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shadow_vector2011-04-14 02:16 pm
niyazi-a.livejournal.com) wrote in shadow_vector2011-04-14 02:16 pm
Entry tags:
Tag
R
IDW
Drift/Perceptor
sticky
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1000_robots challenge. Which you should totally join, because it's fun. (And because I really want someone to write some hot Sunny/Sides, please?) (also I wrote this while waiting for a meeting. So...lower the bar for expectations.)
“Working too hard again.” Drift’s voice, quiet, behind Perceptor as he bent over his worktable.
“Needs to be finished,” Perceptor said, without looking up. One hand reached for a small plasmacutter, activating it, using it to slice through the slag that the overheated metal had been warped into.
“It can wait. We’re not so hard up for parts that it’s worth you working yourself to exhaustion.” A pile of words from Drift, always, Perceptor thought, a level of his seriousness. He seemed serious.
“One day we may be,” Perceptor murmured. “Want to be prepared.”
“Prepared.” A soft sound, maybe a laugh, and Perceptor felt the white arms wrap around him, a face nuzzle against his backplate for a moment. Not pushing, just…quietly tempting, the black hands feathering over his chassis, seeking to comfort rather than arouse.
Perceptor was sorely, sorely tempted, letting himself lean back into the embrace, his engine idling down from the tension he’d been holding himself in. He was overstressing himself, he realized. Drift was right. But he…really should finish.
The hands dropped down from his chassis, into the holsters on their hips, a firm push, and then the absence of weight, Drift pulling both pistols from their holsters. “What…?”
Drift gave a quiet laugh. “You’ll see.” He reached past Perceptor, grabbing a small tool. Perceptor could see the edge of a smile on the part of the mouth he could see. The tool whisked back out of sight, behind him, another kind of teasing. He tried to resist and failed, utterly, turning to look. His guns.Drift. It could not add up to much good.
“There,” Drift said, mouth quirking in a satisfied grin. “And this one….” He bent over the charge pack of the second pistol, hiding what he was doing with the white back of one hand. He looked up, catching Perceptor’s gaze. He winked. “Want to be prepared, right?”
“Yes…?”
“Good.” Drift reached out, taking Perceptor’s hand, and slapping one of the pistols into the palm. “See how prepared you are.” He tucked the other pistol against one hip scabbard.
"My gun."
"Want to see it again?" His optics flashed up, smirking.
“I don’t…?”
“Catch me.” Drift smirked. “Pistols are set to low stun. If you catch me, then, fine, you’re not working too hard. And I give you your pistol back. If I catch you…?” He let his glossa flirt over his lip plates. “Well. Let’s just say you better not let me catch you.”
For Drift, that was an epic flood of words. He was very serious indeed.
[***]
Perceptor crouched in the service hatch, hidden in shadow, opening his audio span wider, listening. Drift would have to make a move, wouldn’t he? Have to make a sound, at some point? Perceptor could out wait him.
There. A soft scuff, up the corridor. As Perceptor had suspected, Drift had headed for the old docking bay. And he was, Perceptor thought, probably just like himself, crouching, waiting for Perceptor to make a wrong move.
Perceptor felt a thin smile on his face. Right.
His hand curled around the familiar, warm grip of the pistol. We’ll see, Drift.
//Fallen asleep, have you?// Drift’s voice purred across the audio. //That’s a forfeit.//
//Not asleep.//
A soft laugh. //Scared, then?//
//No.//
//Why aren't you coming for me, Perceptor?// The voice was coy, teasing.
//Strategy.// Wait him out. The fact that Drift was talking so much showed he was bored. Just a matter of time until he made a mistake. Perceptor could be patient.
An amused sound. //You want me to win, don't you?//
//No.// Not...entirely true. Perceptor's interface systems were idling on just at the flash of memory, Drift's glossa flicking invitingly over his mouthplates, taunting, promising, enticing.
A moue. //Well, I want to win. Know what I'll do?// Indicative. He was so certain he'd win. Perceptor felt a rare grin curve over his mouthplates. Wouldn't he be surprised, then mortified, to be outdone by his own impatience?
//First,// Drift's voice was barely a whisper over comm. //The scope. That lens is...so sensitive.// Perceptor said nothing—some sort of erotic collision of possibilities bursting into a bright fireball over his cortex. His valve mechanism cycled in anticipation, scope whirring in and out of focus. //I like how you squirm,// Drift murmured.
And Perceptor was squirming, his vents becoming short, shallow, imagining hot mouth along the casing, flicking little licks along the lens.
//Always wanted to see if I could get you off that way.//
Perceptor choked on a moan. //You'll have to win to find out,// he managed to bluster.
A wry sound from Drift. //And then. Of course. Your valve.// He purred. //I think I'll just...trace one finger around the rim of it. Really lightly. Just around the rim, nice, slow circle, watching you. Waiting for you to moan. Waiting for that...,// He paused and his voice was thick with lust when he continued, //that hot trickle of lubricant when you're really turned on.//
Like...right about now, Perceptor thought, writhing his thighs together, the silver metal sliding together. Frustrating. //Is that so?// he croaked. It was barely a rejoinder, but he couldn't make himself any more coherent.
//It is.// A laugh. //After that, you know, when you're really turned on, just one finger, inside you. Just...push it in and let your calipers cycle down against it. Twist it around, maybe. Would you like that?// A growling purr. //Maybe...maybe two fingers.//
Perceptor's engine revved, his systems prickling, primed, aroused.
Movement: a flash of white, blue optics glowing with aroused mirth, the mouth curled in a triumphant smile, and the black circle of a barrel pointing, straight at Perceptor's face. “I win,” Drift said.
