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shadow_vector2011-07-04 06:44 am
Speed and Status 4
R
IDW
Blurr, Drift, Perceptor Springer
ref sticky, vulgarity and Blurr.
Blurr's characterization is taken from Spotlight: Blurr (in short, he's a self-entitled celebrity dickwad). What he does in section three is pretty much drawn from real life.
Got reminded of this because what's coming up in...2 chapters? fits a kink meme prompt that posted recently. YAY. ...maybe yay?
The white mech was gone when Perceptor awoke—and Perceptor began to wonder if he'd ever been there at all or if the whole thing—the gentle laugh, the awkward courtesies—had been just a fantasy illusion. He lay on the berth, still joors before he could justify moving, floating somewhere between recharge and awake, systems fluctuatingly functional, so that reality was fuzzy and blurry and swirled like an image painted on water.
He shifted, restlessly, words and images coming to him in disconnected snatches: the white mech, scrubbing fiercely at his interface equpment, the same baritone voice, murmuring beside him, soft, breathing questions, names, regrets, and above all...a strange loneliness.
The door opened, whooshing nearly silently, and the white mech stepped through, moving lightly on his feet, almost soundlessly. He froze, catching Perceptor's gaze.
“Thought you'd still be recharging,” he murmured.
Perceptor scooted to the edge of the berth. “Please,” he said, pointing at the metal surface, awash with guilt. “You didn't have to leave.”
“Had to.” The other mech shifted, uncomfortable, as if torn between defiance and confession. “Had to get something out of my system.”
A flash of...something across Perceptor's cortex. Memory, half-memory. He shook his head. Some...aftereffect of the tank, perhaps. “Please. Recharge here? I'll take the floor.”
The other mech frowned, confused, but stepped forward. “Look. You don't have to--”
“Please, Deadlock.”
A flinch, as though Perceptor had struck the other mech. “Drift. The name's Drift. Deadlock's...not who I am.”
Something there, some mystery. Perceptor nodded. “Forgive my mistake. I misheard.” Or misremembered.
Drift seated himself, gingerly, on the berth, his scabbards sliding behind him. “Just...long story.” His shoulder panels shifted, high, tense, enough so that even Perceptor read that he didn't want to talk about it.
“Drift,” Perceptor said. An apology, and an acknowledgement. He moved to one side, clearing more room, catching, suddenly, the unmistakable scent of heated transfluid.
Oh.
For some reason, the realization stabbed at him, quicker and surer than Drift's blades ever could.
[***]
“Right,” Springer said, calling up the next mission. “As usual, a real ugly mission.”
“Matches Kup's face,” Twin Twist cracked. It wasn't, Drift thought at the tinny laughter that bubbled around him, particularly funny, but it was one of those things, one of those dull, expected rituals in combat teams. So, he was part of this team—he forced a dry chuckle.
Springer waited, an equally insincere but tolerant smile on his face. “We're still waiting on Met, but topographic assessment says this'll be a real...adventure.” He clicked the display and a satellite image of chewed up, uneven ground, split into ragged cliffs and sharp gaps that couldn't really be called 'valleys' popped up. “Lots of cover and concealment.” He gave a wry grin. “That's for the enemy, of course. But it wouldn't kill some of you to, you know, dodge every now and again.” Another round of the familiar not-really-laughter.
Blurr nudged Drift's thigh. “You get used to it,” he said, sympathetically.
“Am used to it,” Drift murmured. Just...not on this side. And not sitting in the audience, either. He knew from experience there was something Springer was keeping back about the mission. Something the bullet-meat didn't really need to trouble their stupid cortices about.
Blurr gave him a smile as though it were a gift. “Looking forward to seeing you in action.”
Drift was looking forward to it, too. Something to do. That he could actually do well. His hands tingled, wanting weapons. Gun, Sword. It didn't mattter. He wanted to be doing, not just...listening. “Me too,” he said.
Blurr took it as referring to, well, Blurr. “Heh,” he said. “I'm so fast you probably won't even see me.”
Drift managed—he hoped—a convincingly friendly return smile.
Springer was droning on about the topography, before switching to the actual important stuff: who they were up against. “Small unit of Decepticons.”
Topspin made an unhappy sound, as if disappointed. “Small.”
Springer pursed his mouth plates. “Small but troublesome enough that we got called in.” The mouth resolved into a grin. “Don't worry; plenty of action.”
“What are they, like Squadron X all over again?”
