A/N: This chapter contains sticky.

In which our heroes don't talk about the things they should, and break in the hab suites instead.

2. It's Full of Stars

The creature on the comm screen had bluish-gray skin of fine scales and two pairs of sea-green eyes, one atop the other, blinking in eerie tandem. Its delicate gills undulated slowly.

"Three Arcadroids," he said. Drift could barely understand him. His translation protocols covered most of the major galactic languages, but more than that hadn't been necessary for a Decepticon soldier, and this creature had an unusual dialect. He kept missing words. Fortunately, Wing's translation protocols were apparently loaded with all manner of languages, dialects, and accents.

"We'll make the Nalva System our heading, then," Wing said, or at least Drift was reasonably certain he did. "It's close. At Storm's End's pace we can reach it in a week."

"You will save fuel if Wayward Light docks with us," the refugee said. (Drift assumed he meant Wayward Light. What he really said was more like "wandering star," but the meaning was close enough.)

"Thank you, Halet'h," Wing said. "For now we are still testing how she runs in deep space, but we will dock with you soon."

"We appreciate all you have done for us," Halet'h said with a formal little bow and a flare of his gills. Drift's translator couldn't handle the word he tacked onto the end, but it made Wing stiffen subtly.

"Just Wing," he said, giving a simplified Cybertronian pronunciation—phonetic only. Halet'h wrapped his strange mouth around the sound and blinked twice.

"Understood, Wing-friend. Over and out."

"What's that he called you?" Drift asked as the comm screen blinked out. Wing shifted.

"Back-From-Death," he said. "Someone must have told them…" He shook his head and shrugged, but Drift knew he was disquieted.

"I guess some people don't know what a CR chamber is for."

Wing tried a smile. He touched the new plating on his chest. "I thought I was dead."

"So did I," Drift admitted. He reached out—the cockpit was small enough that he could touch Wing from his station—to brush his fingertips against the folded wings on his back. "I guess they found out we're not that easy to kill."

Wing nudged into the touch, his mood lightening. He changed the subject quickly.

"So this was Lockdown's ship?"

"Right. But your people helped me redesign her."

Wing hummed, running a hand along the console's familiar lines. At least he wouldn't get too homesick. "So he's dead?"

"No, he got away." Drift scowled at the starfield. He had a feeling they hadn't seen the last of Lockdown.

"Why didn't he take his ship?"

Drift snorted. "He had a city full of angry Cybertronians on his tailpipe. He grabbed the closest thing with an engine and ran for it like the coward he is."

Wing grinned sidelong at him. "You think he'll mind?"

"He's welcome to come back for it. I owe him a rematch."

"You held your own."

"Yeah, well. All that training was good for something. I must have learned something while you were throwing me around."

Wing's smile flashed again. "You are improving, Drift. I've noticed, even if you have not. And you… you defeated the slaver?"

"Well, that was mostly…" Drift made a vague gesture towards the Great Sword leaning against Wing's console. "That doesn't count."

Wing tilted his head in that inquisitive way of his. "What happened?"

"I killed him," Drift said flatly. "That's it. So a week? Think we can keep from getting space-fever?"

Wing was silent for a moment, watching Drift; then he smiled, chipper again, letting Drift change the subject. "I can operate comfortably in a vacuum, so if I get cramped, I can go outside. It's you I'm worried about. I suppose it's too much to hope that you will learn to meditate peacefully in the next few days."

"I bet you can think of some way to keep me occupied," Drift said with a crooked smirk, planting a foot on Wing's chair.

Wing's optic ridges rose innocently. "We can clear enough space in the hold for sparring…"

"Yeah, you smacking me around isn't exactly what I had in mind."

"Pity. Well, in that case…" Wing stood and stretched indulgently. His wings unfolded and flexed experimentally; Drift resisted the urge to catch one, but by the way Wing smiled, he'd seen the way Drift's optics followed each movement as the wings tucked back into place. He slid the Great Sword into its channel on his back. "I suppose we should choose hab suites."

"Habitation suite" was a rather generous term for the tiny compartments that ringed the upper deck. Lockdown had converted one to a medbay, and the one next to it into a brig. So "choose" also turned out to be overly optimistic, since Drift had already decided which of the remaining two was his. Wing slid open the door of the next hab suite and Drift followed him in.

"This one's mine," he said.

"Oh," Wing said. "Well. It looks like my decision was made for me."

"That's what you get for being in a CR chamber for a week. Last choice of hab suite." Drift stepped forward, sliding his hands over Wing's hips. "But as long as you're in here anyway…"

Wing grinned. "Already?"

You almost died, Drift thought. I thought I'd lose you forever, but here you are, with me.

"We're alone in a room for the first time since the battle, and you expect me to hold back?" he asked.

"When you put it that way," Wing said, stepping back until his legs clinked gently against the berth, leading Drift like a shadow. His hands alighted on either side of Drift's helm, pulling him into their first kiss since before the battle. Drift made an embarrassingly needy sound into it, sliding his arms further around the jet. His fingers brushed the Great Sword and he jerked his hands away as though burned. He'd never been quite so… aware of it before.

