re_alignment_logs | Who's afraid of a little word?

Entry tags:

Who's afraid of a little word?

Who: Drift and Wing
Where: Wing's quarters.
When: Shortly after Drift's network post (as I am spamming ur comms today) before he leaves for the Badlands.
What: Let's see if Drift can say the 'l-word' without dying of embarrassment
Warnings: Dorkitude, possibly smooching. ~~avert thine eyes!!~~

Right. He's got enough supplies to last a few days, his weapons have been cleaned, he's done basic maintenance. He's about as ready as he can be for the Badlands.

He's not sure he's ready for this part, though. He can feel something trembling and fluttering in his spark chamber, that seems to flutter ever more agitatedly as he walks down the corridor to Wing's quarters. The last time he was up here...things happened. Very, very good things, and he can still feel the ghosts of those touches on his armor.

Four was right. And Vandal. And he didn't know anything about romance. At all. But he knows that there are times you should say something because there might not be another chance.

Now's one of those times.

He chimes the door, a nervous finger slipping off the button, and cycles a long breath. Maybe Wing's not here. Maybe he's gone off searching somewhere. If that's the case, he'll know it's a sign that this is not the right time or the right thing to do.

But if Wing is.....

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Drift let himself watch Wing as much and as obviously as he wanted, as though trying to impress each nuance of movement onto his memory.

"It's just...it's something I owe to Liege Maximo. It's my debt to repay, not yours." And his risk to take, not yours. But the frown of worry washes over his face. Time enough for that later.

Now, is Wing.

And Wing's hands, covering his own, and Wing's gold optics shining against his.

"Wing, I just...." Words fail, and he can't resist the proximity, leaning forward to press his mouth against Wing's.

"Liege?" Wing was familiar with the idea of the First Forged asking favors in return for their aid, Wing himself would likely owe Solus one soon. But of all the First Forged here, Liege Maximo left Wing feeling the most uneasy.

"I understand." He nods, because it's true. Then he adds, "You know you can always ask my help, for anything, anytime." It's his way of saying, 'I'm with you, regardless.'

And here right now, more than ever.

Wing tips into the kiss, liplates soft as his field reaches for Drift. It's a slow and luscious thing, not exactly chaste, every little subtly worth savoring. He gives those hands a soft squeeze, his wingpanels rustling some of the tension away as he's lost in the moment.

"Liege, yes. I stayed in his palace when I first got here. To take care of Pharma."

He shrugs, with a tight smile. "I know, but this is my debt. I don't want you dragged into owing Liege anything if... if anything should happen."

Wow, that sounded reassuring, didn't it?

It was better to kiss. Always, really, but especially right now. He lingers in it, optics dimming, concentrating on feeling as much of Wing against him as he could. He gives a soft whimper, wanting the moment to last forever, knowing it couldn't.

It is better to kiss. Pharma and that entire time is nothing Wing wants to think about right now so he let's it all fall away. The what-ifs of the future aren't welcome either, so he brushes those away as well. The moment shines on its own, wrapping them both in the warmth and assurance that truly good things exist in this world.

Wing doesn't want it to end either. But he also knows it must. Besides, there would be others. When he pulls away, it's not by much at all. Just enough to meet Drift's optics.

"I have faith in you."

Drift's mouthplates still tingle as Wing pulls away, and he has to stop himself from chasing the kiss. His whole world right now is tingling and warm and lit by two golden suns.

His hands still hold Wing's, and he strokes his thumbs down Wing's hands, not wanting to let them go just yet, either.

"Wing. I..." He had a whole speech prepared, but the words scattered, fleeing from him when he tried to speak. But it's clear he's trying to say something important.

In many ways the kiss is an easier language to speak and understand, one that is--joyfully--becoming more and more customary for them. But some messages need the power of words to bring them fully to life.

Wing understands this, and is patient, though he'd be lying is he said there wasn't some curious anticipation in this now. Still, Wing does not press, he's as open and receptive as ever. His dark fingers move within Drift's, gently affirming. The gold optics slide away briefly, giving Drift a moment, but a soft smiles stretches over his features.

