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shadow_vector2012-04-05 12:36 pm
Speed and Status part 11
IDW
Drift, Perceptor,
sticky
Drift stepped back, and the sudden cool emptiness against Perceptor’s backstruts seemed to burn, igniting lust and anger in Perceptor’s cortex.
Perceptor stepped to the training room door, coding the lock.
He stood up, snapping the cable tight before gliding over to where Drift stood, quiet, expectant. Perceptor held out the sword, hilt first, offering it back to Drift, and…offering more. Himself.
Drift’s hand closed over his. Their optics met, blue against blue, and Perceptor fell into the glow, rocking forward, nearly spinning with vertigo, trembling with desire to touch Drift’s body a desire so long—too long—denied.
He forgot Blurr, for a moment, succumbing to his need to touch, to give in, to take what Drift was offering to him. His hands skimmed over the armor, stirring the EM field, barely daring to touch until Drift leaned into it. Perceptor’s palms spread, stroking over the silk of Drift’s white plating, down the arms, the strong fingers, and then to the white pelvic girdle, thumbs tracing the bevel. Drift released a sighing vent, lifting his arms out of the way, opening himself to the touch.
Perceptor dropped to his knees, burying his face in the fine black plating of Drift’s abdomen, mouth ardent, tracing the contours, openly worshipping. He didn’t care. He didn’t have Blurr’s experience, Blurr’s skill, but he did have this: pure, raw, naked adoration. His mouth dipped lower, nuzzling down the pelvic arch to feel the subtle vibration, the delicate heat of Drift’s interface systems through his armor. His hands trembled, wrapping around the hips, under the scabbards.
He sighed, laying his helm against the fine black mesh of Drift’s midsection, just…breathing him in, forcing the moment to last. A hand brushed his shoulder, then skimmed his scope. Perceptor shivered at the light touch, remembering those strong, dark hands glossing over his armor. Perceptor cupped his hand, thumb finding the interface hatch’s release, inhaling the hot, charged scent as the panel retracted. He tilted his head up as a knuckle skirted his audio, attention split.
Drift dropped to his knees, pushing Perceptor over, backward, his spike sliding down Perceptor’s frame as he slid down, his mouth hunting Perceptor’s, urgent and hungry. Perceptor’s shoulders hit the floor, hard, jarring against the cool ground, his hands clutching at the white spaulders.
Drift growled into the kiss, his hips grinding over Perceptor’s pelvic frame, sliding his slick spike over Perceptor’s closed hatch, as if too caught up to notice. Perceptor clamped his hands around the chassis, under the heavy spaulders, arching his chestplate into Drift’s armor.
Perceptor murmured some reply even he didn’t understand, the hands around Drift’s chassis locking, as he threw his weight to one side, spinning with Drift, splaying his legs over the white hips, snapping his own panel open. Drift flashed a lopsided grin up at him, pushing impatiently against Perceptor’s aft. Perceptor’s answering smile was softer, shyer, as he settled himself, with a gasp, on the spike. Their optics locked, and for a long moment both hung, enthralled, as the spike settled itself into Perceptor’s valve, his calipers sliding against it.
Drift’s optics flamed with desire as Perceptor began rocking, slowly at first, simply shifting the spike in his valve, before picking up tempo. Their hands locked, fingers twining together, gripping at each other. Their ventilation cycles synchronized. Perceptor could feel Drift’s struggle to remain still, to keep himself flat on the ground, letting Perceptor take him, without guiding—the tension thrummed through the thigh servos, down the scabbards that Perceptor’s thighs slid over.
Drift bucked against him, a sharp hiss the only warning that his control had slipped. Perceptor felt the strike of the charge across his nodes an instant later, arching his spinal struts against the hot rush of transfluid, Drift’s hands clenching his so tightly that pain swam with ecstasy through his net.
He signed, frame sagging, lurching forward, overwhelmed, wanting nothing more than to lay on the sleek white body beneath him. And Drift’s arms opened around him, pulling him down, one thigh raising between his legs. Perceptor’s optics flicked to the locked door.
“You’re thinking of Blurr.” A question, masked in the surety of a question.
