[TF] Past Impending 07
Jul. 19th, 2018 06:22 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dracoqueen22Title: Past Impending
Universe: All This and Heaven Too
Characters: Rodimus, Starscream, Drift/Deadlock, Sunstreaker, Turmoil, Original Character(s)
Pairings: past Rodimus/Drift, Starscream/Sunstreaker, past Rodimus/Turmoil
Rated: T
Warnings: implied bad things including physical and sexual abuse
Summary: A shockingly familiar face shows up at Blue Sun, and Starscream learns how and why Rodimus is so deeply in debt.
Part Seven
There was something ominous about the door to his own quarters, and Starscream couldn’t put a finger on why. He refused to walk away, however. He lived here too, damn it, even if Sunstreaker was in a snit.
Inside, it was dim, and soft music played from their sound system. Sunstreaker was curled up in the window seat – an odd choice from him – and he was holding one of his novelpads.
“Reading anything good?” Starscream asked as the door closed and locked behind him.
“Depends on what you call good,” Sunstreaker replied, his tone perfectly even, his gaze focused on the glowing screen. “I’m surprised you’re here.”
Ah. So right into the argument then. Fun.
“Why wouldn’t I be? Where else would I go?”
Sunstreaker flicked absently through his datapad, but Starscream doubted he was actually looking at it. “I figured Rodimus would need your company tonight.”
Starscream’s optics narrowed. “He said he’d be fine. If anything, he pushed me to come after you, because you were upset.”
“Right.” Sunstreaker snorted.
“And I can see he wasn’t wrong.” Starscream moved further into the room, though he kept to Sunstreaker’s periphery, reading the tight clamp of his roommate’s armor. “You’re still angry with me.”
“I’m not angry.” Sunstreaker’s lips were a thin line.
Starscream frowned. “You’re a very poor liar.”
“I have no right to be angry, therefore I’m not,” Sunstreaker gritted out. He looked over the top of his datapad at Starscream, his optics thin slits of icy blue. “Whatever you chose to do with yourself is no business of mine.”
Starscream vented, sharp and loud. “You’re acting like it’s a bad thing I stood up for Rodimus. Especially when no one else would do it. Most people would applaud that kind of heroics not--”
“Do you love him?”
Starscream blinked. “What?”
The datapad was set aside with a sharp click. Sunstreaker spun on the windowseat, his feet hitting the floor. “It’s a simple fragging question, Starscream.”
“It’s not like that!” he snapped. He folded his arms over his cockpit, his spark hammering in his chassis. “You know good and well that doing what we do, who we are, that sort of thing isn’t even a factor. I’m fond of Rodimus, yes. He’s easy to like. But love? Of course not. I don’t have the luxury.”
“Luxury,” Sunstreaker echoed. He worked his intake. “Well, you’re right about that at least. Love doesn’t enter the picture here. Not one bit.”
“No, it doesn’t.” Starscream cycled a ventilation, struggling to get himself under control. “I’m not going to apologize for caring about Rodimus.”
Sunstreaker pushed to his feet. “I wasn’t asking you to.”
“Then what are you asking?” Starscream demanding, tension coiling inside of him, desperate to be released. He felt like he were falling, and not even his wings could keep him from hitting the ground.
He didn’t understand.
“Not for anything. I just-- Argh.” Sunstreaker twisted away, hands clenched into fists at his sides. “Just forget it. I’m sorry I snapped at you about Rodimus. Whoever you want to care about, that’s your business, not mine. He’s a good kid. He’s lucky he’s got you to look after him.”
“Sun--”
He shook his head sharply. “I don’t want to fight.”
Starscream cycled a ventilation. “Who’s fighting?”
“Exactly.” Sunstreaker vented, but the fierce clamp of his armor did not ease. In the reflection of the window, Starscream could see his optics were shuttered, his face a mask of emotion. “So can we just not talk about it anymore?”
“We need to talk.” Starscream hunched his shoulders. “I think that much is pretty clear.”
“No, we don’t. The issue is closed.”
Starscream ground his denta. It wasn’t done, but damn it, when Sunstreaker closed up like this, there was no getting through to him. If he didn’t want to talk, Starscream couldn’t make him.
“Fine,” Starscream bit out. “But will you at least help me with my wing? I need to get the static bandaging off, and I want to make sure my paint isn’t too ruined.”
“Of course I will.” Sunstreaker cycled ventilation and turned, his face a careful mask. “I can’t let you walk out of here looking like a mess. What would the others think?”
The joke was weak, but sorely needed. Starscream snorted and moved into their private washrack. “Appearance is everything.”
Sunstreaker followed him inside. He said nothing as he started the rinse, setting it to a decent temperature, and as he approached, Starscream obligingly turned. There was no one else he’d trust to remove the bandages. Sunstreaker had the gentlest hands, for all that he was the fiercest dom.
“Thank you,” Starscream murmured.
Sunstreaker’s hands carefully landed on his wing, peeling back the sticky mesh away from the dented panels. “What are roommates for?”
Starscream chewed on his bottom lip.
He counted ventilations, listened to the patter of the solvent, and held himself still. His pain patches had worn off long ago, and he didn’t want to jostle his wings anymore than necessary. Wrench had explicitly said he was to take care.
“The welds look good,” Sunstreaker said as Starscream felt the first wisp of warm, damp air ghost over the bared plating. “Should heal without so much as a scar.”
“Wrench is good at what he does.”
“Would have been better if he hadn’t needed to in the first place,” Sunstreaker muttered before his hands rested on Starscream’s shoulders. “Step back a few paces. I want to rinse it off.”
Starscream bit back the sharp retort and obeyed. If Sunstreaker wanted to be snide, Starscream would let him. He was tired of fighting.
Sunstreaker changed the settings and the gentlest of sprays cascaded over Starscream’s wings. Starscream relaxed, his armor lifting away from his protoform to let the runoff slide through his seams and over his cables.
“We live in dangerous times,” Starscream murmured as Sunstreaker tended to his wing with the sort of care only medics had. “I was thinking I should take some self-defense courses. More than the few I’ve had at least.”
Sunstreaker was silent for a moment. Exhibiting restraint? How polite of him.
“That sounds like a good idea,” Sunstreaker finally said. The nozzle clicked into a different setting, a firmer spray against Starscream’s back and aft. “It never hurts to know how to defend yourself.”
Starscream shuttered his optics, determined to enjoy the moment, and pretend he couldn’t feel the tension simmering beneath the surface.
“Or defend those you care about,” Sunstreaker said, almost offhand. The spray swept up and down Starscream’s back. “I think I’ll sign up for a few, too.”
“How dangerous do you think it is around here?” Starscream asked, with a forced laugh, because he didn’t like Sunstreaker’s tone. He couldn’t put a finger on why, except it sounded almost murderous.
