Fandom: Transformers IDW AU with a dose of Bayverse and G1
Author: gatekat, starsheild and ultrarodimus on LJ
Pairing: Drift/Windswept, Drift/Wing
Rating: NC-17 mech/mech
Codes: AU, Slash, Dub-con
Summary:
Disclaimer: The authors are only playing with their own twisted muses. Transformers belong to Hasbro. Fandom-side, check the inspirations page (gatekat-fics .livejournal. com/290 .html). We draw from a ton of amazing stories and authors you should read.
Notes:
::text:: comm chatter
~text~ hardline/bond chatter
Hunters from the Light 14: Penance for a Sword
Drift's optics gradually glowed to life after several joors of meditation, and it didn't take reading his field to know he was disturbed.
His expression had the immediate attention of the two mechs cuddled on he berth, their quiet conversation ceasing the moment they noticed he was conscious of his physical surroundings again.
"Drift?" Wing was the first to speak as he uncurled from his position with Windswept.
A low huff of agitation greeted the question, a sound both mechs recognized as Drift deflecting distress with anger.
Windswept slithered free of Wing, sliding from the berth and approaching the agitated mech warily. He had seen Drift upset before, but nothing quite like this, and as much as he wanted to soothe that distress away for the first time he wasn't sure what to offer. Drift brushed the confusion away as he reached for the smaller mech and pulled him close, all but onto his lap.
Their fields intertwined enough for Windswept to catch a sense of the source, though it still didn't help him much to know that whatever Drift had understood of his penance frightened him.
"It won't be that bad," Wing tried to be reassuring. "I've been through them all. You're strong enough to survive it."
"I doubt you dealt with this one," Drift's plating rattled faintly. "It wouldn't bother you."
A moment of silence as Windswept wrapped himself around Drift, frame and field encompassing the larger mech with the promise of support and unshakable devotion and belief.
Wing simply nodded his acceptance of the statement and put a supporting hand on Drift's shoulder. "When you are ready, you can show Dai Atlas what you were shown. It is his interpretation that is final."
With a deep draw of air, Drift nodded. He gently touched his forehelm against Windswept's before nudging the blue mech to get up. "Let's get this over with."
Frames were swiftly untangled, though Windswept reattached himself to Drift as they left the ship, Drift between the blue mech and Wing.
"Is he still at home?"
"Yes," Wing murmured, smoothly guiding the ground-bound pair to his creator's quarters.
Drift pinged the door, knowing the giant blue triple changer was expecting him.
He might not have been expecting the parade that made it's way in when the door finally opened, but if he was surprised it didn't show.
"You seem disturbed," he looked at Drift after the door closed.
"Not often I volunteer for something like this," Drift pointed out with a grumble of his engine.
Dai Atlas raised an optic ridge and motioned Drift to the meditation platform. "Share what your Great Sword told you." He said as they knelt.
Wing put a gentle arm around Windswept to keep him from following as Drift knelt in the meditative pose across from Dai Atlas. There was a moment of hesitation before Drift offered his data cable, the memories already cued up for transfer.
The two observers watched in silence, Windswept leaning into Wing without a thought about what he was actually doing. Somewhere in all of this the jet had crossed a line, breaking through the wall of fear Windswept had erected between himself and the rest of the world.
In this new place where Windswept had little idea of what was going on and couldn't always look to Drift for guidance as he had before Wing's presence was turning into necessity, backed by the growing personal desires that Windswept had yet to acknowledge forming in himself.
Curiosity flared in Wing's field when shock crossed Dai Atlas' features. The leader quickly settled himself and focused on Drift as he unplugged them. "You have the fundamentals of your Great Sword's demand correct. The details are for your ... partner."
The giant's gaze landed on his creation. "Wing, step forward. This needs to be yours to oversee."
The white jet blinked, then walked over to the pair, settling next to them. Golden optics met red curiously as a data cable was offered. He plugged in without hesitation, accepted the datapack ... and blinked again as his field blanched in distress.
"That is why it must be you," Dai Atlas said softly.
Slender wings fluttered in distress and agitation. Wing settled back, looking at Drift. "Not what I was expecting..."
