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Accordance	By : completetheory Category: S through Z > Transformers (Movie Only) > Transformers (Movie Only) Views: 2612 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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"So."
Crosshairs broke the silence, as he lacked more CPU-to-vocal-filter drivers, had, in fact, deleted almost all of them for conflicting internally with his anti-subordination programs. Drift wasn't quite looking at him, instead admiring the Texas landscape, which was glorious scrub and flat dirt, worthy of contemplation. His rotors were the only tell for his internal struggle, as they tensed close to his back.
"You're a Decepticon." Crosshairs prompted, rocking forward on his splayed toes, "Think that's something you should have shared with the class before we all joined up?"
"It would have been very awkward." Drift volunteered, "In the you-killing-me sense."
"That's rude and you don't know that." Crosshairs pursed his brassy face up.
The samurai shrugged. "I do think it likely, before you all had any affection for me as a warrior in arms. Particularly as it was Optimus Prime who discovered me initially, and he is a great accomplished warlord - a killer."
The sniper walked in an uneasy half circle, his semi-sapient coat making half-twitches as its neurosensors responded to his moods and stimulation. "Ah, there is that."
"We had a name for him - in my camp, we called him Butcher."
Crosshairs blinked, his face falling. He had no affection for Optimus, and no real concern for whether the leader of the Autobots was feared or reviled in Decepticon chatrooms. He was thinking of how he must have seemed to Drift, who he'd gotten used to thinking of as a companion, whose opinion he did value.
"What did you call me?"
Drift laughed, the break of tension welcome to him. "You are a nobody."
"Hey, now," Crosshairs leaned back against the nearest tree (cautiously, because the last tree he'd tried that on had just uprooted rather than bear his weight), and tried to look more put-out by that than he felt. "...All right, look. How's this change things? We were friends, I thought. You gonna knife me in my sleep, now?"
"You see the tree, and not the roots. If you name the tree bad - the tree grows, no matter your feelings. The tree is in agreement with all of its parts, even those you cannot see."
"You dirtbag, are you gonna knife me or not?" Crosshairs exploded, gesticulating hard enough to crack a few branches. Drift quirked his lips, patiently.
"You knew me as I was, Crosshairs, and as I am. Now that what you name me has changed, have I changed? I am myself. Would I have knifed you when you knew me as an Autobot?"
Crosshairs considered this. Hound and Bumblebee certainly would have, but Drift he had quite liked, and on several occasions presented his back to. Optimus--he never knew one way or the other on that one, though he had his suspicions and they fell toward the nasty.
"Not the best question, ace. I know from plenty of Autobots who'd do me in. But I trusted you before, and that's what you're driving at, mm? You want a fair go, because you were good to me."
Drift nodded, and the sniper pushed off from the tree and walked towards him, hands open and harmless, drawing close to his shoulder. Crosshairs met his eyes, watched them in those deep-set lenses.
"Right. You can have it, Drift. But don't make me regret it?"
"I will try." Drift said, honestly, and Crosshairs touched his shoulder, an exploratory gesture. Not used to anything but violence, and suddenly seeing Drift in a new way, a way that almost excited him.
"So, uh. I was thinking before you came out with this maybe you and I should... get together, but I don't know if--I've never done any hard stuff."
Drift was even more amused, "And I, as a Decepticon, have never touched cabling in the dark silently."
Crosshairs sputtered, "Hey, not all-... oh." Of course. "Right, no generalizing. Sorry."
The samurai shifted his balance to bring his arms around Crosshairs, and leaned his chin on Crosshairs' shoulder, overcome momentarily with the pure pleasure of having someone know him, know the real him, and find him pleasing.
"Thank you, Crosshairs."
"...Anytime?"
***
A few nights after Drift's initial disclosure, which Crosshairs was still not sure about, Drift tapped on the garage door lightly. The Stingray's headlights blinked on, and he opened the door via highly sophisticated alien wireless frequency (a garage door opener).
"Crosshairs. I wondered if ... you have had time to think." Drift seemed unsure, lacking his usual poise.
As Crosshairs transformed, half crawling out of the garage on swiftly forming knees, he looked up at his companion, "I don't care how much time you give me, I'm never gonna stop being angry at Prime for ditching us. ...Oh, you mean your Decepticon thing? Yeah, I didn't change my mind, no worries. You'll always be a tree, you know. Or whatever."
