[G1] You Fight Me
a/n: This is perhaps the most fucked up relationship I have ever written for the Twins. It's a prequel to Six Feet From the Edge and as soon as I figure out a title for that series, I'll give it one. It's also a flash fiction fill. This one is dark, twisted, and NSFW. Heed the warnings.
Title: You Fight Me
Universe: G1, Six Feet From the Edge prequel
Characters: SunstreakerxSideswipe
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: DARK fic, dubcon and noncon, spark sex, twincest, unreliable narrator, canon-typical violence
Description: Love don't live here anymore. This is how it's going to end.
For fuzipenguin's flash fiction prompt: Any'verse, SideswipexSunstreaker, Apocalyptic by Halestorm
He reached a point where the words no longer mattered. He shouted. He yelled. He screamed. He raged.
When that failed, he begged and pleaded. He tried, in broken words and static, to make himself clear. It worked as well as everything had before it.
He might as well have not spoken for all that he was heard. His vocalizer ached and spat static. His audials rang.
And Sideswipe stared at him, sneered at him.
Sunstreaker broke. He swung first and the rest was spilled energon and shattered memories and broken joints and shredded plating. His spark wailed. Pain had become his only constant, his companion. He yearned.
Sideswipe remained indifferent. Buried deep in his impassive expression was a loathing so virulent that it reflected on Sunstreaker. He hated himself as much as Sideswipe hated him. He saw himself the way Sideswipe saw him and small wonder there was nothing but this disgust. He was an abomination.
Sideswipe fought back. He gave as good as he got. But he wouldn't win now like he'd never won before.
Sunstreaker proved himself superior once more. His need was greater. His anger stronger. And when finally he bore Sideswipe to the ground, Sideswipe surrendered with a great ex-vent. His threw his hands over his helm and lay there, as if to say, do as you will.
And Sunstreaker growled because it wasn't what he wanted. He wanted cooperation and consent, he wanted Sideswipe to want him.
But all Sideswipe would give him was what he needed. He'd pushed Sunstreaker to this point, to taking rather than requesting. It wasn't fair. It wasn't right. But Sunstreaker's chestplates were juttering and the charge spilled out from beneath his plating, bright enough to burn.
Sideswipe's optics were a blue so flat they barely glowed. His lips twisted into a moue of distaste. Beneath Sunstreaker, he was placid. His fingers pulled slowly into fists. Energon splattered his armor as much as it stained Sunstreaker's.
His fist had left an impact in Sideswipe's chestplate; he could count the impression of each of his four knuckles. Sideswipe's windshield was splintered. One lipplate was puffy, energon streaking from the corner of his mouth. Sunstreaker wanted to lick it, taste the fresh energon.
Sunstreaker's hands slammed down to either side of Sideswipe's helm. He felt the rapid, scalding puffs of Sideswipe's ex-vents. His thighs scraped over Sideswipe's hips. His vocalizer clicked, struggling to engage.
“Give it to me,” Sunstreaker forced out, the hiss of static overlaying his glyphs, but the need ever present in his field. It was heavy, bearing him down like a physical weight, suffocating.
It pressed on Sideswipe, smothered his brother's field, and still he felt nothing from his twin but a cold silence. It hurt far more than the punch to the optic and his two broken fingers and the dented abdominal armor and the pinched cable in his hip.
“Just do it,” Sideswipe said, his vocals toneless.
Frustration ate at Sunstreaker's spark. His fingers scraped against the floor. Not like this. Never like this. But his spark pulsed and his chestplates rattled.
“Why?” he demanded, the question ragged, his vents even more so.
Sideswipe looked at him, optics narrowed and flat, his expression neutral but his field speaking of so much revulsion that Sunstreaker's tank churned. “Because I don't have a choice.”
Sunstreaker recoiled internally. He would have pulled away physically but Sideswipe chose that moment to pop the locks on his chestplate and the first spare tendrils of spark energy wafted toward Sunstreaker. He shivered, a keen building in his vocalizer as his own spark was granted a taste. Like a Syk addict, he couldn't walk away. He didn't have the willpower.
There was no stopping him now.
“Fine,” Sunstreaker growled and his chestplates parted, his spark all but leaping from his casing. It was drawn toward Sideswipe's, pulling him in, closer and closer.
And then Sideswipe moved, quick as a viper, his hands locking on Sunstreaker's helm vents and pulling him into a kiss that could scarcely be called one. It was a violent thing, full of denta and glossa and the sharp taste of energon. Sunstreaker moaned despite himself, optics fluttering.
