Fic - Coming Down
Title: Coming Down
Warnings: implied slash
Continuity: G1 [part of ultharkitty’s Dysfunction AU]
Characters: Blast Off/Onslaught
Prompt: Blast Off/Onslaught, coming down
Rating: PG-13 (for innuendoes)
Disclaimer: Sadly, nothing is mine.
Summary: When Blast Off came back from space, his actions were easier to calculate.
Beta: The wonderful ultharkitty :D *glomps*
Note: At first I wanted to go for a humorous story with a humorous title, but somehow this didn’t work out. ^^°
Coming Down
You could say interactions with Blast Off were complicated. Actually, you could say interactions with Blast Off were very complicated, and it would still be an understatement.
The paradox of it all was that Blast Off had simple rules for interacting with him, but the outcome of following or breaking these rules was always unpredictable. Or rather, the outcome was mostly unpredictable.
Onslaught was a strategist. He calculated different measures, different outcomes, possibilities, and remembered them; he learnt from past events, and added it all to the complete equation to get the best possible result. In the last millennia - before the Detention Centre - he had learnt a lot about Blast Off, but he got the final and most important measurements only in the last few years on Earth.
Knowing, observing, calculating it anew, that was what made communication with the shuttleformer in question simpler; not simple, but less unpredictable. Particular when you wanted something, and you wasn’t sure if he also wanted it. Though, with Blast Off, Onslaught could never know. The shuttle never started anything of his own accord, he might do it with Vortex, or Brawl, or others, but Onslaught was Blast Off’s commander.
Onslaught didn’t know why there was this reluctance to start anything, it was something he was still trying to find out.
“You look tired,” Onslaught said casually and sipped his energon. It was only a joor and a half since the shuttle had come down after weeks in Earth’s orbit, and they’d sat just for three breems in the rec-room.
Blast Off only huffed. “I am.”
There was the usual blank voice with the usual underlying condescension of having stated something obvious.
They both sat in the rec-room of Combaticon HQ. Since they’d moved and left the Nemesis, Blast Off had been less tense. They’d never said anything, but Onslaught knew that being so many miles under water got to his team.
Blast Off had gone back to read the datapad - Onslaught didn’t know what was written in it - slowly drinking his ration, optics dimmed.
“Where’re the others?” Blast Off asked indifferently, his tone flat. It was not often that the shuttle started a conversation, but in moments like this, you were allowed to continue to talk.
Inwardly, Onslaught grinned.
“Vortex and Brawl are on a mission, and Swindle…” He paused for a moment and frowned, “Well, I will take care of his absence later.”
Blast Off nodded.
Encouraged, Onslaught carried on. “How was the re-entry?”
Blast Off looked up.
Onslaught tilted his head.
No one ever asked Blast Off about this, except him. It was only partly to make sure the shuttle wasn’t injured or there wasn’t an Autobot attack.
Shrugging, Blast Off looked back at his pad, but Onslaught could tell he wasn’t reading. “It was okay. Wasn’t the first time I did it.”
Again condescension in the shuttle’s voice, but Onslaught merely grinned.
Unexpectedly, Blast Off continued, “I couldn’t really focus, though. I haven’t recharged that well up there. There were a few solar flares…”
Onslaught emptied his cube and stood up, Blast Off didn’t move. Even when he walked behind the shuttle, the other kept quiet.
Considering all indications, it still wasn’t fully clear if Onslaught did the right thing. Even the best equation was unable to calculate the most likely reaction due to the shuttle’s mood swings.
Sometimes, interactions with Blast Off were as random as playing chess with Brawl, who arranged the figures unsystematically and without a reasonable structure. Fortunately, Onslaught knew how to handle both; and, equally fortunately, in the first few joors after coming down Blast Off’s reactions where more predictable.
“So,” Onslaught said, and laid both his hands on Blast Off’s shoulders. The shuttle tensed at the first contact, because he always did, but relaxed an instant later. “Seems that you didn’t have fair weather up there?”
It was on purpose that Onslaught’s grin was audible in his voice.
Another huff. “That is not funny.”
“Sure, it’s not,” Onslaught replied with a conciliatory tone, and moved his hands down the other’s back. Over the abrasive surface of the shuttle’s heat resistance tiles, which had glowed only a few breems ago. They were cold now.
