[G1] Apple a Day 13 - Achy Circuits
Mar. 5th, 2013 06:12 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dracoqueen22a/n: This one's not as humorous as all the others I'm afraid. It's still a good read, I hope. Self-beta'ed. Please enjoy!
Title: Achy Circuits
Universe: G1, Apple a Day
Characters: JazzxPerceptor, Skyfire
Rating: T
Warnings: None
Description: Skyfire's in a mood. Perceptor's a tad bit sore. And Jazz aims to solve both problems.
This substance is absolutely fascinating. It's molecular structure is similar to few things Perceptor has ever seen. Already his processor is supplying him potential uses. This could--
Perceptor frowns. Twitches. Shifts. And winces.
Primus, but he is sore. He aches from helm to pede, his circuits stretched thin, his fuel pump sluggishly working, his spark spinning a sated hum.
He cannot concentrate at all. This is very distracting.
Perceptor shifts again, trying to find some position that does not seem to exacerbate his symptoms. He wants nothing more than to crawl into a berth and get some recharge. For once.
Ratchet will probably laugh at him. All his time spent trying to get Perceptor to recharge and it's a night of repeated overloads that actually ends up working.
Jazz is quite insatiable. For that matter, Perceptor had been as well. There is something rather addicting about the sensation of Jazz's hands on him, the curl of arousal, the snap-bite of charge licking across his circuits...
Perceptor twitches, calculations falling by the wayside. Oh, bother. At this rate, he'll never get anything done.
“Can you not be still?”
Perceptor startles, optics cycling at the unexpected and rather rude burst of conversation coming from his lab partner.
He turns his helm, looking at Skyfire who isn't looking at him. “Pardon?” Perceptor asks, and reaches out with his energy field, trying to read Skyfire's. He might as well be questioning a rock, however, because Skyfire is drawn-cold.
“You're twitching,” Skyfire says, staring solidly at his datapad. “I can hear the rattle in your plating from here. It's a distraction.”
Perceptor reboots his audials. Skyfire is one of the most patient, kind-sparked mechs that Perceptor has ever had the honor of befriending.
This is not normal behavior.
“I apologize,” Perceptor says, and sets down the substance sample. “Skyfire, are you all right?”
The shuttle's wings flick in a distinct rhythm that Perceptor has learned to identify as agitation. “Yes.”
Perceptor doesn't need a detector to know that is a lie.
He frowns. “I only ask because you seem to be upset about something.” He pauses, considering the circumstances. “Would this have anything to do--”
“Perceptor, I am fine,” Skyfire interrupts, shooting Perceptor an annoyed look as he bursts to his pedes, shoving his stool out behind him. The poor shuttle's helm nearly hits the ceiling, but he ducks his helm in time. “I think I will, however, find somewhere else to finish my work.”
His optics track Skyfire as the shuttle makes his way across the lab, his pace suggesting a hasty escape rather than a normal exit.
“Are you certain?” Perceptor asks, his frown deepening. “It would be no trouble for me to--”
“It's fine,” Skyfire interrupts, yet again, and palms the panel to the door. He draws up short. “Oh, it's you.”
Perceptor leans back on his stool, catching a glimpse of black and white plating beyond Skyfire's bulk.
“Hey, 'Fire,” a mech says in Jazz's distinctive vocal tones. “Ya in a hurry or somethin'? Was kind of a cold welcome, yeah?”
“My apologies,” Skyfire retorts and brushes past the third-in-command with a very agitated flick of his wing panels.
He's gone before Jazz can manage so much as an offended ventilation.
“Primus,” Jazz says, stepping fully into the lab and allowing the door to slide shut behind him. “What climbed up his thrusters and set up house?”
“I do not know.” Perceptor hunches on his own stool, discomfort etching itself through his lines. “He has been, shall I say cranky, all morning.”
“Cranky? Skyfire? That does not compute.” Jazz's grin has yet to fade, however.
He sidles right up next to Perceptor, helm nuzzling against the microscope's right shoulder. “He isn't glitching?”
“I do not think so.” While Jazz's visit is welcome, the touch is not. He feels far too sensitive and Perceptor subtly shifts away. “He is upset about something.”
