Sursum part 1

[niyazi-a.livejournal.com]

PG
IDW
Drift/Wing Drift/OC (Cloudburst)
eventual pnp (not this chapter)
Yyyyyyyyeah. This is a total fail of a kink meme prompt fill. I'm failing at kink meme again. The req was for Drift and another jet from NCC with a possible threesome. It got plotty, plot took over and ate the kink part, spat it out, and then buried it. There is a metric ton of headcanon here.

“Drift?” Wing sounded hesitant. Drift turned around from where he had been glowering over the landscape from Wing’s balcony. Wing stood in the archway, a larger blue armored jet standing behind him, optics green and curious. “I’d like you to meet Cloudburst.”

Drift flattened his mouth to what he hoped was a neutral expression. “Cloudburst.” His optics asked the question.

“I-I have to go a meeting,” Wing said. “And…I thought maybe Cloudburst could keep you company.”
The smile flashed and faded, an obvious cover. Right. Drift could figure this one: they didn’t trust him, figured he needed a babysitter, a guard.

“Company,” Drift echoed. Just to make the point. Wing smiled, innocent. Either he was a brilliant actor or he really believed that this was just about ‘company.’ He turned his attention to this Cloudburst, who was certainly studying him in return, optics traveling over the divide between Drift’s white repairs and his Decepticon armor. Cloudburst twitched, as he realized Drift had caught him staring.

“Greetings,” Cloudburst murmured. He inclined his head.

Wing hovered between the two of them , worried, as if just now realizing this maybe wasn’t such a great idea. “Cloudburst…he used to live in Iacon. I thought perhaps you—“

“Vos,” Drift corrected, flatly. “He lived in Vos.” He recognized the frame type—the broad, flat wing panels, unlike Wing’s, but very like the trio of jets Megatron had recruited early in the war.

“I relocated to Iacon,” Cloudburst said, tilting his head, curious, impressed. “When the civil war erupted. I thought I could…do more there.”

Drift grunted. Wing rocked on his feet, concerned. Drift waved him off. “Go. To your silly meeting. I promise I’ll behave,” or whatever. “Besides.” He gave a blunt shrug. “He’s armed; I’m not. He can fly; I
can’t.” Don’t have much choice, really.

Wing’s face fell. “Drift, it’s not like that.”

Drift gave a shark’s grin. “Of course not.” He held Wing’s gaze until the gold optics broke away.

“I-I have to go,” Wing said, hands wringing uncertainly. “Cloudburst, thank you for this,” he added, trying to recover himself, nodding brusquely before he left.

[***]

Cloudburst had suggested they go out to find something to eat. Drift had shrugged, but let himself be led down to the nearest streetlevel egress, without even suggesting that Cloudburst could just fly.

“Tea,” Cloudburst said, setting a steaming glass of green liquid in front of Drift before sliding onto the seat across from Drift at the small table, his own glass in front of him. “Like we used to have in Vos.” He grinned.

Drift studied it. Did he admit he’d never had it? Would that admit too much about his past? Did he care?

“Never made it to Vos,” he said, finally.

“It was beautiful,” Cloudburst said, wistfully. He toyed with his glass. “Though I suppose we all tend to romanticize things from before the war.”

“I don’t.” Drift said. Nothing romantic about the gutters. He stared at the oval rim of his glass, mouth working. Not really Cloudburst’s fault, though. It occurred suddenly that Drift had no idea where Wing was from. It seemed a strange omission. He looked up. “Where’d Wing come from?” Other than, you know…his own special dimension where everything was white and shiny.

“Wing?” Cloudburst took a sip of his tea—small, delicate. Apparently the way it was supposed to be done. “Altihex.”

Drift froze, his hand halfway to bringing his tea to his mouth. “Explains why he hates Decepticons,” he said, quietly. Megatron’s forces had sabotaged the attitude adjustment engines that had kept the city-state in geosynchronous orbit with the planet. The floating city had burned, crashing into the planet’s surface. Drift remembered one of Megatron’s deputies comment, as it had scrolled over a news feed, flames of blue white screaming through the fallen city, that Megatron would have no mech above him.

