Meridian pt 2
Oct. 31st, 2011 07:44 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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shadow_vectorR
IDW Meridian AU
Deadlock/Wing, Lockdown
sticky (non graphic), noncon.
Wing cried out, Drift’s hands hard on his wrists, pinning him to the ground. Deadlock, he thought, biting down another sound of pure pain. In the darkness of the small room, the white armor, blue optics, seemed to glow, as though from some hidden power, as Deadlock jammed a knee against Wing’s thigh. Deadlock wanted his pain, Wing thought. He was venting some seemingly endless well of rage, upon Wing’s body. And Wing could endure. He had endured worse.
It didn’t make the pain stop. It didn’t make the other hurt lessen, either: that this was Drift, the mech he’d saved, the mech he’d poured his spark into remaking, into showing him hope and peace and beauty.
And that this was the coin in which he was repaid.
The mouth covered his, hot and hard, bruising his lip plates, as if drinking in his cry of pain.
“What’s the matter, Wing?” Deadlock laughed, breaking the kiss, lowering his body onto the jet’s, grinding his pelvic frame against Wing’s.
“Why me?”
“Why me?” Deadlock parroted back, half taunting. But only half.
“Drift,” Wing whimpered, trying to twist his wrists free. “You needed help. I wanted to help you. It’s what we do. It’s the best of what we are capable of.”
“You see how well that turned out.” Deadlock gave a twisted grin, shoving the jet’s knees aside with his own. He ground his frame over the jet’s, metal against metal. He wedged his face into Wing’s throat, biting, sucking on the cables, growling possessively.
“What,” Wing gasped, trying to turn his head, open his throat against Deadlock’s bite, “are you going to do with me?”
The laugh vibrated against him, sending dark ripples over his net, like liquid amethyst. “Take you. As much as I want.” One hand, as if demonstrating, crept down between their bodies, squeezing at the interface hatch.
Despite himself, Wing arched into the touch, too laden with memories of what that touch used to be like, of Drift’s clumsy, yearning touches. “What will that do?” Wing whispered.
Deadlock’s growl melted into a shadowy purr. “Show you your place, Wing.” The hand squeezed again, thumb finding the release. Wing squirmed, but Deadlock’s hand slipped down, fingertips almost gentle over the valve cover. “You had your chance to try to turn me. Now it’s,” the valve cover clicked aside, Wing shuddering with involuntary desire. Deadlock had learned, through those long slow months, all the secrets of Wing’s body, “my turn.”
[***]
Deadlock strode to the small ship’s bridge. Lockdown cast one glance over his shoulder, and turned back, showily, to the monitor in front of him. Trying, Deadlock thought, to tell Deadlock he was cargo.
Deadlock was not cargo. Not a bounty. “Arrival.”
“Soon enough.” Lockdown’s voice said quite the opposite—not soon enough, that he couldn’t wait to unload Deadlock.
Deadlock snorted. He didn’t much care for Lockdown’s company, either. Mercenary. He didn’t believe. He didn’t have the vision Megatron had. A soldier for hire, barely better than an Autobot. Because at least Lockdown was honest about what he was.
“Pretty reward,” Deadlock said, studying the spiked shoulders.
“I’d say I’ve earned it,” Lockdown replied, without turning.
“Earned it. You found me.”
“Better for you I found you than Turmoil.”
Deadlock shrugged. Was that supposed to be frightening? “Better for you. And Turmoil.”
A growl and Lockdown flicked a dark glance over his shoulder. “You seem fairly confident Megatron will be happy to see you.”
A bark of a laugh. “He and I have…history.” Understatement. A reunion he was almost looking forward to.
“That why you brought the bribe? So confident in his indulgence.”
Bribe. It took a handful of kliks to sink through Deadlock’s processor. “Wing is mine,” he snarled, glaring daggers at the seated back.
The broad shoulders arced into a shrug, the voice was decidedly noncommittal. “If you say so.”
A flare of real anger. Wing was his. He’d paid for the mech, in every way imagined. Wing was his trophy, if nothing else. “I do.”
A chuff of laughter. “We’ll see.”
Deadlock felt his fists ball, hard and ready. Hit him, part of his mind thought. But another pulled back, telling him it would be better to prove Lockdown wrong. Let him see. Let him see how Wing was Deadlock’s, how Megatron valued Deadlock and his wants.
Let him see.
Then kill him.
[***]
“You don’t need to bind me,” Wing said, quietly, obediently holding his wrists out. “I have no place to go.” All the agony of a mech who has lost his entire world, thrice over, in his voice.
“Have my own reasons,” Deadlock said, snapping the cuffs around the deceptively powerful wrists. He couldn’t resist the possessive stroke of his hands over Wing’s, pulling on the fingers, curling into the palms. He stepped back, studying Wing through the optics of a stranger—the armor gleaming white, except where marred from the battle. The posture still erect, supple, the shoulders broad and high, looking unbroken, proud.
Deadlock fought the urge to take Wing right there. Not to bring down that quiet pride, but to touch it, claim it, own it.
He shook it off. “Come on.”
“Where are we going?” An almost worried pinch of the mouth that Deadlock had to resist kissing away. “If I even have the right to know.”
Deadlock smirked. “To meet Megatron.” He tugged on the cuffs, pulling Wing forward. “Unlike your Circle, we’re not afraid of being ‘contaminated’ by newcomers.” The smile on his face turned sweet as antifreeze. “In fact, the other way around.”
