Chapter 5

The scent still lingered, no matter what Perceptor did. There wasn't enough solvent or water on that horrible little planet to get the stench off of him. Of course, Drift smelt just as bad, Perceptor thought, only Drift, who was standing in front of him with a wide smirk, did not seem terribly bothered by his odor. For all Perceptor knew, Drift enjoyed smelling like an animal. Only two more days to go, Perceptor thought before the pick up shuttle arrived, and Perceptor could get a decent wash and rest.

"Come on, Percy. . .Attack me. . ." Drift murmured, still pleased with himself over what he had done a week ago to Perceptor.

Giving a faint huff as he circled to the left, Perceptor spoke, "I would attack if my senses weren't overwhelmed by this stink that you caused!"

Perceptor's voice was a bit higher than normal from the indignity of smelling so revolting. However, the overpowering scent was hardly to be his last stressor.

"Oh get over it Percy, stop fussing over yourself like a femme and suck it up," Drift chided with a feral grin as he lowered himself so he was nearly on his haunches.

Gracefully, Drift circled and Perceptor could see by the predatory look on the warrior's features, he was either lusting for a fight, or lusting for a round of interfacing. Perhaps both, Perceptor reflected sardonically.

Pursing his lips, Perceptor felt quite incensed, but he would not stoop to Drift's level and attack blindly. "Well, that's all satisfactory, Drift, but you're used to it, considering the company you used to keep," Perceptor retorted, hardly thinking about his voice of words.

When the feral grin on Drift's features disappeared, Perceptor knew he had said the very worst of words to the mech. Suddenly, Perceptor had his back against the basalt field beneath him, and Drift was atop him, growling and snarling with his hands gripping Perceptor's shoulders as he shook the mech.

"Don't you ever speak to me like that again! Ever! Do you hear me?!" snarled Drift.

Pain hit sensory grids at such rough handling, and Perceptor quietly remarked that the way Drift was speaking must've been similar to how the mech had spoken as a Decepticon. A week ago, Perceptor would've backed down, two weeks, most assuredly.

However, today was different. Everything hurt, he stank, he hadn't been given hardly a chance to recharge, much less explore, and to put it simply, Perceptor was at the end of his rope.

"Or what!? Are you going to kill me, Deadlock? Some Autobot you are, you sure put on an extravagant guise!" Perceptor shouted at Drift, just as angry as the other was as he thrashed wildly beneath Drift.

The swordsmech first snapped his denta at Perceptor as if he was going to bite at his faceplates. Yet somehow Perceptor managed to rear a hand back and hit Drift in the face. For the briefest of moments, Drift appeared startled that Perceptor would even dare do such a thing before he howled and backhanded the scientist hard in retaliation. Such a forceful hit made Perceptor's CPU swim, but after a moment he found just enough clarity to speak a few more choice words, "Look at you! Snarling like the beast you killed a week ago! You're nothing more than a Decepticon in an Autobot's frame, you slagging glitch!"

Perceptor expected to be especially thrashed for that comment, but instead Drift looked supremely insulted, but did not yell, snarl, or physically assault him in any way further. Instead, acting like a chided sparkling, the once Decepticon drew himself right off of Perceptor and without a second look, loped off like a cyberwolf with its tail between its legs. Sitting up, with his processor still reeling, Perceptor stared dumbly at the retreating Drift with his helm cocked to the side.

***

The reeling had long since passed, replaced now with a dull pain that kept Perceptor in a foul mood. Seated before a heating lamp at the makeshift camp. Drift had yet to returned, and with annoyance, Perceptor could scarcely imagine what Drift might bait out to chase him. Though Perceptor thought anything with decent olfactory sensors would've sniffed him out ages ago. Of course, thoughts of the beast brought back memories of what happened after Drift had dispatched it.

Perceptor had loved it at the time. Being pinned down by Drift, in the dirt that might as well have been mud from the thick, viscous blood flowing into it. Even dead, the beast was throwing off more than a little heat, that, or it was Drift. The lust and desire was bright in those blue optics that Perceptor thought should have been red. They were lip locked, though it was hardly a kiss. Drift was biting him, and strangely enough, Perceptor was biting Drift back. Once, Drift had told him that before his modifications, that he had possessed claws. Perceptor thought he would've been shredded if Drift still had them as the swordsmech's digits raked over his chest over and over. In retaliation, Perceptor's hands, now stronger than ever, had gripped forcefully upon Drift's should plating, even making minute dents in the reinforced plating.

