rekindleme | [Closed, but...see notes] Could you close the door behind you?

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[Closed, but...see notes] Could you close the door behind you?

Who: Wing and Deadlock
Where: Wing's place, Building One, room 4-15.
When: The 11th, over a month after this. (warning for robo-kissage and sexual references.)
Summary: Wing's been in stasis for two or more weeks undergoing reconfiguration to have a real cockpit. Except something goes wrong! Cue withdrawal symptoms and a transformation accident that leaves a hapless jet stranded in a room that is far too small for him. Deadlock comes to the rescue and shenanigans ensure.
Warnings: Possible sexual situations later on (will warn in headers) but first: a bit of a claustrophobic panic attack, fluff, idiocy and very questionable touchy-feely things.
Notes: The log is closed as Deadlock will be the only one to respond, but feel free to take note of or observe any part of this for later CR purposes. There will be an apology network post for the disturbance later.

After the heat spell incident, (Let's not talk about that shall we? Suffice it to say someone will be better at watching his coolant levels.) Wing had decided it was time to initiate his project. He had the data and the time, now was the best opportunity. Granted there wasn't a lot of room for flying in Saeng Seong, but there were multiple reasons to be prepared to carry passengers, one of them the joy to be seen from one small boy named Diarmuid.

Deadlock had thought it foolish though, allowing organics inside them even just as passengers, but that didn't deter Wing. The jet tried his best not to think about the other Cybertronian, the kiss at the bonfire an all too vivid memory that would delightfully raise his core temperature at every recollection. But he'd promised to give the mech space and that's what he's done for the last month or so, as difficult as it's been.

The reconfiguration was going to take time though, with no CR chamber or scannable vehicles around the process was mostly manual. Unfortunately, given Wing's lack of experience in this method, he miscalculated exactly how long. Mostly though? He forgot to factor in the withdrawal symptoms that take effect in Saeng Seong. Whoops.

Sadly for him, the completion of the reconfiguration process triggers a malfunction thanks to the withdrawal symptoms. Oh, he wakes from stasis all right. But it's because his t-cog says it's time to assume jet-mode and try out this new cockpit....

In the middle of his bedroom.

And right now? He's sort of wishing there was less mass-shifting involved, because though the bipedel robot fits, the jet does not.

So today, around the fourth floor, there's the sound of metal shifting in a transformation sequence ending in a loud crash that shakes all of Building One. Somewhere in there is a startled cry, if anyone can hear it around the rest of the commotion.

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Deadlock's been looking everywhere for the jet, and since running into Diarmuid, he's become convinced the jet went home without telling him. Fraggin' jet. It would figure.

Of course 'everywhere' didn't include Wing's room, because a) don't tell Deadlock how to logic and b) after the night at the bonfire, he's not sure he could handle Wing, alone, in Wing's place.

He's flopped on his bed, scowling up at the ceiling, simply because he's run out of people to scowl at, when the building itself seems to shake. And he hears, even from two floors away, the distinct sound of a Cybertronian transformation cog.

"Frag." He storms out the door, launching himself up the stairs till he's outside the jet's room. "You fraggin' sneak!" he bellows at the door. How dare you make him worry, you horrible jet.

Beyond the door, which has the suspicious signs of a puff of dust and debris blown through the crack at the bottom, is a jet not-so-quietly trying not to have a panic attack because he's trapped in a space far too small for him.

The whining keen of engines is clear along with the shudder of a frame: metal plates flaring but not shifting or moving as they should, the sounds coming from the t-cog not at all what they should be. There's the sounds of light debris falling again, grit bouncing off metal and onto the floor as walls shudder again.

Not only is Wing stuck in a place way too small for him....he can't transform.

The engines whine again along with his voice, distress clear, but seemingly recognizing that he is not alone.

What the frag is Wing even doing in there? Because that's Cybertronian noise, for sure. Possibilities run through Deadlock's brain, and all add up to:

....

