#{Never Forgotten Friend-Senator Shockwave}

[aprimesrpcorner]

"Hello, dear friend," said the senator, his little antennae wiggling in delight at the sight of Orion. He leant himself against the other mech, getting close and personal. "Would you like a drink with me?" (ask and you shall receive!)

Orion Pax at the time before the war, before everything, was a character. A kind and gentle bot, but very chaotic in nature that was for sure. Of course hearing his old friend, being Shockwave the senator, his own little antenna perked up and twitched slight, showing his interest. And his own face plate blushed a slight blue color, but he smiled and stuck out his glossa in a playful manner.

“Ohhh, I don’t know, who’s asking?~”

Orion asked with a soft engine purr, giggling slightly at the joke, but being asked by a senator was a big deal, not only that but he did really like the other. Shockwave helped him through a lot as it was, and you know, he could probably spare a minute or two.

“Hehe, I’m kidding!~ But I’d love to hang out and get a drink, if you’re offering.~”

The archivist said with a chuckle, in a way he probably needed this, he’s been working quite hard recently.

And honestly? A drink sounded great right about now.

[needtherapy]

open always petal by petal (ch 2)

Song Lan knows his only passenger, Cao Huan, is more secrets than truths, but he's still the best passenger Song Lan has ever had: paid up front, self-sufficient, and silent.

It shouldn't matter that Cao Huan plays the guqin like his heart is broken.

It shouldn't matter that his smiles light up the darkest corners of Fuxue's passageways.

It shouldn't matter that he makes Song Lan curious, curious in a way he hasn't felt in years.

It's just an ordinary transport, a regular fare, a mostly-honest way to make a living. All they have to do is get from Sichuan Station to Caiyi Port. The galaxy may be a dangerous place, but Song Lan is very good at his job, and this should be an easy two-week trip.

The rest doesn't matter. It doesn't.

READ ON AO3

Notes: Rated E for Explicit. Title from e.e. cummings' poem "somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond". Thanks to @cirilien​, @coslyons​, @treemaidengeek​ and tucuxi (AO3) for the beta reads!

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

⋆ Day 7 ⋆

I fell in love with him first, and he fell in love with the ship first, Song Lan tries to mumble, but he forgot, he doesn’t have a voice anymore, stolen by the man who stole Xingchen’s life.

A gentle hand smooths back his hair and traces a path across his jaw.

“Captain Song, when you wake up, I will buy you a fleet of ships. Just wake up,” a voice says. “Please wake up.”

Song Lan tries words again, even knowing they won’t work. I don’t want a fleet of ships. I only want to know why you are filled with such sadness, he says, but all that comes out is a breathy groan.

The warm hand on his neck disappears, and he barely stops himself from reaching out to pull the comfort back. Instead, he reluctantly opens his eyes and sits up.

The ship is dark, lit only by red emergency lights. He’s sitting on a table in the infirmary, hooked to a neural interface and cortical stimulator, and Cao Huan is on the other side of the room, disinfecting his hands. When he turns, Song Lan signs, “How long?”

“Only a few minutes,” is the answer, and Song Lan can tell the man is fudging the truth if not outright lying. He’s not great at it. “The shockwave knocked out the electrical systems. I looked, but the backup is uniquely designed. I did not want to risk...fiddling just yet.”

He says the word like he’s never used it before, and Song Lan smiles, slowly unhooking the machines from his head. Xingchen definitely had a unique way of wiring. Sometimes he knitted the wires together because he liked the way it looked. Or he chose colors that didn’t correspond to normal schematics but had meaning to him. Blue for ground because he was from the top of a snowy mountain, yellow for live because the sun created life. And so on.

“Okay. I’ll turn on the backups. Anything else?”

Cao Huan bites his lip and shakes his head.

“There’s no time to be polite. If there’s something I should know, tell me,” Song Lan insists, swinging his legs over the edge of the table and gingerly standing. There’s a bump and scrape on his forehead, but otherwise, he’s fine. He’s more worried about Fuxue.

“No,” Cao Huan says. “Nothing. We are far enough away from the remaining pirate fleet for safety. They should be disabled long enough for us to get somewhere for repairs.”

Song Lan knows there’s something more. He knows it like he knows every inch of Fuxue, like he knows the unperturbed expression on Cao Huan’s face means the exact opposite. It takes a second to unravel.

“You didn’t kill them,” he signs, and Cao Huan’s jaw tightens. He looks away, and Song Lan knows he’s guessed right. “You tried your best. They turned.”

“My best was not enough.”

Song Lan doesn’t miss the bitterness of the words.

“They’re pirates. They knew what the cost might be.”

