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Drift wasn't pleased. He knew he should be – after a long and harsh battle, he had finally succeeded in catching his nemesis. Capturing his rival should by all means warrant celebration, even from someone as stern as he himself was. Fracture had his servos cuffed in front of him, and Drift was securing him with a firm hand resting on his shoulder. Said shoulder looked oddly small without the minicon normally docking there.

That was one of the reasons Drift wasn't happy. Both of Fracture's minicons had gotten away, retreating after Fracture had spat a single order at them, though Drift suspected much more had been conveyed through the bond the bounty hunter shared with his symbiotes. Drift himself had adopted his minibots, taking them under his wing to show them a more honorable path in life, and he didn't share a mental link with them. After thorough investigation and countless clashes with Fracture, he suspected that the Decepticon did; that he was a purebred deployer. That subspecies was rarer than shifters, and a part of Drift he would forever deny found a strange pride in it, in the fact that his rival was... unique. A voice in the back of his processor, reminding him very much of arrogance, insisted it was only fitting that he should compete against someone extraordinary. Drift always felt shameful when these thoughts occurred, pushing them aside and spending hours meditating to bury them.

The missing minicons wasn't what bothered him, though, and neither were his own feelings, as much as they bordered shameful pride. No, the main cause of his displeasure was currently fidgeting at his pedes under his stern gaze, blue optics darting about to look anywhere but at him.

“I, uh, I apologize, but we simply don't have a stasiscod- I mean stasisodd- stasispod ready, sir!” Fixit finally slapped himself so he could finish his sentence, his glitch becoming all the more pronounced when he was nervous. Narrowing his optics, Drift tightened his lips a bit, giving what sounded like a thoughtful hum – the closest he was willing to go to betray his annoyance. He was a professional hunter, bringing in criminals from all over the galaxy so they could be put to justice and choose a more honorable path in life, and these working conditions... they were subpar, to put it mildly.

“What do you mean? Our purpose is to catch escaped Decepticon prisoners and take them into custody. How can we accomplish that if we do not have the means to contain them?” His voice was calm, but there was a tightness in his tone, and he caught Jetstorm and Slipstream exchanging glances out of the corner of his optics. His pupils knew him well enough to see that he wasn't happy with the situation.

“Yeah, but recently, we've been doing too good a job. We simply catch 'Cons faster than Fixit can repair the pods. Our team is very effective.” Bumblebee interjected, stopping the situation before it even had a chance to escalate. Drift had to admire their young leader – not only had he effectively drained the tension from the air, he had also given everyone a backhanded compliment while doing so. Drift didn't miss the way the others straightened just a bit, the way Fixit's optics lit up and his nervous fidgeting ceased.

The samurai had to hand it to Bumblebee: he was a born leader. He might be younger than Drift himself, and he still had a lot of knowledge to acquire, but he was a mech of honor, and Drift believed there was much to be learned from him. That was why he had opted to stay on this planet. That, and the fact that Fracture was here, and Drift really didn't want his rival to cause any more damage.

Which was also why he was still frowning.

“Bumblebee, Fracture and I have battled many times. You do not know him. He is very apt at making his escape.” He insisted. For a moment, he believed he could feel a small change in Fracture's EM field – before, the bounty hunter had kept it neutral, just like his expression, but now, a tiny wave of some feeling washed over it. It was gone before Drift could place it, but he could have sworn it was... what? Excitement? Pride? Enjoyment? He didn't know, but he didn't like it.

“You're right Drift. We don't know even half of his tricks. Which is why I'm asking you for advice here. You know him better than any of us, how do we deal with him while Fixit repairs a stasispod for him?” To those who didn't know him, Drift would still appear to be frowning. But now, it was a thoughtful expression, not one of displeasure. Bumblebee was right. He alone knew Fracture, he was the only one who had been close to the bounty hunter. Nodding once, he shot Fixit a stern glance.

“How long until you can have a stasispod ready?” The small mech immediately saluted him, face lighting up in that usual eager smile of his. Drift didn't approve, but he chose not to comment. This minibot wasn't his pupil, it wasn't in his place to correct him. Even if he thought Fixit lacked manners.

“I'll get started right away, sir!” And with that, he wheeled away, not waiting to be dismissed. Rude. Choosing not to let his mind linger on it, Drift instead turned to the rest of the team, looking them over even as his servo stayed solidly planted on Fracture's shoulder.

“Denny Clay, you will assist Fixit to hopefully speed up the process. Russel Clay, you will man the command center in their absence. Bumblebee, Sideswipe, you will search the surroundings for any potential minidrones. We know he has used those before, and we cannot be caught unaware. Strongarm and Grimlock, you two patrol the scrapyard. Fracture is sly, and he cannot be allowed to leave these walls, or we will never get a chance to catch him again.” Waiting until they had all nodded their consent, Drift continued. “I have a containment unit on my ship, I will secure him there until we can lock him into a permanent stasis.”

“Sounds like a plan. Alright, let's piston to our positions!” Drift felt like groaning at Bumblebee's words, but he professionally kept silent. The rest of the team weren't as well trained – Strongarm rolled her optics, Grimlock looked confused, and Sideswipe made a show out of throwing both arms into the air in a mock gesture of despair. Even Fracture reacted, giving a soft snort of amusement, the sound so low that Drift doubted anyone other than him had caught it. He himself only heard because all of his senses were trained on his rival, ready to subdue him should he try anything.

“You know, piston, because we should hurry...? No? Never mind, just roll out.” Looking awkward and resigned, Bumblebee transformed, speeding off with Sideswipe close after him. Strongarm nodded to Grimlock, and they took off in the opposite direction. Drift watched them go, knowing he was doing what he could to secure their prisoner, yet still feeling uneasy. Then he noticed the weight of two pairs of optics on him, and looked down to see his pupils regarding him with small smiles on their faceplates.

“We'll help you escort the prisoner safely, master Drift.” Jetstorm declared, looking immensely proud of himself. For a moment, Drift felt like scolding him, telling him to keep his feelings under control. Instead, he shook his helm.

“No.” His court response had both of the minibots falter, breaking formation to instead send each other confused looks. How easy they lost focus... They still had a lot to learn. Restarting his vocalizer, Drift regained their full focus once more, and they immediately straightened their backs, snapping back and standing to attention.

“I have a special mission for you, my pupils. Fracture's minicons are still free, and as long as they are, they're to be considered a threat. Capturing them is top priority. You two know them better than anyone else on the team, you have fought them countless times. I task you with catching them, I doubt they'll be far.” Slipstream and Jetfire immediately lit into huge grins, pride practically rolling off of them in waves. This was an important mission, and Drift had shown them honor by entrusting it to them.

“We will not disappoint you, master!”

“We will bring honor to you and the mission!” Voices overlapping, they bowed, then hastily made their way towards the gates of the scrapyard. Drift frowned when he saw how they whispered excitedly among themselves. Focus, pupils. There wasn't really time to chastise them, though. He still had Fracture to deal with. Tightening the servo on the 'Con's shoulder, he gave him a tiny push. He could just have dragged him along, but doing so wouldn't be honorable – Fracture was his rival, and he would treat him with respect.

“This way, follow my lead.” Standing behind the bounty hunter, Drift couldn't see his face, but somehow, he was certain Fracture was rolling his optics. Despite that, the Decepticon willingly started moving, Drift guiding him through the messy enclosure his team called home. His ship was at the far northern end, parked between what the human Denny Clay had called vintage refrigerators, and something named 'boilers' which Drift had been ensured were priceless. The samurai had his doubts, but politely kept it to himself. Truth was, he disapproved of their surroundings – who had ever heard of living among trash? He found it filthy and despicable, but he didn't mention it, instead just prudently keeping his own ship clean.

And now, Fracture was about to board said ship. Despite himself, Drift was painfully aware of the frame walking in front of him. Even with his servos secured by a pair of stasis cuffs, zapping his strength and keeping him from transforming or activating his weapons, Fracture moved like the hunter he was. His entire frame was made for fighting, for taking down his prey – Drift had fought him more than enough times to know how deadly he was. He also knew of his previous escapes. The rest of his team might be feeling victorious, but Drift knew they hadn't won yet, far from it. The first round had gone to them, but the game was still being played, and Fracture was a cunning enemy. Underestimating him would lead to his escape, and they would have lost this battle.

