![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
niyazi-a.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
shadow_vector2011-07-12 09:37 am
Speed and Status 5
IDW
Perceptor/Drift
sticky
It had been eating at Perceptor—no, devouring him—watching Drift go, again and again, to Blurr's quarters. He always came back...sated, but discontent. Perceptor couldn't say which part bothered him more. But after the kissing incident, after seeing firsthand, the way Blurr toyed with Drift, Drift's almost mortified obedience as he'd gone, later, just as Blurr had predicted...no. He had to stop it.
Drift was getting ready. Perceptor knew the ritual by now, the way his mouth twitched, the way he paced, hands ghosting over his swords. Perceptor had watched this struggle—Drift fencing with something deep inside him, that always, always won—over the edge of a datapad time and again where he'd been perched on his berth or seated at the console. And part of him wondered why Drift roomed with him, still, why he hadn't gone to Springer and demanded his own quarters. But night after night, he slept, half-sitting, leaning against the berth's edge, as if watching over Perceptor. There was something there that gave Perceptor hope.
Drift growled, softly, balling his hands into hard knots of fists. He strode to the door, stopped. Turned, cursing.
Perceptor moved, laying the pad aside. He'd never interrupted this ritual before, and he felt a nervous twitter in his chassis. He tried not to calculate the odds that this risk would fail. He had to at least try. And if it did fail? He would try again. He owed Drift, and the very least of that meant he wanted Drift...not to be tormented like this. “Drift?” he began.
“What.” Drift's head whipped toward him.
“D-do you want to talk or something?” They hadn't spoken about the other night. Perceptor knew when not to pry, but it hung between them—the fact that he'd witnessed that. They'd all witnessed that. And still...that night...Drift had gone to Blurr.
“No.” Adamant, shut down, his face hard.
Try again. “I could show you the ship's holovid collection?” Perceptor got up, crossing to the console.
A sneer. “Don't want to watch a stupid holovid.”
Try again. Don't give up. He's talking. It's...something. “Do you want me to check over that repair for you?”
A flicker over the face, something that shattered the sneer, before the flatness came back up like a shield. “No.” he said, adding, gruffly, “thank you.”
Progress. Progress, Perceptor told himself. “Then what do you want?”
“I want—none of your business what I want,” Drift snapped. He took a step toward the door.
Push harder. You can do it. Being soft almost got you killed. That wasn't safety. “Where are you going?” He hated the taste of the words, already knowing the answer.
Drift glared. “Something I have to do.”
He couldn't even name it, Perceptor thought. He couldn't even say what he was going to do. Perceptor moved toward the door. “No,” he said, quietly.
“You don't know what you're talking about,” Drift threw back.
“You're going to interface with Blurr,” Perceptor said, flatly. He could feel the envy roil through his tanks, even as he was grateful for his scientist's detachment that had given him long practice in saying unpleasant things.
”How,” Drift hissed, optics narrowed to thin blue lines, “Is that any of your concern?”
Perceptor's mouthplates pressed together, steeling himself. You've gotten into this, Perceptor. You can't turn back now. You want him to open up? You have to start. “If it made you happy, it would not be my place to say anything.”
Drift looked stunned, optic shutters blinking rapidly.
Perceptor pressed the advantage, hoping to dodge the question of why Drift's happiness was any of his concern. He wasn't really ready to answer that himself. “Does it? Am I wrong?” his voice softened. “Does it make you happy?”
Drift wobbled. “Not about happiness. Fraggin' interfacing. Just a release.”
Right. Perceptor did Drift the infinite courtesy of not pointing out what a lie that was. “Then you don't need it to be Blurr.”
Drift bridled, but it was feeble, the last ditch. “He offered. He's good at it.” He shrugged.
Well, Perceptor? How far are you willing to go?
He stepped in front of the door, palm covering the keypad. “I'm offering.” He couldn't stop the nervous cycle of his ventilation. This was laying himself open for rejection, another shot right through the spark chamber.
“You?” Drift's optics traveled over him, clearing for a moment from their angry haze. “No,” he said, after a moment. “I can't. Not you. It...it wouldn't be right.”
Perceptor's optics flashed closed, body jolting as if in physical pain. He remained blocking the door.
“Why not me?” he managed.
“You...I...the ship...,” Drift faltered. “You deserve better,” he said, quietly.
“So do you.” Better than Perceptor. Better than Blurr. But at least Perceptor was aware of that. At least he'd try to make Drift happy.
