Can't Fight This Feeling

The last place Mirage had planned to spend his day off was tucked away in a storage room. He'd planned to retreat to his quarters with a cube of warm energon and a datapad of ancient Cybertronian poetry, something he'd enjoyed doing before the war that had turned his world upside down.

Unfortunately, Mirage's roommate had beaten him back there and was having some sort of party. The rec room was full of mechs relaxing with their energon and chatting. The weapons range was in use, and anyplace else on the base was off-limits for the off-duty.

So, Mirage had found a storage room tucked away in a little-used corridor, and was currently perched on a box of spare lighting components with his datapad. It certainly wasn't the luxurious study that had been part of his suite in the Towers, but it was quiet and private, which was more than he could say for the rest of the Autobot base.

The soft whoosh of the door opening startled him enough that Mirage automatically activated his cloaking device. Stacks of boxes prevented him from seeing exactly who was invading his sanctuary, and he made a quick decision to remain cloaked until the intruder got what he'd come for and left.

Make that intruders. There were two sets of footsteps headed towards Mirage's perch.

His first glimpse of the mechs made Mirage relax a little. Hound and Trailbreaker were two of the few who had tried to make Mirage feel welcome among the Autobots, and the only ones who hadn't been offended when Mirage snubbed them. For a moment, the spy-in-training toyed with the idea of coming out of hiding-

-and then his processor locked up as Hound pushed Trailbreaker up against the wall right in front of him and stretched to kiss the taller mech. Trailbreaker responded by sliding his hands down to grab Hound's aft.

Apparently, Mirage thought dazedly, he wasn't the only one who wanted privacy.

He sat frozen as the two mech groped and fondled and kissed. Things were heating up rapidly; maybe he should drop the cloak now, apologize quickly and get out of there...

Hound gasped, moaned as his panel slid open and Trailbreaker's fingers pressed into his valve. Mirage stayed right where he was, something inside of him clenching and aching. The throbbing grew worse with every cry, and finally Mirage turned off his optics, concentrating on staying absolutely still. Slick, wet sounds filled the air, pants and groans and the slide of armor on armor. After what seemed like forever, one of the mechs in front of him cried out, a long wail of pleasure; the other growled low. There was silence for a moment, and Mirage dared to turn his optics back on.

Hound was lying on his back, Trailbreaker sprawled across him; as Mirage watched, the larger mech pushed himself up, carefully withdrawing his spike and tucking it away. Hound's panel closed with a click, and Trailbreaker helped him to his feet, kissing him gently before the two headed back for the door.

Mirage waited in quivering silence, and as the door closed behind them he dropped the cloak and his rather dented datapad and slipped a hand down between his legs. He traced his panel, opening it, images of what had just happened playing themselves out in his mind.

Trailbreaker's spike....Mirage couldn't stop a soft moan from escaping. Even softened by an overload, that spike had been impressive; imagine it erect, imagine it pressing inside of him-

A finger slid inside him easily. Mirage let his head fall back, arching deliciously. Primus, he wanted. The intensity of his feelings was almost frightening; he'd been courted before, but never chosen to take a lover, and the tingles he'd felt from his suitors' kisses were nothing like this. He'd never been driven to something this vulgar, fingering himself while imagining two common mechs coupling.

What if he'd been noticed? Mirage's intakes hitched. What if they'd asked him to join them, pulled him down and stroked their hands over his body, kissed him, made him whimper and moan for them? Mirage slid another finger in, shaking, a tiny needy keen escaping from his vocalizer. He wanted to move, wanted to writhe and wrap himself around a large, warm body. An incredible heat was building between his legs, stoked higher with every movement of his fingers. It was wonderful and maddening and Mirage was going to go insane. He wanted a mech inside him. He wanted Trailbreaker and Hound inside him. Oh Primus, they could take turns, over and over-

Overload washed over him, make him scream and buck, driving his fingers as deeply into his valve as they would go. Heat expanded outward, caressed his spark, sent static fritzing across his optics, and finally sent him offline.



