Cradle of White
Sep. 10th, 2011 12:37 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
niyazi-a.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
shadow_vectorNC-17
IDW Halcyon AU
Drift/Wing
sticky, pwp
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tformers100 table weather prompt snow
“Look!” Wing stepped out of the mouth of the basepod. His black footplate crunched in the white snow, sinking in nearly to his knees. He moved farther out, the footprints each marked with the forward cut from the stabilizers on his shins.
“Snow,” Drift said. He stood in the doorway, one hand on a cocked hip, watching Wing pick his way over the field. He wasn’t a big fan of weather—it was a battle hazard and nothing more. Wing’s open-opticked amazement was beyond his experience. He scanned the horizon--clear and empty. Waiting for pickup, just like yesterday. Waiting...chafed.
“I know what it’s called,” Wing said, over his shoulder, optic winking cheekily. “But this…!” He spun, hands spread wide. “Look at this!”
“It’s…snow.” Drift sighed, giving an exaggerated roll of his optics, striding against the snow. Unlike Wing, who carefully picked and placed each foot, Drift plowed forward, pushing a rise of snow before him.
“That’s a name,” Wing said. “A label. It doesn’t begin to cover it.” He stooped down, scooping up a handful of the fluffy white. “It’s cold. It’s sparkly.” He held it out to Drift, some of it sifting through his black fingers, falling to the ground with a soft, thick silence. “Look at it!”
Drift looked. He'd been told to three times, after all. “It’s white.”
“Yes.” Wing held out one hand, watching the snow fill the black cup of his palm.
Drift shrugged. “Wing, it’s crystallized dihydrous monoxide.” Nothing exciting. Still, there was something entrancing about Wing’s fascination.
“You,” Wing said, teasingly, flipping his hand so that the snow plopped down onto the thick blanket of white, denting the gently glittering surface, “have been hanging around Perceptor for too long.”
“Have I?” Drift felt a challenging grin spread across his face.
Wing tipped his chin. “I know you, Drift. This is just a battle inconvenience for you. An uninteresting meteorological phenomenon for Perceptor.”
“And you? You know something we don’t?”
“Wonder? Life?” Wing’s voice was teasing, but at the same time, serious, in that way of his, contradictory and kind.
Drift bent, brushing some snow out from behind a projection on his knee armor.
Wing grinned. “We could get lost in this,” he said, turning to the world of white around them, the snow whispering against his folded wings, the hilt of the Great Sword, flakes gathering in the well of the hilt’s gem.
“Except for the red.” Drift reached over, tweaking one of the blades on Wing’s arms.
“Well, yes,” Wing said, grinning. He tilted his head up, throat bare, watching the snow fall, as though the pinkish heavens above them were sugaring down upon them. Drift watched the white flakes, sparkling in the darkness, land on Wing’s face, his parted mouthplates. “I guess,”
Wing said, his voice floating among the snow, catching in the sudden gust of wind that drove the white flakes in a spinning dervish dance, “I guess it’s just…beautiful.”
Drift gave a snort of laughter. Such a Wing thing to say. He reached over, running a finger up the chassis’s complicated contour, along the bare cables of the throat. “Yes,” he murmured, leaning in, feeling the warmth from Wing’s systems against the cold. “Beautiful.” He let his mouth touch the cables, nuzzling into Wing’s throat, hands coming around the chassis. His feet moved awkwardly in the mass of snow, cold creeping through his joints like little sparkling nips.
Wing lowered his head, tilting to one side, seeking Drift’s mouth. The snow had melted, from the heat of his systems, to little glistening orbs, cool against the warmth of his mouth. He let Drift pull him down, into the snow, the cold yielding beneath them, crunching down under their bodies, leaving high walls around them, like a cup or a nest in the darkness.
Wing arched into Drift, his body wanting, willing, fingers eager over the white frame, sweeping the accumulating snow from the broad armor. Drift gasped, as the snow pushed between the fine seams in his armor, cold prickles against his inner circuitry, frothing his desire.