"It wants to make a point I will never forget," Drift tried to shrug, but the motion didn't really make it. "Get this over with?" he looked at his lover, the only mech he could let do this and not fight for his life against.
The white jet nodded, trying to get his wings properly folded again. They kept fluttering and flaring out from their tight tuck as he and Drift stood.
When his turn brought him to face Windswept, Drift nearly quivered.
"I'd ... rather you didn't watch this," he managed after a moment to gather his own wits.
Confusion swirled in the small mech optics, already bright from the distress spilling over from the Drift and Wing. Fear joined the whirlwind of emotion in his field. "Wing...will be with you?"
Drift could only nod.
Windswept looked at him, trying to understand as his entire frame started to tremble. "If that is your wish."
Wing made a sound low in his throat, looking at the small blue mech apologetically. He didn't like it any more than Drift did, and he could guess how Windswept was feeling.
Without hesitation Drift reached out and drew him close, comforting as best he could. "Much as I don't want you to be alone, it's better if you don't witness this. Is there anyone you've made a connection to? Anyone you can stay with for a few joors and feel safe?"
Windswept shook his head, struggling to regain control. The only other mech he felt safe around was the one other mech who was going to be unavailable for the ordeal.
"What about our quarters?" Drift suggested. "Try to recharge, or read something."
Fear. Pain. Doubt. Confusion. Anger.
Then numbness as Windswept slammed the lid on all of his emotions, locking them away, and blank optics refocused on Drift. "I'll be fine."
It wasn't a good solution, but necessary in the moment. Necessary to see Drift through this.
"You are not fine," a deeply protective rumble came from Drift's engine. "You're angry."
Wing's wings fluttered uneasily. This was going to be hard on everyone, even though Windswept was not participating or watching. The jet eased closer to the other two.
Golden optics turned toward the watching Dai Atlas. "Will we be required to use one of the penance chambers?"
"No," the blue triple changer shook his helm. "Though I do recommend it to avoid tainting one of your living spaces with the experience."
"Fine." Windswept repeated, struggling this time as he said it and drawing the numbness around him like a protective shield.
It was still not enough to stop a moment of weakness. "Come back."
"I will," Drift promised with a kiss to Windswept's helm. "We'll recharge together."
A flicker finally. Hope, that Drift was speaking the truth. "I'll wait."
The white jet's wings twitched as he led Drift down into the lowest levels of the Citadel, under the chamber where the Circle met. This was where the more serious penances were undergone, the part of the Citadel where no one went unless they had to.
No one else was down there. The corridors echoed as Drift and Wing descended, and the tags on the doors marked them as being vacant.
Glancing nervously over his shoulder at Drift, Wing made his way toward one of the rooms.
"I don't want this to be you, but he's right, you're the only one who can," Drift apologized in his own way. "I'd fight anyone else."
Wing managed a half smile. "I know. I still don't like it, but I do understand that." Inhaling deeply, he opened the door to the penance room, the lights coming on as he waved Drift inside.
The grounder paused just inside, taking in the simple metal cube, empty except for a cabinet on the far wall and attachment points on the ceiling and walls.
Drift shuddered, memories nearly as old as he was snapping into clear focus of rooms like this. Places he'd faced a few times as Drift, but mostly as Deadlock. He never came out quite the same as when he went in.
Wing gave the grounder a quick hug. "The sooner we get it over with, the sooner we can get out of here."
Drift could only nod, draw a deep intake of air and walk to the center of the room where he knelt between two securing points. His optics locked on a half circle welded into the floor in front of him. Once Wing bound his wrists, they'd be secured there.
It would leave him pinned between the three points, knees spread and elbows on the ground.
The jet watched for a moment, then moved over to the cabinet. His gaze skipped over the contents, ignoring the supplies for the harsher penances to land on the neat spools of cord used for binding. For a moment he hesitated, trying to decide which color would be appropriate, then picked up a pink spool and walked over to Drift.
His lover's optics were downcast, his wrists extended in offer. Even with Drift's field pulled tight, Wing could feel the fear radiating off him, hear the minute rattling of pristine white armor.
Submission.
Drift simply did not submit.
