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shadow_vector2011-07-21 01:59 pm
Speed and Status 6
NC-17
IDW
Drift, Perceptor, Blurr
sticky
Drift woke up, hours later, from a cozy, warm recharge, systems onlining in the dark with the swiftness of long habit, sensing threat.
No. No threat. Just...the berth beneath him, and over him, next to him, the larger red and black frame of Perceptor, sprawled and limp, one thigh slung over Drift's pelvic structure, The face was relaxed, almost content, losing in recharge the tension that seemed to keep emotions in check. Perceptor looked...exhausted. Drift smirked into the darkness. They had tangled together for hours, bodies surging, heaving against each other, Perceptor compliant to anything Drift asked, as though the only word he knew was 'yes'.
Like Wing...but unlike. Wanting, wanting Drift, wanting Drift's pleasure more than his body, but while Wing had pursued, even in sleep, sometimes, his mouth finding Drift's, his body squirming, aroused, against Drift's hip, Perceptor waited. Receptive, as if too shy to make a move, too fearful of misstep.
The smirk flattened. Pretty hard to drive Drift away. He'd gone back to Blurr, who was far less solicitous of his desires, of his wants, than Perceptor. And...
Perceptor shifted in his recharge, hand clutching gently over Drift's chassis, thigh sliding against him, the cool metal slick and sticky with leaking transfluid. And it struck Drift how...onesided that had been. Using Perceptor, over and over again. And...nothing. He'd taken, from Perceptor, all night.
Drift shifted his left hand, easing it down between their bodies, to Perceptor's still open interface hatch. Perceptor whimpered in his recharge as Drift's fingers gently circled the spike cover, tracing a small, light spiral over the metal, feeling the quiet buzz of the equipment cycling on, the soft click of the cover retracting. Perceptor's spike slid into his hand. Drift had a moment's flashback: Wing, shuddering over him, golden optics burning with tremulous desire. Drift's hand froze: he wasn't ready for that. That was what he was trying to avoid, with Blurr. Emotional traps. Entanglements.
No. He could still do that. He could hold himself back, aloof. This was just being fair. This was just one minor act of selfless pleasure. It didn't mean anything. It didn't.
His hand stroked up the spike, feeling desire ripple over Perceptor's frame, the EM field flaring against his, the spike oozing lubricant. Just pleasure. Just...for once...not seeking only for yourself. His wrist twisted, sliding up and down the spike's length, his fingers glossing over the sensitive nodes, twisting down, then up, slow, even, gentle at first, building slowly, more pressure, faster paced.
Perceptor's body squirmed against him, giving a soft, yearning sigh. Drift tore his gaze from the glossy spike between his fingers and Perceptor's face, tracking the tiny twitches, the glow of desire. The optics flared open, online, suddenly, protective shutters whipping back, piercing, intent.
Drift managed something like a grin, not slacking the pace of his hand over the spike. His EM bumped hard against the red armor, unambiguous that he wanted this, to be answered by a softer-edged return flare.
“Drift...,” Perceptor said, his voice barely stirring the air between them. The hand across his chassis moved, clumsily, trying to caress.
Drift snorted, shaking his head. “Be still.” He wanted this, wanted to watch Perceptor, pure, without involvement. Just...desire controlled. It was manipulation, and he knew it, but he wanted to watch the larger mech overload, wanted to feel the spike crackle in his hand, the shock-burst of transfluid on his body.
Perceptor jolted, the hard pants of his ventilation giving way to a sharp near-bark of release, transfluid shooting hot against Drift, scalding his armor, spattering both of them. Drift growled in response, pleased, the growl melting to a laugh as he continued—slower, more gently—to twist-stroke down and up the slick black shaft of the spike, Perceptor shuddering and gasping beside him.
The control. That's what it was, he thought, suddenly. The control. He wanted to manage Perceptor's desire, have the mech overload when and how Drift wanted, wanted to have himself acknowledged as the keeper of Perceptor's desire.
It made him, he realized, no better than Blurr—manipulating, controlling, selfish. His fierce grin wavered, his hand slowing to a stop on the spike, optics lowering, ashamed.
Perceptor melted against him, curling forward to rest his head on Drift's spaulder, tightening the arm against Drift, pulling him into a comforted embrace.
Drift felt a skirl of discomfort. He didn't want to stay here, didn't deserve this soft, grateful attention. He twisted from under Perceptor's arm, but before he sat up, he turned, suddenly, briefly, shyly, awkwardly bumping his mouth against Perceptor's. It couldn't be called a kiss, really—no openness, no vulnerability, no sharing, but it stood for, he hoped, a hard, awkward apology.
[***]
The first night Drift ignored Blurr's open invitation, he had taken it with an amused good grace. The exotic mech's feelings had been hurt, poor thing didn't feel special. Cute, Blurr thought. And he knew it would only make it sweeter, and hotter, when Drift came crawling back.
The second night, the amused smirk had soured. Drift was taking this too far. And if he was so damn thin-skinned, Blurr thought, who needed him? Seriously. He was hot, but not that hot. Blurr had had better. And he was good enough on the berth, a bit rough-edged and raw, which Blurr liked, but he was hardly a lover worth pining for. Blurr could do better. Huh.
The third night...changed everything. He and Springer had finished a glowering match in the rec room, and he'd sauntered off, letting the green mech get a good, longing optic-ful of his swaying hips. Time to settle this with Drift, he'd thought, and what better way to release a little tension than with some good, rough interfacing, just the way he knew Drift liked it. Let the mech top, he thought, as he headed to Drift's quarters, Perceptor's quarters. Drift was deliciously hot, the way his face contorted with lust, nearly looking angry, as he pumped his hips into Blurr—Drift wild and thrashing, Blurr still and controlled. Quite a hot performance, and Blurr's valve cycled its agreement. His hand hovered over the chime of Perceptor's room when he heard...laughter. Drift's laughter, though it took him a moment to place it—not a sound that had been heard a lot on the Axion.
Laughing. Blurr felt a stab of jealousy. Drift hadn't laughed with him, beyond that hard, dry chuckle. Nothing like the warm roll of sound he heard from behind the door.
And then.
A long pause, and a moan, Perceptor's voice, a soft, sensual, clinging whimper that left no doubt what Blurr might see if he opened the door. Drift...and Perceptor? It was unthinkable. But...there it was. The sound, behind the door, an unmistakable moan, and the same soft, growling laugh he remembered from the white mech.
Blurr raged, his systems burning hot the way they used to after a race, when someone had really given him a challenge—that fury at daring to make him work for it. His fists clenched, tightening on air.
He gave a hot huff, and slammed his hand against the door chime, staying only long enough to hear the sudden, surprised silence before he used his notorious speed, and darted away.
This? Wasn't over. Drift was his.
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don't hurt Percy... meeps..
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And now I'm scared for Percy. ;_;
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Can't wait for more!
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I like how you manage them. And if Blurr thinks that Drift is hot, He would´ve died if he had met Wing. =3
I´m new here, but i´m in love with your fics. Keep up the good job!
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as for Blurr... "uh-oh" pretty much sums it up. Hooooo boy
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well.....I hope Blurr rape Perceptor,and Drift rape Blurr for his bad behavior....oh I am so evil.