“You are right, Captain Song. There is no time to delay. Show me how I can help you restart Fuxue,” Cao Huan says, and again, the topic is seemingly closed.

With a sigh, Song Lan motions for Cao Huan to follow him, and they spend the next hour rewiring critical systems to the backup engine. Only life support switches automatically, and they have to reconnect propulsion and flight control. It’s just enough to limp to the nearest station, which is, luckily, Rogue Sky.

Cao Huan is surprisingly reluctant to go there, though, even after Song Lan explains that it’s the best place for repairs.

“Are you certain it is our only option?” he asks.

Song Lan considers, even though this is his ship and his decision. The man had helped save his life. This trip is more like a partnership than a mere transport now.

“I trust their chief absolutely,” he finally signs, and Cao Huan nods, accepting his answer with a quick flicker of a smile that in no way fools Song Lan.

⋆ Day 8 ⋆

Rogue Sky is one of the nicer unaffiliated stations, orbiting a planet on the border of the Western and Eastern Sectors, near Qinghe-controlled space, but it has none of the grandeur of Sichuan, or even Caiyi. Despite having been cobbled together from scrapped and spare pieces, it’s known for quick, skilled, no-questions-asked repairs. Any one of those reasons would be good enough to come here, but the odd assortment of stragglers who live and work on Rogue Sky are the closest thing Song Lan has to friends anymore.

There are more than a dozen ships—including a Goldlighter medic—docked in bays or sitting on landing pads. Song Lan brings Fuxue into one of the large repair bays that already has two other ships in it. Even here, Fuxue isn’t very big, dwarfed by Qinghe mining vessels and Qishan haulers. In fact, the only ship smaller is a sleek Yunmeng runabout, a high-speed cruiser that seems a long way from home, in Song Lan’s opinion.

He’d called ahead, so Qingyang is waiting for him.

“Now that I’ve seen Fuxue, I’m even more shocked you’re alive. What did you do to her this time?” she demands.

Song Lan grins and signs, “I can’t be blamed for pirates.”

He feels more than hears Cao Huan behind him and adds, “We wouldn’t have survived if my passenger wasn’t such a skilled gunner. Luo Qingyang…” Song Lan pauses. He doesn’t know what Cao Huan’s sign for his name is. He picks the signs for the two words as a stand in for now. “This is Cao Huan. Cao Huan, this is Qingyang, chief of Rogue Sky.”

Cao Huan has an odd expression on his face when Song Lan looks at him, but he smiles and nods at Qingyang. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance. Captain Song speaks highly of you.”

“Ah. Cao Huan,” Qingyang says. “Any friend of Song Lan’s is welcome here.” She turns back to Song Lan. “Come on, let’s get you something to eat while the mechs diagnose your baby.”

They walk through the station and Song Lan takes note of the changes. Typically, many of the station workers live on-world, but he sees plenty of new sections. Living quarters here. New worker dining halls there. Upgrades to the infirmary deck.

He sees other things too. Signs of wear. A bucket under a leaking pipe. Shoeless children running through the halls. He wonders when the last time he visited was, and a pang of guilt taps his shoulder. Every visit matters. Every tiny scrap of work he can give them matters. It’s been too long. However long is too long.

He touches Qingyang’s elbow. “Is everything okay here?”

“Same old, same old. Life goes on and we try to keep up.” Qingyang says with a smile, the same thing she always says. This time, he shakes his head and frowns at her, and she shrugs, giving him a more serious, considering look.

“There are a lot of new people on the station. Better jobs here, and safer. The Joint Senate is doing its best, and even the Goldlighters are...better than they were, but you know how it is. After a war, after a regime change, there’s always a vacuum,” she answers. “It’s never been an easy life, being unaffiliated, and lately, there are a lot more pirates and mercs. But we have a good reputation and I aim to keep it that way.”

It should be comforting, but he doesn’t miss the words between the words and that she only signs to him, doesn’t speak out loud. While the High Chancellor was openly hostile toward unaffiliated stations and colonies, Xiandu was more insidiously at odds with them, framing it as “in their best interest” to be part of the Goldlighter network. It was safer, he’d said. Together, they’d be more prosperous, he’d said.

But more than one station who objected, more than one colony who resisted, had gone missing under his regime. Even the scrapping colony Song Lan had grown up with was gone now, either destroyed or forcibly integrated. It’s a miracle Rogue Sky has remained independent and prosperous as long as they have, and Song Lan knows it hasn’t been as easy as it’s seemed.

He wonders if Qingyang is being mindful of the guest behind them who is undoubtedly one of the privileged class, if not an affiliated Goldlighter himself, or if it’s easier for her to disguise her worries if he can’t hear her voice.