Wing was some sort of pervert.

"Right. Wing. Haha. Real funny," Deadlock snarls at the closed door. "I was actually almost fraggin' worried about you." He growls. "ALMOST." He's also lyyyyying.

Really, Deadlock should judge these things by experience. Not only would that be more fun, but it'd be more accurate too.

And if only it were something that pleasurable, instead of this.

Because Wing doesn't know where he is. Waking out of stasis usually takes some time, coming fully online as diagnostics run and systems previously offline warm-up. Instead he was immediately awake, jarred out of stasis by warning lights and messages smeared over his HUD. The transformation was unexpected too, disorientating him before he could remember where he is. And then the building was shaking and the wall was broken and it pitched Wing into flashbacks to old Cybertron, during the days of unrest before the war went into full swing.

And then he's back in the receiving bay of the Helix building, or what's left of it, most of the building feeling like it's collapsed onto one wing and his tail section, the rest of him dimly aware of the pitch black space only defined by the groans and creaks of the remaining support pillars that kept the rest of bombed building from collapsing entirely atop him.

His cry, this time, is one of remembered pain.

Deadlock knows that sound and it's not a happy sound. Grah: why can't Wing use, you know, actual words or something, so Deadlock doesn't have to guess.

While he's wishing, why doesn't Wing just, you know, generally be less complicated.

Right. Well, too bad, Wing, but you've crossed a line...somewhere. And Deadlock's coming in. Because no one hurts you without getting a faceful of Deadlock's fist. He takes one step back, before jamming his foot through the door, splinters flying.

He does know how to make an entrance.

The door gives way even easier than the wall had, caving under Deadlock's insistence. The apartment is no different than Deadlock's own, save that it's mirrored, the living room is empty...for the most part. The source of the sounds, the damage, can be seen right away though.

Wing lies in the bedroom beyond, in jet mode, belly up atop the remains of his bed, one wing punched through the wall (or what remains of it) into the living room while the other gouges a rut in the far wall near the ceiling.

The sound of the door crashing open startles and sends another shiver of fear through him, and another attempt to shake himself free. Engines spin up and maneuvering thrusters fire, and though his tail takes out the window--shattered glass scattering everywhere--and part of the outside wall, the building giving another shudder, he doesn't make much ground in his panicked escape attempt.

The wall gives way because Deadlock has lots of experience destroying doorframes. What? Every mech needs a hobby.

"The frag?" He lands in the room, ready to throw himself at...whatever's hurting Wing until he sees the jet belly through the doorway, on a pile of splintered wood that had once been the bed. The next thing he says is drowned out by the firing engines, the sound of glass shattering from the heat.

"HEY!" he bellows, stepping into the room. "Not going to fraggin' hurt you!" Yeah, why the slag you'd get that impression with the whole breaking the door down and yelling thing.

He thinks there's more of the building collapsing around him, but the bellow of a familiar voice jars the memory loop.

The jet goes still, cooling system running hard and rough, engines finally slowing to a soft whine. His vocalizer is staticky and rough, barely discernible, issuing what sounds like a garbled plea for help.

Another shudder of fear and he tries again to engage his t-cog, the malfunction persistent, wings twitching in frustration followed by another keen of distress.

But there's someone here, someone to rescue him? Because some had rescued him! Back then at Helix...

"...._Axe?"

Axe? Frag, no, he's not that big blue fraggin' idiot.

"It's me," he says, somehow managing to sound slightly offended. Deadlock, you know, the mech you kissed? He sees how it is. "Fraggin' Deadlock."

It's not a mistake Wing would make were he in his right mind. And the name snaps recognition into place, the Here and Now crashing through the memory and dispersing it like vapor to the back of his data banks.

"Deadlock?" It's his voice, reaching out with more hope than it had before, and real this time, clearer and more himself, if still rather shaky. "W-where am I? What the _f--- ^happened??"