The next day's training consisted of target practice, which Mirage was usually good at, especially team exercises. He simply went invisible, crept around the edges of things, and tagged as many mechs as he could before the instructor called time.

Unfortunately, today Mirage's concentration wasn't at its best. He took a few potshots at the opposing team and then found an out-of-the-way corner to sit in. He was deep into a rather detailed fantasy involving Hound, Trailbreaker, and the washracks when someone tripped over him. For a moment, Mirage was too startled to move, and that was all it took for Cliffjumper to scream, "He's over here!" and open fire.

Mirage bolted, but it was too late. Several of the taggers had hit him, and patches of paint flying though the air wasn't exactly inconspicuous. The teams left off shooting at each other in favor of shooting Mirage, and by the time the instructor noticed what was going on the blue mech was covered in paint.

Ironhide wasn't pleased. "Alpha Team, is there a reason why you chose to fire on your teammate?"

Sullen silence.

"Beta Team, did you notice that in your attempts to tag the enemy, you managed to take out half your own team with friendly fire?"

Embarrassed silence.

"Mirage, stay here. The rest of you, hit the washracks, refuel, and confine yourselves to quarters. Tomorrow, report to the armory. We'll spend the day cleaning weapons, since you apparently can't be trusted to use them responsibly."

As the others filed out, grumbling and shooting nasty glares back at Mirage, Ironhide turned to the blue mech and sighed gustily. "I've warned you about relying on that invisibility gimmick. Things like that are useful up to a point, but it's no good once your opponent catches on and comes up with a counter.

"Yes, sir," Mirage managed to choke out. This had to be the most humiliating thing that had ever happened to him.

"Well, come on, then. You can use the washracks over by my quarters, I'll help you scrub that mess off."

Mirage followed Ironhide in miserable silence. Thankfully, most of the bots in this section were on duty, and the two made the trip without encountering any of the senior officers. Just the thought of running into Prowl or Jazz, or Primus forbid, Prime, made him want to turn invisible and stay that way for the remainder of his existence.

"Here," Ironhide said, keying open the washrack door. "Get in there under a spigot before the paint dries any more, and I'll grab the solvent."

Mirage was halfway into the room before he realized that it wasn't empty. "Bad day of training, huh?" a horribly familiar voice asked, and Mirage stood there, unable to do anything but stare, as Hound paused in running a soapy cloth over Trailbreaker's back to smile sympathetically at him.

He'd been wrong. Having the entire recruit class turn him into a moving target wasn't the most humiliating thing that could happen to him, after all.

He managed to pull himself together enough to croak out a "Yes," and headed for the opposite end of the room from the other mechs. Not an hour ago he'd been daydreaming about being alone with them like this, and now all Mirage wanted to do was leave with whatever tattered scraps of dignity he had left.

Ironhide entered with the solvent in hand and a scouring pad in the other. "I told you to get under the water. Warm, not cold; cold will set the paint faster."

Mirage stepped obediently into the spray, the heat relaxing him just a bit. Then Ironhide grabbed him by the shoulder to steady him, slopped solvent onto his back, and dragged the scouring pad across his armor. It felt like bundles of razor wire on his sensitive paneling; Mirage yelped and ducked out from under Ironhide's hand, backing away.

His instructor scowled. Then from behind them, Trailbreaker spoke up. "We could help him out, Ironhide. You're running late for monitor duty as it is."

"Thanks," Ironhide said, handing the solvent over. "By the way, do you two still have that extra berth in your quarters?"

"Yeah," Hound said. "They still haven't gotten around to removing it."

"Good. I don't want Mirage staying in his own quarters tonight; there'd probably be a brawl before morning, and I'm not dragging Ratchet into the medbay because a few recruits can't control their tempers." Ironhide turned to Mirage. "You stay with them, and report to the armory tomorrow."