They had been rivals for so long, yet it still felt unreal for Drift to see Fracture in his own ship. It was two worlds that were never supposed to meet. Fracture was his nemesis, he wasn't supposed to be standing in the hallway of Drift's ship, and yet... Yet, he looked very much like he belonged there. Drift could recall all the times they had clashed, their banters and the snarky remarks Fracture always threw back at him whenever he as much as mentioned honor. More importantly, he remembered the times they'd had to unwillingly cooperate, the way they had worked smoothly together, their knowledge of each other's weaknesses making them a surprising but unstoppable team. And he remembered that one night which never should have happened...

“So, now what?” Fracture's voice tore him from his reveries, and Drift was actually thankful. The past was past, and lingering on it wouldn't change anything. It was a shameful memory, yet one of his most precious. He shouldn't be recalling it now, he should bury it in the back of his mind, push it away through meditation as he always did.

“Now, I take you to the containment unit of my ship. You will wait there until we have a stasispod ready for a more permanent solution. Then you will be taken to Cybertron and put before a court along with the rest of the Decepticons we have apprehended.” He kept his voice calm, giving Fracture's shoulder a small push to get him to move again. When had they even stopped? Drift hadn't noticed, too lost in his own thoughts. How unseemly. He couldn't afford to lose focus, and certainly not over such sentimental things as old memories. He needed to concentrate on the moment. And here, in the present, Fracture was snorting a small laugh.

“Yeah, I don't think so.” His slightly raspy voice was almost... amicable, as if he was honestly enjoying himself. Drift frowned, unconsciously tightening the servo on Fracture's shoulder, his other reaching for his swords. Was the bounty hunter going to attempt to make his escape? Surely, he was smart enough to realize it would be a futile endeavor, he was cuffed and deep within enemy territory. So then, what was he talking about?

“What do you mean?” He should have kept silent, kept the question to himself and instead dealt with this professionally. But the words slipped past his strict self control, and once he had uttered them, it was too late to take them back. How could that happen? Drift always kept himself in check, he meditated daily to sharpen his mind and his self control. Yet around Fracture, the 'Con always seemed to lure some unsightly reaction from him, usually by taunting him and attempting to pressure him into fighting dirty and abandon the ways he had sworn himself to.

Turning, Fracture sent him a grin, revealing his pointed denta. The movement brought them a little closer together, since Drift didn't release his grip on his shoulder. Figuring it was meant to intimidate him, the samurai stood his ground, keeping his faceplate expressionless, though his lips tightened just a bit in disapproval. From the flash in Fracture's red optics and the way his smile grew, he had caught the tiny gesture.

“Don't think I didn't notice they way you sent everyone away. We're all alone now.” Drift didn't move, didn't make any indication to acknowledge Fractures words for a few long kliks. Then he raised a single optical ridge, just an inch.

“I have seen what you are capable of, Fracture. I took the necessary measures to keep you from escaping. We both know you have made it out of situations like this before. I have no idea what you are hinting at.” Oh, but didn't he? Didn't he know exactly what Fracture was getting at? Hadn't it been at the back of his mind while he was giving his orders? To get to be alone with his rival? Of course not. He had only done what was needed to keep a dangerous prisoner from escaping. Nothing more, nothing less. But... was that true?

The same shame he felt whenever he seemed to think too long about Fracture bubbled up in his spark. He was proud of having the bounty hunter as his rival, of going up against someone as formidable as him. Could it be he had wanted to- to simply keep his nemesis to himself? Somehow, to him, it seemed like getting taken down by Bumblebee and his team was demeaning to Fracture, like it tainted everything the 'Con stood for. It had always been just the two of them, dancing around each other, winning and losing battles and somehow locking each other into a delicate balance. Now, said balance had been displaced, had been shattered, and it felt wrong .

“Really? Do I have to bring up that one night? You remember the one, in Sector 31, on Alpha-Sicrid?” His voice was definitely smug now, optics shining with amusement when Drift stiffened. Of course he remembered. He remembered them having to team up, the elation when they succeeded... Then the claws tracing his armor, the frame that felt so perfect in his arms, like it was meant to be there, the shared breaths and gasps. Only to wake up next morning and find Fracture gone, as well as the bounty they had collected together.

“That was nothing but a brief lapse in judgment, something that happened in the spur of the moment. Do not think I'll make the same mistake twice. It meant nothing.” Thank Primus he had trained his self control to the point of perfection. Even as he said the words, Drift knew they weren't true. Yes, it had happened on accident, but it had mattered, still did. Wasn't that a major part of what kept pulling him back towards his rival? They were like magnets: one side of them repelled each other, but the other uncompromisingly drew them together.

Gritting his denta, he forced himself to stop thinking about it. Reminiscing would only make it worse, and waxing poetic about it served no purpose. The memory was his deepest secret and his biggest treasure, despite hos shameful he felt about his past actions.

And now, Fracture was saying... what? That he suspected Drift of getting him alone so they could repeat what had transpired between them? Out of the question. Drift was no fool, he wouldn't fall for that. Even if Fracture was cuffed and in his custody. It was better, easier , to convince himself that the past was gone and over with, and that he should just remember what has happened for what it was: nothing more than a pleasant memory.

“I don't believe you. Slag, you don't even believe yourself. Don't think I haven't noticed, Drift. The way you always look at me? You're not as discreet as you think, you know. I can feel it when your optics rest on me, and it's not just professional observance. I can tell the difference between trying to predict my next move, and admiring it.” Taking a step closer, Fracture invaded his personal space, intake pulled into a crooked smile that revealed a tiny glimpse of his sharp denta. Drift refused to back down, telling himself that doing so would be a sign of weakness. Instead, he stood his ground, lips tightening a bit as his frown deepened.

“You are my rival, and a worthy adversary. Looking away while fighting you would be fatal.” Voice completely monotone, Drift kept his gaze steady, looking down into the red optics that were too close for comfort. He should push Fracture away, turn him around so he could no longer see that alluring smile, and march him to the containment unit where he could be locked up. He didn't. Instead, his eyes flicked down to watch the Con's mouth as this pulling into a grin.

“You're not fooling anyone, Drift. There's a difference between looking, and looking. And you were looking. You always are. Sometimes, when I'm feeling nice, I put on a bit of a show, just for you to watch.” That threw Drift completely out of it, and for a moment, a surprised look stole over his faceplate before he got himself back under control. Of course, Fracture noticed. His pointed smile grew.

“Of course I do. You think I actually need to do all those high kicks while we fight? Aiming for your knees or abdomen would be just as effective. If you think about it, you'll come to see I'm right.” And he was, Drift realized. Fracture did have a tendency to show off his amazing agility and speed by aiming kicks at Drift's helm. Drift had always just assumed that was his fighting style, and had secretly – at least he himself thought it was a secret – admired it. But the Decepticon was correct. A kick aimed at his knees would be just as difficult to block as one aimed for his head. So, Fracture was saying...?

“So here's what I'm thinking: you're pretty obvious in what you want, Drift, despite trying to hide it. And, seeing as you've so conveniently ensured we've got at least a few hours to ourselves...” Closing the last of the distance between them, Fracture raised his cuffed servos, tracing his claws down Drift's chest. When had the samurai loosened his hold enough to allow his prisoner to move up to him? And... Fracture hadn't taken the opportunity to flee. That hit him hard, making a bit of his forced neutral mask fall away as he blinked down at the 'Con. Fracture wasn't much smaller than him, but his sleek build made him seem more fragile. It was nothing but an illusion, Drift knew; one it was dangerous to fall prey to. The bounty hunter was strong, and he was an excellent fighter. Still, right now, he wasn't fighting. On the contrary: he'd had a chance to attempt to escape, and he hadn't taken it.

Before he knew what he was doing, Drift's other servo had joined his first, firmly grasping Fracture's shoulders as he walked him backwards, then pressed him against the wall of the hallway. He didn't slam the other back harshly, instead just pushing gently but insistingly, leaning in close enough for their chests to brush. And it felt so right .