There was silence. Only the sound of metal fingers stroking over ceramic plating; always cautious not to touch the seams.
“It looks pretty, though,” Blast Off began absently.
“Hm?”
“The solar flares… When they hit the atmosphere. You know, the Northern Lights.”
Onslaught’s lip plates twitched to a small smile, and he dared to trace over the first gap between the tiles on the other’s back.
“I’ve seen them only once…” he answered, just to say something. He knew that Blast Off valued certain things differently than most of the other Decepticons; mainly insentient things only he had access to; such as watching the Northern Lights from space.
The shuttle’s vents heaved air, but this time as a sigh.
Continuing tracing over the transformation seams, Onslaught leaned down, only enough to see the datapad resting with its screen on Blast Off’s thigh.
Both mechs became quiet again.
Blast Off’s head dropped forwards, and the tact of his engine changed to a delicious, tempting rumbling.
“I’m always wondering…” Blast Off spoke again, tired but with a hint of condescension which wasn’t directed at Onslaught, “This planet looks nice from up there, and I can almost forget what kind of pithole it really is…”
There was another pause, in which Onslaught’s touches elicited a quiver from the other mech, and he was brave enough to step closer, so that he touched the back of Blast Off’s chair.
“…but when I get back, I’m reminded of all that slag.”
Onslaught could imagine what the shuttle meant by that, but he wasn’t about to comment on it. Instead he answered, moving closer, and his chest actually touched the other’s back, “You can’t tell me that everything is total scrap down here…”
Blast Off’s intakes vented once more, another huff, and Onslaught was almost certain that he’d overdone it and forfeited his chance.
But, contrary to Onslaught’s expectations, Blast Off did nothing else, neither snapped at him nor stood up. He only said, “I’m tired”, and flared his energy field faintly. Onslaught suppressed the surprised hitch of his vents.
Then, Blast Off stood up, and it had nothing to do with being annoyed at Onslaught.
“I’ll be in my room,” the shuttle said, and went out, not looking back, not saying anything more. And this was also something Onslaught had learnt, that Blast Off said more when he didn’t say anything at all.
Onslaught waited a klik, and then followed.
Warnings: implied slash
Continuity: G1 [part of ultharkitty’s Dysfunction AU]
Characters: Blast Off/Onslaught
Prompt: Blast Off/Onslaught, coming down
Rating: PG-13 (for innuendoes)
Disclaimer: Sadly, nothing is mine.
Summary: When Blast Off came back from space, his actions were easier to calculate.
Beta: The wonderful ultharkitty :D *glomps*
Note: At first I wanted to go for a humorous story with a humorous title, but somehow this didn’t work out. ^^°
Coming Down
You could say interactions with Blast Off were complicated. Actually, you could say interactions with Blast Off were very complicated, and it would still be an understatement.
The paradox of it all was that Blast Off had simple rules for interacting with him, but the outcome of following or breaking these rules was always unpredictable. Or rather, the outcome was mostly unpredictable.
Onslaught was a strategist. He calculated different measures, different outcomes, possibilities, and remembered them; he learnt from past events, and added it all to the complete equation to get the best possible result. In the last millennia - before the Detention Centre - he had learnt a lot about Blast Off, but he got the final and most important measurements only in the last few years on Earth.
Knowing, observing, calculating it anew, that was what made communication with the shuttleformer in question simpler; not simple, but less unpredictable. Particular when you wanted something, and you wasn’t sure if he also wanted it. Though, with Blast Off, Onslaught could never know. The shuttle never started anything of his own accord, he might do it with Vortex, or Brawl, or others, but Onslaught was Blast Off’s commander.
Onslaught didn’t know why there was this reluctance to start anything, it was something he was still trying to find out.
“You look tired,” Onslaught said casually and sipped his energon. It was only a joor and a half since the shuttle had come down after weeks in Earth’s orbit, and they’d sat just for three breems in the rec-room.
Blast Off only huffed. “I am.”
There was the usual blank voice with the usual underlying condescension of having stated something obvious.
They both sat in the rec-room of Combaticon HQ. Since they’d moved and left the Nemesis, Blast Off had been less tense. They’d never said anything, but Onslaught knew that being so many miles under water got to his team.