“Hmm.” Perceptive as always, Jazz tilts his helm away, though his energy field lightly caresses Perceptor's. “Sounds like somethin' I need to investigate.”
Perceptor's frown melts into a smile. “If you would please. I am concerned.”
“Then Jazz is on the case.” Jazz grins and lightly drags a finger down the length of Perceptor's arm. “Now I gotta ask if you're all right?”
“Nothing that won't self-repair in time,” Perceptor assures him.
“Or,” Jazz says, swinging around to put himself between Perceptor and his lab table, “I could speed up the process.” He pulls something out of subspace and juggles it back and forth between his hands.
Perceptor raises his orbital ridges. “I am a little afraid to ask.”
Jazz laughs. “My own personal recipe. A little bit of sensor gel, a dab of high-powered nanites, some of this and that, all swirled about in a blend of fancy wax.”
Perceptor's fingers twitch. Intrigued, he makes a grab for the container, if only to scan the contents. “Sunstreaker would be jealous.”
“He helped me mix it up,” Jazz retorts with a roll of his optics and leans forward, ex-vents ghosting over Perceptor's plating. “I'll comm you the recipe.”
How quickly Jazz has come to understand him.
“Much appreciated.”
“On another note,” Jazz continues, pulling back and leaning on the desk, hands braced against the edge behind him. “Word on the street says you wanted to go to some kind of lecture up in Seattle.”
Perceptor's spark skips a beat. “Yes. I intended to ask Beachcomber but he has become otherwise occupied.”
“Ya could always ask me.”
“But astrophysics is of little interest to you,” Perceptor replies, unable to hide the surprise in his energy field.
Amusement rumbles in Jazz's chassis. “Maybe not. But I know what does.”
Perceptor hums thoughtfully, reaching past Jazz for the datapad he had abandoned earlier. He can't recall if he'd saved his progress or not. “The drive?”
Jazz laughs, turning his helm to stare pointedly at Perceptor's arm. “No. Spendin' time with my new partner.”
“Oh.”
Well, now Perceptor feels foolish, and perhaps a tad embarrassed as well. He can be so dense sometimes.
His faceplates flush with heat, indecision warring heavily inside of him. He wants to take Jazz up on his offer. But the ache in his circuits and the utter haste of all that has happened lately makes him want to take a step back.
“Jazz, I...” Perceptor trails off, words failing him when they are usually his best weapon.
“Perceptor.”
Jazz's vocals, confident and kind, encourage Perceptor to lift his optics and meet the bright visor of his newly acquired partner.
“It's okay,” Jazz says and reaches out, hand gently folding over Perceptor's own. “I'm on the same datapad. Slow 'n steady, yeah?”
Tension bleeds out of his hydraulics. Tension that Perceptor hadn't even realized was present.
He smiles, relaxing visibly. “Yes.”
“Good.” Jazz holds up the tin of special wax again. “With that being said, you still look in need of some relief.”
Warmth suffuses Perceptor's spark. “Regretfully so. While the night's activities were pleasurable, the aftereffects are akin to a high grade induced overcharge.”
“Percy, you have no idea how much of a compliment you just gave me,” Jazz replies with a laugh and a playful flash of his visor.
His faceplate heats again. “I was being truthful.”
“That makes it all the more genuine.” Jazz takes his hand, pulling it up to his mouth, brushing his lipplates over the sensor-lined tips. “My place or yours?”
“Yours,” Perceptor replies, a shiver dancing down his backstrut. “I am afraid my quarters are still in disarray.”
As is his lab, thus the reason he's sharing with Skyfire at the moment. Of course, the state of his private lab is entirely Jazz's fault.
“Your tendency toward clutter will never cease to amuse me,” Jazz says, and presses a kiss to Perceptor's palm. “I am glad you took Ratchet up on that bet.”
Tingles spread outward, from where Jazz's lips brush across his plating. Perceptor smiles. “As am I.”
***
a/n: I've got a bit more of an idea where this is going, now I just have to figure out how I'm going to write it. In the meantime, I'm still plugging away at War Without End and One More Night. Got a couple PWP coming up, too. Both of them quite kinky. ;) Critical Mass is giving me plotting fits so I've temporarily set it aside for the sake of my sanity. lol
Feedback is welcome and appreciated. I'm still iffy on writing Perceptor and Skyfire both.