Springer shifted, the smile dying. It took a moment before he responded, as though he was trying to force his initial response back in some dark, nasty hole. “Wannabes, at best. The main concern—or the fun part, if you're Twin Twist—is that they're more or less sitting on a ton of demo.”
“Why they haven't blown them from orbit.” Perceptor's voice, from the back of the room. Drift found himself turning to look. After so long seeing him in the regen tank, it was still a little...weird seeing him whole, moving.
Springer nodded. “It's a small asteroid, rich with polybdenum. Which is...,” he looked back at Perceptor, tagging out.
Perceptor took one step forward. “Rare, volatile chemical. Required for interstellar transwarp drives. If struck by sufficient concussive force, it releases destabilizing tachyon energy.” He clamped his mouth shut, abruptly.
“In, uh, actual language?”
“Rip a hole in space,” Drift said. He felt the whole room—a mass of blue optics—turn to him. His shoulders shifted.
“You...do science?” Twin Twist looked a little impressed.
“No. Just...have some experience on ships with those kind of drives.” His least favorite part of space-combat—sitting around, helplessly, in a giant metal bomb in space, praying the enemy misses.
“Yeah,” Springer said, “Basically. So, bad thing for it to blow. And, apparently we—our side—needs the polybdenum.”
“And deny the asset to the enemy.” It felt...strange to refer to Decepticons as enemies. Then again, he hadn't had that many 'friends'.
“This sounds like it requires delicacy,” Topspin said. “Not exactly our dish.”
“Not delicacy, per se,” Springer said. “Just...small caliber weaponry.”
“A challenge,” Kup piped up. “Kind of reminds me of the time on Furzif-4.”
“It can remind you,” Springer said, tightly, “later.”
Kup glared. “Useful information.” He turned to the rest of the group. “So, no slag, there we were....”
A blue hand descended on Drift's wrist. “Let's blow this,” Blurr said. “Once Kup starts, it means all the actual important info's out.”
Drift hesitated. Kup had been decent to him—more than. Had figured out his secret, and given him a chance. Trusted him. Surely that deserved some show of loyalty. He twisted his wrist from Blurr's grasp. “I should stay.”
Blurr pouted, partly playfully. “Come on. We could get in a quick one before battle.”
Drift frowned. “Not right now.” Not really in the mood. Though after battle...? Drift had a feeling Blurr might be up for some venting of post-combat energy. Primus knew he normally was.
Blurr slid one hand around Drift's waist, fingers flirting with the Great Sword's sheath. “It won't take long...,” he whispered, leaning in.
“He said he wasn't interested,” Perceptor's voice, right behind them. Blurr jumped; Drift's head snapped around. The blue optics blazed down at Blurr from under the black helm, arms ending in tight fists
“Don't need your help,” Drift said, nettled. Perceptor didn't meet his gaze, optics locked with Blurr's.
“Problem?” Springer's voice cut through the tension like slicing through over-stretched strings.
“No,” Blurr said, recovering fastest. “Just helping out the new guy,” Blurr gave a stellar grin, the kind, Drift realized, he'd probably flashed before a thousand cameras—slick, practiced. Part of him envied that easy assurance: compared to himself, second guessing everything he did and said, knowing he was under constant scrutiny, Blurr's easy confidence gleamed like a star.
And part of him wondered if Blurr were capable of honest emotion. His optics flicked up to Perceptor, on whose face indignation and antagonism were writ large enough for Drift to read. There was an honesty there, he realized, something he could respect. Perceptor met his gaze, before his optics dropped, his face falling into a sheepish sort of discontent. Yes. Honesty.
[***]
Blurr's laugh cut through the buzz and bustle of the rec room. Perceptor looked up from his datapad. He'd always hung out, hung back, here, in the corner, where he could watch the Wreckers and their easy conviviality. Partly, he rationalized, because they might need help: he'd broken up more than one fight, and tended to more than one bruised ego. But mostly, he knew, to pretend to belong.
Their hijinks had never bothered him before, but Blurr's raucous laughter, as he curled one arm around Drift's, set Perceptor's dentae on edge. He looked down at his datapad, where he'd laid out schematics for his new chestplate, trying to bury himself back in his work. Not my business, he told himself. Not my concern. Drift told me he didn't need my 'help.'
But his optics kept drifting up and over to the pair, the way Blurr leaned into Drift, the small ways Drift seemed to be, slowly, squirming away.
No. Not your concern. Drift had come back from the battle, dented, damaged, and had gone to their quarters just long enough to wash the worst of the char and stink and stain off, before moving, silently, out the door.
