Drift (
sword_redemption) wrote in
re_alignment_logs2012-10-13 02:31 pm
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.....
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.
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.....

no subject
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."
no subject
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."
no subject
"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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
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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."
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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."
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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."
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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.
no subject
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!"
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"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.
no subject
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..."