Forcefully shaking his head, Perceptor tried to will away those thoughts. Wrapping his arms around his knees, the scientist rocked back and forth while staring at the dull orange glow of the heater. Pursing his lips, Perceptor refused to admit aloud how much he had enjoyed what Drift had done to him. It was also part of the reason why he was so frustrated. The way they had interfaced, in such a morbid situation, was hardly anything like Autobots should do, not that any of their unions had been all that pure either. . . .

"This is how Decepticons interface," Drift had whispered into his audio receptor. A moan tore from Perceptor's vocalizer as if to reply. At that moment, the scientist's legs were obscenely spread and pinned to the muddy mess beneath them. "You like it, don't you, Perceptor? Like being taken in the blood of the fallen and weak, hmmm?" Drift had continued in a huskier whisper as he sank his spike into Perceptor's valve.

In response, Perceptor had screamed out a pleasured, "Yes!" that must've carried for miles across the basalt plains. The bliss had been thick, heady and rich as that spike pushed into his valve that was slick and wet. As Drift ravished him, Perceptor's writhing actions had allowed the mixture of dirt and blood to seep into and thoroughly coat his under plating. Drift had hardly been gentle with his thrusts, not that Perceptor wanted things to be gentle. Having thrived off that forceful pace that Drift had taken, Perceptor, in response, had rolled his hips up and into each thrust, making each meeting that more sharp. Once, Perceptor had squeezed his hips about Drift's legs before actually forcing himself over and atop Drift so he could ride that thing spike that was pervading his valve over and over.

Surprisingly, Drift had not bucked him off immediately. Instead, the swordsmech's hands had grabbed at Perceptor's waist and hips, holding him while the scientist bounced upon his lap quite vivaciously. Lubricant had dripped down Drift's interface at Perceptor's quick and lustful actions and the scientist's optics had been on Drift's the entire time, watching the wanton expression on the mech's face as the swordsmech let Perceptor lead.

But just for a few moments.

Perceptor gave a sharp huff before he pressed his hands to his dermal plating, rubbing roughly as he tried to remove those images and sounds from his memory banks. Around him, the planet had gone from day to night and only the slightest red violet halo lit the horizon. Above, the stars were appearing, one by one. A nebula appeared soon, like faint glowing clouds. Of course, what was most noticeable in the sky was the ringed planet, that in astronomical senses, was only a scant distance away. Light from the planet's sun shone on the right most face of the empyrean planet, alighting it in a yellow glow that touched to its multitudes of rings, fifteen by Perceptor's count. The sensation of Drift's hands on his hips, the mech's thumbs rubbing slow circles, still could be felt on his plating. . .

The scene around him spun as Drift easily knocked him right off. In the next moment, Perceptor found himself with his back against the beast that had chased him only a short time ago. Heat lit his back and he found his shoulder nearly right up against one of Drift's swords. Speaking of Drift, the mech had descended almost immediately, quickly penetrating him again which caused Perceptor to cry out loudly before he would throw his helm back against the thick carapace covering the carcass's ribs. Drift was quick to resume his previous pace though Perceptor believed he had been going a little faster in all honesty.

The overload he had experienced had been blinding, to the point that Perceptor's voice had crackled until it had gone out, so that scientist's cries had become utterly silent.

Sensing something, Perceptor turned, half expecting a braying beast at his back, only to see a Drift that didn't seem at all himself. No, Perceptor had to say that Drift didn't seem like either of the two personas that he had met in his time with Drift. Frowning, Perceptor asked, "What, couldn't find anything to chase me around for a night of entertainment?"

Perceptor thought he seen Drift wince at that, but the mech shook his head before quietly padding to the opposite side of the heating lamp towards one of their packs. Rifling through it, Drift withdrew and energon ration before quickly wolfing it down. Looking Drift over, Perceptor realized the mech was even more of a grungy mess than before. Drift's normally pristine plating was covered in a blubbery, filmy sludge, giving the plating an almost grey cast versus white. Debris of other sorts lingered on Drift's frame as well, and Perceptor could only imagine that the tidbits of this and that were the eviscerated remains of whatever Drift had found.

"Where were you?" Perceptor asked as Drift took another ration and scarfed that one down just as fast.

Drift's answer was a shrug, which frustrated Perceptor further. "You could answer me," Perceptor contested.