Perceptor had said nothing, lying awake, trying not to count the cycles, trying to think of what he could say when Drift returned, before recharge finally pulled him into its dark arms. When he awoke, Drift was there, seated on the floor by the berth, as though guarding it, head bowed. As if he'd been there all night.
Perceptor wondered why Drift hadn't asked for new quarters. Even on the nights when he didn't go to...Blurr, Drift recharged on the floor, but he seemed...strangely accepting of it.
Not your concern.
Blurr laughed, leaning over the white spaulder. “Come on,” he said. “You know you want it.”
Perceptor couldn't see Drift's face, only the back of his helm, but he did see the sudden stiffness, the slight tilt of the helm away. If Drift said anything, it got lost in the swirl of noise.
Perceptor caught Blurr's profiled pout. He slumped back against the couch, arms folded. Waiting for Drift to respond, Perceptor thought. Drift rolled forward, reaching for a cube of energon on the low table. His helm never turned. Good, Perceptor thought. And then realized...he was siding against someone on his own team. He should want Blurr to be happy, and Drift too.
No, he did want that. He just didn't see it here.
Drift took a long, slow drink of his cube. Blurr shifted forward, reaching for the cube in Drift's hand. “You don't mind, do you?” Blurr's smile was incandescent. Drift released the cube, Blurr holding his gaze as he took a dainty sip.
“Now,” Blurr said, and Perceptor only picked up the sound because he'd tuned his audio to it, “Where were we?”
Drift demurred, making a flat gesture with his hand. A boisterous explosion of laughter from Twin Twist and Topspin drowned what Blurr said next, handing the cube back, letting his fingers trail up Drift's arm.
Drift shrugged.
Blurr leaned forward again.
Drift shook his head, and Perceptoer could hear the low tone of his voice—not clear enough to make out words.
Blurr gave another high, chiming laugh, leaning back. “No need to be shy, Drift. All I want is one little kiss.”
Drift pushed back into the couch, helm still and unmoving. Some refusal, Perceptor thought. Hoped.
Blurr ran a long, slow hand over his own helm, stroking down the sleek panels, optics dimming in pleasure at his own touch. “Are you shy? Is that it?” Another laugh. “Adorable.”
Drift's frame went rigid again. Two short, sharp syllables.
Blurr traced his hand down his throat, over the front of his chassis, deliberate display, watching Drift's optics trace the gesture. “Cute,” Blurr repeated. “Not shy like this in private though.”
Even Perceptor caught the warning glare, his own frame tightening.
“Don't want to give me a kiss,” Blurr teased. The volume lifted in his voice, cutting through the rec room buzz, “that's all right. Just seem to remember last night you didn't seem to have a problem sucking my spike.”
Drift bolted upright, mouth contorted into a snarl. Silence fell so suddenly it sucked the air out of the room with it.
A showy shrug. “Guess you like that more.”
Perceptor rose to his feet, the words slapping against him. Not just envy, not just a refusal to conjure the image, but for Drift. Blurr's teasing had an edge, but this went beyond that. Stinging, designed to hurt. And far out of measure, in Perceptor's mind, to Drift's discomfort with being touched in public.
Blurr leaned back, hand trailing to his pelvis. “How 'bout that, instead, huh? Want to suck it here?” A glint of blue malice. “You know I get off on being watched.”
Drift glared, and spun on his heel, striding toward the door, hands clutching at his swords, after a sharp, barked curse.
Blurr looked stunned at the refusal, before his sly smile curled over his face. He caught Perceptor's gaze. “”He's just working up the...right attitude,” Blurr said, nodding lasciviously. “He's a feisty one.”
Perceptor's glare could have eaten through metal. He thought about chasing after Drift. No, that would compound the mech's mortification. If he wanted to talk about it, Perceptor would only pray that Drift would say something later, in their quarters.
He hoped, but he didn't count on it.
no subject
Great view of everything from Perceptor, though. Seeing all those little signs and stuff, really lets us see the dynamic between Drift and Blurr.
Also, Drift? You're kind of a jerk too. But I forgive you, at least. Especially after that rec room scene that Blurr caused.
*hugs Perceptor*
(no subject)
no subject
Love this series...seeing how Perceptor and Drift come together (I hope!)
no subject
awesome update, per usual. I loved getting inside Perceptor's head for all that. (Also, I giggled a bit at everyone staring at Drift like "You speak Perceptor?")
no subject
Perceptor and Blurr both have an element of possessiveness in them over this new stranger, but how they treat those feelings are very different indeed.