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Molot's Forging

Written by Limewah

Commission for Anonymous

Companion piece to Forging Molot by Strelkov : I would recommend reading it first.

You can do so here! https://www.furaffinity.net/view/45774125

The Lombax didn't notice when his knees hit the floor.

Rulan's purple-furred head lolled downwards towards his chin, the weight of it too much to bear. He didn't need to hold his head up to look into the pretty lights anyway. Shapes emerged within them - breathing concentric circles, spiraling pinwheels and whirlpools, fractal lines that snaked and danced around each other - but they only lasted for a moment or two before they melted away into the kaleidoscope smear. As it breathed and bloomed and floated over him, he breathed slower, more deeply.

His mind had already switched off, all his short term memories sublimating and dissolving in the air in front of him with each slow, steady out-breath.

For a time, there was just the colours. His head was too heavy to lift, but he could still see some of the beautiful electromagnetic eddies of the world around him. It was not as beautiful as the lights inside the lenses, though. He felt as though there was nothing else in the world worth staring at. If this was all he would look at for the rest of his life, he would die happy...

He did not consider the morbidity of that thought, for it vanished from his mind the second after he thought it. His thoughts dissolved like a bar of soap left under a running tap, eroding more and more rapidly as the endless pour took him away.

A voice spoke in his head, vibrating in the headband and conducting through his bones with perfect clarity.

"Hello there," the man on the other end said, cautious and curious. "Where'd you get these goggles?"

Ruslan was mid-inhale when that question was asked, and it took him a while to sigh out each section of his answer, like a poorly played accordion.

"Found them... in my shop... left by... a ram...called Forge..."

"Aaaah, right. He must have dropped a pair. Again." there was a scoff.

Ruslan scoffed with it, without knowing why.

"Lift your head for me? Let me see what's around you."

"Yes..." Ruslan sighed. It took some effort to re-straighten his neck, but once he did, he slowly turned it to the left and the right, like an automated camera.

"Huh. Okay... So you're just some random civvie, huh?"

"Yes."

The voice half hummed, half grunted.

"Okay. This, I can work with. I'm just going to run a few tests on you, to get a general sense of your whole deal. You don't mind."

"I don't mind," Ruslan repeated obediently.

"That's the spirit. You're gonna be very useful... okay. Stand up, please."

Ruslan complied.

"Now, jog on the spot for me as fast as you can, until you get tired."

Ruslan complied, looking rather comical as his arms pumped and his feet drummed into the floor. His legs were burning before long, his chest constricting inwards as his lungs grew hot. He stopped and panted, his whole upper body heaving into the breathing motions.

"Eighteen seconds. Yeah, not in good physical shape... that's to be expected. That can be fixed."

A hard, intense knocking came from just below Ruslan's feet.

"CUT THAT SHIT OUT! IT'S TWO O' FUCKING CLOCK IN THE MORNING!" The woman in the apartment just below bashed a few more times for good measure before it went silent again.

"Yep, you're definitely in the Belleview district..." the voice on the other end of the goggles tutted sympathetically. "Okay. Let's focus on other tests, in that case. Just focus back on the display for now."

Ruslan did so, sighing with contentment as his neighbor was forgotten.

"You're going to see a dot on the screen, and you're going to follow it with your eyes."

Ruslan complied. The white dot, outlined in a thick ring of black, stuck out in the sea of colour. It was only stationary for a few moments before it swam through the sea. Slow at first, like a feather on a breeze, before it changed to a slight flitting bounce, and again to a chaotic squiggle of arcs like the flight path of a bee.

Ruslan was able to keep up with it with no problems.

"Good. You should see some words-"

"Transfixion." The moment the word flickered on the screen, Ruslan spoke it aloud.

"You're way ahead of me already. Good work. Keep that up."

"Catalepsy. Enthrallment. Fugue. Trance. Flow. Inspiration. Dervish. Hyperfixation."

"Stop."

Ruslan complied. Words continued to flash, but he ignored them. He remained silent, and waited.

"I'm detecting something a little off about the goggles... the backlight doesn't seem to be working. Were they damaged, or something?"

"I stripped it apart..." Ruslan sighed, "For examination... and then re-assembled..."

"Hmm. Right. Well, then."

Ruslan received instructions. He did not catch them. He followed them nonetheless.