Drift looked to Perceptor, his expression bland, but for the time, that predatory vehemence that the mech had displayed earlier seemed all but gone. "And say what? Use your imagination, Perceptor," Drift replied coolly before he started digging for a third energon ration.

Sighing, Perceptor turned his helm away before leaning back, his arms balanced over his knees.

In quick order, Drift had imbibed the third ration. What ever Drift had done, it must've been incredibly taxing. Perceptor couldn't even remember a time when he had needed a second ration. . . Even now, he had only been consuming one at a time, maybe twice a day. Watching Drift, Perceptor sat back. The swordsmech pulled out a cleaning cloth, probably one of the last that remained. Ripping it out of the package, Drift smeared it over his face, trying to pull the grime off his facial plates. Scrubbing it over his hands after his face, Drift seemed almost angry about the way he was cleaning himself off, but Perceptor was quiet.

Standing up, Drift padded towards Perceptor, which made for a very disconcerted Perceptor. Drift knelt before him, saying nothing, moving upon his hands and knees before bringing his face plates only a scant distance from Perceptor's. Perceptor reared back, but Drift persisted even when Perceptor was leaned back so far that he was close to tipping over. It made for an awkward image, as Drift was between Perceptor's legs, but nothing was happening. No, Drift was just staring at him.

Frowning, Perceptor murmured, "What?"

Looking into those azure panes, Perceptor swore he could see some of the wildness that lurked beneath, with the calm atop things for the moment. Drift tossed his head to the side, before drawing away and taking a seat right next to Perceptor. Resisting the urge to scoot away, Perceptor looked at Drift with a raised optic ridge. The swordsmech was acting odd. Very odd in fact, and it perturbed Perceptor a great deal. Perhaps it agitated him even greater than the amount that it did when Drift was acting like a crazy animal.

"Where were you created?" came Drift's voice. All of the anger had dissipated, and the mech had a strange neutrality about his voice.

Frowning, Perceptor looked at Drift as if the mech was glitching. "Why do you want to know that?"

Drift shook his head. "Just tell me," the mech encouraged.

Pursing his lips, Perceptor answered, "Praxus."

"And your creators? How were they? Were you treated well?" Drift asked, not looking at Perceptor, but rather somewhere towards the horizon.

"Did you knock your helm on something?" Perceptor queried.

"No."

Giving a sigh, Perceptor leaned back as he looked at Drift. "I had a sufficient enough younglinghood," Perceptor responded.

"Would you really describe it so simply?" Drift questioned as his optics flicked to the side towards Perceptor.

"I didn't figured you would care for any sort of elaboration," Perceptor riposted.

Frowning, Drift verbalized, "Detail would be nice. . ."

Flicking his optics towards the now star studded sky, Perceptor started, "I came from a middle class family. My creators were neither rich, nor poor. Things were. . . Comfortable. My carrier was a medic, and my sire worked as the head librarian in the Praxian archives." Looking back towards Drift, Perceptor was surprised to see Drift was watching him and was most definitely listening.

Perceptor didn't know if that made him feel more at ease or less.

"I always felt protected, but that was before the war. I never thought anything was that bad. . . " Perceptor reminisced, feeling as if Drift was urging him to continue. "I always enjoyed my schooling and my creators always encouraged me. I admit, I studied and studied when I should've least tried to be semblance of a social mech. I was bullied a little, so that didn't help. . ." Perceptor listed off.

"Why didn't do anything about that? The bullying, I mean," Drift interjected.

"What was there to do about it?" Perceptor snipped back.

Shrugging, Drift explained, "You could've fought back? That's what I would've done."

"Not everyone is you Drift. I didn't believe in violence then, or for a long time," Perceptor responded as he lifted his helm up in response.

There was a light twitch in Drift's features, but no anger ever came. "Why did you join the Autobots. . .?" Drift asked.

To Perceptor, it was an obvious question, but he responded anyways, "There really wasn't any other choice in the matter. The Autobots was all that was there for me when war broke out, after the destruction of Praxus. Both of my creatures were. . .killed. . . Maybe it fueled me, but I wanted to do something good?"

A slight nod came from Drift, but his response seemed entirely contradictory, "Who knows what 'good,' is in a war. . ."

"How can you even consider that?!" Perceptor retorted. "The Decepticons haven't done a thing good! All they want to do is enslave and murder everyone!" Perceptor screeched.