“Dangerous enough,” Sunstreaker muttered. He clicked off the spray and set the nozzle aside, the drip-drip of the leaky end abnormally loud in the silence. “Clearly, we can’t rely on the Enforcers to look out for our best interests. So we’re going to have to take care of ourselves.”
Starscream turned, resting a hand on Sunstreaker’s arm, forcing Sunstreaker to look at him. “Turmoil crumpling my wing was not Nightshade’s fault.”
“Of course it wasn’t. Not entirely anyway.” Sunstreaker eased his hand free of Starscream’s grip, and Starscream fought down the wave of rejection creeping into his spark. “It was yours.”
Starscream reared back, wings jerking upright, even the injured one, provoking a hiss of displeasure through his denta. “What?”
“You provoked him,” Sunstreaker said, his tone utterly flat, his expression matching it. “You made Turmoil angry. You knew what he would do.”
Starscream’s hands balled into fists. He took another step back from Sunstreaker, a cold chill racing through his armor. “Do you even hear yourself right now? Blaming me because Turmoil attacked me?”
He jabbed a finger toward Sunstreaker, anger rattling over his plating. His field boiled, and he knew Sunstreaker must have felt it, given the way he flinched.
“Turmoil is a monster. He saw an opportunity, and he took it. If it had been you standing there, terrified out of your processor, I’d have done the exact fragging thing. But go ahead. Tell me it’s my fault again. What’s next? You’re going to tell me I must have wanted it in some way? That Rodimus did, too?”
Sunstreaker’s optics hardened. “You’re twisting my words.” He folded his arms over his chestplate. Defensive. Plating clamped tight. Closing himself off, as he always did when he didn’t want to deal with something.
“No, you just never say what you mean to say,” Starscream spat.
He spun and snapped a drying mesh off the rack. He scrubbed down his frame as quickly as possible, motions jerky, betraying the rattle of emotions in his spark. The washrack suddenly felt too small, and Starscream didn’t want to be in here anymore. He didn’t care about his paint or his polish.
“I just don’t understand why you keep doing this,” Sunstreaker protested with a loud whoosh of his vents. “You act like pain is nothing, like your own safety isn’t important, that you don’t matter.”
Starscream threw down the damp cloth. “Here’s a newsflash, Sunstreaker. We’re buymechs. In the optics of the rest of the city, we don’t matter.” He waved his arms, ignoring the flash of pain as his wing moved at an uncomfortable angle. “We’re the only ones who care what happens to us. We’re all alone.”
“I know that!” Sunstreaker’s engine revved. “But that doesn’t mean you have to keep trying to be some kind of… of hero, or whatever. You’re going to get yourself killed.”
Starscream glared. “I can do whatever I damn well want. And if I want to risk my safety for someone I care about, then I will. You have no right to tell me what I can and can’t do.”
“I’m not saying that I do, I’m just saying that you need to start thinking.” Sunstreaker’s vents wheezed, his optics dark and angry. “You’re too smart to be this stupid.”
Stupid.
First, he’s a masochist, inviting Turmoil’s anger because he wanted it apparently. Now, he’s an idiot?
Starscream narrowed his optics. “I think I am starting to see why you couldn’t keep a roommate before me.” He clipped his words, drew on a frosty anger in his spark. “Have you always treated people like unruly subs who need your hand to master them? Or am I special case because I let you put your hands on me?”
Sunstreaker’s face colored.
“Or wait.” Starscream cocked his head. “I must have wanted this all along, since I’m too stupid to decide it for myself. It’s a good thing I have you to tell me everything I’m doing wrong.”
A strangled sound caught in Sunstreaker’s intake. “Star, that’s not--”
He cut off his roommate with a raised hand. “Don’t.” He drew in a long vent, alarmed to find it ragged. He trembled all the way to his substructure. He didn’t know what hurt more, this or the slice of fire in his wing.
“I’m leaving,” Starscream said, his voice echoing around the polished metal. “I can’t be in here with you right now.” He stalked out of the washrack, making a beeline for the main door.
“Star, wait.” Sunstreaker’s field chased after him, something frantic in it.
“For what? So you can yell at me more? No, thank you.” Starscream snatched a kit off his desk as he passed. He’d have to get Rodimus to at least try and polish up his wing in the morning.
Sunstreaker caught up to him, throwing his body between the door and Starscream. “I don’t want to yell.”
“Move,” Starscream growled.
“No.” Sunstreaker’s intake bobbed. “I’m sorry. I said a lot of things I shouldn’t have, and I let my anger get the best of me. Just please… don’t go.”
Starscream huffed. “I’m coming back. This is still my room, after all.”
Sunstreaker looked at the ground, his lips pressed together in a thin line. “That’s not what I meant.”
“I’m sure it wasn’t. Because you never say what you mean to say.” Starscream cycled a ventilation.
He was tired. He was hurting. He just wanted to recharge. He didn’t want to argue anymore. He didn’t want to fight with the words clawing at his intake. He didn’t want to wonder ‘what ifs’ and call himself a coward over and over again.
He rubbed a hand down his face, pinched the bridge of his nasal ridge. He was just so tired.
“I’m sorry,” Sunstreaker said, again.
He stepped aside, out of the way of the door. Even pressed a hand to the panel so it would open, leaving Starscream free to exit, if he so wanted.
He still wouldn’t look at Starscream though.
Starscream didn’t know which was the heaviest chain: this debt he fought to pay, or the one around his spark, keeping Sunstreaker close, but always out of reach.
“I’m tired.” Starscream spun back around, tossing his kit onto his desk. It slid off the other side with a clatter and hit the floor. “My wing hurts, and I want to recharge. Close the damn door.”
It closed.
Starscream stomped to his berth and climbed into it, rearranging pillows to make it more comfortable for his damaged wing. Sunstreaker hadn’t moved from the door. He hadn’t spoken either.
Starscream cast a glance over his shoulder. Sunstreaker stared at the floor, his expression one Starscream couldn’t read.
“Are you coming or not?” Starscream asked.
“I didn’t think I’d be welcome.” Sunstreaker moved closer to Starscream, tentative, as though he thought any second now, Starscream would lash out at him.
Well, he wasn’t wrong.
“I’m still mad at you.” Starscream sat back on his heels and gestured to the empty space. “But I want a pillow, and I don’t want to recharge alone. I just want to pretend for a little while that everything is fine. Can you do that or do I need to go find Rodimus?”
He had to admit, the last bit was calculated. Maybe Sunstreaker had a point when he said Starscream knew exactly what he was doing. He knew how powerful words could be.
Sunstreaker’s lips pressed together. He worked his jaw. He pulled himself into Starscream’s berth without a word, laying flat, leaving room for Starscream to flatten himself in the crook of Sunstreaker’s frame.
It was much more comfortable this way. The heat of his roommate pressed against him, Sunstreaker’s field nudging his, warm but edged with uncertainty.