“Yes,” Perceptor said, realizing it was the first word he’d spoken to Drift himself, and feeling the strangeness: that he hadn’t needed words with Drift, that their bodies spoke everything between them. It was everything he’d ever wanted, and more than he’d ever dreamed.
“Don’t.” Something like a smile under the insistence.
“He won’t end it this way.”
A wry snort, and hands stroking gently over Perceptor’s shoulders. “We will.” And there was a burning intensity in the ‘we’ that set Perceptor ablaze, as though his spark itself had burst into flame, immolating all doubt, all worry, for the first time since he could remember.
[***]
Drift arched his back, hands clutching at Perceptor’s black hipframe. “More,” he gasped.
Perceptor shuddered against him, catching his breath, before picking up the pace of his thrusts. Drift was insatiable, it seemed. And Perceptor had never been wanted this way, never had anyone so hungry for him. His ventilation fans kicked on, feeling the valve ripple around his spike, a warm rush of liquid over his heated nodes.
Drift raised his hands over his head, begging for restraint: Perceptor shifted his weight, clamping a hand over the crossed wrists, bracing his body’s weight, the only points of their bodies touching were their interface equipment, the hard scrape of thigh against thigh.
The overload was raging through his systems, and he fought it off, hissing through his dentae, driving into Drift. The mech wanted him, had offered himself to him, coaxing and kissing, his fingers, his mouth summoning desire from just under the surface of Perceptor’s dermal plating. He wanted nothing more than to please Drift, to watch the play of arousal and pleasure over the other’s face, the distant, lidded blue optics, the way the hands curled against his, the mouth shifting, twitching, half-forming words and inchoate sounds of desire.
The white body bucked against his, chassis rising off the berth to slam against his chestplate, as Drift threw his head back, racked by the rush of current. The valve seemed to clamp over Perceptor’s spike, demanding its own release, and Perceptor felt lust overcome his restraint, transfluid bursting down the channels of his spike. It was a savage desire, far removed from the timid, safe releases he had known before, opening a door he hadn’t realized he’d had, into his own desires, a taste of power, limned with pleasure.
Drift gave a shuddering sigh, his frame vibrating against Perceptor, pulling him down to the berth with a languorous stretch. Perceptor shifted his weight to one side, angling his chassis off the white armor, releasing his hold on the wrists, letting one hand stroke down Drift’s frame, his mouth bending to place a kiss, like a petal, on the other’s mouth.
They lay together for a long time, systems cycling down into a sweet, pleasant torpor, Perceptor’s limbs delightfully heavy. He wormed forward, pressing his mouth against the other’s helm.
“Perceptor.” A soft whisper, a hand squeezing one of his
“Yes?”
A long hesitation and he could feel something like Drift summoning courage or strength to speak. “Would you do something for me.”
“Anything.” The word rushed from his mouth like a bird. He curled, warm and protective, over the white frame, feeling a surge of tenderness for the other.
Drift moved beneath him, and it took Perceptor a moment to realize the other mech was reaching for one of his short swords. He pressed it into Perceptor’s hand. “Cut me.”
Perceptor’s hand flattened, refusing to grip the sword. “Drift--,"
“I need it.” The helm tilted, head away, as though Drift couldn’t bear to meet the other’s gaze.
“I can’t.” The thought, deliberately hurting the other mech, the sharp hot slice of a blade on a line, the pink spurt of energon, he…couldn’t. How could you hurt what you loved?
And in that moment he realized that he did love Drift, even as he felt the white mech curl away from him, an agonized reflex of rejection.
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I love that Perceptor has come to the realization of how deep his feelings are but oh what a dilemma he's in now faced with having to decide to deny Drift's request or hurt him.
I can't wait to read more
Thank you for another great chapter!
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'Perceptor could feel Drift’s struggle to remain still, to keep himself flat on the ground, letting Perceptor take him...' honestly, the hottest sentence I've read in a while. I don't know why I like seeing Drift in the vulnerable or submissive position, but I do and this was fantastic!
I love how at the very end that Perceptor came to realize what his feelings for Drift really are and the probably agonizing decision he now has to make. I can not wait to see what happens next!
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And then Drift asked Perceptor to cut him. Ouch. It will be interesting to see how that plays out, especially given the depth of Perceptor's feelings.
Great update, thanks for sharing!
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I love this series so much!
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