Slender wings dropped behind Wing's back. Kneeling down, he bound Drift's wrists, the binding elaborate and done under Drift's focused gaze. Once he'd finished that, he attached the bindings to the ring on the floor, pulling an unresisting Drift into position.
It was a delectable sight, or would have been if this weren't a penance; if Drift was truly willing and not simply consenting.
The soft sound of a valve cover sliding open startled Wing slightly.
Drift's helm lowered, bowed between his forearms, as he waited for the first touch.
The jet jumped ever so slightly at the sound, then settled back. Running a gentle hand down Drift's back, Wing stood, setting Drift's Great Sword in one of the brackets on the wall, setting aside his own as well.
Walking back over to Drift, Wing slowly dropped to his knees behind the white grounder, murmuring the ritual words of the penance under his breath, just loud enough for Drift to hear.
Drift trembled at the near-touch, struggling not to fight. His optics went dim and his field reached out, grasping at Wing's as an anchor in all this.
Wing bit his lip to keep from saying anything, knowing it was not permitted this time. He settled for stroking his hands down Drift's sides, meshing his field with the grounder's. One hand wandered down to slip a black digit into Drift's valve, stroking along the rim before sliding in deeper.
A low shudder and stutter of engine was all Drift couldn't hold back. Despite his best efforts, his valve was dry. It was simply too much to do. He couldn't be aroused.
Light fingers stroked over Drift's frame, stroking over sensitive plates and dipping into seams, seeking all the places Wing knew would get the best response. His other hand continued to stroke the rim of Drift's valve, fingertips dipping inside to flirt with the sensor nodes until physical stimulation did what will could not.
The first slide of lubricant between finger and sensor node made Drift jerk sharply with the spike of pleasure. Shock flared out in his field as his circuits heated. It was small, but the pooling heat in his abdominals was different from any other time he'd experienced being taken.
Wing couldn't hold back a soft chirr, though he cringed a bit afterward, hoping a chirr didn't count as "talking". A second digit slid into Drift's valve, reaching deeper after more sensor nodes.
Black fingers slid into Drift's hip joint, sliding over the circuits and the actuators.
A tremor that was almost accepted pleasure rippled Drift's plating, then a low shaky moan as knowing fingers rubbed along very rarely touched sensors. The valve may have been new, but it was standard enough for Wing to know what to touch and how.
Leaning down, Wing nipped along Drift's back armor, his hand busy with the grounder's valve. Every sensor in reach got its share of attention, stroked and kneaded and stimulated by nimble fingers.
He felt the resistance in Drift, the fight not to respond. Like every penance Wing had been part of, the desire to atone was never without contest from the desire to avoid being hurt. He could feel it in Drift's field. The grounder was more than strong enough to shred his bindings in a nanoklik. As always, a core was symbolic, not physical restraint.
Drift and Too Pure For This World were both struggling with Loss. Loss of control. Loss of a bonded. Loss of respect. Loss of understanding.
The loss of everything that mattered to them, or so they thought.
Humming wordlessly, Wing nuzzled against Drift's back, nipping along the seams, the edge of white armor where it joined the black. His hand slid into Drift's valve as far as it could go, fingertips brushing over the deepest sensors, while his other hand roamed down to Drift's knee joint, sliding over the dark thigh armor.
This time the moan was deeper, more resonant, yet the distress and hatred in Drift's field only deepened.
A strong but gentle hand slid inward, brushing along the spike cover in a silent request that was granted. Yet even as his spike began to slide out and pressurize, a sob struggled free from Drift's throat.
Wing's field wrapped closer around Drift's, trying to reassure the grounder as best he could. He did not want to see Drift hurt. Crooning softly against Drift's back, he ran his palm gently over Drift's spike, base to tip, cupping the tip for a moment before sliding his hand back down.
This time the shudder was of real pleasure, old and familiar, the kind that Drift took comfort in. "Want to give you everything like that," he murmured, only half aware of his words.
The response was a chirring hum as Wing nuzzled a seam, then made an inquiring noise, asking without words if the white warrior's sensor net was turned on.
Penance or not, nothing said Wing couldn't make it as pleasurable as he could.
A flare and unsteady nod answered, Drift forcing himself to believe that this would somehow be good, that Wing would never hurt him, that this was worth the hurt it was going to cause.
