Sky and Ground 16: The Gift
Apr. 15th, 2010 11:44 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
niyazi-a.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
shadow_vectorBayverse
PG-13
Skywarp, Barricade, Starscream
angstyfluff
He’d affixed the magnets himself, wearing it over his own new cover, in some symbolic way to keep the spark’s radiant energy charged in it. That’s what all the poetry had said. Why it was special. As close as you could come to a spark link. Without, you know….
It was a perfect idea. Wasn’t it?
Until…now it didn’t seem so perfect. It seemed, as he held his removed spark cover in his hands, right outside the hangar where Skywarp was preparing to leave, like a really stupid idea. The stupidest idea he’d ever had. EVER. Stupid symbolism. Stupid gesture. Skywarp would laugh at him. Or worse, pretend like it was really cute in a condescending way, and then laugh at him. Primus, he was an idiot. Overtaken by foolish sentimental notions. Not thinking clearly. Only thinking how much he’d miss Skywarp during the decacycle of his mission window. Wanting to do something that…well, that showed that. Maybe something so Skywarp wouldn’t forget him.
That was what he feared most of all, of course. That Skywarp would find someone better and move on and forget he ever knew Barricade. It was a distinct possibility—just about any mech qualified as ‘someone better’.
He didn’t have time to stow the damn thing—not and get back here in time to say goodbye. He danced on agony. No, he had to say goodbye. Even if it meant being laughed at.
He hit the door controls, and flinched as he heard Skywarp’s laughter mixed with Starscream’s. The bronze jet would be merciless. He swore, and stuck the cover by its magnets to what he hoped was an unobtrusive place in his back kibble. He tried to look, well, not dorky and stupid as he entered the hangar.
Skywarp was leaning against a weapons crate, Starscream tracing over seams in his armor. A tub of something sat on the crate next to Skywarp. It looked…weird.
Barricade hesitated. Had he walked in on something again?
Starscream caught sight of him. “Oh, wonderful. Barricade, this should go much more smoothly now that you are here.”
“Uh…what?” He sidled over, trying to keep his back to the door, away from the bronze Seeker. If Starscream saw it, he’d be…ruthless.
“Skywarp will be going on an intrasystem flight, and his seams require greasing. It helps prevent thermal seepage.”
“Not sure how I’m supposed to…?”
“Your talonpoints are a bit smaller, little spike,” Skywarp said. “It helps to get into the smaller joins.”
“Sh-shouldn’t you be in your alt mode then?”
Starscream smiled at him indulgently. “That would be silly. This helps spread the grease to the underplating.”
Oh. Well, he guessed that made sense. What did he know about flying? All he knew was that it was more or less terrifying. And the idea of flying in space—no thank you. Cold and lonely and dark.
“Now, would you like to help? It would involve an awful lot of,” Starscream winked at him, “physical contact.”
Barricade hesitated, acutely aware of the damning thing stuck to his back, but also…aware that this would be the last time he’d get to touch Skywarp. It was only for a decacycle, but still…it seemed like forever. Already.
Starscream laid the canister on the ground next to him. The grease in it was lilac purple, liquefying as he rubbed it between his talons. Watching Starscream, he emulated spreading the grease along the seams and edges of Skywarp’s thigh armor. His palms quivered. Even his armor was fascinating—broad sweeps of matte black plating, over smaller, finer scales. Barricade’s own simple armor-over-systems seemed clumsy and uncouth by comparison.
Skywarp snickered. “Giving me ideas, little spike.”
It was giving Barricade ideas as well. He slicked his fine talon points into the inner cabling of Skywarp’s thigh, grinning as Skywarp gave a fluttering sigh.
“You do not have time for that,” Starscream admonished. “Not if you wish to make your parabolic vector.”
Skywarp pouted. “But I miss it!”
Starscream tilted his head, eyes narrowed.
“What? I have a high libido.”
“I AM aware of that,” Starscream retorted. “You also have an important mission to fly.”
“I could make it quick.”
“No, you could not, Skywarp,” Starscream scolded. “And then I would have to regrease your interface panel, and then you would never get out of here.”
What? Barricade felt vaguely upset he’d missed the initial greasing of the interface panel. Something must have shown on his face: Skywarp laughed. “No, little spike. Starscream kept his hands—and all his other parts—to himself.”
Somehow, it mattered to Barricade that he had been the last interface before this flight.
He bent down, Skywarp obediently lifting his foot, to spread the grease between the toes, among the barbs. Skywarp wriggled his toes playfully. “Definitely giving me ideas. For when I get back.”
Barricade glowed. He’d take that. In fact, he’d file that away and replay it and live over the promise of that for the entire decacycle. He switched to the other foot, scooping up more grease, scuttling around Starscream, who moved to work into Skywarp’s shoulder assembly.