Starscream pillowed his head on Sunstreaker’s shoulder. His wings lay comfortably flat against his back. Sunstreaker’s hands rested at the base of his back.
Actions spoke louder than words claimed the old adage.
But words were useful, too. Words meant things.
Sunstreaker never said what he meant.
But then again, Starscream didn’t either.
He cycled a ventilation and shuttered his optics. He relaxed into the dip and rise of Sunstreaker’s frame, soaking in his energy field, pretending as he often did, that there was a real chance here.
The lights extinguished, draping the room in shadows.
“I’m sorry,” Sunstreaker murmured on the tail end of a soft vent. “I should have just told you that I’m glad you’re all right and left it at that.”
Starscream worked his intake. “Yes, you should have.”
“You’re right, too,” Sunstreaker continued, his words stilted and uneven. “It’s not my place to tell you what you can and can’t do. We’re roommates and friends. I’m not your keeper.”
Roommates and friends. Lovers, too, but that was skirting the line of too much, wasn’t it? Could they be lovers if they weren’t actually in love or if it were one-sided or if they couldn’t stay together? Were they friends with benefits? Was there a term that could define them?
“I’m glad you understand that,” Starscream said tightly.
Sunstreaker gently stroked his backstrut. His fingers remained chaste, not venturing further than the small of Starscream’s back. “I’m sorry,” he said, again.
“I know.”
Silence lapsed between them. It was heavy. Starscream was exhausted, he wanted to recharge, but his thoughts kept churning, one after another.
There was something in the air, something tenuous. It reeked of change, but for the better or the worst, he didn’t know. He was almost afraid to find out.
Starscream slid a hand over Sunstreaker’s chassis, making himself as comfortable as he possibly could. He would enjoy this however long it lasted.
For better or worse.
~
Rodimus sighed and flopped over on his berth.
It was eerily quiet. Both of his roommates were out. He doubted he’d see them until Blue Sun reopened. Even then, he couldn’t be sure either of them would come back.
He hadn’t wanted to lie here in the dark. Alone. But he didn’t want to be between Starscream and Sunstreaker either. Those two had issues. They needed to sit down and talk and be honest with each other.
Honesty.
Rodimus snorted.
What did he even know about it? It wasn’t like his track record was full of truths. But still. He’d seen the way Sunstreaker looked at Starscream when he thought Starscream wasn’t looking. He’d heard the longing in Starscream’s voice. They loved each other. Rodimus didn’t know what fool reason they told themselves for not admitting it.
Frustrating, was what it was. Frustrating beyond belief.
Something creaked in the dark.
Rodimus peered into the shadows. He’d left the baseboard runners on. The console they all shared hummed in a ready-state. Lights on the tower blinked, providing a dim glow.
He was alone. It was probably the furniture settling.
Rodimus stared into the dark. His spark started a pitter-patter of discomfort.
Turmoil was arrested. Most of his top followers were arrested. The underlings were being rounded up even as Rodimus and Drift had spoke. There was nothing to fear. There was no one to come after Rodimus, seeking revenge. He was safe.
They’d told him he was safe.
The ventilation system kicked on with a clatter-whoosh, and Rodimus nearly startled right out of the berth. It was a sound he knew too well. It was abnormally loud in the silence.
He clutched a pillow to his chassis.
He wished he hadn’t told Starscream he’d be fine.
He wished he were stronger.
The baseboard lights flickered.
Rodimus surged out of the berth, tossing the pillow aside. He didn’t need to recharge. He could function fine without it. Why, when he’d been Turmoil’s pet, Turmoil had kept him online for a week once, just to see if he’d be more malleable.
Rodimus shivered at the memory. He stormed out of the room, into the brightness of the hallway. It was late, or early, depending on how you looked at it. He couldn’t go to Starscream’s room. He didn’t have any other friends in Blue Sun. He probably wouldn’t have any now, not after this thing with Turmoil.
Streamline was going to be out for energon.
Rodimus scraped a hand down his face and trudged to the lift. The sales floor at least would be brightly lit, and with the construction workers and the environmental staff trudging in and out here and there, it would be well populated. Plenty of mechs to blame any noise on. Hopefully, one of them wouldn’t be a Turmoil plant.
Ugh.
Maybe the refueling room was a better choice? Quieter. Slightly less occupied by unfamiliar faces.
Rodimus pressed the button to the main floor. He pushed his back against the wall, watching the lift descend, his armor rattling.
The lift dinged as it stopped, picking up another passenger. Rodimus worked his intake, telling himself there was no reason to be afraid. He didn’t need to be such a coward.
The door opened.
Drift stepped inside.
Rodimus blinked. “Drift?”
Drift blinked, too. “Rodimus?”
The lift honked, and Drift scurried the rest of the way inside, letting the door close. He glanced at the panel and keyed the button for the basement.
“Thought you were going to berth,” Drift said.
“I was.” Rodimus tried to play it casual, but his smile came out lopsided, and he knew his field was a mess. “Who needs recharge anyway, eh? Much more fun to be had when you’re online. Thought I might go for a walk.”
The lift stopped on the first floor. Rodimus moved to escape, but Drift caught his arm while he was in the doorway.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to walk outside right now. Not alone,” Drift said, his voice thick with worry, his hold gentle. “I mean, we’ve been rounding up Turmoil’s cronies but…”
Rodimus’ shoulders sagged. “But he had a firm hand in this area, and it’s impossible to know if you’ve got them all.”
“And he has a lot of friends.” Drift gave Rodimus’ arm a gentle squeeze. “Maybe recharge is better, yeah?”
Rodimus vented noisily. “No, it’s not.” The lift blatted angrily at them, and Rodimus fidgeted. “I can’t… It’s just… My roommates are out.” He refused to admit he was scared. Not in front of Drift.
“Oh.” Drift shifted and pressed the emergency stop button, so the lift would cease its angry protests. “Most of the guards are out. It’s a little too quiet if you ask me. I could… use the company. If you don’t mind.”
How kind of him to frame it in such a way. Rodimus could cling to his dignity, what little he had. “Sure.” Rodimus shifted into an awkward cant, stepping back into the lift. “I mean, it sucks to be lonely, you know. So if I was there, you’d feel less alone. Because you wouldn’t be.”
“Right.” Drift flicked the switch for the lift, letting the doors close. “I appreciate it.” His gaze swept over Rodimus, echoes of sadness behind his optics. “And I appreciate you being willing to be in the same room as me.”
Rodimus shrugged, tried to play it casual, though it felt anything but. “Anger and resentment are poison,” he said. He’d read it in a book once, one Sunstreaker had given him. “I can’t move forward if I hold onto them forever. And I guess, considering that we were both trying to escape, you were just as much a victim as me.”
Drift’s optics widened as the lift dinged, depositing them in the basement. “That’s unexpectedly gracious of you.”
“I’m learning that I’m a lot of unexpected things.” Rodimus laughed, thinking fondly of Starscream and Sunstreaker and the stuff they helped him learn about himself that he hadn’t known before.