Title: Achy Circuits
Universe: G1, Apple a Day
Characters: JazzxPerceptor, Skyfire
Rating: T
Warnings: None
Description: Skyfire's in a mood. Perceptor's a tad bit sore. And Jazz aims to solve both problems.
This substance is absolutely fascinating. It's molecular structure is similar to few things Perceptor has ever seen. Already his processor is supplying him potential uses. This could--
Perceptor frowns. Twitches. Shifts. And winces.
Primus, but he is sore. He aches from helm to pede, his circuits stretched thin, his fuel pump sluggishly working, his spark spinning a sated hum.
He cannot concentrate at all. This is very distracting.
Perceptor shifts again, trying to find some position that does not seem to exacerbate his symptoms. He wants nothing more than to crawl into a berth and get some recharge. For once.
Ratchet will probably laugh at him. All his time spent trying to get Perceptor to recharge and it's a night of repeated overloads that actually ends up working.
Jazz is quite insatiable. For that matter, Perceptor had been as well. There is something rather addicting about the sensation of Jazz's hands on him, the curl of arousal, the snap-bite of charge licking across his circuits...
Perceptor twitches, calculations falling by the wayside. Oh, bother. At this rate, he'll never get anything done.
“Can you not be still?”
Perceptor startles, optics cycling at the unexpected and rather rude burst of conversation coming from his lab partner.
He turns his helm, looking at Skyfire who isn't looking at him. “Pardon?” Perceptor asks, and reaches out with his energy field, trying to read Skyfire's. He might as well be questioning a rock, however, because Skyfire is drawn-cold.
“You're twitching,” Skyfire says, staring solidly at his datapad. “I can hear the rattle in your plating from here. It's a distraction.”
Perceptor reboots his audials. Skyfire is one of the most patient, kind-sparked mechs that Perceptor has ever had the honor of befriending.
This is not normal behavior.
“I apologize,” Perceptor says, and sets down the substance sample. “Skyfire, are you all right?”
The shuttle's wings flick in a distinct rhythm that Perceptor has learned to identify as agitation. “Yes.”
Perceptor doesn't need a detector to know that is a lie.
He frowns. “I only ask because you seem to be upset about something.” He pauses, considering the circumstances. “Would this have anything to do--”
“Perceptor, I am fine,” Skyfire interrupts, shooting Perceptor an annoyed look as he bursts to his pedes, shoving his stool out behind him. The poor shuttle's helm nearly hits the ceiling, but he ducks his helm in time. “I think I will, however, find somewhere else to finish my work.”
His optics track Skyfire as the shuttle makes his way across the lab, his pace suggesting a hasty escape rather than a normal exit.
“Are you certain?” Perceptor asks, his frown deepening. “It would be no trouble for me to--”
“It's fine,” Skyfire interrupts, yet again, and palms the panel to the door. He draws up short. “Oh, it's you.”
Perceptor leans back on his stool, catching a glimpse of black and white plating beyond Skyfire's bulk.
“Hey, 'Fire,” a mech says in Jazz's distinctive vocal tones. “Ya in a hurry or somethin'? Was kind of a cold welcome, yeah?”
“My apologies,” Skyfire retorts and brushes past the third-in-command with a very agitated flick of his wing panels.
He's gone before Jazz can manage so much as an offended ventilation.
“Primus,” Jazz says, stepping fully into the lab and allowing the door to slide shut behind him. “What climbed up his thrusters and set up house?”
“I do not know.” Perceptor hunches on his own stool, discomfort etching itself through his lines. “He has been, shall I say cranky, all morning.”
“Cranky? Skyfire? That does not compute.” Jazz's grin has yet to fade, however.
He sidles right up next to Perceptor, helm nuzzling against the microscope's right shoulder. “He isn't glitching?”
“I do not think so.” While Jazz's visit is welcome, the touch is not. He feels far too sensitive and Perceptor subtly shifts away. “He is upset about something.”
“Hmm.” Perceptive as always, Jazz tilts his helm away, though his energy field lightly caresses Perceptor's. “Sounds like somethin' I need to investigate.”
