Darkness and Lightning 03: Testing Trust
A decaorn had passed since Wing had brought Drift back to the underground city of the Knights of Shadow. He was still pulling double chores as punishment on top of the brutal penance he'd already undergone, and had insisted on bringing Drift with him. To keep an eye on his pet, as well as to help with the chores. The dark jet didn't trust quite a few of the other Knights to keep their distances from Drift.
Wing had noticed very early on that Drift was devoted to him, almost obsessed. Not that Wing was complaining. That devotion would make it easier to train Drift as his loyal pet. It had also become clear that Drift trusted Wing. Though how far that trust went, the dark jet wasn't sure. It was something he would have to test.
The dark-armored jet was draped over a chair in his quarters, watching the white mech. They'd finally finished up for the day and returned to their shared quarters for some energon. Wing was thinking hard, working out a way to test just how far Drift trusted him.
True to form and the routine they had developed, Drift was working on short sword katas in the middle of the room. The white mech was obsessive, to say the least. As far as Wing had worked out, he had exactly four potential thought processes, and only one at a time.
Drift was either after energon, overload, recharge or violence/training.
Not necessarily in that order.
The white grounder was a delight to watch. Wing thoroughly enjoyed settling back to watch his pet move. Once he was fully trained, he would be exceptional, magnificent. Both as a Knight and as the dark jet's pet.
Pulling a bit of cord from subspace, Wing toyed with it absently as he watched, his golden gaze following the movements of white spaulders and hip sheaths and aft. Eventually he did take notice of what he was doing, his optics dropping to the short length of green cord weaving between his fingers.
A slight smile appeared on his face as an idea occurred to him.
The dark jet shifted his position, still fingering the piece of cord, following that line of thought to its end. He needed to find out just how far Drift's trust in him would go.
Binding the white mech would leave Drift unable to respond or move away, would leave him vulnerable. Then Wing could see how far he could push things. But he wouldn't use green cord on Drift. No, he would use a different color. White.
He waited until Drift relaxed, apparently satisfied with his performance of the new kata he'd been shown that morning.
"Very well done," the dark jet purred, stirring in his chair. He put aside the scrap of green cord, pushing himself to his pedes and wandering over to a small cabinet to retrieve a fresh spool of white cord. Spool in hand, Wing turned to face the white mech, tilting his helm ever so slightly to one side.
The flicker of emotions across Drift's features was complex, and predominantly negative. Still, the white mech sheathed his short swords and offered his wrists, palms together, for the simplest and least painful of the meditative bindings.
Dark audial flares spread out a bit more, Wing tilting his helm a little farther. Stepping forward, he expertly wove the binding between his pet's wrists, tugging Drift down to kneel on the floor.
"Do you trust me?" Wing breathed in Drift's audial, cautiously, not wanting this to backfire.
"Yes," came the answer, low but honest, from a forcefully steady voice. Drift's field was pulled tight, his optics already off.
He hated these sessions.
It didn't matter how much good came of them, he hated it. Only slightly less than he hated watching the white Wing go through the much more painful version the jet preferred.
Wing leaned in to rub his cheek against Drift's, letting out a soft chirr. Unwinding more of the white cord, the dark jet set about creating a more elaborate binding around Drift's arms, over his shoulders and down his chassis, to his legs, holding the white mech in place. One loop loosely ringed Drift's neck like a collar, which Wing decided looked quite fetching. Perhaps one day Drift would wear a real collar, openly showing the world just who he belonged to.
The whole time, Wing maintained a steady purr, stroking the white armor, every now and then leaning in for a nuzzle.
Drift's ventilations picked up, his field reaching out and retracting randomly, confused and aroused. This was nothing like what he was expecting. Nothing like he'd ever thought about.
Part of his processor tried to make connections with his time as a Decepticon. Things he'd seen. Thing's he'd done. Things done to him.
He rejected all those violently.
Wing was nothing like that.
Laying the spool aside, Wing purred happily as he regarded his bound pet. His golden optics sparkled brightly. After a moment to just admire Drift, he reached out to touch, fingers flirting with the bindings, feathering over white armor.
The intensity of the emotions contained in that frame was intoxicating. The mixture of carefully contained fear driving a desire to break free and the arousal at Wing's touch ... it was incredible.
Wing's purr deepened, increased in intensity. Bright gold optics meandered over the taut white frame, all the possibilities flitting through his processor. Dark fingertips flitted over the energon lines and cables of Drift's neck, a tiny, sharp dagger appearing from somewhere concealed under black plating.
Drift was just beginning to settle. His ventilations were deep and regular, but not quite steady. Being bound did not go over well, no matter how much he trusted Wing.
The dark jet leaned against him, nuzzling an audial finial as his hand came up, the sharp blade making a tiny nick in an energon line. Drift tensed sharply with an in-vent, every system in him picking into combat readiness in that instant.
