Private Dancer

[niyazi-a.livejournal.com]

Title: Private Dancer
Continuity: TFA Inamorato AU
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Drift, Wing
Prompt: sexy costume

"So," Wing said, turning his head around to catch Drift's optics. "What do you think?"

What did Drift think was a less important question than 'could Drift actually string together a coherent thought in the first place'.  "It's, uh....wow." Yeah. He'd go with 'wow'.  An intricate netting of glowlights covered Wing's pelvic frame and chassis, long, fiberoptic fringes floated from his hips and arms and bunched silkily over his furled wings.

Wing gave a happy wiggle, which set all the fringe swinging, a susurrus, sensuous whisper of movement and sound that drew Drift's gaze like a laser tractor. "Do you like it? Miss Chromia said it was just the thing and that I'd get all sorts of attention at the costume party like this."

Yeah, all sorts of attention.  Drift's sexiness-shorted cortex came back online with a gear grinding crunch.  That was the last thing he wanted to think about: Wing getting attention.  He scowled.

"Oh!" Wing own face shifted into a mask of distress. "The party! I'm so thoughtless! You're upset because you can't come."  He stepped off the dais, dropping down to throw his arms around Drift. "I promise. I'll tell you everything. Everything. I'll wake you up at dawn the next day and tell you every single detail. It'll be just like being there."

Drift wavered, because that sounded more than enticing: Wing, warm and alive, outside his window.  But that wasn't why he was upset. It wasn't the party he was upset about, it was the fact that Wing would be surrounded by rich, powerful, beautiful mechs, any of whom had a lot more to offer than Drift.  He had no power, no money. All he had was devotion and his spark.  And right now, those didn't feel like very much.

"I-I'd like that," he stammered, forcing it around the hot knot of jealousy in his throat.  He wished he had those things, any of them, all of them, but only so he could give them to Wing.

"Then I'll do that," Wing whispered, fiercely, into his audio. "It'll make the party more fun for me knowing I am going to share it with you."  And Drift's envy felt like a petty thing, all of a sudden, brittle and stupid: Wing had never done anything to earn his suspicion, had never shown any interest in anyone but Drift. He wrapped his own arms around the jet, burying his face, in a gesture of apology, in the other's neck, breathing the close, exquisite scent of him.

Wing gave a laugh, the sort of sound that only Wing did: a pure sound of happiness, planting a kiss that promised everything on Drift's crest before pulling away.  "I was wondering, Drift," he purred, gold optics smoldering, "If you'd like a little show." He rolled his hips in an intricate figure-8 against Drift, the fringe slapping lightly, like little feathers, over their thighs.

Drift sucked in a vent of air. "...yes, please," he squeaked, his hands suddenly nervous with desire, over Wing's body.

"Good," Wing said, with a quick, teasing peck to Drift's mouth, before he pushed him backward onto a stool.  "Now this," he said, hands gliding down Drift's body, "is just for you." And the intensity of the moment, which had Drift trembling, burst into a laugh along with Wing, warm and teasing. "Because after all, half the fun of putting on a costume is...," He flicked a hip against Drift,  the fringe brushing his cheek, "...taking it off, don't you think?"

Oh. Wow.

Yes.

Comments

[wicked3659.livejournal.com]

I simply adore the way you write these two <3

[tainry.livejournal.com]

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