Skywarp laughed. “Oh we are definitely doing this again. All this attention,” he purred.
“You are greedy and shameless,” Starscream said.
“I learned from the best,” Skywarp retorted.
Starscream stepped back, just as a red light flared by the hangar door. “That,” he said, with one last appraising swipe of his greased fingers across Skywarp’s chassis, “should do it. And just in time. Your parabolic vector window is about to open.”
Skywarp pushed himself off the crate with obvious reluctance, bending down to scoop Barricade into an embrace. “Have to leave, little spike,” he murmured. Barricade could feel the slickness of the liquefying grease between their chassis. He clutched out with his hands. Skywarp grinned, shifting his grip.
And then.
Barricade flinched as he heard the sound of something metal clatter to the floor. Oh, slag. He’d somehow managed to forget entirely. How could he have forgotten? Idiot. IDIOT!
“What is this?” Starscream said, stepping behind him. Barricade gritted his optics shut, waiting for the inevitable scathing taunt. “Oh,” he heard Starscream say. And then the clack of footsteps, hastily retreating. Barricade felt Skywarp turn, looking after his Trine mate.
He wriggled free, trying to get to the damning thing before Skywarp could see it; hoping he could make up some story about what it was. No such luck.
“What you got there, little spike?” Skywarp’s head tilted, curious.
“Nothing.” He whipped it behind his back, trying to get the magnets to readhere. But the grease had coated his back plates. It clattered to the ground again.
Seekers were fast when they wanted to be, and before Barricade could pick it up again, Skywarp had lunged forward and snatched it up.
“Oh,” he said. That didn’t sound good. That’s what Starscream had said…right before he ran out of the room.
Worst idea EVER, Barricade thought. He ground his talons together.
“This is—Barricade, is this for me?”
Barricade dropped his eyes. “Stupid idea. Don’t know what I was thinking.”
A snort of laughter. “I think I know. And it’s not stupid.”
Barricade looked up: Skywarp was turning the spark chamber cover over in his hands. Skywarp traced his serial number with one of his thumbs. “I need your help, little spike,” Skywarp said, abruptly. He crouched down. “There’s no time to get this installed properly,” he added. Barricade shivered as Skywarp began retracting the armor over his spark chamber. Just like he’d fantasized. Terrifying and everything he would ever want, sliding open in front of him. And Skywarp’s words—‘installed properly’. He felt his entire body tremble. “My hands are too greasy, can you…?” Skywarp gestured for Barricade to affix the cover on top of Skywarp’s own.
His talons shook—he had to steady one hand with the other as he placed the cover. His talons were slick with grease, too, but he was determined not to screw this part up. It was something…almost sacred.
He could feel the energy of Skywarp’s spark like a field—more powerful than the EM field he already knew. This felt old and powerful and dark and beautiful.
The magnets clacked on solidly. Skywarp hung for a moment—Barricade risked a glance up and saw Skywarp had shuttered his optics. He heard a long slow vent cycle. Then the armor slid back into place, and he felt Skywarp’s arm around him again. “I don’t have anything to give you,” Skywarp murmured. “Nothing that could even compare….”
Barricade looked to the door. “Starscream…?” he began.
“Long story, little spike. I’ll tell it to you when I get back.” He ducked down for a brief kiss. Barricade could taste the lilac grease—a taste he’d forever associate with this moment and the conflicting roil of emotions: hope, desire, fear of losing Skywarp, terror at letting him out of his sight. Terror at being forgotten.
His talons clutched into Skywarp’s shoulders. A klaxon sounded. The spaceside hangar door irised open. A blast of cold air shocked against them.
Skywarp cursed, looking up. “Vector window,” he muttered. He squatted back down, hastily, and pulled Barricade’s audio close. He rattled off a string of numbers. “Got that?”
Barricade nodded, puzzled. “What is it?”
“Private comm freq.” Skywarp stood, shrugging. Looking somehow, unbelievably, awkward. Embarrassed. “It’s the only thing I have I can give you, Barricade.” He took a few steps to the door. “Please use it. I think I’ll die if I don’t hear from you.” The klaxon blared again. He ran to the spaceside door, his black shape too quickly turning into a silhouette cut out of the stars.
“I love you,” Barricade murmured, to the sudden hollow darkness.
Next: Reciprocity
PG-13
Skywarp, Barricade, Starscream
angstyfluff
It had seemed like such a perfect idea. He read about it in a cultural history datatext, some warrior thing. It seemed just…perfect. He was no good with words: he knew that. So he was hoping this would say what he wanted to say without any of his messy, clumsy, well, Barricade-ness. You know, symbolism, and that sort of thing. The idea had even seemed good as he pushed the boundaries of proper requisitioning and signed the order. It even seemed pretty damn good as he lay in the repair cradle, the repair bots clicking as they installed the temporary baffles that protected his spark as they removed the chamber’s cover. It hurt, more than he thought it would, but even that was okay. Okay that it hurt. It was a good kind of hurt, open and clean, air aching against his never-before exposed spark.