Drift couldn't fight back the smile, grasping Crosshairs' shoulder in inarticulate thanks. It was obvious to him that Crosshairs' casual approach was meant to put him at ease, and that there was no significant hangup even after the information had a chance to sink in, about Drift's affiliation. He had been so sure - so sure that he still had not shared this information with Hound and Bumblebee, who at the very least might be upset about the omission of facts, if not his identity. He couldn't fairly say if they would be justified to be so, but nor could he hold it against them.
Drift pressed his hands together, forefingers pointing at the ground, as he considered how to ask, "--You said you had considered us getting together. Is tonight a good time?"
Crosshairs' coat rippled in surprise. His expression schooled itself better, but a grin threatened the edges of his lips. "Yeah? I'd like that. Not here, though. Cade's fascist enough about his daughter's sex life, I don't want that creep poking his nose into mine."
"Agreed." Drift walked him across the dirt road until they reached the gravel, and both transformed, just two gorgeous bright million-and-a-half dollar supercars riding subtly through the Texas midwest. Still more subtle than enormous dinosaurs, but that was a low bar.
A few miles between themselves and the rebuilt farmhouse, Drift pulled over, setting down his swords as he transformed again, and tried to quiet the happy-anxious fluttering of his rotor blades. Crosshairs would pick up on it, though.
"Excited?" The perceptive sniper transformed and watched him, "You should be. I'm a real catch. Cogsanova from here to Denebola."
"A relatively young star, Denebola," Drift observed good-naturedly, "With great infrared excess."
Crosshairs made an X over his spark reactor casing, "I swear I'll keep my excess in check."
Drift was enjoying the banter almost as much as the prospect of having sex with the enthusiastic Autobot, and he couldn't resist asking, "Will your coat be jealous?" as he saw the ends curl up in a bodily motion he didn't know how to define.
"Hell no. My coat loved you before I did." Crosshairs ruffled himself out, walking forward and pressing his hands to Drift's chest, "Coat's smarter than I am."
The samurai lifted both Crosshairs' hands, deliberately kissing each palm slowly, and then sat, folding his legs under him as the sniper followed suit, mildly confused about sitting sex positions but unable to, or unwilling to, display that ignorance as a debonair sexpert.
"Are we sitting? This is good. I like sitting, it's hot." He tried.
"Thank you, Crosshairs. I would like it if you kept me advised on what you find to be good, and what you would sooner not experience." Drift said, as if he was reading Crosshairs' mind, with regards to not mentioning his inexperience.
The paratrooper hesitated, his internals giving a nervous gurgle and low-pitched-scrunch at the prospect of owning any potential failure, but then he seemed to remember Drift was the person he'd be owning it to, and settled, "Sure thing. I trust you."
That was far more welcome, not to mention surprisingly more romantic, than any stretched-truth sexual prowess. Drift valued the authenticity in Crosshairs' demeanor, and the renewed audible faith in him, and eased himself backward, feeling his rotors press into the ground. He dug them in a little on purpose, the better to remain stable and to feel the pleasant embrace of the Earth under him. It was natural, and good, as natural and good as any other planet, as a planet with a metal construction was natural - as all materials were, in the important ways, natural. He was - thrilled, but peaceful.
Crosshairs stroked a hand across his knee, leaning in as if to place himself between them, but Drift gestured, bolder, "Come up here and sit on my face, if you like."
"Uhm, yeah?" Wow. He had not been expecting that, but he wasn't about to pass it up, because it sounded ridiculously hot. He wasted no time scrambling across to straddle himself over Drift's face, "Hi. This good?"
"Very," Drift said, brushing his mouth against the lamina-plates of Crosshairs' nethers. The buzz made Crosshairs squirm already, in anticipation, and Drift enjoyed the sight of him trying so hard to stay composed while blatantly excited, "If you'll open for me...?"
It was interesting to have Drift make the suggestions, as Crosshairs eased open his protective plating to expose his internal workings - his dripping cunt. He assumed that Drift would not be able to easily access his other erectile machinery so easily from this position. The Stingray had seemed to guess correctly, as Drift smiled, and then guided his companion's knees down against the dirt on either side of his head, so that Crosshairs was comfortable.
From where he was sitting, he could see Drift's eyes, and his nose, snugly bumped just under his clitmouse.
"Funny you're not taking the opportunity to boss, letting me be in charge of this whole thing, yeah?" Crosshairs said, arrogant, assured, very much enjoying the visual of Drift between his legs this way. Almost immediately though, he decided he probably shouldn't have said that. It felt like tempting fate, and sure enough--
"Do you think the giver of pleasure is subordinate to the receiver?" Drift murmured, his vocal processing giving Crosshairs' cunt an incredible vibration as he pressed his lips up to it again deliberately, this time directly against the sensitive lips, "Must there be a subordinate?"
