Fandom: Transformers G1 Mirrorverse
Author: gatekat, ultrarodimus on LJ
Pairing: Dark!Wing/Normal!Drift, Axe/Dai Atlas
Rating: NC-17 mech/mech, mech/femme
Codes: Slash, Het, Mirrorverse AU, Sticky, Prostitution, Spark, Bonding, Mechpreg, Non-Con, Sparklings, Death
Summary: Drift crash lands on a desert planet with a major surprise hidden under it.
Disclaimer: The authors are only playing with their own twisted muses. Transformers belong to Hasbro. Fandom-side, check the inspirations page (gatekat-fics .livejournal. com/290 .html). We draw from a ton of amazing stories and authors you should read.
Notes: Wing bought Drift Fire Bib natalie526 ./art/Rhinestone-Fire-Bib-182662257
Drift bought Wing Mistress of the Sanguine delectable-decadence ./art/Mistress-of-the-Sanguine-95418398
nanoklik = 1/8 second; klik = 496 nanokliks/62 seconds; breem = 8 kliks/8.27 minutes; groon = 9 breem/1.24 hours; joor = 6 groon/7.44 hours; orn = 42 joor/13.02 days; decaorn = 32 orns/1.14 years; metacycle = 8 decaorn/9.22 years; vorn = 9 metacycles/72 decaorn/83 years;
::text:: comm chatter
~text~ hardline/bond chatter
Darkness and Lightning 01: Crash Landing in Shadows
The proverbial thunderstorm was raging over Wing's helm as the dark jet stormed out of the Citadel, other Knights sidestepping out of his way. Flaring golden optics didn't even acknowledge their presence. The other Knights watched as Wing stormed away, wondering just what had happened this time.
Most of the Citadel knew that Wing and his creator, Dai Atlas, had gotten into another of their infamous screaming matches, though about what was a little less clear. Dai Atlas was a big mech with a large vocalizer to match, so he could be heard bellowing for quite a distance, though the words had been unintelligible. Maybe it had something to do with Wing's jaunts to the surface.
Wing stormed up into the higher levels of the Citadel, then paused. Instead of going to sulk in his quarters, he was feeling a clear and growing urge to be out of the city cavern, in the open air of the surface world. That would show Dai Atlas. Turning on his heel, not bothering to try and question just why he needed to be outside so badly, the dark jet headed for the surface access tunnels.
The sand and black, star filled sky spread out before him the moment he opened the door. It eased something deep inside his spark to just see the open sky, to have nothing over his helm and nothing to catch his wings.
Wing was a flicker of shadow as he left the tunnel, darting away just in case anyone might have followed him. No one ever had, yet, but still. Dai Atlas had been furious enough to set one of the other Knights to watching him. Thorn in particular was entirely too good at following him unnoticed and finding him no matter where he went.
Once he was sure he was alone, Wing came out into the open, his dark armor gleaming under the moonlight. Flaring open his slender wings, he hummed with pleasure as the breeze stroked over the sensitive flight panels, whispering into the joints and seams. After a moment to enjoy the sensation, he revved his nacelles, lifting away from the sand in a swirl of particles and took off into the endless expanse that was his alone.
No one else came up here. No one else dared come up here. The entire world was his; the only jet that still flew as their kind was meant to.
Up here he was free. Free of his creator's restrictions, free of the oppressive atmosphere of being trapped in a cave underground. Up here he was the master of his world. There was nothing to hold him back.
This time, there was something different. He was outside, in the free, open air, but still the urge to be out had only increased. Now it was strong enough for him to really notice and wonder about.
Paying attention, he allowed the urge to guide him upwards. Within a klik he spotted something bright and hot coming down fast, but far too slow to be a meteor.
Wing watched the fireball for a long moment. Then his curiosity got the better of him and he turned in its direction, flying toward where he calculated it would land. He dropped lower to the sand, using the high dunes and the jagged rock formations to stay out of sight while tracking the fireball. Some part of him wondered why it was so important to be tracking this falling object, but the bulk of him was intent on reaching the landing site.
The impact was hard, digging a long, deep trench in the sand and melting much of it to molten glass that quickly cooled around a single mecha long range shuttle.
Wing paused for a brief moment, then flew as close as he dared and landed. On foot, he eased closer, under the cover of the dunes and the night, keeping to the shadows. Peering around a convenient chunk of sand-and-wind-scoured rock, he gazed at the shuttle, wondering who or what might be inside.
