Brain's still full of empty
But I'm trying to nudge Jazz-muse back online by poking incomplete stuff. This particular fic was started some months ago and was intended for a challenge, but it just kepit going. =.= It's for a pairing I absolutely adore and, well, never really see. Wanted it to be smuttier, but my mind's not been in the smut lately. (not even sure if it deserves the smut tag)
Title Fingerprint (tentative)
'Verse Dragons (Pre-Ark launch)
Pairings, Characters Hound/Bluestreak, Mirage, Sunstreaker, brief appearances by Prowl and Jazz
Warnings None
Summary The tide of the war slowly changes and as it does friends must part ways. Before that happens can two friends become more?
Author's Note This is part of my Dragon-verse AU. It actually takes place after the events of Three Small Words. Hopefully when I finish That Damned Bluestreak Fic I won't retcon anything here... ^^;
Hound watched as Bluestreak sorted through his rather meager personal belongings. The grey mech seemed oblivious to Hound's attention. His dull blue optics turned from one item to another, the grey hands picking up the trinkets one at a time and handling them with the sadness of one contemplating their worth. The grey doorwings twitched up and down, a gesture of regret. But what did Blue have to regret? Hound didn't know. He knew his own regrets, he knew them every time he looked upon the fine form of the gunner. He knew the regret of never having taken the chance to grow as close as he would have liked with Bluestreak. He knew the regret of never having the opportunity to breath in more than whiffs of his scent. Never having the chance to play his fingers over the chevron on his forehead, or knowing the grain of paint on his doorwings.
Hound sighed, turning to finish his own packing. He fingered the trophy that he'd won shortly before the war for a tracking competition held in Kaon. It went into subspace, a souvenir of a seemingly forgotten time in this era of war and strife. He simply didn't have the desire to finish his packing. He could have stood there for so many breem just watching the precise movements of the gunner, watching as he knocked over a tech chess set they'd been playing. It amazed him that the mech that had so much ability with a gun, could be so clumsy with his hands. Bluestreak laughed it off as a different targeting system than the one he used for his rifle. They had both spent a long recharge cycle comparing their civilian and base programming to the new military protocols they had installed. That had been a good time for Hound.
They would both be departing in a megacycle. Prowl was taking the gunner with him to a new outpost in Straxus while Hound would depart with Ultra Magnus' unit to Helios. That time, so far away, so close, might very well be the last time he'd see the gunner.
He worried for Bluestreak.
The grey mech had turned almost into a berserker on the battlefield; his optics would burn with a ferocity not normally seen in the gunner. When his rifle ran low on energon and his missiles had been used up, he would charge out onto the field and lash out at any Decepticon in his way. He always claimed that he was simply seeking a replacement for his own weapon, but Hound knew better, he had seen that rage on the gunner's face. It was almost like he'd begun imitating the twins, having spent too much time in their company.
It frightened Hound.
He hated seeing his friend coming back to basecamp with far more damage than his position could account for. Apparently the twins thought so, too. Hound had stopped them once from slamming the gunner around after the last time Bluestreak had spent a megacycle in the medbay due to his whirlwind fury. They had succinctly told Hound to 'frag off' and that if 'Blue' was going to be stupid enough to get slagged on the battlefield when by all rights he shouldn't have, then he had it coming.'
Sideswipe and Sunstreaker. A veritable glitch in everyone's processors. They were both feared and respected. Everyone had been saved by them at least once. Everyone had been beaten by them, at least once. Yet it seemed that after an initial mauling (no doubt some crazy initiation rite they'd concocted) if you left them alone, they would leave you alone. Any further brawls would be a result of their having been antagonized to the point of fury.
Hound left them alone, for the most part.
Oh sure, he would laugh and joke with Sideswipe and he admired Sunstreaker's eerie perfection (from afar), but he didn't seek out their company. He honestly thought any who did might have a malfunction, like Mirage, or that junior medic... First Response? Ah, yes, First Aid. Those two further bemused him by seeking out Sunstreaker of the two Toughlines.
These thoughts carried him back to Bluestreak, as one of those who sought out the twins' attention on a much more intimate basis. He knew that some of Bluestreak's recharge cycles were spent in their berth, indeed he'd heard the gunner request it of Sideswipe once.
