#(( workable??

Warp walked into the main room of their suite and paused, watching his mate as Sky sat at his desk, attention to several datapads out in front of him. A smirk curved his lips and his wings flicked, canting into a certain angle before rising into an insubordinate height. He strolled forward, hips swaying and frame moving gracefully. 

Sky took his hand away from the control panel after the locks to the balcony doors snapped into place. He kept his gaze on the wall, his wings high and rigid towards Warp and took a few cycles of ventilation before he spun on his thruster heel to face his mate. He gave the black and purple Striker sitting at his desk a feral smile that was more a baring of denta, golden optics darkening.

Sky’s optics onlined and he was immediately alert. He had been in recharge when a feeling of something was wrong jarred him out of it. He scanned the darkened quarters and everything seemed in place but that feeling still sat in his spark, that something was… off.

A sigh sounded behind him and Sky felt his frame go rigid. The frag was that? His intake hitched and then he could smell it, the scent of high-grade in the air. He knew he had hit it pretty hard last night, but Primus, he couldn’t have seriously been that overcharged, right? As he moved his helm he realized now that he wasn’t alone, heat radiated from another frame and there was a heavy weight around his middle– an arm?

He turned his helm slightly, trying not to make too much movement as he tried to catch sight of who it could possibly be with his peripheral vision. The frame itself made him forget to vent and it was even harder for him to catch that vent when he realized....

Warp, it was Warp in berth with him and he was so fragged. Sky tried to keep his vents regular as his optics widened, a whimper tried to escape as he swallowed it down, attempting to stifle any noise. He worked on keeping his vents even, regular and his frame as still as possible. If Warp was in his recharge cycle it was in Sky’s best interest he remained there.

What am I going to do? He’s touching me, I never tried warping with someone touching me. Would it slag him off if he teleported with me? Staying put until morning and waiting for him to online didn’t strike as a very good idea either, He furrowed his optic ridge and tried to squirm away.

That hand at his hip suddenly gripped down hard, like the other had a surge run through his arm to make him involuntarily tighten down. Sky gasped, hip moving to attempt to get away from the grip before he started fighting to remain still. Don’t move, don’t wake him up don’t– The hand moved from his hip, trailing up his frame slowly.

Sky’s mouth opened wordlessly, he clenched his fist trying to keep still, focusing on digging his digits into his palm, anything to be still. The hand skimmed over his arm, over his shoulder and an arm mounted blaster pressed into his cheek, hard enough to push his helm back from being craned as it was to look over his shoulder to back to berth, his face pointing the same way as his frame. A shiver ran through Sky’s frame and he had a hard time trying to swallow as it felt his spark had escaped from his spark chamber and was trying to crawl up his throat.

The blaster eased its pressure, slowly the hand moved away to return to its apparent post at his hip. Sky waited, listening to the vents of his alternate that never changed despite the chaos running through his own systems. Warping was out of the question… staying here wasn’t as great of an idea either… Sky shuttered his optics and concentrated on those steady vents, trying to lull himself back into recharge. There was probably no way this was going to end well at all, might as well save energy until that came.

Warp woke up slowly from recharge, stretching. He felt pleasantly warm, the heat from the frame next to him radiating out, and he moved his hand, sleepily gliding it over a hip as he onlined his optics, shifting closer to the warm frame, his own internal temperature already high. 

His optics grew wide and he froze as he stared at the back of the mech in front of him. Light grey and lavender plating, narrow, sharp wings rising from a broad back, narrow waist and hips that he recognized--

That is Sky.

Oh frag oh frag. He knew he had downed a lot of his stash of highgrade last night, but he didn’t remember this, and he was certain that he’d remember this. Especially with all the circling and taunting and teasing....

Warp licked lips gone dry and scrambled mentally to check his warp drive. He activated his warp drive, spinning it up and noting that the last destination coordinates were... right here, and the time/date stamp was while he was in recharge. Fraggitfraggitfraggit….

Warp glanced around what of the room he could see - definitely Sky’s quarters, not his. Crimson optics flicked again at Sky’s back. The taller mech seemed to still be in recharge - how would he react to waking up with a mech he hadn’t invited into his berth? Warp shuttered his optics, forcing himself to calm.