“Let me go,” Drift said, trying to put the edge of demand into his voice, shoving Perceptor's words aside.
“No.” Perceptor braced himself. This was his line. Drift would not leave tonight. Not to go to Blurr. He didn't care what it took.
“Let me go,” Drift repeated, but the voice was softer now, almost pleading, wanting to escape this conversation, this intimacy he knew he was no good at. “Thought Autobots didn't imprison their own.”
A low blow, a cheap shot and they both knew it. Perceptor let it gloss off him. “All right,” he said, quietly. “I'll let you go, if you can say he makes you happy.” Perceptor would have no right, then. And Drift could lie, just mouth the empty words, but Perceptor knew, somehow, that he couldn't lie. Not about this. Not to Perceptor. He didn't know why, but he knew that much.
“I...,” Drift whirled, his hands flying into fists, sinking one into the wall. “I have to. I need to. You don't understand.” He turned his face, rippling with emotion, away from Perceptor.
“Help me understand,” Perceptor murmured. He pushed off the door, reaching one hand for Drift's elbow, feeling the warmth of the joint, the smooth bevel of the armor. “Please.”
Drift spun into the touch, and the two clattered to the ground. Drift didn't swing, but he grappled against Perceptor's larger frame, the two of them fell together on the decking. Perceptor didn't fight back, simply trying to pull his arms around Drift, pin him against him. This close, he could feel the aroused scrape of Drift's EM field against his, intimately connected with the race of his energon, the thrum of his engines as he wrestled.
They tumbled, landing, Drift sprawled on his back, Perceptor straddling his thighs, trying to pin his arms down. Drift's optics raced down their bodies, back up to Perceptor's face. “You don't want this.”
“I do.” Perceptor released his grip, moving to open his interface hatch. He looked down at Drift, the offer made as clear as he could.
Drift swore, something ugly and dark crossing his face like a stormcloud. He snapped open his own hatch, his spike stabbing out of its housing as he reached to haul Perceptor's hips closer, sinking him onto his spike. Perceptor shuddered, gasping, his hands closing over Drift's on his hips. The spike drove into him, pushing in, expanding the tidy pleats of the valve lining to bump into the ceiling node. Drift waited, optics dark and strange, before he began thrusting in the small distance between their bodies, driving the spike into the valve, lubricant, slick and cool, heating between them. Perceptor heard himself moaning, his vents in ragged, uneven gusts of air. He closed his optics, head tipping back, clinging to Drift's hands.
Drift's spike plunged into him, like a living, self-willed thing, bent only on release, chasing the overload with a fierce, selfish abandon. Drift growled, softly, optics intent on the joining of their bodies, the flash of his silver spike diving into the valve, Perceptor's intent, focused, rapt face. Perceptor cried out at the sudden hard slam of Drift's overload, electricity crackling between them, the hot gush of fluid in his valve tumbling him into a sort of twitching ecstasy.
Drift grunted, dropping his hips back down, hands releasing the black pelvic frame. His optics were fierce, raking over Perceptor's frame.
“Yes?” Perceptor managed, shocks and charge still cascading over his capacitors, the one word standing in for...so much. Am I good enough? Will you not, just this once, leave? Will you trust me with yourself?
“Yes.” Drift's voice was gruff, his hands sliding down over the long silver thighs, almost gentle, accepting and wanting. “Yes.”
no subject
no subject
Blurr will not be pleased, I'm sure. Too bad for him!
no subject
Perceptor mentally talking himself through his own evolution in order to help Drift was just... beautiful. Oh wow. That was fantastic.
And the sex, too... that one, little bit, the "tidy pleats" just was so amazingly descriptive of this change... I'm nearly fixated on it, the metamorphosis from order into more a controlled chaos represented in this one act of coming together. Love. It.
no subject
no subject
Yeah, sorry for the rambling. ^_^ I'll now segue smoothly into compliments on how hot that scene was, too, with Drift grabbing Perceptor's hips like that and guh.....
...Ok, so I'm failing at being suave, here. Please take away from this that I LOVED THIS CHAPTER SSOOOO MUCH!!!!!
no subject
“No.” Perceptor braced himself. This was his line. Drift would not leave tonight. Not to go to Blurr. He didn't care what it took.
in its context, is my favorite paragraph. Ever. I just... don't even have the words for the emotions it causes in me. But so much looovvve!!!