in any situation, except for this one.

And as though to remind him that: “Easy soldier, I'm no fairytale princess” - Travis pulled Alex's pants down in one swift movement, leaving bare skin and sensitive organs exposed to the cold, ready to swell at his discretion.

Maybe this was a common occurrence for the trucker, or maybe he was just constantly counting his lucky stars, because the older man suddenly pulled out a tiny foil packet and a bottle of lube. “Relax, kid, and keep your eyes on the prize.”

Somehow, this made Alex inclined to focus his eyesight on his own reflection on the hood of the truck, barely visible thanks to the poor lighting of this desolate place. Then he was pushed roughly and he could feel something inside him, something that didn't feel bad, but still felt weird. It rubbed against his insides insistently.

Travis made no attempt to silence himself, instead grunting “Yeah” every few thrusts, which were deep and fast and -

Kinda like a gun... a pump-action, or a recoil, or

And he suddenly felt that weird something twitch, like that of a gun firing.

Then there was Travis, lying heavily against him, somewhat crushing his ribs, pulling out and tossing the condom somewhere.

“Pit stop's over, soldier. Get your gear on and let's move.”

END

A/N: But you shouldn't drink and drive!

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Monday Morning, a Professor Layton fic

Title: Monday Morning
Summary: Luke sees something strange.
Rating: M
Pairing: Chelmey/Layton
Warnings: Slash, porn.
Disclaimer: Level-5's.

Monday morning, good weather.

Luke's trip to the bakery for breakfast was uneventful but full of familiar faces. Well, the only thing he felt a tad guilty for was running away from that old lady who always pinched his cheeks. He knew that if the Professor ever found out, he would berate him but really, he couldn't stand those wrinkly fingers at all.

He was gleeful nonetheless, for it was a holiday. Munching on a chocolate croissant he skipped up to the door of the home he shared with the Professor. He stopped dead, however, when he heard an odd banging sound. The Professor's in trouble! was his first thought, and he was ready to charge in and (try to, at least) fight off the assailant. But then he heard a low moan, one of... enjoyment.

The situation was getting curiouser.

Luke tiptoed as quietly as he could around to the back, crawling under the kitchen window. Those noises were getting louder, and he could make out a: “You're doing really well, Layton.” How strange...

The noises seemed to be coming from the Professor's office and Luke continued crawling until he made it to the window looking in. Standing up on tiptoe, he peered in, a most bizarre sight reaching his innocent eyes.

Firstly, he wondered why the Professor wasn't wearing any pants at all, and why Inspector Chelmey was in the room too, standing so close behind in. After all, he couldn't think of any sort of game where two people had to bang their hips and buttocks into each other. Was it a rule of the game to see who could do it faster? Because if it was, judging by Chelmey's energetic performance he would have won.

Suddenly, Luke realised. He remembered a biology book he had read once in the library – something about 'reproduction'. Or rather, 'sex'. B-but Chelmey isn't a woman, and neither is the Professor... so why are they doing this?

A sudden shout caused him to almost jump in fright, but he gritted his teeth. Instead he kept watching as Chelmey took something out of the Professor's and zipped up his pants. “You really are the best, Layton,” Chelmey laughed, turning on his heel and leaving the room. A few seconds later, Luke heard the front door open and close again. Then he heard the Professor sigh softly, staggering out of the room while carrying his pants.

Luke ran quickly back to the front door, debating what to do. I suppose it would be better to pretend I never saw that, he reasoned, entering the house and chirping, “Professor, I've brought breakfast!”

“Ah, thank you, my boy.” Layton appeared, face still slightly flushed. “Let's eat, shall we?”

“Yes!” He watched as the Professor tipped the bag full of assorted pastries onto a plate, but could see the uneasiness in his eyes.

The Professor knew Luke knew.

But neither of them really understood what the events of Monday morning had meant.

END

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Anxiety: Chapter 4, a Transformers fic

Anxiety, Chapter 4. In which Scourge goes off to find Cyclonus.

Back on Chaar, lava swirled and tempers were high as one of the Sweeps gave his earth-hourly report on Cyclonus's whereabouts. Or rather, his unknown whereabouts.