"Aagh. Fuck. Drift, c'mon."
The plea went unanswered, and Drift merely licked a slow, deliberate circuit around the ovoid channel, "Must there?" His tongue dipped against, but did not part Crosshairs' lips, only exerted the slightest pressure to let Crosshairs know he was there.
"No?" Crosshairs ventured, pressing a hand against the ground as he leaned in and his coat rippled enthusiastically, "No. Guess not. Aah whatta-great learning experience, Drift. Ffffuck. Thank you."
The blue Cybertronian smiled against him again, "We move together. There is no lead, no follow. Only pleasure and trust."
Crosshairs furrowed the earth with one hand as Drift got back to work. The samurai was no longer teasing, but earnestly delving against his cunt with long, generous motions of his mouth that sucked the fat lips in and then let them slip away. Crosshairs' systems began to heat up immediately, core temperatures climbing as fans kicked on hard, and he found himself twitching his hips forward when Drift leaned back. "Gah."
His clitmouse disappeared into Drift's mouth, was mercilessly sucked, licked, and kissed, then permitted to slip free, only for Drift to nuzzle against it enthusiastically. Crosshairs made a few interesting sounds as his clit throbbed and heated up, welcoming Drift's attentions with more micro-movements against him, riding his face and crushing his head between his thighs. For a moment, he lost himself, both hands against the ground for balance as he humped harder, and then he blinked, and pulled back, "Fuck. Sorry, are you--"
"I have other vents," Drift's amusement was naked, "And I enjoy it. I would not offer to do this, if I didn't, Crosshairs." He let that sink in, and then added, impishly, "The feeling of you pressing me down, the smell of you, the sounds you make and the way you immobilize, cover me, leave me overwhelmed against you, these are good things for me. But you were right to ask - some may not enjoy this feeling of being trapped."
Crosshairs' eyes flickered in a mixture of pride and bashful uncertainty. He had never particularly been taught that consent, discussion, compromise, were appreciable things, but he had not been taught much of anything, and consideration only went so far, especially the kinkier you got. Oral of any kind wasn't kinky, but someone liking to be immobilized and smushed up against someone kinda was.
Not that there was anything wrong with that. But it felt good to do the right thing and to be rewarded for it, even if the reward weren't tangible, but was Drift's esteem. He liked that.
Crosshairs lifted himself up to reposition against the eager mouth, which went back to work again as soon as Drift was able, nibble-sucking across the lips of his cunt, infrequently tonguefucking the aperture, but more often concentrating on his clitmouse and the area therein. Penetration was neither necessary, nor sometimes desirable, in situations like these, Drift enjoyed focusing on the nub as Crosshairs pressed a hand to his own mouth to try to still his noises.
There was no one around, it was force of habit that made him want to be quiet, that made every loosed moan feel like a lapse in discipline. Drift's hands found secure holds under his coatlet, around his hips, squeezed, held him still as he bit his tongue and silently creamed all over Drift's face.
"Mmmm." Apparently, Drift didn't mind having no warning, either, letting Crosshairs lift up as his hypersensitive cunt array continued to throb and pulse and stimulation became unpleasant. Drift licked his cracking lips, unable to really clean himself from this position, "That was a few minutes." He noted, listening to Crosshairs' gill-like vent slats open to blast hot air into the night away from his overheated substructures.
"A few--are you having a go at me?" Crosshairs pressed down over him again, ignoring the sensitive protest from his own anatomy, and fuck-rocked against the Samurai's face, "C'mere. C'mon. I can go again, get to work."
No lead, and no follow, but certainly a reaction, and it was one that pleased Drift, as his thumb came down and flicked the supersensitive clit.
"Get to work, what?" Drift's tongue mimicked the gesture of his thumb a moment prior, and Crosshairs took in a very deliberate gulp of cooler air.
"Please," Crosshairs tried, humping becoming more meek.
"Sir," Drift suggested, discarding no lead and no follow as Crosshairs became incredibly amiable toward being guided, but he knew to be careful, too. Proceding like this needed negotiation, of any kind. Preferably prior to sex, but each scene, each moment in any healthy relationship at all, was a constant and careful negotiation, with an understood outline that could be modified at the discretion of both parties, "Is that attractive to you? To call me a respect-name? To take any, or some orders?"