Snow melted around them, succumbing to the heat of their surging bodies, melted snow trickling off Drift’s helm, dripping between them. Wing writhed at the contrast—the frigid cold behind him, while above him, inside him, Drift’s urgent, living heat.
Drift jolted, face contorting, sharply, as the overload pushed over both of them, a burst of electricity and heat, linking their systems, transfluid scalding over Wing’s valve. Drift dropped, Wing folding his arms around the broad back, as the white helm nuzzled, sated, drained, against his shoulders.
They lay for a long time, systems torn in a delicious ache between heat and cold, as the snow built up slowly over Drift’s body, cocooning them together in its thick silence.
Drift moved, snow sliding from his spaulders. “We should go back in,” he said. He didn’t sound convinced.
“We should,” Wing reached up, trailing his fingertips on the margins of Drift’s helm, where it edged to his facial plating.
Drift allowed the touch, tilting into it, nipping at the black digits before he gave a regretful sigh. He pushed back, palms against the compressed snow, easing his spike out of the valve, the cold air sliding between them like a sheet of paper. They both gasped as the icy air struck their interface equipment, Wing’s gasp edging into a soft laugh.
“Anyone walking out here,” Wing said, tilting one knee across the other, tucking his interface hatch closed, “is going to guess what happened.”
Drift shook his head. “I don’t mind.” And he didn’t: let them all know. He felt a sharp, possessive pride, its own kind of biting heat, at the thought. Let them see, let them know. Let he and Wing couple together in every time, every place, like marking the universe with their bond. Better to mark the ground with transfluid than energon, with pleasure than pain.
Drift shivered, stowing his spike, crouched on one knee, studying Wing, who still lay sprawled in the packed nest, white against white. One corner of his mouth twitched. “Beautiful,” he said, his voice almost lost in the murmur of the falling snow.
“The snow?”
Drift gave a quiet smile. “No.”
IDW Halcyon AU
Drift/Wing
sticky, pwp
for
tformers100 table weather prompt snow“Look!” Wing stepped out of the mouth of the basepod. His black footplate crunched in the white snow, sinking in nearly to his knees. He moved farther out, the footprints each marked with the forward cut from the stabilizers on his shins.
“Snow,” Drift said. He stood in the doorway, one hand on a cocked hip, watching Wing pick his way over the field. He wasn’t a big fan of weather—it was a battle hazard and nothing more. Wing’s open-opticked amazement was beyond his experience. He scanned the horizon--clear and empty. Waiting for pickup, just like yesterday. Waiting...chafed.
“I know what it’s called,” Wing said, over his shoulder, optic winking cheekily. “But this…!” He spun, hands spread wide. “Look at this!”
“It’s…snow.” Drift sighed, giving an exaggerated roll of his optics, striding against the snow. Unlike Wing, who carefully picked and placed each foot, Drift plowed forward, pushing a rise of snow before him.
“That’s a name,” Wing said. “A label. It doesn’t begin to cover it.” He stooped down, scooping up a handful of the fluffy white. “It’s cold. It’s sparkly.” He held it out to Drift, some of it sifting through his black fingers, falling to the ground with a soft, thick silence. “Look at it!”
Drift looked. He'd been told to three times, after all. “It’s white.”
“Yes.” Wing held out one hand, watching the snow fill the black cup of his palm.
Drift shrugged. “Wing, it’s crystallized dihydrous monoxide.” Nothing exciting. Still, there was something entrancing about Wing’s fascination.
“You,” Wing said, teasingly, flipping his hand so that the snow plopped down onto the thick blanket of white, denting the gently glittering surface, “have been hanging around Perceptor for too long.”
“Have I?” Drift felt a challenging grin spread across his face.
Wing tipped his chin. “I know you, Drift. This is just a battle inconvenience for you. An uninteresting meteorological phenomenon for Perceptor.”
“And you? You know something we don’t?”
“Wonder? Life?” Wing’s voice was teasing, but at the same time, serious, in that way of his, contradictory and kind.
Drift bent, brushing some snow out from behind a projection on his knee armor.