Galvatron's scowl grew heavier as the Sweep stuttered. “Th-there's still no trace of C-Cyclonus. P-perhaps it might be better for the troops to, uh, um... attempt a scouting mission of that planet? The planet that he landed on, I mean. We should do that and rescue him when h-he's located.”

Without even stopping to administer a brutal beating (although the Sweep was pushed roughly out of the way so that he could make eye contact with Scourge), Galvatron barked, “Gather up your Sweeps and find the Combaticons! I want him back before the stellar cycle is over!”

Once they had saluted and were out of earshot, the Sweep who had reported their supposed 'failure' muttered: “Why is Cyclonus so important, anyway? Even if anything happens to him, can't Galvatron just replace him with you?”

It wasn't really something Scourge had thought about. He couldn't imagine being what Cyclonus was – a diplomatic Decepticon who could stay loyal to his leader while appealing to the remainder of the troops. It was something Scourge admired him for, really. Moreover, he had never imagined a life without Cyclonus, without their little jokes and disagreements. They were more than fellow soldiers fighting for a greater cause; they were friends. Besides, if Cyclonus was gone, wouldn't that mean double the beatings for him?

“Well... it's probably not nearly so simple,” He finally answered. “It's like this. Galvatron can't lose Cyclonus, because Cyclonus is a born supporter. He has the enthusiasm. I have significantly less than he does. And he's like a mouthpiece for everything Lord Galvatron wishes to communicate to us, without all the unnecessary violence. I suppose Galvatron needs Cyclonus to keep us in check.”

“... Hmm.” The Sweep looked like he was deep in thought. “That's all?”

“It's more important than that. I guess Cyclonus's devotion is something we'll never understand either.”

As though the Sweep had a brainwave, his optics lit up. “And it's not like Galvatron is a bad-looking 'Con either.”

Scourge slapped the Sweep over the head. “We will not rumour-monger any further. Assemble the remainder of the Sweeps and I'll find the Combaticons.”

*

A few moments later, a party made of Scourge, the Sweeps, and the Combaticons hovered at a safe distance away from Enk, which they stared at cautiously. Scourge recalled that there had been a strange green mist covering the planet the last time they were here, the same mist that had turned into a twister and sucked Cyclonus down. He had since developed a theory that the mist was in fact, a sort of gaseous shield to protect the citizens of Enk from enemy troops and forces, which led Scourge to wonder if Cyclonus had been captured or whether he had been terminated.

He certainly hoped that it was not the latter.

“Come on, let's go.”

“Shouldn't we shut down their defense systems first?” Onslaught asked with warning in his voice, holding the other Combaticons back.

“Oh, trust me... I think it's already been done.” Without another word, Scourge swooped downwards, the Sweeps following. With a sigh and a mumble of: “Don't blame me if you get turned to scrap,” from Onslaught, so did the Combaticons.

There was little they could do to prevent a sighting by any of the world's inhabitants, but it wasn't as though subtlety was their strong point anyway. Strange-looking beings in the square below were staring at them, some pointing, some looking slightly fearful. Landing in what seemed to be the capital, judging by the number of people that kept their distance from them, Scourge spoke.

“I am looking for one of our kind. Surely one of you must have seen him? He looks nothing like any of you.”

Silence, and as Scourge bent down to take a closer look at the beings, he realised none of them were capable of lying.

“Then tell me, what do you do with your intruders? Do you jail them? Terminate them? Because if you terminate them...” He trailed off, drawing his blaster, accentuating the point he was trying to make. But of course, these beings were smart. One of them was pushed out of the crowd in front of the Decepticon party, clearly frightened in the presence of alien beings that were prepared to use lethal force to get their answers.

“I-if it's one of your kind that you're looking for... you should probably try the labs, here in the city. They've probably taken him in for, uh, testing. I don't think your friend is dead though!” He squeaked suddenly, cowering slightly as Scourge's blaster hand made a sudden movement, although it was just so he could sheathe his weapon, laughing.

“Relax. We don't have any intention of harming you. Do we?” Scourge turned to his Decepticon party. They all smirked.

“Not yet,” said Brawl.

“As long as you,” Scourge turned towards the Enkian who had answered their question. “Do as we say. Lead us to these labs.”

The Enkian cast a worried look at his peers, who nodded, some of them waving him on frantically. He also realised that although the robot that seemed to be the leader of the group had put his weapon away, the rest of them had drawn theirs. With a whimper, he did as he was told.