For once, Fracture's lips weren't pulled into some smirk or sneer, as they so often were. Instead, his intake was slightly open, lip plates parted a bit in an expression that was strangely fragile and open. It didn't look like it belonged on the bounty hunters faceplate, but at the same time, seeing it made the air hitch in Drift's vents. Slowly, he leaned closer, savoring the mere action itself, the way he could feel the warmth from Fracture's frame, the comforting flicker from a tightly drawn field that was buzzing with feelings of excitement he couldn't quite decipher. Fracture's servos were still resting against his chassis, and Drift hadn't moved his own hands from the other's shoulders. The entire situation felt dreamlike, and he was convinced he couldn't do more than one thing at once, or the bubble would burst.

And it did indeed feel like they were in a bubble. Everything seemed unreal to him, yet the sensation of Fracture's frame, captured between his own body and the wall, was too genuine to be anything but real. Drift had revisited his memory of their last encounter countless times, and he knew he would never be able to dream up something like this. He'd never be able to do Fracture justice, to completely capture the mixture of attraction and anger he felt towards his nemesis. This was his rival, a despicable Decepticon who had no honor, who fought dirty, and who Drift was helplessly and hopelessly drawn to.

This wasn't good. Not good at all . Leaning closer until he could feel Fracture's ex-vents on his face, the samurai paused. The moment seemed to drag out, lasting forever as he simply looked at the other – the delicate curve of his faceplate, the charming and exotic slant of his optics, said optics now darting from Drift's own, blue ones, to gaze down at his intake, then back up again. He held completely still, and it vaguely occurred to Drift that he wasn't the only one who felt almost hypnotized by the situation. Fracture was affected too. That thought was strangely empowering, making him lean closer, tilting his helm to one side, their lip plates only a breath away...

In the last moment, he turned his head, kissing the line of Fracture's jaw instead. He didn't know what to call what was between them, his poetical nature not being any help here, but he knew that it was fragile, and that one wrong move could ruin it. And a kiss on the lips... To Drift, it wouldn't be a wrong move, on the contrary. It would feel right. But it would also break the spell, the implications behind it ruining the moment. It would speak of feelings he would rather not name, affection he wanted to keep hidden, that infuriating attraction he didn't understand himself. A kiss would be perfect, and his spark longed for it, but he also knew it was impossible.

Instead, he gently trailed his intake along Fracture's jaw and down his throat, placing touches that were too soft to be called pecks along the thin metal. The bounty hunter in his grasp gave a somewhat shaky ex-vent, tilting his helm back against the wall to expose more of his neck. The gesture was submissive by nature, and the unspoken message sent an unexpected surge of warmth through him. Fracture was a hunter, they both were. And now, the Decepticon was baring himself for Drift, allowing himself to be vulnerable – that spoke of trust. Fracture trusted him. Why, he didn't understand, and right now, it hardly mattered. What mattered was the mech that was finally back in his arms.

Another wave of warmth washed through his circuits. He knew it was ridiculous, and that he still needed to be on his guard, but there was no denying the signals Fracture's actions sent, even if the 'Con didn't put them into words. And maybe that was for the better. Maybe voicing what they felt would be the same as kissing – it would burst the bubble and force them to face reality. A reality where this situation they now found themselves in couldn't happen. Drift would rather stay in this moment.

“Mmh... Are we going to do this in the hallway? Not that I'm complaining at all.” Fracture's voice was low and oddly soft considering how it usually sounded. Drift couldn't deny that he had always adored the edge in his rival's voice, its slightly rasping quality. However, Fracture sounded ten times as alluring when he spoke with this tone of voice. And the knowledge that this wasn't his normal pitch, that this tone of voice was something reserved for Drift to hear in this moment just made it sweeter.

He could feel the vibrations from Fracture's voicebox under his lips when the bounty hunter spoke, his mouth still sealed over the other's throat, and he responded in kind, giving a low hum. He didn't miss the tiny little gasp it earned him, the sound quickly melting into a pleased exhale. If he had been just slightly unaware, he wouldn't have caught it, but there was no chance of that. All of Drift's senses were trained on Fracture – the feel of his frame, the faint scent of the oil he had used for his hidden blades, the taste of his neck on Drift's lips. It was intoxicating.

Not enough to make him continue this in a hallway, though. He had his honor.

“No. Follow me.” The quick walk to his private quarters felt surreal to Drift. Fracture seemed to have deemed it worth his time to walk backwards, reaching up to hook his cuffed hands around Drift's neck and keeping close to him that way. Drift's own servos had found their way to his hips, easily guiding him along the familiar hallways even when the samurai wasn't looking where they were going. His gaze was completely focused on Fracture, taking in all the tiny changes of his face – the way his optics seemed slightly more open and the color a deeper red, the softness around his lips which were normally set in a hard sneer or victorious smirk. Before he knew it, they were in his room, Fracture briefly looking around before his mouth did pull into one of those grins Drift knew so well. And yet, even this was different, missing its usual edge.

“Spartan. I should have expected that.” He didn't have his usual mocking tone to his voice, instead just sounding like he was making a comment, even seeming slightly amused. Drift chose not to comment, not wanting to ruin the moment. Besides, Fracture was right – Drift's quarters held little more than a berth, a stand for his swords and the means of maintaining them, a small and rare kind of crystal tree, and a simple mat on the floor used for meditation. Anything else would be redundant.

Seeming bemused, Fracture shot the mat a look, then flashed Drift a grin and tugged at his arms. Since they were still linked around the samurai's neck, the action drew him closer in a way that was hard to resist, even had he wanted to.

“Want to move this to your little mat there? I'm guessing you use it to meditate. Trust me, this will be a much more fun purpose for it~” There was that snark Drift was used to. And wasn't that a picture Fracture painted: the Decepticon on the floor, maybe on his knees, and Drift above him... Blinking, he pushed that train of thoughts from his mind, feeling a slight heat rise to his cheeks. That wasn't how to do this properly, and he wanted it to be right. They weren't mechanimals. Besides, he was certain that should they do as Fracture suggested, he would never be able to meditate on that mat again without what had happened there shattering his focus completely.

“No. The berth.” As usual, he was rather monosyllabic. Drift might have a poetic side to him, but he kept that to himself, and usually expressed his thoughts as courtly and precisely as he could. In battle or briefings, there was no need for unnecessary words; he saved those for when he felt they were needed. Most often, they stayed in his mind while he quietly observed the world around him, a silent vigil of the ancient codex he followed and believed in. In this situation, it might also have something to do with the fact that Fracture was tempting him, and he didn't want to give in. They were going to the berth, not the floor, and that was final.

Chuckling, Fracture shrugged, not really looking like he minded. He had probably been expecting this answer, knowing Drift almost as well as the samurai knew himself. The Autobot was old fashioned and proper, valuing honor above all else, and there really wasn't much honorable to be said about taking Fracture on the floor, however tempting the bounty hunter made it sound. He didn't protest when Drift reached up to remove the arms from around his neck, then slowly push Fracture down on the berth. Once more, he took great care with the Decepticon, just like when he had pressed him against the wall of the hallway. That already felt like it had happened lifetimes ago to him.

Fracture willingly followed his lead, stretching his bound arms above his helm and arching his back a bit, a tiny smile playing around his lips as he looked up at Drift. Drift himself couldn't help but look back. He knew the frame of his rival, knew each little crook and spine on his armor. How many times had they clashed, how many times had Drift dented the purple plating? Countless. He was familiar with Fracture's body, how he moved, how he used it in battle, he knew each and every little detail. Yet now, it all seemed completely new to him.

Slowly, carefully, he ran his servos along the other's chassis, rediscovering his frame. He was in no hurry, the outside of this room completely forgotten. The team, his own pupils, all that mattered little compared to the stunning mech he finally, finally , had back in his arms. Drift hadn't even known how much he'd longed for this, how right it felt. Or maybe he had, but had forced himself to push it away. Now, he didn't have to; now, he had Fracture right where he wanted him. Right where he belonged. It didn't matter how well Drift knew the bounty hunter's frame – right now, everything was new to him, and he marveled as he traced the plating with his digits.