It was very late night or very early morning when Skylar moved soundlessly through the barn used to house the slaves of Queen Nisha's Court. Most of the stalls were set up barracks-style housing four to five men in a single stall, but there were a few here and there that were used as private chambers. The stall Skylar was heading for was just that even though he had been here only once before his feet and heart knew the way.  Skylar stopped when he felt the strong aggressive psychic scent of a Warlord Prince permeate through the door, his heart pounding in his chest, aching as he stood in front of the door.  His hand came down to the opening latch of the door, frowning to himself as he felt a Red Lock keeping the door from being opened by anyone with a weaker Jewel. Malek's Birthright Red trumped his Birthright Sapphire he could not get past the Lock without a little help. A quick glance up and down the hallway with his own senses spread out told him no one was here as he called in a dark jewel he rarely ever touched, a flare of power that was there and gone again as Skylar walked through the Red Lock as if it wasn't even there. Malek wouldn't be surprised to find Skylar here, the Eyrien knew, since he was one of the few alive to know his secret that Skylar wasn't broken back to his Birthright Sapphire as he pretended to be with the rest of the world.

Wes paused, lowering the cig he’d been casually hitting as he walked down the main street of Hickston. He’d been wandering a while, getting a lay of the town and the several square blocks that made up downtown; much smaller than he was used to, but still, he’d wanted to learn the place.

That, and it was difficult to search out his quarry through the tons of Williamsons in the area. He wondered if half the town was related - and the phone book was nearly useless, as the few S. Williamsons he’d found didn’t have the right address. He guessed Sky was probably unlisted - and he had wanted to at least call before showing up unannounced at the farm, since he did have that address from the college alumni association, but it looked like that wasn’t going to be possible.

 However....

Wes watched as the old pickup rattled to a stop across the street and the hauntingly familiar profile of the man inside shut it off, then opened the door and climbed out. His head was down, Wes only caught a glimpse of him in profile - but those shoulders, the achingly familiar way he moved reaching into the bed of the truck to grab a duffle bag, the way he turned and headed into a nearby building.... Sky. His eyes flicked up to the building, registering that it was a dojo.

Wes cursed and dropped the cigarette, grinding it out underfoot. Hell of a coincidence, but he wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Turning, he headed back down the block to his bike, intending to grab his own duffle and change.

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Sivos leaned back in his chair, eyes scanning the crowd in the club. He was glad he'd worn his normal outfit as opposed to something brighter – the black allowed him to fade into the shadows and survey the place mostly unnoticed, which was his preferred hunting method. The close-cut black clothing with the decorative strips of cloth attached to his dark purple leather belt in front and back, with the form-fitting shirt covering his torso, showing off the contour of muscles and leaving shoulders bare was close enough to what many in the club were wearing, if a bit muted in comparison to their flashy colors. He smirked and shifted, glancing at the modified leather vambraces that went from wrist to biceps; he thought he made a dramatic picture against the club.

A slight frown flickered across his face; the downside was that he’d been here an hour and hadn’t found anyone… interesting. Need and desire swam in his blood, driven on by the low, heavy, sensual beat that echoed through the club, the high emotions of everyone around him, and the alcohol he’d drank. He snarled; maybe he needed to go for one of his second choices, since no one extraordinary was catching his attention. He ran his fingertip idly around the rim of his glass as he surveyed the offerings and the bodies moving to the rhythmic beat of the music, attempting to make a decision. Suddenly one of those brief lulls in conversation and noise happened, the ones that happened occasionally in any group of sentient beings, coinciding neatly with the very brief pause of the current song ending and before the next begun.

It was into this relative silence of murmured conversation and that the door opened, and in paced… him, as if the brief second of silence had been designed just for him.

Sivos' breath caught as his crimson-red eyes locked on the newcomer, garbed only in paint and leather. He made a purely masculine appreciative noise deep in his throat as he scanned over the broad, bare chest and torso painted with intricate designs, down to the tight leather pants that left little to the imagination. Heat flared in his blood and desire curled in his belly as his body tightened at just the sight of him and his confident, sensual movements as he walked to the bar. Sivos wondered what the paint tasted like, wondered what it would look like smeared against his own unpainted skin, wondered what the man’s skin tasted like under all that paint… wondered just how far down that paint went.

Sky’s helm lifted from the datapad he’d been toying with when he heard his mate’s warp drive end its sequence, not being able to hide the small smile quirking his lips to know his mate was home or the anticipation that swirled in his tanks. He took in a deep intake of air as felt the threatening aura of his mate’s EMF behind him, the sensation prickling at the nape of his neck that he had weapons drawn on him. A small whine escaped from his throat as Warp’s low purr hit his audial, low and sultry heavy with the promise of sex and something more, the sound rolled through his systems, sharply raising his internal temperature. He couldn’t stop the shiver that ran through his frame and wings, his hands tightening around the datapad, the sound of glass and metal creaking from the stress.