Lunch—or whatever meal this is; Song Lan has forgotten—is hot and brown and full of noodles and vegetables. Hydroponics, Qingyang tells them, with a glance at Cao Huan. An old friend upgraded their systems last year, and it hasn’t given them a lick of trouble since then. Song Lan wonders how legal their upgrade was.

“I would like to see the gardens, if you are willing to show me,” Cao Huan asks, signing as he speaks, and Qingyang looks sideways at Song Lan before she nods. He tries not to smile. Evidently the tall, quiet man is capable of surprising her, too.

The gardens are a full deck, now, alternating between neat and tidy rows of fruits and vegetables and wild, bright flower gardens that seem to have no other value than aesthetic. It’s stunning, far more spectacular than he remembers. Song Lan turns to ask Cao Huan if it’s what he expected, but Cao Huan is distracted, smiling and touching the dark green leaves of a climbing vine. He leans forward to sniff its tiny white flowers, closing his eyes when he inhales.

Song Lan means to step back so he doesn’t intrude on what feels like a private moment, but Cao Huan looks at him. Just looks at him through long dark lashes, with the hint of a smile in his eyes, and Song Lan knows he wants to kiss him here in the midst of all this beauty. He hasn’t felt this way in so long, he almost doesn’t recognize the way desire captures and bends him, focusing everything on a single point of intent.

He is so grateful when Qingyang’s comm squawks for her attention and disrupts the direction his thoughts are heading.

“The mechs say it’s fixable, but it’ll take two days. Honestly,” she adds, when Song Lan’s face falls, “you’re lucky they can do it that quickly. We’ve had an influx of parts for Jian-class ships lately. A lot of crews are upgrading the old Qishan system to Lan nanotech.”

“Captain Song, please, do not worry on my account,” Cao Huan assures him. “Two days will make no difference."

He does look relieved, actually, and once again, Song Lan wonders what’s waiting for him in Caiyi.

“I need to get back to work,” Qingyang says with a wry smile. “Let me show you to your room.”

Song Lan hopes she’s just misspoken. He doesn’t want to ask, for fear of insulting Cao Huan, but he is also increasingly aware that it would be...difficult to sleep in the same room.

First, though, they go back to the repair hangar so the chief mech can tell Song Lan every single thing wrong with Fuxue, some of which existed before the pirates, and all of which the mech is certain must be fixed immediately. It’s hard to argue that the deflectors don’t need upgrading, or that the propulsion system doesn’t need cleaning, so he just sighs and agrees, thankful again that Cao Huan paid so well in advance.

They gather up the things they’ll need for a two-day stay, including the discarded knitting—Song Lan is sure he’s going to need the soothing repetition of knit and purl—and follow Qingyang again.

She hadn’t misspoken. There is only one free guest room on the station thanks to the Goldlighter medic ship, which is two days into a four-day engine repair. It is, at least, a larger room, with plenty of space to hang a hammock, and Song Lan has slept in worse places.

“I’m so sorry. We’ve seen a lot of these longer repairs lately. Either they’re finicky old engines or, like the medic ship, they’re the complicated new Goldlighter systems. If they weren’t ill and injured patients, I would happily make them move into fewer quarters,” she apologizes for the sixth time.

“Chief Luo, I have slept in many worse places. Even the floor would be fine for two nights,” Cao Huan says for the sixth time. Song Lan wonders which one of them is going to win the war of courtesy. “Thank you for your concern.”

There’s something in his tone, both honest and firm, that makes Qingyang finally relax. She starts to say something, but a voice in her comm catches her attention and she shakes her head, waving to them as she walks away arguing.

For a minute, they are alone, and although they’ve been alone on a ship for the last eight days, this time Song Lan is aware of every single one of the sixty heartbeats and twelve breaths it takes for Cao Huan to stop surveying the room and smile.

“If you do not mind, I would like to meditate in the gardens.”

Song Lan tips his head. “You don’t need permission. Most areas of this station are open to all.”

Cao Huan laughs, light and a little uncertain. “No, Captain Song, I…” He falters, and Song Lan wonders what’s in that falter, what he meant to say, because he very clearly changes direction. “I will be gone for an hour, in case anyone looks for me.”

He picks up his guqin and leaves. Song Lan shuts the door behind him, leans against the wall and, very gently, bangs his head on it.

Instead of dwelling on the things he can’t change, Song Lan goes for a run, a luxury he wasn’t expecting to get halfway through this trip. It does help to clear his mind, and the fast, chilly shower afterward—real water, more satisfying than any sonic shower—works even better. He’s still toweling off his hair when he gets back to the room and finds Cao Huan hanging up a hammock.