Crosshairs had only come the once, and he was, despite his bold bluff, glad for the moment of respite while he parsed the meaning of Drift's words, "You mean, like, a dominating thing?"
"Very light." Drift assured, "Any displeasure from you and I stop. My aim is not for your displeasure. Do not tolerate anyone who does not care about your needs - or who claims to know what is best for you. Such men are dangerous."
Crosshairs rocked back, to sit firmly against Drift's chest, resting hands on his knees as he 'breathed', "Just men?"
The samurai was pleased by the correction, "Women, gynandros, also. Any who claim a psychic, or greater awareness of the needs that only you can know. Thank you, Crosshairs."
Interesting, Crosshairs thought, how Drift thinks I'm gonna get with anyone else. "You're looking out for me," He observed, "That's good of you, too. Yeh, I'll call you sir, if it gets you all drippy, delicious... I hope you're gonna let me at you, too."
"Perhaps." Drift said, considering it, "I may order you to it, if you would enjoy that."
"Oh, goody," The other twisted against his chest to look between Drift's legs, and Drift parted them obligingly.
"I have no preference for stimulation," Drift did not sound particularly excited, "You are welcome to decide based on your own desires."
Fuck yea, Crosshairs almost said, but he thought it might behoove him to show at least a little self control, so he twisted around, toes pressed into the dirt, and scooted down Drift's chest to lay against him, admiring his cock and cunt array. Drift was obviously turned on, already erect and at attention, with slightly fattened lips. Small beads of coolant coursed down them as Crosshairs stroked two fingers against his cunt, and then he felt Drift's mouth against his own again, and grunted in pleasant anticipation.
His coat moved between his legs deftly, underneath his partner's shoulders, and pinned Drift's head against his cunt. He heard - as well as felt - the samurai moan into him, for the moment his coat plating serving as an extra limb to hold Drift right where he wanted him. He resumed rocking as he slipped the Bughottie's dick into his mouth, enveloping it whole and swallowing it with vigor, getting half down the shaft as his fingers traced slow outlines against Drift's cunt. He mimicked Drift's eating him out and his fingers didn't venture inside, only mapped the outside and then went to rub and pinch and trap the clitmouse Drift was sporting.
He could feel and hear Drift wriggling and gasping against him, starting to lose some of that precious zen composure he was so fond of. The rippling and undulations of his coat began to mimic the varying pressure of being fucked as he used the extension of himself to press Drift tight against his cunt, then relax, then tighter again. All the while he worked the cock over and amazed himself at how fun it was, how much satisfaction he got from feeling his throat expand and occasionally spasm as it re-assessed holding capacity. With practice, he could actually make micro-reconfigurations and tighten the panels of his throat, until he was form-fitted around Drift's cock as much as any custom rig could be. Then he would slowly, slowly retract until he'd almost completely retreated from around Drift's cock, and drive it deep into his throat again, inch by inch.
Crosshairs had a feeling he was driving Drift all the pleasurably wild ways possible, though it took some coordination to continue fondling cunt and suck at the same time, it was well worth it when Drift shrieked between his legs and dataliquid flowed copious and thick from his caressed and parted lips.
Any ejaculate in their species could be used as information to generate future life, so long as gestation facilities were adequate and food sources were plentiful (something the Fallen had perhaps neglected to account for was that the Prime had no intention of permitting them near such things as food and would not even let death stop him) - all could bear young or offer the blueprints for them.
Of course, tiny Drift hatchlings were far from Crosshairs' mind as he fingered the sticky mess, lips wide around the root of Drift's dick, hoping to entice him to yield gushing pleasure from both systems a short time apart. Drift's thighs were hot as hell in both senses of the word, gorgeous and distorting the air with their vent emissions. His cunt was blazing, and yet he hadn't humped into Crosshairs' mouth a single time, nor did his oversensitive pussy shrink from the cumplay teasing. Drift was by all physical accounts, absolutely incoherent with ecstacy, but he was not responding in an aggressive way, and he did not shrink from inconvenient or hypersensitive feeling, either.
Showoff.
Fortunately Crosshairs wasn't in a position to feel put out by Drift's incredible control, or focus, or whatever the fuck it was that let him be face-fucked and deep-throated and cunt-tortured simultaneously without losing control, he was getting too much enjoyment out of the whole thing.
Drift's sounds against Crosshairs' cunt eased off, and he felt the Bugatti resume his regular rate of soft tongue flicks, suckling lips, glanced down and saw between his legs the elegant throat as Drift stretched slightly to chase at his clit.