Fracture's frame was – to Drift – the epitome of classic beauty. Letting his servos wander over the other's strong shoulders, Drift let them slide down his wide chest which quickly narrowed down to a thin waist and slim hips, locating and following small edges in his armor. Sliding his touch back up, he followed the glass in the other's chest, briefly lingering over the scratched up Decepticon insignia before moving on to his arms, following the way they stretched elegantly above Fracture's helm. His plating might have spines and sharp edges, but Fracture himself seemed all soft curves as he sighed and leaned back on the berth, once more exposing the delicate arch of his throat. It was easy for him to lift himself a bit from the bedding, reminding Drift just how flexible he truly was, and that thought sent another wave of heat through his frame.

The sight of his own servos on that dark plating had him smiling despite himself. This was real; he was touching Fracture, and the sight was almost mesmerizing to him as he took his time, drawing out each and every single soft touch he delivered. He was going to dwell in this moment and enjoy it fully.

Leaning closer until he was looming over Fracture, Drift bowed his helm as his servos finished their travel along Fracture's arms, coming to rest over the cuffs. Gently lifting the bound hands, the samurai raised them to his face, gingerly placing a small kiss over each of the claws tipped with reinforced steel. Those talons could tear protoflesh apart, they had been carefully modded to function as weapons, and that knowledge sent a strange thrill through his spark. Fracture was a Decepticon, he was deadly, a perfect hunter, and Drift admired him for it, even if he frowned upon his tendency to fight unfair. But even that was part of the mystery Fracture constituted, his unpredictability, and Drift doubted he would want him if he was any other way. This was his rival , his nemesis , and Drift had him on his back, in his berth.

The wrists in his hold twitched a bit, and Drift smiled, lowering them cautiously to the berth instead of just letting go of them so they could drop. That wasn't how he was going to do this. Looking down, Fracture was wiggling just a bit, sending him an impatient gaze which quickly melted into a challenging smirk as soon as he saw he had Drift's attention. If it hadn't been beneath the samurai to do so, he might have rolled his optics. Fracture was a fool if he thought he had ever lost said attention, even for a nanoklik. How could Drift focus on anything but him, when he finally had him back in his arms?

“Patience is a virtue.” He couldn't help himself, giving a small smile as he scolded Fracture. The bounty hunter briefly looked stumped, blinking up at him before throwing his helm back and laughing. It wasn't the regular harsh barks of laughter Drift heard on the battlefield – this was one of genuine amusement, the sound only slowly dying out as Fracture shook his head.

“Don't even go there. Get your mouth back on my frame instead, or I'll take it as a challenge to see how fast I can wear down your prized patience.” Drift really saw no reason to deny Fracture his request, though he did smile as he moved, placing one servo over Fracture's chest, the other on the berth to help support his own weight. Slowly, he pressed closer, savoring the simple act, and how well their frames seemed to fit together. Only when he sensed that the Decepticon was about to say something again – likely disregarding Drift's previous words by telling him to hurry up – did he move.

Again, he ignored the urge to kiss Fracture's lips, instead pressing his intake gently against the crest on his helm. Taking his time, he traced his lip plates along the side of Fracture's faceplate, optics halfway closing as he returned his attention to the other's throat. He couldn't help his fascination with it. Fracture's neck seemed so elegant to him, just a little longer than what you normally saw in mechs, giving him a certain graceful look. Drift himself protected his neck, seeing as it was an obvious vulnerable spot – in general, his armor was much heavier than Fracture's, thicker and more solid. Fracture's was sparse, allowing for greater dexterity and the agility to deliver those high kicks he had mentioned earlier. And it was true, Drift had always admired him when he did just that, the way his frame moved effortlessly, how smooth his attacks were, and how flexible yet strong the bounty hunter was.

Now, he slowly returned to exploring said armor, using just one servo to slide along the purple plating. Part of him wished he could see that again, see his own hands touching Fracture, but pulling away was out of the question. The taste of the Decepticon's throat was addicting, as was the feeling of his frame pressing against Drift's own. No way he was going to lean away from that. Instead, he parted his lips, letting his glossa follow one of the ridges along Fracture's neck before carefully nibbling at it, earning him a soft gasp which soon became a low groan. Drift smiled again, knowing Fracture would feel it against his throat. Ah . So that was a good spot. He vaguely remembered from the last time this had happened between them, that one fateful night, but in this moment, that seemed like a lifetime ago. It wasn't important, anyway. What was important was how Fracture arched beneath him as Drift wiggled his glossa into the small groove beneath the edge, and the tiny sound he made.

Drift very quickly made it his main goal to lure more of those noises from Fracture. Applying his denta, he lightly trailed them along the other's throat, running his servo along Fracture's waist. He knew the other's frame intimately merely from their fights, yet still, he was delighted when he touched the lateral region of Fraction's flank and was met with another sharp intake of air. Raising an optical ridge, he briefly detached his intake, instead leaning back just enough to send Fracture a look. He knew what part he was touching without even gazing down to confirm it – the paler part on either side of Fracture's hips, the area where his dark armor stopped, dipping down to reveal part of his frame which was the same light color as his faceplate. Could it be...?

“Protoform?” How had he not noticed that before? The parts where he had simply assumed Fracture had thinner armor were in fact gaps directly to his protoform? Testing this, Drift ran a digit along the other's side again, Fracture shivering obviously as he did so. Yes, that was definitely protometal, softer, warmer, and more pliant beneath his touches, and for a moment, he was too shocked to move.

“Yeah. It allows for greater dexterity. We can't all be walking tin cans like you, and removing just a bit of armor here and there allows me to bend in all kinds of ways~” Grinning, Fracture looked very pleased with himself for having managed to stun Drift. The samurai quickly snapped out of it, shaking his helm a bit. He supposed he deserved a bit of teasing after he had been taking things so tormentingly slow. He knew Fracture wasn't patient.

“So, the light parts on your arms and inner thighs...?”

“Protoform as well. Go right ahead.” Nodding his permission, Fracture made a show out of stretching himself out on the berth, rearranging his bound arms above his helm. Drift didn't need to be told twice. Letting his servo leave Fracture's waist for now, he instead trailed it to the area on the inside of his upper arm, carefully tracing the edge between armor and protometal. When that got him an appreciative hum, Drift grew bolder, leaning in to press a light kiss to the sensitive metal. The reaction was immediate.

Beneath him, Fracture tensed a bit, then shuddered, a shaky ex-vent leaving him as his optics fluttered closed. Pressing closer to Drift, his arms shook, just a tiny bit, but it was enough for the samurai to catch it. Giving a victorious smile, he repeated the gesture, this time following the kiss with a small nip, and Fracture cursed.

“Slag, that's... Just c'mon, you're being a tease. Don't tell me you're trying to protect my virtue or some other honorable babble, you're being infuriatingly slow.” Maybe, if he had said this on the battlefield, Drift would have taken offense. Now though, it just made him smile – Fracture's voice was breathy, completely lacking its usual harsh edge and instead just sounding impatient. There was something fundamentally satisfying about having been the one to put him in this state with nothing but touches and kisses, and Drift didn't know whether he should feel ashamed about thinking so or not. He chose to simply push it from his mind.

“Well, now would be a good time to teach you about having a little patience...” He mused, Fracture's red optics immediately snapping open. Face pulling into the beginning of his usual snarl, he narrowed them, pressing his shoulders into the berth to raise his frame and push against Drift's own.

“Don't you dare.” He was practically hissing the words, optical ridges knotting together in a frown. Drift just gave one of his rare chuckles, leaning down to kiss the tiny wrinkle that had appeared on Fracture's forehead, just beneath the crest of his helm.

“I was kidding. I've been informed it's something people do. As I recall, you were the one telling me that some time ago.” For a few kliks, Fracture just blinked up at him, looking dumbfounded. Then he laughed, his shoulders shaking with mirth as he shook his helm. It was true, at one point, Fracture had pointed out that Drift needed to grow a sense of humor. It had been an almost playful insult, thrown over his shoulder following one of the times the bounty hunter had bested the samurai. Now, he looked pleasantly surprised, sending Drift a softer and warmer version of his trademark smirk.

