To tide you monkeys over while I work on the prompts I was given...
I'm taking a side step to complete another prompt from the Flattop100 series I started...oh ages ago. He's a lugnut, but I still feel bad for him. The guy who could have been a big hero if he'd just had a different background. Still, he tries, even if he fails sometimes. He's caught with Nathan Fillion syndrome and a cross between Captain Hammer and Captain Reynolds. But damn he makes a fun villain too. This one is for the prompt Control. (Now I want him in a brown coat...)
This prompt contains only OC's this time around (sorry guys): Flattop, Acer (his second in command), Triage (a doctor/younger sister of Top), and a quick appearance from Joyride (Top's third in command)
Warning for mild mention of slash.
He held her close through her overload, his engine revving again as their energy fields crackled and flared against one another’s. She buried her face against his neck to muffle the moans that she was too embarrassed to voice too loudly, not knowing that the attempt only served to arouse him every time she did it. How such a shy femme could come from the rowdy household that she did was beyond his understanding, and he found pleasure in helping her emerge from that shell to the confident beautiful femme that he knew she was.
“Acer…” she gasped, optics flickering back on as she lifted her head. “Are you… was it…?”
He stifled any worries with a gentle kiss and tugged her down to lay with him. “You were perfect, Triage,” he assured her and was rewarded with a smile. The young medic curled up closer to him, a hand lazily rubbing one of the edges of a wing, the motion filling him with warm tingles that spread throughout the flight structure. Oh there were many perks of falling for a medic, he was learning. For one, they were always good with their hands.
It wasn’t supposed to be this way. He’d never intended to fall for the sister of his Wing Commander. Flattop and Acer had been best friends as younglings, and grew up together in the Academy. Eventually they recruited others into their group, and formed one of the best Wings in the fleet. The best Wing had to know and love each other like family. Like limbs on the same ‘bot. Closer than lovers and dearer than allegiance. It wasn’t a surprise that many members of Wings became mates in the end, sharing a bond that was inseparable. Two of their own Wingmates had already bonded to each other, and it was just expected that someday Flattop and his Second Right would do the same, perhaps even extending it to their Second Left Joyride.
Then he’d come to know his Commander’s younger sister. A silent slip of a femme at first who quickly advanced to become one of the Medical Academy’s top students. She, like Flattop and the two newest additions to Triggerpinch’s household, was built for a purpose. What that purpose was, Acer never asked, though he could hazard a guess. Pinch forced her to go to all of the parties their Towers friends threw. She’d flit between the crowds, as lovely as any of the other femmes, but with a lost expression.
She never knew how to play the Game that the others were so good at. Flattop had taken to it immediately, and Ace had learned as well. The flip of a wrist, the tilt of a head, the color of rhinestones that a femme was sporting… it all made a new language. A language that Triage could never hope to become fluent in, though her brother and creator seemed to want it. If she learned the language, she could snag herself a Towers mech, and that’s exactly what Flattop and Pinch wanted for her. And why wouldn’t they? Pinch would receive all the benefits that a strong Towers connection would bring, and Flattop could have the reassurance that his beloved sister was safe. Once the war got bad, all those with money would escape to the outer planets. Triage could have a chance at life.
The golden and white femme sighed and leaned up to kiss him again, a kiss he accepted eagerly. He didn’t think he’d ever get enough of her, though Primus knows he tried to ignore the attraction for the longest time. She was the Commander’s sister, she wasn’t a flyer, she wasn’t a fighter… but she was what his spark had settled on.
“How long do you have?” he asked her, fingers lazily tracing the plating of her armor.
“Mmm…long enough,” the femme grinned up at him with a mischievous smile to rival her elder brother’s. He groaned and rolled them over until he had pinned her down against his berth. She squealed in surprise at the sudden movement, a sound that turned into a breathy gasp once he’d started kissing one of her palms. Another perk of loving a medic: their hands always caused the best reactions out of them.
