Following
Title: Following
Author: tainry
Rating: R
Pairing: Armada Wheeljack/Hot Shot
Disclaimer: Not mine, no money.
Prompt: Pairing Wanted: Armada Wheeljack x Hot Shot
Rating Wanted: Any
What missing scene do you want to see? Sometime during when they're in Unicron, after Wheeljack saves Hot Shot from Galvatron, Hot Shot wants to know if maybe there was some other reason that Wheeljack saved him. Or when he crashes down from the side of the cliff, why was Wheeljack worried? And why call him "buddy"? And Wheeljack, in return, wants to know why Hot Shot won't leave him alone and let them just be enemies. It's okay if the fic makes the end of the show a little AU. Just make it sweet and fluffy. ><
Three things you want in your story: Hurt/comfort, romance, reconciliation
Three things you do NOT want in your story: Any other pairings, unhappy endings, gen
“LOOK OUT!” Hot Shot’s warning almost came too late. The spaces ahead were closing in, weird, organic-looking doors sliding diagonally shut. In the lead, only Hot Shot and Wheeljack’s interceptors made it through to the next cavernous passageway - and even that was collapsing. Unicron was transforming.
They ran the calculations simultaneously, lightning fast, gritting their denta as they understood the geometry. The two robots might conceivably fit through the narrowing door, but their planes would not. Punching out of the cockpits, they tumbled, hitting the floor running, diving through; Hot Shot, Wheeljack fast fast fast and even so the plummeting door hit Wheeljack’s left hip hard, spinning him round and he had to bounce off the far wall, which wasn’t very far now, in order not to land on his head. Hot Shot dropped feet-first, stumbling on the uneven, still-shifting surface, his wheeling arms striking walls that were too close and getting closer. They’d flung themselves into a dead end.
With a final, juddering groan, the transformation stopped. Perched on a narrow ledge, Wheeljack looked down to meet Hot Shot’s optics, blue to blue. “You okay?”
Hot Shot squirmed, fingers scrabbling at the edge of the block Wheeljack was on, then slammed his fist into a wall. “Aaagh! Yeah.” He looked down sullenly. “Think my foot’s stuck in the floor, though.” It didn’t hurt, not very much, but even trying to half-transform it into a tire couldn’t work it loose. The space they were in was tall and narrow and irregular like an inverted bismuth crystal - made of that golden-orange alloy against which their biggest weapons were pretty much useless. The saw blades on the medial surface of his feet were literally not going to cut it.
“Want me to try to pull you up?” Wheeljack asked, not succeeding very well at suppressing a smirk. Hot Shot glared at him.
The heat of his expression didn’t last long. “I’m sure you’re strong enough to pull me up - and leave my foot behind.” Wheeljack had stood between Hot Shot and the descending Star Saber wielded by Galvatron himself. “No thanks.” For now. If this sliver of a room reconfigured itself again they might need to leave that option open.
Or he could leave me here, like he thinks I did him, Hot Shot thought. But Wheeljack didn’t say it, wasn’t gloating. That was kind of …weird.
“If Wind Sheer was here,” Wheeljack said instead, thoughtfully, “I wonder if he could do anything. Maybe not blast through the walls, but... Something.”
“Yeah.” The Minicons were all busy, collectively saving everyone’s afts. Which was part of what Hot Shot and Wheeljack should be doing right now instead of being stuck in this stupid half-space between one part of Unicron and another, maybe waiting to be ground between like so much scrap in the recycler and it was driving Hot Shot crazy not to be doing anything. There was no way to know how the battle was going outside, wherever they were it was fragging their communications.
Slowly, cautiously, Wheeljack worked his way down, seeking a better angle on Hot Shot’s foot. The room narrowed too much for him to get his shoulders far enough to reach, but it looked like a ridge of metal was pinning the ankle at its narrowest point. Unless the ridge withdrew during the next transformation, Hot Shot was probably going to have to lose that foot. Wheeljack sidled closer and opened a panel on Hot Shot’s armor near the knee. The entire lower leg was being squeezed - not quite enough to crush, but it couldn’t be comfortable, for all Shot’s bravado.
“Hey! Ow, what are you doing?” Hot Shot squirmed and swatted at Wheeljack’s aft, which was about all he could reach at that moment.
“Don’t you know how to override your nociception network?”
“My what the who, now?”
“Your pain sensors.” Wheeljack found the pertinent wires and yanked them out of their plugs sharply. Hot Shot cried out, flailing, but only for a second, and then he went limp against the wall, optics guttering.