Wing lowered his helm, lapping at the cut, tasting the energon oozing out. His free hand curled around a white spaulder, stroking gently until his pet began to settle.
The jet chirred softly in Drift's audial, licking up the edge from where it broke away from the curve of Drift's helm to the tip. Wing nipped sharply at the very tip, then sucked lightly on it to ease the sting. His hands wandered down, seeking another energon line, this time in Drift's shoulder, and making another tiny cut.
A low whine escaped Drift this time. Not so much objecting to the pain, it was nothing to him, but to the fact it was being inflicted by Wing. He didn't understand this.
Wing licked delicately at the cut, shifting his position, curling around the white frame. Golden optics looked into offlined ones as Wing leaned in to nip lightly at Drift's lower lip, his fingers wiggling into a seam to tug at and pet the circuitry underneath.
That drew a soft moan, Drift's systems responding so very quickly to any offer of pleasure Wing gave. Drift's field was still in turmoil. A mixture of building arousal and very noticeable distress coming from a dozen factors.
Yet Drift kissed back, fiercely.
The kiss was flavored with Drift's own energon on Wing's glossa. The dark jet trilled, rubbing his dark armor against bound white, his field promising that once the bindings came off, Drift would be allowed to play with Wing. His fingers flirted with the twined white loops circling Drift's throat, stroking over the cables and power lines.
So much tension there. So many memories. When he could catch the tightly pulled field, Drift's inner turmoil was laid out to him in emotions and reactions even if he did not know designations or events.
Drift was far past uncomfortable. He was on the very edge of losing control of his reactions completely.
"Drift," Wing purred. "Don't zone out on me." The sharp little dagger vanished back to wherever the dark jet stored it. Agile hands ran down Drift's frame, Wing tilting his helm so he could look Drift in the optics despite the fact they were still off. "It's me, Drift."
"I know," Drift's voice was rough, full of pain from a time long gone. The kind of pain Wing understood all too well. Fear and helplessness fuelled rage, youthful and undisciplined despite all Drift had survived. He wasn't ready to face that yet. He'd picked at it here and there, gotten little corners of the pain under control, but he was nowhere near ready to face the full truth of that time, the truth that was Turmoil.
Wing made a soft sound, dipping his helm to nip and nuzzle at Drift's shoulder. Dark hands stroked over white plating, dipping into seams to stroke the underlying wires.
"I won't let anything happen to you," Wing purred.
"I know," Drift murmured, holding back a soft moan of pleasure. It didn't stop his chassis from pressing into the touch or his field from reaching out to embrace his love.
Wing continued to stroke, his hands sliding under white plating, fingertips skimming lightly over every wire and circuit he could reach. Light tugs or tweaks were immediately followed by strokes and caresses to distract Drift from the stings.
The dark jet's own energy field pulsed against his pet's, expressing the flier's arousal. The sight of Drift kneeling on the floor, bound and unable to touch back, was driving him wild.
Answering arousal pulsed back, along with something else. Permission. Permission to do anything he pleased. Drift would take it, good or bad, because Wing needed.
Golden optics lit up, Wing leaning forward to capture Drift's lips again. His wings were fluttering against his back. Dark fingers hooked into Drift's hip joints, sliding under the scabbards to touch the connection points, slide into the joint mechanisms. It drew a deep, resonant moan from the bound mech and a flash of pleasure-yes across their mingled fields.
Drift pressed into the touch, pushing his hips forward as much as he could.
Wing chirred, sliding his hands deeper into the joints, fingertips feathering over the mechanisms. Bright golden optics drank in Drift's reactions, the white mech's arousal feeding the dark jet's. It felt good. His pet was responding so perfectly. Bound, a cord around his neck, on his knees, optics off and radiating pleasure-desire that was only for Wing.
It was wonderful. It boded so well for the future.
Drift's charge ripple outward as it grew, reaching for Wing to entice him to do more.
Wing slid around behind Drift, nipping and licking at the back of his neck, nuzzling against his helm. Strong, agile hands explored down the white mech's back plating, finding the transformations seams and sneaking inside. The dark jet pressed his nacelles to his pet's long spaulders, revving his engines.
The pleasure and desire radiating outward from Drift's field was intoxicating, Wing's wings fluttering behind him, trying to dissipate the charge building over them. The jet's spike was pressing urgently against its cover, demanding release.
The white grounder's helm fell forward, offering the back of his neck fully as he moaned in mounting need. Armor expanded outward, expelling heat in a vain effort to bring his temperature down.
Wing's denta closed on the back of Drift's neck, the dark jet's purr roughening slightly. The crest of his helm rubbed against a spaulder as he nibbled at the cables, delivering a firm nip to one.
