Firewalls

[niyazi-a.livejournal.com]

R
IDW
Jetfire/Trailbreaker
PNP, pwp, a bit of patient/doctor seduction, which may squick some
for tf_rare_pairing weekly request

“Hmm.” 

“Hmmm?” Trailbreaker raised his arm higher, trying to get a look at the larger mech’s face, bent over his open forcefield generator access panel.  He was not a fan of exam rooms: the berths were always cold, the light too harsh and the smell…? Yuck.

And also, all that scrutiny, mechs looking and poking and prodding and…making mysterious ‘hmm’s. 

Jetfire made another noncommittal sound.  Maybe more worrying than noncommittal, though, now that Trailbreaker thought of it.  “Uh. Something wrong?”

“Wrong?” The helm tipped up, blue optics unfocused, almost confused. “Oh! No. No, nothing wrong. Just…interesting.”

Trailbreaker wasn’t sure he liked being ‘interesting’.  It was bad enough, you know, he’d gotten the third degree—possibly a fourth one—after the debrief. It wasn’t his fault his forcefields were a bit susceptible to that range of frequencies. It wasn’t really his fault that, you know, that whole Sixshot thing had happened.

“You say you’ve been having phase shifting anomalies?”

Trailbreaker nodded.  “Hoist did his best but he says it’s archaic technology.” Hoist had also given him pointed, avuncular sighs as he’d hammered out some of the more obvious dents.  And slipped him a pamphlet on STDs.  Yeah, why not make the whole thing as awkward as possible?

“Archaic.”  A little nod, and Jetfire stepped back, surveying the open hatch before turning for some more tools. “I suppose that explains it.”

“Explains what?”

“Why he sent you to me.  Reverse engineering.” Jetfire shrugged. “My specialization.”

“Oh.” That did a bit to take the sting out of the ‘archaic’. Hoist hadn’t meant any harm by it, of course. He was just a bit tactless. Ahem. Pamphlet.  Not that Trailbreaker was really one to hold that against anyone.  He was a loner: not really much tact himself. And, well, maybe there wasn’t a way to be polite about ‘you fragged a Decepticon?!?!’

“Now,” Jetfire said, turning back around with a laserscalpel, fixing a microreticle over his optic, “this might sting.”

Trailbreaker grinned. “’S’all right.”  A sudden flash over his memory, from Sixshot: Jetfire, body arched, wings rigid and dancing with the blue sparks of desire on the edge of overload.  He blinked. Whoa. 

“Are you sure?”  A hesitation, a ruffling of the flightpanels, hard to read, but…not what Trailbreaker had expected. 

Trailbreaker gave a nod, blinking past the memory. Or trying to. Frag. That was unexpectedly hot. And now that he thought about it, the wings seemed to call to him, as though his hands knew just where to tweak the aileron. “Trust me. I can take it.” It had been a long time since he and Springer had been an item, but, not an idle boast.

“Er…,” Jetfire stammered, his hands squeezing over the tools, optic blinking behind the reticle.

A dubious look, and a flare of the EM field over his; Trailbreaker flopped back on the berth, raising his arms. “Bring it on,” Trailbreaker winked, intrigued, almost daring himself.

A shiver over the white shuttle, and a sudden thought struck Trailbreaker.  Jetfire was an engineer. He wasn’t really used to, you know, patients. Especially not patients who talked back.  Much less moved.

Jetfire bent over him. “I’m…I’m going to have to ask you to initialize the forcefield, so I can attempt to microtune the generators.”

Trailbreaker grinned. “Sure thing.” He sent the command, the forcefield humming online.”Like this?”

A grunt, Skyfire dropping to his knees beside the berth, resting his elbows on the table. Trailbreaker shivered, feeing the cool fuzz of his field being tuned. It always felt weird, calibrations, like something he was used to controlling out of his control, just a little bit like trust. He squirmed.

“I’m sorry,” Jetfire blurted. “I’ll try to be a bit gentler.”

“No need.”  Another flash of memory/sense/feeling, a latent memory from Sixshot’s connection.

“I-I’m not used to, well…living subjects.”  A bit of a wince, the high wing panels drooping.  It was surprisingly cute.  If you could use a word like ‘cute’ for Jetfire, especially considering the implications of the statement.

“Must get kind of lonely.”  Or…not. Sixshot had been pretty damn good. Trailbreaker didn’t have a ton of experience: he was no Kup, after all, but he knew a good overload.

“Lonely?” Jetfire flicked his head, dropping the reticle back into place. “It’s science.”

“Not that kind of lonely.”  Traibreaker didn’t quite know why: he was feeling a bit…minxish. He pushed his forcefield over toward Jetfire, aiming for the wing. 

Jetfire shuddered. 

Trailbreaker grinned. “That kind of lonely, though.”

An awkward engine noise.  “I…erm.” 

Trailbreaker sat up, one hand hooking around the larger mech’s helm. “Erm,”  he repeated, teasing. A chuff of laughter, bringing his mouth closer to the shuttle’s. He saw the blue optic, swimming in the magnifying lens of the reticle, wide and confused, and then the mouth over his, startled and warm. His forcefield flared, spreading over the shuttle’s armor.

A hand on the berth, then over Trailbreaker’s red thigh, squeezing hard over the metal surface.  Trailbreaker gave an encouraging purr, leaning back, drawing Jetfire back with him, helm cupped in his hands, keeping their mouths locked. 

The other hand moved, palm striking hard on the berth beside Trailbreaker’s shoulder, Jetfire pulling away from the kiss.  “I…this is highly irregular.”

“Better than ‘archaic’,” Trailbreaker said, sliding one hand down the white frame, fingers curling over the interface hatch in open invitation.

