Fic - Attention, Ch. 1 of 7
Title: Attention
Chapter 1 of 7
Continuity: G1 Dysfunction AU
Rating: PG-13
Content advice: a bit of violence, Cybertronian cursing, talk of smut
Disclaimer: Just playing in the sandpit
Characters and/or pairings: one-sided Drag Strip/Vortex, Wildrider, Dead End, Breakdown, Blast Off, implied Vortex/Blast Off.
Summary: Drag Strip wants to win at things you’re not supposed to win at, like seducing a Combaticon (uh, yeah, this was written under the influence of PowerThirst commercials).
Notes: Set straight after Taking one for the team. I wrote this whole set for tf_speedwriting, and polished them up so I have something fannish to post during NaNoWriMo.
[ Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7]
"I ain’t gonna lie to you about your chances,” Wildrider said, kicking his heels against the side of the berth. “But… you got my sympathies.”
Drag strip glared. Misquoting movies again, classy. There was no way Wildrider knew what ‘sympathies’ meant. “And what would you know about it? Slowpoke.”
“Frag you…” Wildrider paused, presumably while his processor went through a list of mildly witty, acerbic taunts. “You yellow-aftded spawn of a trash compacter!”
So predictable.
“Touché,” Dead End commented, not bothering to look up from his datapad.
“Not slaggin’ touché,” Drag Strip snarled. “Afted isn’t a word, and he knows squat.”
“It is a word,” Dead End replied.
“Is not.” Drag Strip muttered. Dead End always had to take someone else’s side, never the side that had him on it and was therefore right.
“Is so,” Wildrider said. “And anyway, you got someplace to be now, right? I mean, if you wanna get your shiny yellow backside handed to you.”
“You…” Drag Strip clenched his denta. He was above all this. He was cool, he was calm. Wildrider wasn’t getting to him; he was better than that. Yeah, he was so much better than that. A smile caught at his faceplates. He was the best.
And he was going to prove it.
As he neared the door, Dead End looked up, briefly, from his reading. “Drag Strip?”
He paused. “Yeah?”
“Remember to update your firewalls before you go.”
* * *
How he made it into the corridor without clocking the both of them, Drag Strip wasn’t exactly sure. But he did. And it was a good feeling. They were, after all, his team mates. They were cool, usually, and Wildrider could be a lot of fun. Dead End not so much, but he was fast - not as fast as Drag Strip, though, obviously - and he knew stuff.
Well, some stuff. ‘Afted’ so wasn’t a word.
Drag Strip stopped by one of the Nemesis’s viewing windows. The brightness of the interior lights coupled with the darkness outside made it a decent mirror. He gave himself an appreciative grin. Handsome and fast, good combination. And no smuts, either.
Looking fine, slag yeah.
Of course, he had no idea whether the new mechs liked that kind of thing. But pah, he was the hottest thing on six wheels, who wouldn’t want a piece of him?
He caught the echo of approaching footsteps, and leant against the wall, nonchalant and incredibly alluring. Yep, utterly irresistible. Especially to a mature, excitingly dangerous and highly experienced mech (if you believed the rumours, and Drag Strip certainly did) who’d spent the past few million years in the Detention Centre. And the past week or so in the brig.
But, as the mech turned the corner, Drag Strip slumped.
“Breakdown? Frag.”
“Don’t sound so pleased to see me,” Breakdown said. “You’re not seriously going through with this?”
“Sure am,” Drag Strip said. “Or I would be, if you’d just, y’know, slag off. They got back at 0200 hours, he’s gotta come past here to get to his recharge.”
“Uh…” Breakdown glanced around, his engine giving a nervous little stutter. “And you want to go with him? He’s creepy.”
“So?” Drag Strip preened. Creepy, he could handle. Creepy came hand-in-hand with obsessive, which was just another word for attentive. “Don’t give me that look, Breaky.”
“Don’t call me Breaky,” Breakdown mumbled, but his words weren’t important so Drag Strip spoke right over him.
“He’s just got out of prison, got a new body and all that. He’ll be extra grateful for the attention, especially coming from me.” A new set of footsteps rang out, two sets by the sound of things. “Slag, they’re coming, hide!”
Breakdown didn’t need to be told twice. He was a good partner, all in all, huddling under a bench by the window, making himself scarce to give Drag Strip a better chance. Well, it wasn’t like anyone was going to look twice at him with Mr scaredy-capacitor standing alongside, trembling when anyone so much as looked at him. They’d be too busy laughing.
But by himself, yeah, Drag Strip was un-missable.
Just like those rotors. He’d never seen a rotary mech before Vortex showed up. But he’d soon realised that there was something about parts that spun around that made his engine rev like crazy. And that was without the rumours.