"That's impressive," Crosshairs brought himself off the dick and pumped it with one hand, watching what he could see of Drift's face, "Mmmghhh, feels so nice how you take care of me, you still all right?" He remembered what Drift said about psychics, wanted to check in and be sure, not just assume that Drift's moaning was a sure sign he wanted nothing different.
"Yesss," Drift loosed the word in between upward motions to grab and pull and suck clit and then pant hot against it, "Yes, thank you--"
He was so polite, too. Not composed, exactly, except for that odd lack of bucking or moving away tendency. But aware, calm in the moment, calm in the pleasure somehow, and Crosshairs knew there had to be some kind of trick to it. He wanted to learn it, and he thought about maybe asking, but Drift's cock had begun to fountain and Crosshairs was quick to take advantage, glomming back onto it with his mouth and sucking the little fucker dry. Drift quaked under him, particularly when he greedily kept at it long moments past anything more Drift was giving, making electricity surge up when he finally did let go his lips.
"Oogh," Drift volunteered, his command of intelligible speech lapsing for the first time. With no further distraction from Drift's pleasure, it wasn't long before Crosshairs came again, squeezing hard around Drift's face. This time the samurai was better positioned and capable of lapping it up, and did so with enthusiasm. When his head finally drew back, Crosshairs was pleased to see he looked dazed but happy, and completely wet.
Crosshairs rolled off him, lying on his back in the dirt and looking up at the sky as Drift sat up, and both for a moment didn't look at each other.
Then, Crosshairs volunteered, "You've got a kind of." A beat, "A little. On your."
"Hm?"
They both broke into snickering at the same moment, and then the paratrooper sat up and licked at Drift's face, "Let me help, sir."
"Hm!" Drift pulled him close, lying back again, and Crosshairs followed him to the ground with equal parts 'helpful licking' and kisses, locking lips against his with interest, drawing back after a few more seconds. Drift was placid, but content looking.
"Did you enjoy that?"
"Oh, yeah," Crosshairs didn't need time to think about that, "Completely."
Drift drew him nearer, tucking up into his coat and stroking the side of his face. "Next time, if there is a next time, we will speak before the event, and discuss things... that will mean less opportunity for miscommunication, for interruption. But," He added as Crosshairs looked attentive, "Never think you cannot stop to interrupt me. I have a great love for you, and I would like to see you able to talk to me."
Crosshairs smirked, "Yeah, well, I have a pretty fuckin significant love for you, you hot frigging nerd. So I will, and you should too. You're not much more about this kinda thing in practice than me, are you? You don't necessarily know what's goin'on, more than me."
Drift's mock offense was more evident than his hot air had been, "It would be difficult not to know more than you, Crosshairs."
"Alright, I walked into that one." The paratrooper leaned on Drift's shoulder, irising in his eyes, and then closed them. "We gonna sleep out here? I don't feel like walking back."
Nor driving back, Drift observed to himself, and wondered momentarily if they would be missed back at the farmhouse. It was possible, but unlikely, that Cade would demand to know what they had been doing, and more likely that Tessa would worry they were not present the next day if they overslept or were not back in time for the breakfast hour. He could probably use his built-in comm to text her phone from here, the reception was so-so and it was nice if he could prevent people who he cared about from worrying about his fate.
Drift decided that, with the earth at his back and Crosshairs' heavy weight and built-in blanket cape across him, he had no real desire to drive or walk back either. He had only one desire: to fully experience the moment. In this moment he was perfect, and content, and could thrive forever, and would thrive forever - time was only a kind fiction of perception. All that he was, and all that he would be, and all that he had been, one single, glorious, drawn out moment of existence and rejoicing and trial...
"Are you gettin all metaphysical again?" Crosshairs interrupted him getting all metaphysical again, "You want to sleep under the stars or what, you don't gotta contemplate em first, do you?"
"I was contemplating you." Drift returned, cupping Crosshairs' face in his hands, pressing another kiss to his forehead, "And I would be content here."
Crosshairs actually looked more than pacified, almost apologetic, "Ahh. I know the spiritual stuff means a lot to you..."
He did not know how much it had been an anchor in Drift's life. Drift, whose name was apt, had never felt connected firmly to anything, and experienced very little but great doubt. From great doubt came great awakening, and so he bore it, but he did not begrudge anyone their lack of understanding while he worked to explore his own.
"I am not offended," He reassured the other, "You might try meditating. It can have practical application."