It was strange to contemplate how much more mature Wheeljack felt in comparison to Hot Shot, who had once been his mentor. His time among the Decepticons had given him that. Megatron’s tempers - real or put on to keep the troops in line - kept one alert, encouraged one to process fast and move faster. Wheeljack closed the panel and resumed his perch. There was nothing they could do but wait for the next opportunity - and then be swift. Another tactic he had learned well.
Hot Shot was still and silent for a long time. The overlarge blue optics lit just as Wheeljack wondered if he’d gone into recharge.
“So,” Hot Shot said, as though merely to fill the silence. “Back on Cybertron, when we were chasing after Thrust, what was up with calling me ‘buddy’, huh? Almost like you were worried about me or something. I know that’s crazy, though, right? Why would a Decepticon worry about an Autobot?”
Tactless, clumsy as always. “You talk too much, Hot Shot.” Wheeljack’s voice dropped to that low growl Hot Shot remembered well. He was beginning to remember a lot of other things he knew about Wheeljack. If Wheeljack would come down within reach, Hot Shot was seriously contemplating showing him. “You don’t know anything about it. The Decepticon way is far more efficient and effective than the Autobot. The Autobot officer corps is full of incompetents playing at being soldiers. We Decepticons are warriors, built and programmed.”
“Oh yeah? Who’s been kicking whose skidplate this whole time on Earth, then?”
“And who possessed all three of the legendary weapons?”
“Before Thrust stole them. There’s efficiency for ya.”
“He stole two of the three.”
“Same difference.”
Wheeljack leaned back against the wall. He couldn’t see Hot Shot’s face, nor could the other see his. He didn’t want to spend what might be their final moments arguing.
Hot Shot kept on. “And why did you save me from Galvatron in the first place? I thought he was going to cut you in half, too.”
“I agreed with Starscream, that joining with you Autobots is our only chance against Unicron.”
“And that was your only reason.”
“What other reason do you want me to have?”
“You obviously don’t care what I want.” Hot Shot moved restlessly, jerking at his now numb leg.
Wheeljack leaned forward again, peering down into Hot Shot’s optics. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Never mind. I just…” Hot Shot looked away, his face plates visibly heating. Wheeljack stared, fascinated. Hot Shot squirmed, and Wheeljack could almost see the circuits ticking, logic gates flipping, while Hot Shot tried to suppress whatever he had begun to say. Tried and failed. “I just miss you, all right?” He glared up at his former protégé. “I thought you were dead, and you’re not and I… Oh forget it. It’s too complicated.”
Wheeljack chuckled softly and reached down to stroke Hot Shot’s cheek. “Not that complicated. Not really.”
Kissing was going to be problematic, given the situation Shot was in, but Wheeljack was nothing if not inventive. He lay down along his ledge, leaning over and catching the back of Shot’s helm. Their lips met hesitantly, expecting bared fangs even now with a common enemy before their factions. Hot Shot clutched at Wheeljack hungrily, pressing his mouth to open, his anger at his current helplessness translating into a feverish ache - and Wheeljack, to his own surprise, responded in kind.
“Hey. Wanna try our ‘move’?”
“What move is that?” Wheeljack was certain Shot didn’t mean their death spiral, the one they’d used to free the kids and Perceptor from Unicron’s tentacles.
“Not that move, you wingnut. This move.”He slipped a certain panel open in Wheeljack’s chest.
It was naughty - you weren’t supposed to ever reroute power like this. Red Alert would blow an entire circuit-board if he ever found out. Their hands moved fast and sure on the cables, inside themselves and connecting to each other, crosswiring their sensory nets, and Hot Shot wondered if that was why Wheeljack had turned off his pain sensors. Not just to ease Hot Shot, but because he’d wanted this all along.
Cables in place, Wheeljack fastened his mouth on Hot Shot’s as they began shunting power back and forth, around and around, tasting each other’s energy, feeling the hidden pulses of their sparks. Building the charge higher and higher, exactly the way they liked to do it, as though the intervening millennia had never happened. They pulled from each other and pushed, heating with emotional friction, fighting with their tongues even as their bodies ignited.
“NnnnnnnnnhhhhhaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAYES!” Hot Shot thrashed, shouting as the power surge rolled through them.
Wheeljack followed him over the edge, laughing. Shot never did have much restraint. You haven’t changed at all, he thought; knowing instantly the lie. Hot Shot had changed. It was hard to put a digit on how, but he had become someone other mechs - Wheeljack included - were willing to follow into battle, no matter where it took them. He rested his helm on the ledge, absorbing the warmth of Hot Shot’s hand on his cheek.
Sound penetrated their sliver of a room. They roused suddenly. The walls were moving again - apart this time. They were free.
“All right! Let’s go find Optimus and Galvatron!” Hot Shot crowed.
“I’m right behind you,” Wheeljack said, grinning.