He followed Drift into the guards quarters. It was as silent and still down here as it was upstairs in the residential floors. Where one could usually find a guard or two in the common room, it was deserted. Rodimus would bet many of them decided to jump ship in the wake of Turmoil’s arrest. They’d probably been Turmoil’s pets in some way or another.
“You’re sure about this?” Rodimus asked as Drift led him into the tiny room he called his own. “Staying at Blue Sun, I mean.”
Drift sighed and pulled off his sword, laying it in the stand on the wall. “The Enforcers never officially employed me. I was just an informant. I’m still going to need a job now that this is done. Blue Sun at least gives me some credibility, since I’m still what I always was.”
“An abandoned spark on the streets,” Rodimus murmured. He knew what Drift meant all too well.
It was one of the reasons Turmoil had scooped them up so easily.
“You can have my bunk, if you want,” Drift said. “I won’t mind sleeping on the floor.” He shot Rodimus a crooked grin. “I’ve slept in worse places.”
“Yeah. Me, too.”
Rodimus glanced at the berth. It seemed cruel to make Drift sleep on the floor. They could always go back up to Rodimus’ shared room. There were more berths, and Rodimus doubted his roommates would be back anytime soon.
It felt better here though. Smaller. He could see every corner with ease. No one could lurk behind a curtain.
He chewed on his bottom lip.
He didn’t want to recharge alone. The berths were big enough, weren’t they? Or would it be pathetic of him, to ask Drift to share a berth when he’d been so cold and angry with his former lover before? Would Drift misunderstand the request?
“Roddy?”
Fingers touched his shoulder, featherlight. Rodimus was alarmed to find himself trembling, and his own field a riotous whirl.
“Are you alright?”
“No,” Rodimus admitted, barely above a whisper. Suddenly, the lonely, empty berth was as terrifying as his lonely, empty quarters. “I want to be. But I’m not.”
The fingers vanished from his shoulder, but only because they’d moved to brush the back of his hand. “Come on,” Drift murmured, barely tugging on Rodimus’ fingers with his own. “It’s okay.”
It wasn’t the first time Rodimus heard Drift say those words. It wouldn’t even be the first time he believed them.
He felt numb, detached, as he let Drift pull him toward the berth. It was neat and piled high with pillows in such a garish assortment of colors Rodimus couldn’t help but gape. It was a monstrosity of decadence, and there were frayed bits of pillows where the pointed spurs of Drift’s armor had broken through the woven mesh of them.
“I don’t want to just take your berth,” Rodimus protested.
“It’s okay,” Drift said, and pushed Rodimus toward it, adding in a little flare of warmth from his field. “I’ll recharge in it, too. I mean, if that’s okay with you. If it’ll help.” He paused, cycled a ventilation. “I know what it’s like. I’ve been there. There’s no comparison to helplessness.”
Rodimus’ vents stuttered.
He crawled into the berth, loosing a little moan as his frame sank into the pile of cushions, which rose around him like a fluffy castle. Drift climbed in after him, chuckling as the pillows rolled him against Rodimus, their frames fitting together as easily now as they had before, even after Drift’s rebuild.
Though before hadn’t involved anything like this. They’d never snuggled or cuddled. It had been about ‘facing. Stolen frags in a closet like little acts of rebellion against Turmoil. Quick ‘faces before Turmoil came back or Deadlock had to report to a shift or a delivery. Rodimus lifted up, knuckles pressed to his mouth to muffle his cries as Deadlock consumed him to overload, the only pleasure he ever found.
Honestly, Rodimus wondered why he ever thought himself in love with Deadlock. They hadn’t had anything to love.
Drift rolled against his back, molding against him, his armor warm and silken, his arm extending chaste across Rodimus’ midsection.
“This okay?” Drift asked, his ex-vents puffing against the back of Rodimus’ neck.
Rodimus cycled a ventilation. “Surprisingly, yeah.” He tucked his arms against his chestplate. “Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. I get it.” Drift’s hand remained where it was, though he didn’t try to stroke or grope Rodimus at all. His field covered Rodimus like a warm blanket. “Though I think this is the first time we’ve done this.”
Rodimus huffed a small laugh. “Yeah. I was just thinking that. We didn’t really share a berth in this sense.”
“I always had other things on my mind,” Drift replied, his tone rich with warmth and amusement. “You could be quite irresistible.”
“Could be?” Rodimus twitched in fake affront, spoiler flicking back against Drift. “I still am irresistible, thank you very much.”
Drift laughed. “Fair enough. Want me to dim the lights?”
Rodimus nibbled on his bottom lip. “Would you tease me if I said no?” The lights were already at half-illumination. Any more and the shadows would start to creep in around him.
“They’re not that bright,” Drift said, by way of answer. He shifted a little behind Rodimus. Peripherally, Rodimus saw him tug a pillow under his head, the mesh giving a little protest at the sharp jut of his finials.
This was… this was better, Rodimus had to admit. The sound of another mech. The tick-tick-tick of cooling metal, the rhythmic rush of vents, the simmering warmth of a field. Better, even, that he knew the other mech was capable of battle if need be. Maybe this time, Drift wouldn’t even abandon him.
Maybe this time, he’d stay to fight.
“I wish it hadn’t come to this,” Drift murmured, as though reading Rodimus’ thoughts. “I wish things hadn’t turned out the way they did. I am sorry, Roddy.”
Rodimus shuttered his optics, swallowed over a lump in his intake. “I know. You’ve said so. And I’ve accepted your apology.” Forgiveness, however, might take a little while longer. Though this was a good start.
Silence fell between them, heavy and expectant, but not uncomfortable. It was far better than the scary nothing of his empty quarters.
“If you want, I can teach you some self-defense,” Drift offered, each word slow and careful, like he wasn’t sure how the suggestion would be taken. “It might help.”
“With the fear, you mean.”
“Yeah, with the fear.”
Rodimus worked his intake. “Did it help you?”
“There’s something to be said about the ability to defend yourself above all else. When you realize that you can fight the monsters that haunt you.”
Rodimus turned his head, rubbing his face into the pillows, the one beneath his cheek a bright, electric green. “Okay,” he said, against the mesh, his voice muffled but Drift should have heard him just fine. “As long as you’re here, I want to learn.”
Drift’s forehead touched his back, between his shoulders, and there was something so intimate and chaste about it.
“We can start in the morning,” Drift murmured. “Don’t worry. I’ll guard your rest. And this time, I’m not going anywhere.”
Rodimus allowed himself to believe Drift. To trust him. To let Drift prove he was not the aft he’d been so long ago.
He shuttered his optics and sank into the pillows, into the protective cradle of Drift’s frame. He listened to the clicks and whuffs of an unfamiliar system – Drift had changed so much.
He allowed himself to dream.
Maybe.
