shadow_vector | Catnap

PG
IDW AU
Drift/Perceptor/Wing
fluff
for tf_speedwriting prompt: coziness

Drift grinned, looking down at the two of them. “He looks…wiped out.”

Perceptor nodded. Wing, sticky and reeking from combat, had originally slumped against his shoulder for the shuttle hop back to the Axion, but had slid into an exhausted recharge, helm leaning against Perceptor’s chassis. The red mech had carefully lifted his arm, resting it over the white frame. To prevent, he told himself, Wing from getting damaged by any turbulence.

“Can probably wake him up,” Drift said. Perceptor was a little…sensitive about his personal space.

Perceptor shook his head. “Fine. Needs it.” Underneath the flat words, though, Drift could hear something almost like amusement. He tugged his Great Sword out of its catches, laying it on the ground next to Wing’s, and Perceptor’s sniper rifle. He looked at the two of them for a moment, hands on hips.

Drift gave a shrug, reaching over to hook under the jet’s knees, lifting them enough to slide himself onto the bench next to Perceptor, the white legs across his lap. Wing didn’t even move, other than to slide further down Perceptor’s body, till his helm rested on the sniper’s silver thighs.

He gave a soft laugh, letting his hands curl over the stabilizers that jutted from Wing’s shins. For his first battle with the Wreckers, Wing had more than proven himself, even getting a grudging compliment from Springer as Drift had boarded the shuttle. “Held his own,” Springer had muttered. Drift had swelled with something like pride, but tempered with the fact that they shouldn’t have doubted Wing’s ability to begin with. Still, Springer called the shots, so he’d nodded, and headed back into the passenger bay of the cramped ship.

He wiggled a little, moving closer to Perceptor, Wing’s body draped over both of them. “You doing okay?”

Perceptor nodded.

“Kept an optic on him?” A question Drift already knew the answer to. He just liked making Perceptor admit it.

Perceptor’s mouth thinned. “First combat.” An excuse. And next time there’d be another excuse, and another. Perceptor was brilliant at making excuses—terrible at facing the truth.

“Kind of you,” Drift murmured, reaching his hand to brush over Perceptor’s wrist. Perceptor flipped his wrist over, so that their black palms slid together, comforting and intimate on the chassis of the exhausted jet.

Perceptor’s and Wing’s EM fields had synched together, the slow, soft pulse doubtless part of what had pulled Wing into recharge. And it was having…nearly the same effect on Drift. He bumped his shoulder closer, into Perceptor’s to get his attention, tipping his helm up, offering his mouth.

Which Perceptor, despite the bay being crowded with the other Wreckers, could not bring himself to refuse. He turned, leaning over, letting his lip components brush over Drift’s. Drift gave a pleased growl, pushing into the kiss, his free hand skimming up the thigh of the jet across their laps.

A wriggling purr beneath them, a deep sighing vent, and they broke the kiss to look down, as one, at the golden optics still warming up, glowing at them. “That,” Wing said, his voice thick with sleep, stretching his legs out over Drift’s lap, “is a nice thing to see when waking up.”

Catnap

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