The jet shifted his hips slightly, one hand wandering down Drift's back to slide between the white grounder's legs, one fingertip stroking the rim of Drift's valve cover suggestively. It slid open without hesitation, Drift pressing back into the bite, Wing's chassis and the touch to his valve.
Drift's field roared with want, nothing of the dark emotions and memories he normally associated with his valve coming through. He trusted Wing too much. Wing only brought him pleasure, even there.
The bindings had been arranged over Drift's legs so as to give him some movement, allowing Wing to sidle closer as he finally released his spike. Two fingers slid inside, testing for slickness and found Drift beyond ready. A dark thumb stroked feather-light over the platelets, teasing, as lubricant dribbled out of the valve and Drift moaned, trembling at the contact and the pleasure it brought.
Wing murmured something unintelligible against the back of Drift's neck, nipping and licking at the cables, his free arm wrapping around Drift to stroke over his chest and abdomen, down to his hips. Drift's spike cover snapped open, releasing his spike to pressurize almost immediately before Wing's hand even reached that far down.
"More," Drift moaned, trembling and rocking into the touch, his field, his entire being begging for more.
"And mecha call me insatiable," Wing chuckled in Drift's audial, rubbing his ornate audial flare against Drift's helm. His free hand slid all the way down, fingertips stroking lightly up the length of Drift's spike before his hand curled around it.
"They don't know me," Drift shivered and moaned. "Didn't know us."
Withdrawing his fingers from Drift's valve, Wing brought that hand up to brush lubricant-coated fingertips against his pet's lower lip and purred when they were taken in without hesitation. A small spike of memory-distress surfaced, just as quickly suppressed, flickered from Drift as he began to suck and lick the fingers clean.
Shifting his hips, Wing slid into the slick, tight valve. A shiver ran through the dark jet's frame as the slick heat enveloped his spike. He moaned softly against Drift's neck as that valve rippled around him and Drift's hips pressed back, seeking more.
Drift's dark lover chuckled again at that, humming as he tilted his helm to kiss the side of Drift's neck. Golden optics glinted as he watched Drift work his fingers, beginning to thrust slowly into the white grounder's valve. His other hand flexed around his pet's spike, kneading the metal, before beginning to stroke along the length.
Drift's entire chassis vibrated in the pleasure from his lower frame while his glossa licked and he sucked on the fingers coated with his lubricant. From anyone else, this would be completely degrading, worthy of fighting until he couldn't move to avoid.
From Wing ... it was all pleasure, even the fingers in his mouth.
Wing's hips and the hand on Drift's spike increased their pace, his hand pumping in time to the rhythm of the dark jet's hips. Wing's wings were fully extended, wiggling back and forth, his nacelle pinions fully flared out. Powerful jet engines roared against his pet's white spaulders.
Drift moaned deeply around the fingers in his mouth, his hips, valve ... his entire frame ... responding and rocking into the amalgam of intense pleasure that was sending heavy bolts of electricity crashing through his systems. He moaned and pressed back harder, not even trying to hold back his overload.
It felt so good he even forgot about his bindings.
Little zaps began to dance across Drift's frame and jump to Wing's, heralding the overload that was close to its peak.
Wing increased his pace, settling into a hard, fast rhythm. Tilting his helm, he closed his dentas on one of the cables in the side of his pet's neck, growling ever so softly. His engines were revved as high as they could get without lifting off, vibrating against Drift's spaulders.
The dark jet's entire frame shuddered as charge began leaping onto him, driving his already-high charge even higher.
It was all Drift could take. He roared. His valve clamped down hard as every cable in his frame tightened. A heavy charge hit Wing's hand from Drift's spike as silvery transfluid exploded from the tip.
Wing keened into Drift's shoulder, his hips jerking as he pumped his transfluid into his white-armored pet's valve. Charge danced over his frame, arcing between the points of his audial flares, sizzling along the sensitive lengths of his wings.
Slumping against Drift's back, Wing vented heavily, his body refusing to move for a long moment. It was only the angle of their frames pressing their weight against each other that kept them upright, as Drift was in no better shape to control his frame. It took him a few kliks to be able to withdraw, his sharp dagger reappearing to cut the cords binding Drift. The dark-armored jet settled back, lifting his hand to lick Drift's transfluid from his fingers.
Slowly, Drift seemed to focus fully on reality, coming out of the odd half-trance that the cords always put him in. His helm turned to watch his black lover, arousal gleaming in ice blue optics.
With a slow turn he faced Wing and leaned forward to kiss him, still hungry and his spike hard.
"That was a most unusual binding," Drift purred, still fractionally disoriented by the experience.