"Yes, sir," Mirage said weakly. Ironhide clapped him on the shoulder, nearly sending him staggering, and disappeared out the door.

Trailbreaker started towards him, and Mirage quivered. "Um, I can do this myself. You don't have to go to any trouble."

"It's no trouble," Trailbreaker said calmly, pouring solvent onto a cloth. "You're not as bulky as Hound and I, but even so you'd have difficulty reaching your back. I'll take care of that and we'll leave you alone to finish up." Gentle hands turned him firmly away, and a cloth slid over his plating. Mirage nearly purred as tingles curled pleasantly through his systems. It felt so nice, and really, there was no harm in just enjoying this for a few minutes.

"This stuff is taking off your paint, too," Trailbreaker said, breaking through the growing haze of pleasure. "You'll probably have to get a complete re-paint tomorrow. You might want to get these scratches filled in too," and a finger traced lightly over the marks Ironhide had made with the scouring pad.

That simple touch, without the muffling of the cloth, sent a shock of sensation through Mirage. He couldn't help tensing as soft heat turned abruptly to a scorching flame.

"Mirage?" Trailbreaker's voice sounded concerned. "Are you alright?"

"Yes," Mirage said, forcing himself to relax as he turned to face the larger mech. "Were you finished?"

Trailbreaker looked at him for a moment, then handed over the cloth and solvent. "Our quarters are the third door down, right hand side. We'll have some energon waiting for you."

"Thank you." Mirage watched Hound leave, Trailbreaker close behind, and then let himself lean back against the wall. He felt oddly displaced; the whole situation seemed surreal. It was like something out of the fantasy he'd been having earlier.

He heaved a gusty sigh and dumped more solvent on the cloth. Better to put those thoughts out of his head, before he made a complete idiot of himself.

The paint came off his legs and arms easily, and while running the cloth over his chest made him tingle a bit, Mirage was able to ignore it.

Unfortunately, the first touch to his aft flashed a picture of Trailbreaker groping Hound in the supply room, and the tingles got worse. Mirage grimly scrubbed and then stepped over to the mirror set into the corner. All the paint was off his aft, back was clean, arms and legs done. Mirage did a quick survey of his front, and amid a growing sense of persecution, noticed for the first time that one of the taggers that had hit his upper thigh had splattered paint right across his panel.

Primus hated him, and wanted him to suffer. There wasn't any other possible explanation.

Well, there was no way around it; the bare gray patches in his normally immaculate blue were bad enough. Mirage was not walking around with a decorated panel. He might as well wear a sign that said "Please taunt me." Tentatively, he swiped at the spatters, and nearly groaned as little flares of pleasure sparkled through him. Every touch of the cloth made him hotter, and when he'd finally cleaned the last bit of paint away, Mirage sighed with relief and stepped under the spigot for a quick rinse. His systems were still singing from the stimulation, but turning the temperature regulator to cold helped with that.

After a quick minute under the drying vents, Mirage headed down the hall to his temporary quarters in a relatively good mood. All he had to do was refuel and settle into recharge, and then head for the armory as soon as he came online in the morning. How could that possibly go wrong?



There were only two berths in the room. Mirage sat on one of them, sipping his energon, while Hound sat across from him on the other and Trailbreaker lounged in the single chair.

"So the whole class ganged up on you? I'll bet Ironhide had something to say about that," Hound said, sounding both sympathetic and amused.

"He did. That's why we're cleaning weapons tomorrow, instead of training," Mirage replied. "I couldn't figure out if he was madder at my team for shooting at me, or the other team for shooting each other."

Trailbreaker laughed. From anyone else, Mirage would have taken being laughed at as an insult, but there was nothing mean or malicious in Trailbreaker. And Mirage had to admit, now that the first sting of humiliation was wearing off, the whole thing was rather funny.

