After Atlantis, Part 18 (2/2)
Dec. 27th, 2009 06:26 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
anon_decepticonTitle: After Atlantis, Part 18 (2/2)
Author:
![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif){kind=small}
anon_decepticonRating: M
Pairing or Character(s): Wheeljack, Trailbreaker, Hound, Mirage, and a human OC.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Transformers. Part 1 references scenes from the G1 Season 2 episode “Atlantis, Arise!” Part 4 references scenes from the next episode, “Day of the Machines.” Parts 5 and 6 reference scenes and quote some dialogue from “Enter the Nightbird.” Part 9 references scenes from “Dinobot Island, Parts 1 & 2”. Part 11 references scenes from “The Master Builder” and “Auto Berserk.” Part 12 references scenes from “Microbots,” (as does Part 13, briefly) and gives minor nods to “Heavy Metal War” and “Prime Target.” Part 14 references scenes from the two-part episode “Megatron’s Master Plan,” and gives a teeny nod to “The Ultimate Doom.” Parts 16 and 17 reference scenes and quote dialogue from the two-part G1 cartoon episode “Desertion of the Dinobots.” Part 18 contains oblique references to the G1 cartoon episodes “S.O.S. Dinobots,” “Traitor,” “The Ultimate Doom” (part one) and “City of Steel” (namely the bits featuring Autobots on water skis.) These portions of the fic are not mine.
Warning(s): PTSD angst, references to rape, references to sex, mild sexual humor.
Summary: Raped by Starscream, Wheeljack struggles to cope.
Author's Note: If you've gotten this far, you already know the backstory. Original Kink Meme prompt. Previous installments: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, Part 16, Part 17, Part 18 (1/2). Also available on FFN. Damn you, LJ! Here’s the second half. *grumble* At least Hound and Mirage are still adorable.
With Hound once more taking the lead, the four Autobots made their way back out onto the roadway. In-between giving directions, Brad deluged Hound with a flood of questions, which Hound shared with the others via an open comm link. Though clad in the customary jeans and flannel worn by most of the humans in the region, there was no questioning Brad’s scientific background; his queries ran the gamut from how they were able to see in their alt modes to what it was like to travel in deep space, to whether they had fish back on Cybertron.
After roughly a quarter of a breem, Brad paused in his questioning and instructed them to pull up alongside a trio of large ponds. “This is where the rainbow trout are kept,” he said. “We don’t raise trout for distribution; they’re here solely for viewing purposes. I’ve got some change for the vending machines, if you’d like to feed them.”
“I would!” Trailbreaker said eagerly, transforming immediately. Wheeljack and Mirage followed suit. Hound grumbled good-naturedly, forced to wait for his passenger to disembark before he could do the same.
Brad made his way briskly to the nearer of the two vending machines, digging in his pocket for the coins he needed to operate it. He soon had a small handful of food, which he promptly transferred into Hound and Trailbreaker’s large outstretched palms, laughing at how pitifully tiny his offering looked by comparison, and at the way Trailbreaker and Hound endeavored to sprinkle the miniscule particles out over the water with exaggerated care, exclaiming in delight as the fish rose up to gobble the morsels.
Amused by the display, Wheeljack glanced over at Mirage to gauge his reaction. He’d expected the noblemech to look bored, but Mirage appeared quite content, watching Hound with a fond, indulgent smile. His expression surprised Wheeljack; he couldn’t recall ever seeing Mirage looking so happy.
“That pond over there is where the white sturgeon are housed,” Brad was saying. “That big building next to it is the Sturgeon Viewing Center – we’ll go there so you can get a better look at them.”
Leading the way, the human continued as they fell in behind him, “Sturgeon are cartilaginous fish, like sharks,” he said. “That means they have no bones. They’re considered “prehistoric” because they’ve been around since the Jurassic period – they look pretty much the same today as they did when the dinosaurs walked the Earth.”
“They’re like dinosaurs?” Wheeljack asked, intrigued.
“We know about dinosaurs,” Hound chimed in. “We found some old bones in our base, and one of our human friends took me to the natural history museum afterward so we could learn more about them.”
“Wheeljack liked them so much he decided to make a few of his own,” Trailbreaker said, grinning. “Robots like us, only they turn into dinosaurs instead of cars or trucks. We call them the Dinobots.”
