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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[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...

[It's sad how much of a hair trigger it is for him to keep going too. And it's shown in that fierce grip he's got on Perceptor's plate armor. He rubs his lips together in thought, as the scientist speaks, letting it all sink in--just what exactly happened in those few seconds.]

Tell me about it.

[It sounded so...relaxed.]

...So. Where do we go from here, Sarge?

[Although he's already starting to answer his own question, leaning in slightly closer.]

[He doesn't know how to answer that question. For all his intelligence, all his skills, his work and his experience, this is an area he is utterly lost in. He doesn't pull away. His head leans against the Wrecker's, feeling the contact, relishing the grip on his plating, the sensation of another presence, something to reasonably rely on. It's right here.]

[Now that he's crossed that line, he's at a loss for what to do with himself.]

[Air cycles, slowly cooling. Though his running lights stay brilliantly, painfully, bright. Big shoulders roll in a shrug. He can't help but draw Wheeljack closer with the other's movement.]

I don't say this terribly often but...

[His voice lowers, something breathy, private, and a little wild.]

I have utterly no idea.

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