He rubbed the purple insignia on his chassis, that the technicians had gone through such pains to reproduce in his repairs. What must Wing think every time he saw it? Did he see his city burning?

“Wing has let go of hate,” Cloudburst answered, jerking Drift back to himself. “He is, in many ways, a model to us.”

Of course. Drift hid the way his mouth twisted in the glass of the green, hot tea. It was strangely bitter, but not unpleasant and the warmth soothed its way down his intake.

“And you?” Cloudburst asked. “It’s only fair. Where are you from?”

Drift squirmed, then stopped himself. No, he had nothing to be ashamed of. That was the whole point of the Decepticons, why he had joined—that a mech could leave his roots behind, make something of himself, regardless of his money or lineage. “Gutters,” he said, his optics blue challenges to Cloudburst’s green.
“Never saw sunlight till after the war started.”

“I can…not imagine what that was like,” Cloudburst said. Drift scoured his expression for anything like pity or contempt, but found only a strange, sad respect.

“Jet,” Drift said, after a long moment. “Different for you airframes, I think.”

Cloudburst nodded, almost relieved, as if aware he’d been treading on dangerous ground. They drank the tea in silence, Drift letting his gaze roam over the other tables. Everyone here, relaxed, unhurried, as if there was no real urgency. Of course not; there wasn’t. No war to win. Nothing but float along and be…happy. He chafed.

“Can I confess something to you, Drift?” Cloudburst lay his glass down, trailing one finger along the rim.
They both studied the slow rotation of the finger around the edge. “I…sometimes miss combat.”

Why is he telling me this?

“Do you?”

Drift hesitated. “Miss having something to do. Being useful or something.”

Cloudburst nodded. “Yes, but…for me it was even more than that?” He seemed shy as he reached to tap a faint divot on one broad wing, contours thickened with fresher enamel. “I fitted to be a fighter/bomber. Something about…the intensity, the focus. I don’t know. The…violence.” He looked aside, as though he’d profaned something sacred.

Drift felt a feral grin twist over his mouth. “Yeah,” he said. He leaned back, propping one knee on the table, studying Cloudburst through new optics. “Power.” His hand twitched, imagining a pistol. What he could do with one here...?

Cloudburst gave an eager nod of understanding. “Not many mechs understand. Not many fought.” He dropped his gaze to his tea again.

Good a time as any to ask tacky questions, Drift thought. “Wing?”

“He fought. Once he recovered.” A moment’s hesitation, as if Cloudburst were weighing the confidence. “He was trapped in the rubble of Altihex for five days.” He gave a curt nod, before raising his glass to his mouth. “It’s why he...needs to fly sometimes.”

Cloudburst gave a sudden, sharp movement of his head, cutting off Drift’s next question just before the familiar tenor voice.

“I thought I might find you here.” Wing approached the table, resting his fingertips on the colored surface, a strange gesture, as though trying to anchor himself. “I remember how much you liked this place,” he said, smiling.

Cloudburst inclined his helm. “I figured you would. How did it go?”

The smile faded. “As well as could be expected.” A hesitation. “May I join you?”

Ridiculously polite, Drift thought, but that’s how it happened here. Cloudburst nodded, reaching one hand to squeeze Wing’s for a brief moment. Wing returned the gesture, with a warm glow of his optics before moving to the counter, the touch strangely intimate. Drift felt like an interloper.

Cloudburst caught Drift’s pointed look. He shrugged.

“You together or something?” Drift blurted.

Cloudburst cocked his head. “For a while, yes. Wing is...hard to resist.” He grinned fondly. “Turnabout being fair play and all--are you?”

Drift blanched at the question. Even though, yes, it was only fair. He managed a grunt. Cloudburst’s optics twinkled as he took another sip of his tea, before letting his gaze float over to Wing. Wing’s fingers tapped the counter, the small spines behind his neck high and tense.