“What do you know, maybe there's hope for you yet~ Seems old dogs can learn new tricks. Now, how about we get back on track and you stop being such a tease?” Tilting his head in a manner that was almost coy, Fracture sent Drift his best inviting smile. The Autobot surprised himself by chuckling again – he almost never did that, but with Fracture, it seemed... natural. Everything did. The light banter, the teasing, and the touches, it all seemed right to him. Drift would admit, he wasn't the type to interface often, but when he did, his own rigid ways often made things rather awkward. There was none of that here. It just felt right.

Returning his attention to the patch of revealed protoform, Drift very carefully bit down, then promptly ran his glossa over the spot to soothe it. When that earned him an appreciative little sound from Fracture, he sealed his lips over the softer plating, sucking gently before nibbling again, slowly and methodically working a mark into the protometal.He didn't know if he should feel ashamed at the pride he felt bubbling in his spark over having marked Fracture. He always scolded his pupils when they boasted or expressed anything Drift thought even resembled arrogance, but what he felt now didn't seem dishonorable. Again, it merely felt right. Fracture was his rival, his nemesis, and now, his lover. Seeing the mark on his light protoform was intoxicating, much in the same way as seeing his own servos touch the Decepticon had been.

Slowly leaning back to sit on his haunches, Drift let both servos trail along Fracture's chassis, admiration obvious in his touch. The bounty hunter sighed pleasantly, rolling his frame into the touch before sending Drift a lascivious gaze and rearranging his legs, one of either side of where Drift was kneeling. And he had called Drift a tease. Meeting his optics, Drift allowed himself to show just a bit of his amusement, then chose to ignore the very open invitation Fracture was sending him, instead looking down to focus on leaving no part of the other's body untouched.

Soon, his touch strayed back to the protoform at Fracture's sides, the pale patches holding an odd fascination to him. They seemed so treacherously vulnerable, making Fracture seem almost... frail. Drift knew that wasn't true, he knew how formidable a foe the Decepticon was, but the contradictions in his appearance fascinated him. The bounty hunter was strong, deadly, fast, precise, yet he was also beautiful, sleek, and exotic. Drift felt that he could spend orns contemplating the bounty hunter – Primus knew he already had – yet Fracture would still seem a mystery to him. It was completely and utterly captivating.

Fracture gave another low groan when Drift once more leaned closer, kissing the exposed protoform of his sides. There was a bit of impatience in the sound as well as the way he pressed into the small caress, but for now, Drift chose to ignore it. He was going to do this right, and that meant taking his sweet time simply marveling the fact that he had such a precious treasure in his arms. More valuable than all the bounties in the multiverse. The samurai kept that thought to himself, though it rang true to him. Like kissing on the mouth, it was something that hinted at too deep emotions and implications, something that should be kept hidden lest it ruined this moment they had. He would just make his adoration and unspoken attraction clear through touches, the way he treated Fracture's frame almost worshiping.

Peppering kisses and soft touches along Fracture's abdomen, Drift ever so slowly trailed downwards, lingering over the odd spike on each side of his hips. He recalled their last encounter, and how that spine had made an excellent point to hold on to in order to get just the right angle... Smiling to himself, he placed an extra kiss over the spiked dark plating before continuing his path, feeling Fracture tense a bit in anticipation beneath him – then relax with a low groan when Drift moved along his thigh, surpassing where Fracture very obviously wanted him. Once more, the samurai merely chuckled, pulling away just long enough to send Fracture a mirthful glance.

“You were the one telling me to 'go right ahead', as I recall.” Underlining his point, he bowed his helm, gingerly pressing his lips against the protoform in the inside of Fracture's thigh. The Decepticon gave an odd hiss, the sound a mixture of pleasure and impatience, spreading his legs further to make access easier.

“I didn't think you'd be so slow! Just get on with it, please!” Snapping, he squirmed a bit, his voice losing any venom it might have held, instead just making him sound needy. Drift enjoyed that more than he should have; the way Fracture was writhing beneath him, the slight catch in his voice, the fact that he was begging, actually begging, for more. Giving a low hum, he contemplated things, then smiled, slowly shaking his helm.

“No.” He was aware of how smug he sounded. Had one of his pupils used this tone of voice, Drift would have lectured him for hours on end about staying humble. But it was impossible not to feel satisfied by the simple fact that Fracture wanted him. That didn't mean he was going to speed things up, though – Drift was going to do this his way, the right way, and he would take his time to savor it. Fracture twitched when he bit down on the protoform, then ex-vented in a groan as Drift slowly repeated the process from earlier, creating an obvious mark against the light metal. Smiling, Drift kissed the finished result, practically radiating satisfaction. It might be pride talking, but he liked seeing his own marks on Fracture's frame.

Pleased with the result, he moved his attention to the bounty hunter's other leg, leaning closer to let his glossa follow the edge between dark armor and protometal. He trailed one servo lower to the back of Fracture's knee joint, pressing his digits into the wider seams to be able to touch the more sensitive wires beneath it. The Decepticon gave an obvious tremor, his vents hitching before shifting to a higher setting, and he squirmed his hips with an impatient little sound. Drift ignored it, instead taking his time, digits slowly stroking the cables he could reach as he worked his intake over the protoform, enjoying the heat beneath his lip plates.

Readjusting his hold on Fracture's leg, Drift slowly pushed it to the side, spreading him wider and trailing his mouth up along the inside of his thigh. Fracture gave another of his raspy groans, bucking slightly to push into the contact. Drift didn't let him, instead using his free servo to catch his hips and press them down into the berth, making it impossible for him to move. He could sense the look the Decepticon shot him, annoyance mixing with amusement in the field pressing against Drift's plating. The samurai didn't let it affect him.

Instead, he ever so slowly kissed and licked his way upwards. This close, he could smell the other's arousal, the faint scent of forming lubricant hanging in the air. Taciturn as he might be, it was still enough to make Drift rumble in approval, the sound coming from deep in his chest, making his chassis vibrate slightly and Fracture gasp. The bounty hunter was doing his best to move, stretching and attempting to press into the touches as his vents purred, and part of Drift was tempted to let go of his hips, just to see him arch with that strange and deadly elegance that seemed to characterize his every movement.

He didn't. On the contrary, he tightened his grip ever so slightly, keeping Fracture in place as he finally reached the joint between the bounty hunter's thigh and his codpiece. Pushing his leg further to the side, Drift nuzzled closer, slipping his glossa into the slight gap between the array and the dark armor on his thigh. It was a spot that was normally hard to reach, but Fracture was incredibly flexible, making it easier to get to the sensitive wiring.

Promptly, Fracture choked on a gasp, then groaned, the sound rising in pitch and turning into a soft moan. The noise sent a wave of heat through Drift's frame, making his engine give a deep rumble and his vents kick to life. Fracture sounded... perfect, like that. Before, he had been giving small gasps and groans, but this moan was completely different, more delectable and alluring. Drift was going to ensure he made that sound as many times as possible. He couldn't bite down in the wires themselves, but he nibbled along the gap of Fracture's thigh, grazing his denta along the sensitive spot and luring another of those sinful moans from the Decepticon. He was quickly becoming addicted to hearing those, and he didn't mind at all.

It was only when he could taste the beginning of the condensation forming along Fracture's armor that Drift pulled away, looking up. Fracture made for a beautiful sight. He was splayed out on the berth, arms stretched up above his helm and clutching at the soft covers. His intake was open to help his vents keep his temperature down, his optics closed, and his faceplate tinged a delicate blue from a slight flush. His frame was heaving, attempting to push up against the servo that was holding down his hips, and his legs gave an occasional twitch, betraying that Drift had worked his wiring into a state of hypersensitivity.

He was absolutely perfect. And he was all Drift's.

Slowly, red optics opened and focused on the samurai, the color slightly lighter than normally from the rising charge in Fracture's frame. A thin glossa sneaked past his lip plates to lick them, the movement incredibly sensual despite the fact it had only been done to moisten his lips and allow him time to find his voice.

