Fic - On the Desk
Title: On the desk
Continuity: G1
Rating: PG-13
Content advice: crack, implied violence, interrogation setting, Vortex traumatizing Wheelie, slashy, and non-explicit talk of smut.
Disclaimer: Not mine, just playing in the sandbox.
Characters and/or pairings: Vortex/Brawl, Wheelie
Summary: A very silly story in which Brawl finds it hard to say what he really wants, and picks the worst time to try.
Notes: Written for the tf_speedwriting Advent Calendar, for the prompt ‘When words don’t come out easily’. Partially inspired by casusfere’s Force. Because Brawl and Vortex go violently well together ;)
//Tex... I’m BORED.//
Only Brawl could yell so loudly over a private internal comm. channel.
Vortex remained still. Seated at a desk, his elbows on the table and his chin in his hands, he stared at the prisoner. It was all did, and it was all he’d been doing now for a solid half a joor. The prisoner quivered.
//TEX!// Brawl boomed. //Tex, I know you’re there! I’m bored!//
//And I’m busy,// Vortex responded. He vented a long, slow sigh, and the prisoner flinched.
//Seriously, Tex, I’m bored and… and….// Oh great, Brawl was in persistent mode.
//You bored or you horny?// Vortex said. He focused on the prisoner’s face: pale lips set in a firm line, blue optics flickering, a dozen little recalibrations every astrosecond as the prisoner tried oh so hard not to stare back. His orange cowl was scuffed, his chest-plates damaged. Someone had scrubbed out his insignia, the stern Autobot glare cut through with a mess of scratches. Must have happened in transit, like a lot of the other damage. It certainly didn’t happen on the mission.
Over the comm., Brawl ‘um’ed and ‘ah’ed. It didn’t come easy to him, speaking. Not least when he had something to admit.
//Bored,// Vortex repeated. //Or horny?// The Autobot shifted, tugging gently on his restraints. An open fuel line dribbled energon down his arm.
//Uh, kinda both?// Brawl said.
Vortex resisted another sigh. //I’m working,// he replied. //Go see Swindle.//
//He went out!// Brawl wailed. //And Blast Off said no, and Onslaught ain’t here, and I’m bored!//
//And horny,// Vortex couldn’t help but add. He tilted his head, and the Autobot’s fists clenched, but still he didn’t speak. Vortex was impressed; the prisoner had come in loud, yelling insults in his odd little rhyming dialect, throwing around threats as though he wasn’t half their size and a quarter of their weight. But as soon as Vortex secured him to the chair, he clammed up. His lips went tight, his optics hard, and he’d said absolutely nothing since. The changes in his body language, however, they said so very much.
//Yeah, exactly!// Brawl cried, as though the acknowledgment was some kind of triumph. //You wanna do it in Ons’s office? You could, like, sit on his desk and do that thing you do with my cannon barrel, and I could-//
//Brawlie, I’m busy,// Vortex said. //Y’know, interrogating a prisoner. That thing, where I have a job to do ‘cause me being useful is good for the team and means we don’t get deactivated?// Not to mention, his work was seriously enjoyable.
//Awwwwwwwwwww! Oh come on! That’s-// Brawl stopped, and Vortex could hear the mental gears crunching. //Can I help?//
//What? Frag no.//
//But we’re BONDED!//
Oh no, not this again. Vortex fought to keep the impatience from showing.
//You gotta do stuff to or… org... re-in-force the bonding pro-to-cols.// Brawl pronounced each syllable distinctly, evidently struggling. //Screamer said so!//
//Augment,// Vortex snapped. It was irritating when Brawl had a point, especially when it was a good one. Still, he couldn’t help adding, //And you do everything Screamer ever told you to? You didn't listen to him when he was alive...//
There was silence. The crackly kind, which meant that Brawl hadn’t closed the link, he just wasn’t speaking. Vortex leaned forward and, ever so slowly, dragged his finger across the ruined paint of the prisoner’s faction symbol. It was time for a change of pace. The prisoner flinched and bit his lower lip, straining to get away. Good.
Not so good that Brawl still wasn’t talking. It meant he was thinking, or trying to.
The Autobot’s vocaliser hissed. “Whatever you do, got nothing to tell you,” he spat. Bravado over terror, nice combination. Vortex got up and walked around the table. The prisoner’s optics widened, and his lower lip began to tremble.
“That’s OK,” Vortex said. He sat on the edge of the desk - trying very hard not to think about sitting on a certain other desk - and took the Autobot’s chin in his hand. “You’ve got nothing I need to know.”
The prisoner’s mouth moved, his fists clenched and unclenched. The shivering was rather attractive, all in all, even if the frame and general attitude left everything else to be desired. Still, this was work, and work was… not fragging Brawl on Onslaught’s desk.