When was the last time they'd kissed? He couldn't remember. He missed it, missed this, even if it had been borne of violence. Even if there was no passion. It was Sideswipe, it was his twin, and Sunstreaker loved him, despite it all. A soft sound escaped him, one that grew in volume as he heard the telltale sounds of Sideswipe's chestplate parting the rest of the way.
He felt the surge and heat of Sideswipe's spark banking against his own. The initial brush of energy was a lightning bolt to his system and all it did was set up a yawing need. A craving and there was no way to hold back. No after the first taste.
Sunstreaker all but dropped down on Sideswipe, closing the distance between their sparks. The two halves of a whole slammed together, electricity snapping out, more pain than pleasure. The formless space between their sparks knitted together, like welding a snapped strut or scored armor.
Connection.
Sunstreaker moaned into the kiss, his awareness dropping away from his frame and into the merge of their sparks. The tendrils wove together, seeking to rejoin as they were always meant to be. His impression of Sideswipe grew by leaps and bounds, until he couldn't separate himself from his twin.
In that moment, he felt joy. He felt complete. He felt whole and there was no pain, it didn't hurt.
He remembered how it used to be. How Sideswipe would smile and tease and be patient. He'd stand by Sunstreaker and he'd explain. He'd take Sunstreaker so gently, his optics sparkling. He'd laugh and he was warm and in recharge, they would guard each other's backs.
It was so long ago as to be fuzzy. And Sunstreaker couldn't pinpoint the moment it all changed. When love turned to loathing and affection to revulsion.
He only remembered being helpless to Sideswipe slipping away. To being angry and confused and reacting the only way he knew how, by clinging tighter, harsher. By dragging and demanding and getting nothing in return.
Nothing but that cold, flat look. A cold berth. An aching spark. Isolation.
Sunstreaker hated to be alone.
But here, in this space, their sparks whole as they were always meant to be. He's not. He's not Sunstreaker alone. He's whatever they were together, stronger and better for it. It's a pleasure that had no description, could not be formed into words.
But a spark could only contain so much. He felt it then. The tearing. The destabilizing. The trembling of his frame and not-frame. There was a fissure, split down the middle, not a solid line but a jagged tear. It was as if someone had reached into their casings, shoved a dagger between their sparks, and started to cut.
It shoved Sunstreaker back into his frame with a crackle of overload that held nothing of pleasure. It was only agony, heat blooming through his frame like taking a fusion cannon to the chest.
He felt Sideswipe tremble beneath him, his overload equally agonizing if not more so. His spark retreated into his chassis as though hiding, his chestplates snapping closed with enough violence to cause damage and Sunstreaker's chestplates responded in kind.
The last connection between them was severed as fast as a rifle shot. It hurt, to be back in his own frame, both running too hot and as cold as ice. He didn't belong here. He wasn't supposed to be here. There were no error messages but Sunstreaker felt damaged.
Sunstreaker groaned, arms wobbling, his entire frame trembling. The pain eased, but the ache of loss remained. Merging with Sideswipe was as perfect as it was terrible. He already wanted more.
Beneath him, Sideswipe's engine growled, a dangerous sound. His hands loosed from Sunstreaker's helm and landed on Sunstreaker's shoulders, giving a great shove. At the same moment he heaved with his frame, tossing Sunstreaker as though he weighed nothing.
Sideswipe rolled out from beneath him, his vents blasting heat, his field a coiled, sickly thing. His engine revved hard enough to make his plating clatter.
Sunstreaker, disoriented from the merge, struggled to get his frame back under control. But as was usual, Sideswipe recovered faster. It was easier for his awareness to return, to continue being Sideswipe, whereas Sunstreaker always lost himself to the connection. As if he was the one who shouldn't exist.
Sideswipe rolled to his pedes and Sunstreaker stared after him with blurred vision and half-functioning audials. He rebooted them, but it didn't help. It rarely did. His connection to his own frame was suspect at best.
He still felt it, the cold regard.
Sideswipe looked down at him, one hand crossed over his chestplate. Even blurred, Sunstreaker could see the streaks of yellow in Sideswipe's finish, over the impact marks from his earlier blow.
“Not again,” Sideswipe spat, and he backpedaled with a scrape of pedes over the floor. He scraped the energon from his lip, his chin, the same energon Sunstreaker could still taste on his glossa. “This is the last time.”
“Don't,” Sunstreaker choked out but his vocalizer followed it up with a blat of static.
Don't say it. Don't walk away from me. Don't leave me here.