*

The guards had been a pushover, not to mention that they were easily (and amusingly) confused by the Decepticon's sudden transformations into their alternate modes. Not to mention the sheer size of Bruticus almost immediately made them drop their weapons and surrender. “Pathetic excuses for 'guards', wouldn't you agree?” sneered Swindle as he pushed the guard they had taken prisoner forwards, forcing him to speed up his pace.

“I doubt any of them have had formal training.” The Enkian citizen they had used to reach the labs had turned tail as soon as Scourge pulled the trigger on his blaster. Of course, they let him run: “See if anyone's brave enough to retaliate against us,” Onslaught grinned menacingly.

The guard had eventually stumbled to the room where they would apparently find Cyclonus – a testing lab on the eighth floor of the complex. Shoving him roughly out of the way, the Decepticons walked in. It must have been after-hours or a break time, as there was no-one present. No life-forms, except for one that lay on the table, completely immobilised.

Scourge shouldn't have been surprised to see Cyclonus strapped to the table, but something about the scene chilled his circuitry to the spark. Various painful-looking devices lay scattered on a tray beside him along with towers of metal discs.

“Cyclonus!” he rushed over, waving his hand to signal to the Combaticons that they should stay by the entrance of the room and keep watch. Cyclonus emitted a low buzzing noise as Scourge shook him. He noticed that there were wires plugged into him that led to a large generator of some sort. Ripping them out hastily, he deduced that whoever was 'researching' him had been overloading the Decepticon's circuitry, keeping him in a semi-conscious state. The nerve of them... I swear that by the time I'm through with them, they'll-

“S... Scourge?”

Thank Unicron, Scourge thought, nodding in affirmative. “It's me, Cyclonus. We've got you covered.” Seemingly out of nowhere, he produced a large block of energon. “I thought you'd need this.” Watching Cyclonus nod somewhat eagerly and devour the energon, Scourge felt something that seemed to be pride well up inside of him. Galvatron was right. He really is strong.

After energising himself and testing to see that the Enkians hadn't tampered with him any further, he was back to his old self again. “Lord Galvatron will not be pleased with my prolonged absence. We must return immediately!”

“Whoa, hang on.” Scourge eyed him with concern. “I know you're eager to get back to Galvatron, but what did they do to you? What happened after that tornado got you?”

“I...” Cyclonus rubbed his previously injured shoulder thoughtfully. “I crash-landed and was found by one of the denizens of this planet. His attempts at restoring me to my fully-powered state were feeble, so I ordered him to bring me here.”

“The slag! He knew this would happen to you!” Bruticus growled menacingly, slamming his fist into his open palm.

“I doubt he did. His cranial chamber seemed fairly empty.” For the first time since he had woken up, Cyclonus smirked a little and gestured for one of the Sweeps to hand him his confiscated blaster. “Before we leave... I want to pay them back.” With that, Cyclonus fired several shots into different areas of the lab, destroying several machines and pieces of equipment. Laughing and nodding at his fellow Decepticons, they left the facility, debris in a trail behind them.

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Anxiety: Chapter 3, a Transformers fic

I swear this shit is still rolling. I kind of forgot about it.

---

Foll's craft, which Cyclonus had somehow assumed would be a highly advanced and comfortable vehicle, was far smaller than expected. It wouldn't have mattered if it was of a decent size anyway; Foll was still nervous about what the other Enkians would think of him if they knew he was keeping a stranger of a different species without alerting the proper authorities. Which is what I'm doing now, right? Foll glanced back at Cyclonus, who was lying down with his legs curled beneath him, a pile of brown cloth covering him. He hoped the scientists would allow them to get through but more importantly, hoped that Cyclonus wouldn't be angered further. There was something menacing about him, something that Foll could not put his finger on. Perhaps this was only what he believed due to the fact that he knew nothing about this entity, with his desire to leave the planet as soon as possible.

Foll cleared his vocal chords, trying not to show that he was anxious as he asked, “Tell me about yourself, Cyclonus. Who are you? What are you?”

Under the sheets, Cyclonus issued a curt reply. “Who I am and what my purpose is isn't any of your concern, Enkian.”

Of course, an answer like that was to be expected. But the youth pressed on. “When I found you and tried to see if I could do anything, I noticed you had some transforming components. They were the ones that were badly damaged when you fell. Could it be that you are a Transformer?”