The look Sideswipe had given the gunner in response had been like a wrench in Hound's gears. It was the look given to one that meant the world to the twin; a look often reserved for Sunstreaker, and received by no other.
That look had been the ultimate variable in Hound’s decision not to mention his attraction to Bluestreak.
The twins extended an unusual tarp over the gunner, giving him the support off the battlefield that Bluestreak gave them on the battlefield. Quite likely that lent to their unusual closeness, as Bluestreak’s talkative mannerisms had always seemed to annoy both of the twins (one to a lesser degree than the other). Hound could only imagine what ‘Prowl’s Bodyguards', the two that followed him through battle and ensured no Con ever touched him, would do if they discovered the tracker messing around with their berthtoy (Hound couldn’t think of them as lovers, it struck his spark to do so).
“Is there something wrong, Hound? Have I got something on my face, or is something hanging off my doorwings, again?”
Bluestreak’s voice drew Hound from his thoughts with a start, making the scout realize that he had been standing there staring at mech for quite some time. Hound quickly came up with a response, noticing the dimness of the gunner’s optics, and the low height of the doorwings.
"I was wondering if you'd like a bit of a boost?”
Bluestreak smiled in appreciation. “Oh, were you feeling a little low? I know sometimes I just stare at things when I'm feeling low and don't even realize it till someone says something like I did to you just now, but I would really appreciate a boost, if you don't mind picking one up for me while you're out getting one for yourself. Thank you.”
“Certainly Bluestreak.”
“Oh, Hound?” A pause as the gunner ascertained he had the green mech's attention. “I'm sorry to be a bother, but do you think you could also see if they have any sulfur additives, I know we were low, but...” The doorwings shrugged in a helpless gesture.
“I'm not sure they'll have it. You know how some of the minibots like to hoard.” Hound smiled to reassure that saddened face. “But if I see any, I’ll put it in.”
The smile he received was well worth it. The smile he would receive when he brought back the energon with the sulfur additive would be a gift from Primus. He wasn’t terribly worried about where he would pull it from. He actually had a supply of it in his subspace, hoarded for the times he desired a little more to his energon.
He made his way down the hallways and toward the dispenser alcove that connected to the lounge. It permitted anyone to swing by for a pick-me-up without forcing them to go in and be sociable. Hound peeked into the lounge, curious as to its unusual silence. Empty. Then again, they were completely clearing the base out. The Decepticons were mobilizing, and they didn't have the mechpower to halt their advance.
Optimus Prime had called for an evacuation; a retreat. Hound was no strategist, but he knew that did not bode well for the tide of the war.
Perhaps any other commander would have argued Prime's order, perhaps the two that were stationed here did. However once the decision had been made, neither Ultra Magnus nor Prowl would refute their Prime's command. There was nothing left in Altihex, even the civilian tag-a-longs had long since died or moved on.
Hound paused as his sensors detected the unmistakable trace scents of grime mixed with burning ozone. “Just got back from patrol?” he said to nothing in particular as he filled first one cube then a second.
“About to go and finish my packing. Jazz wanted a few words with me before I joined with Magnus’ team. That’s where you’re going, too, right?” The bodiless voice was accompanied by a touch on Hound’s shoulder, and the cube taken from the grey hand.
Hound tapped a flavoring of sulfur into the remaining cube before filling a cube of his own. “Yeah, I am.”
A quarter of the energon vanished into an invisible mouth.
“Mirage… why are you still invisible?”
The cube paused in its travel back to the spy’s lips. “I’m filthy. Why are you hoarding energon?” The cube halted again. “Bluestreak?” Mirage ventured to guess.
“We both needed a boost. Packing is tiring.”
Silence as that statement was contemplated, the energon sloshing around the edges of the cube as it waved thoughtfully through the air. Finally the cube was lifted, and downed the rest of the way. “Lucky mech, you! Finally worked up the volts?”
Hound tossed a tight-lipped frown in the general direction of Mirage’s scent. “No, Mirage.” He forced a laugh. “We’re both just low. I never knew your thoughts would stoop so low, Raj.”
