Fandom: Transformers IDW AU with a dose of Bayverse and G1
Author: gatekat, starsheild on LJ
Pairing: Drift/Wing/Windswept
Rating: PG-13
Codes: AU, Slash
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
Honors Demands 28: Knights Alone
Wing made his way through the corridors of the Citadel, having seen Windswept into the medical bay and the care of Redline for the triple changer upgrade. The upgrade would take several orns to complete, due to the complexity of the work and the programming.
It would be the first time since returning to New Crystal City that Drift would be without Windswept for any real length of time. The white jet had offered to stay with the white grounder, and Drift had leapt at the offer. He wouldn't have much time, his training would not be interrupted for this, but Drift had gotten good enough to have at least a joor, sometimes two, a day free.
So Wing was currently at the door to Drift's quarters. He knocked to let Drift know he was there, waiting for the door to open before slipping inside.
Strong, warm arms and a kiss that was as much greeting as passion welcomed him.
Wing returned the kiss, wrapping his arms around Drift. "Glad to see you, too," the jet purred. He nuzzled Drift. "Wind's in good hands; Redline is among the best."
"I know," Drift's smile was tired. "He rebuilt me from far worse." Drift leaned to rest his forehelm against Wing's, simply enjoying the closeness. "Windswept wants this so badly."
"He's going to be a very good flier." Wing smiled, then tilted his helm. "What do you think of Windswept getting wings of his own?"
Drift cocked his helm as he guided Wing to his berth. He knew he wouldn't be awake long enough to make the couch worth it.
"It'll make him happy," he eventually decided.
"He's got the spark of a flier," the jet murmured. "I would bet that in a past life he was an airframe." He followed Drift, stretching out a wing to remain in contact with the grounder, lightly stroking the tip along Drift's back plating. Across their lightly interlacing fields Drift expressed pleasure at the contact.
"Then it's good he can have this," Drift smiled slightly and rolled to his back on the berth, drawing Wing down and against him. "He deserves to be happy."
"He does," the jet agreed, cuddling into Drift, purring happily. Black fingers ran over Drift's frame, enticing a soft moan and spike of desire across their fields as Drift's hands came up to stroke Wing's frame.
"I already miss him," Drift half confessed, half grumbled.
"Just think of the fun you'll have exploring his new frame when he gets back," Wing suggested with a soft trill. "He won't be expecting just how sensitive to touch a flier's wings really are." He leaned into Drift's hands, thoroughly enjoying the petting.
A low, anticipatory chuckle came to that idea. Drift's hands found Wing's folded wings and stroked them, tweaking control surfaces and joints with a playful arousal tempered by the strong desire to recharge. "I don't know, he knows your wings well."
"Doesn't mean he'll be prepared to feel it himself," Wing replied, flaring out his wings into Drift's hands. "He will melt the first time."
A shiver passed through Drift's frame. It had been entirely too long since he'd had something new to do to Windswept to make him melt. So much of what he hadn't done held more pain than pleasure for them both. It made Drift ache sometimes, knowing he had a lover that could teach him, eventually, to enjoy those acts, yet he could do nothing to help Windswept to learn that sparks and hardline interfacing wasn't a painful, frightening thing.
Wing nuzzled against Drift, purring, his nacelles revving slightly against Drift's arms. He nipped along the planes of Drift's cheek armor, hands idly exploring white plating. He could feel the arousal in his lover's frame, but he could also feel the need to recharge there and the undecided wavering of Drift's choice between them.
Gentle lips touched his, a kiss much more like the first time Drift had kissed him. "Ride me," he murmured, his fingers finding wing joints. Exhausted or not, he wanted the release of overload.
The white jet chirred, one hand wandering down Drift's body to rub slow circles over Drift's spike cover. Warm golden optics met icy blue as Wing feathered light kisses along his lover's jaw and down his neck. It was only a moment before the cover slid open and Drift's spike smoothly extended against Wing's hand, but even more enticing was Drift's moaning twitching at the kisses and gentle attention.
Wing shifted, moving to straddle Drift's hips, his valve cover sliding open. Not taking his golden gaze from Drift's blue, the white jet slowly lowered himself onto Drift's spike, wings fluttering and a low moan rising from his vocalizer. The sound was matched by Drift and black hands found Wing's hips, strong fingers working into seams and joints to stroke the sensitive wires and components within.
Wing stayed still for a moment, his body trembling ever so slightly under Drift's hands. The calipers of Wing's valve rippled against the white grounder's spike, the jet giving his lover a bright grin before he started to move, settling into a rhythm.
Under him, Drift moaned, thrust up and trembled. The need for pleasure was intense, as was the frustration that his abused and neglected frame was reluctant to comply with the pleasure it was being offered.
Wing's hands ran over Drift's chest and shoulder, the jet's hips moving in an easy rhythm, quickly picking up the pace. White pinions flared, wings fanning out and trembling. Golden optics met and locked onto blue and suddenly Drift's chest plates unlocked.
His field full of need that was building on desperate, Drift was willing to offer anything to get what he needed.
Wing let out a soft moan of anticipation, his own chest plates unlocking. Golden light seeped out as red-trimmed plates shifted out of the way, the jet leaning down to gently part Drift's armor plates. His hips never faltered in their rhythm as deep red light spread across his features, turning Drift's pale blue optics close to their original shade. Their frames continued to rock and rub, Drift's seeking release and Wing trying to give it.
With a sound that was half sob, half desperate keen Drift reached up and pulled his lover down, nearly crushing their sparks together.
Threads of golden and red light wound together in an intricate dance, pulling the shining orbs toward each other. Coronas flared and flickered, merging into each other, creating a hundred different shades of orange. There were flickers of pain from lack of experience mixed with the speed, but neither cared.
Wing moaned softly, his optics flaring brightly. He began rippling the calipers of his valve in a complex rhythm, in time with his own movements on Drift's spike. The physical pleasure built, caressing both their frames through mingled fields.
Nothing in any of his past prepared Wing for the tumble of emotions the sudden spark merge. Pain, loss, anger, weariness and a spark-deep question of whether he was doing the right thing. The Great Sword wanted its bearer a Knight, and Drift had spend long enough simply complying with it that he as beginning to question if he has a will of his own any more.
The white jet wrapped Drift in love and reassurance, once he stopped reeling from the flood of emotions. His spark wrapped around Drift's, his field merging with the white grounder's, trying to soothe his lover. Even without full understanding, Wing had been through the training Drift was and knew it was doing exactly what it was meant to do. Every Initiate was pushed to their limit and frequently past it to ensure that they had what it took to be a Knight before they were trained in any of the more dangerous skills.
White wings trembled as Wing concentrated on sending love-trust-reassurance through their fields and sparks. He knew Drift could do it, and would do very well. The grounder just had to want it. Wing had been bonded to Too Pure For This World long enough to know that while it could be pushy and opinionated, it would never have bonded with Drift if they were truly that opposed. It simply wasn't in the nature of the weapons to accept a bearer they disagreed with too much.
In a mark of how much he'd changed, Drift accepted the comfort and reassurance before frame and spark tumbled into the white oblivious of bliss, dragging a very willing Wing along for the ride. Wing keened, his body trembling and writhing against Drift's, wings twitching. His optics flared nearly white, energy snapping all across his frame.
Under him, Drift went abruptly limp, knocked off line like every other spark overload he'd experienced.
Wing wasn't in much better condition, being almost completely limp. He squirmed until he was curled up against Drift, helm resting on the white grounder's shoulder, one leg over Drift's, and a wing spread possessively over the now-closed white chest. Chirring softly, the white jet snuggled as close as he could get and slipped into an easy light recharge.