The Stingray looked unsure, "Are you-... I mean would it be okay? It's not my religion. I don't know if I'm, allowed, or whatever."
"Zen is for any who choose it." Drift brushed his fingers lightly against Crosshairs' face, "Unity of purpose means so much to me, Crosshairs, after everything I have experienced. It may save what is left of our people... if there is anything left to save."
"Your pillow talk is so ominous," Crosshairs kept it light, kissing the fingers as they ventured near his lips, "That includes any other Decepticons we come across?"
Other was a curious word to Drift, but he did not call it into question, wondering if Crosshairs considered him a Decepticon, now, or what he believed. Clearly it didn't bother him or they wouldn't have had sex, let alone incredible sex.
"I don't believe many survived," Drift admitted, "Only Galvatron, perhaps."
He thought of the escaped ex-Lord of the Decepticons, who had rebuilt, remodeled himself in his own desired image even while in human captivity - Drift also wondered if he was wrong to admire Galvatron still. The Cyb had tried to kill them, after all, though he couldn't be sure what Galvatron was thinking at the time, and he'd seemed to zero in on Optimus alone, not try to attack even Bumblebee after he had been shot.
Zen was also, in a way, the bringing together of unlike things. Drift had contemplated the love and understanding of a friend, and then the love and understanding of a stranger, and now was trying to contemplate the love and understanding of an enemy - the third most difficult tier. The highest tier was to contemplate the love and understanding of the self, and it did worry him that, once he reached that tier, he would not be worthy.
Perhaps he would fail. Perhaps he was not capable of being loved, or understood.
"...He is alone, Crosshairs."
"Good for him." Thoughtless, jovial. Then, as so often did Crosshairs in Drift's awareness, a re-evaluation. "Oh. You don't think he'd want our company, though, right? We're not exactly. I'm not exactly, I mean, we're none of us on especially good terms, you get me?"
Drift propped himself up on his elbow, watching his companion. "Optimus Prime is gone, and has left us a job that is not suited to us. The human Joshua with his currency can protect Tessa and Cade from human threats, and Galvatron has not made himself a threat to specific humans - he has made himself a threat to humanity, and it seems only as a side effect. 'Humanity' is an easy thing to hate, Crosshairs, or to love. Any vague idea is easy to hate or to love - especially when you perceive that vague idea to have hurt you, or to have helped you."
The Stingray didn't make a joke this time, aware of the mounting and real seriousness that did not require jackassery in response.
"You're really serious. You want us to, what, drive off and find Galvatron, who, assuming we even can locate him - because I figure he's probably doing the smart thing and hiding out from whatever remains of that group hunting us down to kill us all regardless - might just kill us on sight himself, in an attempt to. Reconcile? Apologize? Contemplate his essence? Drift, are you trolling me?"
"What I am - what I was - is Decepticon." Drift said, mildly, despite the great emotional tax it put upon him to say such meaningful things as if they were trivia, "And you knew me as Autobot and befriended me, and then you knew me as Decepticon and you still cared for me."
The paratrooper let out a whoosh of air as his consultant for how to proceed, then, not receiving much helpful advice, forged on, "You're making this about you? I just don't want my spark shanked by a mass murderer, Drift. He's not a Decepticon, he's the Decepticon."
Drift shifted, stretched out his transformation-lamina, and then rose, and Crosshairs sat up to watch him.
"Then I will go alone." Drift said, internally modifying his text to Tessa and meditating on how to best explain, honesty without making her unduly worry. He went to retrieve his swords, while Crosshairs looked more than concerned at his plan, standing up.
"Now hold on."
The samurai's calm was continuous, but it showed mild wear at the edge when Drift met his eyes.
"I'm sorry." Crosshairs held up his hands, not worried that Drift would need appeasing, but worried that he'd spoiled a good thing in record time. "You've made your point and it's clear and simple, I'm fine and dandy with giving people chances. I've popped a tire or two in my time, it's war, after all. Maybe I'm too hard on Megatron 2.0. Maybe, if you remember, I'm equally hard on Optimus, so don't think it's some kind of popularity contest, hey? Please don't go alone. Take Hound."
They both stared at each other, as if waiting for the other, and then Crosshairs amended, "Fuck. Don't take Hound."
The tense mood broke, a little, and Drift smiled faintly. "You must remember, Crosshairs, there are aspects of the war you do not understand. It is not as simple as good and evil sides, with one only wishing to bring pain and the other salvation. Galvatron is not the monster of propaganda, though he is no saint either, he has been through so much in our service, and he has not always made the best choices. While Optimus is gone, I would try to do what he was not willing to, and reach out."
