Sursum part 2
May. 14th, 2011 09:23 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
niyazi-a.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
shadow_vectorR
IDW
Wing/Drift
pnp interfacing
“Thank you,” Wing murmured in Drift’s audio, later, as his hands slid around Drift’s shoulders, nuzzling against the back of Drift’s helm as he sat on the edge of the berth.
“For what?” Drift tried not to lean back into it, to show Wing how much he wanted the jet’s touch, how...tamed he’d become.
“For spending time with Cloudburst.”
“For behaving, you mean.”
A gentle laugh, vibrating against his helm. “For that, a little, yes. But also, because I think it does you good to see and hear from others.” The hands slid over the shoulders, wrapping down around the chassis. He could feel the jet’s body against his backframe, as one knee jutted beside him, Wing curling around his seated form.
Drift wanted to ask why. He wasn’t staying here. There was no point trying to win him over to this place. He dealt with Wing, because he had to, and, because....
He turned into Wing’s embrace, his mouth latching against Wing’s, pushing him down, hands hard and demanding on Wing’s frame. This...was the temptation--Wing’s warm willingness, desire offered without pain, without a fight, without having to be taken, forced. It was...heady and new and Drift still didn’t know how to deal with it. Other, of course, than that he wanted it.
Better than talking, anyway, he thought, as Wing’s hands slid over his frame, flirting with the line between Drift’s repairs and his old, battered dark frame. He growled, one hand cupping around Wing’s heavy helm, the other sliding down the jet’s side, fingers curling into the hip joint below the pelvic frame. Wing shivered beneath him.
Exquisite, novel. Drift felt desire surge across his net, his field crackling with charge, reaching out for Wing’s. Drift broke the kiss into a gentle bite on Wing’s lower lip, optics blue and smoldering into Wing’s lidded gold.
“Want you,” he growled.
A soft click in response: Wing releasing the interface hatch on his chassis.
Drift’s growl melted into a dark laugh, sliding his chassis over Wing’s. “Eager, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” Wing said, simply, refusing to be embarrassed: another novelty for Drift--being wanted so...intensely. Wing’s hands wrapped around Drift’s shoulders, one thigh sleek and warm against Drift’s legs. His EM field, warm and plush, wrapped around Drift’s. “Something wrong with wanting to share pleasure?”
Drift didn’t answer. He couldn’t. Because the answer he knew from life--yes--was not the answer here. As if New Crystal City operated under its own rules, its own physics. His hand reached for Wing’s module, thumb glossing down the brushed metal, Wing gasping, optics shuttering closed in surprised desire. Drift snorted, sliding the module against his own hatch, rolling it around the socket, smirking at Wing’s arching frame, his own spiking and flaring EM. He seated the module with a firm click, twitching at the sudden rush of code, then the warm, happy pulse of Wing’s datastream over his net.
Wing arched up into him, hand clutching at the open hatch, for Drift’s module. Drift let him take it, watching the hand as it folded over the module, tucking down and plugging it into Wing’s own socket. He gave a satisfied sigh, his datastream pulsing hard and solid into Wing’s system, colliding with the lighter tempo of Wing’s.
He folded his arms down, resting his chassis on the jet’s, pressing their bodies together, ferociously, burying his face in the jet’s throat.
“What...do...?” Wing managed, his hands clinging to Drift’s rib struts.
Drift gave a growl, lifting his head, optics burning blue and intense. “Flying,” he said, voice hoarse. “Take me flying.”
Wing gave a whimper, nodding, and Drift barely had time to nuzzle back against the jet’s body when he felt the secondary connectors prickle alive and the request for access/override. He shot a ‘y’ command, shuddering as his sensornet was taken over and suddenly he wasn’t here, on a berth, but alone, soaring through a clear sky, wings he didn’t have cutting ribbons of mist through the sky, air cool and silky over his armor. A dream of flight, one of Wing’s memories, overwriting his datacapture, as he suddenly peeled up, aiming, it seemed, for the glowing sun, helixing just for the joy of movement.
It wasn’t just flight Drift wanted. The first time, yes, he’d been greedy for the bare experience. What grounder hadn’t held some vague longing for the utter defiance of gravity? But Wing’s flight was...Wing’s--sure and powerful and joyful, the emotion inextricable from the movement.