He managed to get to hands and knees, his gyros giving him fits of discomfort. His world spun around him, but he could see Sideswipe's pedes, could see them turn toward the door.
Sunstreaker turned his helm, could see Sideswipe leaving. It wasn't the first time. It couldn't be the last. His chestplates ached. His spark shrank inward. His tanks churned.
Don't.
His vocalizer wouldn't engage. He still couldn't remember who he was.
Sideswipe paused, turned back to look at him, lingering with one hand on the panel. His expression gave away nothing. Sunstreaker couldn't read his field. The distance between their sparks was agony, as usual after a merge like this. One taken rather than given. One needed rather than wanted.
Sunstreaker waited. He knew he looked a wreck, a pathetic creature, trapped in the wells of guilt and necessity, caged by the very thing that had been his happiness. He presented the burden he was and how could he wonder why Sideswipe would walk away?
But it hurt. He couldn't deny that much. He felt, if he could find the words, he'd beg. For all the good it would do him.
He was sorry, didn't Sideswipe see? How much of a choice did either of them really have? This wasn't his fault.
Sunstreaker grabbed a desk, hauled himself to his pedes, braced his weight against it, his vents churning like mad.
“Sideswipe,” he choked out, and it didn't matter.
His brother's face contorted with something that could only be loathing.
“No,” Sideswipe hissed, and then he was gone, the door sliding open with a quiet whoosh and just a quietly sliding shut behind him.
Sunstreaker's knees wobbled and he remained standing by will alone. His helm ducked, great panting vents being drawn in at a rapid rate.
It isn't the first time.
He'll be back.
He can't leave me here.
I'm his brother.
I'm not alone.
There was a gash of red on his chestplate, a lurid splash next to the spatter of energon. He was afraid of what he'd see if he looked in the mirror.
He always comes back.
The words were as hollow as the ache in his casing.
****
a/n: If there was ever a fic that defined unreliable narrator for me, it would be this one. I really need to write one from Sideswipe's POV because this paints him as the villain and in truth, they're both to blame.
Eventually there will be a follow up. Eventually. Once my plate clears up. Until then... yeah.
Anyway, feedback is welcome and appreciated. I'd say that I hope you enjoyed but I don't think enjoy is quite the word I'm going for...
This entry was originally posted at http://dracoqueen22.dreamwidth.org/280793.html. Feel free to comment wherever you find most convenient.
Title: You Fight Me
Universe: G1, Six Feet From the Edge prequel
Characters: SunstreakerxSideswipe
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: DARK fic, dubcon and noncon, spark sex, twincest, unreliable narrator, canon-typical violence
Description: Love don't live here anymore. This is how it's going to end.
For fuzipenguin's flash fiction prompt: Any'verse, SideswipexSunstreaker, Apocalyptic by Halestorm
He reached a point where the words no longer mattered. He shouted. He yelled. He screamed. He raged.
When that failed, he begged and pleaded. He tried, in broken words and static, to make himself clear. It worked as well as everything had before it.
He might as well have not spoken for all that he was heard. His vocalizer ached and spat static. His audials rang.
And Sideswipe stared at him, sneered at him.
Sunstreaker broke. He swung first and the rest was spilled energon and shattered memories and broken joints and shredded plating. His spark wailed. Pain had become his only constant, his companion. He yearned.
Sideswipe remained indifferent. Buried deep in his impassive expression was a loathing so virulent that it reflected on Sunstreaker. He hated himself as much as Sideswipe hated him. He saw himself the way Sideswipe saw him and small wonder there was nothing but this disgust. He was an abomination.
Sideswipe fought back. He gave as good as he got. But he wouldn't win now like he'd never won before.
Sunstreaker proved himself superior once more. His need was greater. His anger stronger. And when finally he bore Sideswipe to the ground, Sideswipe surrendered with a great ex-vent. His threw his hands over his helm and lay there, as if to say, do as you will.
And Sunstreaker growled because it wasn't what he wanted. He wanted cooperation and consent, he wanted Sideswipe to want him.
But all Sideswipe would give him was what he needed. He'd pushed Sunstreaker to this point, to taking rather than requesting. It wasn't fair. It wasn't right. But Sunstreaker's chestplates were juttering and the charge spilled out from beneath his plating, bright enough to burn.
Sideswipe's optics were a blue so flat they barely glowed. His lips twisted into a moue of distaste. Beneath Sunstreaker, he was placid. His fingers pulled slowly into fists. Energon splattered his armor as much as it stained Sunstreaker's.