“Foolish boy, how could you not realise?” Cyclonus muttered. “Do you know of any other species that can do what I can, if I were in my usual condition?”

“Well, yes, there are the -”

“Rhetoric, Enkian, mere rhetoric.”

The Decepticon's reluctance to speak sent Foll into an awkward, almost bashful silence as he considered whether to continue speaking to him. Using the touchscreen interface to control the craft as they travelled down the ash-grey mountainside, he decided to take a very different line of conversation. “You know, Enk is a giant crater more than anything. I remember when I was a kid, they always told us stories about the creation of our planet. Apparently our planet actually started out as an uncharted moon that happened to be in the path of a rather large meteor one day, and, well... here's a crater!” He laughed a laugh that seemed to rattle around inside him, which made Cyclonus wonder if was in fact completely hollow, save for a few essential processors. And even then, Cyclonus had to wonder just how big they were. The Enkian didn't seem too smart.

“Our ancestor was supposedly a scientist who fled persecution for doing some strange experiments. He landed here and found that the energy sources were quite rich, but he got kinda lonely... so he started building us. And then we built this city. You can't see it from under that pile, but it's actually quite beautiful...” He paused. “Are you lonely?”

“Do I seem the type to be lonely?” Cyclonus snapped.

“Hm, I guess not. But you seem very focused on getting back to your leader, whoever he is. He must be very important to you. I wish I had someone who was that important to me.”

He obviously has no idea that I'm a Decepticon, or who Galvatron is. By Unicron, when I get back to Chaar, Galvatron will thrash me within an inch of my neurosystems. Cyclonus shifted slightly, clenching and unclenching his fist unconsciously. But at least I'll be there.

Deep in thought, he hadn't realised that the craft had stopped until Foll exclaimed “We're here. Do I need to show you my permit?” The question wasn't directed towards Cyclonus, but he had to admit that he had been momentarily confused. Unable to hear what the other party had to say, he caught Foll's side of the dialogue: “I need some repairs done. No, it's quite important. No look, it's not that I'm incompetent, it's just that he's, uh... quite different. Yes, I've tried. Tell your scientists that they can examine him. Yes, thank you.” The craft began moving again and he said, “You can remove those sheets now.”

Glad to be rid of the weight on his body, Cyclonus sat up, noticing that they were in a tunnel now. “We're going to the central chamber. I've never been inside before, so I'm not sure what it'll be like. It'll be an experience for both of us!” Foll chuckled weakly, hoping Cyclonus would be amused. Of course, he was wrong. The silence, awkward as it was, was cut when Foll drove into a large, bright hall. In the center was a huge machine that looked like a generator, which was pointed upwards and jutted out through the roof. Several disproportionate beings, much like Foll, scurried about. Some were grouped around the machine, obviously studying the way it worked. “Stay here,” whispered Foll as he stepped out of the craft. They all looked up at Foll when a voice boomed: “Ah, you must be the youngster with the specimen.”

Cyclonus saw the being who spoke; he was an Enkian, of course, but looked far older than Foll and somehow, had a more mature air about him. Not that that is too hard to have.

“Dr. Gillam.” The older Enkian extended a tiny, fine hand to Foll, who took it in his in a gesture of welcome. “I must thank you for offering to let us look at this being, whatever he is. I trust he is sentient?”

“Yes. He crashed outside my house a mere three cycles ago. I tried patching him up as best I could, but I failed. His circuitry is too complex for my skill, so I thought I would bring him to you.”

“I see.” Gilliam rubbed the metal protrusion on his head which was supposed to represent hair. “May I see this being?”

“Of course. Cyclonus, if you please.” Foll grinned, maybe slightly embarrassed, at Gilliam. “He’s rather, uh, bad tempered.”

“Oh? I see.”

But when Cyclonus pushed the door of Foll’s craft open and emerged, Gilliam’s good-natured smile faded. “You, youngster. Where and when did you find this being again?”

“No more than three cycles ago, doctor. He crashed outside my house... is there a problem?”

“My team and I have been looking for this specimen. For quite some time now, actually.”