She’d just reached the joint of a wing with her free hand when the door opened. The sudden light brought on by someone hitting the switch momentarily blinded the flyer. He leaned over his lover in an effort to protect her from whoever had come barging in, but a set of rough hands threw him off of her and pushed him to the ground.
“No!” he heard her cry out, and it was enough to bring his weapons systems online. Optics adjusted to the bright light, Acer stood and turned on the slagger who dared attack them and frighten his femme.
“Stand down!” Flattop roared. Oh Primus, give him Decepticons. Give him assassins. Give him anything but this. Not Flattop.
“Top, I can…”
“You can shut the frag up,” his leader snarled, looking over his shoulder at Joyride, his Second Left. “Get her home. Now.”
“Top, please…” Triage tried, but he barely heard her. This was going to be bad. Real bad. Acer had touched the thing most dear to Flattop and now it was time to face him for it.
Acer saw from the edge of his vision as Joyride gently but firmly ushered Triage from the room. At least she was leaving in safe hands. He’d never hurt her, no matter what. Yet with them gone, it left only Flattop and himself. Alone. With no witnesses. And the larger mech wasn’t known for his ability to control his temper once it was flared.
“You have one chance to explain yourself,” his Commander growled as he corralled Acer back against the wall so his optics couldn’t follow the femme out the door. “Once chance, you piece of slag.”
“I… I love her…” The sudden stars he was seeing as his optics fritzed due to being punched in the helm told him that had been the wrong answer. ‘Sorry, boss, I just wanted a fling with her and it meant nothing,’ probably wouldn’t have gone any better, but he chose not to mention that.
“Try again, Acer! I trusted you with her! What made you think you had a right to touch her?” Flattop’s wings flared right along with his anger, and the red flyer braced himself for another strike. It didn’t come just yet. “She’s my slagging sister!”
“I know that!” he cried back at him, a hand at his cheek where he’d been struck, and a wounded look in his optics. He loved Flattop like a brother. More than a brother, truly. They were of the same Wing, and what was one’s was the other’s. The thought of one day bonding with his Commander was far from an abhorrent one. It was just… sometimes your spark took you in places you didn’t think it would go. “I know, Top,” he tried again. “I’m sorry.”
“Sorry I fragging caught you two, is that it?” He was unyielding, optics a pale blue.
Acer’s optics drifted a little and caught sight of his berth, to where everything had been absolutely perfect only moments ago. The other noticed his gaze and moved to block his view, pushing him again. His wings clanged painfully against the wall where they hit, and his gaze fell back to his angry leader’s. “Yeah,” he had to admit. “I’m sorry you caught us… but I’m sorry it hurt you too. I can’t help how I feel, Topper. I’m in love with her. She loves me too.”
“The slag you do,” Flattop would not give in, jaw set in the way that he did when a battle plan had been forged and decided upon. His Second would sooner convince him to cut his own wings off. “You go near her again and I’m taking you off the Wing.”
Acer gaped, slack jawed. “You can’t do that!” he denied. “Flattop, please! I’ll take care of her, you know I will. You trust me with your life out on the field, why can’t you trust me with Tri?”
“Because she’s too good for a flyer from Polyhex. She’s too slagging good for anyone on my team or in the corps itself. I’m trying to get her a fragging chance to survive this war, and that’s not going to happen if she’s off fighting her way through the galaxy with you!” He shook his head and finally backed off. The immediate danger of violence was gone for now, but the threat in his optics remained. “You’ll stop seeing her immediately. I’ll explain it to her so you don’t have to.”
“You can’t. You can’t just… just control everything in your life, Flattop. She’s not your creation or your slave. Let her choose who’s good enough for her.”
“Who, like you? She doesn’t love you, Ace, it’s just a dumb crush like she always gets.”
“A…what? Top, what are you talking about?”
