Fic: Immolation (Part 46/100)
Title: Immolation (Part 46/100)
Prompt: “Drink”
Verse: G1 (AU)
Rating: PG-13
Words: 1306
Pairings: Inferno/Red Alert
Other Characters: Ironhide. Ensemble.
Warnings: Sticky. “Alcohol” use. Drunk!drama.
Disclaimer: Do not own Transformers, or any of the official characters, do not get paid for doing this except with reviews.
Summary: Intoxication causes a misunderstanding between Inferno and Red Alert.
Notes: A continuation of my series of vignettes on the theme of Inferno being raped, and how he and Red Alert deal with it, centred around prompts from
slash_100.
A big thank you to __wilderness__ for giving me some feedback on this part when I was uncertain if it was going in the right direction.
Groon - 1 hour.
Astrosecond - ≈.273 seconds
Orbital cycle: 1 day
Solar cycle: 1 year
( Master prompt and chapter list )
Drink
Red Alert was still on his second cube of the evening by the time Inferno finished his fourth, but, in spite of his apprehensions about his lover imbibing so much after so long, especially in light of his ordeal, the fire engine seemed fine. More than fine, actually, if the merry conversation surrounding them was any indication.
It was good to see Inferno so animated, to hear his big, hearty laugh, to imagine that his optics were not over bright merely from the highgrade, but because he was happy, truly happy, as he had once been. As they had once been.
The Lamborghini leaned his head against Inferno's arm in an unconscious gesture of affection and found himself pulled into an embrace, and from there onto the fire engine's lap, his aft flush against a panel that felt several degrees warmer than the rest of the large mech. He squawked in apprehension, but all he really wanted to do, after so many months of self-servicing, was squirm in appreciation of the tantalizing sensation, and damn all watchers to the Pit.
Unfortunately the amorous gesture did not have the same meaning it once did. Before the awful summer of 2010, such actions by Inferno meant he was in a playfully aroused mood, and that their evening was likely to end in a round of delicious lovemaking that both would be happy with even in the clear light of sobriety - minus the hangover, of course. Now it only meant that Inferno was far, far too drunk to know what he wanted or needed.
Red Alert was the only one that seemed to realize this, however, because the mechs at their table greeted the open affection with a small round of applause. Inferno seemed to bask in it, smiling down at Red and pressing a kiss to the top of his helmet.
“Inferno...” Red whispered, trying to get his lover's attention, but Inferno had started speaking.
“I got a bit o' good news from Ratchet this week,” Inferno declared proudly. “Seems like I got me a clean bill o' health.”
There was more applause and then Red Alert did squirm, uneasily, but Inferno only took it as encouragement, and pulled the smaller mech more tightly against him as he began speaking again. “In spite o' that, our chief medical officer said he ain't gonna certify me for combat yet, 'cause he's a SPOILSPORT!” The fire engine was grinning broadly as he yelled the last word in Ratchet's direction in a way that seemed outwardly playful, but held a desperate, frustrated edge.
Now a chorus of boos came from around the table, as well as the other table nearby, more mechs hearing the 'good news' and paying attention to what was going on.
Red Alert caught Ironhide's optics across the table and saw that the older mech was a lot less far gone than he seemed. The knowledge that someone else realized the gravity of the situation gave the security director more courage to act. “Inferno, maybe we should go home?” he murmured.
“Alright, Red,” Inferno agreed indulgently, before turning to the audience. “It seems my darlin' Red here, wants ta go home...” He leered playfully down at Red.
Please let him stop there, Red Alert prayed, to any deity that would listen, but the answer seemed to come straight from the Unmaker himself.
Inferno got unsteadily to his feet, holding Red up like a trophy.“So I'm gonna take this here sweet thang home, an' show him that it takes more than a few Decepticons ta keep Inferno down for long!”
If Red Alert hadn't been sure before that Inferno was too intoxicated to know what he was doing, then his previous words removed all doubt. Here the fire engine was, boasting about their private life, and acting like he'd just been recuperating from battle wounds instead of being brutally violated. He was sure this was the way Inferno wanted their situation to be, but saying such things didn't make them real.
Meanwhile, the entire rec room seemed to be full of mechs as deluded as Inferno was, because a boisterous cheer erupted from the watchers, though a few mechs like Ironhide, Prowl, Jazz, and even Ratchet - who was severely intoxicated in his own right - looked almost as uneasy as Red felt.
Reflexively, he covered his optics, wishing the floor would just open up and swallow him, then he realized what it would look like to Inferno and dropped his hands, though as fate would have it, the big mech's wandering, bleary gaze managed to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. “Aww, look, he's shy!”
“I'm not being shy!” Red Alert spoke a little louder, trying to get through the fumes of highgrade clouding his lover's
processor. “Could you please just put me down?”
“Put ya down? Red, why - ?” Inferno stared down at him for long moments before a hard look came into his optics. “Yer embarrassed, ain't ya?”
“No, I'm not, I just - “
“Yeah y'are, yer embarrassed ta be seen with me!” Inferno put Red down so fast he almost dropped him, taking a step back as he glared down at the smaller mech. “I can't be believin' this. You are embarrassed ta be seen with me, after all I've done fer you! Comfortin' ya when ya were scared, listenin' ta yer ramblin's when ya were havin' an attack, givin' up my fraggin' MECHHOOD ta save ya from a fate worse than death, an' let me tell ya it is worse than death!”
Ironhide moved closer to Inferno, doubtless trying to diffuse the situation by placing a hand on his elbow. “Now see here, 'Ferno - “ he began, but was cut off.
“Mind yer own business Ironhide!” Inferno snapped, shrugging the older mech off before rounding on Red Alert again, finger pointing accusingly.
“Inferno,” Red Alert tried to find words, to struggle through his own shock, fear, and anguish and somehow make things right again. “I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I never wanted that to happen to you... I honestly, I'm proud... to...”
“'Proud'?” Inferno echoed. “Is this what ya call bein' proud, rejectin' me in front of everyone?! Yeah, yer proud alright, proud of how beautiful ya are, ya keep sayin' it ain't true, but we both know that ya could have any mech ya want in this army, an' I think maybe that's what ya really want - ta trade up from yer damaged goods!”
“Inferno...” Tears coursed down Red Alert's cheeks unbidden as he stood frozen to the spot, unable to articulate, and unable to flee, caught the fire engine's basilisk stare of anger... no, hatred, as surely as his prison cell aboard the Nemesis had held him, preventing him from rushing to his lover's rescue, no matter the cost.
“Well, ya know what?” he told the now silent watchers. “Y'all can have 'im! Maybe ya can all take turns with 'im like them 'Cons did with me, 'cept he'll like it! Guess I shoulda jus' let 'em have 'im, 'cause the slaggin' glitch obviously ain't worth it!”
That word. Of all the words Inferno could have used, it had to be that word.
He stared for a few moments in disbelief, and then did an about face, and walked slowly from the room.
There was stunned silence for a few moments, and then a bellow of anguish as Inferno realized just what he'd said, what he'd done.
His heightened senses allowed him to clearly hear the fire engine's cries of apology and regret long after he left the immediate area of the rec room.
Red Alert kept on walking.