“Considering my best friend’s been fawning over his roommate since he came here, can you really blame me for cheering him on?”
Hound sighed. “There’s nothing to cheer on. I’m no competition to either of the twins, I-“
“Primus, Hound.” Mirage faded into sight, grimey arms crossing over an acid eaten chest. The former Towers noble leveled a glare at the tracker. “Don’t tell me that’s been stopping you this whole time?” Mirage took a step forward, energon forgotten in his other hand as he poked a finger into Hound's chest. “They’re not interested in Blue like that. If you had ever asked him I’m sure he would have told you.”
“’Raj! There you are! Slaggit where have you been hiding?” As if thinking about him had been enough to draw him out, Sunstreaker strode between the two mechs, imposing himself in front of Hound without even touching the tracker. The golden mech swept his gaze down the blue Slimwheel’s frame. “You are fragging filthy.” The blue optics suddenly turned to focus on Hound. “What the pit are you doing here?” They narrowed slightly. “Aren’t you supposed to be packing?”
“Ah, Sunstreaker, I was just… discussing Bluestreak-”
The narrowed optics turned to veritable slits and Sunstreaker latched onto that one name, cutting the tracker off. “Bluestreak?” One menacing step and the warrior towered over Hound, even though they both stood about the same height. “What about Bluestreak?”
“…and the transfer. We’ve been here so long, and it’s going to be… we’ll be missing everyone… you know?” Easy-going Hound didn’t normally have such a hard time with words, though he wasn’t as adept with them as some mechs, but if anyone could put a glitch in someone’s processor, it was Sunstreaker.
The horned visage turned to give the tracker a slit-eyed, sour look. He took another step toward the tracker, practically stepping on his toe joints. Hound stood stiffly in his place, resisting the urge to take that oh-so-tempting step away from the warrior.
A black hand suddenly seized Sunstreaker’s shoulder, and spun the golden bot around. Hound caught a brief glimpse of a grin beneath a blue visor, before the daring mech disappeared behind Sunstreaker’s frame.
“Sunny, man! I’m so glad yer coming with us!” Jazz danced out of Sunstreaker’s arm reach, laughing as the warrior grabbed for him.
Prowl calmly walked between the golden and the green mechs, his doorwings twitching as he retrieved a cube for himself. He walked back again, passing between the two mechs without so much of a glance until he stopped and turned his head.
“Are not you three supposed to be packing for departure?” he said simply before he resumed his interrupted walk toward the medical center.
Jazz grinned at the three mechs, before he realized that Prowl only had one cube in hand. “Slagger, wouldn’t it occur to ya t’ grab me a cube too!”
“Your hands are not malfunctioning, Jazz,” Prowl called back. “and my time is limited.”
Jazz shook his head, whipping over to the dispenser for a cube. He paused by the three mechs, ever-present grin fading slightly. “Ain’t anythin’ wrong is there?” Prowl’s executive officer focused his gaze on the golden Toughline.
“Not a thing, sir.”
“Good, now don’t be loiterin’ in the halls.” Jazz waved and ran after Prowl, calling the commander’s name.
"C'mon, Raj. You’re filthy.” Sunstreaker turned on his heels, completely ignoring the mech he’d just been picking a fight with. He took the spy by the arm, and guided Mirage away from Hound.
Hound watched the pair, oh Primus, since when had those two been together? Though it made sense if he thought about it. He shook himself and carried the two cubes in his hand back to his quarters.
Bluestreak wasn't with Sunstreaker at least. Could Sideswipe also really not be interested in the gunner? With the way he'd looked at Bluestreak? That particular, bright-eyed, wide-lensed look? What was between the three of them (Mirage had certainly not seemed interested in the gunner, always backing Hound's pursuit of Bluestreak)?
He entered the room, surprised to see Bluestreak sitting on the edge of his berth, staring at nothing in particular. A soft query with the gunner's name and the mech jumped.
“Oh, Hound!” Relief softened the light of his optics. “That took longer than I thought it would. Was there a line at the dispensers? Or did you have to hunt down some sulphur for me, you know I never meant for you to go to that much effort for me, or anything. I probably should have gotten up to get some myself. I was just feeling lazy, even though Prowl says that laziness is never an excuse, wow must be great that you're not lazy, huh Hound?”
Hound handed Bluestreak the cube and quietly listened as the gunner prattled on. He regretted his abrupt decision that had left the gunner here by himself for so long. Yet as Bluestreak took that first mouthful of sulphur-hinted energon, Hound couldn't help but think it worth what must have been acute silence for the surprised smile Bluestreak had given him. The blue optics had lit with such delight that Hound couldn't help but to smile back. Another gulp and Bluestreak picked up where he'd left off as though there hadn't been a pause.
Rather than stare at the grey mech, Hound turned to his belongings. Picking them up and fingering them, only to lay them on the berth, unsure which he would take and which he would leave. He let Bluestreak's voice envelope his audio sensors, and he savored every bit of Bluestreak's scent that his sensors picked up.
And he weighed the possibility of ruining this treasured friendship for a few cycles of pleasure versus leaving things as they were. Even if the twins didn't consider him their... lover... Hound couldn't help but feel trepidation at considering what Bluestreak did mean to them.
He looked up, suddenly aware that Bluestreak had stopped talking. He hadn't meant to ignore the gunner like that and opened his mouth to apologize. Bluestreak beat him to it.
“You know, just before you came back, I got the weirdest call from Sunny, asking what we'd been doing. You and me.” The blue optics almost seemed to sear into Hound's own. “Why would he ask that?”
Never one to lie, Hound wasn't sure he wanted to admit exactly what Sunstreaker had stumbled upon. “Mirage and I were just discussing the people we were going to be separated from, and you came up because we'll both be separated from you.” That danced around the actual truth enough to suit Hound.
Bluestreak tilted his head, taking another swig from his cube. His optics narrowed as he regarded Hound. “No... Sunny wouldn't have been suspicious over something like that.” His doorwings dropped, crestfallen. “He specifically made it sound like there was something going on between us.”
Hound waited for the inevitable, fervent denial that there wasn't anything going on between the two of them, but Bluestreak didn't continue. He sat on his berth, rigidly, twitching doorwings the only thing that betrayed his tense nervousness (excitement, even?). Hound didn't know what to say. How would Bluestreak feel if Hound said that he hadn't wanted to say anything all this time? Would he understand how Hound treasured their friendship? Valued their quiet moments together, even filled with Bluestreak's babble?
Would Bluestreak, so adept at reading into things, take it to mean that Hound didn't think him worth the time or effort of giving them a chance.
Hound sat there in silence, uncertain what he could say; deny his interest, or admit his cowardliness.
Bluestreak looked away, mouth twisting with inner turmoil. “I mean, I know I'm not the best looking mech around, and I know Sunny can be pretty stupid about dealing with people. But he wouldn't get all worked up over nothing.” The doorwings twitched. “And I wouldn't... Wouldn't mind if there was something going on between us, I mean. I know that I owe you a lot for what you've put up with on-”
That moved Hound. He did something he'd never done before. He interrupted Bluestreak. “Stop!” Stunned blue optics looked at him in surprise. “Just stop. The last thing I want is for you to feel obligated to do anything for me. I'm your friend above all else, I'm supposed to give you a shoulder to lean on when you need it. I know you'd do the same for me...”
“Then, why haven't you said anything all this time? We've been here for.. .well for a long time, and you haven't said a word.”
It was Hound's turn to look away. “Because I thought you were with Sunstreaker and Sideswipe.”
Bluestreak straightened, stiffened as he stared at Hound. Suddenly, unaccountably, he started laughing. Hound rebooted his optical software, unsure whether what he saw was real. It wasn't the nervous laugh of someone hiding behind a smile, or the tight smile that hid away pain. It was real; palpable. It pulled Hound to the grey gunner as surely as a magnet.
Never.
Hound had never seen Bluestreak so genuinely happy, or maybe so rarely had he seen it, so fleeting, he'd never recognized it for what it was.