Wing vented across Drift's back, sending warm air skirling across his plating, over the sensitive plates and seams, trailing his lips over the most sensitive places. Dark fingers curled around Drift's spike, kneading and stroking along its length. A third digit slipped into his valve, all three spreading out and sliding slowly along the walls.
This time the moan was very real, the rev of Drift's engine one of desire.
Submission. He could do this. For Wing, for Too Pure For This World, for the future. He could do this.
Drift's helm lowered until it touched the floor, his frame trembling in the mixture of distress and arousal that was unique to this situation.
The hand on Drift's spike settled into an easy rhythm, twisting slightly over the nodes, increasing the stimulation. The pad of Wing's thumb stroked over the tip, over the sensitive nodes clustered there.
The white jet's body shivered as he finally released his own spike, though he kept it away from Drift for the moment. He didn't want to hurt his lover, would never hurt him. His fingers glided over the nodes of Drift's valve again and couldn't even express how grateful he was to feel enough slickness to make penetration smooth and easy.
Drift's ventilations picked up. His hips rocked lightly into the hand stroking his spike, only to press into the fingers in his valve as well. It was an effort, but he forced the association. Wing and his valve did mean pleasure.
He couldn't deny it was also submission ... and abruptly Drift's entire frame jerked as his attention focused on his bound wrists, his position, on how completely helpless he was.
A strangled, pleading keen for escape escaped his vocalizer before he focused back on his interface systems and the pleasure there.
Wing leaned his chest against Drift's back, pressing his nacelles against Drift's spaulders and revving his turbines. Tilting his helm, he nipped and licked at the back of Drift's neck, slowly withdrawing his fingers from the grounder's valve, bringing his hand up to lick the lubricant from his fingers, purring at the taste. Lining up his spike, he sheathed himself with one swift, smooth thrust.
The sound that Drift made was something between welcome and denial. His valve contracted hard, trying to eject the intruder, though it only made the pleasure more intense for both of them. A sob of denial escaped him as his frame trembled.
Wing crooned in Drift's audial, his free hand stroking slowly over the grounder's chest and torso. Tilting his helm, Wing nuzzled against one spaulder, shifting his hips to shift his spike in Drift's valve. It squeezed tightly again, drawing a low moan from Wing. It was an exquisite sensation, but tainted by the knowledge that the mech under him didn't want it. Pleasure flared in Drift's field, right along with shame.
"Open your optics," Wing forced himself to order. That had been clear as well. Drift wasn't allowed to retreat into his processors as he so often did to survive assaults.
The jet's field expressed his own distress at this whole ordeal, along with the knowledge that once it was done, that was it. The Great Sword would be satisfied and they wouldn't have to repeat the experience.
Wing revved his nacelles higher, starting to move in Drift's valve, settling into a rhythm that matched the one set by his hand on Drift's spike.
Optics locked on his bound wrists, Drift trembled, letting go a little more. Unlike previous times, he would overload to this. It was part of the deal, part of the humiliation and loss of control. Maybe even a key part.
Physically, it was intensely good, enough to begin wringing low moans and the occasional hard rev of his engine from Drift's trembling frame. Wing knew how to pleasure a lover like no one else Drift had been with and was using all of that knowledge to end the penance quickly.
It didn't make it any less torturous inside Drift's processors as he struggled with the pleasure, the building overload, his frame experienced against his will.
Despite that, the lubricant was thick in his valve as it relaxed and began to work the thick spike sliding in and out in a maddening rhythm.
Wing picked up the pace, burying his face against the back of Drift's neck. His nacelles revved against Drift's spaulders, sending the vibrations right into his sensor net. His free hand slid into a seam along Drift's side, flirting along the edge of where the white armor joined the black.
As the pleasure built to an undeniable level Drift began to rock back into each thrust, his helm falling downward once more as the trembling shifted to an expression of pleasure rather than distress, though it did little to ease the sensation in his field.
Drift was loosing, knew it, knew it had to happen, and couldn't help but fight to the bitter end.
The jet let out a soft whimper against Drift's back, his own overload building. He slowly increased his pace, shifting slightly to adjust the angle, thrusting in as deeply as he could. The hand on Drift's spike matched the pace set by the jet's hips, his other hand sliding up Drift's chest to his shoulder, sneaking up to caress the sensitive finials on Drift's helm.