"You're still in this stupid hug city." Where the frag did Wing think he was? Then Deadlock puts pieces together: what Diarmuid had told him, Wing's mysterious absence, Wing calling him 'Axe'.

"You went home, didn't you?" He sounds accusatory. "Why the frag did you come back?"

"Home?" There's confusion in his voice, thready and weak, except for the conviction he shows. "....no. _No THAT is not ^home."

His frame shivers again, wings trying to draw in towards his fuselage with little effect. He tries to make sense of the smear of red errors on his HUD, remember through the fog what he was doing last. "In...Saeng Seong?"

Good job, Wing: totally not making any sense is really going to make Deadlock feel better about this.

And of course this is all about Deadlock's feelings. You wanted him to have them? He does. Now deal with it.

"Yeah. You mean you've been here the whole time in fraggin' hug city?"

Wing doesn't really mind. If anything, Deadlock's brash attitude is bringing him back to the present, giving him an anchor, a solid and undeniable thing to grab onto and ground himself with.

He'd reach out to grab a hold of the mech if he had hands to do it with, but he doesn't. His ailerons twitch instead, happy just to feel Deadlock near.

"Yes," comes his answer, still a little shaky, "I've been in stasis.... w-why? Were you looking for me?" Dare he hope?

Yeah, well, Deadlock's head is thick enough to anchor just about everything short of a War World.

He has no idea what to think of the jet, you know, as a jet, inside, the way he twitches and flops. Silly jet, no transforming indoors! Now you have no bed.

~~guess you'll have to bunk with Deadlock~~

"No! Of course not!" he says, a little too fast, and then growls. Because America's already going to tattle on him and just about the next time Wing talks to Diarmuid, he's gonna blab about Deadlock's network post, and...yeah. Nothing worst than getting busted in a lie.

"So what if I fraggin' was, huh?" That's a yes with a side of denial.

He'll not complain then, when a lost feeling jet wants to cling to him? That's good, because it might happen soon.

Wing is not at all fond of transforming indoors either. 1) Destructive 2) Painful and 3)...embarrassing. VERY. He's really hoping that Deadlock doesn't notice his failed attempts to assume bipedal mode. Actually he's hoping the problem just magically goes away very, very soon because lying belly up in your room flopping like a fish in front of your unrequited crush is about as un-sexy it gets.

~~oh no the horror, can he have the side by the window?~~

Wing's hope almost gets crushed in that initial denial, but it spins into confusion and then gains some of its original life back by the end. "It's not... I mean...."

"_{.....thank you?}" For caring. For trying. For lack of any better words that Wing is totally without right now. It's only tentative because Wing half expect Deadlock to refuse such thanks...

Deadlock? Not complain? It's like you don't even know him, Wing.

All right. He's not going to complain about the view. Because it occurs to him, suddenly, how very...vulnerable Wing is like this. And he has the grounder's usual fascination with airframes, his optics lingering on the complicated shapes of the underbelly, that spoke of speed and maneuvering and mastering the air.

So. He may just be staring for a klik. Rude? Whatever. You don't like it, he can leave.

"Thank me? For fraggin' what? Didn't even fraggin' find you." And he is pissed about that. "What the frag were you doing, anyway?"

But he'd like to! When this is all over they should sit down with energon tea and talk about things that aren't A) the war or B) hugging or C) not doing one of those things.

Wing's current pose is certainly not a view many get...ever. Maybe a glimpse during a roll while speeding through the air, but never like this, splayed out in front of them. Not unless you're a medic or...an extremely lucky partner. Wing knows it, and it might show in the thread of anxiety that runs through his EM field. There's something far different that chases that anxiety though, something bordering on arousal.

So please, for the love of Primus, do not leave. Deadlock can look all he wants, but really Wing is starting to worry that he can't fix this himself.

