~~Letting Go of Red~~

Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers, or make any money from this story.

*Content Warnings*: Angst, sexual content, infidelity, emotional instability

Continuity: G1; pre-war

Characters: Prowl, Red Alert, Inferno, Starscream

Summary: It's pre-war on Cybertron and Prowl is Chief of Police in Praxus. He lives in a somewhat up and down relationship with Red Alert. When Jazz comes along, their newfound attraction invariably causes problems.

Chapter summary:

As Prowl resumes activities with Jazz, meanwhile Red Alert is still in Iacon, getting up to activities of his own - only to be wracked with guilt. Then an unexpected encounter puts new thoughts in his head.

*Warnings* this chapter for Inferno x Red sticky, and much angst.

He is large, red and shiny, resplendent with ladders, hoses and all other matter of highly erotic equipment. And he fancies me.

All through the conference, I catch him glancing in my direction, a suggestive smile forming as his gaze roves over my anatomy. On the last morning, during the closing speech by the Government Secretary for Emergency Services, the gaze shifts unashamedly to my lower regions.

He knows I know he wants me. He also knows that I want him too. By the time he gives me an unmistakable 'look' in the last applause, I'm edging through the clapping masses and am halfway across the floor.

We don't speak. He grabs my hand and pulls me from the room, through the enthusing throng, down some stairs and to a dingy basement corridor where I'm thrust against the wall. His intakes come in heavy rasps as he kisses me roughly, wasting no time in extracting his spike which gleams hugely in the half light, nicely curved and with a large bulbous head.

I'm as well lubricated as the inside of a piston shaft. He fingers me roughly as I grab at his ladders, squeezing metal in my fists. His energy field flares over me hotly and I open my legs wider, allowing him in deeper. His fingers find my ceiling node and my own field flares back, crackling against him in blue flares. He grunts and a shudder goes through him. We're both ready.

Taking his spike in his hand, he thrusts his hips and massages it several times, showing off its magnificence, knowing that now I definitely can't resist…

And then he's inside me, filling me, pausing for a moment before thrusting with an energy and desire I have not known for a long time.

It gets frantic and frenetic, very fast. He lifts me and I wrap my legs around him, clutching at the wings on his helm and digging my fingers in. We clang away in the gloom, each knowing the other would like to prolong this, but neither able to wait for the overload we've been dying to have all cycle.

It doesn't take long. His laboured intakes become a series of throaty grunts as he thrusts super hard, and quickens his pace. I'm swept along by his lust, drawing him in, the intense pleasure of the node stimulation almost painful. I buck in time, rubbing against him, making sure that the node cluster around the tip of my retracted spike gets all the attention it needs as I rise towards a tumultuous spike n'valve overload.

It comes in a rush of squealing metal and a loud roar from him as hot fluid spurts into me. I whimper, poised on a pinnacle of extreme pleasure, holding the moment as long as I can before cannoning over the crest. My drawn out scream sounds above the noise of his excess fluid splashing n the floor around my feet.

And then I'm clutching him closely, my head against his shoulder, mouthing soundless appreciation as my valve clamps his spike in time; powerful waves of sheer ecstasy as we both rasp and grunt in the aftermath of our release.

Yet, as I cling to him and the tumult dies down, a great sadness comes over me. For I think of how it used to be like this with Prowl - always - but how it hasn't been like that now for a very, very long time...

It breaks my spark; the way things have become. I burst into tears, wailing loudly on his shoulder like a Laissa bird with a broken wing.

"I'm sorry…" I gasp. But he chuckles fondly and holds me tightly. He does not seem to mind.

…

A little later, we sit in the bar amid a hoard of other emergency service connected mechs. They most certainly have not been doing what we have, but are starting to look as though it is definitely their minds. These conferences at the Iacon Dome are famous for it.

"What's your name?" I ask him as he takes a long draught of energon beer.

"Inferno. You?"

"Red Alert," I inform him.

"You from here?"

"Originally, yes. I've lived in Praxus for a while now."

He wrinkles his face in a way that tells me he doesn't think much more of Praxus than I do. Then he takes another draught and grins at me over the rim of the tankard. "That – downstairs – it was something, Red Alert. You always get to know your colleagues like that?"