A squeezing twist of Wing's hand on his spike as Drift's hips thrust forward ended the grounder's resistance. With a roar that was as much pain as pleasure his frame was pulled from his control, hot transfluid erupted from his spike. His valve tightened, the overload charging the already sensitive valve until it drove Drift to a second overload before the first had even ended.
The tightening of Drift's valve around his spike set off Wing's overload. He keened against Drift's neck, his wings flaring out, body shuddering against Drift's. For a long moment, he stayed where he was, draped over Drift's back, then slowly peeled himself away, reaching to release the bindings.
Even free, Drift didn't move for a long time. Not until the ozone had dissipated and his frame cooled. He wasn't sure if he could even face his love yet. So focused on that he didn't even realize he was trembling hard enough to cause his plating to rattle.
Wing made a soft sound, scooting back a bit, away from the grounder. He too was shaking, hard enough that when he tried to retrieve his Great Sword he fumbled it, barely catching it before it hit the floor. His wings were half flared with distress, and he was making a very faint whimper, low in his vocalizer.
"It'll be okay," Drift's voice startled him. A glance over his shoulder showed that the grounder hadn't moved much, only brought his knees forward to tuck them under his chest so his aft lowered. Hands had come in as well, but only minutely. It didn't take knowing the mech to realize that he wasn't prepared to move yet, much less face the outside world.
Wing managed a faint, tremulous smile, but the shaking didn't subside. The jet returned his Great Sword to its place on his back, torn between staying with Drift and bolting.
There was a brief moment of indecision before Drift lifted his helm, his optics on but largely unseeing. "Wing..."
Plea for comfort, for reassurance, for the only mecha he trusted enough to witness his weakness.
That decided the white jet. On shaky legs he eased over to kneel beside Drift, cautiously wrapping his arms around the white grounder, burying his face against Drift's neck. The whimper slowly changed to a distressed keen as their fields meshed, pain and a cacophony of other emotions echoing back and forth, amplifying with each cycle until something in Drift broke.
He twisted to press himself against Wing's chassis, chest to chest, and pressed his mouth against Wing's in a demanding, domineering kiss.
The reaction from the jet was almost a hiccup of surprise. His arms tightened around Drift's frame, holding him close, returning the kiss. Wing's slender wings were still trembling, rattling against his back armor and the sheath of his Great Sword.
Then Wing was being pushed back as Drift sought to pin him against the ground, his field demanding submission as much as his frame as a knee found its way between Wing's legs.
Wing's keen was fading, a soft chirr taking its place. He offered no real resistance as he fell back onto the floor, wings slowly flaring out, legs parting, granting access.
A low moan escaped Drift at the pliant willingness he was offered, the submission from the very mecha who had just used him doing much to sooth the humiliation burning in his circuits. His glossa pressed against Wing's lip plates as his spike cover rubbed against Wing's valve cover.
Wing's lip plates parted, letting out a soft moan. His valve cover obligingly opened, lubricant already seeping out to moisten the lining. Gentle fingers skittered lightly down Drift's back. His field was nearly glowing with welcome, with desire and relief.
The powerful grounder engine growled against him, Drift's field full of need as his spike cover snapped open and the spike, still covered with a thin sheen of his transfluid, pressurized to rub against the soft lining of sensor rich platelets around Wing's valve.
Wing arched against him, hips pressing into the contact, moaning into Drift's mouth. His turbines revved in response, nacelles humming against Drift's shoulders. Black fingers hooked into seams of Drift's backplating, curling around the sensitive connectors that would hold the white grounder's Great Sword.
Pleasure, this time pure and shared, began to take over the pain in their fields, but what did it for Wing the most was the way the humiliation in Drift's field was fading.
Forgiven. Wing trembled at being forgiven so quickly.
"Mine," Drift growled, his need to regain control bleeding into a possessiveness he did display often as he shifted his hips and drove into Wing's valve with a need that was only faintly physical.