“Which one~?” He didn't need to deliberate the question. Drift had finally made his way to his array, and the look the Autobot had been given him had been expectant, waiting for Fracture to open for him. Which one. Which cover did he want opened, how did he want Fracture. Drift didn't answer, instead just raising a single optical ridge, and Fracture gave a breathless laugh, the sound catching slightly in his throat.

“I should have known. Honorable as always, aren't you?” The teasing edge in his voice sounded absolutely beautiful combined with the huskiness that had crept into it. Drift just smiled, then bowed his helm to kiss Fracture's codpiece. There was no question about it for him – he was dominant, always had been. And with Fracture, he wanted to take him, to bury himself as deeply into him as he could, to overload into him and make him completely his.

Now, he moved his mouth to encouragingly kiss Fracture's valve cover, tracing the edges of it with his glossa and tasting the first traces of lubricants escaping from behind the closed panel. Normally, Drift wasn't much for giving oral. It was a vulnerable position to put yourself in, making him feel submissive, like he was serving his partner. He didn't like that, and he didn't appreciate the tangy flavor lubricant left on the tip of his tongue. Or, well, normally he didn't. With Fracture, it was different. That first taste had his engine revving, and he sealed his lips over the panel to give it a hard suck, then scraped his denta against it, urging Fracture to slide it back.

When the Decepticon obeyed, the lubricants he had been producing escaped, sliding down the curve of his array and staining it slightly. With anyone else, Drift would have pulled away, maybe even felt slightly disgusted by the possibility of getting another Cybertronian's lubricants on his faceplate. Right now, he didn't care. Leaning down, he kissed Fracture's exposed valve, reveling at the gasp it got him. The sound was quickly turned into a moan as he drew his glossa along the outer lips, taking his time in tracing them and treasuring the feeling of the soft mesh beneath his intake. He still didn't like the taste of the lubricant – it was bitter and slightly oily, and just because it was Fracture didn't mean it miraculously turned into highgrade. But he simply didn't mind now, exactly because this was Fracture. Somehow, that made even the slightly unpleasant flavor of his lubricant something special, something to be treasured.

Running his tongue between the outer lips without penetrating them, Drift kissed Fracture's outer node, laving a few languid licks over it before closing his mouth around it and sucking. Fracture choked out a low cry, his hips bucking up against the servo holding them down, and Drift smiled, repeating the action while tightening his hold. One servo remained solidly planted on Fracture's hips, unrelenting in holding him down, while the other kept his leg pushed to the side, spreading him almost obscenely wide as Drift knelt between his thighs.

Gingerly grazing his denta against the node got him a lewd moan, twirling his glossa around it made Fracture whisper something that he couldn't hear, but which sounded almost like a prayer. Curious, Drift pressed his intake close to the other's valve, letting his engine rumble into a higher gear so Fracture would be able to feel the vibrations. Parting his lip plates, he slowly traced the underside of his tongue over the outer node. The surface there was different, something not many were aware of – the upper side of a glossa had tiny ridges, protecting the sensors and nodes which were responsible for registering flavors and so on. The underside, however, was completely smooth, made from extremely flexible and soft mesh, the texture very different.

“Drift, please~!” Ah, so that had been what Fracture had murmured earlier, the plea now dripping from his lips in a dirty moan. Heat spread though Drift's frame, and he rumbled, adding to the vibrations before pulling away, just enough to be able to speak.

“Please... what?” His teasing earned him a round of very impressive swearing. It would have been more effective if Fracture hadn't been so breathless, and if Drift hadn't interrupted him halfway through by kissing his valve again, making him gasp for air. As it was, Drift almost found it... endearing. He normally didn't approve of a filthy mouth, and would punish his pupils severely if he ever caught them swearing, but with Fracture, it was unavoidable. It was simply part of who the Decepticon was, and in this situation, it only made him smile.

Not giving Fracture time to answer, he returned his attention to the valve beneath his lips, and whatever the bounty hunter had been about to say got swallowed up by a moan. Pushing his glossa past the rim of Fracture's valve, Drift pressed closer, seeking to go as deep as he could while tightening his hold on the other's hips to keep him from thrashing. Swirling his tongue, he sucked gently, ignoring the lewd wet sounds his mouth was producing and instead focusing on the moans falling from Fracture's intake, driving him to go deeper, give more. He could feel the lubricant staining his chin, but he didn't mind, instead relishing the knowledge that he was the one who had put Fracture in this state, that it was his touches making the Decepticon cry out, his glossa making the first sparks fly over purple plating as the bounty hunter squirmed.

“Please just 'face me, or I swear, I'm going to find a way to get down there and- ah, and do it for you!” That wouldn't have been threatening even if Fracture's voice hadn'tbroken halfway through, his tone breathless and shaky. Drift rumbled a low chuckle, not bothering to pull away to answer, instead just curling his glossa to press it against the inner walls of his valve. The way Fracture's calipers fluttered and clamped down around him was tantalizing, and part of him wanted to use just his mouth to bring the bounty hunter to overload, then do it again with his digits, and then again with his spike. Another part knew that he couldn't really deny Fracture when he was actually begging, and that he didn't want to. It didn't mean he wasn't going to tease him just a bit more.

“Mind your language.” He muttered, pulling away enough to blow a gust of air over Fracture's heated array. The 'Con hissed and twitched, the reached down with his cuffed servos to grasp Drift's helm.

“Get up here and frag me, you horrible tease.” And Drift wouldn't have been able to deny him, even if he had wanted to. Fracture was positively stunning as he came undone, his vents purring loudly, his armor raised and small sparks dancing along the gaps between plating as pleasure rippled through his field. Licking his lips free from the sheen of lubricants staining them, the samurai released Fracture's leg, instead leaning over him and using his now free servo to support his weight. Fracture shifted a bit, adjusting himself – Drift had wider hips than he did, his armor was thicker, and Fracture had to spread his legs obscenely wide to allow the samurai to press close enough for their pelvics to touch. He didn't seem to mind at all, on the contrary moaning and rolling his frame up against Drift's codpiece in a search for friction. Drift tightened the servo still on his hips.

“You're hardly sufficiently prepared.” He pointed out, and Fracture shot him a glare, a bit of the fight he normally showed on the battlefield seeping into his gaze. His look quickly softened into one of triumph when he heard the telltale snick of Drift's codpiece sliding back to allow his spike to pressurize.

“I say that I am. Get on with it before I fall into recharge from boredom.” It was a hapless threat, Fracture very obviously having a rising charge, but it still made Drift chuckle. It was just so typically him to act like that, like he was in control of the situation even now. A single kiss against his throat shattered that illusion, Fracture moaning his approval and once more attempting to press their hips together. Again, Drift kept him down.

He wasn't going to rush this, it was something to be savored. Closing his lips around Fracture's neck, feeling the heat radiating off of his frame, he very slowly thrust down, rubbing his spike between the outer lips of the other's valve, not penetrating yet, just coating himself with lubricants. Fracture gasped out a tiny moan, his helm falling back to reveal more of his throat to Drift and parting his legs a bit more. Fingers tightening on his hips, Drift positioned himself, the head of his spike nudging against Fracture's entrance before he pushed closer.

Fireworks . Groaning, he forced himself to stop when just the tip of his spike had made it past the rim, breaching Fracture's valve. The other was incredibly tight and wet around him, heat rolling off of his frame and sparks jumping between their armor with pleasant little tingles. As much as Drift wanted to thrust, to bury himself completely in Fracture's heat, he kept a tight rein on himself, instead slowly withdrawing, then pushing in, going a bit deeper this time. Fracture took a shaky vent, moaning as his calipers cycled and adjusted to the intrusion, expanding and relaxing as Drift slowly coaxed him to accept more.

When their hips finally met, Drift was shaking slightly, and Fracture was was panting through his intake to help his vents, condensation beading along his purple plating and lubricants slipping from his full valve to roll down his aft. Pausing, the samurai allowed him time to adjust, holding himself up on one arm and just looking down at Fracture, taking in his flushed cheeks, his parted lip plates, the hitch in his vents, and committing it all to memory. Fracture was gorgeous .