"_{If you speak your spark Drift, it doesn't matter what the words are.}"

He wants another kiss, and allows himself the small indulgence of one, the kind that just glosses their lipplats over each other.

"Wing." Right. He can do this. He inhales. Exhales. Inhales again, bringing his hands up to cup Wing's face. His hands tremble as he exhales again. This. Is. Important.

"I just want you to know. It's not a burden or anything, I hope. I mean, I don't want to make you feel tied to me or something if you don't want to." All right. Another breath. And his optics are begging Wing not to reject him.

Wing does too, and maybe he steals a another small kiss while Drift is in close. It's a touch greedy perhaps, but Wing feels no shame for it.

His chin lifts as Drift cups his face. Gold optics go just a touch wide, mouthplates parted as he listens to Drift's words, rapt. His hands alight on Drift's waist, seeking, needing balance, because he's suddenly all fluttery.

And somewhere in there Wing has responses to all those words, but they evade him in their fluttery way and he simply stands, enthralled by Drift's luminous blue optics. His hands move instead by way of encouragement, sliding further around Drift's waist to draw them closer.

Drift, meanwhile, is inwardly kicking himself. Because, wow, he's really set this up well, right? Four told him to be romantic, and he's prefaced it the way you might tell someone they have an incurable plague.

That didn't seem very 'romantic'.

But Wing's arms are around him and he can't just break away.

"What I'm trying to say is," the gold optics are too much, and he's afraid of Wing's expression when he says it, so he pulls Wing closer, like a coward, his spark pulsing hard enough to throb against his armor--against Wing's armor in contact with his, as he buries his face against Wing's shoulder, in the small snug gap between the nacelle and his throat. "_{I love you.}"

On the contrary, it's plenty romantic in Wing's mind, he might even liken it to those human marriage proposals he's read about now, though with less poetry and getting down on one knee. (Which really is fine by Wing, because poetry doesn't seem like Drift's style and he's not sure he's keen on the symbolism of bending a knee.)

And even if they're the words he's been hoping to hear, it's still stunning. Air catches in his intakes at the throbbing against his chassis, his own spark responding in kind, surging as if reaching, before Wing even realizes what's happening. The sensation is wild and new and confusing but deliriously wonderful and his own arms clutch tighter around Drift, as if it were possible to bring him even closer somehow, beyond the crush of their bodies.

"^Drift..." It comes out high and rich, around the welling of emotion that turns into a chirr of delight against the side of Drift's helm.

For several moments he's without words save that one, just feeling, his wings relaxing from their folds to spread gently over his back. Because this feels like soaring.

"_{And I love you. I--I've never felt like this before....}"

Drift feels like his spark might explode, hammering against his chassis. He's not afraid of much, but the pause before Wing speaks is an eternity to him, dreaded fear of rejection.

He clings to Wing, as though it may be the last time, taking in as much of Wing as he could: smell, sound, touch, and a surreptitious taste of the throat cables. His hands flutter nervously as the flightpanels shift, his fingers seeking the warm crevices between wing and spine.

Drift burrows his face into Wing's neck at the jet's soft words. "I don't want it to burden you or hold you back. I just...I just..._{wanted you to know.}"

It touches Wing, the way Drift's love is such a powerful yet tentative thing. Like something just learning to have its freedom, released into the world on unpracticed wings, too afraid to stray far from the place it was born. It's like a fragile gift, and Wing just wants to put his hands out and say, 'I won't let you fall.'

The jet's hands press tightly against Drift's backstrut, both accepting him and offering shelter. His cheek slides over Drift's as he nuzzles the swordmech's jaw, Wing's words soft and emphatic, warmed by his spark.

"You aren't Drift. I love having you in my life, I love being with you. I love the way you make me feel. And even if you found some way to be a burden, you're worth it."

Wing presses his mouthplates to the side of the white finial, trailing soft kisses over it. "Tell me anytime you like. I want to know...because I want to share it with you."

Drift shudders in Wing's embrace, wracked by the force of emotion. It was like something undammed in him, taking him over.