Author: tainry
Rating: R
Pairing: Armada Wheeljack/Hot Shot
Disclaimer: Not mine, no money.
Prompt: Pairing Wanted: Armada Wheeljack x Hot Shot
Rating Wanted: Any
What missing scene do you want to see? Sometime during when they're in Unicron, after Wheeljack saves Hot Shot from Galvatron, Hot Shot wants to know if maybe there was some other reason that Wheeljack saved him. Or when he crashes down from the side of the cliff, why was Wheeljack worried? And why call him "buddy"? And Wheeljack, in return, wants to know why Hot Shot won't leave him alone and let them just be enemies. It's okay if the fic makes the end of the show a little AU. Just make it sweet and fluffy. ><
Three things you want in your story: Hurt/comfort, romance, reconciliation
Three things you do NOT want in your story: Any other pairings, unhappy endings, gen
“LOOK OUT!” Hot Shot’s warning almost came too late. The spaces ahead were closing in, weird, organic-looking doors sliding diagonally shut. In the lead, only Hot Shot and Wheeljack’s interceptors made it through to the next cavernous passageway - and even that was collapsing. Unicron was transforming.
They ran the calculations simultaneously, lightning fast, gritting their denta as they understood the geometry. The two robots might conceivably fit through the narrowing door, but their planes would not. Punching out of the cockpits, they tumbled, hitting the floor running, diving through; Hot Shot, Wheeljack fast fast fast and even so the plummeting door hit Wheeljack’s left hip hard, spinning him round and he had to bounce off the far wall, which wasn’t very far now, in order not to land on his head. Hot Shot dropped feet-first, stumbling on the uneven, still-shifting surface, his wheeling arms striking walls that were too close and getting closer. They’d flung themselves into a dead end.
With a final, juddering groan, the transformation stopped. Perched on a narrow ledge, Wheeljack looked down to meet Hot Shot’s optics, blue to blue. “You okay?”
Hot Shot squirmed, fingers scrabbling at the edge of the block Wheeljack was on, then slammed his fist into a wall. “Aaagh! Yeah.” He looked down sullenly. “Think my foot’s stuck in the floor, though.” It didn’t hurt, not very much, but even trying to half-transform it into a tire couldn’t work it loose. The space they were in was tall and narrow and irregular like an inverted bismuth crystal - made of that golden-orange alloy against which their biggest weapons were pretty much useless. The saw blades on the medial surface of his feet were literally not going to cut it.
“Want me to try to pull you up?” Wheeljack asked, not succeeding very well at suppressing a smirk. Hot Shot glared at him.
The heat of his expression didn’t last long. “I’m sure you’re strong enough to pull me up - and leave my foot behind.” Wheeljack had stood between Hot Shot and the descending Star Saber wielded by Galvatron himself. “No thanks.” For now. If this sliver of a room reconfigured itself again they might need to leave that option open.
Or he could leave me here, like he thinks I did him, Hot Shot thought. But Wheeljack didn’t say it, wasn’t gloating. That was kind of …weird.
“If Wind Sheer was here,” Wheeljack said instead, thoughtfully, “I wonder if he could do anything. Maybe not blast through the walls, but... Something.”
“Yeah.” The Minicons were all busy, collectively saving everyone’s afts. Which was part of what Hot Shot and Wheeljack should be doing right now instead of being stuck in this stupid half-space between one part of Unicron and another, maybe waiting to be ground between like so much scrap in the recycler and it was driving Hot Shot crazy not to be doing anything. There was no way to know how the battle was going outside, wherever they were it was fragging their communications.
Slowly, cautiously, Wheeljack worked his way down, seeking a better angle on Hot Shot’s foot. The room narrowed too much for him to get his shoulders far enough to reach, but it looked like a ridge of metal was pinning the ankle at its narrowest point. Unless the ridge withdrew during the next transformation, Hot Shot was probably going to have to lose that foot. Wheeljack sidled closer and opened a panel on Hot Shot’s armor near the knee. The entire lower leg was being squeezed - not quite enough to crush, but it couldn’t be comfortable, for all Shot’s bravado.
“Hey! Ow, what are you doing?” Hot Shot squirmed and swatted at Wheeljack’s aft, which was about all he could reach at that moment.
“Don’t you know how to override your nociception network?”
“My what the who, now?”
“Your pain sensors.” Wheeljack found the pertinent wires and yanked them out of their plugs sharply. Hot Shot cried out, flailing, but only for a second, and then he went limp against the wall, optics guttering.