Wing made a sound of agreement, tilting his helm to nip along Drift's jawline, palms gliding down Drift's back and sides, shifting one leg to stroke his footplate along Drift's shin. He let out a gasping moan as he was penetrated, subsiding into a delicious shiver, pressing into the contact. He could feel the way his response soothed Drift even more, the distress at needing to take fading as it sunk in for Drift that Wing welcomed it to his very core.
Drift's hips pulled back and drove forward, thrusting deep into Wing's valve until their interface plates ground together in the tiny rocking of Drift's hips.
Wing writhed under him, golden optics shutting off, helm tilting back to bare his throat to Drift's sharp, nipping denta. He lightly scraped his fingers down the seams of Drift's back armor, curling one ankle over Drift's hip, pulling him closer. They moaned and ground against each other, the pleasure building entirely too fast. Flared wings trembled, begging to be touched and stroked and stimulated.
Despite the need to be dominant to an unnatural level, it was a silent request that Drift was eager to fulfill. He braced himself on one outstretched hand, using Wing's leg-embrace as a counterbalance for his short, strong thrusts. His free hand stroke the trembling appendage in reach, squeezing and petting in time with his thrusts.
The sound Wing let out expressed sheer bliss, his wing pressing into Drift's hand. Gentle hands migrated to Drift's spaulders, seeking out the best places to touch, the most sensitive sensor clusters lurking under the white armor. Wing's nacelles whined, revving high, his whole body vibrating, warm air gusting from his vents to curl around Drift's body and mingle with the hot air the grounder was expelling.
"Mine," Drift's voice was softer, the tone less demanding, but the claim was no less firm against Wing's bared throat. His field was hot with pleasure, energy already crackling between them while his hips thrust deep and hard, rolling with every motion to run against as many sensors as possible.
"Yours," Wing managed to gasp out in response. "Oh!" He arched his back, rolling his hips into each thrust, driving Drift's spike in deeper, as deep as it could go. He clawed blindly at Drift's back, fingertips scraping over sensitive plating. It was enough to make Drift shudder and moan.
Without thinking Drift rolled into Wing's motions, his moans turning into growls as each thrust brought him closer to a now-inevitable and very welcome overload.
Wing panted, hands running over every inch of Drift's armor he could reach, dipping into seams and gliding lightly over circuits. He could feel the overload building, threading through his systems, rising into an unstoppable wave of pleasure that crested with the rush of hot transfluid and Drift roar above him. Their meshed fields roiled with the welcome bliss and loose energy that jumped from one frame to the other.
Wing arched his back, crying out Drift's designation, his valve tightening around Drift's spike. Energy danced over the complicated contours of his armor, over his outstretched wings, between the points of his audial flares. The enticing sight was lost on Drift, who was caught in the throws of his own overload, wild flares of energy dancing along his own frame.
Drift's hips continued to twitch, rubbing his spike inside Wing's valve even as the pair collapsed, gasping for cool air and trembling against each other in release and relief.
Wing was purring audibly, wrapped around Drift like a second layer of armor. He was pressed as close to the white grounder as he possibly could, reveling in the warmth, desire and want against him. He never, ever expected Drift to respond like this. How could he? He'd raped his mate. As penance or not, it was as personal an assault as they came, far worse than a simple beating.
"Never letting you go," Drift murmured, holding him tightly.
The jet's arms tightened. "Not letting you go, either," Wing murmured. "Mine."
Drift trembled at the words. For the first time in his entire functioning they weren't something to fight against, they were a welcome thing, a statement of Drift's importance, rather than his subordinate position to another.
Wing may have heard the door open, but didn't care enough to respond.
Drift, however, stiffened with a low, dangerous growl as he shifted to glare over a shoulder at the giant intruder.
Axe simply raised an optic ridge at the growl but didn't respond other than to stop and relax against the doorframe.
Wing mumbled something, clinging tighter, if that was possible. Finally, he shifted enough to blink over Drift's shoulder. Recognizing Axe, he froze, optics widening at his chuckling creator.
"I must say that's a new way to center yourself," Axe smirked at the pair.
"Should've known you'd be watching," Wing grumbled, riffling his wings. He made no move to let go of Drift, merely glowering at the big black mech.
Axe simply smiled a bit wider as he took in the protective pair. Yes, they would make for a fine leadership of the Order when he and Dai Atlas finally decided it was time to step down.