The goggles were switched off, removed. Ruslan field-stripped them on autopilot. Last time it had been with the cautious, hurried excitement of an archaeologist; this was more like a machine on an assembly line. Perfect, precise, and emotionless

When the goggles were re-assembled, the seal was properly tightened, the lenses replaced just-so, and the cabling from the battery to the board of the device was carefully adjusted.

The difference was night and day.

The colours popped more vibrantly, the image was far sharper.

Ruslan gasped involuntarily, his dick throbbing and standing to attention.

"A-arousal," he croaked as the words returned. "Euphoria. Rut..."

"You do know what you're doing. That's excellent. Now, let's have a tour of this hovel you call home. See what we're working with..."

Ruslan complied.

---

"Hmm."

Strelkov turned his head left and right as he looked at the purple lombax's reflection. The camera feed inside the goggles was pointed at the lombax's rather dirty bedroom mirror. As commanded, the dazed civilian had both his arms up and flexed, his shirt hiked up to show off his stomach. His head was lolled slightly to his right shoulder, his jaw hanging open with a little drizzle of saliva oozing from the corner of his mouth.

This "Ruslan" was skinny and just a little bit flabby- every bit the stereotype of a tinkering engineer. It sure didn't help that he wasn't holding in his gut at all, giving him a little bit more of a paunch, like a cat's primordial pouch.

There was nothing wrong with his body, per se. Soft bodies were fine, and all... just not the doctor's thing. Not the sort of physiology he expected from his minions.

And he could see some terrific potential in that stocky barrel chest. When those pecs filled out and that stomach tightened up... oh, and those arms would have to get some bulk to them too. Yes, there was a sturdily built juggernaut hidden inside that nerdy lombax, and it would be very possible to tease that out. Enjoyable, in fact.

The IMEI of the goggles seemed to suggest that this was one of Forge's spare pairs, confirming what the good doctor had teased out of this one.

"Alright..." the cougar leaned back in his chair and sighed. One of his hands was already tracing along his inner thigh. He could have fun on the job. "Let's strip down a bit more, please. I've got some exercises that should be a lot gentler on you. We can work our way up from there."

"Yes."

-

Ruslan's body was boiling. He took deep, gulping breaths of air, filling his aching lungs. His arms and legs were burning, those little microscopic tears in his muscles multiplying with each push up, each lunge, each squat and stretch. His heart was racing and bashing against his chest.

His cock was throbbing and dribbling, tenting his underwear.

He had not felt this exhilarated in so long.

Words flashed. Whenever he managed an out-breath, he grunted out what he read through gritted teeth. Willing himself to obey, willing his body to obey.

"And stop."

Ruslan collapsed onto the floor, spread-eagled, panting and groaning. Pleasure bloomed through his now-relaxed muscles, and the cold night air through the open window in his bedroom was exactly the salve he needed.

He cursed and gasped, unconsciously cursing in his own language

"Sorry? What was that?"

"That was..." Ruslan groaned. "A curse in my own l..language."

"Oh, neat. You don't have much of an accent."

"I'm... fluent in both."

"Oh, good. You're starting to have a little more agency in your responses. You're taking to this well. Most stay a drooling mess for a lot longer."

"What do you..."

"Well, if you're cognizant enough to be able to talk to me, then you're cognizant enough to know that you've been hypnotised. Right?"

"Nnh..."

It was... it sounded right. Ruslan's brain was foggy and soupy, but he felt just a little more aware of himself, of his body. The sort of sobering self-awareness that came when he was on a night out and came across someone far drunker than him.

It wasn't that frightening, being mind-controlled. It was far easier to focus, now. The colours were still gorgeous, but he was finding it easier to appreciate their intricacies now, rather than letting it all just melt over him in an ice-cream swirl.

"Obviously," the voice continued, "Now that you're self-aware in a hypnotic state, it means we can establish a backup of your personality for later."

"What's... that about?" Ruslan said, still listening, but too exhausted and sore to get off the ground.

"Well, for one thing. When's the last time you did a workout like that?"

"Uh..." it was hard to think outside of this moment. "Maybe... a month?"

"And how did it feel?"

"Awful."

And how did this, just now, feel?"

"Incredible."