It gave him…ideas. Ideas he knew he wasn’t ready for, but still, those ideas kept him engaged in a pleasant spiral of (admittedly complete and utter) fantasy while they installed the new cover. What would it be like to spark link with—oh he couldn’t even make the sentence without shivering with delight. The little bots had bleeped curiously as he snatched the removed cover from their little pincers. But they were non-sentient little bots, with hardware that forbade them to question the directive of a sentient mech. Good thing, because he wasn’t sure he was up to explaining it to anyone else.He’d affixed the magnets himself, wearing it over his own new cover, in some symbolic way to keep the spark’s radiant energy charged in it. That’s what all the poetry had said. Why it was special. As close as you could come to a spark link. Without, you know….
It was a perfect idea. Wasn’t it?
Until…now it didn’t seem so perfect. It seemed, as he held his removed spark cover in his hands, right outside the hangar where Skywarp was preparing to leave, like a really stupid idea. The stupidest idea he’d ever had. EVER. Stupid symbolism. Stupid gesture. Skywarp would laugh at him. Or worse, pretend like it was really cute in a condescending way, and then laugh at him. Primus, he was an idiot. Overtaken by foolish sentimental notions. Not thinking clearly. Only thinking how much he’d miss Skywarp during the decacycle of his mission window. Wanting to do something that…well, that showed that. Maybe something so Skywarp wouldn’t forget him.
That was what he feared most of all, of course. That Skywarp would find someone better and move on and forget he ever knew Barricade. It was a distinct possibility—just about any mech qualified as ‘someone better’.
He didn’t have time to stow the damn thing—not and get back here in time to say goodbye. He danced on agony. No, he had to say goodbye. Even if it meant being laughed at.
He hit the door controls, and flinched as he heard Skywarp’s laughter mixed with Starscream’s. The bronze jet would be merciless. He swore, and stuck the cover by its magnets to what he hoped was an unobtrusive place in his back kibble. He tried to look, well, not dorky and stupid as he entered the hangar.
Skywarp was leaning against a weapons crate, Starscream tracing over seams in his armor. A tub of something sat on the crate next to Skywarp. It looked…weird.
Barricade hesitated. Had he walked in on something again?
Starscream caught sight of him. “Oh, wonderful. Barricade, this should go much more smoothly now that you are here.”
“Uh…what?” He sidled over, trying to keep his back to the door, away from the bronze Seeker. If Starscream saw it, he’d be…ruthless.
“Skywarp will be going on an intrasystem flight, and his seams require greasing. It helps prevent thermal seepage.”
“Not sure how I’m supposed to…?”
“Your talonpoints are a bit smaller, little spike,” Skywarp said. “It helps to get into the smaller joins.”
“Sh-shouldn’t you be in your alt mode then?”
Starscream smiled at him indulgently. “That would be silly. This helps spread the grease to the underplating.”
Oh. Well, he guessed that made sense. What did he know about flying? All he knew was that it was more or less terrifying. And the idea of flying in space—no thank you. Cold and lonely and dark.
“Now, would you like to help? It would involve an awful lot of,” Starscream winked at him, “physical contact.”
Barricade hesitated, acutely aware of the damning thing stuck to his back, but also…aware that this would be the last time he’d get to touch Skywarp. It was only for a decacycle, but still…it seemed like forever. Already.
Starscream laid the canister on the ground next to him. The grease in it was lilac purple, liquefying as he rubbed it between his talons. Watching Starscream, he emulated spreading the grease along the seams and edges of Skywarp’s thigh armor. His palms quivered. Even his armor was fascinating—broad sweeps of matte black plating, over smaller, finer scales. Barricade’s own simple armor-over-systems seemed clumsy and uncouth by comparison.
Skywarp snickered. “Giving me ideas, little spike.”
It was giving Barricade ideas as well. He slicked his fine talon points into the inner cabling of Skywarp’s thigh, grinning as Skywarp gave a fluttering sigh.
“You do not have time for that,” Starscream admonished. “Not if you wish to make your parabolic vector.”
Skywarp pouted. “But I miss it!”
Starscream tilted his head, eyes narrowed.
“What? I have a high libido.”
“I AM aware of that,” Starscream retorted. “You also have an important mission to fly.”
“I could make it quick.”
“No, you could not, Skywarp,” Starscream scolded. “And then I would have to regrease your interface panel, and then you would never get out of here.”
What? Barricade felt vaguely upset he’d missed the initial greasing of the interface panel. Something must have shown on his face: Skywarp laughed. “No, little spike. Starscream kept his hands—and all his other parts—to himself.”
Somehow, it mattered to Barricade that he had been the last interface before this flight.