Yeah, there was nothing like a truly dangerous mech to get Drag Strip’s circuits buzzing.
And how they buzzed.
Drag Strip waited until Vortex had rounded the corner, giving him an astrosecond or two to fully appreciate the splendid and highly attractive vista laid out before him, before stepping neatly into his path.
“Blast Off, for frag sake!” Vortex dodged Drag Strip without looking and carried on. “How many times do I have to say I didn’t mean it!”
So, that explained who the other mech was. Drag Strip didn’t really care; he was large and bulky and not at all interesting. Even the angry growl of his engines just seemed dull.
Drag Strip tried again, nipping in front of Vortex, and adopting his most attractive pose.
“Hey,” he said.
“Frag off.” Vortex tried to dodge again, but Drag Strip employed his superior speed to good effect. Now, if only the shuttle would keep on walking and… yes! Blast Off rounded the corner, vanishing from sight.
“Gah!” Vortex yelled. “Fraggit, Thrusters, come back here you obstinate scrapheap!”
But Blast Off had gone, and Vortex - finally! - gave Drag Strip the attention he deserved. He looked the Stunticon over, his visor gleaming like freshly-spilled squishy innards.
“What the slag is wrong with you? Get out of my way.”
OK, not the attention Drag Strip deserved. But it was attention, and if he let a temporary setback get to him, he wouldn’t be the best.
He flashed a grin; he’d heard the copter liked a challenge. “No.”
There was no warning. One moment, Drag Strip was standing in his sexy pose, the next he was up against the wall with Vortex’s hand around his throat, his pedes a good distance from the floor.
“Ugh!” He tried to speak, but Vortex was crushing his vocaliser.
“Now,” Vortex growled. “Keep the slag out of my way, understand?”
He didn’t wait for Drag Strip to acknowledge him, but suddenly his aft was on the floor and Vortex had vanished, his footfalls heavy in the thankfully empty corridor.
Empty apart from Breakdown, whose optics glowed from the gloom under the bench.
Breakdown waited until Vortex was out of earshot before whispering, “Wildrider will say he told you so.”
“Shut up,” Drag Strip snapped, his voice crackly and unclear. “This isn’t over. I’m gonna win this, you’ll see.”
Breakdown muttered something that sounded like, “I don’t think it’s a competition”, but Drag Strip knew otherwise.
Chapter 1 of 7
Continuity: G1 Dysfunction AU
Rating: PG-13
Content advice: a bit of violence, Cybertronian cursing, talk of smut
Disclaimer: Just playing in the sandpit
Characters and/or pairings: one-sided Drag Strip/Vortex, Wildrider, Dead End, Breakdown, Blast Off, implied Vortex/Blast Off.
Summary: Drag Strip wants to win at things you’re not supposed to win at, like seducing a Combaticon (uh, yeah, this was written under the influence of PowerThirst commercials).
Notes: Set straight after Taking one for the team. I wrote this whole set for tf_speedwriting, and polished them up so I have something fannish to post during NaNoWriMo.
[ Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7]
"I ain’t gonna lie to you about your chances,” Wildrider said, kicking his heels against the side of the berth. “But… you got my sympathies.”
Drag strip glared. Misquoting movies again, classy. There was no way Wildrider knew what ‘sympathies’ meant. “And what would you know about it? Slowpoke.”
“Frag you…” Wildrider paused, presumably while his processor went through a list of mildly witty, acerbic taunts. “You yellow-aftded spawn of a trash compacter!”
So predictable.
“Touché,” Dead End commented, not bothering to look up from his datapad.
“Not slaggin’ touché,” Drag Strip snarled. “Afted isn’t a word, and he knows squat.”
“It is a word,” Dead End replied.
“Is not.” Drag Strip muttered. Dead End always had to take someone else’s side, never the side that had him on it and was therefore right.
“Is so,” Wildrider said. “And anyway, you got someplace to be now, right? I mean, if you wanna get your shiny yellow backside handed to you.”
“You…” Drag Strip clenched his denta. He was above all this. He was cool, he was calm. Wildrider wasn’t getting to him; he was better than that. Yeah, he was so much better than that. A smile caught at his faceplates. He was the best.
And he was going to prove it.
As he neared the door, Dead End looked up, briefly, from his reading. “Drag Strip?”
He paused. “Yeah?”
“Remember to update your firewalls before you go.”
* * *
How he made it into the corridor without clocking the both of them, Drag Strip wasn’t exactly sure. But he did. And it was a good feeling. They were, after all, his team mates. They were cool, usually, and Wildrider could be a lot of fun. Dead End not so much, but he was fast - not as fast as Drag Strip, though, obviously - and he knew stuff.
