Ever since that seemingly small change to their chassis, everyone was initially "pleased" with its application and results. Finally a new way to relax during the moments of peace, mess around with fellow Draks and such...

But not everyone is easily sated. Some compensated by turning up their sensitivity. Others simply spent a little longer playing around.

And some felt like combining it with their profession. Stealth units especially took to pouncing unsuspecting, compatible comrades when they least expect it. And within that type, a few have already began to garner a reputation.

To them, it was like a game, a more relaxing version of what they usually did, but with a much sweeter reward. Following their prey hidden, out of sight until an opportunity presented itself. Thriel licked his lips at the thought of claiming yet another hole: front, back or mouth, it didn't matter. What did was getting something around his throbbing erection, so unbearably yearning for a good fuck. The enhanced fibers that moved his lightweight frame twitched every now and then in anticipation, waiting to jump into action. And they've been waiting for far too long, to the point where Thriel began to consider just grinding against the beam below the one he was hanging off of, conveniently collecting his dripping precum in case he did make that decision.

In this moment of desperation, Thriel's sensors finally spotted something. SomeONE. His gaping maw's sides curved upwards as he smiled and his body lit up in excitement. This was the part where his work and play began to differ.

A split second before the impact, his prey turned their head. They barely had time to recognize the sound of his wings cutting through the air, the black mass of artificial muscle bearing the neon green glow of his lights. And more importantly, his burning need. That overwhelming need to pin something down.

Mount it.

Fuck it.

Knot it.

Breed it thoroughly.

Leave their holes gaping.

Leaking.

Glowing.

Ruined.

Find another.

Repeat.