"See? Your brain's already getting re-wired. Or a part of it is. But it's not ready to re-connect to the rest of you, just yet. Gotta finish the update before we can patch it."

"What's... that mean?" Ruslan asked.

"It means that you'll," the Doctor's voice said, and continued saying words that Ruslan half-remembered but didn't understand, and he suddenly went back to feeling very, very content with watching the pretty goggle-swirls and thinking of nothing at all. The 'awake Ruslan' knew his time had come. He faded into nothingness, and allowed himself to drift off to sleep. The Goggles would re-awaken him soon enough.

The 'sleeping Ruslan' was back in control; only in the sense that he was the one perceiving the colours, and the shapes, and letting his brain melt.

He wasn't even aware when he started his next set of reps, or the one after that, or the one after that.

In fact, he would soon sleepwalk to bed after a quick, cleansing shower. The goggles remained, the colours continued. The voice muttered in his ear, unintelligible but pleasurable to his senses.

"Okay... let's see, let's go with... King's Confidence, should get through the first two volumes in one sleep."

"Nn." Ruslan agreed, sort of half-heartedly.

"Right. Enjoy." the voice yawned loudly. "I need to get back to sleep, myself..."

As his eyes fell shut, he heard what sounded to be some generic 'bad-ass' music, with unpleasantly distorted guitar licks and a rather middling drum beat. He heard a voice that sounded like it came from someone comprised entirely of slabs of meat.

"Welcome, King. That's right. You're a King already. You just don't know it yet. You just don't have the confidence that a King like you deserves. In this tape, I'm gonna give you some affirmations and exercises that will..."

Ruslan faded into slumber. The words slipped right past his sub conscious, and into his brain.

It would serve him well in the morning, though he wouldn't remember it - any of it.

-

The secret version of Ruslan came out to play quite often.

Whenever he put the goggles on, and his mind went blank and colourful, it wouldn't be long before someone connected with him. Usually it was the Doctor's voice. Sometimes it was someone else. As soon as he heard someone, he leapt into control once more.

The next time he was under, the Doctor insisted on him showing him his workshop.

"It's not much to look at," he warned the doctor. "Ruslan - I'm not exactly flush with cash. I don't have any new equipment to speak of or anything..."

"Doesn't matter. I wanna see what you have."

There was a slight childish giddiness to Ruslan's touring. Showing off his workbench, some of his blueprints - most of them half-finished, on the verge of being discarded - he felt like he was at a science fair, justifying his project to vaguely interested parents and judges.

He couldn't read the Doctor's opinion of him from his tone, his hemms and haws and 'I see, okay's. But he didn't get the sense that the disembodied voice was completely unimpressed.

"Right, how about this. Show me the blueprints you've got, and I'll see if something jumps out at me."

"Yessir."

"Oh-"

"Shit, sorry-"

"I wasn't sure if you were being sarcastic or not."

"No, no sarcasm, I just... dunno where that came from."

"Don't worry about it. _________ and do as I asked."

Ruslan sleepwalked along. What was that blank bit? That phrase he couldn't remember? Whatever it was, it hit hard.

He splayed out the rolls of sketched-on paper one at a time, no sheepishness about their sloppiness in his mind. The Doctor hummed.

"This one, here. This sprayer thing. Tell me about it."

"It's just... something for fun..." Ruslan breathed, his consciousness balanced on a tightrope between his tranced self and his awake self. "If I was a superhero, if I had a big budget... I'd wanna use something like this..."

"I can't really read the specific text... what's it for? Looks like a sprayer of some sort."

"Yeah... kinda like a fire extinguisher with the force of a leaf blower."

"Without the same volume, I hope?"

"I don't know how to do that," Ruslan sighed. His dreamy tone was fading, as the tranced self won out and spoke freely. "I was looking into quieter propellant engines, but that's out of my price range... like, three month's rent."

"Hmm. What if I help you with that?"

--

This was the tricky part.

Strelkov was not impatient, per se, but he could already tell Ruslan was a significantly above-average engineer. This liquid leaf-blower thing. He could already see how some of his chemists could concoct something fun. An anaesthetic for field injuries, or maybe a paralytic agent... it'd be nice to get a prototype going for him, the sooner the better.

But if Ruslan came across any of this while he was awake, it would risk ruining the programming entirely and undoing all that lovely ground-work he'd laid. Thankfully, this wasn't the first time someone'd blundered into a pair of goggles.