The criticism of Optimus, even lite as it was, made Crosshairs hesitate, "I thought you loved Prime. Like worshiped."
Drift matched his hesitation, but only for want of a phrasing, not an opinion. "As I say. Any vague idea is easy to love. But Prime the man and Prime the idea are very different ... in his absence I have given much contemplation to what I saw in the valley."
It was clear that Crosshairs did not follow what Drift meant, and Drift did not choose to elaborate. He was more interested in getting Crosshairs' understanding for Galvatron's moral ambiguity than to cast aspersions against Optimus - Crosshairs was already not a fan, that much seemed wasted effort, and largely immaterial. If Optimus did return to Earth, and he likely would, it would not be with a miracle salvation for their race.
But if any single person had never quit on trying to keep the Cybertronians alive by any means necessary, damn the cost to self or others, it was Galvatron.
Drift's transformation to copter was decisive. He felt at peace with his decision as he sent the text; Crosshairs and I have a mission, it may take some weeks. Good luck with midterms. :) and then turned to the north.
Crosshairs' communications channel opened, and his voice came through over the radio monitor. {You are so lucky I'm a team player these days. This is belt-fraying ludicrous. We're going to get killed by his majesty, last of the Decepticons.}
{He may recognize me,} Drift said, {It may only be you who is killed.}
An indignant sound was his only answer to that.
A few hours out, and Crosshairs at least was already having doubts, serious ones, about the validity of this so-called mission to find Galvatron. It wasn't merely the idea that their species were a shapeshifting race of disguise (they honestly were not very good at it, regardless of which faction you looked at), but more the sheer size of the planet and all the landmasses on it, some separated by oceans that Crosshairs could not navigate even in the most swank of automobiles. One Cybertronian in such a place could hide for centuries, unless he had a specific mind to show himself. Some of the older Cybertronians, the earliest built, could sense one another, it was a rarely explored skill and even more rarely explained one, but he himself had never felt any highlander inclinations to detecting other Cybertronians. He was young as hell. Maybe it was a sense you developed over time? He had no one to ask. Optimus was gone, Ratchet was dead. The others were his own make and model era.
He didn't know if Drift doubted the plan, but he almost hoped they looked for a few days and then got bored, gave it up, called it a lost cause. They could have more sex, rather than get within grabbing distance of a tyrant. The sex was nice. He could privately keep the faith that Galvatron did the smart and convenient thing and kept well away from any other Cybertronians.
...But he didn't want to upset Drift, or make him feel like his being a Decepticon or ex-Decepticon made any difference. It had helped that he had known the samurai as an Autobot first, and had not seen any biased slant to his actions, but that was, as he'd said, a little different to Megatron. Galvatron.
Whatever.
He didn't make much conversation, only kept the copter in his sights. There had been a time when Cemetery Wind's Lockdown was a concern for picking up unnecessary radio chatter - Lockdown was dead. Soundwave was a legendary Decepticon listener - Soundwave was dead. But old habits died harder than the masters who created their need, and so Crosshairs did not chat on the radio, but drove with only his silence for company.
They stopped every sixteen hours to rest, and it was pleasant enough, but only because Crosshairs evaded actually asking what he planned to say to Galvatron when, or if, they encountered him. Drift spent much of the time in his thoughts, but he was free with his caresses and Crosshairs appreciated the closeness, the petting. It didn't always lead to sex, and he liked that, too.
The fourth time they stopped, they were nearing the northern tip of the continent, and Crosshairs was relatively sure that it wasn't going to be as easy to get a boat ride as Drift seemed to think.
He considered broaching it, that if Galvatron wasn't in Mexico, America, or now Canada, at least none of the places they'd checked (this was really, really really a ludicrous plan), maybe they would call it quits? A 'we tried, nobody should criticize us' good faith effort.
But then he considered Drift's infrequent desire to have anything, and decided he could stick it out another day or two, maybe. It was agony not to complain, but he did genuinely like Drift, and so he suppressed the urge several times, like when slushy snowy shit accumulated at the back of his tires and dripped down his undercarriage.
{I can't see why they call this the land of the free,} He finally remarked as they drove through Canada, {Free what? Free snow. Sure. Thanks a lot, Canada.}
{The planet does have many different ecosystems,} Drift observed from on high like a smarmy angel fucker, not too high that he couldn't see Crosshairs' predicament. It was then that Drift heard it, over one of the frequencies they as a species - shared that no humans (hopefully) had figured out how to broadcast onto.
