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shadow_vector2011-01-02 08:20 pm
Shadows of Garrus-9
Rating:PG
Continuity:IDW/G1, post LSOTW
Pairing: Drift/Perceptor
wordcount: 947
Notes: For ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif){kind=small}
tfic_contest holiday ficlet exchange, Drift/Perceptor 'drunk and horny'. One's drunk the other's horny, and...there's angst.
“Trying to hide from me?” Drift’s arms reached from the bulkhead behind which he’d been waiting, pulling Perceptor’s back against his chassis, purring. He nuzzled into Perceptor’s throat, hands exploring, needy. Perceptor had been gone for too long, as far as he was concerned.
“Not hiding,” Perceptor said, going stiff and still in his arms. “Just not sociable.”
Drift lifted his head. “It’s been a while,” he said, and the teasing tone was gone from his voice. “I thought you missed me.” A hint of a lonely desperation Drift always tried to hide from everyone except Perceptor, the only thing that made the words sound less petulant.
“I did, just….” Perceptor’s hands made a helpless shrug in the air, that went wobbly and sloppy.
The arms released him, spinning him around by his shoulder-scope. “You’re…drunk?”
Perceptor wobbled against him. “Thought it would help. Kup always said it helped.” Perceptor would not meet Drift’s gaze, dropping his blue optics to his hand. Drift could hear the targeting reticle zoom into a lock.
He bit back his retort about Kup and what the grizzled Autobot knew. Drift gave a soft snort. “It doesn’t help.” He grabbed for Perceptor’s hands, twining their fingers. “Trust me.” The phrase was like a code between them: Perceptor knew that what trust Drift had won from the other Autobots had been hard-fought.
“I know.” He tried to step back, reclaim his hands, but his overcharged ankle-gyros overcompensated for the movement. He stumbled back, and would have fallen had Drift not swept forward, scooping his free hand behind Perceptor’s hips.
Drift pulled him against him, metal banging against metal, his face less than a hand span’s from Perceptor’s. Can’t avoid me now, he thought. “I know about wanting to dull the pain,” he murmured. He felt Perceptor squirm against him, but held fast. “A defeat, a bad mission…it makes you question everything.”
“Not everything,” Perceptor said, gaze focusing on Drift’s cheek lamellars, his mouth, anywhere but his optics.
Drift accepted the correction with a wry shrug. “Make you question yourself.”
“Yes.” Perceptor’s shoulders drooped. “There was something I could have done, could have seen, that I didn’t.”
Drift could smell the high-grade on Perceptor’s mouth, but more potent than that, the despair on his voice. And he knew the sniper well enough to know that anything approaching a comforting lie would build an unbreachable wall between them. “There always is. That’s how it works.”
Perceptor’s optics, finally, met his. “I let them down. All those deaths…mine.”
“No.” Drift released the hand he had been holding, moving up to stroke the side of Perceptor’s helm. Perceptor wobbled, so Drift leaned back until his shoulders rested on the cool metal of the bulkhead behind him, Perceptor’s weight leaning against his chassis. “And every life you saved? Did you count those in your calculations, too?”
He knew the answer, and he could feel Perceptor try to resist. Time, he thought, to escalate. The gentle hand on Perceptor’s helm pulled him forward, bumping their mouths together. He tipped his chin up, prying Perceptor’s mouth gently open.
He tasted the high grade, probing his glossa over the mouth plates, feeling Perceptor try to resist, but then give in, yielding against him, mouth going soft and warm. Better, Drift thought, growling softly. He wanted to grind his hips against the black pelvic frame, but he restrained himself to simply arching his body up against Perceptor’s, simply…hinting.
Perceptor’s hands reached for Drift’s shoulders, unsteadily, holding on as if Drift were the only stable thing in the corridor. And in his state, Drift would not be surprised. Perceptor returned the kiss, glossa pushing into Drift’s mouth, lip plates hard and urgent. The red body twisted against his, systems humming on.
Perceptor pulled away, abruptly, tearing his face to the side. “We shouldn’t. Others are dead.”
“Others will always be dead,” Drift said, his voice raw and husky. “We’re alive.” His right palm slicked over Perceptor’s backplate. “It means something.”
“It…it isn’t right.” Even as his body shivered under Drift’s touch.
Drift fought his own frustration, his hand gripping Perceptor’s chin, turning the face to meet his. “And,” he said, “does your suffering bring them back? Does it make their deaths less painful?” He gave the chin a little admonishing jerk. “Did they die wanting you to suffer? Is that their vision of the Autobot future? Perpetual mourning?” He knew his words were harsh, but nothing else would penetrate. And Perceptor would take such things…from him. A confidence he tried not to overstrain. But Perceptor did no one good in this state. Least of all Perceptor himself.
“The…the whole planet,” Perceptor said, barely audible. “I’ve never seen such a place of death.”
Drift kept his silence. He probably had. As Deadlock, he’d seen—he’d done—a lot of brutality. But this wasn’t a contest. “That,” he replied, “is what happens when you cling to death, and forget about life.”
He held himself still, not trying to push Perceptor one way or the other. Letting him teeter on decision, knowing that this was something, some realization, some choice, Perceptor had to make on his own, had to take in, understand, on his own. Drift had walked that path himself, and he knew that…you couldn’t walk it for someone else.
No matter how badly you wanted to.
Perceptor’s optics lifted to his, and the lenses were wide and blue with all the hurt in the universe. “I don’t want to forget about life…but I don’ t know how.”
Drift’s mouth curled into a gentle smile. “Let me show you how,” he said, moving his mouth to brush against the trembling lips.
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Glad you liked it! :D