“No,” he signs, touching Cao Huan on the shoulder to catch his attention. “You should have the bed.”

Cao Huan frowns. “Why? You are the pilot. You should be well-rested.”

“You’re the passenger. You paid for a comfortable passage,” Song Lan insists. It’s ridiculous, but it doesn’t seem right for Cao Huan to sleep in a hammock instead of a bed. He should have soft pillows and plush blankets.

“This is perfectly fine,” Cao Huan argues, a stubborn clench in his jaw. “Do not assume that I am dissembling for the sake of pride. I have not slept in a bed in three years.”

Something about that tickles the back of Song Lan’s mind, but he doesn’t have time to work it out, because Cao Huan frowns and crosses his arms.

“Captain Song, I am not as cosseted as you think me to be. No one has needed to worry about my comfort in quite some time.”

Song Lan only means to look pointedly at Cao Huan’s expensive silk robes, but his gaze lingers on the skin at the base of Cao Huan’s throat, at the hint of muscle in his arms, the way his belt hugs his waist, and his mouth goes dry. He tries to think of a response, any response.

“Well, I do,” he signs with a huff. “Worry about you.”

Cao Huan’s face shifts from aggravation to confusion, and he examines Song Lan’s expression as if, now, he’s the one who doesn’t believe what Song Lan is saying.

“Captain?” he asks tentatively.

Before Song Lan can wipe the truth from his face or think of something to diffuse his stupid stupidity, Cao Huan is stepping closer, touching Song Lan’s face with his beautiful hands, and his lips are on Song Lan’s, warm and inviting.

With a groan he can’t silence, Song Lan accepts the invitation wholeheartedly, wrapping his arms around Cao Huan’s waist and kissing him harder, pressing into his body harder. The lines of it he can feel under the robes are tantalizing, more muscle than he expected, but also more softness—a curve of belly against his and a truly exceptional ass.

Cao Huan tugs at Song Lan’s shirt, and without debating the wisdom of it, without succumbing to the creeping voice that whispers you can’t have this, Song Lan lifts his hands and lets Cao Huan pull the shirt over his head. He fills his mind with the feel of soft silk against his skin and the burning taste of Cao Huan’s mouth.

“You are extraordinary,” Cao Huan says, kissing a spot on Song Lan’s neck that sears like a brand. “Spectacular,” he adds, biting Song Lan’s earlobe softly. “Gorgeous,” he grins before kissing Song Lan’s mouth again, and it even sounds like he means it.

Song Lan hasn’t been with anyone since Xingchen, never thought he could want anyone but Xingchen. He doesn’t know why, why now, why this man, why this place, but maybe it doesn’t matter. He feels what he feels, and Xingchen would never have asked him to seal himself up in a lonely tower forever. He can enjoy this moment before it passes. He can.

He fumbles with Cao Huan’s robes, unsure where to start, so Cao Huan generously helps, untying the complicated knots and ties of the belt and five layers of robes more swiftly than Song Lan could have managed, dropping them to the ground in a heap. He’s breathtaking, standing in his white pants, feet bare, hair pooling around his shoulders, an uncertain smile on his lips, and Song Lan is furious with his own speechlessness. He was never overly reliant on words, but the unfairness of his inability to tell Cao Huan how much he wants him, to not even be able to say his name, hits him all at once.

“Is it...is this...too much?” Cao Huan asks, caressing his cheek, obviously trying to read the shift in Song Lan’s expression.

Song Lan shakes his head and leans forward, resting his forehead against Cao Huan’s. It is too much in the way that the sun in the morning is too much after a long dark night, but he forges ahead, kissing Cao Huan methodically, patiently this time. No, Song Lan changes his mind, nibbling the hollow of Cao Huan’s throat and listening to his soft hum of pleasure, it’s just enough.

He notices Cao Huan’s hands on the waistband of his pants seconds before the man sinks to his knees and tugs them down, nuzzling his nose into the sensitive skin at the joint of Song Lan’s hip. He bites a path up the inside of Song Lan’s thigh, his sharp teeth scattering tingling sparks through Song Lan, and flicks his tongue against each spot, buckling Song Lan’s knees and forcing him to catch himself on the man’s sturdy shoulders. Cao Huan looks up at him, lifts his light brown eyes to meet Song Lan’s, before he licks the hard line of Song Lan’s cock and takes it into his mouth.

Song Lan falls into a dark and nameless void, shocked by his own reaction to Cao Huan’s lips around him. The desire coalesces from every part of him, settling in his core like a waiting explosion. He is desperate for the straining, clawing ache to release, desperate for it never to end. He runs his fingers over the arch of Cao Huan’s ear, and it steadies him in some ways, undoes him in others. He yearns to know more, where this tiny scar on his cheek came from, why his hair is long, what he’s been doing alone for three years, who he is.