“She fragging ‘falls in love’ every couple years, and it’s always the same.” He was so flippant about this… and Acer felt slightly sick. Did Flattop actually take it upon himself to police every relationship she was in? Suddenly all the shyness, the timidness she’d had when he first pursued her… it all made sense. She knew how this would end, or at least did her best to prevent it.
“Top…what have you done?” He couldn’t believe that this was the same mech he’d grown up with, had feelings for, fought along side with and took orders from. It couldn’t be. “You’re turning into him…”
The darkness that crossed Flattop’s navy optics told Acer that he’d crossed a line never before crossed by the red mech. No one compared Flattop to his creator, and never to his face. “Say that louder, Acer… Say it so I know I heard you right.”
He dared not, wondering if Flattop might actually hurt him this time. For the first time ever. He’d never had to fear such a thing before. But now he’d touched something that Flattop felt he owned and then compared him to the mech he hated most in life.
It was silent in the room for a few minutes as each mech stared at the other, measuring the other.
Then it was over, and Flattop was finally satisfied. “You’ll never see her again,” he promised and turned on his heel to stride out, large wings flared out so much in his anger that he had to force himself to lower them in order to exit the door.
Acer was left pressed back against the wall still, optics still glued to where his Commander and Wingmate had departed. His spark thrummed from the fear and anger he still held, and the fear for the femme who’d been escorted away. Whatever happened from this, he knew she would have it worse in the end. And he was helpless to do anything about it. He was of the Wing, a part of a whole, and he’d known Flattop too long to just betray him and take her. Top needed him just as he needed Top, but he could only be controlled so much. Triage, it seemed, might as well be lost to him forever. Even if they did run off, they’d be found, and he doubted Flattop would let him off so easily that time.
Was he right? Did she belong with a Towers mech who couldn’t love her as Acer did? She would want for nothing, she would be safe up in the gilded Towers and then on a comfortable luxury transport when the time came to flee, if it came to that. What could he offer but a life of uncertainty and war?
The flyer finally slid down the wall to the ground and started forlorn at the berth and then to the window where the lights of the city shone brightly. Maybe she did deserve a better life than the one he could give her. Maybe Flattop, brilliant as he was, was right.
Why then did it have to hurt so much?
This prompt contains only OC's this time around (sorry guys): Flattop, Acer (his second in command), Triage (a doctor/younger sister of Top), and a quick appearance from Joyride (Top's third in command)
Warning for mild mention of slash.
He held her close through her overload, his engine revving again as their energy fields crackled and flared against one another’s. She buried her face against his neck to muffle the moans that she was too embarrassed to voice too loudly, not knowing that the attempt only served to arouse him every time she did it. How such a shy femme could come from the rowdy household that she did was beyond his understanding, and he found pleasure in helping her emerge from that shell to the confident beautiful femme that he knew she was.
“Acer…” she gasped, optics flickering back on as she lifted her head. “Are you… was it…?”
He stifled any worries with a gentle kiss and tugged her down to lay with him. “You were perfect, Triage,” he assured her and was rewarded with a smile. The young medic curled up closer to him, a hand lazily rubbing one of the edges of a wing, the motion filling him with warm tingles that spread throughout the flight structure. Oh there were many perks of falling for a medic, he was learning. For one, they were always good with their hands.
It wasn’t supposed to be this way. He’d never intended to fall for the sister of his Wing Commander. Flattop and Acer had been best friends as younglings, and grew up together in the Academy. Eventually they recruited others into their group, and formed one of the best Wings in the fleet. The best Wing had to know and love each other like family. Like limbs on the same ‘bot. Closer than lovers and dearer than allegiance. It wasn’t a surprise that many members of Wings became mates in the end, sharing a bond that was inseparable. Two of their own Wingmates had already bonded to each other, and it was just expected that someday Flattop and his Second Right would do the same, perhaps even extending it to their Second Left Joyride.