A buzz went through Cyclonus’s processor, one that could only mean that this situation would have bad results. Sure enough, as soon as the scientist had finished speaking, three Enkians moved suddenly towards him. He leapt high into the air reflexively, forgetting for a moment that he was straining his wounds and groaning as the pain hit. The Enkians noticed this quickly and immediately formed a tight circle around him, making effective use of his malady.

Foll, looking wildly confused, spluttered: “Wait! What seems to be the problem!? Surely you don’t mean to...”

Gilliam’s eyes flashed as he and his assistants eyed the Decepticon. “If you mean killing him, youngster, of course not. We merely mean to... tame him. Of course, if he cooperates, it will be much simpler.”

“And of course, if you try, you’ll never succeed!” With that, Cyclonus fired blasts in rapid succession at two of the Enkians, sending them stumbling backwards.

Amidst the confusion, Gilliam yelled, “Which fool forgot to disarm him?! I’ll make sure he’s reprimanded accordingly!” For someone whose joints were rusting, the doctor could move quite quickly. He was bolting towards what looked like an emergency arms cabinet and Cyclonus started in his direction, only to be surrounded by a new batch of Enkians. These aren’t even soldiers – they’re scientists, he thought, as he kicked his leg out at them. Hoping that Gilliam would still be fumbling to retrieve a weapon, Cyclonus aimed his blaster while waiting for his attackers to crumple to the ground, a small smirk gracing his features – only to see that the Enkian was already pointing a cannon straight at him. He heard the whir of the barrel charging, saw it glow bright orange and dove to the left just as the trigger was pulled.

It was more a reflex than an action he had thought through. He immediately regretted not thinking about it more carefully earlier as he slammed into a console, depressing a few of the buttons. His blaster flew out of his hands, clattering to the ground a fair way away. He lay dazed on the ground for a few seconds before trying to scramble into a more strategic position that he could take against Gilliam, who was marching steadily towards him.

“Come now, Cyclonus. Look at your wounds, they’ve all opened up. If this continues, who knows what will happen? You don’t want that youngster’s work to be for nothing, do you?” He jerked his head in the direction of Foll, who was cowering in the corner of the lab. “What am I going to do if my only specimen is... imperfect? Besides, what reason do you have for resisting?”

Cyclonus, who had started clutching at his injured shoulder without knowing, snarled suddenly. “I am part of the glorious Decepticon empire. My priority is to get back to my master. It is my goal. But none of you glitchheads – “ He glanced at all the parties in the room as he said this, his optics lingering longest on Foll, “Will ever understand this!” With that, he propped himself up on his hands, lunging forward to deliver a high kick to Gilliam’s hands...

... But the Enkian was too fast for him this time. He was suddenly enveloped in an orange beam that merely tingled at first, but then began an assault upon his senses. He screamed out in pain as he was lifted high up into the air, still being controlled by the cannon. “Of course none of us will understand. We’re scientists... scientists who have a far more simple goal – to gain all the knowledge in the world. I won’t have you resist me.” Gilliam smiled as he gently lowered the agonised Decepticon onto a large table, reinforced steel restraints immediately clapping around him.

“Don’t worry; this won’t cause any permanent damage.”

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Anxiety: Chapter 2, a Transformers fanfic

Anxiety, Chapter 2. In which Cyclonus meets someone new.

---

When Cyclonus opened his eyes, the first thing he noticed was that his surroundings were very unfamiliar. Perhaps he had hoped that the tornado had given him up to outer space and that he would be able to find his way back to Chaar or that he would have been saved by Scourge or Astrotrain, but looking around, he saw neither the cold blackness of the universe nor a familiar room within the Decepticon headquarters. The room seemed like a personal space, like the inside of someone's home.

He sat up, trying to glean exactly where he was and exactly what had happened. He noticed he was sitting on a bed-like surface akin to the operating tables they used back on Chaar. Rising up, he flexed his arms, fingers, legs and neck to check that his basic movements were functioning correctly. Seeing that he was, he limped to the only exit he could see.

Opening the door, he saw the dull grey sky above. He wondered if he was strong enough to transform and fly through the atmosphere, hopefully fast enough to not be seen by any inhabitants. After all, how long had it been since his fall? He wondered if Galvatron had pressed on with his attempt to secure more energon and whether he had sent a squad out to look for him. It didn't really matter if he had not; ultimately, he trusted Galvatron's decision.