On the burned surface was a faction insignia. Autobot, if he read the scared and scorched outline. The color was long gone.
As he scrutinized the markings, such as were left, the creak of a hatch being forced open against half welded hinges and damaged controls demanded his attention.
Wing knew little of the factions most of Cybertron had split into, but he knew enough to know that the Autobots were not the better of the two.
Hearing the creak of the hatch, Wing ducked back into the shadows, letting his dark armor blend into the darkness, letting it hide him. Not taking his optics off the ship, he waited to see who or what would emerge.
Black hands were visible first, then the soft glow of pale blue optics and a bit of gleaming white plating. When the hatch crashed to the glassy sand a lovely white mech that looked like he was Redline's work became fully visible.
That didn't hold Wing's attention long though. The classic short swords of a Knight of Shadows were at the newcomer's sides, the hilt of a white Great Sword and its blue gem were visible over his shoulder, and bright red Autobot insignia marred each shoulder.
Slender ebony wings flared out in surprise. Golden optics widened. This mech, a Knight? But he was marked as an Autobot...
And he was gorgeous. The white mech was very attractive, slightly shorter than Wing was, covered in sleek and shining white, the spines of audial finials jutting up from his heavy helm, crowned by a white chevron centered by gold that matched Wing's optics.
Despite himself, the dark jet let out a soft purr, easing slightly closer but remaining in the shadows.
The stranger took in his environment as a seasoned warrior before moving away from his wreck of a ship and into the shadows of the mountains, working his way purposefully, though Wing knew the mech wasn't going anywhere. There was nothing, no where to go to that way.
Wing paced the white mech, slipping from shadow to shadow, staying in the darkness, but where he could watch the other mech. His golden gaze roved over the spaulders, the back armor, those powerful dark hands and the graceful yet purposeful way the white mech moved. Wing's glossa flicked over his lower lip plate as he watched, flowing into yet another hiding spot.
When he turned his gaze on the stranger he found ice blue optics meeting his quite directly, the white mech stopped and in a loose defensive posture that was definitely that of a seasoned Knight.
Wing paused, tilting his helm to the side. A small smile curved his lips as he realized that he had indeed been spotted. Shifting away from his piece of cover, he moved out of the shadows and into the moonlight.
Ice blue optics took him in much as he'd taken the stranger in. A sweep over plating, zeroing in on the Great Sword visible over his helm, drifting down to the short swords, then another sweep over plating as the stranger took a step forward.
"Who are you?" the stranger demanded, his voice rough and only just kept from trembling.
The dark jet cocked his helm slightly. "My designation is Wing," he answered, staying where he was. Golden optics slid down the white frame again before lifting back to pale blue. "And who might you be?"
"Wing is dead," the stranger growled instead, his frame trembling slightly as hands slid down to short swords. "Who are you?"
The dark jet looked down at himself, lifting one hand to run it over his chestplate before looking back to the white mech. "Last time I checked, I was very much alive." He fluttered dark wings before folding them neatly to his back. "I am Wing."
Ice blue optics narrowed before the stranger stalked forward smoothly, a Knight's grace that didn't come naturally as it did to Wing. One hand remained on his short sword's hilt, but there was no anticipation to draw it.
Wing stayed where he was, watching the white mech. He would move if he had to, confident he could defend himself against the white stranger. His hands rested on his hips, close enough to the hilts of his plasma swords to draw them if he had to but otherwise just adopting a casual, relaxed pose.
At four paces he felt the stranger's field reach out for him, questioning, testing, seeking both the familiar and the alien. The flare of recognition was scorching, full of desire and need that completely bypassed all higher processor functions.
Wing flared his field in response, seeking to find out as much as he could about the white grounder. Feeling the desire and the need, he smiled teasingly, fluttering his wings playfully, taking a slight step back.
"You still haven't given me your designation," he purred at the white mech, tilting his helm to the other side.
"Drift," came the answer as the stranger drew in a deep draught of air to help cool rapidly heating systems. He took two steps forward, closing the distance between them. His field reached deeper, trying to entice the black mech closer.
"Drift," the dark jet repeated, purring the designation. He skipped backward again, fluttering his wings teasingly. Golden optics watched the white mech as he curved his body enticingly, drawing the white mech after him.
