* * *
"Catechism..."
"Be quiet," The conehead commanded imperiously, yanking on the reins with her right hand and making Blitzwing hiss as the bit cut into his mouth. "Good little riding creatures don't talk."
Blitzwing grunted, fluid dribbling into his mouth. He swallowed it and shrugged his shoulders, feeling her legs shift and tighten around his turret. She crouched on his back, legs splayed provocatively with her wings scraping against his and her pelvis grinding against the top of his turret. She kept grabbing his gun, too, to steady herself.
He wasn't sure if that made up for the 'game' Fusillade had suggested or the bridle the bomber had just happened to have handy. It definitely didn't make up for the riding crop, which was even now being laid into his thighs.
"Yah! Forward, Blitzwing!"
"You know," he grumbled as he moved forward on his hands and knees. "I could transform into tank or jet-mode, and this'd be much easier."
"But not half so fun!"
End