The Autobot squeaked, and Vortex tightened his grip.
“Y’see,” Vortex said. “I’m gonna let you in on a little secret, seeing as you ain’t getting out of here.” He tugged the Autobot’s head forward, forcing the small body to follow. The joints creaked; the restraints had no give, and Vortex was tempted just to tug until the servos snapped. But that wasn’t the plan.
He pressed the metal of his battle mask against the Autobot’s cowl, pausing a moment to enjoy the flare of hatred and disgust that crackled through the prisoner’s energy field.
“I got a friend on the inside,” Vortex whispered. “You couldn’t tell me anything I don’t already know.”
The Autobot seemed to come to life. Squirming and thrashing, he fought against the bonds, against Vortex looming so very still over him, against the lie which would filter through his processor, a taint of rust that would eventually spread to colour his thoughts. To make him question his friends, his allies. A little gift of paranoia and distrust.
It was a shame that letting him go was all part of the plan. But that wouldn’t be for another few joors, when Onslaught got back from his meeting with Cyclonus.
And a few joors was just enough time to have some serious fun.
Vortex tightened his grip on the Autobot’s throat. He only realised that he’d forgotten about Brawl when the door smashed open and the tank rushed at him.
“What? You ain’t finished yet!” Brawl shot the prisoner a malicious glare, fists raised. “Hurry up and tell him scrap or I’ll slag ya!”
Sometimes, not killing his team mates was an effort. Vortex brought his fingers together, and the Autobot screamed. But not for long, the delicate circuitry of his vocal processors crumbled, their protective plating torn. So much for taking his time.
“OK!” Brawl cried. “You done here right? Cause I... yeah, y’know!” He continued in a booming whisper. “Onslaught’s desk and all…”
The Autobot froze, his optics going from Vortex to Brawl and back again. Vortex retracted his mask, treating the prisoner to a grin which made his little white hands shake.
Vortex patted the table. “You want me sitting on a desk, I’m sitting on a desk.”
Brawl looked confused. “But the prisoner…”
“He ain’t going anywhere,” Vortex said. “Ever.” He flicked his rotors, and the prisoner shook his head violently, the convulsion carrying along down his body, becoming a fit of struggling. Metal screeched and clattered. Vortex glanced at Brawl. “What are you waiting for?”
“Woohoo!” Brawl yelled, and leapt.
Continuity: G1
Rating: PG-13
Content advice: crack, implied violence, interrogation setting, Vortex traumatizing Wheelie, slashy, and non-explicit talk of smut.
Disclaimer: Not mine, just playing in the sandbox.
Characters and/or pairings: Vortex/Brawl, Wheelie
Summary: A very silly story in which Brawl finds it hard to say what he really wants, and picks the worst time to try.
Notes: Written for the tf_speedwriting Advent Calendar, for the prompt ‘When words don’t come out easily’. Partially inspired by casusfere’s Force. Because Brawl and Vortex go violently well together ;)
//Tex... I’m BORED.//
Only Brawl could yell so loudly over a private internal comm. channel.
Vortex remained still. Seated at a desk, his elbows on the table and his chin in his hands, he stared at the prisoner. It was all did, and it was all he’d been doing now for a solid half a joor. The prisoner quivered.
//TEX!// Brawl boomed. //Tex, I know you’re there! I’m bored!//
//And I’m busy,// Vortex responded. He vented a long, slow sigh, and the prisoner flinched.
//Seriously, Tex, I’m bored and… and….// Oh great, Brawl was in persistent mode.
//You bored or you horny?// Vortex said. He focused on the prisoner’s face: pale lips set in a firm line, blue optics flickering, a dozen little recalibrations every astrosecond as the prisoner tried oh so hard not to stare back. His orange cowl was scuffed, his chest-plates damaged. Someone had scrubbed out his insignia, the stern Autobot glare cut through with a mess of scratches. Must have happened in transit, like a lot of the other damage. It certainly didn’t happen on the mission.
Over the comm., Brawl ‘um’ed and ‘ah’ed. It didn’t come easy to him, speaking. Not least when he had something to admit.
//Bored,// Vortex repeated. //Or horny?// The Autobot shifted, tugging gently on his restraints. An open fuel line dribbled energon down his arm.
//Uh, kinda both?// Brawl said.
Vortex resisted another sigh. //I’m working,// he replied. //Go see Swindle.//
//He went out!// Brawl wailed. //And Blast Off said no, and Onslaught ain’t here, and I’m bored!//
//And horny,// Vortex couldn’t help but add. He tilted his head, and the Autobot’s fists clenched, but still he didn’t speak. Vortex was impressed; the prisoner had come in loud, yelling insults in his odd little rhyming dialect, throwing around threats as though he wasn’t half their size and a quarter of their weight. But as soon as Vortex secured him to the chair, he clammed up. His lips went tight, his optics hard, and he’d said absolutely nothing since. The changes in his body language, however, they said so very much.