The fierce joy of the memory, the sensation of flight, freedom under open sky, no war, no violence, nothing but movement for the pleasure of it, swept over him, his datastream surging, then skipping, like a wild thing until Wing’s stream caught it and held it in a sweet, quivering synchrony. He yelled--not a cry, not a whimper, or moan, but a harsh sound, darkness being driven from him by the wash of light and space and openness. It...hurt, but it was a pain he would give anything to have.
He clutched at Wing, fiercely, chassis heaving to cool the overheating of his systems, feeling the dying throb of their datastreams. Wing panted beneath him, hands stroking, soothingly, over Drift’s shoulders, optics glowing gold and warm, mouth reaching to catch the last ecstatic pain from Drift’s lips.
[***]
Wing frowned. The expression looked unnatural on his face, as his internal comm clicked off.
“What?” Drift didn’t pretend to be busy. He was a prisoner, despite the, uh, the opportunities of his position. He didn’t have to be polite.
“I have...another hearing I must attend.”
Drift’s mouth twisted. “Stupid rules.”
“They’re required.” Wing shrugged, one of the spines from his wing frame twitching. “If you break the law, you must pay the penalty.” He dropped one knee beside Drift’s on the chair, leaning in to wrap his arms around Drift’s shoulders. If Drift had thought the gesture was to comfort him, he would have pulled away, snapping. But he could feel Wing’s need for some reassurance, and it was a small enough thing, after all, to be held. “I think,” Wing murmured, his mouth brushing Drift’s crest, “you’re worth it.”
Drift squirmed at the words. “Seem to be the only one,” he muttered.
“Really?” Wing let him pull away. “Cloudburst seemed to enjoy your company.”
“Just being nice.” Like all of you, he thought, sourly.
Wing tilted his head. “I don’t think so. He doesn’t introduce just anyone to Vosian tea.”
“You all trust too fast,” Drift muttered, aware that he was throwing the words like shrapnel, to keep Wing away, off balance, out of range. Where he couldn’t hurt Drift with this tantalizing dream.
Wing laughed, stroking one hand down Drift’s arm. “Trust seems to me to be one of those things like happiness: one can never have too much.”
Naive, foolish, stupid, Drift thought, but when he looked up at Wing, all he could do was give a lopsided smile.
[***]
IDW
Wing/Drift
pnp interfacing
“Thank you,” Wing murmured in Drift’s audio, later, as his hands slid around Drift’s shoulders, nuzzling against the back of Drift’s helm as he sat on the edge of the berth.
“For what?” Drift tried not to lean back into it, to show Wing how much he wanted the jet’s touch, how...tamed he’d become.
“For spending time with Cloudburst.”
“For behaving, you mean.”
A gentle laugh, vibrating against his helm. “For that, a little, yes. But also, because I think it does you good to see and hear from others.” The hands slid over the shoulders, wrapping down around the chassis. He could feel the jet’s body against his backframe, as one knee jutted beside him, Wing curling around his seated form.
Drift wanted to ask why. He wasn’t staying here. There was no point trying to win him over to this place. He dealt with Wing, because he had to, and, because....
He turned into Wing’s embrace, his mouth latching against Wing’s, pushing him down, hands hard and demanding on Wing’s frame. This...was the temptation--Wing’s warm willingness, desire offered without pain, without a fight, without having to be taken, forced. It was...heady and new and Drift still didn’t know how to deal with it. Other, of course, than that he wanted it.
Better than talking, anyway, he thought, as Wing’s hands slid over his frame, flirting with the line between Drift’s repairs and his old, battered dark frame. He growled, one hand cupping around Wing’s heavy helm, the other sliding down the jet’s side, fingers curling into the hip joint below the pelvic frame. Wing shivered beneath him.
Exquisite, novel. Drift felt desire surge across his net, his field crackling with charge, reaching out for Wing’s. Drift broke the kiss into a gentle bite on Wing’s lower lip, optics blue and smoldering into Wing’s lidded gold.
“Want you,” he growled.
A soft click in response: Wing releasing the interface hatch on his chassis.
Drift’s growl melted into a dark laugh, sliding his chassis over Wing’s. “Eager, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” Wing said, simply, refusing to be embarrassed: another novelty for Drift--being wanted so...intensely. Wing’s hands wrapped around Drift’s shoulders, one thigh sleek and warm against Drift’s legs. His EM field, warm and plush, wrapped around Drift’s. “Something wrong with wanting to share pleasure?”