"_{...for wanting to,}" he responds, uncertain if the admission will just anger Deadlock but incapable of omitting it. However, there are a few things he will omit. "Just...fixing some things. I didn't want to go to the engineers here for help. But uh...I don't think that matters."

"I..."

"........_{I think I'm stuck}."

Deadlock doesn't want fraggin' tea. Or not talking about not hugging. He wants energon and picking up where they left off at the bonfire.

Now...if only he could get himself to admit that.

Hm. Seems like both of them are in a pickle.

As close as he comes right now to that is leaning forward, tracing a finger over one of the underwings, his mouth curling into a smug smirk to try to hide the fuzz of arousal that riffles over him. "Stuck. Huh?"

Energon would be great right now, considering he hasn't refueled in two weeks. That might have something to do with why Wing feels a little off, or it might be the fact that no one's touched him in all the time either.

Well, until just now. His plating is unusually warm, almost fevered, the jet pushing hot air from his vents as he twitches under Deadlock's touch. But it's certainly not a flinch away, if anything, it's the opposite. Picking up where they left off at the bonfire? That would be real nice. Except Wing doesn't have a mouth to kiss with right now.

"S-seems that way," Wing's voice is shaky still, though for different reasons now. "I don't know why my T-cog engaged. But...now it's not responding?" There's the sound of him trying again, plates lifting just barely, revealing seams, but that's as much as he manages.

The warmth of the plating is...really kind of alluring, and for a moment, Deadlock runs his palms over the armor, with an air of triumph, but that smirk slowly fades, even as the jet's warmth kindles a matching heat in his own belly. Sexy teasing is only fun if you don't get caught up in it yourself.

Especially with the fluttering, shifting plates, seams lifting and resettling. It's like a peep show, and he stands, riveted, for a long moment, speechless. "The frag you think I can do? Not a medic." He's the guy that you need medics for.

The fever is in part the withdrawal symptoms, and it's true that Wing really doesn't feel so great, but that takes an easy backseat to the way Deadlock touches him, soothing a craving from various sources and stirring a different kind of heat in him.

"Don't have a medic," his words are breathy, trying, but only slightly, to hide the inflections in his voice. Wing can't hide the softening of his EM field though, slowly coloring with desire like a sunset, the jagged fear from earlier diminishing to a thin edge of worry at that dulls further with each stroke of Deadlock's hands. "Guess you'll have to make do."

Deadlock's gotten used to running a mild case of sickishness. It only adds to his typical cheery demeanor. But even that stirred, like old silt, as he touched the jet, soothing himself almost against his will.

But there's a skirl of concern, because yeah. Deadlock's not good at this. And if he frags up, Wing could be sent home. And he'd be alone. And Wing would be gone. And then they'd never...

it would just suck, all right?

"What....what do you want me to do?" He sounds a little lost, honestly, shifting awkwardly on his feet.

Clearly Wing needs to do something about that, Deadlock's sickishness problem. Now if only the other mech would allow it. And if only he had, well, hands to do it with.

"I don't know, just keep doing what you're doing." Wait, did that sound like too wanton an invitation? It wasn't how he meant it...but then maybe it was. Damn his subconscious wanting things he can't have right now. And of course adding, "Just start tugging on things I guess," makes it sound a whooole lot better.

Oh dear. This will be a comedy of errors before they are through, won't it?

It's better than nothing. At least it's a clue he's not making it worse. Though, honestly, for making him worry, maybe Wing should feel worse. Harrumph.

He steps around Wing's frame, scraping the wall with his armor. Sorry. But then again, what's a little paint transfer after that whole Wholesale Destruction Wing had done? "What things? There are like...a thousand fraggin' things here." And he wants to touch all of them. "And how is that gonna help?"

Deadlock would worry less if he just gave into his impulses more and ran away from kisses less. But at least he's not running off this time, which is good because Wing needs him now, and not just to touch him in those deep places where longing lingers.

