A/N: I really ought to be working on some of my other fics, but I kinda got stuck and wrote this instead, as a small writing exercise. Slash, in case you missed the warning in the summary.
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue. (Like I have any money anyway... hah.)
A black hand moves slowly across his chest, and Mirage leans his head backwards, pushing it into the soft rubber headrest. The headrest yields slightly, embracing his head, forming itself around the dark blue helm. The black hand curls lovingly around the wing protrusions on his chest, and he can hear a soft muttering from above him. Sideswipe is whispering something in his audio. Sweet nothings, words uttered a thousand times before, but he still means them. Mirage moans softly, because he know he's supposed to, but deep inside he's wondering when those words stopped having any meaning to him. When did he stop listening?
He grabs hold of the edge of the berth. His fingers dig into the rubber, and for a moment he thinks he will actually break it, but it doesn't. The berth is made from sturdy material, made to last a very long time. It will not be destroyed so easily.
Everything in their life lasts a long time. That is the blessing, and the curse, of their kind. The longer something exists, the harder it is to change.
His lover moves against him, and he can feel the other's energy field start to press against his own. Energy is crackling between them, and he forces his hands up to touch the other, to stroke along plating he knows so well. He knows what pleases his lover, where to touch, where to dig his fingers in and where feather-like caresses are enough. He's known for a long time. Maybe too long a time. Maybe it is time to…
No.
Long ago he had dreams. Dreams of a life after the war. A life together with someone. He thought he'd found the one when the beautiful red mech smiled at him. It had been a beautiful smile, and he knew then that that moment would change his life. Everything would be different from there on. They had never planned anything, because trying to plan in the middle of a war is meaningless. But they had talked, and they had dreamed. Now he is wondering where those dreams went.
"Mirage?"
A soft voice, laced with concern. He realizes his hands have stopped moving, and he is just lying there, staring at the ceiling. He turns his head slowly, looking at the other. He smiles, a false smile, and he hates himself for it. Not knowing what to say, he lifts his head from the headrest and catches the other's lips in a kiss. It's an easy way out, and he knows it. He knows that Sideswipe will not protest, will not ask anything else. He knows even as he moves his mouth against the others that this is just an act, a farce, and he wonders if the other would hate him for it if he knew.
When did everything change? There had been a time when a mere smile could brighten his day. A touch would make his spark sing. Nothing mattered but the red warrior beside him, and the dreams they shared.
But this is reality, and the dreams are long gone.
Somehow he manages, again, to feign an overload that doesn't come. He feels the other holding him against a broad chest, soft lips pressing kisses at the nape of his neck. Words of love whispered in the dark, making him feel dirty. He knows he's not worthy of those words. He knows that this is just a façade, a play. Pretending to be something that he isn't, feeling something he doesn't. He grabs the hand of the arm holding him, intertwining their fingers, as he stares into the dark wall ahead of him. He knows with a certainty that he should not let this go on any longer. That the pain will just grow bigger. That it is not easier to wait.
But how do you tell someone you care about that you simply do not love them anymore?