“Mmh, Drift... Move.” The way he moaned his name was nearly enough to make Drift do just that. He could oh so easily tighten his grip on Fracture's hips and pound into him, make him scream... and he was fairly certain that was what Fracture wanted, as well. That was what had happened last time. This time, Drift had taken things slowly, dragged it out and treasured each moment, and he intended to keep it that way. He wanted it to be right. So he gathered his self control and instead shot him a look.

“Are you... adjusted?” His own voice was wavering despite his attempt to keep it from doing so, and he sounded slightly out of breath, betraying just how much he strained to keep his self control. Fracture shot him a dirty glare that held absolutely no poison at all, trying and failing to move his hips.

“I'm not gonna break. Move.” He insisted, and Drift solemnly nodded before pulling back and thrusting back into him in one smooth movement. Fracture hissed out a curse that halfway through turned into a praise, his claws digging into the covers above his helm and shredding them. Drift hardly noticed, too lost in the sensation of Fracture's valve cycling down around him. The samurai had a solid build, and he was aware that he was big, his spike thick and a lot to take. Fracture felt incredibly tight around him, and while he wanted to do as he had been told and just move, he still held back.

Bending his helm to mouth over Fracture's neck and collar, he set a careful pace, burying himself to the hilt each time he thrust in, and withdrawing enough that only the head of his spike remained inside Fracture. Slowly, he felt the walls around him resetting and adjusting to his girth, then ripple in a downright sinful way, making him groan and his pace falter a bit before he picked it up again. Sliding his servo from Fracture's hips to his aft, he grabbed it, lifting him a bit to get a better angle. The gasp Fracture had given quickly turned into a breathless laugh, which again melted into a moan, the sounds intoxicating to Drift, spurring him to attempt to make the bounty hunter louder still.

Pressing their chests closer together, Drift groaned, electrical sparks dancing between their frames as their charges rose. Fracture gasped for him to go faster already, but he ignored the pleas, keeping each movement slow and even, letting him smoothly hilt himself completely with each thrust.

He had kept his pace steady throughout this, had taken his sweet time, had savored every moment and taken things slowly. Now, suddenly, things happened very fast. A pair of slender but strong legs wrapped around him, drawing him close and locking them together as Fracture rocked his entire frame, spinning them once and almost making them fall off the berth. Drift blinked, very unexpectedly finding himself on his back and looking up into a pair of victorious red optics and a sharp grin.

“I warned you I was gonna do something drastic if you didn't start moving~” Fracture sounded way too pleased with himself, his cuffed servos coming down to rest on Drift's chest, and the samurai briefly looked surprised before raising an optical ridge. Really now? Well, this was... interesting, as well. As he watched, Fracture rearranged himself so he was straddling Drift, kneeling above him with one leg on either side of his hips, still fully seated on his spike. Then he gave a confident smirk, slowly raised himself to his knees – and sank back down.

Drift gasped, servo's automatically flying up to grasp Fracture's hips, though he wasn't sure if it was to make him go slower, or to urge him to speed up. That felt incredible. This new position allowed Fracture to take him just a bit deeper, the angle making his spike drag along his inner walls in a maddening way. And Fracture himself...

Drift was unable to look away as the bounty hunter rode him, intake parted as he moaned each time he impaled himself on Drift's spike. The sight was obscene, the way his valve parted, the outer lips stretched taught around the phallus and the glistening sheen of lubricants it left behind all looking far beyond indecent. Yet Drift couldn't help but stare, admiring the way Fracture arched his back, the way this new position showed off his perfect frame, the way heat rolled off of him in waves and made condensation bead on his dark plating. He was sinfully beautiful.

Unaware of when he had begun moving his servos, Drift kept one on Fracture's hip, rubbing small circles into the armor and helping him move. Together, they found a pace, faster than what Drift had planned, but also much deeper and more satisfying, and he really didn't have the spark to complain. Not when he could let his other servo roam, traveling up along Fracture's frame and eliciting a shiver violent enough that he could feel it in the valve walls surrounding his spike so perfectly.

Rolling his hips up next time Fracture lowered himself, Drift sought to meet his movement, making both of them give a collective gasp when his spike hit the other's ceiling node. The cuffed servos on his chest shook, claws twitching but not digging into his armor, instead just scrabbling for purchase as Fracture threw his helm back and moaned, his entire frame bowing elegantly. Briefly, his valve clenched almost desperately around Drift, the calipers readjusting and cycling down in a way that had the samurai grit his denta in a fruitless attempt to silence his own groan. Sparks jumped from their armor, and heat singed through his circuits as his charge rose, his servo tightening around Fracture's hips.

Bucking up again, he easily found the same angle, and Fracture pressed down against him in a way that definitely felt wicked, but also oh so good. Each time he hit that one cluster of ceiling nodes, the bounty hunter would moan beautifully, his legs beginning to shake as he picked up the pace. Drift guided him the best he could with one servo, unwilling to take the other from Fracture's frame and interrupt his explorations. He couldn't bring himself to look away either, finding himself completely enraptured by the Decepticon.

Why had Drift never liked this position...? Normally, he protested anything even resembling this. He didn't like having his partner above him, didn't like taking a submissive role in any way. He preferred being on top, in both senses of the word – he was dominant, and he wanted his partner beneath him in berth. It had been centuries since he'd let someone ride him. He had really missed out . The sight of Fracture fragging himself above him was stunning, the quick glide of his valve over his spike, the trickle of lubricants, his swollen outer node...

Letting his servo trail down the bounty hunter's abdomen, briefly teasing the edge between armor and protoform at his side, Drift slid it lower between them, running his thumb over Fracture's exterior node. On top of him, Fracture cried out in surprised pleasure, entire frame tensing up and freezing as his valve clamped down. Then he gave a breathy ex-vent, the sound perhaps meant to be a laugh, perhaps a keen.

“Y-you sly slagger~” Static sneaked its way into his voice, underlining the shaky words in a way that sounded absolutely perfect to Drift. The samurai merely smiled, moving his thumb in circles before letting his servo slide lower, the other pulling Fracture's hips down with him. Gently rolling the node beneath his digit, Drift reveled the sinful sounds this lured from Fracture. Pinching it, the other's moan broke off into a burst of static as his voicebox failed him and reset itself.

“Keep moving.” His own voice gruff, Drift moved his servo to the outer lips of the valve stretched around his spike, teasing a finger along them before pinching the sensitive mesh. Fracture gave a low yelp, thighs shaking from the effort of holding himself still, his vents hitching and giving a loud stutter. Drift let his own vents rumble in an automatic response, rubbing the sore spot soothingly before he kept going, alternating between the lightest of caresses and small pinches until he had worked the soft metal into an even more hypersensitive state. All the while, Fracture fought to remain unmoving, hips jerking form the urge to press into Drift's touches, moans heavily laced with static dripping from his lips as he shuddered. Drift's spike was still halfway buried inside of him, and the sensation of lubricants escaping Fracture's valve to slowly slide down his length was maddening.

“I said... Keep moving.” Removing his servo from where he had been teasing Fracture's valve, Drift used the one still planted firmly on his hips to pull him down while he himself bucked up, penetrating the other deeply. Moving his other hand, he slid it down his own array, palm down, parting his digits on either side of his spike. Next time he pulled Fracture down, his knuckles pressed up against the Decepticon's outer node, and Fracture moaned lewdly, turning the roll of his hips into a grind as he sought more friction. Yes, Drift had thought he didn't care much for this position – an opinion he would have to reevaluate after this – but that didn't mean he didn't know how to please his partner.

The feeling of his own spike, pulsing between his digits, was slightly odd, adding to the many sensations flooding him. Most of those were focused on the bounty hunter riding him, Drift unable to look away. The way Fracture's valve was gripping his spike, taking him as deep as he could go and allowing him to kiss his ceiling nodes each time the other seated himself. The heat from his frame, the erratic way his calipers cycled down around Drift's length, the slight shaking of his thighs as his charge rose and urged him to go faster... It was all registering to Drift in a rush, pushing him towards an impending overload that seemed way too soon, yet couldn't come fast enough. Fracture was perfect around him and on top of him, and Drift wanted to stay like this forever, to have him, be able to touch him, make him moan like this...