Cao Huanes presses lightly into Song Lan’s skin, grazing his hips, skimming the taut muscle of his stomach, touching everywhere he can reach, and he looks at Song Lan with more than just want. It occurs to Song Lan that maybe they are in this void together, careening into something neither of them expected or understands.

He can’t hold back his hoarse cries, and he doesn’t want to. He wants Cao Huan to know what this means to him, that it’s perfect and wonderful, that even if he could speak, he wouldn’t have the words for it.

The climax rolls over him slowly, at first like an opening fist, but then without end, the collapsing star of pleasure stealing away his thoughts, even his breath. He only inhales when Cao Huan’s tongue swirls around his cock, almost too intense to bear, and he staggers backward, hitting the bed and sitting down awkwardly. Cao Huan strips off his pants and follows him, straddling his lap and kissing him, on the mouth, on the neck, on the top of his shoulder, murmuring words Song Lan can’t believe.

“Please,” Song Lan signs, “I want you...anything...everything…Huan-ge, please.”

He doesn’t think he’s asking right, at a loss for forming intelligent words, but Cao Huan growls, low and fierce in the back of his throat, not a sound Song Lan expected from so dignified a man, and he shivers at what it promises.

“I...did not consider…” Cao Huan answers shakily, “I do not want to hurt you,” he says, tightening his hands around Song Lan’s jaw.

Song Lan doesn’t think he cares right now, but as much as he wants to fuck Cao Huan, to be fucked by him, he can adapt.

He swipes his fingers through his mouth and wraps his wet hand around Cao Huan’s cock, stroking him hard and fast. Cao Huan tips his head back, one hand on Song Lan’s shoulder and rocks up into his hand, but it’s not quite enough. Dragging Cao Huan on top of him, Song Lan adjusts Cao Huan’s cock between his thighs and squeezes, reveling in the man’s guttural moan. “Captain Song, you…you are more...” Cao Huan cups Song Lan’s cheek. “You are so much more,” he says and kisses Song Lan, thrusting between his legs, the slippery, sliding pressure igniting something new and frenzied inside Song Lan.

He clutches greedy hands around Cao Huan’s ass, pulling him closer, and they settle into a rhythm together immediately, nearly familiar, like a song he knows by heart. Song Lan looks into Cao Huan’s eyes, his almost golden eyes, and he doesn’t understand how it can be like this. He doesn’t know this man, not even his real name. How can he feel so much for him all at once, so much desire and fascination? It doesn't make sense when he tries to think about it, but when he lets go and just exists, just accepts it, everything feels exactly right.

“Captain, please, I want your mouth,” Cao Huan’s breath next to his ear sends thrilling bolts of lightning down into the tips of Song Lan’s fingers. “Can I come in your mouth?”

Song Lan can’t answer fast enough, tugging at Cao Huan and trying to say yes, fuck, yes at the same time. Only the “yes” comes out in any way discernible, and Cao Huan scrambles forward. Song Lan eagerly takes him into his mouth, his cock hot and wet already, hitting the back of Song Lan’s throat. He urges Cao Huan deeper, tightening the lock of his lips around him. The mechanics are different than he remembers, and he thinks the sensation must be different than Cao Huan expected, but the man cries out almost immediately, his climax crashing over him and transforming his face into something almost too beautiful to look at.

Cao Huan slumps onto the bed, his panting breaths mixed with laughter, and Song Lan scoots toward him. A sated smile finds its way onto his mouth and Cao Huan touches it.

“Captain Song, the service on this transport is unexpectedly thorough,” he says solemnly, and Song Lan laughs.

“You can use my name, you know,” Song Lan signs, and then realizes he’s never shown his name to Cao Huan. There’s a strange intimacy in making the sign, the combination of tented fingers that flick down, like brushing water off of skin, and he feels heat rising to his skin.

“Perhaps I prefer to call you Captain,” Cao Huan teases, but he repeats the sign.

Song Lan doesn’t bother to ask the sign for his name. He knows it won’t be real anyway, but Cao Huan purses his lips thoughtfully.

“I am Huan,” he signs, with a closing, twisting fist that opens flat, almost the normal way of making the signs, but not quite, and he watches Song Lan closely as though there’s some test in these motions. “It is not how I am usually known, but...it is not untrue.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Song Lan tells him, and Cao Huan shakes his head.

“It matters to me.” He brushes back Song Lan’s hair. “I… I want to tell you the things that...that are not too shameful to say.”