There was a storage warehouse nearby. Easy enough to set up.

And there were failsafes for that kind of thing.

-

Ruslan held the little key above his head. It dangled from the thin, cheap ring, silent without any other keys to knock against.

It was hard keeping his eyes open, but he had to do as he qas told, since the doctor had said ____.

The HUD's tint had changed slightly, highlighting the key and making it seem to glitter as it dangled on a very slow arc. His eyes were starting to strain a little from staring at it, and his arm was getting a little tired, too.

"What happens when you see the key?" the doctor asked.

"I go to sleep." Ruslan repeated.

"And then you wake up."

"And then I wake up."

"Again. What happens when you..."

The chanting continued, even as Ruslan's eyes finally slipped closed. His hand slapped against his thigh, and his head lolled back in his chair.

"Again."

He opened his eyes, and lifted his hand, and stared at the key again.

-

Sometimes he would wake up looking at the world through the goggles. Sometimes he would wake up to find himself looking at the warehouse key in his palm. Either way, the tranced Ruslan knew not to waste any time. There was always something to be done. Whether it was heading to the gym, or picking up equipment from the warehouse.

The propulsion engine the doctor had sent him was feeling lighter and lighter. He used to have to trundle the thing around on a squeaky old cart, but now - with some effort - he was able to lift the thing on his own, by its handles. Sometimes he'd use it as a chance to do a few sneaky lifts, or hold it while doing squat reps. Maybe he was overdoing it. But he couldn't help himself. Those endorphins were too good to pass up. Almost as good as the colours.

Almost.

"Ruslan, right?" the voice asked.

"Yep. The sleeping Ruslan." Ruslan was hunched over his bed, currently in the middle of some slow, steady bicep curls. He'd graduated to a heavier set of barbells, and his muscles were growing more and more defined.

"Ahuh. The one that's been programmed in.."

"Exactly. How's my form?"

"Looking good. Although... I gotta ask, is it not gonna get kinda confusing telling you and... the normal Ruslan apart? Ruslan Prime, or whatever?"

Ruslan scoffed. "That's supposed to be me, right?"

"Well... I don't know. What do you wanna be called?"

Ruslan thought about it for a moment. His mind wandered. He was an alter ego, wasn't he? A bit like most of the heroes and villains in this city.

Speaking of villains, there was one that sprung to mind. One that he was already sort of fantasizing about being in cahoots with.

"Well, let me run something by the doctor. Something from my mother tongue that might fit in."

-

"Hammer, meet Forge." the Doctor laughed. "Cute name."

"I wasn't going for cute," Molot replied.

"So you've got a crush on him, huh, Molot? If I didn't know any better, I'd think that was what was driving you so hard. And not this conditioning."

"Maybe it's Column A, Column B?" Molot offered, staring at himself in the mirror and stroking his cock. As his stomach rose and fell, he was positive he could see the individual muscles were taking more defined shape. His heavy breathing mixed with a soft huff from the voice in his ear. He wasn't the only one enjoying his muscular body and his throbbing dick.

"Good progress," the Doctor huffed. "Good progress indeed."

"Thank you, Sir." Molot groaned. He wanted to ask something. After all, there was a very crystal clear image in his mind. He wasn't just seeing himself in the mirror. He was seeing the ram just behind him, hands on his shoulders, whispering into his ear. In his waking fantasy, Molot could feel the Ram's cock pushing against his back, brushing his tail to the side and hot-dogging his cheeks.

"You want this inside you, don't you." the fantasy Forge was talking like a porn star; Molot didn't have a perfect bead on his personality, but just enough to get himself driven wild with excitement.

"Yes, fuck yes..." Molot groaned, tilting his head back...

"What was that?" the doctor asked.

"Fuck yes, I want you inside me F- I mean, no, nothing..."

"Man, you're like a lovesick puppy for Forge. Good. I'll make sure you see him again soon. Once you've done your job."

"Th...thank you...!" Molot stammered.

He still remembered the scent of the villain's body - the mid-combat sweat, the healthy exertion. Or at least, he remembered a facsimile of it. He needed to compare it to the real thing again. God, he needed that so badly.

"You know what, I think you need to blow off some steam. Stop stroking."

