Title: The Night Before
Warnings: angst, fluff, smut (plug'n'play)
Continuity: Shattered Glass (Disillusion AU)
Characters: Vortex, Blast Off
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Sadly, nothing is mine.
Summary: Having been released from the Detention Center a while back, Vortex and Blast Off aren't gestalt - yet.
Beta: ultharkitty
Vortex stood in front of the closed door. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, and kneaded his hands. He was nervous, anxious, when he typed in the code to unlock the room.
The door slid aside with a whoosh that felt overwhelming in the quiet surroundings.
When Vortex had stepped in and the door had closed just as loudly, the only thing he heard were two systems working. One was his own, the other was slow, shut-down system from the shuttle that lay on the berth deep in recharge.
With a pained expression under his battle mask, Vortex came closer, and looked at the idle frame.
Blast Off's green and beige were oddly grey in the darkness of the room, and caused him to shudder. Too many fake memories activated in which he'd seen the shuttle like this, the frame colourless and the amber gone. A lifeless heap of metal.
He struggled to suppress those feelings of dread, and reached towards the winglet on the other's upper arms. His fingers were so close, but he didn't touch it.
Onslaught had touched Blast Off before, and the shuttle had flinched away, unease in his energy field when it had accidentally brushed Vortex'. It was painful to see the shuttle like this, but the Detention Centre had got to all of them. Vortex couldn't know what Blast Off had been put through, what the Protectobots had done to him.
He respected the shuttle's need for distance, but sighed as he crossed the room and sat down on the only chair.
Vortex couldn't bear to be alone right now, but except for the shuttle, no one was around. Only Swindle was also at base, but visiting him didn't seem to be a good idea.
Thinking of the grounder made Vortex sad again.
Everything was so different now.
Absent-mindedly, Vortex stared at the sleeping shuttle, trying to wrench his thoughts away from all the unpleasant things. He should think of tomorrow, but even that caused an odd feeling. There would be more change.
"Thanks." Blast Off's voice startled the 'copter, and his rotor blades twitched. Right then, he felt a little creepy, coming into the shuttle's room and watching him sleep like this. Getting caught.
"Thanks for what?" Vortex asked, afraid of the answer.
The shuttle laughed softly, a sound that sent a warm shiver over Vortex' backstruts.
"For not touching me."
"Oh." The answer hadn't been as bad as Vortex expected, but still it made him uncomfortable. Before he could explain himself, Blast Off continued.
"I'm sorry for... this. I just..." the blue visor turned to the 'copter, optics dim behind it. "Being here again is just so much. I don't know how to explain it."
"You don't need to," Vortex said, but couldn't hide the disappointment in his tone. He wanted to touch, and to be touched, to make sure he really was out, and his comrades were with him - alive.
"I'm sorry," the shuttle muttered again, and Vortex heard the guilt in the voice.
"Don't be. I mean, we were all there. And... you know, I'm sorry too, for coming in and all and-"
"It's okay."
Vortex smiled, and knew Blast Off did, too.
"You're nervous because of tomorrow, right?" The guilt in the shuttle's voice was still there, but now there was also amusement.
Vortex nodded. "It's weird. A part of me is really excited, but another part..." He stopped, and searched for the right words. "Another part of me thinks it's wrong, because we're using their methods."
"I know what you mean." Blast Off sighed loudly.
Tomorrow, they were to get the gestalt program installed to make them a combiner team. The Combaticons would be able to form a giant robot to fight the Autobots. Starscream and Hook had worked on the programming for a while now, and Onslaught was with them to talk about more details.
All five of them had agreed to become a gestalt after their friends had freed them from the Detention Centre, and had explained what had happened.
The Protectobots had become a combiner what seemed like ages ago, ambushed the Combaticons, and put them in their tiny prison.
The Decepticons needed another combiner, and the Combaticons needed revenge.
With it would come more closeness, and none of them was angry about it. They'd have something to hold on to.
Blast Off broke the silence. "It will be good." His optics brightened under the visor, and his tone became more excited. "We'll be able to help Swindle."
At that, Vortex smiled. "Yeah..." That would be good. The smaller grounder had been so angry since their rescue. So mad, as though violence was carried in every movement and word. It was hard to be close to him. His presence was almost unbearable when his energy field fluctuated so much, transmitting all possible negative emotions.
"We'll have this bond that they mentioned," The shuttle added. "We'll be able to take care of him. He needs us."
Vortex nodded once more. They all needed each other.
He shifted on his chair, poking the tip of a tail rotor blade on his left elbow. He wanted to be closer to Blast Off, the empty space between them seemed to be endless, and Vortex felt alone despite the other being there.