Wing tilted his helm, watching the white mech with clear playfulness. "But so enjoyable," he purred back, wiggling his wings at Drift. The tip of one wing nudged the spool of cord, knocking it over. Unwinding as it went, the spool rolled over to bump against Drift's leg.
Ice blue optics followed the movement, but he couldn't bring himself to associate binding Wing with anything pleasant. At least not with cord.
Other things, though...
Drift hummed and picked up the spool, winding it carefully as he stood, steady on his pedes, and turned to the cabinet to put it in place. Instead of choosing another color, he turned to the berth and pulled a rather large chest out from under it.
Dark wings, pinions, and audial fins flared with interest, Wing pushing himself up on one elbow. He wasn't the least bit surprised that Drift had found his stash of toys. It was a small space, they weren't hidden or locked, and Drift had had a lot of time to kill early on. Optics bright, he watched Drift rifle through the well-organized collection. He came up with a set of straps designed to bind the arms wrist-to-elbow, a small but deliciously vibrating valve egg that the calipers could move up and down if he paid attention to it and a blinder designed much like a visor.
A throaty purr escaped the black jet, his optics brightening as he took in the items Drift had selected. A delicious shiver ran through his frame. This was going to be interesting.
"Come up here," Drift looked at him with open hunger as he patted the berth. "Unless you want to pass out on the floor."
Wing's response was a low laugh as he peeled himself off the floor, sauntering over to the berth and flowing onto it like a dark liquid. "Wouldn't be the first time I've passed out on the floor..." He wiggled his wings at his pet, leaning over to steal a kiss.
"I'm sure," Drift chuckled as the kiss ended. "Arms," he said simply, holding up the bindings.
The dark jet sidled closer, folding his arms behind his back so each hand cupped the opposing elbow. As restricting as it was, it was one of the more comfortable ways to be bound. The red stabilizer blades on his forearms practically glowed against his black plating as Wing watched Drift expertly secure him, optics bright.
The pleasure-anticipation-adoration pouring off Drift was delightful, stroking Wing's arousal as Drift climbed onto the berth. Black hands stroked glossy black plating as white lips kissed their way along Wing's neck.
"I'm going to work you until you can't move," Drift promised, his voice deep and husky.
Wing purred at the kisses, watching Drift with anticipation. "I can't wait," he crooned in response, wriggling against Drift, pressing his dark armor against shining white. He didn't resist being pushed down, resting on his chest with his aft still in the air. Strong black hands ran along the angles and planes of his hips and aft; exploring, teasing, enjoying being in control.
Wing squirmed on the berth, his hips performing an intricate little wiggle. He was watching Drift over his shoulder, giving his white pet a playful "come hither" look. Slender wings eased out from under bound arms, fluttering teasingly. As Wing expected, their movement was enough to draw Drift's hands forward to them. Strong, knowing fingers worked the slender lengths, stroking and squeezing.
"Mine," Drift rumbled, pressing his spike into Wing's slick valve with the ease of long familiarity.
Wing moaned softly, his wings pressing into Drift's hands. His whole body shivered as Drift's spike entered his valve, the dark jet pressing back to take as much of it in as possible. That hard pace his pet set was glorious, rubbing him in all the right ways. Yet the adoration, the possessive desire to please in Drift's field was the best part of this. It should take centuries to break a pet in like this, and that would leave the pet broken, no longer with the intense fire Drift still had in abundance.
Wing had never thought he'd ever find a pet like this. He was never going to let Drift go. Shifting his hips, he rocked into each thrust, curving his back. His charge was building fast, something he could feel was Drift's intent. It felt so good. The pounding slide of spike. The strong, sure kneading of hands. The constant pulse of pleasure-desire-adoration-devotion in the field integrated so easily with his own.
The air shimmered over Wing's vents, his cooling fans whirring. The dark-armored body writhed against Drift, Wing moaning softly at each thrust. It felt incredibly good.
It didn't take long for the charge to reach critical mass. Wing's back arched as the overload crashed over him, throwing back his head to keen out his release. His valve tightened on Drift's spike, charge lashing over his plating, leaping off onto Drift's white armor.
Despite the intense pleasure, Drift continued to thrust, his charge still building as Wing's crested, then slowly ebbed, only to be pushed up again by Drift's driving pace.
The dark jet under him was venting heavily, armor practically standing on end to release the heat building underneath. He rocked back into each thrust, writhing against the berth. Slender wings trembled, trying to furl and then flaring back out under Drift's hands, static zaps of building charge prickling the white grounder's palms.
"Told you I'd frag you into oblivion," Drift purred, though his voice was strained with holding back his overload. "What can you take? Five? Six? Nine?"
A garbled sound escaped Wing's vocalizer as he tried and failed to reply. Dark wings trembled from base to tip, then deliberately folded and flared back out five times in a non-verbal reply. Golden optics glinted over a dark shoulder as Wing craned his neck to look back at his wonderful pet.