It was strange to contemplate how much more mature Wheeljack felt in comparison to Hot Shot, who had once been his mentor. His time among the Decepticons had given him that. Megatron’s tempers - real or put on to keep the troops in line - kept one alert, encouraged one to process fast and move faster. Wheeljack closed the panel and resumed his perch. There was nothing they could do but wait for the next opportunity - and then be swift. Another tactic he had learned well.
Hot Shot was still and silent for a long time. The overlarge blue optics lit just as Wheeljack wondered if he’d gone into recharge.
“So,” Hot Shot said, as though merely to fill the silence. “Back on Cybertron, when we were chasing after Thrust, what was up with calling me ‘buddy’, huh? Almost like you were worried about me or something. I know that’s crazy, though, right? Why would a Decepticon worry about an Autobot?”
Tactless, clumsy as always. “You talk too much, Hot Shot.” Wheeljack’s voice dropped to that low growl Hot Shot remembered well. He was beginning to remember a lot of other things he knew about Wheeljack. If Wheeljack would come down within reach, Hot Shot was seriously contemplating showing him. “You don’t know anything about it. The Decepticon way is far more efficient and effective than the Autobot. The Autobot officer corps is full of incompetents playing at being soldiers. We Decepticons are warriors, built and programmed.”
“Oh yeah? Who’s been kicking whose skidplate this whole time on Earth, then?”
“And who possessed all three of the legendary weapons?”
“Before Thrust stole them. There’s efficiency for ya.”
“He stole two of the three.”
“Same difference.”
Wheeljack leaned back against the wall. He couldn’t see Hot Shot’s face, nor could the other see his. He didn’t want to spend what might be their final moments arguing.
Hot Shot kept on. “And why did you save me from Galvatron in the first place? I thought he was going to cut you in half, too.”
“I agreed with Starscream, that joining with you Autobots is our only chance against Unicron.”
“And that was your only reason.”
“What other reason do you want me to have?”
“You obviously don’t care what I want.” Hot Shot moved restlessly, jerking at his now numb leg.
Wheeljack leaned forward again, peering down into Hot Shot’s optics. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Never mind. I just…” Hot Shot looked away, his face plates visibly heating. Wheeljack stared, fascinated. Hot Shot squirmed, and Wheeljack could almost see the circuits ticking, logic gates flipping, while Hot Shot tried to suppress whatever he had begun to say. Tried and failed. “I just miss you, all right?” He glared up at his former protégé. “I thought you were dead, and you’re not and I… Oh forget it. It’s too complicated.”
Wheeljack chuckled softly and reached down to stroke Hot Shot’s cheek. “Not that complicated. Not really.”
Kissing was going to be problematic, given the situation Shot was in, but Wheeljack was nothing if not inventive. He lay down along his ledge, leaning over and catching the back of Shot’s helm. Their lips met hesitantly, expecting bared fangs even now with a common enemy before their factions. Hot Shot clutched at Wheeljack hungrily, pressing his mouth to open, his anger at his current helplessness translating into a feverish ache - and Wheeljack, to his own surprise, responded in kind.
“Hey. Wanna try our ‘move’?”
“What move is that?” Wheeljack was certain Shot didn’t mean their death spiral, the one they’d used to free the kids and Perceptor from Unicron’s tentacles.
“Not that move, you wingnut. This move.”He slipped a certain panel open in Wheeljack’s chest.
It was naughty - you weren’t supposed to ever reroute power like this. Red Alert would blow an entire circuit-board if he ever found out. Their hands moved fast and sure on the cables, inside themselves and connecting to each other, crosswiring their sensory nets, and Hot Shot wondered if that was why Wheeljack had turned off his pain sensors. Not just to ease Hot Shot, but because he’d wanted this all along.
Cables in place, Wheeljack fastened his mouth on Hot Shot’s as they began shunting power back and forth, around and around, tasting each other’s energy, feeling the hidden pulses of their sparks. Building the charge higher and higher, exactly the way they liked to do it, as though the intervening millennia had never happened. They pulled from each other and pushed, heating with emotional friction, fighting with their tongues even as their bodies ignited.
“NnnnnnnnnhhhhhaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAYES!” Hot Shot thrashed, shouting as the power surge rolled through them.
Wheeljack followed him over the edge, laughing. Shot never did have much restraint. You haven’t changed at all, he thought; knowing instantly the lie. Hot Shot had changed. It was hard to put a digit on how, but he had become someone other mechs - Wheeljack included - were willing to follow into battle, no matter where it took them. He rested his helm on the ledge, absorbing the warmth of Hot Shot’s hand on his cheek.
Sound penetrated their sliver of a room. They roused suddenly. The walls were moving again - apart this time. They were free.
“All right! Let’s go find Optimus and Galvatron!” Hot Shot crowed.
“I’m right behind you,” Wheeljack said, grinning.