Perceptor's frown melts into a smile. “If you would please. I am concerned.”
“Then Jazz is on the case.” Jazz grins and lightly drags a finger down the length of Perceptor's arm. “Now I gotta ask if you're all right?”
“Nothing that won't self-repair in time,” Perceptor assures him.
“Or,” Jazz says, swinging around to put himself between Perceptor and his lab table, “I could speed up the process.” He pulls something out of subspace and juggles it back and forth between his hands.
Perceptor raises his orbital ridges. “I am a little afraid to ask.”
Jazz laughs. “My own personal recipe. A little bit of sensor gel, a dab of high-powered nanites, some of this and that, all swirled about in a blend of fancy wax.”
Perceptor's fingers twitch. Intrigued, he makes a grab for the container, if only to scan the contents. “Sunstreaker would be jealous.”
“He helped me mix it up,” Jazz retorts with a roll of his optics and leans forward, ex-vents ghosting over Perceptor's plating. “I'll comm you the recipe.”
How quickly Jazz has come to understand him.
“Much appreciated.”
“On another note,” Jazz continues, pulling back and leaning on the desk, hands braced against the edge behind him. “Word on the street says you wanted to go to some kind of lecture up in Seattle.”
Perceptor's spark skips a beat. “Yes. I intended to ask Beachcomber but he has become otherwise occupied.”
“Ya could always ask me.”
“But astrophysics is of little interest to you,” Perceptor replies, unable to hide the surprise in his energy field.
Amusement rumbles in Jazz's chassis. “Maybe not. But I know what does.”
Perceptor hums thoughtfully, reaching past Jazz for the datapad he had abandoned earlier. He can't recall if he'd saved his progress or not. “The drive?”
Jazz laughs, turning his helm to stare pointedly at Perceptor's arm. “No. Spendin' time with my new partner.”
“Oh.”
Well, now Perceptor feels foolish, and perhaps a tad embarrassed as well. He can be so dense sometimes.
His faceplates flush with heat, indecision warring heavily inside of him. He wants to take Jazz up on his offer. But the ache in his circuits and the utter haste of all that has happened lately makes him want to take a step back.
“Jazz, I...” Perceptor trails off, words failing him when they are usually his best weapon.
“Perceptor.”
Jazz's vocals, confident and kind, encourage Perceptor to lift his optics and meet the bright visor of his newly acquired partner.
“It's okay,” Jazz says and reaches out, hand gently folding over Perceptor's own. “I'm on the same datapad. Slow 'n steady, yeah?”
Tension bleeds out of his hydraulics. Tension that Perceptor hadn't even realized was present.
He smiles, relaxing visibly. “Yes.”
“Good.” Jazz holds up the tin of special wax again. “With that being said, you still look in need of some relief.”
Warmth suffuses Perceptor's spark. “Regretfully so. While the night's activities were pleasurable, the aftereffects are akin to a high grade induced overcharge.”
“Percy, you have no idea how much of a compliment you just gave me,” Jazz replies with a laugh and a playful flash of his visor.
His faceplate heats again. “I was being truthful.”
“That makes it all the more genuine.” Jazz takes his hand, pulling it up to his mouth, brushing his lipplates over the sensor-lined tips. “My place or yours?”
“Yours,” Perceptor replies, a shiver dancing down his backstrut. “I am afraid my quarters are still in disarray.”
As is his lab, thus the reason he's sharing with Skyfire at the moment. Of course, the state of his private lab is entirely Jazz's fault.
“Your tendency toward clutter will never cease to amuse me,” Jazz says, and presses a kiss to Perceptor's palm. “I am glad you took Ratchet up on that bet.”
Tingles spread outward, from where Jazz's lips brush across his plating. Perceptor smiles. “As am I.”
a/n: I've got a bit more of an idea where this is going, now I just have to figure out how I'm going to write it. In the meantime, I'm still plugging away at War Without End and One More Night. Got a couple PWP coming up, too. Both of them quite kinky. ;) Critical Mass is giving me plotting fits so I've temporarily set it aside for the sake of my sanity. lol
Feedback is welcome and appreciated. I'm still iffy on writing Perceptor and Skyfire both.