Brad turned to stare at Wheeljack. “You built robot dinosaurs?” he asked incredulously.
“Yeah,” he said, flattered by the way the human was regarding him with unabashed awe. “Five of them: Grimlock, Slag, Snarl, Swoop and Sludge.”
“Wow,” Brad said, “What I wouldn’t give to meet them! They must be huge!”
“They’re big, all right,” Hound said, laughing. “And dangerous! They caused a lot of damage the first time Wheeljack activated them, and a fair bit since! They’re not too bright.”
“…I wanted them to be authentic,” Wheeljack muttered with a sheepish shrug.
“The Dinobots are great,” Trailbreaker said loyally, glaring at his friend. “They’ve saved our skidplates more than once.”
“Trailbreaker’s right,” Mirage said, cutting off Hound’s retort. “The Dinobots are valuable allies. We’re lucky to have them on our side.”
“I never thought of building an aquatic Dinobot,” Wheeljack mused. “I’d really like to see what these sturgeon look like.”
“Then follow me,” Brad said with a smile.
They approached the building Brad had indicated. The entrance was designed to be large enough to admit an Earth vehicle, but proved to be a bit low-ceilinged for an Autobot in root mode. It was, however, big enough to afford them a clear view of the viewing windows inside without needing to enter.
As they stood observing the fish – which were indeed massive and prehistoric-looking – Wheeljack’s thoughts drifted back to the events of the previous day. Before the Dinobots had been damaged, he’d sworn to himself that he’d look in on them, make sure they were all right. With all that had happened since, he had more reason than ever to do so, but the recent cybertonium crisis and ensuing repairs had prevented him from keeping his promise. He set an internal reminder for later that evening to ensure he wouldn’t forget again. He owed them a visit.
“Incredible,” Hound was saying, “Look at that one, ‘Breaker – he’s even longer than my alt mode!”
“That’s Herman,” Brad volunteered. “He’s the oldest sturgeon in the hatchery. He’s been alive for more than fifty years, and he’s nearly ten feet long.”
“Aw, just a baby,” Hound cooed, studying the massive fish with rapt fascination.
“Uh…actually, that’s pretty old, by Earth standards,” Brad said. “Heck, he’s older than me! He’ll probably be around long after I’m gone, too – sturgeon can live up to a hundred years; the average lifespan of a human is more like sixty-five or seventy.”
Wheeljack stared at him, taken aback by his matter-of-fact tone. Brad was younger than Sparkplug, yet he predicted he wouldn’t be alive fifty Earth years from now?
Fifty years, he thought bleakly. That was all Sparkplug had left to him? Little more than half a vorn?
Maybe less, he thought. Brad had said the average human; some humans might fall above or below that average. Wheeljack abruptly recalled that Sparkplug had recently attended a funeral for a friend of his – had that friend been close to Sparkplug in age?
Wheeljack had acted to save Sparkplug from the Decepticons on more than one occasion, each time fearing he might lose his friend forever, painfully aware of the dire consequences should he fail. Each time, he’d rejoiced in his success, relieved and secure in the knowledge that Sparkplug was safe.
But Sparkplug wasn’t safe, not from the slow march of time. No invention or timely action on Wheeljack’s part could spare him from that fate. It was distressing, to realize that no matter what he did, one day all too soon Sparkplug would be gone, felled by something as inconsequential as time. The very thought left Wheeljack feeling sad and helpless.
He’d have to spend more time with Sparkplug, too. He might have precious little left.
**
Having bid farewell to Herman the sturgeon, they headed back outside, once more transforming and taking to the road. Brad guided them north to what he called the fish ladder, explaining that it wasn’t so much a ladder as a staircase, a series of man-made pools and waterfalls designed to allow the salmon to get around the dam, making it easier for them to travel upstream without exhausting themselves.
“It also allows us to count them and observe their condition,” Brad continued as they transformed and followed him on foot. “Plus we get to see them when they’re all grown up! We measure and tag them when they’re fingerlings, roughly a year old – millions every year, all within a few months, and all by hand. Afterward they’re released into the wild. It’s exhausting work, but I love it.”
“Have you ever considered automating?” Wheeljack asked, seizing gratefully upon a topic that would take his CPU off Sparkplug’s inevitable demise. “Using a machine would make the process a lot more efficient.”
“I’m not sure how you could do that without anesthetizing the fish,” Brad replied hesitantly. “That’d raise the mortality rate even more than human handling does.” He considered for a moment. “It’s not really my area of expertise…but I suppose it might be possible.”
“I could probably come up with something,” Wheeljack offered. “What?” he asked, noticing Hound’s horrified expression. Even Mirage looked alarmed, though he was quicker to hide his reaction.
Brad looked confused, glancing back and forth between them.
“Never mind,” Wheeljack muttered. Trailbreaker frowned faintly; Hound looked relieved.
“Okaaaay,” Brad said slowly. “Well, uh…here’s the ladder! You can move a bit closer, but I think because of your size it would probably be better if you took turns and went two at a time. Who wants to go first?”
“Me!” Hound said eagerly, grinning at Mirage, who smiled back. Hound picked his way carefully to the railing, wary of disturbing the fish, and peered down into the rushing water.
Trailbreaker hesitated, clearly torn. He glanced longingly at the water and Hound, then back to the others, his gaze lingering on Wheeljack before turning to Mirage. He opened his mouth to speak, but Mirage spoke first.
“Go ahead, Trailbreaker,” Mirage said. “I know this trip means a lot to you and Hound; you two should be the ones to go first.”
Trailbreaker glanced uncertainly at his friend, then back to Wheeljack.
“Mirage is right,” Wheeljack said in response to his inquiring look. “Go on; I don’t mind waiting.”
“C’mon, ‘Breaker!” Hound called from the rail. “Come and look at this! There’s hundreds of them!”
Trailbreaker moved to join him, and Brad followed, taking up a position alongside them at the rail, ready to answer any questions they might have.
“Hound can be a bit thoughtless sometimes,” Mirage murmured, too quietly for the others to hear. “He means well, but he doesn’t always realize what he’s saying...or implying.”
Wheeljack shrugged. “No big deal. I know my track record isn’t great.”
They lapsed back into silence, watching the two mechs huddled shoulder-to-shoulder exclaiming over the fish, the human laughing and pointing out into the water. After a few kliks, Wheeljack glanced over at Mirage.
He was smiling again, that same soft, contented smile.
“You’re probably wondering what a Towers mech like me sees in a mech like Hound,” Mirage said softly, his optics never leaving his lover.
Wheeljack started; he had wondered, back when he’d first heard the two were seeing each other. He’d assumed, perhaps uncharitably, that Mirage was simply slumming – he’d had enough contact with the Towers to know such dalliances often occurred for precisely that reason. It was an old, familiar story – a noblemech would swan in, drawn by the lure of a new, quasi-forbidden experience, sweep some poor common mech off his feet in a whirlwind romance, and then leave him spark-broken once the novelty wore off. Mirage had never struck him as the type to do that sort of thing, but Wheeljack had wondered about his motives all the same.
Of course he’d never actually say that out loud. “Hound’s a good mech,” he replied. “He’s nice, fun to be around. Everyone likes him; why wouldn’t you?”
“I know what you’re thinking,” Mirage said. “I lived in the Towers, remember. I saw the sort of things that went on there. But I never indulged in that…particular practice. It always struck me as cruel.”
“I never said –” he protested.
“It’s all right,” Mirage cut him off, “I don’t blame you for thinking it; I’m sure a lot of the others are, too. It would be naïve not to. But that’s not how it is with Hound and I.”
Wheeljack looked at him, taking in Mirage’s thoughtful expression, the quiet sincerity of his tone.
“You’re right, of course,” Mirage said softly. “Hound is nice to everyone. At first, I thought that’s all it was. I wasn’t special. It didn’t mean anything.”
Mirage turned his helm, meeting his optics for the first time. “But I wanted it to,” he said quietly.
“I’ve always hated this war,” Mirage continued, turning back to look at Hound again. “I joined the Autobots because I felt I had no choice; I couldn’t stand by and allow other mechs risk their sparks on my behalf. But I never really felt like I belonged there. I was a Towers mech and I disapproved of the conflict. No one talked to me.”
“But Hound did talk to me,” Mirage said, “and not just about the war. He talked about Earth, about himself, his friends, his life – and he listened when I talked about mine, about the Towers, and how much I missed Cybertron…”
“I was prepared to be content with that,” Mirage said. “It was enough that someone cared enough to listen to me, to talk to me sometimes. I told myself I didn’t need more. Hound was nice to everyone; I should feel grateful just to be included in that number.”
“Then one night he came to visit me in my quarters,” Mirage said. “It was very late, but he said he needed to talk to me, that it couldn’t wait. So I let him in.” A small smile curved his lip components. “He was so nervous. I couldn’t believe it. I’d seen him face down Decepticons without the slightest hesitation, but it had taken all the courage he could muster just to visit me that night. He was certain I would reject him, when I’d wanted him all this time.”
Wheeljack’s optics widened in surprise. He loves him, he thought. How had he not seen it before?
“I still miss Cybertron,” Mirage said, “but I don’t hate the war anymore. If not for this war, I’d never have met him. I’d have lived out my entire existence in the Towers, never realizing I wasn’t really alive at all.” He gazed fondly at his lover for a moment, then added, “Hound loves it here on Earth; it makes him happy. And seeing him happy…makes me happy. Happier than I’ve ever been.”
Wheeljack stared at him, speechless, overwhelmed by the quiet depth of emotion the normally-reserved mech had chosen to share with him. When he recovered the use of his vocalizer an astrosecond later, he blurted out the first thought that popped into his CPU.
“Why are you telling me all this?” he asked.
“You’re seeing Trailbreaker,” Mirage replied simply, “and I thought you’d like to know. Maybe you’ll tell him, and then he’ll know he doesn’t have to worry about Hound.”
“I don’t think he’s worried about that,” Wheeljack said, “about you hurting Hound, I mean. He’s never said anything to suggest he thought you might.” That was me, he thought wryly.
“I know it’s hard for him, all the same,” Mirage said. “It’s hard for both of us, to share him. It’s hard for Hound, always having to choose between us, feeling guilty no matter what choice he makes.”
At that moment Hound said something, his words drowned out by the rushing water, and Trailbreaker threw back his helm and laughed, a deep, hearty laugh of such obvious enjoyment it would warm any spark to hear it. Wheeljack’s own spark gave an odd little pulse at the sound, at the sheer delight in Trailbreaker’s voice and posture.
“Sometimes I almost envy him,” Mirage said quietly. “Envy them.”
Wheeljack looked at him in surprise.
“Don’t misunderstand,” Mirage said quickly. “I know they’ve interfaced; it’s not that. It’s just…Hound is so comfortable with Trailbreaker.”
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“Hound relaxes when he’s with Trailbreaker,” Mirage said. “When they’re together, he’s more himself than he is with anyone else. He’s not like that with me, not yet. He’s…careful.”
“Careful?” Wheeljack asked.
“Somewhere he picked up the notion that Towers mechs are fragile,” Mirage said wryly. “It’s true we have lighter plating, but we’re not delicate. We won’t break from a little rough handling.”
Wheeljack cocked his helm, giving the spy a quizzical look.
“He holds back when we’re together,” Mirage explained. “He’s afraid of hurting me.” He laughed softly, “Not that I mind being pampered and cherished, but it’d be nice every once in a while to be shoved up against a wall and taken fast and hard, you know? Just for variety.”
“Oh,” Wheeljack said, his circuits heating in embarrassment.
“Do you think you could tell Trailbreaker that?” Mirage asked.
“Trailbreaker? Why?” he asked.
“Because he’ll tell Hound,” Mirage replied, as if it were obvious.
“Why not just tell him yourself?” he asked, bewildered.
“I don’t want to hurt his feelings,” Mirage said. “If it comes from Trailbreaker, it will sound like advice rather than a complaint.”
“Oh,” he said. He wasn’t sure he followed the logic of that conclusion, but he was willing to take Mirage at his word. “I’ll tell him, if that’s what you want.”
“I’d appreciate it,” Mirage said with a smile. “And I’d be happy to return the favor, if you like. Is there something you want Trailbreaker to do that he doesn’t? Or something he does that you’d rather he didn’t?”
“…not really,” he replied haltingly, uncomfortable with the unexpected turn in the conversation. “He’s, um…he’s fine.”
“You’re lucky,” Mirage said. He fell silent for a moment, then added, “Forgive me for asking, but…does he ever talk about Hound? About what he likes?”
Wheeljack shifted his weight uneasily, fairly certain Mirage wasn’t talking about nature, or any of Hound’s other casual interests. “He, uh…he once said Hound likes to use his mouth,” he volunteered reluctantly.
“His mouth?” Mirage asked, regarding him with curiosity.
“Yeah,” he said. “You know, like the humans do on TV. Trailbreaker, uh, did it to me once, and he said he learned it from Hound.”
Mirage nodded in understanding, “I’ve seen the humans do that,” he said. Then he frowned, cocking his helm in confusion. “But you have a mask; how did he –?”
“My neck cables,” he muttered, avoiding his gaze.
“Ah,” Mirage said, catching on. “I see. And that felt good?”
He shrugged uncomfortably. “Yeah,” he said.
“Did he –”
“Raj!” Hound called exuberantly, “You’ve gotta come see this! They’re jumping right out of the water!”
Relieved by Hound’s timely interruption, Wheeljack quickly stepped forward to trade places with Trailbreaker at the rail. Mirage did the same, swapping positions with Hound. Brad lingered, pointing out a fish as it leapt from the water, its body forming a gleaming arc in the autumn sunlight. Trailbreaker and Hound dropped back a short distance, still talking animatedly about what they had seen.
Wheeljack was almost pathetically grateful for the human’s presence, knowing Mirage would be unlikely to pursue his line of questioning with Brad in earshot. But then Hound called their guide over to ask where the fish went once they got past the dam and whether they would be able to see them spawning, and Brad left to join them, intent on answering Hound’s question.
Wheeljack quickly stepped back from the rail and followed him, not wanting to give Mirage another opportunity to exploit their relative privacy. He hadn’t been all that interested in the fish, anyway.
Trailbreaker smiled broadly at his approach. “Seen enough already?” he asked.
“Yeah,” he said. “It was really neat.”
“…further upriver,” Brad was saying. “You can take a look if you like, but be careful – spawning salmon attract a lot of predators. I’m not sure eagles or bears would pose much of a threat to you, but it never hurts to be careful.”
Hound looked delighted. “We might see eagles or bears there?” he asked.
“Sure,” Brad said, smiling. “And after the spawning ends and the salmon start dying off, all the scavengers come out to feed on them, too. You’ll see tons of ‘em – foxes, raccoons, coyotes – provided you can stand the smell.”
Hound’s face fell. “The salmon…they all die?”
Brad looked startled. “Well, yeah,” he replied. “These are Coho salmon; they undergo major physiological changes when their bodies adapt to living in salt water, so the stress of returning to fresh water and spawning is too much for them. I assumed you knew.”
“No,” Hound said, shaking his helm sadly. Mirage reached for him, laying a comforting hand on his shoulder-strut. Trailbreaker regarded his friend with obvious sympathy, looking saddened himself.
“I know it sounds tragic,” Brad said gently, “but in a way, I think the salmon are kind of noble. They sacrifice their lives for the sake of the next generation, ensuring the survival of the species. Only the strongest and healthiest fish make it to the spawning site, so the offspring they produce are the best of the best.”
Hound frowned thoughtfully. “That is kind of noble,” he mused. “It sounds like the sort of thing Optimus Prime would do, risk himself to save others.” He glanced at Mirage, who nodded, smiling at him encouragingly.
Trailbreaker glanced at Wheeljack, then back at Hound and Mirage. “Yeah,” he agreed.
“There are plenty of other species that depend on the salmon for their survival, too,” Brad continued, “The bears need to store up a lot of fat before they go into hibernation, and the salmon are so driven to spawn they’re easy to catch. Without them to feed on, the bears would have a much harder time finding enough food to survive through the winter.”
Hound nodded. “I hadn’t thought of that,” he said.
“And all the other animals – the eagles and foxes and coyotes and such – depend on them too,” Brad said. “When the salmon have a tough year and are less abundant, the species that rely on them as a food source go into a decline, dying of starvation when winter comes along. So it’s not just the next generation of salmon they’re giving up their lives for – it’s the entire ecosystem.”
“Wow,” Hound said. “So by dying, the salmon keep a lot of other animals alive.”
“You got it,” Brad said, nodding. “It’s the circle of life,” he added with a laugh. “But if you still want to see them spawning, I can give you directions to a good spot above the dam.”
“I think it would be wrong to disturb them,” Mirage said before Hound could offer a reply. “Better to leave them in peace.”
Hound glanced at Trailbreaker; they shared a long look. Finally, Trailbreaker nodded. “Let’s leave them to it,” he said, looking back at Brad. Hound nodded in agreement.
Brad smiled.”Well, that pretty much concludes the tour,” he said. “If you don’t mind giving me a lift back to the hatchery, I’ll grab that box of souvenirs Tom put together for you.”
Hound brightened noticeably at the reminder. “You bet,” he said, transforming. “Climb on in!”
“It’s been a real pleasure meeting you all,” Brad said as he complied. “I’d be glad to do it again sometime. Tell your friend to get in touch, and if any of you want to come back along with him, you’re more than welcome.”
“Thank you,” Mirage said. “You’ve been very kind.”
“It was really interesting,” Wheeljack volunteered. “I learned a lot.”
“Me too,” Brad replied with a grin as Hound started up his engine. The others transformed, preparing to follow. “I really hope you’ll visit us again.”
**
*You aren’t seriously thinking of putting that thing on yourself,* Mirage commed incredulously.
*Why not?* Hound protested. *They were a gift, and I really liked it there. Didn’t you?*
*Yes, but –*
*Where to now?* Trailbreaker asked loudly, interrupting Hound and Mirage’s discussion over what to do with the “Bonneville Fish Hatchery” bumper stickers Brad had given them. *Back to the Ark?*
*It’s too early for that,* Wheeljack said. *We’ve still got half a day left. We should make the most of it.*
*I agree,* Mirage chimed in, abandoning his debate with Hound. *Oh! I know – why don’t we go out on the river? We have those water skis Wheeljack installed; we could try them out again.*
*Sounds like fun,* Wheeljack said, suppressing a chuckle at Mirage’s not-so-impromptu suggestion. *I always wanted to test their limitations, find out just how maneuverable we can be on them.*
*In my case, probably not very,* Trailbreaker laughed. *But I’m willing to give it a try.*
*What about the salmon?* Hound asked. *We don’t want to disturb them.*
*We’ll go further upriver, well away from their spawning area,* Mirage said reassuringly. *When we were at the fish ladder, I saw some humans out on the water in the distance. I think if we’re far enough away, we won’t bother them.*
*Well, in that case…what are we waiting for?* Hound replied.
**
It was a perfect day to be out on the water.
The sun was bright and warm, the water calm, the sky a brilliant blue. Even the humans had sought to take advantage of the balmy weather, enjoying one last day out before winter arrived in earnest. In addition to the four Autobots, the broad river’s surface was dotted with boats, jet skis, and the colorful sails of windsurfers.
To Wheeljack’s delight, the hydrofoils functioned perfectly, proving just as effective as they’d been in the past. But this time, there was no sense of urgency, no frantic rush to reach their destination before the Decepticons claimed victory. This time, they were free to play.
Hound and Trailbreaker soon discovered they could reach speeds on the water they could never achieve on land; they raced along laughing, giddy with excitement. Mirage, no stranger to speed in his sleek, agile alt mode, was even faster still; caught up in their enthusiasm, he wove in and out between them, edging teasingly close and then zipping away again, only to return and repeat the pattern.
Wheeljack, for his part, had other ideas – ideas inspired by the humans on jet skis performing stunts along the shore. “Hey guys – watch this!” he called.
With a short burst of acceleration to gain the necessary momentum and put himself ahead of them, he executed a neat back flip. The others cheered, bobbing in the wake of his landing.
“Do it again!” Trailbreaker called.
“Do a front flip!” Hound suggested.
“I think I could do that,” Mirage said, pulling ahead of them. Revving his engine, he darted forward, performing an identical back flip, then reversing and doing a forward flip, coming down amid the enthusiastic cheers of his companions.
Oh, it’s on, Wheeljack thought eagerly. He wasn’t considered the best stunt driver of the Autobots for nothing – running a series of rapid calculations through his CPU, he shot forward. “Not bad Mirage,” he called back, “but can you do this?”
Confident of the accuracy of his equations, he initiated an elaborate spin-flip, twisting lengthwise 360 degrees in midair before finally coming down on his skis with a triumphant splash, setting off another round of cheers.
“Very impressive,” Mirage called.
“That was awesome!” Hound said.
“Do another one!” Trailbreaker urged.
From the distant shore Wheeljack’s audio receptors detected the faint sound of applause; the humans had noticed the four Autobots cavorting on the river. Wheeljack flashed his headlights and flicked his wipers at them in lieu of a bow, playfully revving his engine.
He’d need more speed for his next stunt. He circled around his friends, beeping his horn to get their attention as he tore past them, and once more launched himself into the air.
A roar of applause rose up from the humans on the bank as he performed another spin flip, gleefully flashing his headlights at the others while upside-down. Trailbreaker flashed his own in return.
He completed the first rotation and went for the second, basking in the adulation and the admiration of his peers. He took his attention off his gyros for a split nanoklik to make sure he was still within Trailbreaker’s visual range –
He landed on his roof with a fantastic splash, drenching the others in a veritable tidal wave as he went skidding upside-down through the water. He heard Hound’s roar of laughter and the dismayed cries of the humans on the shore as he began to sink, feeling the cold water closing over his tires as the river claimed him.
He transformed sheepishly as he sank to the bottom, shaking his helm. Need to work on that one, he thought ruefully, more amused than chagrined by his failure.
*You all right down there?* Trailbreaker commed teasingly over an open line as Wheeljack’s feet struck and sank into the silty riverbed. *I think the humans are getting a little worried.*
*Fine,* he commed back. *Must’ve miscalculated the rotation rate.*
*That was one spectacular wipeout,* Hound chimed in. *I think he did it on purpose.*
*What’s it like down there?* Mirage inquired curiously.
The water was deep, and impenetrably dark; at the moment Wheeljack couldn’t make out much of anything. He switched on his headlights, illuminating his immediate surroundings. *Dark,* he commed back. *Looks like there’s not much down here but weeds – oh! And fish,* he amended as a large school darted past him.
*Salmon?* Hound asked eagerly.
*You are not going down there,* Mirage informed him sternly. *Don’t even think about it.*
*I’m not sure what kind of fish they are,* Wheeljack commed back. *It’s kind of hard to see – yikes! Okay, that’s definitely a sturgeon. Wow, he’s even bigger than Herman! Hey, guys – if I’m not back in five kliks, this thing ate me.*
*I said no, Hound,* Mirage stated firmly over the comm. Wheeljack chuckled, envisioning Mirage endeavoring to restrain his lover in an effort to keep Hound from diving down to join him.
*I’m coming to get you, Wheeljack,* Trailbreaker commed over Hound’s indignant protests. *I’ve got your position; just sit tight. I’ll be there in an astrosecond.*
*Aw, no fair,* Hound complained. *How come he gets to go?*
Glancing up, Wheeljack saw the large, dark form of Trailbreaker descending toward him in root mode. A moment later, Trailbreaker’s headlights clicked on, surrounding him in a diffuse halo of light. He drifted down to land beside Wheeljack with a soft thump. *Hey,* he commed over a private line.
*Hey,* Wheeljack replied, meeting his optics. *You didn’t have to come, you know,* he said. *I could have made it out on my own.*
Trailbreaker grinned. *Yeah, I know,* he said. *But I knew it’d drive Hound crazy if I did, plus I wanted to see the fish – and you.*
*Me?* he asked.
*Yeah,* Trailbreaker said, his voice dropping to a softer register. He shifted closer, his chestplate scraping lightly against Wheeljack’s. *That was quite a show you put on up there.*
*Yeah?* he said, pleased by the compliment.
*Yeah,* Trailbreaker said huskily, running a hand down his arm. *You looked incredibly hot, showing off like that. My fans kicked in just watching you.* His optics flashed, all but devouring Wheeljack with his gaze.
The look of frank, unabashed lust Trailbreaker was giving him made Wheeljack’s core temperature spike, forcing him to override the activation of his own cooling fans as his circuits heated with desire. The sensation was a curious contrast to the icy cold of the water, making him shiver.
*I wanna to throw you down and ‘face you right here,* Trailbreaker commed heatedly, dipping his helm to mouth Wheeljack’s neck cables, his hands moving urgently over his frame.
