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shadow_vectorIDW/AHM
Drift/Perceptor
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pl2363's fluffathon request "perfect as you are".
Perceptor knew when the lights in the lab went out, immediately, that it was Drift. He sighed, lowering the small welder. “I’m not overworking myself,” he said to the sudden darkness, a trifle impatiently.
“Not anymore tonight, at any rate.” Drift’s voice, sure enough, from the shadows behind him.
“Drift.” Trying to sound reasonable and only half succeeding.
“Perceptor.” The voice, to his left now, closer, entirely teasing.
“I need to finish this.”
“Tomorrow.” To his right now, deliberately trying to fox him.
He turned to the darkness over his right shoulder. “I don’t have time. I already have—“ Deadlines and more deadlines, everything needed days ago. It never ended.
Hands, on his shoulders, as though steadying him, and he felt Drift’s chassis behind him, the EM field like flickering velvet against his back. “Perceptor. There’s a war. There will always be something that needs to be done right now.” The hands slid forward, fingertips flirting along Perceptor’s collar armor, sending delicious shivers through his sensornet. "Somehow we manage."
“Yes.” He in-vented deeply, forcing himself to pull away, as much as he wanted to lean back into that touch, to tilt his head up, catch the glow of Drift’s blue optics in the darkness. “Which is why…,”
“No.” One hand came up, cupping over his mouth, and Drift bent lower, his mouth brushing against Perceptor’s helm.
Perceptor protested, the words muffled against Drift’s hand. He could smell the clean oil, the well-kept systems, could feel Drift’s other arm snake around his chassis, the mouth seeking his throat.
“No,” Drift whispered again. “I’m onto you. The more I let you talk, the more you argue.” His mouth was hot, grazing over the throat cables, his hand moving to brush his fingertips over Perceptor’s own mouthplates.
He wanted to argue, but he wanted this as well: Drift, wanting him, the strange, rough way the swordsmech tried to take care of him. It was maybe clumsy and awkward but it was more than anyone had ever done for him before. To everyone else he was just a scientist, a machine for repairs and modifications. Sometimes he thought they’d only notice if he died when things stopped getting done.
For a long time, that had been good enough, though, good enough to be useful, good enough to be needed.
But he’d discovered something else: he’d wanted to be wanted, as well. Useful wasn’t enough. Not after Drift had come to him, and they'd begun this strange, delicate beautiful thing.
“I won’t argue,” he whispered against those teasing fingers.
A purr. “Good.” The other hand slipped down his body, grazing the hoses at his waist, feathering over his pelvic armor. He felt a smile curve over the mouthplates pressed against his throat. “Because I have other uses for that mouth of yours.”
A shudder of desire, gold and electric, and Perceptor’s hand clutched at the worktable, almost for balance. What Drift could do to him, with a few touches, with a few whispered words….
Drift’s hand found his interface hatch, tracing the seam with light, almost negligent fingers. Perceptor sighed, leaning back, tilting his hips into the touch, letting his head fall back to rest against Drift’s shoulder for a moment, just…enjoying. It was entirely selfish, just for a moment, feeling the desire begin to swirl and build across his systems, his hands begin to ache to touch Drift, his lip plates tingling for contact.
He twisted, after an ex-vent, turning his head, his mouth seeking Drift’s, one hand coming up to touch Drift’s spaulder. Drift welcomed the kiss, shifting his hold to Perceptor’s shoulders, and the darkness was filled with Drift’s blue optics, and the mass of his shoulder and delicate sparkles of the fingers over his interface hatch.
Drift gave a soft growl, pulling back on Perceptor’s shoulder, as if to lay him down across the workbench, swinging one leg over the bench. “I’m beginning to think,” Drift said, his voice a laughing plushness in the darkness, “you have a thing for interfacing on your workbench.”
Perceptor laughed, the sound grating, rusty, but honest. It felt…good. His hands slid, gratefully, over Drift’s back, skimming the narrowing waist, the flare of the hips. “I was beginning to think the same about you.”
A throaty laugh. “No. I just have a thing for you.” A brush of the mouth, lit by dim blue of his optics, on Perceptor’s chassis.
It was such a sincere, open compliment that Perceptor was glad for the darkness, hiding the raw emotion on his face. Even so, his hands fluttered on Drift’s back. Drift pushed upward, letting his own chassis slide along Perceptor’s, his mouth seeking Perceptor’s again, one knee slipping under Perceptor’s knee, pressing their bodies together.
“But—“
“No arguing,” Drift chided, one hand bracing on the bench beside Perceptor’s head, the other tracing tenderly down Perceptor’s cheek. “You. Perfect. Just as you are.”
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Date: 2012-08-11 03:14 pm (UTC)love this so much.
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Date: 2012-08-11 03:17 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-08-11 04:10 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-08-11 04:32 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-08-11 04:57 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-08-12 07:02 am (UTC)“Not anymore tonight, at any rate.” Drift’s voice, sure enough, from the shadows behind him.
“Drift.” Trying to sound reasonable and only half succeeding.
“Perceptor.” The voice, to his left now, closer, entirely teasing.
“I need to finish this.”
“Tomorrow.” To his right now, deliberately trying to fox him.
Heeheeheeheeheehee!
<3333333333333333333333333333333333
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Date: 2012-08-13 12:27 pm (UTC)