He attempted to transform, but was only able to struggle to the point where his arms had retracted into his body. He couldn't bear to do any more, reverting hurriedly to his robot form and panting harshly, his form racked with sudden pain. It was obvious to him that his full strength had not returned. He supposed he would have to settle for second best, that is, try and make it into space in his robot form. However, he failed at this too, falling as quickly as he had jumped. His body made a loud, crumpling sound as he landed painfully on his back, squirming slightly to stop his anguish.

Then he heard footsteps. He scrambled to his feet and groped at his waist for his blaster, but it seemed to have been taken from him...

“Ah, you're awake.” A metallic being slightly larger than himself appeared, its voice gentle. Cyclonus scanned the creature in front of him, noting its large, rounded torso and skinny, poorly proportioned limbs. Its head was round but tapered at the top, at which several brightly-coloured spikes jutted. “I wouldn't try that again if I were you. You could really mess up your circuitry.”

Cyclonus tightened his jaw. “Who are you? And where am I?”

The being smiled, perhaps in an effort to calm the tense Decepticon. “My name is Foll. I'm the one who took you in when you were unconcious. I found you over by those hills.” He gestured with his head, drawing Cyclonus's attention to mountainous landscape that seemed to surround them. “You're on the planet Enk.”

“Enk?” Of course... he had heard of the planet previously. It was never considered by Galvatron as a worthy target; indeed, it was known throughout the universe that the planet was barren, with very few resources to be found. It was renowned, however, for producing some of the finest scientists in the galaxy. He had never seen an Enkian before, and thought, naturally, that they looked rather odd. “This is Enk?”

“Sure. Not as lively as you thought it would be?”

Cyclonus ignored this question, folding his arms. “I've got to get back to my leader. Give me my weapons and let me leave.”

“Whoa, wait, I can't do that.” The Enkian's slit of a mouth curved into a frown. “It really wouldn't be right if I didn't get you some proper treatment. I don't want a... well, a death on my hands.”

Cyclonus knew Foll was right. It would cause Galvatron far more trouble than he was willing to make. And this was assuming he wouldn't be disassembled for spare parts. He sighed, staring up at the Enkian. “How long will this treatment take?”

“Well, it depends.” Foll walked over to a large, steel chest beside the door to his home and lifted the lid, examining its contents. “It seems I have the proper equipment, but... your components are very different from ours. I can't promise anything.”

“Just do it.” Cyclonus brushed impatiently past him and entered the Enkian's home.

*

Astrotrain's cargo hold was filled to the last bare inch with glimmering energon cubes, a fact that Galvatron was more than pleased with. What he was not so pleased with was Cyclonus's sudden disappearance. Nevertheless, he possessed a strong amount of faith in his right-hand man's abilities, saying (quite calmly, Scourge thought) “Cyclonus will be back.”

Naturally, Scourge wished so as well. He certainly didn't want to be the one to bear Galvatron's full abuse. And even though he believed that Cyclonus could pull himself out of danger, he worried, more than he would have liked, about whether he had escaped the planet. The expression on his face as he was sucked down was disturbing to recall. It was as though the vacuum had not just claimed Cyclonus, but had sapped the energy from his very body. Scourge wondered if that tornado was a freak occurance or a weapon of some sort. He didn't want to face either.

Return soon, Cyclonus. Otherwise, who knows what Galvatron will short-circuit next?

*

After what seemed like an eternity, Foll pulled away from Cyclonus's body, clearly frustrated.

“Your circuitry is far too complex...” the Enkian removed his crude eyeglasses, made out of brown metal. “I'm sorry, Cyclonus.”

Cyclonus growled but found he was unable to berate him any further. Remembering that he was merely an unskilled youth, asked: “What about the city?”

“Pardon?”

“Aren't there scientists in the city?”

“Well, yes, but...” Foll thumbed his eyeglasses nervously.

“But what?” Cyclonus made a threatening gesture.

“But, well... they may not accept you. And I don't really want your presence known, y'know?” Foll finished lamely, which caused Cyclonus to fold his arms.

“I don't care, Enkian. Get me fixed no matter what. I have to get back to Chaar.”

Foll sighed, defeated. “I'll get the craft set up, then.”