Bluestreak grabbed the hand that Hound hadn't even realized he'd extended toward the laughing face, pulling the tracker down with him. “Sunny and Sides don't like me like that. Sunny hates my colors, and Sides says he gets enough out of one Enforcer to last him an entire vorn.”
“Then why do you ask to stay a recharge cycle with them?”
Bluestreak's smile vanished and he dipped his head, chestplate lifting to shield his face in a programmed response to his unease. “Because they bring me online when I have my recharge terrors.” His dim optics flashed and he finished off the energon in his cube.
Hound tilted his head, gripping the hand Bluestreak still held. “I can do that, too, Blue, why...”
Bluestreak's face partially disappeared within the shell of his chestplate. “Because I never wanted to bother you with it. You put up with enough from me.”
Hound huffed, his engine revving briefly in objection. He slid his hand over Bluestreak's chevron, tugging the gunner's head up so he could look into the embarrassed blue optics. “Blue, you don't bother me. It's never bothered me.”
The chestplate lowered, and Bluestreak offered a small grin. “It just never occurred to me that you would want to be anything more than friends. I mean, I really haven't been looking, not since... well not since I joined the Autobots. I haven't really... you know... interfaced with anyone since... since I came to the base.” He looked everywhere but at Hound, his doorwings flicking with nervousness. “Sides has kissed me, but only 'cause he doesn't like to tell me 'shut up' not that I'd mind if he did that cause I know I talk too much and everyone's wanted to tell me to shut up on more than one occasion. Really, I think they just consider me like a brother or something, though I can only guess, cause I don't know what it's like to have a brother. Though Sunny's called me that sometimes, and Sides never disagreed. But I know that Sunny would much rather have Mirage in his berth than me and Sides... well, if Sides has anyone, I sure don't know about it, cause I never see them in the twins' quarters, not that I always see Mirage when he's there, did you know that Mirage likes to recharge with his cloak on? I don't see how he gets much of a rest when he's got it on, though, it seems like it would be draining on his reserves. And I'm talking too much again...” Bluestreak chuckled, rubbing his thigh with one hand as the other lay clenched beside him.
“You know I don't mind, Blue. Blue...” Hound paused, not sure he wanted to know the answer to the question that sparked his processor. “I don't want you to feel like I'm forcing an answer out of you. You can think about it while you're gone, and when we see each othe-mmph!”
Blue abruptly caught Hound's lips in a kiss, no passion, no lust; a test, feeling out for emotions, a response, from himself, from Hound.. “I don't need to think about it, Hound, I don't want to think about it.” He dropped his chevroned forehead to Hound's shoulder. “If I try to think about it, it'll get drowned out by... by everything else, and I don't want you to be drowned out by that. I'm sick of thinking about things, I'm tired of being alone, and I don't want to wait until I come back, because... because there's a chance that-”
Hound didn't want to hear Bluestreak continue down that circuit. For the second time in a groon Hound interrupted Bluestreak, covering the gunner's mouth with his own. He knew what Bluestreak was going to say, and he didn't want to think it, he didn't want Bluestreak to say it. It was simply too terrible, too real, too possible to have it said out loud.
'There's a chance that I may not come back.'
Hound didn't want to think about that. He deepened the kiss, his hands lightly stroking down the grey mech's torso plating. Feeling the metal give under his fingers. Delighting in the simple taste of Bluestreak. Hints of energon flavored the grey lips; lips that returned Hound's attentions with equal fervor, with desperation. Bluestreak dug his hands into the winch mounted on Hound's front fender, the agile digits playing over the machinery as lovingly as they did the weapon they were so familiar with.
Hound wrenched his head away, gasping for cooling air as Bluestreak continued his explorations of the tracker's grill. The gunner instead kissed the gaping jaw hinge, his lips trailing down to the cheekguard, one hand reaching up to cup a square audio receiver. Hound moaned at the whining feedback he received from the hand.
Bluestreak's scent enveloped him surer than his words ever had. Hound's systems hummed in pleasure, the tracker leaning forward to take in more of the grey mech's intoxicating smell, to move his hands over the grey chestplate, the doorwings a tempting siren that he resisted for the time being. His hands squealed over the smooth finish of Bluestreak's chestplate, circling over the running lights just above the grey fender.
