Fic - Attention, Ch. 7 of 7
Title: Attention, Chapter 7
Continuity: G1 cartoon, Dysfunction AU
Rating: R
Content advice: Plug ‘n’ play, slash, consensual sexytimes, manipulative copter
Characters and/or pairings: Vortex/Drag Strip
Summary: At last, Drag Strip has what he thinks he wants! But what is Vortex up to?
[ Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6]
It had been remarkably easy to get the Stunticon alone.
Not that Vortex had envisaged any problems. He’d spent weeks watching Drag Strip watching him. He’d given him the brush off time and again, just to see if he really was so block-headed that he’d keep on speeding after that finish line even when the line itself was constantly being redrawn. Weeks of watching Drag Strip coming back for more when any normal mech would have given up and found a softer target. Weeks of gathering evidence to make certain he was right.
It all added up to one serious infatuation.
But still, as Drag Strip lay trembling beneath him, his engine revving and rear wheels spinning so fast his axle was smoking, Vortex was surprised that the Stunticon hadn’t been more cautious.
Motormaster didn’t want the teams mixing, that was clear. Megatron’s elite with Starscream’s criminal glitches; it crunched his gears, and he wasn’t shy of saying so.
After his fight with Onslaught, he’d lorded it around. As though Onslaught letting him win had been a real victory. As though a bunch of new mechs fresh off the assembly line were any match for true Cybertronians.
There had to be some way to bring him down a notch, and Drag Strip’s infatuation provided just that opportunity. It was the crack in the team’s fresh and shiny façade, into which Vortex could wedge a lever. It would only be one small step from there to turning the whole team against their overbearing, arrogant upstart of a commander.
And Drag Strip obviously had no idea.
Breakdown was suspicious, Vortex was sure of it. The grounder gave him nothing but sly glances, and a blur of cream and blue as his aft vanished around the nearest corner. But he didn’t know.
It was only by luck that Vortex had managed to corner the bundle of nerves and get him to deliver his message to Drag Strip. And better luck that Breakdown had complied, probably delivering a warning as well. Don’t trust him, perhaps, he’s bad news.
But Drag Strip had followed his interface cable and not his combat subroutines. Or maybe the warning had given the invite that extra edge.
“Mmmm, so shiny.” Vortex ran greedy hands over Drag Strip’s chestplates, hooking his thumbs into the vents. “You wanna rev that hot little engine a bit harder for me?”
“Uhuh!” Drag Strip nodded, bucking as Vortex sent an intense bolt of energy over the connection. He complied clumsily, the vibrations erratic, and grabbed for the rotor blades bouncing above his head. Frag the grounder was keen. Keen and fast. From arrival to horizontal in 6.2 astroseconds, it had to be some kind of record.
For his part, Vortex hadn’t expected the Stunticon to get his engine going. His gestaltmate, possibly. The one who’d leapt up to cling onto his landing gear on their last joint mission, and who’d clung on whooping and yelling until they’d crashed. Vortex could imagine having a lot of fun with that one. But not Drag Strip.
Strange how things turned out.
Vortex pressed down on him, feeling his way along that pristine yellow paintwork. The feedback from the interface spread a tingling heat through his midsection. Nothing to write home about, but it was all building nicely. He dipped his head to nibble the edge of Drag Strip’s helm. “You like that?”
The Stunticon groaned, fists tightening on his rotors. “Hot slag I’m gonna overload!”
Already? Somehow, Vortex managed not to say it aloud. Instead he bit down, hoping that a dose of pain might pull Drag Strip back from the brink.
He wasn’t quite that fortunate.
“Uuuuurgh, oh frag yesyesyesYES!” Drag Strip’s visor flickered, his lips curved in a wide, triumphant grin.
The backlash from his climax hit Vortex’s circuits, causing a sunburst of pleasure, but it was fleeting, momentary. Slag.
“I, sure, yeah…” Drag Strip panted, his optics refocusing, staring up at the rotor tips. He stroked one gently, fingertips dipping into the dents he’d so recently made. “You didn’t, y’know?” he said, altogether too coy for someone whose energy field was still flaring wildly.
Vortex propped himself on his elbows, and sent a rippling burst of charge along the connection. “Nope,” he said.
To Vortex’s surprise, once he’d finished squirming Drag Strip’s optics narrowed, his victorious grin morphing into a determined frown. “Slagged if I’m letting that happen,” he said.
Ordinarily, Vortex would already have lost interest. But there was something about Drag Strip’s attitude, something that boded well for the next few joors. That, and this was all in aid of a greater goal. Sticking at it would be far more interesting than not.
“Oh yeah, Mr ‘I just overloaded’,” Vortex smirked. “What are you and your depleted charge gonna do about it?”
The Stunticon’s optics flashed, his grin returning in full force. Lightning-quick, he snaked a hand around to grip Vortex’s rotor hub, tugging him closer. “You’ll see,” he said, forcing what must have been the dregs of his residual charge through the connection. It was pleasant, but nowhere near enough.
“Oh yeah?” Vortex shot him another indication of his frustrated arousal. Drag Strip gasped, and the feedback sang through Vortex’s interface array, causing his rotors to shudder.
“Yeah,” Drag Strip managed. His vents heaved and his armour crackled, but his tone conveyed only confidence. “When I’m through with you, you’re gonna know why I’m the best.”
Oh really? Vortex thought, but kept it to himself. Arrogance: so not sexy. But if this was going to work, he had to keep Drag Strip on side. Which meant resisting tearing him down, and that meant keeping him from saying dumbaft stuff like that. Vortex leant down, taking his first taste of those pale blue lips.
Drag Strip went to speak, but Vortex got in first.
