Fic - Attention, Ch. 4 of 7
Title: Attention, chapter 4
Continuity: G1 cartoon, Dysfunction AU
Rating: PG-13
Content advice: a bit of violence, thoughts of smut
Disclaimer: Not my characters, I’m just playing with them
Characters and/or pairings: one-sided Drag Strip/Vortex, Onslaught, implied Onslaught/Vortex
Summary: Drag Strip gets whatever the Cybertronian equivalent of cockblocked is. Again. This time by someone he really doesn’t want to argue with.
[ Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7]
Drag Strip sighed; frag he looked good.
His polish was perfect, his hubcaps gleamed; even Dead End couldn't deny his innate attractiveness.
Not that he wanted to 'face with Dead End right now. That would be a bit too easy, especially given what Dead End had been reading. Apparently, there was just something about Nietzsche that turned his ignition key.
“He won't be able to resist,” Drag Strip commented. He flashed his reflection a confident grin. Over on the berth, Dead End nodded, datapad in hand.
“Indeed.” He glanced up. “Although I feel beholden to note that this is possibly the worst idea I've heard since Wildrider challenged Brawl to a drinking contest. This is going to end in pain. Terrible, terrible pain. And possibly annihilation.”
Drag Strip rolled his optics. “But I look good,” he said.
There was the slightest of pauses. “Indeed.”
“Damned right I do.”
Out in the corridor, Drag Strip took the fast lane. Not that there actually were lanes, but some mechs were just slaggin' slow. Overtaking them was like a public service. Especially if he happened to give them a quick bump while he was at it, jostle them along a little, show them how they were meant to move.
His forcefield hummed, his finish pristine and gleaming.
He caught Vortex emerging from medbay, whole again and clean. It even looked like someone had tried to make his armour shine. Not that they’d had much success, but Drag Strip liked his partners dull, it made his own paintwork show up all the better.
“Hey there,” Drag Strip said, just as Onslaught rounded the corner.
“You insubordinate glitch!” Onslaught roared.
Drag Strip snarled. Not again. What was it with this guy’s team mates? Didn’t they want him to get laid?
Onslaught’s visor glowed. “When I say ‘report to the briefing room at 1400 joors’, I mean ‘report to the briefing room at 1400 joors’, not ‘have another afternoon in medbay, and why don’t you bribe Scrapper to clean your rotor assembly while you’re at it?’”
“It needed doing,” Vortex shrugged.
“Stand to attention when I’m talking to you,” Onslaught snarled. “We have a mission to complete, and you, whether you like it or not, are integral.”
Vortex didn’t stand to attention. He just shrugged again and flicked his rotors. “So brief me then.”
Drag Strip slumped. What the slag was that? Flirting? Surely Vortex couldn’t prefer the company of his own commander to a hot, young racer with a spoiler to die for?
Onslaught snarled, catching Vortex around the throat and slamming him against the wall.
Drag Strip didn’t catch what he said next, as his comms pinged and a loud, enthusiastic voice yelled, //Hey, Drag Strip, what’s goin’ on?!//
He sighed. Wildrider; just what he needed.
//Nothing,// he lied.
Vortex squirmed, but didn’t engage his weapons. Onslaught spun him around, seized him by the rotor hub and shoved him roughly in a direction which was, annoyingly, away from Drag Strip. “Now get moving!”
Infuriatingly, all the copter did was laugh.
Wildrider snickered. //You had another false start, Strippy?//
//Shove it up your tailpipe!// Drag Strip snapped. //And don’t call me Strippy!// He cut the comm. He hated it when Wildrider was right; it was a false start, another one. How the frag was he meant to compete if he couldn’t even get close?
He pushed away from the wall, then turned back and kicked it, hard. His forcefield juddered.
There had to be a way.
Continuity: G1 cartoon, Dysfunction AU
Rating: PG-13
Content advice: a bit of violence, thoughts of smut
Disclaimer: Not my characters, I’m just playing with them
Characters and/or pairings: one-sided Drag Strip/Vortex, Onslaught, implied Onslaught/Vortex
Summary: Drag Strip gets whatever the Cybertronian equivalent of cockblocked is. Again. This time by someone he really doesn’t want to argue with.
[ Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7]
Drag Strip sighed; frag he looked good.
His polish was perfect, his hubcaps gleamed; even Dead End couldn't deny his innate attractiveness.
Not that he wanted to 'face with Dead End right now. That would be a bit too easy, especially given what Dead End had been reading. Apparently, there was just something about Nietzsche that turned his ignition key.
“He won't be able to resist,” Drag Strip commented. He flashed his reflection a confident grin. Over on the berth, Dead End nodded, datapad in hand.
“Indeed.” He glanced up. “Although I feel beholden to note that this is possibly the worst idea I've heard since Wildrider challenged Brawl to a drinking contest. This is going to end in pain. Terrible, terrible pain. And possibly annihilation.”
Drag Strip rolled his optics. “But I look good,” he said.
There was the slightest of pauses. “Indeed.”
“Damned right I do.”
Out in the corridor, Drag Strip took the fast lane. Not that there actually were lanes, but some mechs were just slaggin' slow. Overtaking them was like a public service. Especially if he happened to give them a quick bump while he was at it, jostle them along a little, show them how they were meant to move.
His forcefield hummed, his finish pristine and gleaming.
He caught Vortex emerging from medbay, whole again and clean. It even looked like someone had tried to make his armour shine. Not that they’d had much success, but Drag Strip liked his partners dull, it made his own paintwork show up all the better.
“Hey there,” Drag Strip said, just as Onslaught rounded the corner.
“You insubordinate glitch!” Onslaught roared.
Drag Strip snarled. Not again. What was it with this guy’s team mates? Didn’t they want him to get laid?
Onslaught’s visor glowed. “When I say ‘report to the briefing room at 1400 joors’, I mean ‘report to the briefing room at 1400 joors’, not ‘have another afternoon in medbay, and why don’t you bribe Scrapper to clean your rotor assembly while you’re at it?’”
“It needed doing,” Vortex shrugged.
“Stand to attention when I’m talking to you,” Onslaught snarled. “We have a mission to complete, and you, whether you like it or not, are integral.”
Vortex didn’t stand to attention. He just shrugged again and flicked his rotors. “So brief me then.”
Drag Strip slumped. What the slag was that? Flirting? Surely Vortex couldn’t prefer the company of his own commander to a hot, young racer with a spoiler to die for?
Onslaught snarled, catching Vortex around the throat and slamming him against the wall.
Drag Strip didn’t catch what he said next, as his comms pinged and a loud, enthusiastic voice yelled, //Hey, Drag Strip, what’s goin’ on?!//
He sighed. Wildrider; just what he needed.
//Nothing,// he lied.
Vortex squirmed, but didn’t engage his weapons. Onslaught spun him around, seized him by the rotor hub and shoved him roughly in a direction which was, annoyingly, away from Drag Strip. “Now get moving!”
Infuriatingly, all the copter did was laugh.
Wildrider snickered. //You had another false start, Strippy?//
//Shove it up your tailpipe!// Drag Strip snapped. //And don’t call me Strippy!// He cut the comm. He hated it when Wildrider was right; it was a false start, another one. How the frag was he meant to compete if he couldn’t even get close?
He pushed away from the wall, then turned back and kicked it, hard. His forcefield juddered.
There had to be a way.