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May. 30th, 2006 12:09 amBecause Becky told me to.
Brakedown felt old. Very old. His ward, his understudy in both racing and life, was growing up and didn't seem to quite need him anymore. The times when Clocker had marvelled at seeing rain for the first time and eagerly raced beside him were far gone. Now he was sneaking out of the house at night to go to demolition derbies with five of the nastiest outlanders that had ever rolled into the area, and Brakedown felt highly left out.
Clocker had been beaten up by a young punk with no sense, and who came to help Clocker? Not Brakedown. The Stunticons. The same Stunticons who Clocker had begged Brakedown to let take up residence in their home. He'd been wanting Clocker to make friends, but he hadn't expected a boyfriend. Especially not that one.
So, Brakedown wondered, about what time is Clocker going to want me to move out so he can have more room for himself?
Brakedown put his head on the table, just to rest for a few moments. He jerked up when he heard Clocker cry out somewhere in the back of the shop. He tried to shove away the small spark of joy at the fact that Clocker was in trouble, and needed his help as he ran to find out what was going on.
The cries grew louder, harsher, and Brakedown was about to spring into Clocker's room to come to the rescue, when he heard Clocker whimper Wildrider's name. It wasn't the sort of tone one used when one was scared, either.
Carefully, he peeked into the room. Primus, no. I can't handle this. Wildrider had Clocker pinned to his berth. Their movements were partially obscured by shadow, but it was quite clear what they were doing. Dim light from the window just barely illuminatedthe younger mech's face, tilted back and gasping in what was obviously ecstasy. His hands convulsed around Wildrider's back and Brakedown felt a bit ill. He considered bursting in and breaking them up...but Clocker would hate him for it and he wouldn't win points with Wildrider. And he needed Wildrider to respect him or else he had no rule over the wild racer.
He's old enough, Brakedown. Wildrider won't hurt him. Just go away and pretend you didn't see anything and that you didn't know this would be happening.
It took every gear in Brakedown's body to make him step back from the door, trying not to listen to his ward cry out again, nearly drowning out Wildrider's loud purrs. "You're so sweet and pretty, Clocker." It made Brakedown's fuel run cold.
Not my Clocker, not my Clocker, get your filthy outlander hands off of him! Brakedown dug his fingers into the bit of metal jutting out from the wall, casualty of a Stunticon brawl.
It was Clocker's choice. Wildrider wouldn't do anything he didn't want to--and yet Clocker was still so young, so impressionable. Of course he would go along with what Wildrider wanted him to do, anything to impress his best friend. But Brakedown couldn't do anything, anything more than simply walking away and shutting down his audials. It wasn't his Clocker anymore.
Brakedown felt old. Very old. His ward, his understudy in both racing and life, was growing up and didn't seem to quite need him anymore. The times when Clocker had marvelled at seeing rain for the first time and eagerly raced beside him were far gone. Now he was sneaking out of the house at night to go to demolition derbies with five of the nastiest outlanders that had ever rolled into the area, and Brakedown felt highly left out.
Clocker had been beaten up by a young punk with no sense, and who came to help Clocker? Not Brakedown. The Stunticons. The same Stunticons who Clocker had begged Brakedown to let take up residence in their home. He'd been wanting Clocker to make friends, but he hadn't expected a boyfriend. Especially not that one.
So, Brakedown wondered, about what time is Clocker going to want me to move out so he can have more room for himself?
Brakedown put his head on the table, just to rest for a few moments. He jerked up when he heard Clocker cry out somewhere in the back of the shop. He tried to shove away the small spark of joy at the fact that Clocker was in trouble, and needed his help as he ran to find out what was going on.
The cries grew louder, harsher, and Brakedown was about to spring into Clocker's room to come to the rescue, when he heard Clocker whimper Wildrider's name. It wasn't the sort of tone one used when one was scared, either.
Carefully, he peeked into the room. Primus, no. I can't handle this. Wildrider had Clocker pinned to his berth. Their movements were partially obscured by shadow, but it was quite clear what they were doing. Dim light from the window just barely illuminatedthe younger mech's face, tilted back and gasping in what was obviously ecstasy. His hands convulsed around Wildrider's back and Brakedown felt a bit ill. He considered bursting in and breaking them up...but Clocker would hate him for it and he wouldn't win points with Wildrider. And he needed Wildrider to respect him or else he had no rule over the wild racer.
He's old enough, Brakedown. Wildrider won't hurt him. Just go away and pretend you didn't see anything and that you didn't know this would be happening.
It took every gear in Brakedown's body to make him step back from the door, trying not to listen to his ward cry out again, nearly drowning out Wildrider's loud purrs. "You're so sweet and pretty, Clocker." It made Brakedown's fuel run cold.
Not my Clocker, not my Clocker, get your filthy outlander hands off of him! Brakedown dug his fingers into the bit of metal jutting out from the wall, casualty of a Stunticon brawl.
It was Clocker's choice. Wildrider wouldn't do anything he didn't want to--and yet Clocker was still so young, so impressionable. Of course he would go along with what Wildrider wanted him to do, anything to impress his best friend. But Brakedown couldn't do anything, anything more than simply walking away and shutting down his audials. It wasn't his Clocker anymore.