"Can I lie down?" he asked all of a sudden, despite knowing about the need for distance from the shuttle. He regretted the question when he saw the other's frame wince, but was surprised by the answer.
"Okay." It was reluctant, and Vortex knew it was only to comfort him. His closeness would probably hinder Blast Off from falling back into recharge again, but he still stood up. He came closer slowly, and lay down next to the shuttle who rolled on his side to give a bit more room.
They faced each other, but didn't lie close enough for their metal to touch.
"Thank you," Vortex mumbled, his smile audible in his voice. He felt a little guilty that he was so egoistical. The air that Blast Off's intakes blew out reached Vortex' armour, and caused him involuntarily to shiver. It was hard to suppress with the smell of shuttle specific systems filling his olfactory sensors, and the shuttle so close that he could almost sense his energy field.
Vortex shut down his optics. It was better if he didn't see the other, that he reduce the urge to reach out to the winglet, the heat shield; the urge to extend his own energy field would be too strong.
Another shudder run through the heliformer, then he forced himself to relax. And it worked.
The tension left his joints, and the pleasant but inappropriate thoughts made room for the pre-recharge dizziness.
Then Vortex' intakes hitched as a warm hand was placed on his hip. His optics flickered online once more, dimmed, but perceived the form of the shuttle. He opened his mouth, but didn't say anything, and so he closed it again.
He didn't touch the other, even though the urge returned tenfold, and the need was even more present than before.
The hand stroked up Vortex' side, over a transformation seam where fingers playfully followed the line. They reached the plate that enclosed his chest vents, and travelled even further.
Vortex relaxed into the touch, and his own fingers twitched. He could hardly hinder his energy field from fluctuating, but he didn't want Blast Off to be uncomfortable.
And Vortex didn't want Blast Off to stop.
Vortex dug his fingers in the soft, malleable upper layer of the berth. His grip tightened even more the moment Blast Off increased his caresses, and the hand was suddenly at the small of the heliformer's back.
Vortex sighed, then shuddered when Blast Off tugged him closer, and he shuffled to Vortex a little.
Vortex bit his lower lip, offlining his optics. But this only intensified the sensations on his back, the warm air that was blown over him, and the low vibrations in the energy field from the other's systems.
Oh slag, this was so cruel. The shuttle knew what this did to him, but Vortex was still too uncertain if Blast Off would be okay with touch.
"Blast Off?" he muttered, static in his voice.
"Hm?" The answer was a query, a huff whose air was as teasing as the fingers on his back. And eventually Blast Off took Vortex' hand, and put it on the green metal of the shuttle's armour.
A moan almost slipped from the heliformer's lip plates, and fingers curled against the warm plating. He mumbled the shuttle's name again, his need obvious. He had to struggle so as not to let his hand feverishly run over the other – over transformation seams, plates, vent rims, winglets, heat shields.
He didn't want to be so selfish.
But the heat gathered behind Vortex' interface panel, impossible to ignore. He was glad it was on the side on which he lay, so Blast Off wouldn't notice it by touch. Or so Vortex hoped.
The shuttle had to know what the light stokes up his back and the rotor hub did to him. Blast Off had to know that it would be like torture for both if this wasn't mutual. And, oh slag, he so hoped it was, or wished Blast Off would stop.
Vortex just wanted to say that he didn't want to do anything against Blast Off's will, but the words stuck in his vocaliser when the shuttle pressed Vortex even closer, and rolled over. Blast Off dragged him with him, so that he lay on the shuttle now.
He moaned. He couldn't suppress it any longer, and he clutched at Blast Off's shoulders. Rearranging himself on the other a little, he straddled the shuttle's thighs, and pressed his forehead on the chest plating under his throat.
Vortex' energy field flared, and so did Blast Off's. The electrical friction caused prickling sensations on his sensor net, and made his rotors twitch.
He noticed Blast Offs' ventilation increasing as well, and the neutral energy signature changed, revealing arousal.
Blast Off traced over the rotor hub, while the other hand caressed the side with Vortex' heated panel.
Vortex shivered, but was ashamed as well, because he was so revved up already, with only a few touches. But they'd been away for so long, without each other, without anything. Right then, the proximity of his team mates was almost enough to heat Vortex's systems.
"It's okay," Blast Off muttered, staticky, and stroked up the side of Vortex' face to cup his' helm. His thumb teased a seam, and pressure forced Vortex to look up.
"It's okay," the shuttle said again, and the words made Vortex' engine rev.