"You can call me Red," I say. "And no – not usually, though I'm glad it was good. It was for me, too. I'm sorry about the end part, I…"

"Oh, think nothing of it," he laughs. "I always take reactions like that as a compliment. Some laugh, some scream, some cry – hell – so long as my ladders and' hoses don't get all ripped off I don't complain too hard."

I gulp at my cocktail. Evidently, Inferno gets around. I'm relieved we didn't cable.

He's still grinning at me. "So – you single, Red?" he asks.

I could lie, of course. But I shake my head. I've already decided that this liaison is not going to go any further. Now that the need is fulfilled and my burst of emotion has worn off, a deep nagging depression is rooting in my depths. By my very sitting here, I am only making my situation worse.

"Are you single?" I ask him.

"Naa!" he laughs. "I'm bonded. But my femme – Firestar – she don't mind that I go for the mechs. Says it keeps me wanting to shag the chassis of her five times a cycle. Too bad she couldn't make it to this shindig. She'd have liked you!"

A waitmech appears and places two more drinks in front of us. Inferno has finished his, whereas I've only just started on mine. "Drink up," he says. "Thought we might have a few more of these an' a bite to eat – and then I know a nice little hotel just around the corner…"

"I have to go," I cut in. "After these. To Praxus. I'm already going to be later back than I said."

"Oh!" he looks disappointed. "And there was me thinkin' I was only just gettin' to know you!" When I'm quiet and try to hide the sudden sadness that stabs at me again by sipping at my drink, he says: "Your situation. It ain't like mine, is it?"

"No," I say quietly.

"Your other half wouldn't - approve?"

"No. I'd never tell him." Though would he even care? He's been so distant lately. Sometimes I think I could do it with someone else right in front of him and he'd never even notice.

Why hasn't he called to ask when I'll be home?

Inferno is shaking his head. "Relationships! I dunno – you gotta let each other go, I always reckon. That's the only way Star and I muck along. You bonded?"

"No." Perhaps the melancholy in my voice reflects the fact that I no longer think this will ever happen.

He sighs. "Ah well, what's to be is to be. I always reckon. There's always plenty o'decent mechs out there in the great sea of opportunity."

He'd hardly win a prize for tact. Yet his voice is kindly, and I know he's well meaning. I'm tempted for a moment to say a lot more, to blurt out all about how badly things have been going between me and Prowl; to cry again, to seek his advice and wisdom.

But I hardly know the guy! And a mech who drinks, screws around and goes home to his femme? This is hardly a good choice of counsel. Besides, I can feel myself clamming up already, the paranoia that he already knows far too much seeping in like a cold and lethal injection.

I get up, leaving my second drink untouched. "I must be going," I say. "I really do have to get back."

"Shame…" he looks genuinely disappointed. That won't last. A mech like this will have no problems whatsoever 'entertaining' himself, probably right through the rest of this cycle. He's only just gotten started! I'm simply the first of several.

"Well Red, it's been a pleasure, an' if you're ever in Iacon again…" he gets up, and offers his hand. "Say – anything else aside, I thought your presentation on surveillance was outstanding. You're a real pro. You oughtta get your aft over here, try an' get a job in the Prime's department. I wouldn't mind teaming up some day professionally, I mean that – genuinely."

"Well, you never know…" I shake his hand, moved by the unexpected praise. Prowl never says stuff like that. Looking after musty old relics at the Praxian museum is, as far as he is concerned, the upper limit of my talents.

I turn and leave, before Inferno can see the tears in my optics again, before he can suss out that my self esteem is such a wreck, I can't even hear nice things being said without breaking down like a youngling.

…

It is spitting with rain outside, that variety that often falls in the Cybertronian capital, with a light acid content that causes pleasant tingling of the panels but no more. I transform and join the lanes of grounders headed for the shuttleport, liking the feel of the light spray on my underside.

Except that inside – I feel terrible; for nothing can erase the fact that I just cheated on Prowl, one more irreparable wedge that rises up between us like a great mountain of doom.

And it's all my doing. My excuses are pathetic. Never mind that he has been distant and inattentive lately, he is still my mate. Has he not always been there, protected me? And what difference does it make that we aren't bonded?

The bonding thing, I think miserably as the traffic creeps slowly along. It's my silly fear of commitment that's been as much to blame for the failure as anything he might have done. Why did I not give myself to him, body and spark? That was always what he wanted.