"I can push you that far, and more," Drift promised, his voice roughening in raw lust and the intense pleasure he gained from this game. "I'm going to ruin you for all others."
This time the response had an element of a laugh in it. Wing was already spoiled, much to the vague disappointment of some of his previous partners. He wriggled against Drift, shifting his hips to rub against white plating, his golden gaze now teasing, daring Drift to prove it.
The almost savage grin his pet replied with and the slight change in the pounding roll of white hips spoke of a challenge not only accepted, but relished. Oh yes, this was a challenge Drift loved, and had yet to loose.
That was a most beautiful expression on the white mech's face, Wing decided, a hot flare of arousal answering that grin. This he was going to enjoy. Shifting, Wing managed to sneak one leg close enough to just brush the tip of his toe plate against Drift's leg, his slender wings fluttering under strong black hands.
It all added up to a quickly building charge for the black jet, something driven even higher by the charge jumping from Drift this time. Wing let out a high-pitched whine, his optics flaring as he pressed back into Drift. He wasn't going to last much longer, the charge already building to nearly unbearable levels.
Black fingers dug into his wing joints, tweaking and rubbing just short of pain. The pleasure in the field mingled with Wing's was edged with smug joy.
The dark jet's voice was nearly a shriek as he overloaded a second time, bucking against Drift. Golden optics flared a nearly blinding golden-white as he arched back, voice breaking into static as Drift roared and flooded his valve with hot transfluid.
Once his body relaxed again, Wing sank back down onto the berth, steam curling lazily from his vents, purring. He looked back over his shoulder at Drift, fluttering his wings ever so slightly.
The white mech looked rather smug as he pulled out and rolled Wing over with some care for those wings. Wing pulled in one wing so he could roll over without damaging it, settling onto his bound arms. Strong black hands rubbed Wing's chest armor as Drift leaned forward to claim a heated kiss.
He returned the kiss with equal heat, lifting one leg to rub his footplate against Drift's leg. Hot air from Wing's vents puffed against white armor. He hadn't recovered yet when Drift pulled back and gazed down at him, calculating.
Those black hands rubbed along the center seam of Wing's chest.
"Open."
The dark jet tilted his helm, looking at Drift for a long moment before unlocking his chest armor and folding the panels out of the way. His spark was darker than his white counterpart's, more orange than gold, its light catching on his red flashing.
The flare of joy above him was unmistakable as a single black hand came up and reached in to very lightly caress the crystalline chamber.
Wing let out a soft gasp as his spark chamber was stroked, pressing his chest into Drift's hand. The dark jet squirmed, wriggling closer to the white mech.
"You've seen mine," the jet purred, looking up out of half-lidded optics. "Aren't you going to show me yours?"
"Yes," Drift promised, his fingers moving rhythmically, exploring by touch. "Once I'm drawn an overload from yours."
Wing moaned again, leaning into Drift's touch. His orange spark flared inside its chamber. Threads of orange energy wisped out, curling over the inside of the casing, following the paths of Drift's fingers.
It drew a matching moan from Drift as the life-energy from his love danced along his fingers, earning a surge from his own spark, desperate for the purity of contact that a spark merge was. It didn't matter that he found it utterly terrifying a prospect to bare his spark and himself like that, his very spark wanted it and it would have it.
"Who's touched your spark before?" Drift demanded, his voice rough with the pleasure, lust and want rushing through him.
One side of the dark jet's mouth quirked into a half-smile. "My spark has never been touched."
Above him Drift shuddered, the intensity of the joy and protective devotion surging to entirely new levels. He lowered his helm to kiss the spark chamber, beyond awed that this was happening.
Wing let out a soft cry, his spark flaring. More threads reached out, feeling their way across their crystalline prison, following Drift's fingers and touch. A sensation almost like a static shock darted from the crystalline casing into Drift.
The white mech moaned, nearly a whine. His spark was spinning in its casing, lunging in an effort to escape and make contact with the brighter spark that resonated so strongly with it. Even if Drift didn't understand a thing of why he was so drawn to Wing, his spark did. It knew what it wanted and it would not be denied for long.
Orange light flared. Wing had been doing his best to keep his spark chamber closed, but his spark had other ideas. A thread of orange energy found an opening as the chamber slowly began to iris open, reaching out to stroke over Drift's face. Wing's optics flared at the contact, the dark jet arching up toward his white pet.
Drift shuddered and groaned, his entire frame gasping at the contact. It was the end of his ability to hold back. Without even thinking he shifted upward to claim Wing's mouth. One hand snaked under the black jet to unlock the bindings as white chest plates opened, offering this Wing a first glimpse of the deep red spark that was Drift.