He bent down, Skywarp obediently lifting his foot, to spread the grease between the toes, among the barbs. Skywarp wriggled his toes playfully. “Definitely giving me ideas. For when I get back.”
Barricade glowed. He’d take that. In fact, he’d file that away and replay it and live over the promise of that for the entire decacycle. He switched to the other foot, scooping up more grease, scuttling around Starscream, who moved to work into Skywarp’s shoulder assembly.
Skywarp laughed. “Oh we are definitely doing this again. All this attention,” he purred.
“You are greedy and shameless,” Starscream said.
“I learned from the best,” Skywarp retorted.
Starscream stepped back, just as a red light flared by the hangar door. “That,” he said, with one last appraising swipe of his greased fingers across Skywarp’s chassis, “should do it. And just in time. Your parabolic vector window is about to open.”
Skywarp pushed himself off the crate with obvious reluctance, bending down to scoop Barricade into an embrace. “Have to leave, little spike,” he murmured. Barricade could feel the slickness of the liquefying grease between their chassis. He clutched out with his hands. Skywarp grinned, shifting his grip.
And then.
Barricade flinched as he heard the sound of something metal clatter to the floor. Oh, slag. He’d somehow managed to forget entirely. How could he have forgotten? Idiot. IDIOT!
“What is this?” Starscream said, stepping behind him. Barricade gritted his optics shut, waiting for the inevitable scathing taunt. “Oh,” he heard Starscream say. And then the clack of footsteps, hastily retreating. Barricade felt Skywarp turn, looking after his Trine mate.
He wriggled free, trying to get to the damning thing before Skywarp could see it; hoping he could make up some story about what it was. No such luck.
“What you got there, little spike?” Skywarp’s head tilted, curious.
“Nothing.” He whipped it behind his back, trying to get the magnets to readhere. But the grease had coated his back plates. It clattered to the ground again.
Seekers were fast when they wanted to be, and before Barricade could pick it up again, Skywarp had lunged forward and snatched it up.
“Oh,” he said. That didn’t sound good. That’s what Starscream had said…right before he ran out of the room.
Worst idea EVER, Barricade thought. He ground his talons together.
“This is—Barricade, is this for me?”
Barricade dropped his eyes. “Stupid idea. Don’t know what I was thinking.”
A snort of laughter. “I think I know. And it’s not stupid.”
Barricade looked up: Skywarp was turning the spark chamber cover over in his hands. Skywarp traced his serial number with one of his thumbs. “I need your help, little spike,” Skywarp said, abruptly. He crouched down. “There’s no time to get this installed properly,” he added. Barricade shivered as Skywarp began retracting the armor over his spark chamber. Just like he’d fantasized. Terrifying and everything he would ever want, sliding open in front of him. And Skywarp’s words—‘installed properly’. He felt his entire body tremble. “My hands are too greasy, can you…?” Skywarp gestured for Barricade to affix the cover on top of Skywarp’s own.
His talons shook—he had to steady one hand with the other as he placed the cover. His talons were slick with grease, too, but he was determined not to screw this part up. It was something…almost sacred.
He could feel the energy of Skywarp’s spark like a field—more powerful than the EM field he already knew. This felt old and powerful and dark and beautiful.
The magnets clacked on solidly. Skywarp hung for a moment—Barricade risked a glance up and saw Skywarp had shuttered his optics. He heard a long slow vent cycle. Then the armor slid back into place, and he felt Skywarp’s arm around him again. “I don’t have anything to give you,” Skywarp murmured. “Nothing that could even compare….”
Barricade looked to the door. “Starscream…?” he began.
“Long story, little spike. I’ll tell it to you when I get back.” He ducked down for a brief kiss. Barricade could taste the lilac grease—a taste he’d forever associate with this moment and the conflicting roil of emotions: hope, desire, fear of losing Skywarp, terror at letting him out of his sight. Terror at being forgotten.
His talons clutched into Skywarp’s shoulders. A klaxon sounded. The spaceside hangar door irised open. A blast of cold air shocked against them.
Skywarp cursed, looking up. “Vector window,” he muttered. He squatted back down, hastily, and pulled Barricade’s audio close. He rattled off a string of numbers. “Got that?”
Barricade nodded, puzzled. “What is it?”
“Private comm freq.” Skywarp stood, shrugging. Looking somehow, unbelievably, awkward. Embarrassed. “It’s the only thing I have I can give you, Barricade.” He took a few steps to the door. “Please use it. I think I’ll die if I don’t hear from you.” The klaxon blared again. He ran to the spaceside door, his black shape too quickly turning into a silhouette cut out of the stars.
“I love you,” Barricade murmured, to the sudden hollow darkness.
Next: Reciprocity
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Date: 2010-11-29 11:21 am (UTC)♥♥!!!!