Molot's fingers relaxed, but his hand remained hovering right where it was, feeling the warmth radiating off his quivering meat.

"Why don't you try out that gadget I had you make."

"Oh..." Molot nodded slowly. "But on who?"

"Someone you think needs to be taken down a peg or two."

Molot knew just the person.

Just thinking about it made their dick erupt with a spurt of pre.

The lombax only threw on the bare minimum to have some modesty, remembering how Ruslan had been told off. "Wouldn't want anyone to think perverts lived here" or something like that.

He was gonna show that landlord what perversion really looked like.

The gun didn't match the schematics that the Doctor had sent him, but it would do the trick. A short range, more discreet version of his own original design.

He banged on the door, hard, hearing the creak of the floorboards and the sound of wordless grumbling, before the door opened.

Frank's yellow eyes glared down at him, with a cocktail of annoyance and tetchiness. Molot remembered Ruslan had given him a talking to. He flashed a smirk.

"What's with the-"

Molot assumed he was going to say 'get-up' or 'goggles' or some such. But the bear didn't get to that word before the lombax raised the gun and pulled the trigger.

The hallucinogenic mist wasn't really meant to go in his mouth - it had a sort of battery acid taste to it - but hey, it absorbed into his bloodstream more quickly that way.

Frank coughed and sputtered, grasping on his door frame as he stumbled back. By his third back-step, he'd slowed down significantly. His face relaxed into a mask of peaceful serenity, and his eyes turned to marbles as he swayed slowly on the spot.

"That's better," Molot said. "Can you hear me Frank?"

"Yesssh..." Frank said, his mouth barely moving so he ended up involuntarily whistling through his teeth.

"Good. You're going to let me inside, aren't you?"

"Yessshh..."

Frank turned slowly, his arms dangling like noodles, and sleepwalked inside, allowing Molot to stride in after.

It was a pretty nice place, honestly. Definitely a lot nicer than the place poor Ruslan had to deal with. It could have done with a clean, but it was pretty spacious. Practically a penthouse compared to Ruslan's place.

Molot would have to see about moving in, potentially.

He took his time wandering in, brushing past Frank and heading right into the living room. He whistled at the size of the TV - the colours of the gaudy game show really popped, too. He felt like a movie or two, while he was here.

He put his feet up on the table as Frank stumbled to the side of the couch. He stood still, docile like a cow,

"So, let's discuss some things about how you're running the place. Maybe some rent reductions, hiring a proper super, shit like that."

"Yes..." Frank sounded so serene, like he was deep in a lucid dream. In a sense, he was.

Molot would be pleased to learn that Frank was a lot better-built than expected ; his gut was more muscle than fat, and his cock was pleasantly girthy. While he channel surfed, he tilted his head over the side of the couch to have a taste of it, lathering it with his tongue and letting the woozy bear thrust into it sleepily.

He wouldn't have minded if he fucked his mouth a bit harder. And Forge was probably bigger anyway.

Still, it'd do for now.

-

The place worked so much better as a workshop.

It was so kind of Frank to move into Ruslan's old place and let Molot have it. The difference was night and day; a shower with actual working hot water, a ton of amenities (he'd kept the TV), tons of power sockets for all his equipment... he was sorted.

Dr. S seemed happy with it too. He took the key back, for one thing. Not that it was needed so much anymore. When Ruslan was asleep, Molot was awake. Usually just for an hour or two at night, to do a bit of research or another supplementary workout.

Sometimes he'd invite someone over too, lure some cute thing from a dating app to test out another compound that Dr. S had sent him.

This one, for example, was paralysed, frozen in a flexing pose that really showed off his toned body. The muscular serval wasn't panicking or terrified; they might have been if it wasn't for the soporific high floating through their mind, the goggles flickering and flashing over their eyes.

"It's nice, isn't it?" Molot said, running his hands over the spotted fur, and down towards his still erect dick. "Just breathe and stare into the pretty lights, and I promise I'll take good care of you."

The positioning was just a little awkward, as his plaything was a bit taller, not to mention his long legs. Molot had to throw on his thick-soled golden boots (by far his favourite of the costume options Dr. S had sent him) for a bit of a height boost, to make it easier for him to rub his cocktip against the serval's rapidly relaxing tailhole. The amyl nitrates had done wonders to make this 'top' nice and pliable, ready to take his dick.