“Just shut up and frag me.”
Continuity: G1 cartoon, Dysfunction AU
Rating: R
Content advice: Plug ‘n’ play, slash, consensual sexytimes, manipulative copter
Characters and/or pairings: Vortex/Drag Strip
Summary: At last, Drag Strip has what he thinks he wants! But what is Vortex up to?
[ Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6]
It had been remarkably easy to get the Stunticon alone.
Not that Vortex had envisaged any problems. He’d spent weeks watching Drag Strip watching him. He’d given him the brush off time and again, just to see if he really was so block-headed that he’d keep on speeding after that finish line even when the line itself was constantly being redrawn. Weeks of watching Drag Strip coming back for more when any normal mech would have given up and found a softer target. Weeks of gathering evidence to make certain he was right.
It all added up to one serious infatuation.
But still, as Drag Strip lay trembling beneath him, his engine revving and rear wheels spinning so fast his axle was smoking, Vortex was surprised that the Stunticon hadn’t been more cautious.
Motormaster didn’t want the teams mixing, that was clear. Megatron’s elite with Starscream’s criminal glitches; it crunched his gears, and he wasn’t shy of saying so.
After his fight with Onslaught, he’d lorded it around. As though Onslaught letting him win had been a real victory. As though a bunch of new mechs fresh off the assembly line were any match for true Cybertronians.
There had to be some way to bring him down a notch, and Drag Strip’s infatuation provided just that opportunity. It was the crack in the team’s fresh and shiny façade, into which Vortex could wedge a lever. It would only be one small step from there to turning the whole team against their overbearing, arrogant upstart of a commander.
And Drag Strip obviously had no idea.
Breakdown was suspicious, Vortex was sure of it. The grounder gave him nothing but sly glances, and a blur of cream and blue as his aft vanished around the nearest corner. But he didn’t know.
It was only by luck that Vortex had managed to corner the bundle of nerves and get him to deliver his message to Drag Strip. And better luck that Breakdown had complied, probably delivering a warning as well. Don’t trust him, perhaps, he’s bad news.
But Drag Strip had followed his interface cable and not his combat subroutines. Or maybe the warning had given the invite that extra edge.
“Mmmm, so shiny.” Vortex ran greedy hands over Drag Strip’s chestplates, hooking his thumbs into the vents. “You wanna rev that hot little engine a bit harder for me?”
“Uhuh!” Drag Strip nodded, bucking as Vortex sent an intense bolt of energy over the connection. He complied clumsily, the vibrations erratic, and grabbed for the rotor blades bouncing above his head. Frag the grounder was keen. Keen and fast. From arrival to horizontal in 6.2 astroseconds, it had to be some kind of record.
For his part, Vortex hadn’t expected the Stunticon to get his engine going. His gestaltmate, possibly. The one who’d leapt up to cling onto his landing gear on their last joint mission, and who’d clung on whooping and yelling until they’d crashed. Vortex could imagine having a lot of fun with that one. But not Drag Strip.
Strange how things turned out.
Vortex pressed down on him, feeling his way along that pristine yellow paintwork. The feedback from the interface spread a tingling heat through his midsection. Nothing to write home about, but it was all building nicely. He dipped his head to nibble the edge of Drag Strip’s helm. “You like that?”
The Stunticon groaned, fists tightening on his rotors. “Hot slag I’m gonna overload!”
Already? Somehow, Vortex managed not to say it aloud. Instead he bit down, hoping that a dose of pain might pull Drag Strip back from the brink.
He wasn’t quite that fortunate.
“Uuuuurgh, oh frag yesyesyesYES!” Drag Strip’s visor flickered, his lips curved in a wide, triumphant grin.
The backlash from his climax hit Vortex’s circuits, causing a sunburst of pleasure, but it was fleeting, momentary. Slag.
“I, sure, yeah…” Drag Strip panted, his optics refocusing, staring up at the rotor tips. He stroked one gently, fingertips dipping into the dents he’d so recently made. “You didn’t, y’know?” he said, altogether too coy for someone whose energy field was still flaring wildly.
Vortex propped himself on his elbows, and sent a rippling burst of charge along the connection. “Nope,” he said.
To Vortex’s surprise, once he’d finished squirming Drag Strip’s optics narrowed, his victorious grin morphing into a determined frown. “Slagged if I’m letting that happen,” he said.
Ordinarily, Vortex would already have lost interest. But there was something about Drag Strip’s attitude, something that boded well for the next few joors. That, and this was all in aid of a greater goal. Sticking at it would be far more interesting than not.
“Oh yeah, Mr ‘I just overloaded’,” Vortex smirked. “What are you and your depleted charge gonna do about it?”
The Stunticon’s optics flashed, his grin returning in full force. Lightning-quick, he snaked a hand around to grip Vortex’s rotor hub, tugging him closer. “You’ll see,” he said, forcing what must have been the dregs of his residual charge through the connection. It was pleasant, but nowhere near enough.
“Oh yeah?” Vortex shot him another indication of his frustrated arousal. Drag Strip gasped, and the feedback sang through Vortex’s interface array, causing his rotors to shudder.
“Yeah,” Drag Strip managed. His vents heaved and his armour crackled, but his tone conveyed only confidence. “When I’m through with you, you’re gonna know why I’m the best.”
Oh really? Vortex thought, but kept it to himself. Arrogance: so not sexy. But if this was going to work, he had to keep Drag Strip on side. Which meant resisting tearing him down, and that meant keeping him from saying dumbaft stuff like that. Vortex leant down, taking his first taste of those pale blue lips.
Drag Strip went to speak, but Vortex got in first.
“Just shut up and frag me.”