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shadow_vector2012-03-30 12:22 pm
Stars in his Optics
TFA Inamorato AU
Barricade, Drift, Wing, Onslaught, Vortex
Wing moonlights, Drift is dazzled.
“Heh,” Barricade said, around the lip of his high grade as he watched the newcomer push his way into the bar, “This could get interesting.”
Onslaught turned, optics aiming over his shoulder along Barricade’s line of sight. “New?”
“Drift,” Vortex said, leaning closer. “One of Dai Atlas’s little…strays.”
Little was the right word, Barricade snerked. Mech was barely his size. And Barricade had made the most of what he got—he didn’t hold size against the mech, but frag, he knew how hard it probably was for Drift. Especially with a cold piston like Dai Atlas.
“Hmmmph. He’s still bent on that whole scheme, is he?”
“Cyber ninjas, samurai, all that. Yes.” Vortex subsided back into his seat. “With limited success. Especially if that’s the caliber of his applicant.”
Barricade stifled a glare. Hey, not every mech was born with silver fraggin’ sparkplugs! And Vortex should know that better than anyone. “Kinda surprised he’s here after last time,” Barricade said.
“Oh?” A quirk in the voice, toning Onslaught’s expression.
“Nothing exciting.” An unfeigned sigh. He did miss the chance to rough up some Autobot plating, but such were the wages of peace. The pluses of peace were, of course, hot copters with free time. “Don’t let his looks fool you: total lightweight.”
“He looks like a lightweight,” Vortex said, sitting back, crossing one ankle over the knee.
“Yeah well don’t be fooled that he is exactly as he looks. No more than meets the optic, with this one,” Barricade said. You know, unlike him. “
“Hm.” Onslaught risked another look over his shoulder at the white mech, who had stomped, radiating ill grace, to the bar. “Wonder what mission Dai Atlas’s sent him on here.” His optics rested heavily on Barricade.
Oh wow, be a little more subtle with those hints, huh? “I guess I’ll go find out,” Barricade smirked, that nose for mischief he’d developed during an all-too-boring peace tingling. He swept his nearly empty cube up, figuring, heh, why not get a refill while he was up? Multitasking. Productivity and all that slag Vortex was always on about. “On your tab!” He snickered, zooming off. Way to stick it to The Mech, Barricade.
He sidled up to Drift, who had planted himself a few feet from the bar, glowering.
“Trying to stare it down?” he asked, with a spectator’s curiosity, taking a sip of his drink.
The swordsmech flinched, startled, before pulling himself back together. Huh, Barricade thought, the mech’s got that whole focus thing down. Probably didn’t see anything in the place other than the bar. Good way to focus in a fight, but frag, not everything was a fight. Even Barricade knew that. “Need to pay for a drink.”
Barricade eyed Drift’s empty hands. “Yeah? Didn’t know we sold invisible drinks.”
“Last time I was here. Had a drink. Didn’t pay for it.”
This had the strange flavor of being some weird honor thing.
“Last time?” Barricade shrugged. “You mean the time you faceplanted on the bar you’re trying to set on fire with your mind?”
Drift ‘s mouth worked. “Yeah.”A wince at the memory.
Oh yeah, sorry: Barricade remembered slag like that. “Eh, all that slag was on the EG’s tab, mech.”
“I meant the one later. In the back room.”
Barricade’s grin split his face. “You mean my patented hangover cure?” He laughed, waving his claws. “On the house. But the recipe’ll cost ya.”
“No,” Drift said, flatly. “I drank it. I need to pay for it.” A hard, almost sullen set to his jaw.
“Listen—“ but Barricade’s words of brilliance were cut off by a sudden plunge of the lights and a boom over the stereo system. He recognized Skywarp’s reedy, nervous voice.
“A-all right, everyone. I hope you’re having a nice evening (if not don’t hurt me!) and we—we’ve got some nice entertainment for you to (hopefully!) enjoy. Some of you might recognize him as our new server—he’s actually not very scary—Wing!” A squeak of fear, and the announcement shut off. The room lay in darkness for a moment, before a white spotlight sliced the darkness, pointing to the raised stage, striking the even whiter, brighter frame of the new jet, back toward the audience, head tilted down to one shoulder. The effect was dazzling.
The music began, a deep bass rhythm. Wing began to move, slowly, hips catching the tempo of the song, letting it travel up his body in slow, sinuous waves, before the melody started, and he grasped the pole, swinging himself around.
Barricade would grant it: the jet could dance. Barricade didn’t even like jets, and Wing’s performance was putting some serious tingly happy in his codpiece. He looked over and…
…whoa. Barricade wasn’t the kind of mech who believed in love at first sight, but lust at first sight? Yeah and this, right here, was a textbook case. Drift stared, open-mouthed, with the laser’s focus that seemed to erase everything in the world but Drift, the music, and Wing’s graceful, writhing body. He had it bad.
Wing continued, arching backwards into a walkover, activating a magna clamp on one foot to hook himself onto the pole. He slithered around it, as though rubbing the cold metal against his spine was sensual, before righting himself with a flare of almost blindingly silver wings. He dropped down into a spot on the floor just as silver glitter flurried down from the ceiling at the song’s close.