"Usually, they don't even get close to hitting me," he continued. "This time Cliffjumper tripped over me and once someone got a hit in, my invisibility was compromised."

"That's right," Trailbreaker said, "you have a cloaking device. I've never seen one in action; is it really that effective?"

"I'll show you." Mirage set down the cube and stood up. He saw Hound straighten as he faded from view, and an impulse made him step oh-so-carefully sideways, moving slowly towards Trailbreaker. The plan was to drop the cloak and startle the others by being in a different spot, and he concentrated on not making a sound. Another step and-

-he bounced off something, sending him stumbling and making him drop the cloak. Hound laughed as he caught Mirage by the arms, steadying him.

"That cloak is something, but in a small room like this every move you made shifted the air. 'Breaker knew just where to put the forcefield."

Mirage didn't reply. Hound's face, his mouth, were too close, and there were no words, just the wanting.

"Mirage?"

Hound's voice was soft, but it broke the silence like a rifle shot. Mirage flinched and tried to step back, only to halt against a broad, warm body. Trailbreaker's hands curved around his waist, holding him where he was as Hound pressed closer, trapping Mirage between them.

"You want this? Both of us?" The green mech's voice was serious.

"Yes," Mirage whispered.

"Good," and Hound lowered his head and kissed Mirage.

His knees nearly buckled. Hound's mouth was warm, and the gentle brush of a glossa against his lower lip had Mirage whimpering into the kiss. The hands holding his arms slid up to his shoulders and then down across his chest, stroking seams and sending bolts of pleasure through Mirage's systems. His back arched as his frame trembled, and Hound's optics were dark with desire when he pulled back.

"Please," Mirage gasped, trying to lean forward and brought up short by Trailbreaker. "Please..."

"What do you want?" Trailbreaker asked from behind him, hands rubbing slowly down over Mirage's hips, one finger easing forward to trace the very top of his panel. It clicked open, the cool air a shock against his heated valve.

Mirage let his head fall back, shuddering. "Inside me."

Big hands parted his legs, tracing tingling patterns on his inner thighs. His right leg was pulled up, knee bent outward, leaving him open and exposed. Mirage squirmed, aroused and embarrassed at the same time as Hound backed away, leaning against the wall to watch Trailbreaker play with him.

The first touches were butterfly-light, barely grazing the rim of Mirage's valve. They left him panting, straining towards Trailbreaker's teasing fingers, until the mech finally took pity on him and pressed the tip of one finger inside. Mirage nearly shrieked with the sensation.

"You're dripping," Trailbreaker said, voice hoarse in Mirage's audios. "We've barely touched you..."

"Sensitive," Mirage managed to get out, "wasn't built with thick plating." The fingertip made a slow circle inside him. "Oh please more I want-"

Trailbreaker made a sound that was almost a growl, and two fingers pushed in deep. Mirage let out a strangled noise, trying to pull back. Trailbreaker's fingers were thicker than his own, and he couldn't decide if the intrusion felt good or hurt.

The mech behind him went very still. "You've never interfaced before."

Mirage tensed and tried to peer over his shoulder. "Don't stop, I want this, I want you-"

"We won't stop." Hound pushed away from the wall and stopped in front of them, one hand sliding down to cup Trailbreaker's between Mirage's legs. "We just need to take things a bit slowly." He looked inquiringly at Trailbreaker. "Chair?"

"Should work," Trailbreaker said, carefully withdrawing his fingers and lowering Mirage's leg. Hound directed them backward a few steps and Trailbreaker sat down, pulling Mirage into his lap.

"What-" Mirage started as Hound knelt in front of him, grasping his feet and pushing his knees up.

"Relax." Trailbreaker said. Those big hands curved around his thighs, pulling his legs up and apart as Hound leaned forward. "You'll like this."

Hound licked him.