Wing squirmed, his arms coming up to wrap around Drift's body, fingers hooking into his back armor and pulling him closer. The dark jet returned the kiss fiercely, his glossa dueling briefly with Drift's before submitting.
Glancing down as the kiss ended, Wing's optics widened slightly as he beheld the orb of deep red light in the white mech's chest. Freeing one hand, he reached in to lightly stroke its casing, admiring the red glow as Drift shuddered and moaned, his optics turning off and shuttering to focus on the contact.
"Beautiful," Wing purred. The surge of surprise-pleasure took him off guard, as did the intensity of the connection he felt to Drift with only a single strand of deep red dancing along his finger as Drift's spark reached for his.
Orange light flared as Wing's spark responded, stretching out in response. Hair-thin threads of orange light stretched out, grasping for the red spark, the dark jet's own spark looking like it was trying to crawl out of its casing to reach Drift's.
A purr vibrated through the dark jet's entire frame as his other arm tightened across Drift's back, pulling the white grounder closer. It was a move that met with no resistance as Drift's spark overrode any processor reluctance.
The first touch of strand entwining with strand sent a surge through both mechs, drawing cries of surprise and pleasure. Even that single thread gave them a much more intimate and unfiltered insight into the other's emotional state than any field to field contact.
Wing's mouth opened in a silent cry, his optics flickering in surprise, reflexively pulling Drift as close as he could get. More orange threads reached out, seeking to connect to that deep red spark at the same time red sought orange, seeking to bring both of them together. It was unlike anything the dark jet had ever experienced before. He was well accustomed to physical pleasure, but never in his wildest imaginings had he ever expected touching sparks to be this intense.
With a dozen strands connected both sparks had enough pull on the other to draw themselves out of their chambers and fully entangle their inner coronas. Red and orange bled and blended into a deep orange-red glow between them. Without hesitation, without even thinking, Drift's awareness dove into Wing's, seeking to know this mech that owned him so completely before they'd even touched.
There were clear differences between the white Wing and this dark-armored creature. This Wing had the same core of playfulness, but the personality was darker due to his different upbringing and surroundings. In some ways he was a darker reflection of the mech Drift had known so long ago.
Wing let out a high keen, exploring Drift's spark in turn, probing delicately at the sore spots he could sense, wanting to know more. Memories unfolded for him unresisting, laying bare anything he could ever want to know of his pet. Being sparked a full framed factory worker. Being thrown out in the street not three orns later to fend for himself. All Drift had done, from stealing to selling himself to murdering others in their recharge for the energon in their lines, just to meet the marginal needs he had at the time.
The orn he met Gasket, how hard that utterly alien mech had to work to get past Drift's already well-developed distrust of others. The ache that tiny bit of unconditional kindness had made in Drift, the loyalty it created and the desire to please.
The moment he saw Gasket killed by security mecha and the blurry insanity that gripped him. The moment when clarity reclaimed his rage-shrouded processors and he realized what he'd done, but also how easily he'd taken out half a dozen trained security mecha.
Drinking himself into oblivion only come around in a clinic with a furious medic ranting at him. The anger at still functioning because another had taken the choice from him.
His first battle in the underground areas. How good it felt.
Meeting Megatron, Soundwave and Starscream. Being given a new designation by the Decepticon Lord himself.
Centuries of training, battle, slaughter of the enemy, murder of his comrades, the abuses of mecha stronger than him and those he committed against those who were weaker. The final betrayal of Turmoil and Drift's shock that it was different that time. Bolting, escaping, crashing and the brief, intense, universe changing seven vorns he had with the white Wing.
Over forty eight thousand vorns wandering as an Autobot, changed by the Great Sword that wasn't truly his and his need to make Wing proud. Held to a code that wasn't truly his and a path his very spark resented.
The way his spark sang when the spark now merging with him came near. The relief that he was no longer alone.
Golden optics widened, flaring nearly white, staring unseeing at the ceiling as Wing made his way through that torrent of memories. He knew his were just as open to Drift, laying bare his whole life.
Memories of being sparked to the leaders of the Circle, all the abuse he'd suffered at the hands of his creators when Dai Atlas' temper flared, even before he had become one of the Knights of Shadow. How he'd go to the surface to get away from them, however temporarily, and the pain that would await him when he returned. His training and life as a Knight of Shadow, a darker and looser code than the Knights of Light that Drift had known so many centuries ago.
What had drawn him to the white grounder even before his ship had crashed. The agony he had undergone at his creator's hands as punishment for bringing Drift to their hidden city. And his intentions for the white mech who intrigued him so much, to whom he was drawn like a small organic invertebrate to a naked flame.
There was a moment where Drift's processors stalled, the flow of information narrowed to a trickle. Shock, anger ... acceptance.