Maybe things could be different now.
Turmoil was gone.
Things could always change.
****
Universe: All This and Heaven Too
Characters: Rodimus, Starscream, Drift/Deadlock, Sunstreaker, Turmoil, Original Character(s)
Pairings: past Rodimus/Drift, Starscream/Sunstreaker, past Rodimus/Turmoil
Rated: T
Warnings: implied bad things including physical and sexual abuse
Summary: A shockingly familiar face shows up at Blue Sun, and Starscream learns how and why Rodimus is so deeply in debt.
There was something ominous about the door to his own quarters, and Starscream couldn’t put a finger on why. He refused to walk away, however. He lived here too, damn it, even if Sunstreaker was in a snit.
Inside, it was dim, and soft music played from their sound system. Sunstreaker was curled up in the window seat – an odd choice from him – and he was holding one of his novelpads.
“Reading anything good?” Starscream asked as the door closed and locked behind him.
“Depends on what you call good,” Sunstreaker replied, his tone perfectly even, his gaze focused on the glowing screen. “I’m surprised you’re here.”
Ah. So right into the argument then. Fun.
“Why wouldn’t I be? Where else would I go?”
Sunstreaker flicked absently through his datapad, but Starscream doubted he was actually looking at it. “I figured Rodimus would need your company tonight.”
Starscream’s optics narrowed. “He said he’d be fine. If anything, he pushed me to come after you, because you were upset.”
“Right.” Sunstreaker snorted.
“And I can see he wasn’t wrong.” Starscream moved further into the room, though he kept to Sunstreaker’s periphery, reading the tight clamp of his roommate’s armor. “You’re still angry with me.”
“I’m not angry.” Sunstreaker’s lips were a thin line.
Starscream frowned. “You’re a very poor liar.”
“I have no right to be angry, therefore I’m not,” Sunstreaker gritted out. He looked over the top of his datapad at Starscream, his optics thin slits of icy blue. “Whatever you chose to do with yourself is no business of mine.”
Starscream vented, sharp and loud. “You’re acting like it’s a bad thing I stood up for Rodimus. Especially when no one else would do it. Most people would applaud that kind of heroics not--”
“Do you love him?”
Starscream blinked. “What?”
The datapad was set aside with a sharp click. Sunstreaker spun on the windowseat, his feet hitting the floor. “It’s a simple fragging question, Starscream.”
“It’s not like that!” he snapped. He folded his arms over his cockpit, his spark hammering in his chassis. “You know good and well that doing what we do, who we are, that sort of thing isn’t even a factor. I’m fond of Rodimus, yes. He’s easy to like. But love? Of course not. I don’t have the luxury.”
“Luxury,” Sunstreaker echoed. He worked his intake. “Well, you’re right about that at least. Love doesn’t enter the picture here. Not one bit.”
“No, it doesn’t.” Starscream cycled a ventilation, struggling to get himself under control. “I’m not going to apologize for caring about Rodimus.”
Sunstreaker pushed to his feet. “I wasn’t asking you to.”
“Then what are you asking?” Starscream demanding, tension coiling inside of him, desperate to be released. He felt like he were falling, and not even his wings could keep him from hitting the ground.
He didn’t understand.
“Not for anything. I just-- Argh.” Sunstreaker twisted away, hands clenched into fists at his sides. “Just forget it. I’m sorry I snapped at you about Rodimus. Whoever you want to care about, that’s your business, not mine. He’s a good kid. He’s lucky he’s got you to look after him.”
“Sun--”
He shook his head sharply. “I don’t want to fight.”
Starscream cycled a ventilation. “Who’s fighting?”
“Exactly.” Sunstreaker vented, but the fierce clamp of his armor did not ease. In the reflection of the window, Starscream could see his optics were shuttered, his face a mask of emotion. “So can we just not talk about it anymore?”
“We need to talk.” Starscream hunched his shoulders. “I think that much is pretty clear.”
“No, we don’t. The issue is closed.”
Starscream ground his denta. It wasn’t done, but damn it, when Sunstreaker closed up like this, there was no getting through to him. If he didn’t want to talk, Starscream couldn’t make him.
“Fine,” Starscream bit out. “But will you at least help me with my wing? I need to get the static bandaging off, and I want to make sure my paint isn’t too ruined.”
“Of course I will.” Sunstreaker cycled ventilation and turned, his face a careful mask. “I can’t let you walk out of here looking like a mess. What would the others think?”
The joke was weak, but sorely needed. Starscream snorted and moved into their private washrack. “Appearance is everything.”
Sunstreaker followed him inside. He said nothing as he started the rinse, setting it to a decent temperature, and as he approached, Starscream obligingly turned. There was no one else he’d trust to remove the bandages. Sunstreaker had the gentlest hands, for all that he was the fiercest dom.
“Thank you,” Starscream murmured.
Sunstreaker’s hands carefully landed on his wing, peeling back the sticky mesh away from the dented panels. “What are roommates for?”
Starscream chewed on his bottom lip.
He counted ventilations, listened to the patter of the solvent, and held himself still. His pain patches had worn off long ago, and he didn’t want to jostle his wings anymore than necessary. Wrench had explicitly said he was to take care.
“The welds look good,” Sunstreaker said as Starscream felt the first wisp of warm, damp air ghost over the bared plating. “Should heal without so much as a scar.”
“Wrench is good at what he does.”
“Would have been better if he hadn’t needed to in the first place,” Sunstreaker muttered before his hands rested on Starscream’s shoulders. “Step back a few paces. I want to rinse it off.”
Starscream bit back the sharp retort and obeyed. If Sunstreaker wanted to be snide, Starscream would let him. He was tired of fighting.
Sunstreaker changed the settings and the gentlest of sprays cascaded over Starscream’s wings. Starscream relaxed, his armor lifting away from his protoform to let the runoff slide through his seams and over his cables.
“We live in dangerous times,” Starscream murmured as Sunstreaker tended to his wing with the sort of care only medics had. “I was thinking I should take some self-defense courses. More than the few I’ve had at least.”
Sunstreaker was silent for a moment. Exhibiting restraint? How polite of him.
“That sounds like a good idea,” Sunstreaker finally said. The nozzle clicked into a different setting, a firmer spray against Starscream’s back and aft. “It never hurts to know how to defend yourself.”
Starscream shuttered his optics, determined to enjoy the moment, and pretend he couldn’t feel the tension simmering beneath the surface.
“Or defend those you care about,” Sunstreaker said, almost offhand. The spray swept up and down Starscream’s back. “I think I’ll sign up for a few, too.”
“How dangerous do you think it is around here?” Starscream asked, with a forced laugh, because he didn’t like Sunstreaker’s tone. He couldn’t put a finger on why, except it sounded almost murderous.