He watched Drift recognize the tactic, but go along with it as he closed the distance again, this time to a bare two paces. He didn't stop at sword range either, trying to close even more. His field gave no doubt as to what he wanted, what he intended, and that he'd willingly take if it wasn't offered.
Wing laughed, the sound as much purr as laugh. His dark wings flared out to their full span, fluttering and wiggling, as the dark jet again retreated. He curved his frame, showing off, golden optics giving the white mech a coy, come-hither type look.
The deep rumble that escaped Drift next was a warning sound, something that sent most enemies scurrying away and most allies to quick compliance to his orders. It was one of the things Deadlock had that Drift maintained.
Optics locked on black plating and Drift moved, darting forward to capture the playful creature that was too similar to his Wing, even if it wasn't.
Wing caught the white mech's arms, spinning on his heel and pulling Drift down. Within a few seconds Drift was on his back on the sand, the dark jet straddling his hips. The dark jet had a playful yet triumphant grin on his face, his optics fixing on pale blue.
White hips ground up against black while black hands reached for spread black wings. The field entwined with Wing's was full of familiarity, desire built on knowing and a long absence.
Wing's field was tinged with curiosity, wondering how this white mech, whom he'd never seen before, seemed to know him. Still, the dark jet would never turn down that desire. He ground his hips against Drift's, his own black hands gliding down Drift's arms to his chest as his spread wings pressed into those stroking hands. A purr rose from Wing's throat as he was pulled down into a kiss that was as need-filled as Drift's field was full of desire-love-devotion that set off all of Wing's kinks at once just thinking about what he could get such a mech to do.
Drift's fingers knew exactly what to do to make him wriggle and moan, but he didn't miss the snap and slide of an interface panel sliding open and the hiss of a spike pressurizing between them.
The next purr was as much at the ideas presenting themselves to him as it was at the touches. His wings flared and stretched into the touches, the dark body writhing under Drift's skilled hands.
Hearing the sound of the white mech's spike pressurizing, Wing laughed. He wriggled his hips, his valve cover opening invitingly. There was no hesitation as Drift plunged into him, filling and stretching him in such a delicious way. Whoever this Drift was, he knew just how to move to make Wing keen.
Thrusts were deep and hard, the hands on his wing-joints digging in just right. The moans of pleasure, the rich flow of it in their mingled fields was wonderfully intense.
"My Wing," Drift groaned into a fevered kiss.
Wing writhed against him, leaning into those wonderful hands, his rips rocking in time to Drift's thrusts. His own hands skittered across white armor, exploring, seeking out the places to touch that would get the best reactions from the white grounder. Somehow, he wasn't sure how, this mech had met another mecha with Wing's designation and frame before. How, he didn't much care right at the moment.
One way or another, he was going to have this white mech, no matter what anyone else thought. Especially his creators. Drift was his.
"Mine," the dark jet breathed. "Driiiiiiiiift!"
Hot transfluid flooded his valve as the crackle of a hard overload crashed against his field and frame from the grounder under him. Even without conscious control, Drift's frame moved perfectly to suit Wing and drive his pleasure higher.
Wing's back arched, his helm thrown back, digging his fingers into the seams of Drift's sides. Energy crackled along his frame as his valve tightened around Drift's spike, milking it of every drop of transfluid. The dark jet's keen of overload was nearly a shriek, breaking into static at the end. He was only dimly aware of being rolled to his back so the white grounder was on top of him. He only cared that the pounding didn't stop and the new angle provided a whole new set of stimulations.
Dark wings splayed out against the pale sand, Wing's hands coming up to stroke over Drift's sides and around to his back, exploring his plating. Dark thighs wrapped around white hips, golden optics locking onto ice blue. One dark hand slid up to experimentally fondle the tempting spires of Drift's audial finials. They pressed into his hands, Drift's silent snarl one of exquisite pleasure as he drove himself and his lover to another peak before the first had even fully settled.
With a fierce kiss he plundered this dark Wing's mouth as they rode out the overload. His hips never faltered in their thrusts as he shifted to rub that wonderful valve, that feeling of home, in new ways.
"Mine," he growled, possessive and giving all at once. "All of you. Mine."
Wing returned the kiss, purring into it, the sound becoming a moan. Dark-armored arms wrapped around the gleaming white frame, holding him close.
"And you're mine," he purred in response, wriggling against Drift.