“This…,”  Jetfire’s ventilation huffed hot air over Trailbreaker’s frame, “is…probably not right.”

“I’m not complaining,” Trailbreaker said.  “Are you?” A flash of challenge in his optics.

Another ripple of energy against his forcefield, and then the weight of the shuttle on top of him, hands gentle and smooth, exploring, stroking over the top of his windscreen. Trailbreaker grinned, hooking his hands under the arm joints, before reaching for the broad flat wings.  Jetfire gave a groan, mouth opening.  “Hear you like it a little rough,” Trailbreaker purred. 

He felt Jetfire twitch back at the words, and he tightened his grip, his hands going to those places on the wings that his memory—Sixshot’s memory—told him were sensitive. He tweaked the panels, laughing as jetfire gave a yelp of surprise and recognition, his EM field suddenly washing forward, a sea of ions, storm tossed against him.  

“You know,” Jetfire whispered.

Trailbreaker nodded. He knew; he’d felt it, and he wanted it. 

A fumbling clatter, as Jetfire shut off the laser scalpel, his other hand scooping up under Trailbreaker’s back, and then the hard contact of metal and glass on his.  His hands were greedy on the wings, pulling Jetfire’s weight down on top of him.  He could feel the trembling need, not just for the contact, but for the trust, for someone else who knew, and didn’t judge.

The hands drifted down his frame, the open components of his forcefield generator’s access panel, and then below it, his cables tumbling into the shuttle’s hand, as Trailbreaker tipped his head back, hunting another kiss, pushing up into the willing mouth.

A gasp, between both of them, as Jetfire, hands practiced and gentle, connected their cables, the long lines a cool weight between them.  Trailbreaker dropped the first firewalls, feeling the shuttle’s nervous energy swim and dance over the hardline connection. And his own, tentative, less bold than he’d pretended to be, buoyed by Sixshot’s memories and the intoxication of flirtation. He felt the feedback loop begin, feeling his own armor and Jetfire’s hands feeling his armor, palms and fingertips, the sleek texture of the glass, the silkier gloss of his armor.  And he could feel the size of Jetfire: the air of the room stirring against the broad wingpanels, the presence, the mass, the slight disorientation of being suddenly so large.

His hands knew how to move, borrowing from the echoes of memory, and fed by Jetfire’s exquisite, open response, the way the head tilted up, out of the kiss, the wings shivering under his rough touches, his hands clawing, scraping over the metal, feeling the pain ride over Jetfire’s net, a delicious stress, a singing heat and pleasure, the way he offered his throat, the black cables open in surrender and wanting to be bitten, savaged.  Trailbreaker’s forcefields clamped over Jetfire, pulling over him, compressing, raking over the sensitive panels.

Trailbreaker could feel Jetfire’s own firewalls crumble and break, a resistance he needed, wanted battered down around him, his desires plucked from him, torn out into the open. And he found he wanted it, too, his own systems throbbing with the exchange of power, energy, and want, the feel of urgent hands—his? Jetfire’s? the memory of Sixshot’s?—a hot circle of a mouth, gusts of warm air swirling between them.

The overload tore through both their systems: nothing gentle or delicate about it, but a rough tide, sweeping through them, scouring away thought, regret, doubt, leaving them scrubbed and raw, aching with intensity. 

A long moment, the mass of the shuttle pressing Trailbreaker into the berth. He slowly released his forcefields, retracting them like pseudopods, in a series of last, lingering slides over the white and red expanses.  And he could feel sense return to Jetfire, like birds roosting on his shoulders, the frame getting tense before starting to pull away, uncertain what to do.

Trailbreaker knew what to do, pulling the shuttle into one last, slow kiss. “You all right?”

“I..yes….that was. That was not….” The shuttle shook his head, stammering.  “I’m not normally like this.”

A cocky glint to his optics. “Kind of a shame, then.  Because that was…,” he let the sentence trail into a purr.

A movement under his hands, flustered, embarrassed, but shyly delighted. “I-I should get back to repairing your field generators.” 

Trailbreaker grinned, hauling the retreating mech back down on top of him, flaring his forcefield out, pulling Jetfire into the soundless realm, feeling the resistance, but also, through their still-linked cables, the stirring of nascent desire, for him this time, not a memory, not a simple physical need. “Later.”

Comments

[http://users.livejournal.com/__wilderness__/]

Oh purr!

I now want Trailbreaker/Springer...

[ravynfyre.livejournal.com]

oh dayum! This is... HOT. And I LOVE how you managed to work Sixshot in there as the catalyst! Also, I just want to facepalm at Hoist and smack the back of his head.

Later, though. After I recover from the hot awesomeness of Trailbreaker/Jetfire. Guh.

[kisaracrystal.livejournal.com]

I feel like betraying Sixshot reading this pairing, but who care this make me feel so hot! This is perfect, I love it. And I love how you put Sixshot in there, hot, sweet and cute at the same time. This pairing need more love, Trailbreaker need more love to be exact! I love it. You're an amazing author, love this fic can't wait to read more of this pairing from you!

[snowcouger.livejournal.com]

Sitting at work, bored senseless. Pop on to go reread the archived Skyfire/Jetfire fics because I was jonsing for some of that smexy shuttle. See this.

All of my love. That was... glorious. I'm just discovering my love for Trailbreaker too, so just... -Squeegasm.-

[playswithworms.livejournal.com]

Mysterious "hmmmms"!
STD pamphlets, oh Hoist XD
Go Trailbreaker! Sex with someone who understands, always nice *nods wisely*

[silaphet.livejournal.com]

utterly adore your quirky pron mixes of humor and rampaging avalanches of hormones