Bluestreak shuddered, his doorwings shaking enticingly as he squirmed in Hound's arms.
“All I want is for you to be sure that this is what you want. From me.” Hound nuzzled close to the mag plates on Bluestreak's shoulder, feeling their hum against his sensitive face. The tracker's hands tightened on Bluestreak's canopy, drawing the source of these erotic sensations closer. He couldn't resist brushing against the hinges hidden under the canopy.
Bluestreak moaned, pulling his hand out of Hound's winch to run over the projector latched to Hound's shoulder. “Yes. Please, it's been...” Bluestreak nipped at the curve of Hound's shoulder ridge, “it feels like it's been forever since anyone...”
The breathy whisper was too much for Hound to resist. He slid his hands up the bottom edge the gunner's doorwings, pushing the gunner down onto the berth. He straddled the shorter mech's thighs, maneuvering around the awkwardly large chestplate to lavish kisses upon the cables of Bluestreak's neck. He eased his hand under the doorwings, feeling every seam, every weld line that scarred the mech's wings. He panted, engine revving in response to the aroused mech beneath him.
Bluestreak seemed so focused on Hound's chestplate, though it should come as no surprised. Even among the medley of model types that made up Prowl's unit, Hound's upper torso was no less a fascinating conglomeration of joints than the Enforcers' doorwings and oversized chestplate. His hands wandered over the hood that made up Hound's upper shoulders, sliding down to swinging socket of his lower shoulder.
Hound pulled Bluestreak's hand away from caressing his shoulder joint, drawing the mech's fingers up to his lips. He drew in in the smell of Bluestreak's hands; the clean scent of well-used, well-oiled motors and joints. He ran his lips over their bends, tasting the ceramic and plastic that Bluestreak had been handling earlier; the ever present smell of Bluestreak's rifle.
Bluestreak's fingers twitched, and he grunted, pulling his hand away. “Ooh, that feels really good, but it tickles, if you keep it up I'm gonna start giggling.”
Hound caught the gunner's hand, again, so that he could nibble along the edges of the fingers. “I like hearing you laugh.” Hound's engine rumbled, the world brightening with the power surging through his optics.
Bluestreak writhed, and suddenly motors in his arm started up. The hand vibrated in Hound's grip, rattling against his face and his dental plates. Lighting every sensor they touched afire with the stimulation. Grey fingers dug into the tracker's grill, vibrating against Hound's winch and the grating that covered the intake.
“Ah!” Hound arched his back, grinding their hips together, his hands dug into the padding, a groan choking from his vocalizer. “Blue!” Even the pad smelled like Bluestreak, and the scent wrung itself through the sensors in Hound's hand.
Bluestreak shoved up with his doorwings, rolling Hound off of him, only to encompass the tracker with his arms. They kissed, lips sliding together as their hands wandered over each other's chassis. Hound tasted Bluestreak, every part that he could lay his hands; the clean scent of fuel that traveled within the chest and torso, the lubricated hinges of of the spiked doorwings.
Bluestreak retaliated, his touch shivering through Hound's circuits, pulling needy sounds from the tracker's vocalizer. Bluestreak's vocalizer buzzed and hissed with his own cries, writhing in Hound's hands. Bluestreak huddled over Hound's frame, gasping and twitching as they both learned each others frames, sought out the spots most sensitive to the other's touch.
“You're so quiet, Blue,” Hound murmured into the red chevron as Bluestreak nibbled on his winch.Hound tightened his grip on the grey mech; concerned, passionate, all combined into one surge of emotion. “Are you alright?”
Bluestreak laughed, his doorwings lifting to invite attention. “I've never felt better. Really.” He locked lips with Hound again, drawing his hands down the seams of Hound's cheek.
Hound smiled, his optics dimming as he lost himself to the gunner over him.
Even if it was just this once, he wanted to give Bluestreak a memory to come back to, one to combat all the horrors that he faced daily within his own processor and on the battlefield. If only just once Hound wanted to know that he had this memory to keep within his own processor.
Perhaps when they next met, they could look back on this, and continue down this circuit, or they might agree to remain friends.
Hound would be happy either way.