Intoxicating

[niyazi-a.livejournal.com]

NC-17
IDW SG AU
Drift/Wing
sticky
for tf_rare_pairing weekly request: Drift/Wing addicted

It was the innocence, Wing decided.  Drift’s precious little Decepticon innocence. And that delicious earnestness. As though he believed everything he said, took everything at face value.  It was almost unimaginable, such naivete. And it was a rare, exquisite vintage, heady and intoxicating. 

He slid a hand down the sleeping Decepticon, fingers sliding between the narrow, silver thighs, skipping the interface hatch, as a sort of tease-by-omission. In his recharge, Drift squirmed, thighs sliding together, a small whimper slipping from his vocalizer.  Wing purred, a tenor counterpoint to the sweet, high sound, as he wriggled closer, throwing one leg over the bare hip, bringing his pelvic span against the other’s backpanels. Drift’s spinal struts arched back against him, half-conscious, rubbing against the dark frame of the jet. 

“Drift,” he whispered, his voice like silk, liquid and sensuous. 

The onlining of blue optics, slow, languorous, and a delicious shiver against him, before the optics focused, locked, and Drift remembered where he was.  His hand flew to the collar, mouth flattening in woe.  “Wing,” he croaked, obedient to his training, the word squeezing past his tense mouthplates.

Wing curled forward, over Drift’s broad spaulder, planting a kiss on the buccal armor.  “What shall I do with you today, my little warrior?”

A tremor, a hesitation, and Wing could feel the delicious thrill of indecision, of what Drift wanted to say battling against what he knew it would get.  “…whatever you please,” the voice came, finally.

“Mmmm,” Wing purred, nuzzling against the audio, letting his delighted hum vibrate against the metal.  “Yes.”  He flicked a glossa under Drift’s jaw.  “All of you pleases me, Drift,” he added, quietly, levering himself off the berth, sliding his chassis over the shoulder, mouth seeking Drift’s. 

A momentary pause, the mouthplates resisting, before Drift overmastered himself, parting his mouth under Wing’s kiss. That resistance was like velvet, plush and luxurious, and Wing reveled in it, one finger stroking the line where the buccal armor joined his cheek. 

He slithered down the white frame, his satin-sheened armor a slick slide over Drift’s battle-battered plating.  Wing swore the armor kiss was sweet, the armor under his hands sleek and wanting.  Drift twisted under his touch, struggling with kindled arousal, wanting, but not wanting to want. 

“Even this,” Wing laughed, at the squirm, the pitiful whine.  He ducked his head down, nipping at the rise of the pelvic span, palms sliding over the bright thighs, pushing them gently apart, pouring himself between them. 

The red blades of his forearms rested on the flats of Drift’s thighs.  He propped his chin on the other’s pelvic span. “Do you want me, Drift?” An innocent question. Well. Perhaps not. He wanted to force the admission from Drift, push him to verbalize.

A squirm, the pelvic span surging beneath him, thighs tense.  “…yes.” 

He rewarded Drift with a vibrating purr. He could feel the rush of electrons, heat and fuzz, through the heavy plating of the interface hatch. 

Another squirm, hands clawing along the thighs, pushing up on his elbows. “Wing, I….” Drift stopped himself, remembering he wasn’t allowed to speak first.  Or use the pronoun. 

But Wing would forgive him, once, this once. Or rather, punish the slip by less painful means. Merely a reminder. “And you’ve been doing so well,” he said, almost sadly. “I really don’t want to have to activate your collar, Drift.”

A tremble, not of desire this time, but fear, remembered horror.  And Wing had only used the immobilization setting, too.  Poor Drift. Such a gentle, sensitive spark.  Drift subsided back down to the berth.

“What were you going to say?” Wing asked, idly, tracing the interface hatch with one finger. 

“It’s not important.” 

An elegant tilt to his head, studied, calculated. “But I asked.”

Drift cycled a vent.  “What do you want from me?”

“Is that what you were going to ask?” The gold optics grew hard, penetrating.  Drift nodded, propped over his chassis.   Wing felt a corner of his mouth curl in a smile. “You. All. Everything.”  He dipped his head down, glossa sliding along the hatch’s seam. He gave a pleased hot chirr at the shiver that rippled over the other mech’s frame.  He looked up. “And you, Drift. You may answer honestly: what do you want?” 

Another rippling shiver, something tearing itself, unmooring.  “Freedom,” he said.

“Oh, Drift,” Wing slicked his hands down the outsides of the silver thighs. “Don’t you understand that that’s what I’m giving you?”  He rested his cheek on the hatch, one clever finger slipping under the catch, before he lifted it out of the way, and he lowered his mouth in to kiss the covered equipment.

“Freedom from those ideals that bind you down, Drift.  Freedom from all those ties that hold you back, keep you from being the…magnificent mech I know you can be.”  He licked the spike cover, the prickle of electricity from his glossa scattering sparks over the thin metal.

Drift groaned, flinching as the cover released. Wing gave a pleased click, mouth probing the pressurizing spike, tasting the sweet coolness of the lubricant oozing along the spike, glossa skillful over the nodes. The thighs quivered under his hands, as he lifted his head, sliding the spike’s length through his lip plates. “You may speak, Drift.”

“I’m…but this…,” Drift faltered, having already lost the habit of voicing his opinions. “This is just…desire.  Weakness. Appetite.”

“Oh Drift,” Wing purred, sliding forward, letting his lubricant-slicked mouth find Drift’s halting, hesitating one, “Desire is powerful. And it’s learning to use that, control that, that will give you true freedom.”

He felt the white mech shiver, clinging into his embrace, as he rolled, pulling Drift atop him, releasing his own hatch, his own valve cover, in one silk-easy motion. “Trust me,” he said, fingertips tracing chevrons of desire down the backplates, flirting with the heavy frame of the pelvic armor as his thumbs dipped into the backstruts’ well.  Drift’s shivering, his naked, unslaked desire, irresistible, drawing him in, a sweet lure he could not resist.  “I know.” 

Comments

[totso.livejournal.com]

SG can be so frightening... While reading I suddenly thought about Turmoil and how terrifying he'd be in SG, more because he wouldn't be a scary guy. I guess his counterpoint would be caring of/for Drift and his well being... Whic honestly is a little scary in my opinion. It'd be interesting to see the three of them: Drift, Wing, and Turmoil all interacting together. Interesting and frightening.

[birdiebot.livejournal.com]

Oh good lord. I agree. SG Turmoil would be freaky.

[mieka-writes.livejournal.com]

whoa.. dominant Wing is.. just.. whoa

[sneere.livejournal.com]

SG..always a mindfuck.
I LOVE ShatterGlass Drift, lol! I wish we knew more about him...and Wing! SG Wing must be so interesting...Interesting enough that Drift essentially has the kanji for his name printed on his aft in rootmode.

[dryadic.livejournal.com]

Wing is almost... creepy. Hot creepy, but... creepy. o_o

[ultrarodimus.livejournal.com]

SG Wing is a really interesting character. Really wanna know what happened when Drift first ran into him.