Then Wing witnessed the extraordinary. The two very separate entities that Drift and Deadlock had become facing off inside the white grounder as something clicked in a place beyond words. Spark and processor twisted, mutated, merged and melded. Lessons, duty, honor, need, approval, comprehension of his new home all mingled until Wing felt himself in a merge with a very different being from the one who had initiated that merge.
Drift ... still very much Drift ... but so much of Deadlock tumbling into the training as the honor and code that had no places here, among the Knights of Shadow, were ruthlessly stripped away.
Golden optics flared again, this time echoing the shock and astonishment that flowed through Wing's spark, the merge halting briefly. Then the dark jet's awareness eased forward again, determined to explore this new creature the white mech had become. What he could sense was definitely interesting.
Wing worked his way deeper, his spark merging nearly completely with Drift's, but holding back just that tiny bit.
The deep red spark against his had other ideas. Drift, even the openly vicious parts that were from Deadlock, wanted. It was Wing's first taste of just how strong a will he was dealing with. Yes, Drift caved to him easily, but beyond that need to have Wing's approval and affection, his pet was a survivor of a world no less brutal and savage than anything Wing knew.
~All of you,~ Drift shivered, pushing the merge deeper. ~Want all of you.~
The shiver that ran through Wing's frame was echoed by his spark as that want swept through him. His own spark promptly gave up all appearances of resisting, merging all the way to the core with the deep red spark, gleefully entwining the dark jet's very essence with Drift's.
Wing's keen, barely heard through the haze of ecstasy, reached an interestingly high pitch, one reserved on some planets for summoning domestically-bred mammalian species.
~YES~ came a with roar from Drift, his deep red spark pulsing with joy as it plunged all the way into the orange one that felt more like home to it than the frame that supported it.
~MINE~ was the response from Wing. A memory flickered through their joined spark, of another Knight sidling up on Drift only to be warned off by a blur of red-trimmed black. Wing's spark radiated possessiveness as it wrapped around Drift's, merging the two as completely as they could.
It was a possessiveness that was returned in full, mingled with joy and relief as the final separation between them dissolved.
A moment more and that line could never completely reform.
Bonded.
The part that came from Drift mourned that it had never known this with the white-plated Wing, even as it was relieved that he had not joined so fully with a mech that could never completely understand him.
The dark-armored body writhed against Drift's as feelings and memories surged between them, only his chest, locked against Drift's, unmoving. Energy was building rapidly, pushing them closer and closer to Wing's first spark overload.
Wing's thoughts wrapped around Drift's, purring happily. If Drift had bonded to the white Wing, then he would never have met this dark-armored mech, never have found someone who understood him so well or found a place where he truly fit in.
Wing wasn't sure he'd ever overloaded that intensely before. He clung to Drift tightly, his vocalizer finally shorting out, optics flaring a blinding white before shutting off.
Then there was nothing as the pleasure overwhelmed them both. Keen and roar erupted from them, echoing in the room and well beyond in an audible display of mutual ownership.
Drift roused first. Completely strutless and sprawled on top of a completely off line black Wing. It was still a full klik and some before his processors caught up with what had happened. With what he'd done.
He couldn't help but smile down at the features softened by a very pleasant recharge. No regrets. His spark pulsed happily in his chest, echoing the state of his bonded now as well as himself.
It felt good on a level he could barely comprehend.
It took a few breems for Wing to begin to stir. Black-plated limbs twitched against Drift's, and sluggish thoughts and feelings began trickling through the new bond, heralding the dark jet's return to awareness. A soft purr was the first sound to escape as golden optics began warming up.
Wing blinked a few times before his optics decided to focus properly, fixing on the pale blue optics of the white mech on top of him. A slight smile appeared on his lips as he lifted an unsteady hand to stroke his palm over the sleek armor of his... pet? Mate? He wasn't sure which. Wing had never given thought to bonding before, having never trusted any of the other Knights enough to let them that close.
He had absolutely no regrets about it, though.
~Bonded. Guardian. Lover. Yours.~ Drift answered across the still-stabilizing bond. "Forever," he added out loud as he leaned forward for a kiss that began chaste.
Wing's purr came from his throat and through their bond as he returned the kiss. ~Lover sounds good,~ he replied. ~As does mine,~ he added after a moment, his optics gleaming playfully.
~Yours. Mine,~ Drift happily repeated, his spark emphasizing just how mutual it was. Yes, Drift willingly gave all he was to Wing. It was not a one-way deal though. Wing belong to Drift just as much as Drift belonged to Wing ... and neither of them felt like they were giving anything up in the deal, which would strike them both as odd, if they could find it in them to care.
"Lover ... pet if you want," Drift murmured. "You know my limits now."