Molot slid in like he was fucking a sex toy - no resistance whatsoever. The cat's plush, bubbly ass squished against Molot's washboard abs, like a warm body pillow. Molot wasted no time in getting to work. On the app, the cat had mentioned he only had time for a quickie, after all. The agent wouldn't last too much longer, so he wanted to make sure he finished while the statuesque thing was still... well, a statue.

From the soft quivering moan he made, Molot could tell this one had a secret penchant for bottoming, and was more than happy to oblige him.

"Looks like you've always wanted to get hammered, huh?" he growled, tittering at his own joke.

"Nn..." The cat moaned, his dick dripping. The colours were his whole world. He was too gone to appreciate the joke. Didn't matter.

Molot thrust and pistoned himself into the now-squeezing sphincter, grabbing on tight to the serval's hips to hold him steady. He bit on his lip, getting closer to climax already - the narcotic thrill of having someone at his mercy was growing stronger each time he did it, each time he brought some cute twunk home and brainwashed him good.

Sometimes he pictured himself on the opposite end, though. He was the one helplessly getting fucked. And... well, it was obvious who was doing the fucking in this scenario. Or maybe he was running a train, and he was the middle car...

Forge would be biting against his neck, that delicious musk pouring over him as that thick member impaled him. His prostrate getting speared over and over with each unstoppable thrust. The ram could split him apart, but he had perfect self control, fucking Molot just hard enough to make him squeal with pain and pleasure...

Fantasising about it wasn't enough.

One of the Lombax's hands went behind him and dove several well-lubricated fingers into his own hole. His cock spasmed and his balls tightened as he spread those fingers a little, letting that imaginary cock in.

"Fuck..." Molot groaned. "Fuck yes... Forge... Fuck me, Forge..."

"Nhn...?" the serval mewled with a confused upward inflection, Molot's loud voice penetrating through the colourful fog in his mind.

Not that Molot cared.

"Fill me, Forge, I want you to drown me with your cum...! I c-can be a good side-kick, the sexiest sidekick you've ever h-had..."

How much of the pleas were from Molot, and how much of it came from Ruslan? Who could say. The Lombax didn't care. He wanted Forge, and he gave full-throated voice to that want. He said it louder and louder as he got closer to his own orgasm, his eyes rolling into his head as the kitty mewled and whined louder, regaining control over his throat to cry out with ecstasy...

"Who...'s Forge...?" he managed to croak.

"FUCK me Forge, fill me...!" Molot's voice was strangled by his orgasm, emptying spurt after spurt into his fucktoy's warm, waiting hole. He kept rubbing at his insides, attacking his prostate with tickles to keep the orgasm prolonged and intense, imagining his squeezing walls were milking Forge's cum out of him - they came at the same time, of course.

"Nnnnghhnnnfuckyeah...." he continued, his eyes rolling into his head as a haze almost as powerful as the goggle-haze spread over him. The serval was relaxing, too, as the last of the paralytic worked through him. He collapsed to his knees, drooling face down, cum-filled ass up, his cock swinging like a pendulum, with no release just yet.

Molot would keep it that way. Better to leave him suspiciously unsatisfied when he brought him out of the trance, eager to come back for more.

"So, what's your name?" the still zonk-drunk cat asked on his way out the door.

"Same time, Wednesday." Molot closed it in his face. He didn't need to know his name.

He was still horny, after all, and he wanted to spend some more time with Forge.

-

"So, I don't even get credit for these?" Molot tried to hide his annoyance from his voice; he didn't want to seem insubordinate. But it was totally unfair.

"Trust me, it's better this way." Dr. S was doing a bad job at reassuring him. The colours weren't doing anything anymore, they were just sort of... there.

"Explain to me why, then."

"Basically... if you - I mean, if Ruslan doesn't know he designed these things in his sleep, it's less likely that the programming will go awry. I definitely don't want to lose you until I'm certain you're going to stick."

Molot knew he was right. It wouldn't stick until Ruslan 'got the idea' for his alter-ego name. That would cement him fully, seal his fate as a member of Dr. S's team. Still... all his hard work, completely uncredited?

Still, no point in arguing the case. Dr. S was his master, after all.

"All right, then. If it's gonna be that way, I'm in no position to demand anything, but I've got a request."

