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niyazi-a.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
shadow_vector2010-12-21 08:42 am
Kiss
IDW/G1 Forlorn Hope AU
Jetfire,Sixshot, Ratchet
angst and sap.
ch 1: Forlorn Hope
ch 2: Relapse
ch 3: Transgression
ch 4: First
ch 5: Rescue
ch 6: Half Truths and Shadows
ch 7: Coping Mechanism
Jetfire remembered the kiss. His first kiss, his last kiss.
He had teased Sixshot (he, yes, he, had teased another mech) nuzzling against Sixshot’s throat, flicking his glossa against the boundary of the other mech’s facemask, teasing him, begging him, coaxing him to release the mask. He had no idea what Sixshot looked like behind the mask, and after a while, he no longer cared—he just wanted to touch, to feel. He wanted to open his mouth, to yield to Sixshot this way, as well. But he couldn’t bring himself to demand. He couldn’t impose.
And then, what turned out to be the last night they would share, he had murmured, forehead against Sixshot’s, some soft, longing words before drifting into recharge. And later, when he had succumbed to the drowsy comfort of the berth and the somnolent pull of his overloaded systems, he was aroused from that comfort by a hard warmth against his mouth, pushing in, awkwardly but fiercely. He heard, felt, a growl, the glossa pushing urgently, ungently, into his mouth, the lip plates grinding against his. It was just on the verge of pain, and maddeningly erotic, dark and driven by need and strangely, shyly brutal—everything he had come to associate with Sixshot. But the instant his hand moved to brush Sixshot’s shoulder, to pull him in more closely, Sixshot stopped, withdrawing, leaving Jetfire’s mouth still tingling, panting for breath.
Jetfire had lain for a moment, wings shivering with desire, swirling with questions. Had Sixshot heard his quiet request? Would he do it again if Jetfire lay still enough, pretending to be asleep?
And he recognized the gesture for what it was—a confidence, a sacred moment of connection, something that Sixshot had never shared or done with anyone, giving Jetfire another claim, another honor.
And then…his ‘rescue’ and he would never have another chance, never feel that tremulous aggression again.
[***]
“Jetfire,” Ratchet’s voice was uncharacteristically quiet, as if aware he was intruding on something. Jetfire had always been introverted, but in the days since his return, he had seemed to ball up in himself, giving monosyllabic answers. Before, he’d seemed shyly eager to talk, words spilling out at the least invitation. Now, he barely returned courtesies. Which meant…something awful had happened. And Ratchet could guess what that was.
“Yes,” Jetfire said, blue optics brightening.
“I need to ask you something. It’s for your own good.” Ratchet could see Jetfire stiffen.
“Yes,” Jetfire repeated, the word thin and tense.
Ratchet steeled himself. He knew the answer, but he knew as well that getting Jetfire to say the words was the first step toward healing. Jetfire would probably break down, cry, rage. Ratchet had seen it before, and hated that he’d have to see it again. Fraggin’ vicious ‘cons. And to Jetfire, of all mechs. Possibly the most innocent, most susceptible and least deserving. Not that anyone deserved…that. There always had been something vilely wrong about Sixshot.
“Jetfire. It’s not uncommon. You’re not the only mech it’s happened to, and…we have ways to help you cope.”
Jetfire’s wings folded around him, as if hiding him from Ratchet’s gaze. “It’s not--,” he cut himself off.
Ratchet gave a sad smile, placing a hand on the white knee. “It’s all right, Jetfire. I’ve heard it before.”
A minute shake of the head, Jetfire’s mouth pinching inward, as if struggling to hide words.
“He…he forced you, didn’t he?”
Jetfire met his optics for a moment, his face in anguish. “No.” The word seemed to tear itself from his chassis.
It was Ratchet’s turn to shake his head. “Your system readouts indicate significant upcharges. He forced you. Multiple times.” The readouts had not lied. Sixshot—and maybe others, accomplices—had apparently used him, repeatedly.
Jetfire’s hands curled into white fists. “No.” He caught Ratchet’s gaze with his own, and then choked out, “I wasn’t forced.”
Ratchet ex-vented. Denial. It must be humiliating, a large, powerful mech like Jetfire being made the sexual plaything of a psychopath like Sixshot.
“It did happen,” Ratchet insisted, waving the readout. “You can’t deny it.”
Jetfire squeezed his optics shut as he spoke, as if the words would come more easily if he couldn’t see Ratchet. “We interfaced. Yes. It wasn’t…what you think.”
Ratchet looked at the readout, then back at Jetfire. No. There was no way. Not Jetfire. Not the mech too shy to speak to Optimus—that was it. Optimus. Optimus, and Jetfire’s attraction to him, would break through the shuttle’s obstinacy. “All right,” he said, backing off. “I didn’t mean to upset you. We can talk about this later.”
Jetfire sighed, looking miserable. Ratchet reached to stroke a comforting hand over the wing. Jetfire snatched it out of his way. “Jetfire,” Ratchet said, “You’re miserable now, but it’ll get better.”
The blue optics bored into his. “No,” Jetfire said, with an uncharacteristic insistence, “It won’t.”
[***]
Optimus frowned behind his mask. “Ratchet, it is not my place...,” he began, looking up from his report.
Ratchet’s face was set. “Not normally. But it might do some good, in this case.”
“I have no training in this.” Optimus spread a blue hand on the desk, “I could do more harm.”
Ratchet looked away, frustrated. “I’m not getting through to him.” Meaning, Optimus knew, that Ratchet had tried everything he knew. Ratchet rarely showed it, but he hated his own lack of empathy, at times like this. The distance that kept him safe, kept him able to repair mechs he knew he’d have to send right back into harm’s way, sometimes worked against him. And he was professional enough to recognize it, and to put the patient’s care first. Like now.
“Where is he?”
“He asked to be allowed to continue with his research. I saw no harm. It might,” Ratchet shrugged, “keep his cortex occupied.” Of all the injuries Ratchet saw, it was those to the psyche that bothered him the most, because he could do the least to fix them.
Optimus nodded. “I shall try.”
Next: Of Mice and Terrorcons
no subject
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no subject
And Ratchet (at least as I see him, which is probably not really canon, so, um, yeah,) is at least aware that he's cut off from a lot of empathy, as a survival mechanism. Which means all he has to go on is studies and statistics and not really able to read Jetfire's emotions.
NOT that Jetfire's, you know, really good at explaining his emotions.
no subject
Then again, they are products of their environment. When you've been fighting an enemy, it's actually psychologically natural and somewhat insulating to presume only the worst of them--that they would do that. (It has happend in history--the Rape of Nanking, etc)
Besides, the opposite is to consider that Jetfire's loyalties are...in doubt.
no subject
It was just on the verge of pain, and maddeningly erotic, dark and driven by need and strangely, shyly brutal—everything he had come to associate with Sixshot. Oh yes. They have such angst and sensuality at the same time <3
*goes to buy a Sixshot figure*
no subject
And the more desperately earnest and sincere and comforting you are, the more it's going to suck for poor Jetfire.
"Hi there, mr. former crush, funny thing that - looks like I've gone and gotten over you by virtue of mad passionate clangings with one of the most lethal members of the enemy faction! So how have you been lately?" ...just don't see that conversation going well...