Dark-plated arms wrapped around Drift, tugging him down for a thorough kiss while agile fingers lightly stroked the back of his neck. ~Pet in public, at least,~ Wing replied with a soft chirr.
Dark wings wiggled, one of them just brushing the discarded restraints and the forgotten valve egg. ~I do believe you were about to have some fun with me,~ the dark jet purred, looking up at Drift playfully.
The white grounder chuckled and kissed him again, a playful and just-shy-of dangerous grin on his features as he finally pulled away. He reached for the egg as he shifted to kneel between obediently spread legs. Turning it on, he slipped it purposefully into Wing's valve. "Close."
Wing's wings and pinions fluttered as the vibrating egg was slipped into his valve. It took him a moment to close his valve cover, his hips squirming ever so slightly. Golden optics lifted to meet Drift's blue, waiting to see what the white mech would do next. His gaze locked on Drift's black finger as it moved to trail oh-so-lightly along Wing's pressurized black spike with red and gold highlights.
~How badly do you want this inside me?~ Amusement and desire tricked across the bond from Drift.
The dark jet's hips leaned into Drift's hand, a low whine escaping Wing's vocalizer. ~Very badly,~ was the moaned response, accompanied by a hot flare of want.
That teasing finger trailed down to the base, then up again before both of Drift's strong hands closed on Wing's hips, forcing them down as Drift leaned in to give teasing, licking kisses along the quivering length of Wing's spike.
Wing's hips bucked despite his best attempts to hold still. The dark jet whined again, reaching down to stroke Drift's helm, fondling his paired audial finials, his fingertips exploring the smooth curves of Drift's helm.
The grounder purred, directing the vibration to his lip plates as they pressed against the spike he was tormenting so enjoyably. He held nothing of how much he was enjoying this back from Wing, nor did he hold back any of the twitches of bad memories either. Wing had seen everything and welcomed him. Not just the mech he was trying to be, but what he truly was.
The black jet couldn't have done anything to earn Drift's devotion more if he'd been trying.
Wing's back arched, his helm falling back onto the berth, voice reaching that interesting pitch and warble that rapidly left the normal audio range. Between the vibrating egg in his valve and Drift's lips on his spike, he was rapidly approaching overload.
What he had seen of Drift's past only intrigued him even more. He accepted the violence as but another interesting facet of this magnificent being, and it attracted him like an iron filing to a magnet.
Then Drift's lips closed around the tip of his spike and a glossa swirled around it, wiping all thought but pleasure from Wing's awareness.
The dark jet was unable to hold still, his hips squirming, wings flaring and twitching and flailing against the berth. Dark hands kneaded white audial finials, though there was little coordination to the touches. One leg hooked around Drift's back, tugging him closer, or trying to at least.
A rumbling chuckle mixed with the purr and Drift took Wing deeper, eventually sliding it all the way down and working his intake around the tip. Skills learned under duress now applied because he wanted to.
The response from Wing was a deep, throaty moan. His hips thrust gently into Drift's mouth, though slightly jerkily due to the vibrating egg in his valve. Any coherent thoughts were completely swamped by the pleasure as Drift drove him mad by inflicting pleasure, but never quite enough to give him the release he was seeking.
A whine of protest escaped his vocalizer as he wriggled urgently against Drift, lacking the coherence to actually form words. Golden optics, unfocussed, stared down the length of his torso at the white mech whose face was buried against his groin. The egg inside his valve gave him a random jolt just as Drift sucked and pulled back all the way to the tip.
Wing's whole body bucked, his voice reaching an even higher pitch before his vocalizer shorted out. That was enough to send him over the edge, the dark jet overloading hard. Hot transfluid hit Drift's lip plates, causing him to jerk back in surprise. Freed from even that small control, the transfluid splattered Drift's face before Wing's spike dropped to splash the remainder over Wing's abdominal plates.
Wing went almost limp, though his hips continued to shift as the egg inside him vibrated. Hazy optics blinked at Drift, a thread of emotion best translated as a cheerful "oops" threading through the bond. Behind it was amusement as he watched his mate scowl and wipe his face clean.
"If I didn't know better, I'd think you did that on purpose," Drift growled, an effect that was utterly ruined by the tolerant bemusement and pride slipping through the bond and the way he leaned forward to cover Wing's chassis with his own and the warmth in the kiss.
Wing trilled innocently, giving Drift the most innocent look he could. Wrapping his arms around Drift and stroking the white mech's back, returning the kiss. Then another shiver ran through his frame at another jolt from the egg, his trill taking on a faint whining edge.
"Told you I'd face you to oblivion," Drift grinned down at him. "Now since the toy is occupying your valve ... just what should I do to you next?"
"Whatever you want to," Wing purred in response, his hips squirming. The dark jet was up for almost anything, and he was just as sure as Drift that his bonded knew, and respected his limits.