"Here we go..."

"It has to be Forge's. He has to be the one who thinks he designed these things."

"I knew it. I really gotta put him in chastity or something..."

"I'm not expecting it-"

"I know. You've been doing a great job, honestly. I think you've earned it. I'll see if we can arrange something for you two, as well. Ruslan's going to find Forge soon enough."

"True," Molot said. "He's getting really close. I think he's gonna be going out tomorrow night again. Do the dockyards work?"

"Yep. Perfect. Forge will 'run into you' there. And then he'll bring you to me. Really looking forward to meeting you, by the way. Excellent work on all accounts."

"Thank you, Dr. S."

"By the way, you can cum now."

"F-Forge...!" the freight train climax spurted all over Molot's face, daubing him like an avant-garde painting.

He heard an exasperated tut from Dr. S, but chose to ignore it.

He would not wake again for a while.

-

"You can call me Molot."

There it was.

It was so easy to step in and finally join together with the rest of Ruslan's consciousness. Take over, in a sense. It passed by with barely a shudder, so quickly that the paralysed rabbit didn't even notice it. Ruslan likely didn't even notice it either.

"What kinda.. N-name is that...?" Hypersonic said through gritted teeth and freezing vocal cords.

"I'll tell you later. For now..."

Keeping the sprayer level, Molot turned the revolving cylinder just in front of the trigger with an almost musical chk-chk. Setting it from 'paralyse' to 'stun'. This was gonna be the fun part.

"You look tired. Let's give you the chance to nap."

Molot put the mask back over his face. Scents were not a thing he experienced very intensely while Ruslan was asleep. There was something oddly satisfying about the chemical scent of the inside of that mask. The goggle-fog swirled in front of his face, and he felt a brief twinge of the old pleasure the first time Ruslan had put his first pair on.

As the mist sprayed and poured out from his gun, he watched Hypersonic's eyes go from glossy and alert to matte and dazed. A confused groan as he grappled with the sensations now overwhelming him and flooding him.

This part was almost better than sex.

Almost.

He took a moment to examine himself - the skin tight bodysuit hugging his now-shredded frame from his neck, to his ankles, and all the way down the tip of his tail. His dick was perfectly defined through it, already, bulging against his inner thigh. Every slight movement was pleasurable in it.

The jet-black, gold-trimmed overcoat looked cool as hell on him, too. As did the golden gloves and matching thick boots. It set him apart from the rank-and-file, ensured his standing within the good doctor's ranks were very clear. It implied brains to go with the brawn. Dr. S must have picked out a really good fashion designer. He lowered the gun for a moment as he re-chambered it, rolling his shoulders back and delighting in the very soft squeaks and creaks of his tight suit. He should work out in this thing, really work up a lather some time...

"Before we firm you up in the amber," Molot continued, "I think you could probably strike a better pose. Something heroic. Or something sexy. What're you feeling more?"

"Gng." Even if his vocal chords were working, Hypersonic seemed to be in no state to really respond coherently.

"What do you think, Forgey?" Molot called sweetly over his shoulder. He could feel the ram's presence close behind. A slap on his behind made him yelp like an alleycat, and giggle like a bimbo.

"Don't call me that, Molot," Forge said. "I think we should set our friend here on his knees... let us get to work on him. You in the mood for making a train?"

"Oh, fuck yes..." Molot was a little overwhelmed. Man, he thought he was down bad, but Ruslan was even more obsessed with him. He wondered how many times they'd already fucked, and how much he'd been missing out on. Ruslan was a lucky bastard.

His frustration was slightly carried out on Hypersonic - once the rabbit was on his hands and knees, he coated him with the amber mist again, the thin epoxy covering his fur and suit until he was frozen into the perfect position to suit a sex toy.

Molot fiddled for a convenient little zip just beneath his tail and pulled it down to bare his cheeks, his dick already hard with the anticipation of getting filled by the ram.

At least now, he was finally going to get a chance at the real thing.

He felt Forge's warmth behind him. Meat slapped against his lower back. Throbbed. Pulsed. Dribbled.

Oh fuck. Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck, here it comes...!

-

God_damn,_ Molot was loud. He was practically blowing out the microphone on the secret cameras with his cries, even though they were muffled inside his mask.

Still, Dr. S was very much enjoying the show.

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