"Yes. Always," came the answer, a nuzzle and licking nips on Wing's neck as he sought to drive them to another peak. He didn't care how this was happening. He didn't care if he'd finally lost his mind and this was all in his helm. All he cared was that he had Wing back, and Wing was welcoming him back.
Wing leaned his helm back, his optics flicking off, hands working their way up to white spaulders. Nimble fingers slid into seams to tug and stroke at the wiring underneath, carefully working a sensor node between thumb and forefinger.
He made up his mind that he was going to bring Drift back to the city. The white mech would make a fine addition, either as a Knight of Shadows, or as Wing's own personal pet. At this point, he didn't care which, as long as Drift was his.
Some time after the two mechs had finally passed out, Wing stirred on the sand, onlining his optics and looking around. The white mech, Drift, lay sprawled on the sand beside him, and the far-off horizon was just beginning to show the first hints of false dawn. It was time for him to head back to the city.
The dark jet picked himself up, indulging in a long stretch, flaring wings and pinions and armor, shaking off the sand. He watched Drift for a moment, a possessive smile crossing his features, then knelt down to lift the slightly shorter but noticeably heavier frame into his arms. Warming up his nacelles, Wing lifted off with the white mech held firmly against his chest, heading for the nearest of the hidden city's tunnels.
He had to put Drift down only once, to close and lock the doors behind him. Finding it easier to fly rather than walk while carrying the grounder, the dark jet flew down the steps, emerging into the cavern and making a beeline for his balcony.
He knew he was spotted, and a sleek black form darted out after him. Faint glowing red lines and golden wings marked him as Thorn.
"What have you found this time?" the taller, more slender mech cooed as he caught up near Wing's quarters.
"He's mine," Wing growled at the other jet, landing on his balcony. Dark wings bristled at Thorn, warning him to keep his hands off. Heading inside, Wing laid the white grounder on the berth, running a possessive hand over the white helm.
"He's pretty, but there is no way he's going to let you keep him," Thorn cooed. "But maybe both of us together can convince him we can keep a pet out of trouble."
"Mine," Wing repeated. His wings flicked smugly. "Not sure where he came from, but he knew a mech with my frame before... Knows just where to touch, just the right amount of pressure, and just where to hit." A shiver of remembered pleasure ran through the dark jet's frame.
"And that reduces the appeal of a threesome?" Thorn trilled, sliding up against Wing's back and nuzzling him. "You've shared before."
Wing's plating actually bristled. "This one is all mine," he all but hissed back at Thorn. "I will not share Drift. Find your own pet."
"You know we aren't allowed to have pets anymore," Thorn chuckled and backed off a bit. "Not since that last one killed herself by diving off your balcony."
"This one won't," Wing informed the other jet confidently. He continued to stroke the white helm, admiring the design and the smooth lines. "I don't care what Dai Atlas thinks. I'm keeping Drift."
"Does he know he's a pet yet?" A new voice spoke with the sound of a jet landing. While it was slightly higher in pitch, it was far more disturbing to the average mech.
Wing looked over at the ultra-dark maroon femme Knight as she entered his quarters. "Not yet. He'll find out, though. Eventually." Golden optics glowed.
She chuckled. "So who's going to guard him while you 'convince' our lord and master to let you keep him?"
"Someone who knows to keep their hands to themselves," was the reply with a sharp look at Thorn. "He's mine, and I'm not sharing."
That raised an optic ridge over ice blue optics. "Well, that excludes Thorn," she chuckled darkly and glided over to take a closer look at the recharging mech. "What's so special about this one?"
"He apparently knew someone with our frame type before... He knows just where and how to touch." Dark wings fluttered against his back. "And he seemed to know someone who shared my designation before... There was both a lot of desire and devotion in his field. I look forward to training this Drift." There was anticipation in every line of him.
She chuckled darkly. "This'll be fun. I'll watch him when he needs watching, if you do my chores those orns."
Wing grinned. "Sounds fair enough." He ruffled his wings, his nacelle pinions flaring and then settling again. "So, have the high and mighty found out yet?"
"Do you hear bellowing?" She laughed outright. "I give it a breem, tops, since we know you're back."
The dark jet snorted. "Point." Sliding onto the berth, he lounged next to the white mech, admiring his new pet.
"You're not going to get him, you know," Marwir smirked at Thorn, earning a dark glare from ruby optics. "By the time Wing either trains him or he bolts, he's going to know that you're even harder on your pets than Wing is."