He finds he's squeezing Wing against him so hard he worries that it may be painful, releasing his grip sheepishly, but not pulling away. It's a metaphor for what he wants--not to strangle Wing, not to make him feel bound or constrained. It's a hard thing for him.

"I want you to be happy, Wing. With me. Because of me." It's a petty and selfish wish, but it's what he feels.

His hands stroke down the backplate, feeling that shudder. The intensity of the moment is shared, the pulse of Wing's spark chasing Drift's, as if to match it.

For his own part, Wing had been clinging pretty fiercely too. Drift's embrace is exactly where he wishes to be now though, so he simply uses the loosened grip to settle himself more comfortably.

He gives a soft laugh, the sound of gentle joy. "You won't have to try too hard Drift. Happiness tends to be one of the greater benefits of love." Wing nudges playfully at the side of the white helm, as if daring the other to come out of hiding. "And I am in love with you."

"I love the strength of your determination. The way you make heroics look humble. I love how you carry yourself with dignity, and even when you don't--I love the way you get shy or flustered about somethings," another little laugh, "It's really charming."

"But mostly..." His voice grows a touch softer, "I love the way you look in recharge in the morning. I love that rare treat that is your smile or the sound of your laughter. Because I want you to be happy too, Drift."

Edited 2012-10-15 02:43 (UTC)

Drift gives a soft laugh. "I don't know any of this, Wing. I've never done this before. Any of this."

Like, even this part.

His hands are awkward on Wing's frame, clinging but not wanting to constrain. He's inwardly--and possibly outwardly--writhing at the praise. "Wing. I...just..._everything."

Wing's field ripples gladly at Drift's laugh, the sound more welcome than any music or song. All this time and never known love? Or never had it returned? Which ever it was didn't matter, both were a part of this, here and now, and Wing made an internal vow in that moment: to be as tender as possible with this mech.

"It comes more naturally than you think. Don't let your head get ahead of your spark." Wing's hands keep a soothing pattern over Drift's back, fingers skirting under the Great Sword and up along the spine. "We can go whatever speed you want."

Granted, love had a heady way of setting its own pace and Wing is entirely willing to go full tilt into something that was feeling more special than he'd ever had, but Drift's comfort is more important to him.

"I'd offer to stop complimenting you...but that might be a little hard." He gives a soft laugh and presses his mouth to the white helm again. "Cling all you want Drift, I'll tell you if it's too tight."

It's a two-fold message: You can't hurt me by holding on, and don't hesitate because who knows what tomorrow will bring?

Drift's hands settle on Wing's hips, fingertips toying with the small skirting panels, as he cycles a long, slow vent of air, letting himself feed, in a way, on Wing's body: the sight of him, the soft sounds of his engine, the scent of him.

All this talk of 'going' someplace unsettled him. Wasn't here enough? "Wing. I just...I wanted you to know. I mean. In case anything happens. I don't want to hold you back. If you want...anyone else. Just...," he shrugs. "I don't even know why I wanted to tell you."

It's good to feel easement in Drift as he relaxes. But...oh. Has Wing made a gross assumption in that mutual love would advance towards commitment? Maybe that's not what Drift really wants? It weaves a thread of doubt in him. Wing, inverse to his earlier advise, is prone to letting his spark lead and his mind follow. And now he wonders if it's gotten too far ahead. Too many storybooks perhaps, real life was never that easy.

The jet's hands go still on Drift's frame and he pulls back to search the other mech's face. "Are you that worried something will happen?" If so, why isn't he going with Drift? He wants to argue, now more than ever. But then...maybe Drift doesn't trust him near the Badlands, not after the incident with pages. If trust was an issue, forcing himself on the expedition would not help matters.

"If I want anyone else?" Are you that willing to give me up? The thought comes unbidden and he feels immediately selfish for it. Wing pushes it away but Drift's words leave him confused and uncertain. "You're the only one I'm in love with..."

He can tell right away he's done something wrong. Already. His shoulders slump, as he pulls away. No, he can't do this. What was he thinking? He'd thought that saying the words would be enough, some sort of magic incantation that would do and be everything.

"I'm sorry. Just. Before, you talked about others. And doing thing with them. And I don't--" he cuts himself off with a sigh. "I don't know what you want." Flat out admission.