"Did you have to bring that if you knew what we were… nnf… going to do?" he grumbled into Wing's mouth.

"I thought we were choosing hab suites," Wing said; his unconvincing tone wasn't helped by the amused gleam of his optics. "How was I to know?"

As soon as the sword was leaning against the wall, Drift pressed back into the kiss, pushing until Wing sat down hard on the berth.

"Ow."

"Sorry."

Drift let him lie back and get comfortable before climbing on, kneeling between Wing's thighs.

"Take it easy on me," Wing said sheepishly, brushing a hand across his new plating. "It's not exactly what we had in mind, but…"

Drift nibbled on Wing's mouthplates, settling his hand on top of Wing's. "I'd never hurt you," he murmured.

In the light of Wing's brilliant smile, he shifted so he could get his fingers under some sensitive wiring. Wing purred, shifting minutely. He arched up just enough to let his wings unfold, twitching in invitation. Drift smoothed his hands along the delicate plating.

"Don't know why you ever put these away," he said, teasing an aileron.

"One," Wing said, "we're going to be stuck on a tiny spaceship for weeks at a time, and there really isn't room for them. Two…" He chirred in pleasure as Drift explored the joints one by one. "They're sensitive."

"Mm-hm."

"Three, they're distracting… nn…!"

Apparently he liked having the wingtips tweaked. Drift filed that away even as he grinned. "Distracting?"

"To you," Wing grumbled, but his Spark wasn't in it, not with the way every piece of him arched up towards Drift for more touch. Drift happily gave it to him, taking his time with the sensitive new plating of his chest, lovingly mapping his sides.

Then he stopped. Wing keened, optics flicking on.

"What's wrong?"

Drift shifted. "It's… the sword," he muttered. Wing turned his head to look at the Great Sword, leaning against the wall next to the berth.

"What about it?"

"It's staring at me," Drift said. "I can't concentrate."

Wing didn't laugh at him—he knew more about the Great Swords, and about Drift, than that—but he did let the smile tug at his mouth as he levered up onto his elbow and carefully lowered the sword to the floor, edging it slightly under the berth, out of sight.

"Better?"

"A little." Drift slithered further down Wing's body. His hand slid between the jet's legs to brush against his panel. Wing's hips twitched upwards, the panel sliding open eagerly. He sighed as Drift's fingers circled his valve.

They hadn't had much time to thoroughly explore each other's bodies between the time they first interfaced and the battle with the slavers, and most of their overloads had been tactile. Drift had brought Wing to overload with his fingers in his valve twice before, but that was about the extent of it. Well, plenty of time now to familiarize themselves.

"Drift," Wing gasped when Drift dipped his fingers inside. He was already slightly slippery from the thorough exploration of his wings.

Wing squeaked in surprise when Drift lifted his hips, getting his shoulders under the jet's knees. His new plating gave a slight twinge, but that was completely forgotten when Drift's glossa teased the rim of his valve. "Drift."

"Remember, take it easy," Drift reminded him with a wicked smirk. Wing's hands clawed at the berth as Drift ducked his head and oh. N-not strictly perfect technique, but he was earnest, and a fast learner. Wing swallowed a cry when Drift's glossa went questing for all the most sensitive nodes. The grounder's hands supported his hips, thumbs tracing little circles on the armor. Wing didn't really need the support—his entire body arched up on its own, trying to press closer. His head tilted back, optics going offline, and his mind was full of stars.

Drift's glossa helped him through his overload, demanding and giving all at once. Wing's cooling fans roared as he cried out harshly. It took every ounce of what control he had left not to squeeze his thighs around Drift's helm, but then the charge dissipated through his frame and into the berth. He laughed without knowing why as Drift carefully lowered his hips back to the berth.

"You okay?"

"Better," Wing said, optics coming back online in time to see Drift's crooked grin. "I… thank you. For that."

"I don't want Redline flying out here to lecture us," Drift said, moving back up his body. "Don't want to hurt you."

Wing shifted aside. "Over. Roll over."

It only took a little give in Drift's struts for Wing to come smoothly out on top, just like sparring. He comfortably straddled Drift's midsection, black fingers skimming white armor.

"Your turn," he said with his brightest smile, the one that made Drift's Spark flutter. He leaned down for a kiss, sliding his fingers under Drift's spaulders at the same time. As with many of Wing's kisses, it turned into an affectionate nibble. And as usual, Drift's engine revved under his hands as he bit back. Wing grinned into it, hands racing to find all the most sensitive spots he'd found through weeks of sparring. Drift's cooling fans kicked up another notch.

"Cheating," he growled—possibly closer to a groan.

"You know me," Wing said, unashamed, pressing their foreheads together as he grinned at his lover. "I don't always play by the rules."

Drift grumbled something incomprehensible, his hands running along Wing's thighs. Wing could feel every twitch as his fingers played with sensitive wiring. "You like it?"

"Yeah," Drift muttered.

"Then it's not," Wing kissed him again, "cheating."

He straightened and rocked his hips backward until he could feel Drift's spike. Drift jolted, engine revving noisily.