Then he’d come to know his Commander’s younger sister. A silent slip of a femme at first who quickly advanced to become one of the Medical Academy’s top students. She, like Flattop and the two newest additions to Triggerpinch’s household, was built for a purpose. What that purpose was, Acer never asked, though he could hazard a guess. Pinch forced her to go to all of the parties their Towers friends threw. She’d flit between the crowds, as lovely as any of the other femmes, but with a lost expression.
She never knew how to play the Game that the others were so good at. Flattop had taken to it immediately, and Ace had learned as well. The flip of a wrist, the tilt of a head, the color of rhinestones that a femme was sporting… it all made a new language. A language that Triage could never hope to become fluent in, though her brother and creator seemed to want it. If she learned the language, she could snag herself a Towers mech, and that’s exactly what Flattop and Pinch wanted for her. And why wouldn’t they? Pinch would receive all the benefits that a strong Towers connection would bring, and Flattop could have the reassurance that his beloved sister was safe. Once the war got bad, all those with money would escape to the outer planets. Triage could have a chance at life.
The golden and white femme sighed and leaned up to kiss him again, a kiss he accepted eagerly. He didn’t think he’d ever get enough of her, though Primus knows he tried to ignore the attraction for the longest time. She was the Commander’s sister, she wasn’t a flyer, she wasn’t a fighter… but she was what his spark had settled on.
“How long do you have?” he asked her, fingers lazily tracing the plating of her armor.
“Mmm…long enough,” the femme grinned up at him with a mischievous smile to rival her elder brother’s. He groaned and rolled them over until he had pinned her down against his berth. She squealed in surprise at the sudden movement, a sound that turned into a breathy gasp once he’d started kissing one of her palms. Another perk of loving a medic: their hands always caused the best reactions out of them.
She’d just reached the joint of a wing with her free hand when the door opened. The sudden light brought on by someone hitting the switch momentarily blinded the flyer. He leaned over his lover in an effort to protect her from whoever had come barging in, but a set of rough hands threw him off of her and pushed him to the ground.
“No!” he heard her cry out, and it was enough to bring his weapons systems online. Optics adjusted to the bright light, Acer stood and turned on the slagger who dared attack them and frighten his femme.
“Stand down!” Flattop roared. Oh Primus, give him Decepticons. Give him assassins. Give him anything but this. Not Flattop.
“Top, I can…”
“You can shut the frag up,” his leader snarled, looking over his shoulder at Joyride, his Second Left. “Get her home. Now.”
“Top, please…” Triage tried, but he barely heard her. This was going to be bad. Real bad. Acer had touched the thing most dear to Flattop and now it was time to face him for it.
Acer saw from the edge of his vision as Joyride gently but firmly ushered Triage from the room. At least she was leaving in safe hands. He’d never hurt her, no matter what. Yet with them gone, it left only Flattop and himself. Alone. With no witnesses. And the larger mech wasn’t known for his ability to control his temper once it was flared.
“You have one chance to explain yourself,” his Commander growled as he corralled Acer back against the wall so his optics couldn’t follow the femme out the door. “Once chance, you piece of slag.”
“I… I love her…” The sudden stars he was seeing as his optics fritzed due to being punched in the helm told him that had been the wrong answer. ‘Sorry, boss, I just wanted a fling with her and it meant nothing,’ probably wouldn’t have gone any better, but he chose not to mention that.
“Try again, Acer! I trusted you with her! What made you think you had a right to touch her?” Flattop’s wings flared right along with his anger, and the red flyer braced himself for another strike. It didn’t come just yet. “She’s my slagging sister!”
“I know that!” he cried back at him, a hand at his cheek where he’d been struck, and a wounded look in his optics. He loved Flattop like a brother. More than a brother, truly. They were of the same Wing, and what was one’s was the other’s. The thought of one day bonding with his Commander was far from an abhorrent one. It was just… sometimes your spark took you in places you didn’t think it would go. “I know, Top,” he tried again. “I’m sorry.”