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Anxiety: Chapter 1, a Transformers fanfic

Title: Anxiety
Rating: T
Summary: Stranded on an unknown planet, a desperate Cyclonus tries to reunite himself with Galvatron and the Decepticons. But is it all that easy?
Warnings: Slash, fluff.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
A/N: This is my first multichap in years. A multichap where the chapters are more than a page long! I have to say I'm quite proud of this but as of writing this note I, uh, haven't finished it. Title might change, due to me not being TOTALLY happy with it. Enjoy. Also, can YOU spot the Furmanism?

---

Something was strange. It was evident in the way their leader, his wounds and pride smarting from their bitter defeat, had not said a word while they retreated as fast as possible to their headquarters. Galvatron's followers, obviously puzzled at his silence, did the same, only daring to give each other troubled glances.

They needn't have worried. Once they had returned, he practically detonated. He made a sound, a soft growl at first, which quickly grew into a rumbling, guttural roar which bounced off every surface and penetrated every audio receptor. Some of the more impressionable Decepticons cowered with fear as Galvatron made short work of a solid, three-inch thick wall. Despite the fact that they were the only ones who had reacted visibly, each and every one of them knew that when he was in this mood, Galvatron could shred them up just as effortlessly as he had the wall.

It was as though they had never lost a battle before. That's how the leader was reacting; it was as though they were warriors who had a perfect track record all this time. Needless to say, they were far from having that.

Cyclonus remembered what had happened next: he had attempted to calm the raging Galvatron, whose broken components were barely a deterrence to his violent actions. "Galvatron, please, you're in need of repairs, you need to calm-"

"NO! I need no repairs!" The mighty tyrant's head whipped around, anger gleaming dangerously in his optics. "I'll tell you what I need. I need to feel my hands around Rodimus Prime's neck!" His hands had formed a clenching motion, as though he were slowly throttling an invisible version of the Autobot leader. It worried Cyclonus to see how vivid his master's imagination was, especially since he knew that he would probably be on the receiving end of those murderous actions. "I long to squeeze the life out of him, until his spark fades..."

"If we don't fix you soon, we'll have no chance of beating them the next time either." The gloom-ridden comment came from none other than Dead End, which, surprisingly enough, did not enrage Galvatron further. In fact, Galvatron seemed to consider these words carefully before throwing his arms down in frustration and stomping off to the medical bay.

Cyclonus looked at Scourge, his fellow lieutenant, and shrugged. They each had the same thought in their cerebral processors; if it had been either one of them that had said what the Stunticon did, Galvatron would have administered a harsh beating. But then, Galvatron was Galvatron: it was extremely difficult, if not impossible, to know what was going on in that processor of his. Cyclonus had been trying to not let thoughts (or concerns, even) of that nature bother him, but that in itself was a terrific feat. After all, hadn't he been created for the purpose of being a servant for the Decepticon cause? To him, it meant being as loyal to Galvatron as possible.

Which is why you're out here, and not in there, he thought, casting a concious look towards the complex which housed the Decepticon force and their necessities. Cyclonus knew that at this very moment, Galvatron would be having welders and precise operations applied to his metallic frame, all while complaining bitterly about the speed at which the poor Decepticon on medic duty worked at. He supposed it was fear.

It was a ridiculous notion at first, but when Cyclonus thought hard about it, it made sense. After all, if there was one thing he could do, it was to admit to himself that he had felt a sense of terror when Galvatron gripped thin air, his powerful steel fingers something something. It made him realise just how strong and ruthless the leader was. Despite his fear, it made him all the more glad to be a Decepticon. With a leader like Galvatron, there was no way the Decepticons could lose.

But still he waited, with a sort of nervousness, for Galvatron to summon him. He leaned back on the rock he sat on, stretching his arms out and taking in the rather barren view of Chaar. A few buildings were beginning to sprout up here and there, thanks to the Decepticon leader's orders and the hard work of the Constructicons. Cyclonus began to wonder how long it would take to turn the planet into a world that actually looked inhabited, but was interrupted by a Sweep who informed him that Galvatron wished to see him.

“Ah, Cyclonus,” Galvatron said, once his lieutenant had arrived, “You certainly took your time getting here, didn't you?”

Cyclonus bowed apologetically. “Forgive me, lord Galvatron.”