Wing feels the vacancy of Drift's body the moment he pulls away, like a cool blast of air against something that had been sheltered and warm. If it's a need for space or an uncertainty that echoes Wing's own, he's not sure. But Wing's not the type to give up.

"It's always been you Drift," he affirms from the start. "I mentioned others, I'm sorry, I should explain... Back in the city I'd been in relationships before, ones that were open, with multiple people involved. We learned to share instead of be jealous of each other. Not always easy...."

"But this is a new place, new people, new situations," he cycles a breath and edges forward, "And what I feel for you is...bigger than all that. It's important."

"You're special to me. I want us to be together Drift. I want to share everything with you. I want to be yours, for however long you'll have me." Wing reaches out again, a hand stroking down Drift's arm, hoping Drift will accept the touch. "But of everything, I want you happy. Whether that's with me or not, I want you to be happy."

Drift gives a tremulous smile, shaking his head. "Don't tie yourself down, Wing. If that's what you're used to, it's not something I'd ask you to give up. Not for me."

Because he doesn't know what Wing sees, but he knows who he is, and what he's done, the stains on his hands, the violence on his spark. It's not who he wants to be, but it is who he is.

But his hands are trembling on Wing's arms. Because he wants Wing more than he wants anything. If someone offered him Wing or peace for all of Cybertron...he wouldn't hesitate. And that frightens him. "O-of course I want you." The fact that Wing might doubt that hurts. "I just...I don't ever want you to regret this."

"I know you wouldn't. But just because it's something I'm used to doesn't make it better." He smiles softly, "Maybe someday, but I want to put everything I have into this right now." Into you.

Wing reaches up to touch Drift's face, thumb stroking over a silver cheek as his fingers brush against the white finial. "And why not for you?" It's the way Wing is, choosing to see the best people.

A poet might say it's better to choose the tool than the thing it creates, but hoping one mech could create peace for a whole civilization might be too much to ask. Wing feels the tremble in those hands and edges even closer, his field plush and loving. "Then have me Drift. Take me, stop trying to give me away."

Drift pauses for a long moment. It might look bad, but in his mind he's trying to convince himself that this is really happening and not just a fantasy borne of insecurity an desire.

"Because, Wing. You could do better." Statement of fact, as he sees it.

"I...I didn't mean it like that." He wasn't trying to give Wing away; he just didn't want to strangle the jet with his need for him. Wing was his guiding light and so much more. He'd hate to bring Wing to ground: the white knight was meant to fly...

He bites his lip and then decides that sometimes the better part of valor is...to stop talking, and do: he pulls Wing against him, almost roughly, his mouth seeking Wing's audio. "Take me," he murmured into elegant white planes, "all of me, all you want." Until Wing didn't want any more, until he'd used Drift up. Drift would consider that happiness.

"Regret is sometimes part of risk, and risk comes with every relationship. I don't want the 'what-if's to hold us back. We're an adaptable people Drift, where's no reason what we have together can't be just as adaptable." His words may be quiet and sure but his smile, when it comes, is warm and bright. "And I wouldn't love you if you didn't have redeeming qualities Drift."

It's hard for Wing not to see it that way, metaphorically at least. It'd been that way from the beginning: when Drift was convinced Wing could do with better friends, even Annie who he'd both just met. Even then, turning him away as an act of kindness. Wing: always offering but often gently redirected, and Drift: always wanting and often feeling unworthy.

But Wing is a stubborn mech, and he's in love, and giving is a thing that he does. So when Drift offers, he takes it as acceptance, and it's like finally arriving at the destination after a long journey. His spark surges at the words, amidst the press of their bodies and a noise escapes him, a high pitched thing that stumbles from his vocalizer in surprised joy. Wing's arms crush around Drift, the grip fierce, and he shivers with love and want that forms a passion he can barely hold in. It floods his field as he buries his face in the other's neck, nearly overwhelmed, as he tries to contain himself.

"I didn't have any, until I met you." Wing is the only reason Drift believes he has a chance at redemption: Wing believes in him. It had kept him going for years, ages, that Wing had had such faith as to give his life up for him.