Wing snorted. "Thorn, don't you have chores to do or someone else to annoy? Shoo." He waved a hand at the taller mech, spreading a wing possessively over Drift.
"But you're fun to annoy," the black mech smirked even as he walked to the balcony and took off.
"So how'd you find this one?" Marwir asked, the cant of her wings curious. "I'm quite sure we don't have any Autobots."
"Something drew me out, something more than the need to fly and defy my creators. Whatever it was, it drew me to a crashing single-mech ship. He was inside." Dark fingers traced lightly over white armor.
The smile that crossed her features was one of pure, joyful malice. "So not only is he clueless about the city and rules, but he has no way to leave."
Wing made a thoughtful hum. "He bears a Great Sword and two short swords, and he moved like a Knight. This is going to be interesting. And no, he can't leave. Whatever drew me to him in the first place will not let him hide from me."
"He must have been trained by one of those who left us," she shrugged. "A few Great Swords and knowledge how to use them did remain behind, despite our best efforts. It might be easier to keep him if you present him as a lost Knight and not the pet you intend him to be."
Dark nacelles lifted in a shrug. "He seemed to know me... insisted I was dead. Not sure what to make of that. But he seemed very happy to see me." Wing grinned. "Training him is going to be an interesting experience. I look forward to it."
"So am I," she rumbled in anticipation.
"WING!" The bellow shook the very Citadel and initiated Drift's boot cycle.
Wing jumped, then sighed and pushed off the berth. "Sounds like Dai Atlas has finally heard..." He walked to the balcony, looking over at Marwir. "Now the fun part begins..." There was a distinctly sarcastic note in his voice. Then he pushed off the balcony, disappearing from sight.
Marwir watched him disappear, then settled in to keep Drift put when he finished booting. Privately, she was amused that Wing had managed to wear him out so completely that he booted this slowly.
In the central courtyard of the Citadel of the Knights of Shadow the imposing giant of Master Dai Atlas stood, his wings spread fully and his plating nearly vibrating as he thought about what his surviving creation had done.
It was beyond unacceptable.
In the shadows his black plated mate stood, an amused smirk on his face as they watched their shadow-colored creation fly towards them.
Wing darted down toward them, circling once before landing right in front of Dai Atlas. Straightening his spinal strut and letting his wings flare partway out, he met his creator's red gaze, though he made sure he'd be just out of swatting distance. He'd gotten enough dents from his creator when the larger mech was pissed off, and didn't need any more.
"You brought an outsider here," the snarl was the barely controlled kind when Dai Atlas was so far past furious there were no words to describe his state of lucid insanity.
"He bears a Great Sword and a Knight's weapons," Wing pointed out, inching backward warily.
"Are you suggesting he might be a lost Knight?" Axe's voice was more controlled than his mate's. Narrowed blue optics regarded the smaller mech.
"I'm not sure." Wing looked from one to the other. "Something led me to him."
Deep blue and black plating rattled as ruby optics narrowed on Wing. "Led you to him." Dai Atlas repeated. "Which Great Sword does he bear?"
The dark jet rubbed the back of his neck. "I didn't think to ask... And yes. Something led me to him. Something drew my spark to his. I felt it even before I reached the surface."
"Where is his ship?" Axe asked, focused more on the practical side than the fury of being rebelled against in such an unforgivable way.
"Wrecked in the sand on the surface," Wing replied promptly, giving a databurst on the coordinates. "It was a hard crash. I doubt it can be salvaged or will ever fly again."
"Still worth the metal to drag back," Axe said, still in the shadows.
"Now," Dai Atlas growled, ruby optics locked on his rebellious creation. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't execute you both."
"Because I'm your creation and you put a lot of work into raising me?" Wing eased backward another step. "I will keep Drift in line. He would make a fine pet, if not a Knight."
"Then you vouch for him?" Dai Atlas rumbled, his expression even more serious.
The smaller dark jet nodded. He wanted Drift for his own. Preferably as his pet, but as another Knight would work, too.
"Who's watching him?"
"Marwir," Wing answered. "He's a grounder, not a flier, and the door to my quarters is locked." Slender dark wings twitched, then slowly folded against his back plating again.
"Good," Dai Atlas rumbled, then grabbed for Wing's neck. "You have a serious penance to face."
Wing squawked, reflexively flailing for balance and failing. He had been out of reach, but he'd also forgotten how fast Dai Atlas could move. Letting his limbs go limp, Wing submitted to being hauled inside by the scruff of his neck. This was going to hurt...
