Title: Dust & Echoes

Author: iron valkyrie

Rated: PG-13

Fandom: Transformers G1/AU

Characters/Pairings: Blaster/Soundwave

Summary: Quiet, warm deserts are the perfect breeding ground for on-duty naps and vivid dreams.

Warnings: Non-con.

Note: Huge thanks to Ariel, Chris, and Zoe. (And Mar, for listening to me babble, even when she probably has no idea what I'm on about.)


This feeling of déjà vu was getting to him. Blaster couldn't place it. Usually nothing could distract him with Soundwave's hands moving over his plating.

It wasn't even nearly the first time there'd been a dreamlike quality to this; in the darkness and still air, Soundwave's flat could seem downright eerie, as though Iacon existed on a separate plane than they and that nothing existed outside of these walls. Puffs of condensation dissipated into the air from their heaving vents – because of the many bots that tended to occupy this space regularly (Blaster, Soundwave, all of their cassettes...), Soundwave kept the temperature lower than average to even things out. The heat from their frames fogged their plating, the trails their fingertips traced out gleaming in the low light.

And yet the strangest thing – he didn't feel the cold. The air he pulled in with his intakes felt warm and somehow fragrant, nothing at all like the cool, controlled environment Soundwave provided.

Blaster arched beneath the blue frame, gasping as he felt Soundwave's mind brush carefully against his own, like a felinoid rubbing a greeting againsth is master's legs. He blinked, refocused his optics – there was a moment when he'd thought he saw a spot of purple on Soundwave's chassis. What on Cybertron – ? He was usually so meticulous about cleaning...

Soundwave twined their minds tighter and Blaster was soon thinking nothing of how strange this night felt, or why the sight of something emblazoned on Soundwave's front would cause such a feeling of dread.

And despite being so tightly wound with Soundwave, surrounded by warmth and affection, devotion and desire – the cold feeling in his spark did not subside.

After a moment, Soundwave leaned back. Blaster sighed, an apology on his lips until he focused his gaze and met the red optics gazing down at him. The remorse in them made his spark ache with an old familiar pain. Slowly he became more aware – Soundwave's appearance was subtly different. Only they appeared to be solid: the berth, the luxurious surroundings of the Iaconian flat... all blurry, insubstantial, and fading fast.

And there was that terrible symbol on his chassis.

"Apologies," he said. The sweet, harsh harmonics of his voice sent a shiver through Blaster's circuits.

"Shouldn' I be sayin' that?" Blaster whispered. Soundwave shook his head mutely. The color faded out from his plating, from the vague details of the flat as he remembered it, until it was all a silver-grey.

Before he could say anything more, everything dissolved.

x

Blaster awoke at his post outside the Ark, his optics overbright for a moment as he became aware of his surroundings. He sighed, relaxing back against the wall. Recharging on sentry duty – he was lucky no one had been around. Afternoons in the desert made it too easy to nod off.

His optics focused on the horizon. The setting sun painted the sky a familiar shade of red.

Blaster shook his head. What had been with that dream? He hadn't even realized he was dreaming until the end. It seemed like he had truly been interacting with Soundwave... but how many times had Blaster dreamed about him since the war tore them into their separate ways?

Despite the solitude that had allowed him to drift off in the first place, Blaster was relieved to be alone. There was time to process the whole thing, without feeling a need to be nice, or happy, or entertaining for anyone else at the same time.

What he did not notice were the imprints of pedes in the nearby sand; what he did not hear was the quiet call to a black felinoid to return.