re_alignment | [Video]

Entry tags:

✘ tf: prime | wheeljack

[Video]

[Wheeljack wasn't one to question things, really. But when something goes wrong in his world, there's -usually- repurcussions for said thing that went wrong. So...you can see the confusion when he opens up the feed. He's SOMEWHERE in Solus's temple--the lack of indents and scorch marks are a key sign that it's not his room--eyebrow perked.]

So uh...can you guys do me a favour and just watch this for me?

[Before you can even give an answer, he sets the Link back slightly, giving a full shot of him. Grabbing a grenade.

And pulling the pin--PLEASE NO WHEELJACK.

He sets it a few feet away, folding his arms. And...well, like it should, it detonates. Smoke billows through the whole room, the walls once untouched by scorch are now charred black, and the Link may have bounced a little from the impact.

But...Wheeljack walks out of it, and aside from scorch to match the walls, looks relatively unharmed.]

That's not normal. I'm good but I'm not -that- good.

[Well no shit, Wheeljack.]

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... I don't follow.

[He knows that was hard. He can feel it. But curiosity beckons, and the words are out before he thinks better of them.]

[Goddammit, Perceptor, don't make this harder than it is on the Wrecker. He's bad enough at trying to put words to his feelings, and it certainly shows in how he dodges his eyes away.

But he asked, didn't he.]

I don't pick up guard duty unless I got someone to protect, Sarge.

Get me?

[It's... probably abusing this dubious gift of his to try and sense where this is coming from. To figure out what's behind those words, exactly.]

... We have been through a lot together, haven't we?

[That whole friendship thing, right?]

[That's all this is. Isn't it?]

...Got that right.

[And while you may be airing on the side of friendship...]

Too much, sometimes, for it to be...yannow. Normal.

Wheeljack.

You know full well I'm not adept in the social sciences. Especially not... after the day I've had.

[Despite how tired he sounds, how ragged and weary, there's... an odd note of fondness in his voice.]

You... are going to have to be more clear than you are.

[This is like watching two people who speak different languages ask each other what the weather's like. Wheeljack's not good with words, Perceptor's not good with social cues.

Perfect.]

What I -mean- is...maybe there's like..somethin' else. Past friends.

[GOD DAMN THAT WAS HARD DON'T MAKE HIM ELABORATE.]

It's stupid, alright?

[He just stares.]

[He openly stares. Like he's really hearing a different language. Like he honestly can't believe that it is he's hearing.]

[Lights along his panels betray him, though, brightening, as hope suddenly and sullenly, starts to rise.]

[He misheard.]

[He must have misheard.]

Past... friends. I... you're serious?

[The hesitation makes him want to backpedal, and in fact, he almost does. If it wasn't for that question, he would have told him to forget about it and move on.

It stops him right in the nick of time, though.]

Yeah. You know...that feelings scrap.

[Wheeljack knows he's a trainwreck with this kind of stuff. Two people in Haven already knew. Which is why this is harder to admit.]

Feelings...?

[He can't help the note of incredulity creeping into his voice. It can't be true. He can't be hearing this.]

[There are visible tremors in his frame. Though whether they're relief, or hope, or an odd sense of dread, he has no idea. All he knows is Wheeljack is being utterly sincere.]

[He practically blurts the next words, staring helplessly at him, as if that will clarify things.]

You're not a trainwreck! It -- hardly that!

[Just Perceptor repeating it, especially with that tone, is hard to believe it came out of his mouth. And as such, his helm dips down, slightly embarrassed over the whole thing.]

...Y-

[That is, until Perceptor blurts that out. His eyes shoot open wide, head snapping to attention and fixed on the scientist. How did he know? That wasn't just a lucky guess. That was word for word exactly what he was thinking.]

I never...said that.

Not out loud.

[If he could have gone pale, he would have. Instead, he straightens up, going rigid. The lighting along his panels flares up bright, then dims, as he looks away.]

[... Ashamed.]

[He rubs at his face again. A little harder. Like it's going to help.]

... I... see.

[What else is he supposed to say?]

[There's a sigh from him, though, running a hand along the handle of his forge.]

Not wrong, though.

[Yeah, he won't question the fact Percy just read his mind.]

It's been scrambled for a good while.

[He steps back over to his console, as if to put distance between them. His hands shake. He presses them to the desktop, in order to stop them.]

... You aren't the only one to feel that way.

[Admitting it costs him something.]

[He never wanted to say it. Never wanted to admit there could be something the matter with him. He hates it.]

[It makes him feel vulnerable.]

...

[Those eyes shoot up, glued to the scientist now. And nothing he says will shake them. Not now...]

Whatcha mean, Sarge.

That we're both messed up?

[His chin rests on the handle of his forge, thinking.]

Place...does things to ya.

It... does, yes.

[Even that admittance cost something. It cost more. His shoulders sag. He's leaning on his hands, now.]

[Does... does he dare?]

[He'd resisted so long, now. Giving in, after all this time... is it even worth the risk? Even hearing the words from Wheeljack himself -- something more.]

[He couldn't mean --]

But that. Was not the entirety of what I meant.

[The words come out halting. Almost pained. His voice is just as rough as the Wrecker's scarring. It's like the words are broken somehow. Damaged. For all his brilliance, all his skill and scientific ability, this is almost beyond him.]

... You are not. The only one. Who feels s-- [His vocal processor seems to hitch. Struggling.]

Something more.

[Now that...that got Wheeljack's attention. It's like you told him the war was over and they won. He freezes on the spot, body going rigid as his plating rises up, wondering if he just fell asleep during the conversation and didn't realize it.

Whatever. If this is a dream he'll just wake up and go back to sulking. He wants affirmation, even fake affirmation.]