And now he is blushing, the red bloom spreading from his neck up into his ears, and he ducks his head, tucking it under Song Lan’s chin. Song Lan doesn’t have an answer for that, for the trust he’s being given. He wants to be worthy of it, though, so he doesn’t ask any questions, just pulls Cao Huan closer.

It is astounding, Song Lan thinks, running a hand down Cao Huan’s arm, how much he wants him again already, but he can hear the man’s breathing starting to slow. He satisfies himself with the feeling of skin against skin, the silky soft brush of hair over his arm, the contented sigh as Cao Huan pins Song Lan’s leg with his.

Song Lan briefly considers how much warmer they would be with a blanket, but reconsiders when he looks at the naked stretch of Cao Huan’s body next to his. There are some things worth enduring a little chill for.

⋆ Day 9 ⋆

Song Lan doesn’t quite know how to react to waking up in a bed with someone else, someone who had, evidently, adjusted them in the night. They are under the blankets now, and Song Lan is curved around Cao Huan’s back, one arm under his head, one across his chest.

He decides he’s not at all unhappy about this unfamiliar arrangement. It’s just a passing fling, and all the more precious for its fleeting nature.

Song Lan sets his lips against Cao Huan’s shoulder, following the muscle up his neck. There is a small bump at the top of his spine, not a bone, something with a faint blue light under the skin. Now that he’s looking closely, he can see a practically invisible line along Cao Huan’s hairline, an indistinct ribbon, and he wonders what kind of neural implant it is. He’s never seen such delicate work. The red contact points and black wiring of his own nodes are barely noticeable at a distance but raised enough to be seen and felt up close, and he is well aware that his rescuers spared no expense to provide them.

He will tell you when he’s ready, Song Lan thinks. Or he won’t. It doesn’t matter.

Song Lan’s hand finds its way down Cao Huan’s side to his hip, flexing involuntarily against the smooth skin, and Cao Huan’s voice rumbles in his chest.

“If you are going to be so ardent in the morning, Captain, we will need to find provisions first.”

He rolls over and kisses Song Lan firmly. Song Lan realizes that he’d been clinging to doubts about whether last night had been intentional or a fluke, whether Cao Huan would regret it in the morning, and the answer is a crushing relief.

“Also, I am hungry,” he grins, sweet and charming in a way that reminds Song Lan a little of Xingchen.

Not that they’re anything alike, Song Lan thinks. Xingchen was a wild soul through and through, nothing like Cao Huan’s outward tranquility and concealed turbulence. It’s like comparing fire and ice, and the only similarity is how they both burn through Song Lan.

They make their way to the city decks, the heart of the station where food sellers, shops, and entertainment stalls are crammed together, one on top of the other. Song Lan waves and smiles at the people he knows, even stops to talk to some of them.

A few people give Cao Huan curious looks. If he stood out in Sichuan, he is a strange and alien creature here, not only for the way he’s dressed. There’s just something about him that draws the eye, even when he is so clearly trying to be unnoticed.

They buy tiny scallion pancakes from one stall, fried noodles from another, curls of fruit-flavored ice cream, lotus root sandwiches, spicy tacos, steamed buns—more food than Song Lan normally has for two meals, but Cao Huan has apparently never eaten any of it before. Song Lan isn’t too proud to admit that he keeps buying food to watch Cao Huan’s expression change with every new taste.

They find the other supplies they’re looking for, too. Song Lan is a little embarrassed to buy lube with someone, but Cao Huan seems unperturbed by the shopkeeper’s knowing grin. He also buys new clothes: dark blue pants, fitted white shirts, and a very sensible leather jacket.

It’s all so mundane, so ordinary to go shopping and eat food with someone, but it feels wondrous, like waking up and finding an uncharted green planet.

He glances at Cao Huan who is looking at him with a curious, puzzled expression, and Song Lan wants him so badly, he’s sure it’s evident on his face. Cao Huan’s mouth quirks, and he speeds up, taking Song Lan’s hand and pulling him along.

By the time they get back to their room, Song Lan has figured out how to undo Cao Huan’s wide silk belt, and the man laughs shakily when Song Lan pulls it off in the hall and loops the long fabric around his shoulders. He reels Cao Huan back to him, one hand snaking down his stomach, and Cao Huan leans back, resting his head on Song Lan’s shoulder.

“Are you planning to fuck me in the hallway, Captain Song?” he asks, tickling Song Lan’s ear with his breath. He guides Song Lan’s hand lower, and Song Lan groans. “I might let you.”

It’s a measure of how far gone Song Lan is that he considers it before briskly pushing Cao Huan through the door.

