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Why did you come back?
The words never left his mouth; not a single vibration teased his vocalizer as he concentrated on the writhing creature before him. When Drift was a member of their crew, Perceptor never spent more than an hour with him. It was all Rodimus would allow, really. He never said it out loud- he never made it a rule or anything- but Perceptor knew their captain was involved with the former ‘Con.
“Look, Perce. You and Drift- I know you two have history.”
“Yes?”
“Well, you see, I’m kinda tryin’ to hit that, so…”
“Understood.”
Perceptor felt something swell inside his chest; a rising tide of hate and jealousy, as if Rodimus was the moon- a very ugly moon covered with craters and jagged peaks. It was Rodimus that had booted Drift from their ship. He remembered watching the scene from a distance, how the others threw insults and spare parts in his direction. Perceptor felt his spark ache for him. You’re leaving me again, he recalled thinking. Why are you leaving, Drift? Don’t you want to stay?
“Of course, I do, Perceptor. But they need me on Cybertron. Optimus needs me.”
“I need you!”
“Please, Perce…”
“Fuck me.” Drift rolled his hips, giving Perceptor a little show. It certainly distracted the sniper from his miserable thoughts. The swordsmech was already leaking from his valve- a valve that was so tight and unused since his rebuild. It twitched under Perceptor’s scrutiny, wrenching a small, unwelcome whimper of yearning from the scientist’s throat. “I need you,” Drift mewled, watching him through dimmed optics.
Perceptor slid his dark hands over the scarred expanse of Drift’s thighs, fingertips tracing the narrow gashes and scrapes. “You need me to do what?” he countered nonchalantly, running one hand along the mech’s inner thigh. As he waited for Drift’s answer, Perceptor brought his fingers to the weeping valve and began to thumb the little sensor node gracing the rim. It made the swordsmech arch from the berth- so beautiful and arousing. He made slow circles with his thumb, his gaze flitting back to Drift’s face just as the racer emitted a heady moan.
“I…” Drift struggled, his voice cracking. “I need…” He closed his optics tightly as he felt another wave of pleasure coursing through him like fire. “Primus… I need you inside me, please!” He didn’t usually beg, but he felt comfortable with Perceptor. He knew his friend wouldn’t go too far.
The sniper cycled his vents and guided his spike to the eager valve, only to rub the tip against the very sensor he was teasing earlier. “Will you promise me something, Drift?” He pressed the spike past the rim and stopped. “Promise me, that you will never leave me again.” You are my Conjunx Endura. Do you understand that, Drift?
Drift stared at him through a thick haze of arousal and tried to resist squirming against the heavy spike at his entrance. Could he really promise that? “Yes… I promise,” he answered quietly, optics closing halfway. “If I leave again…” He paused, rolling his hips to take more of the spike inside. “You’re coming with me.”
Perceptor leaned down and sealed the vow with a searing kiss. It was all he needed to hear, all he needed to know. Some might say he was stupid for believing him, for putting so much trust in a former Decepticon. But Perceptor felt like Drift was all he had. He needed Drift. The sniper muttered soft apologies against the swordsmech’s lips as he snapped his hips forward, painfully stretching the valve. Again and again, each hard thrust managing to jostle the pinned mech beneath him; and each noise that escaped Drift only encouraged him to throw more strength into his movements.
Drift didn’t seem to mind the rough treatment, though. And once he was able to get his hands free, the former third-in-command immediately grabbed at Perceptor’s back and clawed bright red paint from his chassis. His head landed back against the berth as his legs were forced further apart, giving his lover a deeper shot. “Perceptor,” he moaned, turning his head to the side, optics closing in bliss. “C-Close, Perce… Come with me, Perce… Come inside me, please…”
Above him, Perceptor’s frame vibrated with a possessive growl. There were noises the sniper made- ones that surprised even Drift. At first glance, you wouldn’t expect the once gentle soul to be so aggressive and potentially dangerous in his lovemaking, but Drift could recall a time where Perceptor had nearly ripped his throat out during a quickie in the Wreckers’ armory. When interfacing or handling his weapons, Perceptor would have this distant look in his optic, and Drift would be lying if he said he’s never felt intimidated by it. He’s come to learn that when Perceptor was locked in this trance, to treat him with caution as he was unpredictable. That near-death experience must have changed him more than they initially thought.
Drift gasped sharply as he was abruptly shaken by a particularly hard thrust. The spike was hitting the sensors embedded deep within his valve; the tip was bumping the little flap that marked the beginning of his reproductive channel. The only other mech able to accomplish such a feat was Turmoil, but he didn’t want to think about him, and he was sure Perceptor would be livid to have their moment interrupted by that guy.
“Primus, ‘Ceptor!” Drift clung to him as he overloaded suddenly, valve spiraling down around the thick spike now swelling inside him.
Perceptor groaned Drift’s name against the swordsmech’s audial and followed him over the edge. With each thrust, the ridges along his shaft scraped the mesh lining of Drift’s valve, prolonging their overloads. “Mine,” he muttered huskily, marking him with a flood of transfluid. He pressed in deeply, shuddering with relief. You belong to me, now. Rodimus can’t touch you anymore.
“Perce…”
“Mmm?”
“I’ve missed you. I’ve missed this.”
Perceptor turned his head to nuzzle Drift. The latter got to see a side of him that hardly anyone else had the pleasure of seeing, and that alone made the swordsmech feel special and privileged. He thought Perceptor was such a beautiful mech- inside and out. He knew, from the moment they met onboard Turmoil’s ship, that he was meant to accompany Perceptor; to fight by his side and love him like no other. Drift thought he would end up with Rodimus, or even Ratchet, but he just couldn’t see himself being with them like that. No, Perceptor would be the one to receive his innermost energon.
The two curled up on the berth and basked in the afterglow. Perceptor had draped an arm over the smaller mech and tugged him close, their legs mingling. They would have to bathe later as their frames felt heavy and sated- neither wanted to move. “Did you really mean that promise, Drift? Or was your answer influenced by sexual frustration.”
The swordsmech turned onto his side and smiled at him. “Yes, I meant it. I meant every word of it.” It’s what Wing would have wanted. Do not mourn for me too long, he would say, Find your happiness again, Drift. Find your center- your rock. I will always be watching your back, so… you just focus on what’s right there in front of you! And then he would have that stupid grin on his face. Primus, he still… felt things for him, even though he was dead and gone. But he now had a second chance with Perceptor; a second chance to love and live like he had always dreamt of living.
Perceptor tucked the swordsmech against him, making his contentment known in a pleased rumble that vibrated his frame. “I love you,” he heard Drift mumble against his chest plate. It made the sniper’s spark leap. “I love you, too, Drift. I have for a very long time.”