Well, some stuff. ‘Afted’ so wasn’t a word.
Drag Strip stopped by one of the Nemesis’s viewing windows. The brightness of the interior lights coupled with the darkness outside made it a decent mirror. He gave himself an appreciative grin. Handsome and fast, good combination. And no smuts, either.
Looking fine, slag yeah.
Of course, he had no idea whether the new mechs liked that kind of thing. But pah, he was the hottest thing on six wheels, who wouldn’t want a piece of him?
He caught the echo of approaching footsteps, and leant against the wall, nonchalant and incredibly alluring. Yep, utterly irresistible. Especially to a mature, excitingly dangerous and highly experienced mech (if you believed the rumours, and Drag Strip certainly did) who’d spent the past few million years in the Detention Centre. And the past week or so in the brig.
But, as the mech turned the corner, Drag Strip slumped.
“Breakdown? Frag.”
“Don’t sound so pleased to see me,” Breakdown said. “You’re not seriously going through with this?”
“Sure am,” Drag Strip said. “Or I would be, if you’d just, y’know, slag off. They got back at 0200 hours, he’s gotta come past here to get to his recharge.”
“Uh…” Breakdown glanced around, his engine giving a nervous little stutter. “And you want to go with him? He’s creepy.”
“So?” Drag Strip preened. Creepy, he could handle. Creepy came hand-in-hand with obsessive, which was just another word for attentive. “Don’t give me that look, Breaky.”
“Don’t call me Breaky,” Breakdown mumbled, but his words weren’t important so Drag Strip spoke right over him.
“He’s just got out of prison, got a new body and all that. He’ll be extra grateful for the attention, especially coming from me.” A new set of footsteps rang out, two sets by the sound of things. “Slag, they’re coming, hide!”
Breakdown didn’t need to be told twice. He was a good partner, all in all, huddling under a bench by the window, making himself scarce to give Drag Strip a better chance. Well, it wasn’t like anyone was going to look twice at him with Mr scaredy-capacitor standing alongside, trembling when anyone so much as looked at him. They’d be too busy laughing.
But by himself, yeah, Drag Strip was un-missable.
Just like those rotors. He’d never seen a rotary mech before Vortex showed up. But he’d soon realised that there was something about parts that spun around that made his engine rev like crazy. And that was without the rumours.
Yeah, there was nothing like a truly dangerous mech to get Drag Strip’s circuits buzzing.
And how they buzzed.
Drag Strip waited until Vortex had rounded the corner, giving him an astrosecond or two to fully appreciate the splendid and highly attractive vista laid out before him, before stepping neatly into his path.
“Blast Off, for frag sake!” Vortex dodged Drag Strip without looking and carried on. “How many times do I have to say I didn’t mean it!”
So, that explained who the other mech was. Drag Strip didn’t really care; he was large and bulky and not at all interesting. Even the angry growl of his engines just seemed dull.
Drag Strip tried again, nipping in front of Vortex, and adopting his most attractive pose.
“Hey,” he said.
“Frag off.” Vortex tried to dodge again, but Drag Strip employed his superior speed to good effect. Now, if only the shuttle would keep on walking and… yes! Blast Off rounded the corner, vanishing from sight.
“Gah!” Vortex yelled. “Fraggit, Thrusters, come back here you obstinate scrapheap!”
But Blast Off had gone, and Vortex - finally! - gave Drag Strip the attention he deserved. He looked the Stunticon over, his visor gleaming like freshly-spilled squishy innards.
“What the slag is wrong with you? Get out of my way.”
OK, not the attention Drag Strip deserved. But it was attention, and if he let a temporary setback get to him, he wouldn’t be the best.
He flashed a grin; he’d heard the copter liked a challenge. “No.”
There was no warning. One moment, Drag Strip was standing in his sexy pose, the next he was up against the wall with Vortex’s hand around his throat, his pedes a good distance from the floor.
“Ugh!” He tried to speak, but Vortex was crushing his vocaliser.
“Now,” Vortex growled. “Keep the slag out of my way, understand?”
He didn’t wait for Drag Strip to acknowledge him, but suddenly his aft was on the floor and Vortex had vanished, his footfalls heavy in the thankfully empty corridor.
Empty apart from Breakdown, whose optics glowed from the gloom under the bench.
Breakdown waited until Vortex was out of earshot before whispering, “Wildrider will say he told you so.”
“Shut up,” Drag Strip snapped, his voice crackly and unclear. “This isn’t over. I’m gonna win this, you’ll see.”
Breakdown muttered something that sounded like, “I don’t think it’s a competition”, but Drag Strip knew otherwise.