Wing grinned. “We could get lost in this,” he said, turning to the world of white around them, the snow whispering against his folded wings, the hilt of the Great Sword, flakes gathering in the well of the hilt’s gem.
“Except for the red.” Drift reached over, tweaking one of the blades on Wing’s arms.
“Well, yes,” Wing said, grinning. He tilted his head up, throat bare, watching the snow fall, as though the pinkish heavens above them were sugaring down upon them. Drift watched the white flakes, sparkling in the darkness, land on Wing’s face, his parted mouthplates. “I guess,”
Wing said, his voice floating among the snow, catching in the sudden gust of wind that drove the white flakes in a spinning dervish dance, “I guess it’s just…beautiful.”
Drift gave a snort of laughter. Such a Wing thing to say. He reached over, running a finger up the chassis’s complicated contour, along the bare cables of the throat. “Yes,” he murmured, leaning in, feeling the warmth from Wing’s systems against the cold. “Beautiful.” He let his mouth touch the cables, nuzzling into Wing’s throat, hands coming around the chassis. His feet moved awkwardly in the mass of snow, cold creeping through his joints like little sparkling nips.
Wing lowered his head, tilting to one side, seeking Drift’s mouth. The snow had melted, from the heat of his systems, to little glistening orbs, cool against the warmth of his mouth. He let Drift pull him down, into the snow, the cold yielding beneath them, crunching down under their bodies, leaving high walls around them, like a cup or a nest in the darkness.
Wing arched into Drift, his body wanting, willing, fingers eager over the white frame, sweeping the accumulating snow from the broad armor. Drift gasped, as the snow pushed between the fine seams in his armor, cold prickles against his inner circuitry, frothing his desire.
Snow melted around them, succumbing to the heat of their surging bodies, melted snow trickling off Drift’s helm, dripping between them. Wing writhed at the contrast—the frigid cold behind him, while above him, inside him, Drift’s urgent, living heat.
Drift jolted, face contorting, sharply, as the overload pushed over both of them, a burst of electricity and heat, linking their systems, transfluid scalding over Wing’s valve. Drift dropped, Wing folding his arms around the broad back, as the white helm nuzzled, sated, drained, against his shoulders.
They lay for a long time, systems torn in a delicious ache between heat and cold, as the snow built up slowly over Drift’s body, cocooning them together in its thick silence.
Drift moved, snow sliding from his spaulders. “We should go back in,” he said. He didn’t sound convinced.
“We should,” Wing reached up, trailing his fingertips on the margins of Drift’s helm, where it edged to his facial plating.
Drift allowed the touch, tilting into it, nipping at the black digits before he gave a regretful sigh. He pushed back, palms against the compressed snow, easing his spike out of the valve, the cold air sliding between them like a sheet of paper. They both gasped as the icy air struck their interface equipment, Wing’s gasp edging into a soft laugh.
“Anyone walking out here,” Wing said, tilting one knee across the other, tucking his interface hatch closed, “is going to guess what happened.”
Drift shook his head. “I don’t mind.” And he didn’t: let them all know. He felt a sharp, possessive pride, its own kind of biting heat, at the thought. Let them see, let them know. Let he and Wing couple together in every time, every place, like marking the universe with their bond. Better to mark the ground with transfluid than energon, with pleasure than pain.
Drift shivered, stowing his spike, crouched on one knee, studying Wing, who still lay sprawled in the packed nest, white against white. One corner of his mouth twitched. “Beautiful,” he said, his voice almost lost in the murmur of the falling snow.
“The snow?”
Drift gave a quiet smile. “No.”
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no subject
Date: 2011-09-10 04:50 pm (UTC)Really lovely.
no subject
Date: 2011-09-10 06:33 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-09-10 08:01 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-09-10 08:01 pm (UTC)My favorite line has to be about them marking the universe with their bond. It's such a poignant line.
I also love how you write Wing and Drift. They make such sense in your canon and I can't see them any other way now.
no subject
Date: 2011-09-10 09:40 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-09-10 10:31 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-09-11 12:13 am (UTC)And thank goodness for that! Most marvelous snow-lovin' evar <3