Perceptor's response caused Drift to lift his head, and Perceptor was sure that his words had prompted rage from Drift. Yet the anger in the swordsmech's features disappeared near instantly rather like it had never been there. Instead calm replaced it, but it was an icy sort of cold that cut Perceptor deep to his spark as Drift transfixed him with his optics. "You said yourself, you lived in Praxus, a city where you never knew the sensation of an empty tank, or a hard, dirty street as your berth. For all your science, all your learnings, you haven't a clue what you're really fighting for, do you?"

Stunned into silence, Perceptor stared dumbly at Drift. There were no words he could summon to respond to that. For a moment, Drift had turned his help away, a far away expression on his features as his optics lingered on the stars above. Then Drift scooted back, even closer to Perceptor now than he had before.

"Tell me more about your life when you were young. . ." Drift insisted.

***

"--- loved being at the science academy. . ." Perceptor trailed off, looking down at the sight beside and bellow his chest plates.

Several hours had passed, and Perceptor wasn't quite sure how Drift had coaxed him into speaking about his early life so much, but now Perceptor sat, still murmuring little words of this and that regarding his past. Drift was no longer sitting. Instead, he was laid out on his side, next to Perceptor, with his helm leaned upon one of the scientist's pale legs. Perceptor had chosen to settle his hand upon the side of Drift's helm, yet his digits trembled. The beast had been tamed. For the moment.

Swallowing, Perceptor looked down, noting Drift's optics were a flat gray, and the only sound from the swordmech being that of a soft whir.

***

Never had Perceptor been so grateful to see a transport shuttle, and he was beyond grateful to be on the Xantium. Several Wreckers had already made more than a few comments about his and Drift's smell, snickering and complaining about it back and forth. Feeling frustrated, Perceptor quickly strode the familiar corridors, hoping he would be unmolested by Drift or otherwise. To his great disdain, Drift was still following him, but being quiet at very least.

Throwing a glare behind him, Perceptor hurried all the quicker, lest Drift decide for antics in the wash racks. Yet it was not to be, as a teal green mech, shorter than he, but stockier, stepped into the hall.

"Ah, Perceptor, jus' the mech I was looking for," Kup murmured without hardly moving his lips, giving the mech's speech a slurred sound.

"Yes?. . .Sir?" Perceptor asked, his tone coming off colder than he expected, and nearly forgetting the honorific.

For a moment, Kup's features knitted together, while he tilted his helm to the side. "I was expecting a report on how things went. Ya find anything down there?"

Well. Perceptor hadn't thought up an excuse, but he didn't really have the nerves to deal with anymore. All he wanted was one slagging wash in the racks! Pursing his lips, Perceptor mulled his thoughts over, not wanting to snap. "Sir, I'd be more than happy to deliver a report if I could just get a wash first," Perceptor said a little cooly.

Percept never had spoken against Kup or any officer with even the slightest amount of disagreement. Kup's optics flared and the elder mech looked as if he might choke at Perceptor's words. Frowning, he responded, "Of course."

"Thank you," was Perceptor's reply as he slipped by quickly, ignoring the odd look he was surely receiving from Kup.

***

"Don't mind him, he's just upset," Drift murmured smoothly, a smile touching his lips as he looked to Kup.

"Ain't never seen 'im quite like that," Kup commented before crossing his arms, still watching Perceptor as he strode down the hall.

"Well, you see, the second day we got there, we were. . . hum. . . greeted," Drift began with a sheepish, but kindly smile, "By some of the local fauna. Trashed everything. Not just the comms but all of Perceptor's research material."

"Is that so?" Kup asked as he finally looked to Drift.

"Yes, I'm afraid it is so. We were quite bored out of our CPUs, and I can't blame Perceptor of feeling a little shorted. . ."

"That's too bad, I was hoping he'd find something of a use. . ." Kup commented. "Ah, oh well. Slag happens," the elder mech added.

"I suppose it does, sir," Drift murmured, his expression calm and gentle.

"Well, you smell as bad as 'e does, ya better hit the racks too, lest you dirty my Xantium," Kup spoke, as he turned to slip back into his office.

"Yes, thank you, sir," Drift murmured before bending his helm down in a low bow.

Wash up, yes, Drift thought, but he would wait. There was the thought that he should assail Perceptor in the washracks, but that might push Perceptor too far. After all, there was always later, and Perceptor wasn't going to get all that fetid odor off of him in one wash. . .