Speed and Status 7

[niyazi-a.livejournal.com]

PG-13
IDW
Blurr, Perceptor, Drift
ref to sticky

Perceptor, Blurr thought.  Perceptor was the key.  And more than that, Perceptor was most likely vulnerable.  After all, who paid attention to him? Perceptor had spent so much time living in his cortex that he probably didn't realize, half the time, that he even had a body.  And it was just like Drift, Blurr thought, to use the proximity for his own advantage. Really, it wasn't fair to Perceptor, being used like that. 

And, Blurr thought, drinking the last of his ration, Perceptor was...really not that bad looking.  Not Blurr's usual type, but since Blurr's 'type' was generally 'exotic' and 'starry-opticked' that left quite a bit of leeway. 

Besides, Blurr thought, Perceptor would just cave in at the least show of interest. Simple plan:  have a little...chat with Perceptor.  Show him some attention, and the attention-starved big geek would just melt.  Downside: he'd probably follow Blurr around like an infatuated puppy.  Upside: he'd realize the difference between skill (Blurr) and...whatever Drift brought him—raw aggression, force.  Perceptor probably didn’t know how to handle it.  Ruining Drift forever. 

Simple plan, but perfect. It reminded him of most of his race plans: Win.  It was a simple plan, but he liked to think elegant in its simplicity. Just like all of Blurr's plans. 

[***]

“Hey, Perceptor,” Blurr leaned against the open door to Perceptor's work room.  Not his favorite place to be, but he was on a mission. And so was Perceptor, by the look of it—bent with a rapt intensity over whatever he was working on.  Really rapt intensity.   Blurr cleared his throat. 

Perceptor flinched, shoulders twitching, before turning around. “Can I help you?"

“Depends,” Blurr said, his voice that practiced coy pitch he'd used to charm his way into a thousand race mods' workshops. 

Perceptor waited, face blank, expectant. Not even roaming over Blurr's frame.  Blurr posed himself a bit more...to advantage along the doorframe, one arm stretched up, creating a long, lean line that snaked sinuously down his frame.  “Just wanted to talk, you know, about those...nice upgrades you gave yourself.”  He flashed a thousand-watt smile.

Perceptor tilted his head, the reticle making his optics look mismatched. “Nice.” Not...quite perplexed, but as if the word literally made no sense to him. 

“You know.” Well, he should. “What you got in, say, the reflex-enhancement line?” Because Blurr had seen him shoot and oh there had to be something.  If he'd had something like that back on the racing circuit?  Okay, it would probably have been deemed illegal, but, before that, he would have been...even better. Broken more records. Shattered them.

“Nothing for speed,” Perceptor said, quietly. “Different modifications.”

Blurr shrugged. “Well, you could always work something up, right?” He flashed an incandescent smile, the one he used to show to the crowds at the track.

“I…could.”  A hesitation, distance in the voice.

“Great,” Blurr said. “When can I expect them?” 

A blank stare. Huh. Thought Perceptor was supposed to be smart. “Busy just now.”

Busy?  Blurr felt a frown of annoyance crease his face. Was he getting blown off?   Blurr waited.  Perceptor would spill it.  Couldn’t keep his vocalizer shut if you paid him to.

Nothing. Perceptor fiddled absently with a tool in his hands.

“Something for Springer?”

“No.”

Another silence. Not entirely awkward, just…annoying. Perceptor should want to talk to him, be tripping over himself to talk to Blurr. Why wasn’t he? …Drift. It had to be.  Blurr felt the frown deepen.

He forced his facial  plating smooth. No. He wasn’t going to do that, mar his face. Not for Perceptor; not for Drift.  “Don’t know what he sees in you,” he blurted. 

Perceptor stiffened, the hands going rigid on the tool he had been toying with.  “He.”

“Drift.  What? Does he prop you against the wall?”  Blurr felt a blaze of satisfaction that the stiff face cracked, the mouth parting, appalled. 

The optics flickered, lambent with hurt.  Blurr snickered. Undermining a rival’s confidence was all part of the pre-race strategy.  Oh this felt…wonderfully familiar. He’d missed this sort of challenge. 

Only, it really wasn’t much of a challenge. Perceptor hardly qualified as a rival.

“He chose me,” Perceptor said, voice quaking with what  Blurr at first thought was fear, but realized was a sort of indignant anger. 

Blurr’s lipplate curled.  “For now.  Sooner or later he’ll get bored of drilling a stiff board like you.”  He forced the sneer into a smile. Because, honestly? What threat did Perceptor represent? Blurr was only speaking the truth here.  “And he’ll want someone who actually knows what he’s doing.” A beat. “Outside having read it in a datafile. If you can even read those without embarrassment.”

The mouthplates flattened, the blue optics shimmering with hurt.  And for a moment, Blurr almost felt bad. Almost. 

“I can’t help you,” Perceptor said, quietly, tamping down something in his voice. His optics fixed on Blurr’s face for a long moment, something dark moving behind the blue lenses. 

“I’ll come back later,” Blurr said, easily.  He could feel Perceptor’s reaction—hot jealousy, and it was like some sort of high grade to him.  He turned, paused, turning in a way he knew was theatrical, photogenic. “And tell Drift I can’t wait to see him again,” he drawled, optics coy, reveling in the way the black hand clutched at the tool. 

Hang on to that, Blurr thought, giving a sly wink. Because Drift is slipping through your clumsy fingers.