Music.
{...Crosshairs.}
It was not human music, or even much that would be recognizable, as far as structure went. It was noise, though, very improbably random, oscillating noise that formed alien synchronicity that even a young Cybertronian would recognize. Crosshairs didn't hear it over his Autobot-exclusive frequency, but followed Drift on faith to the source, and nearest the ocean there on the shore, standing like some forgotten titanic statue, was Galvatron.
He was the projection of the noise, of course, but he did not seem conscious or concerned that it could lead to company, nor did it seem that he was generating it through any instrumental means. It emanated from the glowing ring of fire at his chest, and he was facing outward, to the sea, where attack could come from behind.
Crosshairs was kinda sorta terrified, and decided that not speaking up was overrated. "We're not actually going to go down there." He indicated, "He's mad, he looks mad."
"You can't see his face." Drift punched Crosshairs' arm exaggeratedly light, "Did you come all this way only to let me go alone, as you initially would have avoided?"
Crosshairs scowled at him, but followed after as both descended the rocky incline to the surf. The music stopped in Drift's frequency as they approached, but the gleaming chrome Cyb did not turn to face them, his eyes focused far out to some distant point on the horizon.
"Honorable Galvatron," Drift said, clasping his hands, not quite the expression of respect he had given to Prime, but neither was it disrespect, and it displayed he did not hold a weapon. "That is the name you prefer?"
When Galvatron turned, the expression he wore was a complete surprise to Crosshairs, who could not have conceived of any evil looking so vulnerable, and so humbled. He was speechless for once, as Galvatron acknowledged Drift's question with a nod.
"That is what I was branded." Galvatron said in a tone more agreeable to the concept than the actual words, or at least more resigned to it, "What is it?"
What is it was not exactly inspiring villainous monologuing or threatening, Crosshairs considered. It was almost like. Ordinary person tired of all this shit dialogue.
"I am Drift," Drift was in good faith, not discouraged by the tired of shit dialogue, and rightly so because he'd come a long way, "I was once one of your people."
The change that came over Galvatron was incredible. His shoulders lifted, his eyes brightened, the lamina of his back flexed and his cords - the ones that ran all up and down his body, not those cords - tightened up. For a moment, Crosshairs knew the hour had come, and began to rue several mistakes he had recently made, including letting Drift talk him into this suicide mission.
"What can I do for you, Drift?"
The hinge mechanism to Crosshairs' mouth failed him and he gaped, scarcely able to believe his good fortune, but he continued to let Drift do the talking, since it was apparently working out so well.
"It is not so much what you can do for me," Drift picked his way through words fastidiously, maybe aware that his comment of being one of Galvatron's people came with a lifetime guarantee, no defections need void warranty, "But what we can do. We would invite you to stay with us. The last of the Cybertronians. A family."
Not at Cade's place, much as I wanna see you step on Cade, the shitbird, Crosshairs was beating his own world record of not saying inadvisable shit, he deserved a fuckin medal, "You can always say no!"
Galvatron gave Crosshairs a momentary look, acknowledging his existence with the same world-weary manner that farmers acknowledged rabbits, though surprisingly without the same sort of shotgun. Then he looked back to Drift. "I await Optimus Prime's inevitable return to Earth. He has not sanctioned your visit."
"No," Drift admitted, even though it was not a question - Galvatron knew as much, "My - sensei - has not been back for some time. And he would not welcome you."
Crosshairs wondered if Drift was actually pushing it on purpose, the way he seemed to have been pushing it on purpose for Bumblebee, in order to display Bee's behavior to Optimus, but Galvatron did not seem to react to Optimus being called Drift's teacher. Astoundingly he didn't seem to care at all.
"The day I am welcomed by Optimus," Galvatron mused, "Is the day that I give deep reflection to the behavior he finds laudable."
Great, now they were both talking metaphysical soul-seeking shit. Jesus. Beat the hell out of the violent alternative, but Crosshairs felt like he was trapped in Philosophy Hell 101.
"Okay, so that's a no, and we're gonna just go." Crosshairs and his coat were in agreement as they began to excuse themselves backward up the cliff, but Drift didn't follow and the only-nominally-smooth exit got even less smooth as Crosshairs faltered halfway up.
Drift was waiting, patiently, as Galvatron thought, and the sea licked about their feet. Finally Galvatron inclined his head.
"Lead the way."
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