Inside, he pulls off his clothes, trembling with need, catching Cao Huan in his arms before he can take off the last layer of thin silk clinging indecently to his body.

“You,” he pants, speaking the words, ignoring the muddy way they leave his mouth, because even signing feels too complicated. “Want you.”

“You may have me,” Cao Huan tells him. “Any way you like.”

It seems impossible, too much for Song Lan to comprehend. The words. The way he looks, waiting on the bed, lips red and swollen. The soft heat of his body when Song Lan slides slick fingers inside him. The way he writhes and moans, shockingly uninhibited.

He was loved, once, Song Lan thinks, stroking his hand down the velvet-soft skin of Cao Huan’s cock. He knows how to respond to love.

“Captain...Song Lan, Lan-er, please,” Cao Huan asks, tugging on Song Lan’s arm, his eyes dark with surrender. “I need you now.”

Song Lan watches Cao Huan’s face as he lifts his hips, fits them together, and slowly presses inside him. He distracts himself from the exquisite pressure and enveloping warmth by marking the change of expressions: a twinge of discomfort, blinking surprise, mouth-open wonder, and finally, as Song Lan starts to move, fevered lust that pierces Song Lan and fixes in his mind, never to be forgotten.

This...the two of them...joined like this...Song Lan hadn’t known he’d been in limbo before, only living in the technical sense of the word. This feels real. For the first time in years, he is more than merely existing. It’s unbearable.

His orgasm is an agonizing spike, sudden and blinding, and he crashes into Cao Huan, clutching at him, touching as much of him as possible, as long as possible until the violent shuddering of his body calms and the pounding of his heart steadies.

And somehow, it’s nowhere near enough.

“Will you...” Song Lan is still not used to this, specifying what he wants. He thinks he must seem pathetic, asking so bluntly, but he can’t stop himself. “Huan-ge, will you fuck me? Please?”

Cao Huan closes his eyes and exhales with a tremulous laugh. “Lan-er, it is all I seem to want to do lately,” he says, even as he is sitting up, shifting Song Lan on his lap, kissing his mouth.

Song Lan is not a small man, and there is something about being adjusted with such little effort that sends shivers hurtling up and down his spine. The anticipation, though, is nothing compared to the actuality of Cao Huan’s fingers between his legs, sticky and wet with lube, slipping inside him smoothly. For a moment, for several moments, he’s certain he’s on the verge of combustion, breaking apart along tiny, ecstatic fractures.

Abruptly, Cao Huan bites Song Lan’s collarbone, the burst of delicious pain bringing the world back into focus. His moan comes out in a keening whimper, and Cao Huan flexes his hand, rubbing against Song Lan and sending shockwaves through him. Song Lan sinks into the relentless pleasure of fingers plunging into him, and he whines when Cao Huan stops, even knowing why, even knowing what’s next.

Cao Huan takes his time, letting Song Lan get used to him, filling him inch by inch.

“Breathe, Lan-er,” he murmurs, kissing the side of his mouth, and Song Lan takes a ragged, hoarse breath.

And another as Cao Huan twitches his hips.

And another as Cao Huan pushes the rest of the way into him.  

Song Lan had forgotten—how could he have forgotten—this particular surge of feeling, of being so consumed by desire that there’s nothing else, no other thoughts to have. He rocks with Cao Huan, captured by the cadence of his thrusts, his mouth, his hands.

Cao Huan gasps out his name like a plea for mercy, “Lan-er, fuck, Lan-er,” before slamming into him with the force of his climax, and Song Lan cries out too, not wanting it to end.

Cao Huan leans against Song Lan’s chest, panting, and Song Lan kisses the top of his head. Then his ear. Then his nose. Then his mouth. Cao Huan flops back onto the bed, arms and legs akimbo.

“I...I do not know exactly what to say,” he mumbles.

Song Lan wants to laugh. What is there to say? Thank you for the mind-blowing sex?

Actually…

He lays down next to Cao Huan and rests a hand over his heart, feeling its fluttering drumbeat.

Thank you, he draws on Cao Huan’s chest. Thank you for making me feel again.

Their room doesn’t have a dedicated bathroom, but it has a sink. Song Lan eventually gets up to clean himself off and wets a cloth for Cao Huan. He grins when Cao Huan tries to take it away from him and cleans Cao Huan too, kissing the curve of his stomach, the ridge of his hip, the tops of his thighs, as he goes.

“My turn next time,” Cao Huan says with a no-arguments tone of voice. Song Lan doesn’t hate the promise of a next time.

He only barely finishes before the lassitude catches up to him, and he yawns as he climbs under the covers, snuggling against Cao Huan. He shouldn’t be tired—it’s the middle of the day—but it’s safe and warm here, and Song Lan decides to enjoy this moment too. He traces the arch of Cao Huan’s eyebrow and the bow of his mouth, smiling when Cao Huan nibbles his finger.