“So, what’s he upset about?” Cloudburst seemed prone to chattiness. Good source of intelligence, right?

“Wing,” Cloudburst murmured, hurriedly, “must face judgment for his actions.”

“Actions--oh.” Actions. Like leaving the safety of New Crystal City. Like bringing Drift back. He shot a look at the jet’s back, the complicated tuck of his wings. But when Wing turned, a glass of something pale blue and cloudy in his hands, the smile was back in place.

“I never could get used to the taste of Vosian tea,” Wing said, settling himself on a seat. “Do you like it, Drift?”

“It’s fine,” Drift said, a little off-balance at Wing’s light tone. Maybe this whole ‘judgment’ wasn’t such a big deal. Though Dai Atlas had been pretty clear that Drift was...not his favorite mech.

Wing pushed his glass toward Drift. “This might be a bit...better than fine?” He gave a challenging wink to Cloudburst, that comfortable intimacy that made something hot and green twist in Drift’s cortex. Drift took the glass. The blue liquid was tart and sweet on his glossa.

“This from...,” he caught himself, “where you’re from?”

Wing gave a quick smile. “No, it’s a newframe’s drink,” he said, laughing. “Cloudburst likes to tease me about it.” Present tense. Drift felt a prickle of hostiity.

“Nothing wrong with it,” Drift murmured, pushing the glass back toward Wing. “Kind of like it.”

Wing’s smile took root, optics glowing. “Thank you, Drift.” And it was for more than just sliding the glass across the table. He let one finger brush over Drift’s hand. Drift allowed the touch, resisting the urge to give Wing the same comforting squeeze Cloudburst had, a flash of smug satisfaction that Wing touched him in front of his...other.

“So,” Cloudburst said, optics darting between the pair. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No,” Wing said, mouth pushing into a pout before melting into a rare serious expression. “I am prepared to take my punishment, as always.”

“As always?” The words escaped Drift before he could stop himself. He didn’t want to be left out of this, especially if it involved him.

“I...fly.” Wing gave a nervous shrug. “It’s not allowed. It endangers the city.”

“But....”

“I’ll be fine,” Wing said, without any real confidence behind it.

“Wing,” Cloudburst said, firmly. “They haven’t decided.”

He shook his head. “No. This was,” he flinched, “egregious.” Wing buried his frown in his drink.

Drift felt his brow contract, ducking his head to hide it under his helm. “Not fair,” he muttered.

Wing shrugged, sheepishly. “It is fair, in a way. One violates the law, one must be punished. Otherwise, anarchy.”

“The law is stupid.”

Wing laughed, and part of Drift felt a feral pleasure at the sound. It was an open, ringing laugh, that brought them the optics of other patrons at other tables, but Wing was entirely unselfconscious. Wing reached one hand out, brushing it over Drift’s shoulder. “Thank you for that.”

Cloudburst’s mouth twitched, drawing Drift’s gaze. Jealous, Drift thought. Of course. Who wouldn’t be jealous? He had taken Wing away from Cloudburst. His spark throbbed with a dark velvet possessiveness.

Comments

[gwenithcoy.livejournal.com]

I love your headcanon! You fail at nothing, soo looking foward to more of this. :)

[lightningscythe.livejournal.com]

Your head canon is amazing. Even if there was no smutty stuff in it I'd still love every little bit.

I can only imagine what would happen next. Jealous Cloudburst and Devious Drift? Oh the possibilities!

[gatekat.livejournal.com]

*purrrs* So much win here, just so much win. I adore your headcanon. I adore that you've got a native to NCC that misses combat enough to say so. As difficult as Wing is to resist, it seems Drift draws in confessions.

[swift117.livejournal.com]

You're making these chars deeper and deeper. This AU so complex now and with every fic, you enrich it.

[niyazi-a.livejournal.com]

I'm sorry to correct your nitpick, but attitude in aeronautics refers to a vehicle's orientation. Altitude is height. They are very different things. Almost every aircraft has an attitude indicator.