“Yes, yes.” The leader waved his hand impatiently. “I require your expertise, Cyclonus. After all, you enjoy that... thing. Strategy.” He turned towards the door and signaled a Sweep, who immediately carried a single block of energon in. “This is all the energon we have left.”

“What?” Cyclonus stared at it. Perhaps he had taken their energon stores for granted; a single energon cube was what they each got per day. He couldn't even begin to imagine the amount of squabbling that would go on if word got out to the rest of the force – although it was likely to be more controlled than the time when they had no leader, when Galvatron had been stuck in a pool of lava on Thrull. Stating the obvious, he said, “This could be dangerous to our troops' morale, mighty Galvatron. Even more so since we've just returned from a loss.”

The Decepticon leader narrowed his eyes at this reminder, shrilling, “Don't you think I would have figured that out already?” Lowering his voice to a more respectable volume, he continued, pointing up to a map on the monitor. “There's a planet that seems to have a suitably large stock. The planet Qium. If we can conduct a raid, we should have enough to last us a fair while. Of course, we'll have to use stealth if we don't want to alert those Autobot fools to our plan.”

Cyclonus nodded. Needless to say, he was rather impressed that Galvatron was taking a more strategic stance rather than going in with pure, brute force. He wondered why, though; perhaps whoever fixed him up did a job good enough to leave him in an uncharacteristically amicable mood. “Good plan, Galvatron. When do we commence?”

“Now.”

“Now? B-but Galvatron, our forces have barely recovered. We need time and we need to plan carefully-”

“We need no such thing! Just find the ones that function and move out!”

Once he was out of earshot, Cyclonus sighed. Galvatron's plan was a good one and his use of strategy was to be commended, but would it really kill him to sit down and think it through a little more? It probably would, he mused. Still, at least it was a first for Galvatron. Now he could only hope that the plan was successful.

*

Astroseconds later, Galvatron, Cyclonus, Scourge and Astrotrain had taken off. They travelled slowly, firstly in order to conserve energy and secondly in order to make sure that they did not attract the attention of any Autobot patrols.

Cyclonus, though, wondered exactly how long it would take for them to get to the planet. At this rate, it seemed as though it would several cycles before they did so – more than enough time to send the remaining Decepticon troops into fits of hunger and frenzy. He didn't understand why he felt such a large amount of responsibility to the remainder of the Decepticons; maybe it was because he knew no one else would bother wasting their time. Besides, being one of Galvatron's right-hand men was not without its bad points. He felt as though he was a sort of messenger for him, reporting the announcements when Galvatron wasn't in the mood. He never was in the mood.

“Just how far is this damn planet, anyway?” Astrotrain could be heard grumbling from behind the other three.

Galvatron merely laughed, his good mood obviously not spoiled yet. “Patience, Astrotrain. Just a few hundred hics from here. The rewards will be well worth it.”

“This is assuming we leech the whole planet dry, right?”

“Would we do any less?”

This answer seemed to satisfy Astrotrain, who promptly sped forward slightly in order to be neck and neck with Scourge.

They floated past a planet with a strange green atmosphere, almost as though some kind of gaseous substance cloaked it. Looking past it, Cyclonus noted that it seemed like a very populated planet, with several structures and roads visible from deep space. Scourge also seemed to notice, for he asked Galvatron: “Hey, why don't we go raid that planet down there?”

Galvatron frowned. “You moron, Scourge. It's obvious that without a large team, a planet with a population of that size would eventually overpower us. Qium is far smaller, but its energon supply should sustain us...”

He trailed off, having spotted something before the others did. They followed his line of vision to see the green surface of the planet they were passing form a large, twisting tornado. Stunned for a moment, they hovered as though time had stopped, all staring in shock. After all, who had ever heard of a tornado in outer space?

“Decepticons, move!” Galvatron's voice, urgent, caused them to speed forward as best they could. Yet despite his best efforts, Cyclonus was unable to escape the power of the tornado as it sucked the debris from the universe, pulling him down with it. He struggled against it, too proud to call Scourge or Astrotrain for help, yet too desperate to have them leave without him. Soon, the pull was too great. His last shred of energy was exhausted just as Scourge turned, and upon seeing his fellow lieutenant fall, shouted for Galvatron.

But Cyclonus couldn't resist any further. He surrendered to the drag of the twister, his entire frame weak as he closed his eyes and waited for his plummet downwards.

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