Blast Off had gone back to read the datapad - Onslaught didn’t know what was written in it - slowly drinking his ration, optics dimmed.
“Where’re the others?” Blast Off asked indifferently, his tone flat. It was not often that the shuttle started a conversation, but in moments like this, you were allowed to continue to talk.
Inwardly, Onslaught grinned.
“Vortex and Brawl are on a mission, and Swindle…” He paused for a moment and frowned, “Well, I will take care of his absence later.”
Blast Off nodded.
Encouraged, Onslaught carried on. “How was the re-entry?”
Blast Off looked up.
Onslaught tilted his head.
No one ever asked Blast Off about this, except him. It was only partly to make sure the shuttle wasn’t injured or there wasn’t an Autobot attack.
Shrugging, Blast Off looked back at his pad, but Onslaught could tell he wasn’t reading. “It was okay. Wasn’t the first time I did it.”
Again condescension in the shuttle’s voice, but Onslaught merely grinned.
Unexpectedly, Blast Off continued, “I couldn’t really focus, though. I haven’t recharged that well up there. There were a few solar flares…”
Onslaught emptied his cube and stood up, Blast Off didn’t move. Even when he walked behind the shuttle, the other kept quiet.
Considering all indications, it still wasn’t fully clear if Onslaught did the right thing. Even the best equation was unable to calculate the most likely reaction due to the shuttle’s mood swings.
Sometimes, interactions with Blast Off were as random as playing chess with Brawl, who arranged the figures unsystematically and without a reasonable structure. Fortunately, Onslaught knew how to handle both; and, equally fortunately, in the first few joors after coming down Blast Off’s reactions where more predictable.
“So,” Onslaught said, and laid both his hands on Blast Off’s shoulders. The shuttle tensed at the first contact, because he always did, but relaxed an instant later. “Seems that you didn’t have fair weather up there?”
It was on purpose that Onslaught’s grin was audible in his voice.
Another huff. “That is not funny.”
“Sure, it’s not,” Onslaught replied with a conciliatory tone, and moved his hands down the other’s back. Over the abrasive surface of the shuttle’s heat resistance tiles, which had glowed only a few breems ago. They were cold now.
There was silence. Only the sound of metal fingers stroking over ceramic plating; always cautious not to touch the seams.
“It looks pretty, though,” Blast Off began absently.
“Hm?”
“The solar flares… When they hit the atmosphere. You know, the Northern Lights.”
Onslaught’s lip plates twitched to a small smile, and he dared to trace over the first gap between the tiles on the other’s back.
“I’ve seen them only once…” he answered, just to say something. He knew that Blast Off valued certain things differently than most of the other Decepticons; mainly insentient things only he had access to; such as watching the Northern Lights from space.
The shuttle’s vents heaved air, but this time as a sigh.
Continuing tracing over the transformation seams, Onslaught leaned down, only enough to see the datapad resting with its screen on Blast Off’s thigh.
Both mechs became quiet again.
Blast Off’s head dropped forwards, and the tact of his engine changed to a delicious, tempting rumbling.
“I’m always wondering…” Blast Off spoke again, tired but with a hint of condescension which wasn’t directed at Onslaught, “This planet looks nice from up there, and I can almost forget what kind of pithole it really is…”
There was another pause, in which Onslaught’s touches elicited a quiver from the other mech, and he was brave enough to step closer, so that he touched the back of Blast Off’s chair.
“…but when I get back, I’m reminded of all that slag.”
Onslaught could imagine what the shuttle meant by that, but he wasn’t about to comment on it. Instead he answered, moving closer, and his chest actually touched the other’s back, “You can’t tell me that everything is total scrap down here…”
Blast Off’s intakes vented once more, another huff, and Onslaught was almost certain that he’d overdone it and forfeited his chance.
But, contrary to Onslaught’s expectations, Blast Off did nothing else, neither snapped at him nor stood up. He only said, “I’m tired”, and flared his energy field faintly. Onslaught suppressed the surprised hitch of his vents.
Then, Blast Off stood up, and it had nothing to do with being annoyed at Onslaught.
“I’ll be in my room,” the shuttle said, and went out, not looking back, not saying anything more. And this was also something Onslaught had learnt, that Blast Off said more when he didn’t say anything at all.
Onslaught waited a klik, and then followed.