There weren't words enough for the debt he owed the jet.

Drift gives a little 'erk!' as Wing pulls him in for the embrace, his EM field flaring around the jet. His arms clenched around Wing's body, fiercely, protectively. "I would do anything for you, Wing." It's self-evident but he needs to say it, needs Wing to hear it.

"You did Drift, they were just used for ill instead of good." Which Wing wholeheatedly believes. Simple soilders with a talent for violence alone didn't attract Megatron's personal attention. Drift has gifts and it's not just for killing. "But you do have more now."

Wing stands in the shared embrace for a moment, letting their fields mingle and taking in all that is Drift. "Then do one thing for me Drift," he murmurs, and even soft and low the words have strength, "Live."

"They were just, I don't know, really well hidden or something." Another attempt at a joke, because this is almost too intense for Drift. And clearly, 'sense of humor' isn't on that list.

Drift buries his head for a moment in the nook between Wing's shoulder and neck. "I should be saying that to you, Wing. Not the other way around."

A quiet laugh, low and soft against Drift's helm. "Clearly you were saving them for a more worthy cause."

In a way Wing feels like he's had his chance at life already, and a good one at that. Anything beyond is extra, a boon he doesn't want to take for granted. But he feels like Drift hasn't had the same chance yet, not really. "I guess we'll both have to then, together."

"You're the worthy cause," he said, in that always-earnest tone. He's terrible at this romantic stuff: he keeps tripping over sincerity.

He allows himself one more minute, greedily in Wing's arms, memorizing the smell, the sound, the feel of the jet, more beautiful than he could ever have imagined. And then he pulled away.

"...better go." Because it's hard enough to go now. All he wants to do is cocoon himself with Wing for a few hours.

His chin tucks, feeling both humbled and charmed by the sentiment. He's without words except a soft trill as he clutches Drift closer, burying his face against the other's neck.

Wing knows it has to happen, the parting, but in a way he's thankful for the cause since it brought about this beautiful collection of moments, ones he'll treasure forever. But if there must be a parting, however temporary, Wing won't let it be with foreboding-heavy sparks.

"Yes...but take this with you?" He wishes he had a physical token he could give away, something symbolic yet tangible. But he doesn't, so instead he chooses to imbue one of the things he values most: his love of life.

Wing surges forward for one last kiss, his hands ardent on Drift's chassis in ways only someone with full knowledge of the frame and all its sensitivities would be. It's brief and wild and full of the promise of his love and affection before he tears himself away again.

"Now go!" Wing bids, almost like a command, his voice fierce with ardor and determination. Those same hands which had been so mobile a moment ago give Drift a small shove, freeing them of temptation. Wing's mouth stretches into a smile because he'll leave Drift with nothing less. "You'll have to come back if you want the rest!"

Drift sucks a vent of air at the sudden, wanted kiss, feeling everything about Wing against him, from the lush EM field to the satiny touches of the jet's fingertips toying with the armorlocks on his chassis. He shivers, tilting closer, prolonging the moment, filling his senses with the crystalline sweetness of the kiss.

"I'll return it with interest," he said, solemnly, stepping away, hands tearing themselves from Wing's frame, to his sword hilts. He galvanizes himself with a nod, turning to take two steps toward the door, before he whirls, lunging in for one last touch, a nipping kiss, one finger lingering over Wing's cheek, his optics drinking in what might be his last sight of Wing.

"Sooner the better!" It comes out almost as a sob, a compromise as the words say 'go' but his spark says, 'no stay'. He's cycling a shuddering breath as he watches Drift step towards the door, only to be suddenly filled with the swordmech's presence again.

A noise of surprise gets muffled into a whimper as the kiss closes around it, Wing leaning to chase it greedily. He catches the hand as the finger leaves his cheek, pressing silver lipplates to the open palm and drawing a deep intake. He releases the kiss with a warm ex-vent, closing Drift's fingers around it.

Unable to resist, he repeats the gesture with Drift's other hand. "They'll keep you safe," he whispers. "_{Now, please...}"

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Who's afraid of a little word?

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject