Work Text:
vortex stands at the corner of their shared berthroom, visor locked onto first aid’s back.
(‘shared’ was an understatement. vortex had personally moved himself in).
he hasn’t moved an inch from his position of staring unabashedly at the medic, almost like a predator stalking its prey, waiting to pounce and go in for the kill. vortex has a feeling first aid knows he’s here, behind and looming in a corner of shadows — but he’s just choosing to ignore him in favour of working on some medical documentation or whatever.
it was probably some other bot’s medical history, and not vortex’s.
that’s when an idea — bright and sharp in clarity — comes rushing to the forefront of his processor. it nearly makes him stumble in place; because, fuck, it was going to work so well.
vortex creeps up behind first aid, really trying his best to keep his pedesteps as silent as possible. but following his first assumption of first aid deliberately ignoring him — he has no doubt the medic already knows what he’s planning to some degree.
first aid is perceptive, of course, because any good medic has to be. it takes a little of the fun away, but not enough to completely discourage the combaticon.
first aid’s servo twitches above his datapad, hovering there, right before vortex’s claws grasp the forearms of his chair and spins him around to face him.
“boo,” vortex grins, though his battle mask is still equipped. he thunks his helm against first aid’s.
unfazed as ever, first aid dips his head down to meet vortex’s again, before he pulls away and gives him a once-over. “it’s hard not to notice when you’re being ogled at.”
okay, maybe the idea didn’t work, but he had already been itching for attention. “i was waiting,” he huffs.
first aid takes on that unimpressed, bored tone of his when the both of them are alone sometimes. the ‘copter had asked one cycle on why, despite first aid never shying away from feelings or even being affectionate with his friends — and the answer was, “because you need to earn it.”.
and oh, did that rile him up.
“for what?” first aid scoots his chair back and gestures to the little pile of datapads and other useless slag vortex could care less about. “you know i usually log records for my shifts at the end of the day.”
“yeah, i know,” vortex grumbles out. a servo reaches up to remove his battle mask, and he chucks away somewhere to really ‘show’ he’s being sulky and in need of attention. or he’ll collapse and die, for sure. “but it’s aaaalways the same. you’re so boring, aid.”
“i’m boring?” the question from the medic is rhetorical, but vortex nods anyway. “this is work. i need to do it, and i can’t put it off. can’t you be patient for a little while?”
vortex groans and shakes the chair. “i’ve been so patient already. i’ve been waiting for over a joor. c’mon.”
“clearly not patient enough,” first aid retorts, picking up one of the datapads and — vortex swears — purposefully scrolling through it even if he can’t spin back around to face his desk because of his grip on the chair. “give me another joor, and i’m all yours.”
today, whether it be a blessing or a curse, vortex’s neediness outwins his horniness.
“noo, aid,” he all but whines, slinking down to his pedes in a dramatic fashion and resting his chin on the medic’s thigh. vortex peers up at him with the best puppy-dog optics a visor can display. “i don’t wanna wait anymoree.”
first aid tilts his helm at him, and it should be infuriating in any other circumstance. if it were from any other bot. “why not? you’ve been good at waiting for me before.”
vortex clenches his teeth, and it makes a horrible grating noise that doesn’t seem to affect the medic in the slightest. “you’re doing this slag on purpose.”
“and what makes you think that?”
arrgghhh.
one of the combaticon’s servos trails up first aid’s leg from his calf, coming to rest on his thigh near his face. he digs his talons into the metal there, wishing they were either long enough or the plating was loose enough for him to reach the softness of first aid’s protoform.
“vortex,” first aid scolds. he halts his movements, but only briefly.
“‘cause you’re making me work for it,” vortex says eventually, voice hushed due to the growing embarrassment curling around his spark.
“work for what?”
the ‘copter refrains from peeling open his thigh plating to nick the soft layer of his protoform in retaliation, due to the medic forcing him to admit something so mortifying to say aloud.
“work for your affection,” he answers in a rush; not letting the weight of his sentence settle in for long, instead resigning to drawing random shapes and swirls on first aid’s thigh in hopes of a distraction.
“a good guess,” there’s condescending amusement colouring first aid’s tone, and he tries his best not to squirm from the heat pooling in his chassis. “it’s not that deep, really.”
vortex jerks his head up, pouting. “yeah, right.”
an unoccupied servo from first aid lifts itself up to brush against the combaticon’s helm in a ghost of a pet, and this time he’s really struggling not to give in. he doesn’t lean into the touch even though every atom in his body is screaming at him to. “i’m serious. i just like your reactions.”
“my–” vortex’s visor flashes red in surprise. “huh?”
first aid is smiling at him in a way that tells he knows something he doesn’t, even from behind the mask. he doesn’t even dignify vortex with a response either. now that vortex isn’t keeping him still on the chair, he resumes his stupid boring lengthy documentation by continuing where he left off from the datapad.
“hey, wait,” the ‘copter calls out before his processor catches up with him, and for once, it’s fucking blank — like it’s lagging and can’t reboot. a few seconds lapse in silence between them as he just stares dumbly up at first aid. the latter’s helm is only inclined slightly, just barely, to the side to indicate he’s listening, visor not even moving away from the screen of the datapad. “what do you mean?”
first aid stays silent for a klik or two — whether or not he’s still reading or if he’s just purposely delaying his answer to mess with vortex, he isn’t sure — until he lowers the datapad again. “it means exactly what i said. i didn’t sugarcoat anything.”
“no, no,” vortex begins. subconsciously, his glossa runs along his serrated dentae in thought, and it’s visible with his torn-off dermas and the absence of his battle mask. “i get that. but my reactions? what’s so appealing?”
“you have a reputation,” first aid’s servo pushes his helm down so that his chin rests on his thigh again. “of being this… scary, mean, bot. everyone — even my team — were all scared of you.”
that red-and-white servo moves to cup the side of vortex’s face, not quite his cheek due to the angle; a touch so gentle it could be considered reverent. “you are wild, uncontrollable, and even your gestalt struggles with you sometimes, don’t they?”
vortex shifts uneasily from his place by first aid’s pedes, but he doesn’t squirm away from his touch nor his relative position. in a revelation that’s quite shocking — he doesn’t even know where to put his servos yet, resigned to letting them rest as balled-up fists by his knees. “i… guess. what does this have to do with anything…?”
“for someone so unruly, chaotic, and of course, dangerous…” first aid finally takes his optics off of the datapad, and stares down at vortex with a fond gaze. “you have the behaviour of a cyber-puppy.”
vortex goes still.
“i was a little worried at first in the beginning,” the medic continues, either oblivious to vortex’s emotional state or choosing to ignore it. “that you’d get bored of me. i’m just a medic, a pacifist, after all. we’re polar opposites.”
his jaw tenses. “that’s exactly why i was drawn to ya, aid.” his intake lets out a huff, and he drags exposed dentae across first aid’s knee. the medic doesn’t spare him a reaction. “you’re not as innocent as you look, anyway.”
first aid hums. “and only you could notice it. after you kidnapped me, i thought i was going to be tortured for information. because that’s what you were known for, right?”
right.
he can still taste the mineral-rich, medical-grade energon on his glossa from that day. the feeling of biting into soft protoform, at the junction between neck and shoulder. the sensation of blood oozing out from inflicted wounds and dripping into his maw — having his fill after being starved for so long, to reach an euphoric high he’d been chasing for breems.
first aid knocks a knuckle against vortex’s helm. “don’t go daydreaming in wonderland while i’m speaking.”
vortex’s optics shutter lazily at first aid, appearing in the manner of his visor dimming momentarily. “i’m listening.”
“i really do like your reactions. i wasn’t lying about that,” first aid removes his battle mask and sets it aside. thankfully, the datapad’s also been left on the table — which means his attention is fully on him, and only him. “and that’s the thing. you always listen. you love like it’s a hunger. like you’ve gone mad. it’s so obsessive it’s sometimes suffocating, but…”
first aid pats his thigh, twice. vortex tilts his helm up at him, studying his features and expression. he glances back down at the servo that had just been petting him earlier. “up.”
in an flash, vortex is on his pedes, and he all but leaps into first aid’s lap — straddling him and looping his arms around the medic’s neck.
when first aid speaks, it’s quiet, even with the charged silence between them. his face is nestled to vortex’s side, so close that his cheek could brush against the ‘copter’s teeth and leave behind a trail alight with sensual feedback; their positions mimicking a hug.
“maybe you’re partially right about me,” first aid whispers, servos settling around vortex’s waist.
his engines give a low rumble. “i’m always right, aidy.”
“i’ve never felt so alive since i met you.”
to others, maybe, it could be considered a compliment. a vulnerable divulgence revealed in the heat of the moment. something not meant for another’s ears and eyes.
but this? this?
it’s a confession.
and if you ask him, this is as good as it gets.
vortex’s spark burns. his spark burns so fiercely it hurts. “really?”
first aid nods, and although he can’t see it, he can feel it. “really. you make me feel special, too. i see sides to you that you’d never show to anyone else, not even your gestaltmates. they’re for my optics only. and in that sense, i technically own you, don’t i?”
a thrill of arousal shoots up his spine. his spark feels so full it could burst into aggressive fireworks, burning the rest of his body along with it. it’d be liberating; some kind of transcendental experience. maybe vortex isn’t comfortable enough to admit it verbally, but he’d really do anything first aid wanted.
one night, after his jealousy streak had calmed down a little — first aid finally sat him down to talk about his past, his previous relationships. why that was important to say in the first place, vortex didn’t know and didn’t give a fuck, but clearly, it meant something to first aid. so he listened, trying not to lash out and bite first aid’s servos that he’d been playing with even if there was no active threat.
if there was one thing he could conclude from that talk — it was the fact that vortex didn’t ‘love’ like anyone else. he had thought that love was supposed to be terrifying, all-devouring, mesmerising. why else would pathetic mechs cry their spark out and pour it all into poetry?
maybe first aid needed something different. maybe it all felt too mundane, and he needed a mech to push him to his limits in a back-and-forth power struggle. and most certainly, he wasn’t as innocent as he came across to others — an observation vortex could pinpoint with ease.
it excited him, of course. pretty little autobot who was hiding his true self under medicine and pacifism. someone he could play with, toy with; find out what made him tick and snap, shed his layers of amicability and ethicality. only, he hadn’t counted for some kind of sick obsession from deep within him to rear its fangs at the medic — and all of a sudden, he had found himself maiming more decepticons than autobots, sometimes.
“your love language is acts of service,” first aid told him once, after they had fooled around in the berthroom. “but all you know how to do is kill.”
and true enough.
but wasn’t it strange? for a medic of all bots to feel enamoured that there was a mech stalking him — unafraid to pile up hollowed-out corpses, to spit their wired viscera back out as a warning; for someone that said mech just couldn’t get enough of.
vortex never would have imagined this: holding onto a little ambulance, clingy and needy, as said ambulance starts whispering seeds of temptation right into his audials like some kind of deadly sin, his processor soaking it up like a sponge. because, fuck, does he want it.
he wants it, and he is never letting go.
“aiid…” vortex whines, pressing himself closer to the medic’s frame as if he wanted to melt into it.
“don’t i?” first aid repeats, still quiet but firm this time. his servos squeeze vortex’s waist, rendering a shudder to wrack through his frame. his rotors twitch from the stimuli, desperately wanting to spin from exhilaration.
and his spark screams, “yes!”
“yes. i’m yours. all for you, aid,” vortex purrs, body heating up and nearly vibrating. “just as much as you are mine.”
jagged dentae graze the important tubing covering sensitive wires around first aid’s throat. he doesn’t sink his teeth in, not yet.
“good mech,” first aid coos, kissing the side of his helm and running a hand up and down his spinal strut.
and, ah, does it do wonders at rendering the beast into a boneless, floppy mess.
just for a moment, that primordial urge to bite and to claim lowers its head and retreats back inside, leaving vortex a little breathless, even if cybertronians didn’t require air to breathe.
he offlines his optics as his visor dims, reduced to practically dead weight on the medic’s lap. his processor is a mess — fuzzy and unable to piece coherent strings of code together. he feels like he’s floating; not quite like the high of tearing into soft metal and feeling energon flow as rivulets down his throat, nor like the mania he experiences from cleaving a blade into another bot’s spark, and watching as the life drains from their optics. no, it was something calmer, but no less sweeter and overwhelming as a whole.
it’s… comforting, almost. like a blanket being draped onto his frame and enveloping him with its fluffiness. a feeling he wouldn’t mind staying forever, if it was with first aid.
“do you see why i like your reactions now?” first aid laughs softly near his audials.
“s’not fair,” vortex slurs, accidentally bumping his helm against first aid’s in a daze. “you planned this from the start.”
“it’s not good to accuse someone without evidence,” first aid chastises, like he’s a pet in need of reprimanding.
“i–” a tremor runs through the combaticon’s body, from his rotors on his upper back all the way down to his pedes. “i didn’t even know i liked you talking like that.”
the medic’s servo angles his helm in a way so that it nestles between his neck and shoulder; slow and gentle. “me neither. i just thought now was the perfect time to test it out. see how pliant you’d get.”
with a noise of protest (and to hide his deepening blush — blush, out of all slag), vortex buries his head in deeper. “i’m gonna get back at you for this.”
“can’t wait,” first aid says, before he’s back to combing through his mess of datapads to search for one of them with his right servo. his left is still clutching vortex’s waist.
no!
there’s little bubbles of irritation fizzing to life in the ‘copter’s very haywire emotional circuits. his teeth ache, and he trails his claws down to grip onto first aid’s hips. he really, really, refrains from grabbing that fucking datapad (and the others) and throwing them across the room. he refrains from standing up and hauling first aid onto his shoulder so he can throw him on the berth to devour. he refrains from sinking his fangs into first aid’s wrist so he can siphon his blood out, have his fill. he refrains from slashing the medic’s chassis with a rotor blade to feel around for his spark, to reach in and nick his fuel pump to feast on.
first aid doesn’t flinch or move away, but he does smile knowingly — no doubt absolutely aware of the amount of control he has over the combaticon. “be good. just for awhile longer.”
fragging. fine!
he tries to be patient for a few kliks. maybe. kind of. but not once has first aid looked at him since telling him to wait; so really, whatever happening next wasn’t his fault.
vortex shifts on his lap, in a way so his rotor blades could poke and prod first aid’s side, growling out, “your ‘awhile longer’ is up.”
first aid’s optics dart to the side, probably checking his chronometer. he sighs. “alright, fine. only because it’s late.”
and just because he’s petty — vortex reaches over to swipe the datapad from first aid’s servos, flinging it onto the table and sweeping everything else close to the other edge like some kind of defiant brat.
“vortex!”
said mech sticks his tongue out, but it’s a little bit disturbing, only because of his lack of lips. it’s endearing to the medic nonetheless. “your wife’s right here for you to touch and admire. and you still wanna choose your work?”
dragging a hand down his faceplate, first aid covers one of his optics so he doesn’t have to look at the awful mess. “that’s not it at all. and really? ‘wife’?”
“why not?” he retorts, trying to press and push down all of his weight onto the medic just to be a nuisance. “the little humans on the show you watch use it all the time. term of endearment and all that slag.”
“it’s… their version of conjunx endura, actually.”
the servo vortex had been gesturing wildly with falters. to him, it feels right. it has a nice ring to it, even, despite them not being married in human terms, or conjunxes.
briefly, he wonders, if they’d ever be conjunx endurae. he won’t deny first aid’s love for him, but would it be enough to drown out everything else?
first aid is his. his ; for him to chase and hunt and feel him unravel underneath his energon-soaked claws. his obsession for the medic towers above all, dwarfs anything he has ever felt before — and, frag, maybe it isn’t love, per se, but it’s the closest he’d ever get to that — and engulfs everything else in its path.
nothing could ever come close.
it’s an awfully persistent need; one that consumes his innards so much it manifests as aching hunger, threatening to rip him apart the more he neglects to feed it. first aid was right about him after all.
but what if — what if, there’d be a time where he’d be too much for first aid?
vortex takes that leap of faith, ready to drown and be pulled asunder.
“we could be that. someday.”
“conjunxes?”
vortex swallows, though his intake is dry. “yeah.”
a soft look overtakes first aid’s features, with a smile so full of adoration to match. his frame, though a bit colder than the ‘copter’s own, is still warm enough to nuzzle into. “and here i thought you’d never ask.”
after registering his reply for a moment, vortex grins, sharp and wide and full of promise. a claw runs down a red chassis, tracing every groove and even raking its sharp tips across the medic’s vents. first aid’s intake hitches.
slag. who was he kidding?
he’s right where he wants to be.