Perhaps I should suggest it now - for I do so want things to be better. I couldn't bear it if they stayed forever how they are. Or we split up...

Tall buildings loom either side, their upper storeys invisible in the rain-soaked air and low swirling cloud. Other vehicles rev and sigh around me, lights reflecting on the wet concourse. Headlights glare, a blinding dazzle in my rear vision mirror.

Or – worst of all, Primus forbid – Prowl left me…

I fight off all too well known feelings of panic and helpless, trying to keep my thoughts on the road ahead. Prowl hasn't commed. Does he somehow know..?

That's ridiculous! I tell myself. How could be possibly know? He's busy; yes, he told me. Last night he couldn't comm because he had an important assignment. I know he made a deal out of saying he'd comm today but – well – it's probably still going.

A hard job he has, being Praxian Chief of Police, and I should be more understanding.

And I will be, from now on. For starters, I won't wait for him. I'll make the com-call. I'll tell him I love him, that he means the universe to me; that I must get out of here and back to him. He is my mate, my one and only…

Besides, will he not be worrying about me, as always? I owe it to him to at least relieve him of that. It is the least I can do.

But the comm rings out. Once. Twice...three times. Another call, and Prowl's direct, stand no nonsense voice rings out: "Apologies for my unavailability. Please leave a message, and I will return your comm as soon as I am able..."

"Just to let you know I'm on my way, hon!" I say airily. "Call me. Love you!"

In truth, I'm mildly irritated. It was as though he just turned the comm off. After all my resolutions, it's disappointing – truly it is! I proceed on, comforted a little by the subsurface driers that now send intermittent warm blasts up through my frame, by a slight easing of the traffic as we pass the breakoff subway to the outer suburbs.

Prowl does not comm back. When my fifth and sixth attempts still yield no more than my lover's recorded voice, I edge to the outer lane. As the rain starts to come down harder, I swing to the right, enter a narrow alley and pull over.

I'm now too annoyed to drive. Exactly what did he 'have on' last night that warrants so much of his undivided attention?

Another call, another voicemail. I fight down anger, and this escalating suspicion that Prowl's 'assignment' was not exactly what he made it out to be. But I know it isn't that. Truth is, Prowl's far too straight and narrow to even contemplate that. Truth is, Prowl is just plain and absolutely a complete workaholic.

He's so wrapped up in his job that he can't even see how things are crumbling. Oh yes - this will be more 'police business.' A robbery, perhaps, or the capture of some hapless escapee? Something – as always – that's infinitely more important than me.

And now I feel a fool – and full of very different regrets. No wonder our relationship is such a mess – and I keep making these excuses for him! I was right the first time. It isn't my fault, and I'm glad I fragged Inferno.

Angrily, I activate the comm again. "It's me - duty obviously calls!" I snap when his crisp tone has said its piece. "Well I won't be back today! See you whenever!"

Snapping off the comm I transform, intaking heavily as rain streams down on the sodden street, glowing faintly from the glare of the highway behind me. I look down the alley and see that refuse bins line the backs of retail outlets, their contents spewing like mouths regurgitating excess energon.

"Screw you Prowl!" I say out loud. "I don't care!"

…..

I stand there furiously, reaffirming my determination that that I'm not going back to Praxus this cycle. But there is a slight problem. Where do I go? I cannot go back to the city centre, the hotels will all be full. There was another function starting at the Dome, right after ours. Scientific. Something to do with 'distant habitable worlds.'

A chill wind sweeps suddenly along the alley, driving the rain against my panels in a series of pings, rustling the light metal items that lie here and there. I jump when there's a loud bang from above and look up to see a large chain swinging, clanking noisily against the rails of a deserted verandah.

Acid storm. There could well be one coming. I glance down the alley, my sensor net erupting in warnings as I fancy I see movement, faint shadows among the bins. I have to get to get out of here. I turn around, and soon cover the short distance back to the comfort of the busy highway. I'll figure something out.

But emerging from the alley, there's a loud clang as I careen straight into something solid, and a sharp pain in my helm as something sharp cuts in. "What the…" I stagger backwards, falling pathetically against the wall of the closest building as the universe swims and stars shoot across my visual field.

For a good few clicks I'm conscious of only that, and the rain soaking my panels - which is starting to burn slightly now. When the street swims back into view, a tall figure fills my field of vision. Lights from the passing traffic flash on and off as they pass it.