IDW Meridian AU
Deadlock/Wing, Lockdown
sticky (non graphic), noncon.
Wing cried out, Drift’s hands hard on his wrists, pinning him to the ground. Deadlock, he thought, biting down another sound of pure pain. In the darkness of the small room, the white armor, blue optics, seemed to glow, as though from some hidden power, as Deadlock jammed a knee against Wing’s thigh. Deadlock wanted his pain, Wing thought. He was venting some seemingly endless well of rage, upon Wing’s body. And Wing could endure. He had endured worse.
It didn’t make the pain stop. It didn’t make the other hurt lessen, either: that this was Drift, the mech he’d saved, the mech he’d poured his spark into remaking, into showing him hope and peace and beauty.
And that this was the coin in which he was repaid.
The mouth covered his, hot and hard, bruising his lip plates, as if drinking in his cry of pain.
“What’s the matter, Wing?” Deadlock laughed, breaking the kiss, lowering his body onto the jet’s, grinding his pelvic frame against Wing’s.
“Why me?”
“Why me?” Deadlock parroted back, half taunting. But only half.
“Drift,” Wing whimpered, trying to twist his wrists free. “You needed help. I wanted to help you. It’s what we do. It’s the best of what we are capable of.”
“You see how well that turned out.” Deadlock gave a twisted grin, shoving the jet’s knees aside with his own. He ground his frame over the jet’s, metal against metal. He wedged his face into Wing’s throat, biting, sucking on the cables, growling possessively.
“What,” Wing gasped, trying to turn his head, open his throat against Deadlock’s bite, “are you going to do with me?”
The laugh vibrated against him, sending dark ripples over his net, like liquid amethyst. “Take you. As much as I want.” One hand, as if demonstrating, crept down between their bodies, squeezing at the interface hatch.
Despite himself, Wing arched into the touch, too laden with memories of what that touch used to be like, of Drift’s clumsy, yearning touches. “What will that do?” Wing whispered.
Deadlock’s growl melted into a shadowy purr. “Show you your place, Wing.” The hand squeezed again, thumb finding the release. Wing squirmed, but Deadlock’s hand slipped down, fingertips almost gentle over the valve cover. “You had your chance to try to turn me. Now it’s,” the valve cover clicked aside, Wing shuddering with involuntary desire. Deadlock had learned, through those long slow months, all the secrets of Wing’s body, “my turn.”
[***]
Deadlock strode to the small ship’s bridge. Lockdown cast one glance over his shoulder, and turned back, showily, to the monitor in front of him. Trying, Deadlock thought, to tell Deadlock he was cargo.
Deadlock was not cargo. Not a bounty. “Arrival.”
“Soon enough.” Lockdown’s voice said quite the opposite—not soon enough, that he couldn’t wait to unload Deadlock.
Deadlock snorted. He didn’t much care for Lockdown’s company, either. Mercenary. He didn’t believe. He didn’t have the vision Megatron had. A soldier for hire, barely better than an Autobot. Because at least Lockdown was honest about what he was.
“Pretty reward,” Deadlock said, studying the spiked shoulders.
“I’d say I’ve earned it,” Lockdown replied, without turning.
“Earned it. You found me.”
“Better for you I found you than Turmoil.”
Deadlock shrugged. Was that supposed to be frightening? “Better for you. And Turmoil.”
A growl and Lockdown flicked a dark glance over his shoulder. “You seem fairly confident Megatron will be happy to see you.”
A bark of a laugh. “He and I have…history.” Understatement. A reunion he was almost looking forward to.
“That why you brought the bribe? So confident in his indulgence.”
Bribe. It took a handful of kliks to sink through Deadlock’s processor. “Wing is mine,” he snarled, glaring daggers at the seated back.
The broad shoulders arced into a shrug, the voice was decidedly noncommittal. “If you say so.”
A flare of real anger. Wing was his. He’d paid for the mech, in every way imagined. Wing was his trophy, if nothing else. “I do.”
A chuff of laughter. “We’ll see.”
Deadlock felt his fists ball, hard and ready. Hit him, part of his mind thought. But another pulled back, telling him it would be better to prove Lockdown wrong. Let him see. Let him see how Wing was Deadlock’s, how Megatron valued Deadlock and his wants.
Let him see.
Then kill him.
[***]
“You don’t need to bind me,” Wing said, quietly, obediently holding his wrists out. “I have no place to go.” All the agony of a mech who has lost his entire world, thrice over, in his voice.
“Have my own reasons,” Deadlock said, snapping the cuffs around the deceptively powerful wrists. He couldn’t resist the possessive stroke of his hands over Wing’s, pulling on the fingers, curling into the palms. He stepped back, studying Wing through the optics of a stranger—the armor gleaming white, except where marred from the battle. The posture still erect, supple, the shoulders broad and high, looking unbroken, proud.
Deadlock fought the urge to take Wing right there. Not to bring down that quiet pride, but to touch it, claim it, own it.
He shook it off. “Come on.”
“Where are we going?” An almost worried pinch of the mouth that Deadlock had to resist kissing away. “If I even have the right to know.”
Deadlock smirked. “To meet Megatron.” He tugged on the cuffs, pulling Wing forward. “Unlike your Circle, we’re not afraid of being ‘contaminated’ by newcomers.” The smile on his face turned sweet as antifreeze. “In fact, the other way around.”
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2011-10-31 05:21 pm (UTC)Makes me ache for Wing, and for Deadlock.
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Date: 2011-11-01 04:27 am (UTC)