It was some time later when Wing returned to his quarters, fresh out of the repair bay. As expected, it had been a harsh penance, one of the worst he had ever endured. Gold optics brightened upon seeing Drift's white frame, the dark jet perking up. He walked in, looking over at the dark maroon frame of Marwir.
"I'm back, and in one piece. You can go now, Marwir." Wing nodded to the femme Knight.
"You owe me big time," she huffed before walking towards the balcony.
"Nine orns," Drift's voice actually shook lightly, his expression clear that he had at least some idea of the cause as he stood and nearly rushed Wing to hold him close. His field was full of regret, frustration and relief so intense it hurt. "I was beginning to wonder if you were coming back at all."
The dark jet purred as he nuzzled into white armor, relishing the way Drift quickly relaxed and soothed at his simple contact. "That was one of the worse penances I've had to go through, but it was very worth it." He curled himself into Drift's embrace, deciding he could very quickly get used to this. Whoever Drift had known before had done seventy percent of the work in training him. The hardest parts were already solid in Drift's processor.
"You're back, that's what matters," Drift whispered, nudging Wing's face up to kiss him, fierce and needy. "Missed you so much."
"Missed you, too," the dark jet chirred, returning the kiss with equal heat. Humming, Wing rubbed his cheek armor against Drift's, dimming his optics with a contented x-vent.
Training this white mech, it seemed, would entail quite a bit of expanding on what was already there. Maybe a bit of behavior modification. There was a good chance it would take a while, but the rewards would be worth it.
Drift tugged him to follow as he stepped backwards, towards the berth, his intent open and obvious.
Wing followed eagerly, allowing himself to be led. This time. Half-lidded golden optics watched Drift, dark wings flaring open with anticipation, his pinions rising from their lowered position. His mouth was claimed once more, the passion, adoration and desire to pleasure rising with each nanoklik. Black hands found his wing joints and dug into them as a glossa invaded and explored his mouth.
Wing arched into those hands, his own sliding across white armor, determined to map out every inch of his new pet's frame. His glossa stroked against Drift's, engaging in a brief dance of dominance before surrendering, flicking out to explore the white grounder's mouth in turn. The dark jet leaned into Drift, pushing him down onto the berth, flowing onto the berth after him.
"Missed you," Drift gasped when their mouths briefly parted. Everything in him was willing submission, wanting this more than he wanted answers or even to get back to the war. His very spark settled, joyful and at peace whenever Wing, or whatever this mech was, was nearby. Any touch was blissful, going right through him to ease all his pain, loneliness and grief.
He would give anything just to keep that feeling of contentment in his existence.
"Missed you, too." The dark jet's voice dropped to a sultry purr, his hands stroking over white armor, down Drift's sides to the dark plating of his waist. The tips of his fingers slid into a seam, tugging lightly at the underlying circuitry, then stroking over the circuits and sensor nodes to distract the white mech from the slight sting. He pressed himself against Drift, his engines purring.
The resulting moan was only of pleasure, of welcoming the contact, rough and gentle. Drift's hands worked down Wing's back, focusing on the edge between Great Sword and mech.
Dark wings shivered as Wing let out a low moan. It wasn't often that he was touched there. He tugged gently at Drift's circuits again, finding and stroking another sensor cluster. The fingers of his other hand slid down and under one white hip sheath, flirting with the connection point. Drift all but bucked into that touch, his helm thrown back as a low, pleasure-rich moan filled the space.
Behind his helm, the red-orange gem in Challenger of Ways' hilt flared slightly, reacting to the brush of Drift's fingers, the flare subsiding to a faint glow as it accepted the stranger's touch.
Without looking, not even going by touch, but memory, Drift's hand slid up the blade, smooth and easy, to caress the gem. "Which one?"
"Challenger of Ways," Wing purred in response. "And yours?" He slid his hand back up Drift's side to reach around and brush his fingers over the hilt of the white mech's Great Sword, causing the blue gem to glow brightly. "Which Sword is it you bear?"
"Too Pure For This World," Drift gasped out at the charge that passed between him and his Great Sword. "It was Wing's, until he fell."
The dark jet made a mental note to find out more about this other Wing. Right now, though, he was more interested in the pleasure. Leaning down, he nipped at the white mech's jawline, making his way down to Drift's neck. Slender wings partially folded, then unfurled again, as Wing shifted to grind his hips against Drift's, optics glowing playfully.