//Yeah, exactly!// Brawl cried, as though the acknowledgment was some kind of triumph. //You wanna do it in Ons’s office? You could, like, sit on his desk and do that thing you do with my cannon barrel, and I could-//
//Brawlie, I’m busy,// Vortex said. //Y’know, interrogating a prisoner. That thing, where I have a job to do ‘cause me being useful is good for the team and means we don’t get deactivated?// Not to mention, his work was seriously enjoyable.
//Awwwwwwwwwww! Oh come on! That’s-// Brawl stopped, and Vortex could hear the mental gears crunching. //Can I help?//
//What? Frag no.//
//But we’re BONDED!//
Oh no, not this again. Vortex fought to keep the impatience from showing.
//You gotta do stuff to or… org... re-in-force the bonding pro-to-cols.// Brawl pronounced each syllable distinctly, evidently struggling. //Screamer said so!//
//Augment,// Vortex snapped. It was irritating when Brawl had a point, especially when it was a good one. Still, he couldn’t help adding, //And you do everything Screamer ever told you to? You didn't listen to him when he was alive...//
There was silence. The crackly kind, which meant that Brawl hadn’t closed the link, he just wasn’t speaking. Vortex leaned forward and, ever so slowly, dragged his finger across the ruined paint of the prisoner’s faction symbol. It was time for a change of pace. The prisoner flinched and bit his lower lip, straining to get away. Good.
Not so good that Brawl still wasn’t talking. It meant he was thinking, or trying to.
The Autobot’s vocaliser hissed. “Whatever you do, got nothing to tell you,” he spat. Bravado over terror, nice combination. Vortex got up and walked around the table. The prisoner’s optics widened, and his lower lip began to tremble.
“That’s OK,” Vortex said. He sat on the edge of the desk - trying very hard not to think about sitting on a certain other desk - and took the Autobot’s chin in his hand. “You’ve got nothing I need to know.”
The prisoner’s mouth moved, his fists clenched and unclenched. The shivering was rather attractive, all in all, even if the frame and general attitude left everything else to be desired. Still, this was work, and work was… not fragging Brawl on Onslaught’s desk.
The Autobot squeaked, and Vortex tightened his grip.
“Y’see,” Vortex said. “I’m gonna let you in on a little secret, seeing as you ain’t getting out of here.” He tugged the Autobot’s head forward, forcing the small body to follow. The joints creaked; the restraints had no give, and Vortex was tempted just to tug until the servos snapped. But that wasn’t the plan.
He pressed the metal of his battle mask against the Autobot’s cowl, pausing a moment to enjoy the flare of hatred and disgust that crackled through the prisoner’s energy field.
“I got a friend on the inside,” Vortex whispered. “You couldn’t tell me anything I don’t already know.”
The Autobot seemed to come to life. Squirming and thrashing, he fought against the bonds, against Vortex looming so very still over him, against the lie which would filter through his processor, a taint of rust that would eventually spread to colour his thoughts. To make him question his friends, his allies. A little gift of paranoia and distrust.
It was a shame that letting him go was all part of the plan. But that wouldn’t be for another few joors, when Onslaught got back from his meeting with Cyclonus.
And a few joors was just enough time to have some serious fun.
Vortex tightened his grip on the Autobot’s throat. He only realised that he’d forgotten about Brawl when the door smashed open and the tank rushed at him.
“What? You ain’t finished yet!” Brawl shot the prisoner a malicious glare, fists raised. “Hurry up and tell him scrap or I’ll slag ya!”
Sometimes, not killing his team mates was an effort. Vortex brought his fingers together, and the Autobot screamed. But not for long, the delicate circuitry of his vocal processors crumbled, their protective plating torn. So much for taking his time.
“OK!” Brawl cried. “You done here right? Cause I... yeah, y’know!” He continued in a booming whisper. “Onslaught’s desk and all…”
The Autobot froze, his optics going from Vortex to Brawl and back again. Vortex retracted his mask, treating the prisoner to a grin which made his little white hands shake.
Vortex patted the table. “You want me sitting on a desk, I’m sitting on a desk.”
Brawl looked confused. “But the prisoner…”
“He ain’t going anywhere,” Vortex said. “Ever.” He flicked his rotors, and the prisoner shook his head violently, the convulsion carrying along down his body, becoming a fit of struggling. Metal screeched and clattered. Vortex glanced at Brawl. “What are you waiting for?”
“Woohoo!” Brawl yelled, and leapt.