His fist had left an impact in Sideswipe's chestplate; he could count the impression of each of his four knuckles. Sideswipe's windshield was splintered. One lipplate was puffy, energon streaking from the corner of his mouth. Sunstreaker wanted to lick it, taste the fresh energon.
Sunstreaker's hands slammed down to either side of Sideswipe's helm. He felt the rapid, scalding puffs of Sideswipe's ex-vents. His thighs scraped over Sideswipe's hips. His vocalizer clicked, struggling to engage.
“Give it to me,” Sunstreaker forced out, the hiss of static overlaying his glyphs, but the need ever present in his field. It was heavy, bearing him down like a physical weight, suffocating.
It pressed on Sideswipe, smothered his brother's field, and still he felt nothing from his twin but a cold silence. It hurt far more than the punch to the optic and his two broken fingers and the dented abdominal armor and the pinched cable in his hip.
“Just do it,” Sideswipe said, his vocals toneless.
Frustration ate at Sunstreaker's spark. His fingers scraped against the floor. Not like this. Never like this. But his spark pulsed and his chestplates rattled.
“Why?” he demanded, the question ragged, his vents even more so.
Sideswipe looked at him, optics narrowed and flat, his expression neutral but his field speaking of so much revulsion that Sunstreaker's tank churned. “Because I don't have a choice.”
Sunstreaker recoiled internally. He would have pulled away physically but Sideswipe chose that moment to pop the locks on his chestplate and the first spare tendrils of spark energy wafted toward Sunstreaker. He shivered, a keen building in his vocalizer as his own spark was granted a taste. Like a Syk addict, he couldn't walk away. He didn't have the willpower.
There was no stopping him now.
“Fine,” Sunstreaker growled and his chestplates parted, his spark all but leaping from his casing. It was drawn toward Sideswipe's, pulling him in, closer and closer.
And then Sideswipe moved, quick as a viper, his hands locking on Sunstreaker's helm vents and pulling him into a kiss that could scarcely be called one. It was a violent thing, full of denta and glossa and the sharp taste of energon. Sunstreaker moaned despite himself, optics fluttering.
When was the last time they'd kissed? He couldn't remember. He missed it, missed this, even if it had been borne of violence. Even if there was no passion. It was Sideswipe, it was his twin, and Sunstreaker loved him, despite it all. A soft sound escaped him, one that grew in volume as he heard the telltale sounds of Sideswipe's chestplate parting the rest of the way.
He felt the surge and heat of Sideswipe's spark banking against his own. The initial brush of energy was a lightning bolt to his system and all it did was set up a yawing need. A craving and there was no way to hold back. No after the first taste.
Sunstreaker all but dropped down on Sideswipe, closing the distance between their sparks. The two halves of a whole slammed together, electricity snapping out, more pain than pleasure. The formless space between their sparks knitted together, like welding a snapped strut or scored armor.
Connection.
Sunstreaker moaned into the kiss, his awareness dropping away from his frame and into the merge of their sparks. The tendrils wove together, seeking to rejoin as they were always meant to be. His impression of Sideswipe grew by leaps and bounds, until he couldn't separate himself from his twin.
In that moment, he felt joy. He felt complete. He felt whole and there was no pain, it didn't hurt.
He remembered how it used to be. How Sideswipe would smile and tease and be patient. He'd stand by Sunstreaker and he'd explain. He'd take Sunstreaker so gently, his optics sparkling. He'd laugh and he was warm and in recharge, they would guard each other's backs.
It was so long ago as to be fuzzy. And Sunstreaker couldn't pinpoint the moment it all changed. When love turned to loathing and affection to revulsion.
He only remembered being helpless to Sideswipe slipping away. To being angry and confused and reacting the only way he knew how, by clinging tighter, harsher. By dragging and demanding and getting nothing in return.
Nothing but that cold, flat look. A cold berth. An aching spark. Isolation.
Sunstreaker hated to be alone.
But here, in this space, their sparks whole as they were always meant to be. He's not. He's not Sunstreaker alone. He's whatever they were together, stronger and better for it. It's a pleasure that had no description, could not be formed into words.
But a spark could only contain so much. He felt it then. The tearing. The destabilizing. The trembling of his frame and not-frame. There was a fissure, split down the middle, not a solid line but a jagged tear. It was as if someone had reached into their casings, shoved a dagger between their sparks, and started to cut.
It shoved Sunstreaker back into his frame with a crackle of overload that held nothing of pleasure. It was only agony, heat blooming through his frame like taking a fusion cannon to the chest.
