Sursum part 6

[niyazi-a.livejournal.com]

R
IDW
Drift/Wing/OC (Cloudburst)
pnp interfacing.
The end of the seemingly never-ending saga. :P 

He woke, somehow on the berth,  cycles later, twined with Cloudburst's limbs, soothed by the steady hum of the Vosian's systems. Different from Wing's but...he wanted them to be different.  He remembered the memories Cloudburst summoned from him: Wing, bright and pure, sharp-edged and beautiful. That first, breathtaking sight of him, his drab-brown disguise burning off him—the surprise and shock of it. And he remembered the flood of emotion that Cloudburst had tapped, that had torn him, breathless, from himself, teetering on the verge of embarrassment, only to feel a well of understanding opening beneath him, Cloudburst knowing better than Drift did what he felt and what it meant.

The door opened: a slice of light across the floor.  Drift sat up.  Wing stood in the doorframe, a stark silhouette cut from the light of the corridor, against which his optics glowed only dimly, wrung out.  He looked...naked without the rise of the Great Sword behind him, and he seemed to wobble, as if the sharp light cut him.

“Wing,” he said, rolling on the edge of the berth, wishing he dared to reach out for the jet.  And the situation froze him:  He and Cloudburst, in Wing's berth...and what had passed between them. It felt disloyal. He felt...caught.

Wing stepped over the threshold, the darkness swallowing them entirely as the door closed behind him, winking down to a pair of tired golden optics. 

“Come here,” Cloudburst said, gesturing out with his hand. It was an irrelevant invitation, Drift thought. Where else would Wing go, after all?  But he saw the look of relief bloom over Wing's face at the words, approaching the berth, and Drift knew that there was something here beyond his grasp, but that the ritual of it was important: stating what seemed obvious—that Wing was wanted, worried about—mattered.

But he did know that he wanted to shift aside, making room for the white jet between them. Wing collapsed gratefully into the narrow space, shifting against them both, no comment, other than a soft blissful mew as he settled into the wash of ions between them.  Drift could feel the jet's heat and his erratic, ragged EM field. He knew this—all too well—from the battlefield, and knew what kind of pain it portended.  And Wing...was simply here, wanting to be touched.

Drift folded his arm over the chassis, feeling Wing sag down against him, the gold optics turning toward his face, chin tipping up, inviting a kiss.  That Drift...could not refuse; did not want to, his mouth against the pain-heated lip plates as if magnetized.

Cloudburst's large hand rounded over one of the shoulder nacelles, skimming over the surface, as if petting the jagged, discordant EM field. Wing sighed into the kiss, accepting the caress with a sort of grateful shiver. 

“Should let you recharge,” Drift said, pulling away, with regret, from the kiss, taming his hands to merely rest over the hip, fighting the surge of desire that swept over him.

“I need this more,” Wing said, clinging to Drift. Drift could feel the tattered EM licking over his armor, inviting, wanting, pain and discord feathering out, dispersing themselves against him.

And Drift needed it to, he realized--wanted, needed to feel Wing against him, as if ‘intact’ somehow meant ‘fine’.  His hand squeezed into the hip before sliding down one white thigh, Wing purring at the contact.  Cloudburst’s hand joined him, riding over the heated armor, soothing, stroking away the memories, inscribing new ones.

“May I?”  Wing’s fingers traced the squared edges of Drift’s interface hatch.  Drift managed half a smile, releasing the hatch.  “I want good memories,” Wing murmured, his hand burning over the module. 

Drift nodded, his own hand reaching for Wing’s hatch, scraping through his memory files for something...good. It was not a tag used very often in his memory files.  “Don’t have many.”  A few ancient ones, sharing a stolen ration with Gasket, staring up at the glittering spires of the city reaching above them.  And each of those was limned with a strange bitterness, the knowledge of what came later. 

Cloudburst leaned over Wing’s frame, nuzzling Drift’s rounded cheekplates with a familiar courtesy. “Then we’ll have to make some.”

[***]

 

Drift thrashed against the broad chassis beneath him as the blue hands slicked in parallel down his thighs, the bass rumble of Cloudburst’s engines against his shoulders.  Wing’s mouth was warm, wanting, his glossa tracing a hot line over Drift’s body, flicking at the divide between white and black, his hand curled protectively over Drift’s interface hatch, the connector cables threaded through his fingers. 

Cloudburst sent another pulse of data through the connection, hard, almost to the point of pain. Drift arched up, throwing his head back, hands clawing at air, lost in a paroxysm of sensory input. Atop him, Wing gasped, the Direct Sensory Feed pushing the sensations straight through to Wing’s net. 

Cloudburst leaned forward, nipping at Drift’s spaulder, his hands riding over both of the smaller mechs. Wing clambered upward, blazing kisses over Drift’s chassis in a line leading to Cloudburst’s mouth.  They kissed beside him, around him, and Drift felt Wing’s weight on him, solid and precious, the EM field a soft, even blanket of ions around him that seemed to lick and caress into Drift’s systems like a thousand tiny glossae, warm sweet flames of trust and desire. He sagged back against the broad shoulder panel as Cloudburst’s link sent him the feed, and he could feel Wing’s mouth like phantom over his, Wing’s body twisting against the large blue palms, the heat and prickle of his own aroused EM field brushing into the larger jet’s. 

He could feel the joy they had in each other, and in him; he writhed under it, into it, overcome as much by the physical stimulus as the gentle wash of acceptance, wanting, trust. And their desires came together, a crashing torrent, surging and merging their bodies, their systems, flooding them with a crystalline ecstasy that blanked every thought from Drift’s mind other than wanting to stay like this forever. 

And for that brief moment, lying between the two, their silky panels and sure, trusting EM fields twining around him, sensor feeds merged, without boundary or border...he felt like he belonged.

 

Comments

[swift117.livejournal.com]

*w* so happy

[niyazi-a.livejournal.com]

OH I was basing it off an old ritual of the Knights Templar. A penitent knight would strip himself naked and basically be tortured by his fellow Templars for a set period of time, to 'work off' the stain of his sin against the community. /medieval nerd ftw. This prompt was supposed to be fluffy so I didn't want to drag in all that ugly. :c

[gatekat.livejournal.com]

I love how much ritual you bring into the Knights and the Circle. It makes them so much more real, different. I really like how you don't draw from just one culture.

[gwenithcoy.livejournal.com]

Wonderful way to close this!! Loved it!

[silaphet.livejournal.com]

your consensual is amazing, the angst is delicious like black coffee making everything else sweeter. i appreciate my world more because of your stories.

[xxsomeoneelsexx.livejournal.com]

jlk;jfkdfdskclsndm ,c

<3