“Dangerous enough,” Sunstreaker muttered. He clicked off the spray and set the nozzle aside, the drip-drip of the leaky end abnormally loud in the silence. “Clearly, we can’t rely on the Enforcers to look out for our best interests. So we’re going to have to take care of ourselves.”
Starscream turned, resting a hand on Sunstreaker’s arm, forcing Sunstreaker to look at him. “Turmoil crumpling my wing was not Nightshade’s fault.”
“Of course it wasn’t. Not entirely anyway.” Sunstreaker eased his hand free of Starscream’s grip, and Starscream fought down the wave of rejection creeping into his spark. “It was yours.”
Starscream reared back, wings jerking upright, even the injured one, provoking a hiss of displeasure through his denta. “What?”
“You provoked him,” Sunstreaker said, his tone utterly flat, his expression matching it. “You made Turmoil angry. You knew what he would do.”
Starscream’s hands balled into fists. He took another step back from Sunstreaker, a cold chill racing through his armor. “Do you even hear yourself right now? Blaming me because Turmoil attacked me?”
He jabbed a finger toward Sunstreaker, anger rattling over his plating. His field boiled, and he knew Sunstreaker must have felt it, given the way he flinched.
“Turmoil is a monster. He saw an opportunity, and he took it. If it had been you standing there, terrified out of your processor, I’d have done the exact fragging thing. But go ahead. Tell me it’s my fault again. What’s next? You’re going to tell me I must have wanted it in some way? That Rodimus did, too?”
Sunstreaker’s optics hardened. “You’re twisting my words.” He folded his arms over his chestplate. Defensive. Plating clamped tight. Closing himself off, as he always did when he didn’t want to deal with something.
“No, you just never say what you mean to say,” Starscream spat.
He spun and snapped a drying mesh off the rack. He scrubbed down his frame as quickly as possible, motions jerky, betraying the rattle of emotions in his spark. The washrack suddenly felt too small, and Starscream didn’t want to be in here anymore. He didn’t care about his paint or his polish.
“I just don’t understand why you keep doing this,” Sunstreaker protested with a loud whoosh of his vents. “You act like pain is nothing, like your own safety isn’t important, that you don’t matter.”
Starscream threw down the damp cloth. “Here’s a newsflash, Sunstreaker. We’re buymechs. In the optics of the rest of the city, we don’t matter.” He waved his arms, ignoring the flash of pain as his wing moved at an uncomfortable angle. “We’re the only ones who care what happens to us. We’re all alone.”
“I know that!” Sunstreaker’s engine revved. “But that doesn’t mean you have to keep trying to be some kind of… of hero, or whatever. You’re going to get yourself killed.”
Starscream glared. “I can do whatever I damn well want. And if I want to risk my safety for someone I care about, then I will. You have no right to tell me what I can and can’t do.”
“I’m not saying that I do, I’m just saying that you need to start thinking.” Sunstreaker’s vents wheezed, his optics dark and angry. “You’re too smart to be this stupid.”
Stupid.
First, he’s a masochist, inviting Turmoil’s anger because he wanted it apparently. Now, he’s an idiot?
Starscream narrowed his optics. “I think I am starting to see why you couldn’t keep a roommate before me.” He clipped his words, drew on a frosty anger in his spark. “Have you always treated people like unruly subs who need your hand to master them? Or am I special case because I let you put your hands on me?”
Sunstreaker’s face colored.
“Or wait.” Starscream cocked his head. “I must have wanted this all along, since I’m too stupid to decide it for myself. It’s a good thing I have you to tell me everything I’m doing wrong.”
A strangled sound caught in Sunstreaker’s intake. “Star, that’s not--”
He cut off his roommate with a raised hand. “Don’t.” He drew in a long vent, alarmed to find it ragged. He trembled all the way to his substructure. He didn’t know what hurt more, this or the slice of fire in his wing.
“I’m leaving,” Starscream said, his voice echoing around the polished metal. “I can’t be in here with you right now.” He stalked out of the washrack, making a beeline for the main door.
“Star, wait.” Sunstreaker’s field chased after him, something frantic in it.
“For what? So you can yell at me more? No, thank you.” Starscream snatched a kit off his desk as he passed. He’d have to get Rodimus to at least try and polish up his wing in the morning.
Sunstreaker caught up to him, throwing his body between the door and Starscream. “I don’t want to yell.”
“Move,” Starscream growled.
“No.” Sunstreaker’s intake bobbed. “I’m sorry. I said a lot of things I shouldn’t have, and I let my anger get the best of me. Just please… don’t go.”
Starscream huffed. “I’m coming back. This is still my room, after all.”
Sunstreaker looked at the ground, his lips pressed together in a thin line. “That’s not what I meant.”
“I’m sure it wasn’t. Because you never say what you mean to say.” Starscream cycled a ventilation.
He was tired. He was hurting. He just wanted to recharge. He didn’t want to argue anymore. He didn’t want to fight with the words clawing at his intake. He didn’t want to wonder ‘what ifs’ and call himself a coward over and over again.
He rubbed a hand down his face, pinched the bridge of his nasal ridge. He was just so tired.
“I’m sorry,” Sunstreaker said, again.
He stepped aside, out of the way of the door. Even pressed a hand to the panel so it would open, leaving Starscream free to exit, if he so wanted.
He still wouldn’t look at Starscream though.
Starscream didn’t know which was the heaviest chain: this debt he fought to pay, or the one around his spark, keeping Sunstreaker close, but always out of reach.
“I’m tired.” Starscream spun back around, tossing his kit onto his desk. It slid off the other side with a clatter and hit the floor. “My wing hurts, and I want to recharge. Close the damn door.”
It closed.
Starscream stomped to his berth and climbed into it, rearranging pillows to make it more comfortable for his damaged wing. Sunstreaker hadn’t moved from the door. He hadn’t spoken either.
Starscream cast a glance over his shoulder. Sunstreaker stared at the floor, his expression one Starscream couldn’t read.
“Are you coming or not?” Starscream asked.
“I didn’t think I’d be welcome.” Sunstreaker moved closer to Starscream, tentative, as though he thought any second now, Starscream would lash out at him.
Well, he wasn’t wrong.
“I’m still mad at you.” Starscream sat back on his heels and gestured to the empty space. “But I want a pillow, and I don’t want to recharge alone. I just want to pretend for a little while that everything is fine. Can you do that or do I need to go find Rodimus?”
He had to admit, the last bit was calculated. Maybe Sunstreaker had a point when he said Starscream knew exactly what he was doing. He knew how powerful words could be.
Sunstreaker’s lips pressed together. He worked his jaw. He pulled himself into Starscream’s berth without a word, laying flat, leaving room for Starscream to flatten himself in the crook of Sunstreaker’s frame.
It was much more comfortable this way. The heat of his roommate pressed against him, Sunstreaker’s field nudging his, warm but edged with uncertainty.
Starscream pillowed his head on Sunstreaker’s shoulder. His wings lay comfortably flat against his back. Sunstreaker’s hands rested at the base of his back.