 

[***]

Perceptor watched the door close behind Blurr, his ventilations fighting his control.  The blue racer’s words had cut deeply, into that place deep inside him, like an abscess, emotion boiling to the surface, as Blurr had spoken all his deepest fears. Drift would get tired of him, bored of him. It was only a matter of time. Blurr knew more, was bolder, more adventurous. Less…awkward.

And Blurr was beautiful. And witty.  And clever, and confident….  I’d choose him, too, Perceptor thought, staring dully at the multimeter in his hand.  Straight comparison, Blurr and himself?  Blurr. No question. 

Perceptor turned back to his workbench, where he’d spread out the new stabilizers he was working on.  He could fix that. He could make himself an asset in combat—steady hand, keen vision, autotargeting.  That much, he could fix.  But…the rest of him? No. He’d never have Blurr’s flash, Blurr’s easy way about everything.  It was just a matter of time before he lost Drift.  Just when he finally had something he wanted, something that…seemed to want him. 

He sighed. Pointless. It was all pointless.

“Hey.” A voice from the doorway, deep, quiet.   Only the stabilizers Percpetor had already installed saved him from a giveaway twitch.

“Drift?”  He turned, the white mech standing in the doorway, holding a cube.  Drift stood on the threshold, as though unsure of his right to be there.

A fleeting smile. “Didn’t want you to miss your ration.”  So many small hints, in the words, in the hitching hesitation in the way Drift held out the cube, of the life Drift used to live: rationing, competition.  But most of what Perceptor saw was consideration. No one had come to check on him before, much less worry about his fueling. 

And some—not all—of Blurr’s words fell away.  He couldn’t imagine Drift doing this for Blurr. Drift had always seemed a bit distant from the blue mech when they weren’t…together. “Thank you,” he said, quietly, turning further, as Drift stepped over the threshold, offering the cube.    

Drift gave an awkward shrug, at a loss how to answer.  The moment stretched between them, long and clumsy, like a Pirlian trackworm. “You can drink it,” Drift said, finally. “Didn’t tamper with it or anything.”

Perceptor cocked his head at what the statement implied.  Was that normal on Decepticon ships?  He nodded, unsealing the lid and taking a drink, if for no other reason than to convince Drift he trusted him.

The energon rushed through his systems like effervescent light, releasing pressure on some tight pistons.  “Thank you,” he repeated, dumbly, but sincerely.  He managed a smile.

“Saw Blurr leaving,” Drift said. Not a question, not an accusation.  Perceptor hesitated.

“He wanted me to do some modifications for him,” he said, eventually.  That was part of what Blurr had said, though Perceptor wasn’t even sure that was sincere.  He wasn’t sure of any of Blurr’s motivations, honestly.  The blue mech barely gave him a look, normally. “I have other things I’m working on,” he added, as if he needed to explain.  Drift’s look was strange, the optics hooded, as though he wanted to ask a question but couldn’t bring himself to.

The white helm turned to the door and Perceptor felt his spark gutter. Was he thinking of going after Blurr?  All the insecurities began whirling around him again, like a cyclone, a wall of air and difference between he and Drift. Perceptor wanted to do something to stop that, wished he had the nerve to put the cube down, heave Drift into a kiss, interface with him right there on the workroom floor. But as much as he wanted to, as much as the very thought sent his systems spinning…he couldn’t.  He couldn’t push himself on Drift.  He always waited until Drift was ready, reached out to him. 

Drift shifted his weight from side to side.  “Should be going.”

No! Perceptor thought, wildly.  If Drift left, he’d go to Blurr.  Perceptor knew it.  “Please,” he said, too fast, rocking forward, some energon dripping over the edge.  He cursed his own clumsiness, mortified, in front of Drift.  With a weapon, he was good—getting better with every refinement. And yet here he was…speechless, sloppy, almost frantic.  “Drift.” 

Drift turned in the doorway. “What?”

A long, rakingly awkward moment. “Who’s Wing?” Perceptor blurted.

Drift jolted as though Perceptor had struck him with live current.  “Where did you hear that name?”  His tone was something Perceptor had never heard before: halfway between menacing and despairing.

Perceptor would have given…a lot to reel those words back, out of the air.  “I…you’d said it. When I was in regen.”  He hid—cowered—behind the truth.

Drift’s optics grew hard and flat. “Forget,” he said, coldly, “you ever heard it.”  A screeching sound, Drift’s heelplate digging an arc into the floor as he spun, storming off.

Perceptor hung, stupidly, dumbly, the cube shaking in his hands.  He’d ruined everything. He had done what he’d feared: clung too tightly, and it had driven Drift away.

Comments

[kamiraptor.livejournal.com]

DX But if you don't cling he'll slip away just as easily!!!!

*hugs Percy n cries*

Slippery as a goldfish, that Drift. And Blurr.... ouch, man. Not cool. D:

[silaphet.livejournal.com]

ugh, the egoistic vanity & attention whoreness of Blurr is nauseating, & it's sad to see Drift throw up his barriers so harshly with Perceptor but understandable. i love Perceptor's courageous awkwardness, my heart aches for him every time. your strong characterizations really have me emotionally invested in this story line. pron or nonpron is all good.

[mmouse15.livejournal.com]

My heart breaks for Percy, here. Blurr's being an ass (you wrote that beautifully) and Drift...well, he's the bone between two dogs, isn't he? Poor Perce.

I am loving this storyline, Antepathy.

[ravynfyre.livejournal.com]

so heartbreakingly potent. makes my chest tighten up and hard to breathe. blurr is such a bastard; you write the idw characterization of him so well.

and i'm not sure who i hurt for more, right here at the end... drift or percy. they need each other so much.