You do? Don't play me like this, Sarge.

[He sounds almost desperate, leaving his Forge to the side as he walks closer.]

Would I have said I did, if I felt otherwise!

[One hand slams down onto the tabletop. Hard. He snaps the words out. His voice even rises. Primus, he didn't even want to admit it, let alone repeat it once it's been said. He's denied it so damn long...]

[It's supposed to feel good, isn't it, to let the truth out?]

[Now it just feels like a nasty, raw, open wound. Something he wants to cover up and hide again, because the very air around it burns. He doesn't even lift his head, as he hears the approaching footsteps.]

There! You have your answer! Why on Cybertron would I play you? Shouldn't this entire conversation make that clear?

[He has his answer. It sinks in, more than a stone in the river. Perceptor just...admitted feelings to him. They both did. It's hard to accept that the fight's over. That he doesn't have to hide it. By the time it registers, he's already over to the scientist.

He doesn't even have control anymore. It all seems automated. A hand reaches up, to the edge of the window of Perceptor's chestplate, pulling him down, aggressively.]

Then why are you standing there, Sarge.

[He couldn't have sounded more desperate if he tried. His hands wrap around the bot's head, securing it and pulling it forward.]

[It doesn't seem to register that Wheeljack has even moved until there's a hand gripping his chestplate. He's too stunned to even fight it. He's pulled down, staring at him, gaping, really.]

[He meets those optics.]

[That desperation is practically tangible. And, maybe, in a way, it actually is. Given his unfortunate new ability... He wants this. Wheeljack wants it. He can tell.]

[Which only makes it easier to let himself be pulled forward. To offer no resistance. And to tilt his head to make what he already knows is coming next so much easier.]

[He still feels raw, exhausted, he still feels weighted down. There is tension and nervousness building up in his spark until he feels as if he's going to explode from it.]

[And it makes him hesitate.]

[Freezing.]

[Waiting.]

[Wheeljack's not going to get another chance at this if he stops now. Perceptor just admitted everything he'd ever wanted to him--a deep desire to be wanted by the scientist that he chalked up to some kind of dark wish. But no...it was here.

And he had to convince himself that he wasn't dreaming. Or at least, live vicariously through it. If Perceptor wasn't going to initiate it, he would.

That hand pulls him closer, pressing his lips to the other's. If he was going to wake up from this, he wanted to at least finish his fantasy.

Scarred lips press in, desperate and harsh as he clings on as if for dear life.

Please, just let this go right.]

[There's no explosion. There's no sudden sinking of the ground under his feet, or sudden ending of the world. It's not even earth-shattering. It's a kiss. That's all it is. A kiss.]

[A... kiss he finds himself pressing desperately into, his frame starting to tremble against his will. Lights blaze brighter along his panels, and his optics dim even as they shutter closed.]

[His hands lift without him telling them to, settling on the smaller Autobot's shoulders, and digging in. There's as much desperation in his own touch, in his own kiss, as there is in Wheeljack's. Matching him, need for need, pressure and slow, moving mouth following in the other's example. Never competing. Giving even as he takes in that contact. His engine all but roars.]

[He wants this.]

[He wants this so much it's nearly physically painful to him. He knows it shows, in that simple, heated kiss. And, suddenly, for the first time since he first realized there was no getting rid of these feelings, he doesn't mind needing it so badly.]

[Wanting it so badly.]

[Just a kiss. That was certainly one way to describe it. In Wheeljack's mind, yes, that's all it was. But as he continued to hold on, clinging tighter and tighter to that metal, he realized that that wasn't necessarily true. It was security.

Some sort of stability in this world. It might not last, heck, it didn't before. He has no guarantee on anything, especially considering who he is. But right now, he just needs something.

He feels that engine roar against him, his lips trying not to smile, eventually betraying him. That was evidence that this wasn't wrong. That the other wanted this just as bad.

No guarantees. That's what he told himself.

But he'd hold on as long as he could. Now that was a real guarantee.]

[His hands move from Wheeljack's shoulders, looping around his waist, drawing him against his chest. Against the roaring engine and heated paneling. He's not even looking now, he doesn't need to. He can feel the need -- for him, for stability, for something to go right.]

[And... whether it's his own feelings or not, he can't blame the stupid Wrecker for thinking that way.]

[No, it won't last. It never does. Nothing ever has. Not here, not on Cybertron, not even his position of aloof researcher. War changed everything. This place changed everything.]

[Maybe it is his own feelings that scream for him to hold on, and press the kiss harder. Deeper. Teeth on a lower lip and hot air rushing from vents.]

[He allows the kiss to deepen, just letting go of any moment of doubt he may have had. He wanted nothing left to chance, no more wondering what could have been. Because this could be the only time it'd happen, and Primus if he wouldn't want to experience this.

Rough hands pull them closer, his scarred lips rubbing against those teeth, unable to stop smiling. It felt so...comforting.

But with comfort comes reality, and after a few seconds more, he has to lift up, for a second.

Collecting all of this in his mind.]

[He pauses, when he feels Wheeljack move. He draws back, even though everything in him screams to keep going. To press in further and run his hands over that armor. To probe those scars. To keep drowning himself in this feeling, this need.]

[But he holds himself back.]

[He pulls his head away, only enough to break the kiss. His arms never uncoil. His engine never quiets. In fact, there's hot, harsh air panting from his vents now, as he peers at the Wrecker.]

[This... really is real. Isn't it? He'd really given in.]

I... think that went... a bit further than I'd intended...

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wheeljackofalltrades - 2014-04-20 18:22 (UTC) - Expand

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sciencetank - 2014-04-20 21:38 (UTC) - Expand

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