Actions spoke louder than words claimed the old adage.
But words were useful, too. Words meant things.
Sunstreaker never said what he meant.
But then again, Starscream didn’t either.
He cycled a ventilation and shuttered his optics. He relaxed into the dip and rise of Sunstreaker’s frame, soaking in his energy field, pretending as he often did, that there was a real chance here.
The lights extinguished, draping the room in shadows.
“I’m sorry,” Sunstreaker murmured on the tail end of a soft vent. “I should have just told you that I’m glad you’re all right and left it at that.”
Starscream worked his intake. “Yes, you should have.”
“You’re right, too,” Sunstreaker continued, his words stilted and uneven. “It’s not my place to tell you what you can and can’t do. We’re roommates and friends. I’m not your keeper.”
Roommates and friends. Lovers, too, but that was skirting the line of too much, wasn’t it? Could they be lovers if they weren’t actually in love or if it were one-sided or if they couldn’t stay together? Were they friends with benefits? Was there a term that could define them?
“I’m glad you understand that,” Starscream said tightly.
Sunstreaker gently stroked his backstrut. His fingers remained chaste, not venturing further than the small of Starscream’s back. “I’m sorry,” he said, again.
“I know.”
Silence lapsed between them. It was heavy. Starscream was exhausted, he wanted to recharge, but his thoughts kept churning, one after another.
There was something in the air, something tenuous. It reeked of change, but for the better or the worst, he didn’t know. He was almost afraid to find out.
Starscream slid a hand over Sunstreaker’s chassis, making himself as comfortable as he possibly could. He would enjoy this however long it lasted.
For better or worse.
Rodimus sighed and flopped over on his berth.
It was eerily quiet. Both of his roommates were out. He doubted he’d see them until Blue Sun reopened. Even then, he couldn’t be sure either of them would come back.
He hadn’t wanted to lie here in the dark. Alone. But he didn’t want to be between Starscream and Sunstreaker either. Those two had issues. They needed to sit down and talk and be honest with each other.
Honesty.
Rodimus snorted.
What did he even know about it? It wasn’t like his track record was full of truths. But still. He’d seen the way Sunstreaker looked at Starscream when he thought Starscream wasn’t looking. He’d heard the longing in Starscream’s voice. They loved each other. Rodimus didn’t know what fool reason they told themselves for not admitting it.
Frustrating, was what it was. Frustrating beyond belief.
Something creaked in the dark.
Rodimus peered into the shadows. He’d left the baseboard runners on. The console they all shared hummed in a ready-state. Lights on the tower blinked, providing a dim glow.
He was alone. It was probably the furniture settling.
Rodimus stared into the dark. His spark started a pitter-patter of discomfort.
Turmoil was arrested. Most of his top followers were arrested. The underlings were being rounded up even as Rodimus and Drift had spoke. There was nothing to fear. There was no one to come after Rodimus, seeking revenge. He was safe.
They’d told him he was safe.
The ventilation system kicked on with a clatter-whoosh, and Rodimus nearly startled right out of the berth. It was a sound he knew too well. It was abnormally loud in the silence.
He clutched a pillow to his chassis.
He wished he hadn’t told Starscream he’d be fine.
He wished he were stronger.
The baseboard lights flickered.
Rodimus surged out of the berth, tossing the pillow aside. He didn’t need to recharge. He could function fine without it. Why, when he’d been Turmoil’s pet, Turmoil had kept him online for a week once, just to see if he’d be more malleable.
Rodimus shivered at the memory. He stormed out of the room, into the brightness of the hallway. It was late, or early, depending on how you looked at it. He couldn’t go to Starscream’s room. He didn’t have any other friends in Blue Sun. He probably wouldn’t have any now, not after this thing with Turmoil.
Streamline was going to be out for energon.
Rodimus scraped a hand down his face and trudged to the lift. The sales floor at least would be brightly lit, and with the construction workers and the environmental staff trudging in and out here and there, it would be well populated. Plenty of mechs to blame any noise on. Hopefully, one of them wouldn’t be a Turmoil plant.
Ugh.
Maybe the refueling room was a better choice? Quieter. Slightly less occupied by unfamiliar faces.
Rodimus pressed the button to the main floor. He pushed his back against the wall, watching the lift descend, his armor rattling.
The lift dinged as it stopped, picking up another passenger. Rodimus worked his intake, telling himself there was no reason to be afraid. He didn’t need to be such a coward.
The door opened.
Drift stepped inside.
Rodimus blinked. “Drift?”
Drift blinked, too. “Rodimus?”
The lift honked, and Drift scurried the rest of the way inside, letting the door close. He glanced at the panel and keyed the button for the basement.
“Thought you were going to berth,” Drift said.
“I was.” Rodimus tried to play it casual, but his smile came out lopsided, and he knew his field was a mess. “Who needs recharge anyway, eh? Much more fun to be had when you’re online. Thought I might go for a walk.”
The lift stopped on the first floor. Rodimus moved to escape, but Drift caught his arm while he was in the doorway.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to walk outside right now. Not alone,” Drift said, his voice thick with worry, his hold gentle. “I mean, we’ve been rounding up Turmoil’s cronies but…”
Rodimus’ shoulders sagged. “But he had a firm hand in this area, and it’s impossible to know if you’ve got them all.”
“And he has a lot of friends.” Drift gave Rodimus’ arm a gentle squeeze. “Maybe recharge is better, yeah?”
Rodimus vented noisily. “No, it’s not.” The lift blatted angrily at them, and Rodimus fidgeted. “I can’t… It’s just… My roommates are out.” He refused to admit he was scared. Not in front of Drift.
“Oh.” Drift shifted and pressed the emergency stop button, so the lift would cease its angry protests. “Most of the guards are out. It’s a little too quiet if you ask me. I could… use the company. If you don’t mind.”
How kind of him to frame it in such a way. Rodimus could cling to his dignity, what little he had. “Sure.” Rodimus shifted into an awkward cant, stepping back into the lift. “I mean, it sucks to be lonely, you know. So if I was there, you’d feel less alone. Because you wouldn’t be.”
“Right.” Drift flicked the switch for the lift, letting the doors close. “I appreciate it.” His gaze swept over Rodimus, echoes of sadness behind his optics. “And I appreciate you being willing to be in the same room as me.”
Rodimus shrugged, tried to play it casual, though it felt anything but. “Anger and resentment are poison,” he said. He’d read it in a book once, one Sunstreaker had given him. “I can’t move forward if I hold onto them forever. And I guess, considering that we were both trying to escape, you were just as much a victim as me.”
Drift’s optics widened as the lift dinged, depositing them in the basement. “That’s unexpectedly gracious of you.”
“I’m learning that I’m a lot of unexpected things.” Rodimus laughed, thinking fondly of Starscream and Sunstreaker and the stuff they helped him learn about himself that he hadn’t known before.