Carefully, gently, he began to move his hands. One followed the upper arm down to the winglet where he traced along the lower edge and earned himself a moan. The other brushed over the rims of the alt-mode vents.
They continued caressing each other, mapping out their frames with gentle, slow touches. Teasing, maddening, building up the charge. Every part of every plate was touched, as though they were trying to relearn the curves and seams of each others' frames. And they didn't rush, although the arousal began to drive them crazy, the sensation burning on their sensors. Cooling systems worked loudly, their sound mingling with the sighs and soft moans of two vocalisers filled with static.
After what felt like joors, Vortex' interface panel eventually clicked open.
He wanted to apologise for that, for this need, but only another moan escaped him when Blast Off stroked the heated hardware. Vortex' optics flickered offline, and it was as though he'd overload any astrosecond.
"Blast Off," he repeated the name once again, which he'd done so often during their tactile explorations.
The shuttle's engine rumbled, conducting the vibrations straight into Vortex' frame and made his energy field extend wildly.
Another sound of a panel opening, and a click when Blast Off's connector plugged in.
Vortex gasped, his head spun.
It was just so much.
Blast Off's presence spread from his interface panel through him, into his very core and every inch of his body. It grew even more intense when the full connection was established, and the feedback loop began.
It was amazing, and so different.
Blast Off's stream wasn't like pulses, growing stronger and ebbing away again before the next one came. His stream was ever present, an energy and entity inside Vortex that made his sensors glow without giving them a break. It only increased when the shuttle's charge rose, and Vortex' systems could hardly cope.
His own energy was pushed through the connection, into the shuttle, and the mingling of streams caused their energy fields becoming one.
Vortex moaned, loudly. His rotors twitched, and his hands dug into seams for purchase. It was as though the pleasure would cause him to explode. Gasping, groaning, he writhed on Blast Off. The noise of metal sliding over metal almost drowned out by the urgent sounds of pleasure and fans working as Vortex shuffled up Blast Off's frame. His optics alternately dimmed and brightened as he put his forehead on Blast Off's, their battle masks hovering close to each other.
"Vortex," Blast Off rumbled under static, and Vortex answered with the other's name.
They were so close. Blast Off's arms wrapped around him, fingers on the rotors or hub, or just the metal, and it was so good. He felt so safe with the strong arms holding him. Even safer than he'd felt with Onslaught, because the shuttle was bigger, the tune of the engine a deeper sound that reverberated through him.
And inside him, filling him completely with Blast Off's essence, an open stream, so very trusting and Vortex welcomed it, transmitting the same trust, and his need for it.
The heliformer sensed that it was Blast Off's first interface after the Detention Centre. He was honoured, and overwhelmed, it almost hurt.
They repeated each others' names, while their optics cast a blue glow in the pale light of the room, and the pleasure and charge increased.
Their sounds became more frantic as did Vortex' clutching at the plating.
The ever-present energy and sensations intensified on Vortex' sensor net, and overload crashed over him. It robbed him the ability to think, and there was only him and Blast Off mixed together like a single being. The grip around him tightened when the shuttle overloaded as well, and the all-drowning sensations were amplified. They left him deaf, unable to hear his own cries in powerful pleasure. His equilibrium chip glitched, or it was Blast Off's? The sensations of dizziness were only transmitted; Vortex couldn't tell, and he didn't care.
They swam on a high in a sea of each other's essence and pleasure for kliks and breems. Their highly sensitive frames, unused to sensations like this due to ages of numbness, made the overload and post-overload hard to discern.
Their frames relaxed, and neither of them moved.
Vortex had his face hidden in the other's throat, and drew lazy cycles on Blast Off's shoulder. Their frames pinged now and then as the metal cooled down, and fans eventually worked slower.
Blast Off brushed up and down Vortex' back absentmindedly. Vortex knew because of the connection, and his own thoughts drifted. Dizziness was still there, and satiation, and happiness, because Blast Off hadn't pushed him away.
Happiness that the shuttle had been the one who'd initiated it. That he'd overcome the hurt that was to be free again, to be able to feel again, to touch, to hear and to speak.
"Thank you," Blast Off whispered, the words almost unintelligible within the static.
It made Vortex smile. "There's no reason to thank me." If anything, Vortex should thank Blast Off. But he didn't say that.
Their energy field still was one, and the emotions and sensations over the connection and in the signature didn't need more words.
Tomorrow would be a great day. A long day, but it was necessary. The all needed this. And they all wanted this.
With that in mind, and a lingering satisfaction and joy in his systems, Vortex wound down to recharge.