A low moan escaped him as he arched into Trailbreaker’s touch, fighting back the urge to gasp through his intakes, knowing that doing so would only flood his systems with freezing-cold water. In that moment, as risky as it was, Wheeljack wanted nothing more than for Trailbreaker to make good on his claim to ravish him right then and there, to take him in the murky depths of the Colombia River, consequences be damned. Heedless of the risks – or perhaps because of them – Wheeljack reached for him, intent on touching Trailbreaker in return –
*You two all right down there?* Hound commed cheekily, his tone suggesting he knew exactly what they were up to. *You want us to come down and give you a hand?*
Trailbreaker pulled back, making an exasperated sound over the private line before responding over the shared frequency, *No thanks, we’re fine. We’ll be right out.*
*Don’t rush on our account,* Hound commed back teasingly.
*Oh, it’s all right,* Trailbreaker replied airily, grinning slyly at Wheeljack. *I was just enjoying looking at all the fish down here – it’s a real shame you’re not here to see them, Hound. Some of them are absolutely huge!*
*Don’t you dare, Hound,* Mirage’s voice broke in, and Trailbreaker roared with laughter.
Wheeljack chuckled, shaking his helm in amusement.
All in all, it had been a pretty good day.
*Part 19 is here*
Some additional notes on this chapter:
The Bonneville Fish Hatchery is a real place, located in Oregon next to Bonneville Dam on the Columbia River. I’ve never been there, so I had to rely on photos, videos, literature and the input of
kookaburra1701 (who’s visited it IRL) in order to depict it here. I apologize for any mistakes or oversights I may have made in my description. Brad Callahan is an OC, and exists solely in my imagination. Any resemblance to a real person, living or dead, is purely coincidental. Herman the Sturgeon, on the other hand, is real, and over 70 years old, but since this fic is set in the ‘80s, he’s only 50. Wheeljack’s suggestion of automated fish tagging is also based in reality – in the 80s, tagging was done by hand, it’s but now done with machines (mercifully sans explosions.) Finally, some of you may have noticed the shout-out to DR.SMOOV in this chapter; if you haven’t seen “S.O.S. Wheeljack” or “Wheeljack vs Cereal Commercial - Take 3” on YouTube, be sure and check them out – you won’t be sorry!
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(no subject)
Date: 2009-12-28 12:45 am (UTC)Wheeljack will have to come clean soon, though, especially after the way he reacted when Trailbreaker woke him up. Looking forward to reading that too!
(no subject)
Date: 2009-12-29 11:00 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-12-28 01:04 am (UTC)The only nit I have to pick is: when Wheeljack mentions that he could try to build an automated tagging machine, he retracts the offer because Hound makes a face. Later Mirage says, "'He means well, but he doesn’t always realize what he’s saying.'" But I did not find Hound actually saying anything about that. Am I just confused?
(no subject)
Date: 2009-12-28 02:50 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-12-28 09:01 am (UTC)Keep up the great work! This story is fabulous!
(no subject)
Date: 2009-12-29 10:55 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-12-29 11:15 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-12-29 11:58 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-12-30 02:42 am (UTC)It's possible the holidays are keeping people away or too busy to comment, too. It's just sort of frustrating when viewed in conjunction with all the drama over on the kink meme - coming home several days in a row to find 50+ new emails in your inbox and discovering that not one of them is a comment on the latest chapter is a real let-down - but given the tone of the kink meme lately, I'm pretty sure that's not my core audience anyway.
I'm very grateful to everyone who's still reading, and I give you my solemn promise that I will finish this monster, even if by the end I'm writing for an audience of one. I'm stubborn that way. ;)
(no subject)
Date: 2009-12-30 03:11 am (UTC)It is frustrating to not get feedback for something you spent so much time and effort on, but there must be a lot of readers who just don't comment. I don't think I commented on your Seekersmut fics, but I still enjoyed them (and felt kind of embarrassed because there seemed to be no delicate way of saying that I found sticky robot porn hot).
(no subject)
Date: 2009-12-30 03:34 am (UTC)Glad to hear you enjoyed the Seekersmut, because the first installment of the next part is next on my list to write. Mmmm...Megatron/Skywarp smut!