He followed Drift into the guards quarters. It was as silent and still down here as it was upstairs in the residential floors. Where one could usually find a guard or two in the common room, it was deserted. Rodimus would bet many of them decided to jump ship in the wake of Turmoil’s arrest. They’d probably been Turmoil’s pets in some way or another.
“You’re sure about this?” Rodimus asked as Drift led him into the tiny room he called his own. “Staying at Blue Sun, I mean.”
Drift sighed and pulled off his sword, laying it in the stand on the wall. “The Enforcers never officially employed me. I was just an informant. I’m still going to need a job now that this is done. Blue Sun at least gives me some credibility, since I’m still what I always was.”
“An abandoned spark on the streets,” Rodimus murmured. He knew what Drift meant all too well.
It was one of the reasons Turmoil had scooped them up so easily.
“You can have my bunk, if you want,” Drift said. “I won’t mind sleeping on the floor.” He shot Rodimus a crooked grin. “I’ve slept in worse places.”
“Yeah. Me, too.”
Rodimus glanced at the berth. It seemed cruel to make Drift sleep on the floor. They could always go back up to Rodimus’ shared room. There were more berths, and Rodimus doubted his roommates would be back anytime soon.
It felt better here though. Smaller. He could see every corner with ease. No one could lurk behind a curtain.
He chewed on his bottom lip.
He didn’t want to recharge alone. The berths were big enough, weren’t they? Or would it be pathetic of him, to ask Drift to share a berth when he’d been so cold and angry with his former lover before? Would Drift misunderstand the request?
“Roddy?”
Fingers touched his shoulder, featherlight. Rodimus was alarmed to find himself trembling, and his own field a riotous whirl.
“Are you alright?”
“No,” Rodimus admitted, barely above a whisper. Suddenly, the lonely, empty berth was as terrifying as his lonely, empty quarters. “I want to be. But I’m not.”
The fingers vanished from his shoulder, but only because they’d moved to brush the back of his hand. “Come on,” Drift murmured, barely tugging on Rodimus’ fingers with his own. “It’s okay.”
It wasn’t the first time Rodimus heard Drift say those words. It wouldn’t even be the first time he believed them.
He felt numb, detached, as he let Drift pull him toward the berth. It was neat and piled high with pillows in such a garish assortment of colors Rodimus couldn’t help but gape. It was a monstrosity of decadence, and there were frayed bits of pillows where the pointed spurs of Drift’s armor had broken through the woven mesh of them.
“I don’t want to just take your berth,” Rodimus protested.
“It’s okay,” Drift said, and pushed Rodimus toward it, adding in a little flare of warmth from his field. “I’ll recharge in it, too. I mean, if that’s okay with you. If it’ll help.” He paused, cycled a ventilation. “I know what it’s like. I’ve been there. There’s no comparison to helplessness.”
Rodimus’ vents stuttered.
He crawled into the berth, loosing a little moan as his frame sank into the pile of cushions, which rose around him like a fluffy castle. Drift climbed in after him, chuckling as the pillows rolled him against Rodimus, their frames fitting together as easily now as they had before, even after Drift’s rebuild.
Though before hadn’t involved anything like this. They’d never snuggled or cuddled. It had been about ‘facing. Stolen frags in a closet like little acts of rebellion against Turmoil. Quick ‘faces before Turmoil came back or Deadlock had to report to a shift or a delivery. Rodimus lifted up, knuckles pressed to his mouth to muffle his cries as Deadlock consumed him to overload, the only pleasure he ever found.
Honestly, Rodimus wondered why he ever thought himself in love with Deadlock. They hadn’t had anything to love.
Drift rolled against his back, molding against him, his armor warm and silken, his arm extending chaste across Rodimus’ midsection.
“This okay?” Drift asked, his ex-vents puffing against the back of Rodimus’ neck.
Rodimus cycled a ventilation. “Surprisingly, yeah.” He tucked his arms against his chestplate. “Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. I get it.” Drift’s hand remained where it was, though he didn’t try to stroke or grope Rodimus at all. His field covered Rodimus like a warm blanket. “Though I think this is the first time we’ve done this.”
Rodimus huffed a small laugh. “Yeah. I was just thinking that. We didn’t really share a berth in this sense.”
“I always had other things on my mind,” Drift replied, his tone rich with warmth and amusement. “You could be quite irresistible.”
“Could be?” Rodimus twitched in fake affront, spoiler flicking back against Drift. “I still am irresistible, thank you very much.”
Drift laughed. “Fair enough. Want me to dim the lights?”
Rodimus nibbled on his bottom lip. “Would you tease me if I said no?” The lights were already at half-illumination. Any more and the shadows would start to creep in around him.
“They’re not that bright,” Drift said, by way of answer. He shifted a little behind Rodimus. Peripherally, Rodimus saw him tug a pillow under his head, the mesh giving a little protest at the sharp jut of his finials.
This was… this was better, Rodimus had to admit. The sound of another mech. The tick-tick-tick of cooling metal, the rhythmic rush of vents, the simmering warmth of a field. Better, even, that he knew the other mech was capable of battle if need be. Maybe this time, Drift wouldn’t even abandon him.
Maybe this time, he’d stay to fight.
“I wish it hadn’t come to this,” Drift murmured, as though reading Rodimus’ thoughts. “I wish things hadn’t turned out the way they did. I am sorry, Roddy.”
Rodimus shuttered his optics, swallowed over a lump in his intake. “I know. You’ve said so. And I’ve accepted your apology.” Forgiveness, however, might take a little while longer. Though this was a good start.
Silence fell between them, heavy and expectant, but not uncomfortable. It was far better than the scary nothing of his empty quarters.
“If you want, I can teach you some self-defense,” Drift offered, each word slow and careful, like he wasn’t sure how the suggestion would be taken. “It might help.”
“With the fear, you mean.”
“Yeah, with the fear.”
Rodimus worked his intake. “Did it help you?”
“There’s something to be said about the ability to defend yourself above all else. When you realize that you can fight the monsters that haunt you.”
Rodimus turned his head, rubbing his face into the pillows, the one beneath his cheek a bright, electric green. “Okay,” he said, against the mesh, his voice muffled but Drift should have heard him just fine. “As long as you’re here, I want to learn.”
Drift’s forehead touched his back, between his shoulders, and there was something so intimate and chaste about it.
“We can start in the morning,” Drift murmured. “Don’t worry. I’ll guard your rest. And this time, I’m not going anywhere.”
Rodimus allowed himself to believe Drift. To trust him. To let Drift prove he was not the aft he’d been so long ago.
He shuttered his optics and sank into the pillows, into the protective cradle of Drift’s frame. He listened to the clicks and whuffs of an unfamiliar system – Drift had changed so much.
He allowed himself to dream.
Maybe.
Maybe things could be different now.
Turmoil was gone.
Things could always change.