"Drift," Wing said, a little hesitant for the first time, "do you… would you like…"

"Yes," Drift groaned. "Yes, yes."

Wing angled his hips just right to catch the tip of Drift's spike at the rim of his valve. He sank onto it with a roll of his hips, settling comfortably, and both of them moaned.

"Wing," Drift moaned. Wing rode him oh-so-slowly, savoring every moment as he rolled his hips in little circles. "Wing , I need…"

"We're 'going easy,' aren't we?" Wing reminded him, amusement mixed with pleasure. "And besides, patience… nn… has its rewards."

"You learn that from the Circle?" Drift quipped, planting his feet on the berth to rock his hips up. Wing grinned mischievously.

"They taught me everything I know," he said, with a clever little move that had Drift's optics flickering.

He braced his hands on the berth on either side of Drift's head, the better to drink in his reactions. He liked seeing his partners lost in pleasure, Drift even more so.

"I couldn't handle your sword staring at me, what makes you think I can handle you?" Drift grumbled abruptly.

Wing ducked down to kiss him. "I didn't expect you to be so shy."

Drift snorted, but Wing could tell he was embarrassed. "I've done kinkier stuff than this."

"Oh, I believe you." He rubbed their nasal ridges together and confessed, "I love watching you."

Drift's fingers dipped into the seam at his waist as his hips twitched up, getting his spike a little deeper to make Wing gasp. "All right."

Wing didn't want to make him uncomfortable—he didn't have to see everything to feel Drift's pleasure in every shift of his body. He rested on his forearms, close enough to exchange kisses and nips as Drift spiraled higher.

"Wing," the grounder gasped. "Too slow—frag—"

Wing crooned soothingly at him, running his hands all over Drift's helm—so new, his last upgrade from New Crystal City—from his jaw to the tips of his finials. "Shh, shh… trust me…"

Drift whined, wound tight from his approaching overload. Wing worked his valve's calipers around Drift's spike, resting their foreheads together. "Show me, Drift. Show me."

Drift's hips stuttered, his engine roared, and he snarled into Wing's mouth as he toppled into overload. Wing rode it out, moaning at the sensation of transfluid seeping out around Drift's spike.

"What do you know," Drift sighed. "I guess you can overload going that slow."

Wing laughed, nibbling on his glossa. "Told you so."

He gave Drift a moment to recover before easing off of his spike, tucking his body up against Drift's side with one leg tossed over him. Drift's hand slid up his thigh, finding his own transfluid leaking out of the valve. Wordlessly he pressed his fingers inside. Wing moaned, squirming—he was running hot again, but he hadn't wanted to ask—and Drift nipped at his mouthplates.

"There you are. Doing okay?"

Wing nodded frantically. "I'm fine. I'm… nn."

He rocked his hips, trying to get more. Drift's fingers retreated to tease the sensors just inside the rim.

"Mm, nope…" There was more than a little Deadlock in his grin as he avoided giving Wing everything he wanted. "Didn't you say patience has rewards?"

Wing managed a laugh, even as he tried to press his aching valve down onto Drift's hand. "I did. Turnabout… ah… is fair play. I s-suppose."

"Then be patient," Drift said, pressing kisses all along his jawline until Wing stopped squirming. "That's it." He pushed his fingers in deep again. "That's good, Wing. You trust me?"

Wing nodded, barely restraining himself from squirming on Drift's hand. Drift's mouth moved along his audial flare.

"That's good. Shhh-shh… I've got you."

Wing whined as those far-too-clever fingers worked him, wringing him out to the very edge of his considerable patience. "Drift…!"

"Can't follow your own rules?" Drift's sharp grin flashed teasingly at him. "Ask nicely and I'll let you off this once."

"Please, Drift, please…!"

"Good," Drift said, his fingers suddenly driving, demanding. Wing writhed, his cooling fans working overtime. Drift's engine purred in contentment. "I see what you mean about watching."

As much as Wing loved watching, being watched was even more potent. Knowing Drift's optics were focused on him, knowing Drift could feel every little pleading squirm, sent fire blazing straight to Wing's valve. He overloaded on Drift's clever fingers, a messy spill of lubricants and Drift's transfluid. Drift's fingers gave his oversensitized nodes one last fond rub before pulling gently away.

"Mm. Slow is nice and all, but that was more fun."

Wing laughed wearily, tucking his face into Drift's neck. "Fine. I concede."

Their cooling fans were still running on high, but neither of them wanted to move, even if it was hotter curled up together.

"How's the wound?"

"Holding up."

Wing propped his chin on Drift's shoulder, smiling at him. Drift almost said I'm glad you're here, but instead he rubbed a spot just behind Wing's fins to make him purr.

Wing butted his head against Drift's chin, gently. "We really should dock with Storm's End now."

"But I like having you all to myself."

"I think we'll have plenty of time to ourselves in the future," Wing pointed out.

Drift grumbled, but his Spark wasn't in it. "Fine. Fine. If you say so."

At least something good would come of shepherding freed slaves across the galaxy. It might keep Wing from getting curious about what had happened at the end of the battle. At least it would give Drift an excuse to keep avoiding the subject. This other thing… this thing with the sword… that could wait.