The sound of their hips meeting, metal clanging against metal, didn't quite manage to drown out the obscenely wet sounds each time Drift penetrated Fracture. He was very vaguely aware that they were making a mess, that paint had likely transferred, and that his servo, caught between their bodies, was soaked in their mixed fluids. He didn't care at all.

Above him, Fracture's movements were becoming slightly erratic, the sounds leaving him growing louder as his charge neared its peak, sparks running along the edges of his plating and leaping to Drift's frame wherever they were close enough to connect. Determined to make him tip over first, Drift tightened the servo on his hips, moving slightly as he slammed Fracture down on his spike. The new angle allowed him to better hit his ceiling nodes, and Fracture cried out, intake falling open as his overload swept him away. Frame bowing, his optics flared, the deep red briefly flashing almost white at the powerful charge rushing through his circuits. He called what sounded like Drift's designation, but the sound cut off halfway through, only static leaving him as he rolled his hips down, encouraged by Drift's servo to keep moving and to ride out the overload, prolonging it for as long as possible.

Drift himself didn't stand a chance. The sight of Fracture so lost in ecstasy was enough to make his own charge crest, a heavy electric current washing through his frame as heat pooled in his lines and rushed along his plating. Fracture's valve felt incredibly tight as it clamped down, the walls fluttering as he spilled inside of it with a drawn out groan, burning transfluid filling the 'Con. Fracture gasped, then gave a low mewl, a shiver traveling along his backstrut as he was filled, a few drops slipping past Drift's spike to stain his servo.

He didn't really mind. His poetic side wanted to call it fate that they had overloaded at the same time, but for once, Drift wasn't in the mood to let his thoughts go on about any deep and philosophical reflections. Not when he had Fracture shaking on top of him, the bounty hunter slowly slumping over and resting his weight on the servos still curled over Drift's chest, right above his spark. For a few long moments, both of them simply vented, ever so slowly coming down from their shared high while their frames cooled. The only sounds in the berthroom were the roaring of their vents and the occasional metallic ping from their armor. Drops of condensation were rolling over Fracture's dark purple plating, his lip plates parted and his optics shuttered closed. Drift kept his own eyes open, captivated by the sight of his rival above him. The heaving of his frame, the single pointed denta that could just be spotted beneath his soft lips, the way his armor automatically flared out in an attempt to lower his core temperature further. To Drift, he had never been more beautiful.

“W-well, that was... Wow.” Slowly, the red optics opened, and Fracture blinked down at Drift, giving him a lazy and very pleased smile. The samurai resisted the urge to roll his optics and huff, instead just raising a single optic ridge.

“Eloquent.” He commented, his own voice rough around the edges, and Fracture gave a tired laugh. It wasn't like any Drift had heard from him before – this was a soft sound, low and sweet, somehow seeming like a secret just the two of them shared.

“You're the poet, not me. But it was wow.” Rumbling his consent, Drift nodded, slowly withdrawing the servo between their frames. Fracture groaned when he brushed his valve, a quick tremor running over his frame. Then, much to Drift's surprise, he reached out, catching the hand with one of his own and giving it a soft squeeze. Drift didn't think – it seemed like his other servo was acting outside of his control as it left Fracture's hips, instead moving to his cuffed wrists and taking the free servo. The bounty hunter looked very pleased, smiling softly and keeping optical contact as he interlaced their digits. Then he shifted his weight a bit.

The movement of Fracture's hips was enough to let Drift's spike slip from his valve, and they shared a collective gasp when a small rush of transfluid and lubricant followed, further staining their armor. Now that his charge was mostly gone, only pleasant reverberations left, Drift couldn't help but make just a tiny face at the sticky sensation. He did appreciate being clean.

Apparently, Fracture either read his expression, or just knew him enough to guess what was on his mind, because he laughed, the sound the same hushed and sweet tones as earlier. Leaning down, he smiled, and Drift had to lift his arms over his helm to keep their hands from getting caught between their chests. He was faintly aware of the similarities to their earlier position – Fracture on his back with his arms above his head – and he couldn't help but chuckle along with the Decepticon's laugh.

Fracture kept their digits interlaced, carefully shifting around until he could comfortably rest his weight on Drift's chest, then gave a low purr and nuzzled closer, and for what seemed like an eternity, they remained like that, sharing languid vents and basking in the afterglow. Their cooling fans shut off, yet neither of them made any move to get up – Fracture had his face pressed into the crook of Drift's neck, and Drift was feeling too satiated, too happy, to even consider moving. Why would he? He felt satisfied right now, content and more at peace than he had been for a long time.

And then, suddenly, said peace was broken.

Outside the ship, the alarm of the scrapyard stared blaring. Drift immediately tensed, though mostly from surprise. He wasn't feeling threatened – it often happened on accident, their human companions messing something up and setting off the security system. Drift had learned to accept it as one of the consequences of living side by side with a race which struck him as being incredibly careless. But it shouldn't have happened now. On top of him, Fracture stirred, his purr cutting off with a long sigh.

“Ah, sorry, that's my cue.” Before Drift had a chance to say anything or even react to his words, he heard a low snap, a jingle, and then his wrists were caught by something which immediately drained all power from his weapon-systems. The stasiscuffs. But how? Optics widening, he looked up at Fracture, who shot him a grin before moving his now free servos down Drift's arms to cup his face.

“Oh, don't look so surprised. You really thought I couldn't pick a pair of standard cuffs? I could have freed myself from them in a nanoklik from the moment your team members slapped them on my wrists. It takes something stronger to hold me.” Sliding a clawed hands underneath Drift's helm to follow his neck, Fracture swiftly pinched a wire, and the samurai's frame, which had been tensed for fight, now went limp. Drift narrowed his optics, part of him wanting to hiss in fury, the other part cursing himself. What had he been doing?! Why had he let this happen instead of locking Fracture up as he should have? How could he have permitted this?!

He was a fool. He had let the odd yet powerful attraction between himself and his rival cloud his judgment, had given in to temptation when he should have stood his ground. And he had made the same the mistake he'd told himself he would never repeat. He had acted against logic, against honor, against his own codex and rules. Fracture was his enemy, a dangerous Decepticon, and Drift had made a monumental mistake.

“Mind if I borrow that?” Standing, Fracture stretched, then nodded towards the stand Drift used for his swords. Sauntering over to pick up a rag normally used for polishing the blades, he smiled, quickly cleaning himself off. Then he slipped back on the berth, leaning over the still frame of the samurai.

“Don't look like that. I know you're blaming yourself right now, but you really must understand that of course I'm not going to let myself get caught.” Sending Drift an almost amicable smile, Fracture slowly began cleaning him, working carefully and methodically to wipe away all traces of fluids and erase the most obvious paint transfers. Drift blinked, his angry expression faltering in surprise. He... had made a mistake... hadn't he? Why was Fracture cleaning him up and erasing the signs of what they had been doing? Why was he helping Drift keep his secret? He could have left him unable to move, with the evidence of their tryst on his frame for his team to find. It would have shamed him forever. Instead, Fracture was thoroughly wiping away any and all evidence, movements not exactly gentle, but not rough, either.

“Why are you doing this...?” He couldn't help but ask, even though he didn't want to. Asking was betraying weakness, and he didn't want Fracture to know how much this bothered him, how much he blamed himself. Fracture had been right – of course the Decepticon would attempt to flee. Drift only had himself to blame for things, he should have known, and he felt shameful for having allowed this to happen instead of having done his duty.

“I'm a businessman, Drift, I'm not just gonna tell you that. Maybe next time we meet, you can see if you can lure it out of me~” The usual snark was slowly finding it's way back into Fracture's voice, though it also held a softer, more teasing edge. Finishing up, he tossed the rag into a corner of the room, then rolled his optics when another alarm went off, followed by what sounded like a muffled explosion.

“I swear, my minicons are so impatient... Well, that little boom was my cue to leave while they create enough of a distraction for me to reclaim my weapons. You'll be able to move again in a few minutes, but by then I'll be long gone.” Smirking, he leaned in closer to Drift, holding optical contact as he pressed a swift kiss to his lips. Then he stood, leaving the thoroughly stunned samurai behind him and raising one hand in half a wave.

“Catch you later~!”