The music cut, replaced by General Strika’s voice, in that voice that was more than half-menace. “Is Ving! Ving is new sexydancer, as well as server. Maybe you tip him good now, yes?”
Drift gave a sound that was a whimper of pure want. And this, Barricade thought, could be useful, too. Wing swung to his feet, the secret, inner sensuality of his performance replaced by his usual cheery smile.
Barricade flicked a hand as the lights came up, catching Wing’s gaze on his glittering claws.
Wing bounced over, beaming. “Did you like it?”
Barricade jerked a thumb at Drift. “He sure did. Your first admirer.”
Drift quivered like a high tension line, mouth snapping shut, as Wing’s gold gaze turned to him.
“I’m so glad!” Wing wiggled his hips, excited. “I didn’t have any real time to practice, just filling in, but I had fun, and that’s what matters, right?”
So many wrongs in that statement that Barricade’s mind glitched for a second. But peace was boring and he had a mission: what Onslaught would call ‘cultivate an asset’. And right now, the best way for that was straight through—ahem—Wing’s wriggly little assets.
“Looked…,” Drift choked, tried again. Barricade would give him credit: certainly didn’t give up. “Looked good. Like you were having fun. Yeah. That.” Barricade could feel the heat from Drift’s face.
If Wing registered the erotic tension, he didn’t acknowledge it. Barricade had the odds about an even split here: the jet was sexiness in white metal but he sure seemed…clueless.
“I was! But…,” Wing prodded at his chassis, leaving a clean smudge in the grayish glitter dust. “Perhaps less glitter next time?” He ended the line with a little flourish. “But on the bright side, you can write on me!”
Frag. If Barricade had to deal with all this perky for very long, he’d spork his optics out. But Drift was halfway between entranced and dumbfounded—accent on the dumb.
“I know,” Wing said, stepping closer, grabbing one of Drift’s hands. “You should write your name on me. My first autograph! From my first admirer.”
“That’s not how it works,” Barricade said. “Like, the opposite.” Wow. Where the frag did they find this mech?
“Oh well, that’s boring.” Wing laughed, a high, bell-like peal of pure joy. “Come on!”
Drift made a sound like ‘gurk’, his hand shaking in Wing’s, as his hand got led to Wing’s chassis. He traced his name, slowly, the line wobbling and shaky.
Wing watched, grinning, holding himself still. “Drift!” he said, brightly. “That’s a wonderful name.”
“It is?”
“It is.” A nod. “It sounds lovely, soft and strong at the same time.”
Drift seemed to shrink back, as though the praise were just…strange. “I-I like Wing. Beautiful name.” A nervous twitch, as he blurted, “Like you.”
Wing gave a sort of throaty sound that seemed to mean ‘that’s fraggin’ adorable!’ Minus the ‘fraggin’. Barricade put all of his formidable mental processes to work and still couldn’t imagine the jet cursing. Wing’s hand stroked the back of Drift’s, like petting a wild animal, optics lambent and intense.
Drift snatched his hand away, mumbling something about having to get back, stumbling backwards and then, Barricade thought, outright fleeing to the door. Heh. Wing was a secret weapon.
“What did I do?” Wing said, his hand half outstretched after the swordsmech. “He seemed so nice. I just wanted to talk.”
Lovesickness, obviously. “He’s just a bit, I dunno. Overwhelmed or something,” Barricade said. “Drift doesn’t get out much.”
“I wonder if that’s why he looks so sad.” The gold optics lingered on the doorway, long after Drift had slipped through, moving this time like a frantic ghost.
“Yeah. Probably.” A brief thought, of Drift hunched in the back room, browbeaten by Dai Atlas. Sad? Maybe. But remember your job, Barricade. You don’t give a frag, officially or unofficially. But you do have a source to cultivate. “He could sure use a friend.” BONUS points, Barricade, he congratulated himself for not purging his tanks at that.
A solemn nod. “I would like to be that friend.”
Oh frag. This was getting all sorts of schmaltzy. “Yeah, well. You can, like…work on that. But for now,” he lifted his empty cube meaningfully.
[***]
Wing’s Oblate Journal
My first day as a dancer: it was fun! Not at all like Chromia warned me about. I just played to the music. I can’t believe mechs get paid for it. What a wonderful world we have been given where such joy is paid for!
Or is it so wonderful? Maybe that means that such fun is a rare commodity here. I must study this more. I see now why we have these probationary periods: so much to learn that the High Texts don’t cover.
Another first: I have my first admirer! His name his Drift. He’s a groundframe and quite handsome. Or he would be if he didn’t look so…tense.
Madam Arcee told me it was customary to save the first money one ever earned. She showed me the credit piece, glued to the bar’s support pillar. I want to keep this instead: my first admirer. He has the most intense, beautiful blue optics….
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Also, nervous announcer Skywarp! XD
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I say Onslaught & Vortex should get to deal with Wing next. :ish ebil: :D