IDW
Drift/Perceptor
sticky
for
1000_robots challenge. Which you should totally join, because it's fun. (And because I really want someone to write some hot Sunny/Sides, please?) (also I wrote this while waiting for a meeting. So...lower the bar for expectations.)“Working too hard again.” Drift’s voice, quiet, behind Perceptor as he bent over his worktable.
“Needs to be finished,” Perceptor said, without looking up. One hand reached for a small plasmacutter, activating it, using it to slice through the slag that the overheated metal had been warped into.
“It can wait. We’re not so hard up for parts that it’s worth you working yourself to exhaustion.” A pile of words from Drift, always, Perceptor thought, a level of his seriousness. He seemed serious.
“One day we may be,” Perceptor murmured. “Want to be prepared.”
“Prepared.” A soft sound, maybe a laugh, and Perceptor felt the white arms wrap around him, a face nuzzle against his backplate for a moment. Not pushing, just…quietly tempting, the black hands feathering over his chassis, seeking to comfort rather than arouse.
Perceptor was sorely, sorely tempted, letting himself lean back into the embrace, his engine idling down from the tension he’d been holding himself in. He was overstressing himself, he realized. Drift was right. But he…really should finish.
The hands dropped down from his chassis, into the holsters on their hips, a firm push, and then the absence of weight, Drift pulling both pistols from their holsters. “What…?”
Drift gave a quiet laugh. “You’ll see.” He reached past Perceptor, grabbing a small tool. Perceptor could see the edge of a smile on the part of the mouth he could see. The tool whisked back out of sight, behind him, another kind of teasing. He tried to resist and failed, utterly, turning to look. His guns.Drift. It could not add up to much good.
“There,” Drift said, mouth quirking in a satisfied grin. “And this one….” He bent over the charge pack of the second pistol, hiding what he was doing with the white back of one hand. He looked up, catching Perceptor’s gaze. He winked. “Want to be prepared, right?”
“Yes…?”
“Good.” Drift reached out, taking Perceptor’s hand, and slapping one of the pistols into the palm. “See how prepared you are.” He tucked the other pistol against one hip scabbard.
"My gun."
"Want to see it again?" His optics flashed up, smirking.
“I don’t…?”
“Catch me.” Drift smirked. “Pistols are set to low stun. If you catch me, then, fine, you’re not working too hard. And I give you your pistol back. If I catch you…?” He let his glossa flirt over his lip plates. “Well. Let’s just say you better not let me catch you.”
For Drift, that was an epic flood of words. He was very serious indeed.
[***]
Perceptor crouched in the service hatch, hidden in shadow, opening his audio span wider, listening. Drift would have to make a move, wouldn’t he? Have to make a sound, at some point? Perceptor could out wait him.
There. A soft scuff, up the corridor. As Perceptor had suspected, Drift had headed for the old docking bay. And he was, Perceptor thought, probably just like himself, crouching, waiting for Perceptor to make a wrong move.
Perceptor felt a thin smile on his face. Right.
His hand curled around the familiar, warm grip of the pistol. We’ll see, Drift.
//Fallen asleep, have you?// Drift’s voice purred across the audio. //That’s a forfeit.//
//Not asleep.//
A soft laugh. //Scared, then?//
//No.//
//Why aren't you coming for me, Perceptor?// The voice was coy, teasing.
//Strategy.// Wait him out. The fact that Drift was talking so much showed he was bored. Just a matter of time until he made a mistake. Perceptor could be patient.
An amused sound. //You want me to win, don't you?//
//No.// Not...entirely true. Perceptor's interface systems were idling on just at the flash of memory, Drift's glossa flicking invitingly over his mouthplates, taunting, promising, enticing.
A moue. //Well, I want to win. Know what I'll do?// Indicative. He was so certain he'd win. Perceptor felt a rare grin curve over his mouthplates. Wouldn't he be surprised, then mortified, to be outdone by his own impatience?
//First,// Drift's voice was barely a whisper over comm. //The scope. That lens is...so sensitive.// Perceptor said nothing—some sort of erotic collision of possibilities bursting into a bright fireball over his cortex. His valve mechanism cycled in anticipation, scope whirring in and out of focus. //I like how you squirm,// Drift murmured.
And Perceptor was squirming, his vents becoming short, shallow, imagining hot mouth along the casing, flicking little licks along the lens.
//Always wanted to see if I could get you off that way.//
Perceptor choked on a moan. //You'll have to win to find out,// he managed to bluster.
A wry sound from Drift. //And then. Of course. Your valve.// He purred. //I think I'll just...trace one finger around the rim of it. Really lightly. Just around the rim, nice, slow circle, watching you. Waiting for you to moan. Waiting for that...,// He paused and his voice was thick with lust when he continued, //that hot trickle of lubricant when you're really turned on.//
Like...right about now, Perceptor thought, writhing his thighs together, the silver metal sliding together. Frustrating. //Is that so?// he croaked. It was barely a rejoinder, but he couldn't make himself any more coherent.
//It is.// A laugh. //After that, you know, when you're really turned on, just one finger, inside you. Just...push it in and let your calipers cycle down against it. Twist it around, maybe. Would you like that?// A growling purr. //Maybe...maybe two fingers.//
Perceptor's engine revved, his systems prickling, primed, aroused.
Movement: a flash of white, blue optics glowing with aroused mirth, the mouth curled in a triumphant smile, and the black circle of a barrel pointing, straight at Perceptor's face. “I win,” Drift said.
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if anyone needs me, I'll.... be over here in the corner. overheating. whoadamn.
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...yay?
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*sits patiently, but bouncing*
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*waggles eyebrows. Ooo baby!
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