Drift spread his knees as his valve cover slid open. The trust reverberating through his frame and field clued Wing into the fact that the offering was special, something Drift granted very few without a hard fight.
Wing made careful note of that fact. Chirring, the dark jet smiled to himself against Drift's neck, his spike cover snapping open to release his spike. One hand wandered down Drift's torso, fingertips flirting with the platelets surrounding the white grounder's valve before one digit slipped inside. It was met by slick walls and a soft moan as Drift rocked his hips up into the contact, memories of what Wing, the white Wing, did fueling the desire that was still strange for Drift.
A second digit slid into Drift's valve, lightly exploring the inside lining. Fingertips skimmed lightly over the sensor nodes, just enough to send shivers through Drift's sensor net. A dark thumb stroked over the platelets teasingly.
It was all enough to draw a needy whine from Drift as he rocked into the contact, silently pleading for more, for the spike he knew to fill him.
Slowly, slowly, Wing withdrew his fingers, lifting his hand to lick the lubricant from the digits. The taste drew a purr from his vocalizer. Shifting his hips, he slid his spike into Drift's valve, continuing the smooth motion until it was completely sheathed, his hips pressed against Drift's. The white mech was tight, even as slick as he was his valve lining pressed against Wing's spike on all sides.
The other Wing must have been a long time ago, and no lovers since.
At least none that were allowed this.
Drift trembled at the sensation of being full, but instead of pulling away or checking his processors out, he hooked one leg over Wing's thigh and rocked his hips up. At the same time he pulled Wing's shoulders down to kiss him soundly.
Wing moaned, his body quivering. He leaned into the kiss, chirring, his hips bucking slightly against Drift's before he started to move, settling into a rhythm. Rather than starting slow, the pace he set was relatively fast, testing Drift's limits, seeing what he could get away with.
Hips rocked back, matching his thrusts. Trusting, tolerant, willing to give what Wing needed. Anything Wing needed. Anything he wanted.
Golden optics brightened as ideas presented themselves to him. There were so many things he could do with that kind of trust and devotion. But not yet. If he pushed too hard the white mech would resist, and that would make the training that much more difficult.
Wing picked up the pace, moving faster and harder, his hips driving into Drift's. Dark wings spread to their full span as Wing braced himself with one hand, the other reaching up to explore a white spaulder.
Soft moans escaped Drift as he rocked into the thrusts, his valve tightening and rippling along the length sliding in and out, sparking bolts of pleasure against every sensor node. He reached up, embracing Wing as much as seeking to drive his fingers into the wing joints he knew worked so well.
The charge between them was building fast, nearly as fast as the first time in the desert above.
Golden optics flared, the dark jet trying to maintain the rhythm of his hips and writhe into those hands simultaneously. Wing lowered his helm, nipping into an energon line in Drift's throat, then stroking his glossa over the bite. His vents were wide open, the air over them shimmering from the heat being released. Stray arcs of charge were beginning to lick over his circuitry.
Whoever Drift's last lover was, he had trained the grounder well, whether or not either of them recognized the training as such. Wing seriously doubted that Drift did. There was too much fight and fire in him. No Knight would be so eager to be a pet. A Knight had to be tricked into it, maneuvered and manipulated during training because they could never realize what was happening to them.
It was so much fun.
Right now though, Drift was working him to overload faster than any pet or lover Wing had ever claimed.
It wasn't long before all thoughts of what he could do with Drift, the ways to train him without Drift realizing what was going on, fled Wing's processor. He pressed into those hands, hands that knew just where and how to touch. Never before had he had a lover or pet anything like Drift.
Finally, one hard thrust drove Wing right over the edge. The dark jet's back arched as he reached overload, his keen rising nearly to a shriek, flooding Drift's valve with his transfluid. Charge crackled over his frame, leaping off onto Drift, dancing over white armor.
With a roaring moan Drift's voice joined Wing's, his overload triggered more by the energy jumping to him across field and frame than the sensation of hot, thick liquid in his valve.
The dark jet sank down atop Drift, practically melting into a puddle of shadow over him. Wing's optics were turned off, the jet panting heavily to cool his systems. Smooth palms glided lightly over Drift's armor, committing his planes and smooth angles to memory. He felt Drift doing much the same, though with how well the white mech knew his frame, it was more likely looking for any differences ... or simply enjoying the touch.