Mirage stopped thinking as Hound's glossa circled his valve and slipped inside of him, thrusting gently, lapping at the lubricants coating his walls. His body went utterly limp; only Trailbreaker's hands prevented him from slithering to the floor as Hound cupped his aft, pulling him up and licking deeper, mouth stimulating the rim of his valve. Spasms shuddered through Mirage's body. He wanted to squeeze his legs together, he wanted to spread himself wide, he ached and throbbed and that wonderful glossa licked and stroked and thrust-

The overload washed over him, sensors flaring wildly as his spark fluttered in his chest, and left him trembling. Mirage barely registered Trailbreaker sliding from the chair to kneel on the floor, still holding him open.

Hound's hands slid gently over Mirage's thighs. "Okay?" he asked, and Mirage nodded, coming out of his daze a little. The green mech smiled. "Ready for more?"

"More?" Mirage nearly squeaked the word, and Hound's panel opened with a soft click. The first grazing touch of the spike's underside against his sensitized valve made Mirage moan.
"More," Hound said a little breathlessly, the tip of his spike pushing in. Mirage's body tried to tense and failed. The overload had left him relaxed and ready, and the spike pressed in easily, stretching him.

The feeling was indescribable. Mirage had wanted this since he'd seen the two interfacing, had daydreamed and wondered and touched himself, but nothing had prepared him for the reality of being penetrated. It seemed impossible that Hound could fit inside him, yet his valve yielded smoothly until Hound was fully seated between Mirage's thighs.

"Oh," he whimpered, as Hound shifted slightly, giving him a chance to adjust. Just that tiny movement sent little thrills through him. Trailbreaker made a low sound, and something hard and thick and hot pressed against Mirage's aft. Mirage remembered what that spike looked like, and the feel of it against him made him writhe.

Hound groaned and started to thrust, carefully at first and then with increasing strength as Mirage shivered and hummed with pleasure. This was a slower build-up than his first overload, a gradual increase of warmth that began to curl sweetly through his limbs and tease his spark. Every thrust fed the fire, felt just a little bit better than the one before until Mirage could feel his valve beginning to flex around Hound's spike, triggering the first spasms.

He heard Hound cry out, thrusting one last time as deeply as he could. The green mech pressed tightly against Mirage, holding him as they overloaded. At some point Trailbreaker had released his legs, and Mirage slumped forward as Hound lay back, the other mech's armor pleasantly warm against him.

A low groan made him prop himself up on a shaky arm, turning to look over his shoulder. Trailbreaker's optics were burning, visible even through the visor, locked on Mirage as one hand stroked slowly over his erect spike. Mirage pulled a knee up, lifted himself and gasped as Hound's spike slipped from his valve. He felt a now-familiar wanting surge through him as he raised his aft and braced his forearms on Hound's chest.

"Trailbreaker, please, I want you."

A stifled moan. "It's too much for you." Trailbreaker shifted behind him, and fingers touched his valve, rubbing. Mirage whimpered wordlessly, moving, trying to force those teasing digits inside.

"Please." He would go mad if Trailbreaker made him overload again. He'd go mad if Trailbreaker didn't. "Oh please, oh-"

Thick blunt pressure at his entrance, and then that delicious stretch. Trailbreaker was rougher than Hound had been, too aroused by now to be tender or slow, and each hard thrust rocked Mirage forward until Hound grasped his arms and held him steady. Mirage overloaded almost immediately, pleasure streaking static across his optics, and Trailbreaker nearly roared, grasping his hips and pounding him, then stiffening as he peaked. When his grip relaxed Mirage collapsed back onto Hound, who kissed him gently.

Trailbreaker lowered himself to lie beside them, one arm thrown over Mirage's back. "Berth?"

"I can't move," Mirage mumbled, already half into recharge. His entire body was thrumming, he was warm and safe and he had no intention of doing anything but staying exactly where he was.

"No wonder," Hound said, exhausted affection in his voice. "I say we keep him, 'Breaker."

The last thing Mirage heard was Trailbreaker's sleepy "Definitely."