"Wings. Start with wings, they're the most mobile. Two configurations." Granted one was for supersonic speeds which he obviously isn't doing in his bedroom, but if a smaller change like that can be accomplished the rest should be easier right?

Yeah he has no idea what he's doing really.

And of course, his flight panels have some of the densest sensor mapping... "J-Just be gentle!"

Telling Deadlock to give into his impulses would be terrible advice, Wing. At least most of them. Besides, that kiss was a trap and you know it. Somehow.

He pauses, swallowing thickly as he contemplates the jet's bare belly. His engines give a hard rev, as all he can think about for a long moment is clambering atop Wing, rubbing against that belly with his own, exploring the seams with his mouth, his fingers....

...no. No. Get a hold of yourself. If Wing's not doing this on purpose, it's because he's fraggin' stuck and scared and while Deadlock thought he'd like the chance to laugh at Wing...he can't. Because he knows what it feels like to be afraid, and feel helpless in your own body.

"...yeah," he manages, finally, picking his way around the room, around the jet, till he reaches one of the wings. He's just about to touch when Wing gives his warning and he flinches back, hands leaping back into the air, before he forces them back down, just...barely...touching the surface of the flightpanel.

Well if the kiss was a trap this might be too, an unintentional one, but hopefully Deadlock will mind being trapped a little less this time?

Wing can't miss that rev, the throaty sound of a grounder engine. It doesn't do much to help his own state, slightly jittery and slightly aroused, but the latter is a thing he grabs onto, something to combat the fear and nervousness, keep it from overtaking him again. And well, anything is better than freaking again in front of his crush.

"It's okay, you can be firmer than that." There's gratitude in his voice though, at how surprisingly gentle Deadlock actually is. "There's nothing mechanically wrong that I can tell? Nothing hurts like it's broken, maybe it's a glitch?" Wing is speaking as much for himself as for Deadlock, reaching for reassurance in logic, since the rest of this seems to defy it. Jets indoors? Weird.

"M-maybe stimulation will prompt it back into functioning?" He's reaching, but hey, it's better than 'push me out the window and lets see what happens'. No, that's Plan Z, after all else fails.

He's only doing this because he has to, he tells himself. Because without Wing being functinal, he's here alone, and he's all too aware that Wing is the only person who puts up with him.

"I got it," he mutters. Stop telling him what to do. Except for the fact that he just asked Wing to tell him what to do. He just doesn't like the implied reminder that he was being, you know, gentle.

Still, he does move a bit more firmly, whether galled to it or not, his hands sliding along the seams, tugging at the kibble, and trying really hard not to think how much of a fantasy this was becoming.

It's true, Wing is entirely forgiving of Deadlock's bedside manner. As long as he's here and willing to help, Wing is grateful. He doesn't really want anyone else to see him like this: beyond it just being embarrassing and hard to explain, he'd worry what would happen if something went wrong, if his T-cog engaged again suddenly... Deadlock can take care of himself. An organic? Probably not so much.

Rather than get caught up in and agitated more by the things that could go wrong, Wing pushes those thoughts away, concentrating on the touch of the Decepticon's hands as they glide over all his flight surfaces; the jut of a canard, the leading edge of a wing. He forces himself to relax, his cooling system pushing even, steady vents of air through his frame as his sensornet ripples with tactility, glossy surfaces that are often only stroked by the wind itself reacting to touch.

It's nice. It's beyond nice. It's...definitely making Wing feel things other than fear and embarrassment. Well, maybe a little of the latter because he really shouldn't get off on this. S-should he?

"T-try nearer the base of the wing..." No, his voice isn't a little husky. You're imagining that Deadlock. And if those hands wander? Well. They can sort that out later. Right?

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[Closed, but...see notes] Could you close the door behind you?

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(wow I hope the Helix building isn't a thing that exists in canon. /just made that up)

/eats canon for breakfast

OM NOM NOM NOM

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