He felt Sideswipe tremble beneath him, his overload equally agonizing if not more so. His spark retreated into his chassis as though hiding, his chestplates snapping closed with enough violence to cause damage and Sunstreaker's chestplates responded in kind.
The last connection between them was severed as fast as a rifle shot. It hurt, to be back in his own frame, both running too hot and as cold as ice. He didn't belong here. He wasn't supposed to be here. There were no error messages but Sunstreaker felt damaged.
Sunstreaker groaned, arms wobbling, his entire frame trembling. The pain eased, but the ache of loss remained. Merging with Sideswipe was as perfect as it was terrible. He already wanted more.
Beneath him, Sideswipe's engine growled, a dangerous sound. His hands loosed from Sunstreaker's helm and landed on Sunstreaker's shoulders, giving a great shove. At the same moment he heaved with his frame, tossing Sunstreaker as though he weighed nothing.
Sideswipe rolled out from beneath him, his vents blasting heat, his field a coiled, sickly thing. His engine revved hard enough to make his plating clatter.
Sunstreaker, disoriented from the merge, struggled to get his frame back under control. But as was usual, Sideswipe recovered faster. It was easier for his awareness to return, to continue being Sideswipe, whereas Sunstreaker always lost himself to the connection. As if he was the one who shouldn't exist.
Sideswipe rolled to his pedes and Sunstreaker stared after him with blurred vision and half-functioning audials. He rebooted them, but it didn't help. It rarely did. His connection to his own frame was suspect at best.
He still felt it, the cold regard.
Sideswipe looked down at him, one hand crossed over his chestplate. Even blurred, Sunstreaker could see the streaks of yellow in Sideswipe's finish, over the impact marks from his earlier blow.
“Not again,” Sideswipe spat, and he backpedaled with a scrape of pedes over the floor. He scraped the energon from his lip, his chin, the same energon Sunstreaker could still taste on his glossa. “This is the last time.”
“Don't,” Sunstreaker choked out but his vocalizer followed it up with a blat of static.
Don't say it. Don't walk away from me. Don't leave me here.
He managed to get to hands and knees, his gyros giving him fits of discomfort. His world spun around him, but he could see Sideswipe's pedes, could see them turn toward the door.
Sunstreaker turned his helm, could see Sideswipe leaving. It wasn't the first time. It couldn't be the last. His chestplates ached. His spark shrank inward. His tanks churned.
Don't.
His vocalizer wouldn't engage. He still couldn't remember who he was.
Sideswipe paused, turned back to look at him, lingering with one hand on the panel. His expression gave away nothing. Sunstreaker couldn't read his field. The distance between their sparks was agony, as usual after a merge like this. One taken rather than given. One needed rather than wanted.
Sunstreaker waited. He knew he looked a wreck, a pathetic creature, trapped in the wells of guilt and necessity, caged by the very thing that had been his happiness. He presented the burden he was and how could he wonder why Sideswipe would walk away?
But it hurt. He couldn't deny that much. He felt, if he could find the words, he'd beg. For all the good it would do him.
He was sorry, didn't Sideswipe see? How much of a choice did either of them really have? This wasn't his fault.
Sunstreaker grabbed a desk, hauled himself to his pedes, braced his weight against it, his vents churning like mad.
“Sideswipe,” he choked out, and it didn't matter.
His brother's face contorted with something that could only be loathing.
“No,” Sideswipe hissed, and then he was gone, the door sliding open with a quiet whoosh and just a quietly sliding shut behind him.
Sunstreaker's knees wobbled and he remained standing by will alone. His helm ducked, great panting vents being drawn in at a rapid rate.
It isn't the first time.
He'll be back.
He can't leave me here.
I'm his brother.
I'm not alone.
There was a gash of red on his chestplate, a lurid splash next to the spatter of energon. He was afraid of what he'd see if he looked in the mirror.
He always comes back.
The words were as hollow as the ache in his casing.
****
a/n: If there was ever a fic that defined unreliable narrator for me, it would be this one. I really need to write one from Sideswipe's POV because this paints him as the villain and in truth, they're both to blame.
Eventually there will be a follow up. Eventually. Once my plate clears up. Until then... yeah.
Anyway, feedback is welcome and appreciated. I'd say that I hope you enjoyed but I don't think enjoy is quite the word I'm going for...
This entry was originally posted at http://dracoqueen22.dreamwidth.org/280793.html. Feel free to comment wherever you find most convenient.