Drift didn’t answer. He couldn’t. Because the answer he knew from life--yes--was not the answer here. As if New Crystal City operated under its own rules, its own physics. His hand reached for Wing’s module, thumb glossing down the brushed metal, Wing gasping, optics shuttering closed in surprised desire. Drift snorted, sliding the module against his own hatch, rolling it around the socket, smirking at Wing’s arching frame, his own spiking and flaring EM. He seated the module with a firm click, twitching at the sudden rush of code, then the warm, happy pulse of Wing’s datastream over his net.
Wing arched up into him, hand clutching at the open hatch, for Drift’s module. Drift let him take it, watching the hand as it folded over the module, tucking down and plugging it into Wing’s own socket. He gave a satisfied sigh, his datastream pulsing hard and solid into Wing’s system, colliding with the lighter tempo of Wing’s.
He folded his arms down, resting his chassis on the jet’s, pressing their bodies together, ferociously, burying his face in the jet’s throat.
“What...do...?” Wing managed, his hands clinging to Drift’s rib struts.
Drift gave a growl, lifting his head, optics burning blue and intense. “Flying,” he said, voice hoarse. “Take me flying.”
Wing gave a whimper, nodding, and Drift barely had time to nuzzle back against the jet’s body when he felt the secondary connectors prickle alive and the request for access/override. He shot a ‘y’ command, shuddering as his sensornet was taken over and suddenly he wasn’t here, on a berth, but alone, soaring through a clear sky, wings he didn’t have cutting ribbons of mist through the sky, air cool and silky over his armor. A dream of flight, one of Wing’s memories, overwriting his datacapture, as he suddenly peeled up, aiming, it seemed, for the glowing sun, helixing just for the joy of movement.
It wasn’t just flight Drift wanted. The first time, yes, he’d been greedy for the bare experience. What grounder hadn’t held some vague longing for the utter defiance of gravity? But Wing’s flight was...Wing’s--sure and powerful and joyful, the emotion inextricable from the movement.
The fierce joy of the memory, the sensation of flight, freedom under open sky, no war, no violence, nothing but movement for the pleasure of it, swept over him, his datastream surging, then skipping, like a wild thing until Wing’s stream caught it and held it in a sweet, quivering synchrony. He yelled--not a cry, not a whimper, or moan, but a harsh sound, darkness being driven from him by the wash of light and space and openness. It...hurt, but it was a pain he would give anything to have.
He clutched at Wing, fiercely, chassis heaving to cool the overheating of his systems, feeling the dying throb of their datastreams. Wing panted beneath him, hands stroking, soothingly, over Drift’s shoulders, optics glowing gold and warm, mouth reaching to catch the last ecstatic pain from Drift’s lips.
[***]
Wing frowned. The expression looked unnatural on his face, as his internal comm clicked off.
“What?” Drift didn’t pretend to be busy. He was a prisoner, despite the, uh, the opportunities of his position. He didn’t have to be polite.
“I have...another hearing I must attend.”
Drift’s mouth twisted. “Stupid rules.”
“They’re required.” Wing shrugged, one of the spines from his wing frame twitching. “If you break the law, you must pay the penalty.” He dropped one knee beside Drift’s on the chair, leaning in to wrap his arms around Drift’s shoulders. If Drift had thought the gesture was to comfort him, he would have pulled away, snapping. But he could feel Wing’s need for some reassurance, and it was a small enough thing, after all, to be held. “I think,” Wing murmured, his mouth brushing Drift’s crest, “you’re worth it.”
Drift squirmed at the words. “Seem to be the only one,” he muttered.
“Really?” Wing let him pull away. “Cloudburst seemed to enjoy your company.”
“Just being nice.” Like all of you, he thought, sourly.
Wing tilted his head. “I don’t think so. He doesn’t introduce just anyone to Vosian tea.”
“You all trust too fast,” Drift muttered, aware that he was throwing the words like shrapnel, to keep Wing away, off balance, out of range. Where he couldn’t hurt Drift with this tantalizing dream.
Wing laughed, stroking one hand down Drift’s arm. “Trust seems to me to be one of those things like happiness: one can never have too much.”
Naive, foolish, stupid, Drift thought, but when he looked up at Wing, all he could do was give a lopsided smile.
[***]
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Date: 2011-05-15 11:32 am (UTC)Love this pair. Never heard of them before you started writing about them and now I have bought and read some of the backstory. Luuves it! Especially with your fics on the side it makes reading it with another level, deeper, more.. I don´t know. Just more. You surely have a way of striking a certain chord inside me with your fics. Thank you.