"Do you make a habit of barging around like that without looking where you're going?"

He has a strange voice, high pitched and with a curiously exotic lilt. As my visual sensors reboot properly, I can see now that he's a flyer. Tall, with a yellow chest and large blue and red wings that taper and ruffle as though in annoyance. It was one of those that cut into my still throbbing helm.

And now, a wave of alarm sweeps through me. Vossian, I think. Definitely Vossian. And – well – we've all heard the rumours…

Yet, I'm intrigued. I never saw one up this close before, and he's undeniably - striking. I'm reminded of an ancient metal bird, swept down from above on the wings of the coming storm. "Sorry," I squint at him, still lightheaded. "I've – er - had things on my mind, lately."

He is still standing there. An amused smile spreads on to his dark faceplates, which are handsome somehow - like one of the sculpted Ancestor statues in the mall.

"Maybe you can help me," he says. "I am looking for the Iacon Dome. Much as this weather is not unpleasant, it does make things somewhat difficult impossible to spot from up there..." He indicates up through the haze to where the drone of the flyer lane can be heard through the low cloud.

"Oh – yes – I guess it would be…"

It's always raining in Voss. I remember now, from my geo-anthropological the rain clears and the Cybertronian sun beats down, the fliers warm themselves on the peaks.

I remember something else, too. It's very unusual to see Vossians in Iacon. They're – well – not exactly welcome, especially of late. Not with the supposed call to arms of his kind from the gladiator super-mech in the north.

"You're going to the conference?" I don't really mean to sound so surprised.

His smile disappears. "There's a problem with that?"

"Well I just thought…"

"I'm a delegate, if you wish to know!" he says angrily. "I've been far beyond this sector of the galaxy, and made great contributions in the exploration field. Just because your kind are insufferably biased and some of my kind have taken up certain political views doesn't make that any the less!"

He scowls at me, optics red and dangerous. And perhaps it's only because I'm still a little dazed, but I'm not half as afraid as I should be. There's a sense of tragic-comedy about this guy. I'm struck with the almost fond idea that his paranoia and sudden burst of indignation remind me of myself.

And much as I love my home city, Iaconians can be harsh and dogmatic when you're different from the crowd.

"I'm – uh – sure you're right," I say, wondering if the rumours are exaggerated. Rumours usually are. Especially when Prowl is expounding them. "Your work sounds very - interesting." Somehow I can't see a mech like this going along with some thug in a violent grab for power.

"It is – vital. Our very future could one day depend on it. Just you remember that!"

Another blast of rain-soaked wind sweeps out of the alley. He shivers, shaking water from his wings that sprays out on to the sidewalk - and I remember that it's a lot hotter in Voss. "Well?" he looks impatient. "I'm not so ignorant of this place that I don't know when the weather's about to turn."

"The Dome is about five blocks that way. You'll see the signs."

"Thank you!"

He pauses a moment, as though carrying out a last inspection of my person. Apparently, he's not displeased – for his lips curl in a slight smile. Then he's off, striding away up the sidewalk, wings flaring as he veers too close to the traffic and causes an oncoming grounder to swerve. A horn blasts loudly, as something obscene-sounding is yelled out.

A long finger is jabbed in the grounder's direction and some expletive yelled back. For a moment, I fear an 'incident,' but the grounder is swept onward in the traffic and as the rain starts to thud down heavily, ricocheting off my chassis in loud 'tings,' the Vossian resumes his progress.

I stare, feeling my outer paintwork start to curl. I know I should be making haste to whatever shelter comes to mind, but I am busy suppressing a curious desire to run after him, to find out more, to say that I understand his frustrations if folks don't appreciate what he's about, because it's exactly what I've had to suffer in life – and exactly what I have to put up a lot of the time…

And that if only Prowl would stop working and try to understand, we'd be a lot better off.

I watch until the stranger disappears in the haze and rain, letting my thoughts drift. What was it that Prowl's cousin Smokescreen said of Vossians, last time I was in Iacon?

Egotistical maniacs – but kinda sexy. If you like wings and thrusters, speed and power and all that pit. Personally, rotors are more my thing… he was drunk at the time. No surprises there.

Of course! His place is just a few blocks from here – just past the shuttleport.. That's where I can go.

Why didn't I think of it before?