“Sorry I fragging caught you two, is that it?” He was unyielding, optics a pale blue.
Acer’s optics drifted a little and caught sight of his berth, to where everything had been absolutely perfect only moments ago. The other noticed his gaze and moved to block his view, pushing him again. His wings clanged painfully against the wall where they hit, and his gaze fell back to his angry leader’s. “Yeah,” he had to admit. “I’m sorry you caught us… but I’m sorry it hurt you too. I can’t help how I feel, Topper. I’m in love with her. She loves me too.”
“The slag you do,” Flattop would not give in, jaw set in the way that he did when a battle plan had been forged and decided upon. His Second would sooner convince him to cut his own wings off. “You go near her again and I’m taking you off the Wing.”
Acer gaped, slack jawed. “You can’t do that!” he denied. “Flattop, please! I’ll take care of her, you know I will. You trust me with your life out on the field, why can’t you trust me with Tri?”
“Because she’s too good for a flyer from Polyhex. She’s too slagging good for anyone on my team or in the corps itself. I’m trying to get her a fragging chance to survive this war, and that’s not going to happen if she’s off fighting her way through the galaxy with you!” He shook his head and finally backed off. The immediate danger of violence was gone for now, but the threat in his optics remained. “You’ll stop seeing her immediately. I’ll explain it to her so you don’t have to.”
“You can’t. You can’t just… just control everything in your life, Flattop. She’s not your creation or your slave. Let her choose who’s good enough for her.”
“Who, like you? She doesn’t love you, Ace, it’s just a dumb crush like she always gets.”
“A…what? Top, what are you talking about?”
“She fragging ‘falls in love’ every couple years, and it’s always the same.” He was so flippant about this… and Acer felt slightly sick. Did Flattop actually take it upon himself to police every relationship she was in? Suddenly all the shyness, the timidness she’d had when he first pursued her… it all made sense. She knew how this would end, or at least did her best to prevent it.
“Top…what have you done?” He couldn’t believe that this was the same mech he’d grown up with, had feelings for, fought along side with and took orders from. It couldn’t be. “You’re turning into him…”
The darkness that crossed Flattop’s navy optics told Acer that he’d crossed a line never before crossed by the red mech. No one compared Flattop to his creator, and never to his face. “Say that louder, Acer… Say it so I know I heard you right.”
He dared not, wondering if Flattop might actually hurt him this time. For the first time ever. He’d never had to fear such a thing before. But now he’d touched something that Flattop felt he owned and then compared him to the mech he hated most in life.
It was silent in the room for a few minutes as each mech stared at the other, measuring the other.
Then it was over, and Flattop was finally satisfied. “You’ll never see her again,” he promised and turned on his heel to stride out, large wings flared out so much in his anger that he had to force himself to lower them in order to exit the door.
Acer was left pressed back against the wall still, optics still glued to where his Commander and Wingmate had departed. His spark thrummed from the fear and anger he still held, and the fear for the femme who’d been escorted away. Whatever happened from this, he knew she would have it worse in the end. And he was helpless to do anything about it. He was of the Wing, a part of a whole, and he’d known Flattop too long to just betray him and take her. Top needed him just as he needed Top, but he could only be controlled so much. Triage, it seemed, might as well be lost to him forever. Even if they did run off, they’d be found, and he doubted Flattop would let him off so easily that time.
Was he right? Did she belong with a Towers mech who couldn’t love her as Acer did? She would want for nothing, she would be safe up in the gilded Towers and then on a comfortable luxury transport when the time came to flee, if it came to that. What could he offer but a life of uncertainty and war?
The flyer finally slid down the wall to the ground and started forlorn at the berth and then to the window where the lights of the city shone brightly. Maybe she did deserve a better life than the one he could give her. Maybe Flattop, brilliant as he was, was right.
Why then did it have to hurt so much?