"Are you centered fully?" Axe asked more seriously.
Wing tilted his helm, then looked at Drift, lifting his optic ridges in question.
"I'm ... close enough," he decided. Truth was he was very rarely centered, not the way the Knights meant it. But he was close enough to be safe in public.
Wing smiled, finally, reluctantly loosening his hold on Drift's armor, his wings folding to his back. He made a soft sound as Drift's spike slid from his valve, the cover sliding closed as he detached from his lover, sitting up slowly. Drift took a bit longer, his spike displeased with the idea of stopping but eventually complying.
"The first door you passed coming in is a wash rack," Axe said simply, relieved to the point of almost being giddy that they were still touching right now. "I recommend using it before returning to your quarters."
"Good idea," Wing murmured. He leaned forward to nuzzle Drift's cheek before climbing to his pedes, wobbling a bit.
Drift caught him by the arm as he stood, though he wasn't that much more steady on his pedes. "Not done with you," he growled quietly into a commanding kiss.
With a chuckle Axe left them, confident that Wing would comm him when it was time for Wing's penance for the violence against a fellow Knight. For now though, allowing the couple to reconcile was more important. Wing was gaining more balance and relief from Drift's contact that he could from any penance.
Wing fluttered his wings at Drift, extending one to stroke the tip down Drift's arm. "Oh, really?" His voice had deepened to a purr, gold optics half-lidded.
"Not even close," Drift confirmed, his hands moving down Wing's frame with a hungry touch before he tugged his love to retrieve their Great Swords, then to the door. "Especially since I can't touch Windswept anytime soon."
Wing followed without any hesitation, wings flaring partly open in anticipation. "You're more than welcome to touch me," the jet purred, making a beeline for the washracks. Drift let him get a step ahead, then moved close to play his hands along half folded wings, stroking and squeezing.
"I don't think I'll ever tire of that," Drift rumbled as he pressed against Wing's back.
"I certainly hope not." Wing moaned lightly, glad they were the only ones in that section of the Citadel, so there was no one around to give them odd looks. His wings flared out, leaning into the touch. His entire frame began to tremble as Drift's hands became more insistent, more focused on bringing Wing pleasure.
The door to the washracks opened to Wing's ping, but the inside but little more than a blur as Wing found himself pushed inside and pinned against the nearest wall by Drift's heating frame and the demanding mouth against his.
Wing returned the kiss eagerly, reaching out to touch Drift's frame, smoothing his palms over sleek white armor. His fingertips brushed against the Great Sword on Drift's back before sliding into a seam.
A core-deep shudder passed through Drift's frame, raw pleasure burning into desire as his spike cover slid open to release the quickly hardening length to rub against Wing's lower abdominal plating.
The white jet's valve cover almost popped open, lubricant dripping out to run down one thigh. Wing braced himself against the wall, curling one leg around Drift's hip, under the scabbard mounted there and practically begged to be taken.
"Yes," Drift hissed as he drove in deep, not even pausing to savor the sensation before pulling back to drive in again.
The white jet leaned his helm back, against the wall, his hands stroking up Drift's arms, curling around his body, holding him close. White wings flared out, twitching and fluttering against the wall as he rocked his hips into each thrust.
It was a mindless union, the thrust and rub and bite and building charge one of physical connection and soothing of hurt that had nothing to do with thought.
Drift's denta found a power cable in Wing's throat and bit down, then licked to sooth. It was very much an echo of what was happening to him; hurt and then soothed by one he cared about.
A low moan rose from the white jet's vocalizer. He hooked his fingers into Drift's spaulders, running the tips over the wiring and sensors underneath. They both trembled at the pleasure, the roiling knot of free electrons between their legs.
Then Drift roared his release and thrust up hard to bury his spike as deeply as possible for the first rush of transfluid.
Wing clung to Drift, his knee joint threatening to give way, clutching the white grounder for support. He keened his own release, the current crackling over his frame, dancing along his circuitry.
Scaldingly hot air pumped from their frames as they struggled to cool, the wall and Drift's locked knees the only things keeping them upright as they gasped and enjoyed the contact with another pleasure-charged frame.