Song Lan closes his eyes and lets himself rest.

It’s still day when he wakes, according to the clock, and Cao Huan is up, dressing in his new clothes that do nothing to disguise his distinctiveness. He pulls his hair back into a ponytail, and Song Lan’s stomach flops appreciatively.

“You’re still gorgeous,” he signs, and Cao Huan shakes his head.

“You may be biased,” he retorts.

“True,” Song Lan agrees, swinging his legs out of bed and stretching. “But I thought that before I saw you naked.”

He grabs Cao Huan around the waist, and Cao Huan rewards him with a lingering kiss.

“I...I am going to meditate in the gardens. Will…” he sounds so hesitant, and Song Lan tips his head curiously. “Will you join me?”

“Of course.” Song Lan has no idea why Cao Huan is anxious about meditation, which seems innocuous, which Song Lan has heard him do nearly every night since they started this journey, but it’s easy to say yes to Cao Huan.

“Thank you,” he says, touching Song Lan’s face before picking up his guqin. “And then dinner?”

Song Lan’s stomach objects loudly. “Dinner first?” he asks hopefully, and Cao Huan laughs.

“Dinner first.”

Dinner ends up being another kaleidoscope of vendor foods, from meat wrapped in thin pancakes to vegetables fried in spicy batter to skewers of soft chicken and potatoes.

Song Lan finds his favorite dessert, layered frozen fruit bars, and he hands a watermelon lime bar to Cao Huan. Cao Huan’s eyes widen at the sweet and sour taste, and when he finishes, Song Lan hands him a different flavor, the second one melting faster than he can finish it.

“I should have waited to give you that until we were alone,” Song Lan signs, and Cao Huan tips his head.

“Why?” he asks around a bite of what looks like mango and tajin.

“Because I want to lick it off you,” Song Lan grins.

Cao Huan blinks slowly and smiles. “You may,” he agrees, tilting his head back.

Song Lan had always known that what he felt with Xingchen was unique, the ease and willingness of touch and affection, and he’d never expected to find it with anyone else. But when he touches his lips to Cao Huan’s now, surrounded by an almost overwhelming number of people, tasting the spice and tang, he is honestly not sure he can stop at only the kiss. Cao Huan hums in his throat and Song Lan hastily pulls away from the temptation. After meditation. He can surely be patient and wait until after meditation.

The gardens aren’t empty. Workers are picking fruits and vegetables, and visitors are wandering down the pathways. It’s amazing how much this space adds to Rogue Sky, Song Lan thinks. Every station should have one.

Cao Huan settles on the floor in a quiet corner of the deck facing the wall, and Song Lan sits across from him. Cao Huan gives him an uncertain smile before closing his eyes and setting  his fingers to the guqin. Song Lan breathes in and out slowly, counting in rhythm with Cao Huan’s breath, finding the quiet space inside him before Cao Huan starts to play.

The sound of the instrument is even more spectacular here, twining through the trees and echoing in the high ceiling. It seems like this was what the guqin was meant for: open spaces and, Song Lan notices, a growing crowd.

To their credit, the people are polite at first, just walking closer, standing nearby without obviously watching, but it doesn’t take long for them to congregate. He can’t blame them. Cao Huan isn’t just playing the guqin, he’s speaking with it, telling a story with it, the music unfolding in a heart-wrenching requiem.

He plays for so long, a single, unbroken stream of sound. Song Lan can almost hear the words, not soothing as he expects meditation to be, but mournful, tearing Song Lan apart with every note. He sees Qingyang in their audience, tears streaming down her face, and he wonders who she’s thinking of, if it’s someone specific or everyone they’ve lost.

Without warning, Cao Huan pushes the guqin away and in a fluid, graceful movement, stands and stalks away through his audience without a backward glance.

Song Lan packs up the guqin—he has no idea what he’s doing, but thankfully, it’s not that complicated—and, with a shrug to Qingyang, heads back to the empty room.

It doesn’t take as long as he expects for Cao Huan to find his way back. Song Lan is sitting on the bed, knitting a sock cuff, when he comes in the door. He flicks a smile at Cao Huan before going back to counting the ribbing repeats, trying to give him whatever space he needs, even here in this small room.

Cao Huan hovers by the door for a few minutes, and Song Lan pretends he doesn’t see the indecision and fear on his face.

“I can not seem to make the guqin do anything but weep anymore,” he finally says, and Song Lan sets down his knitting.

“You are entitled to your feelings,” he signs.

Cao Huan frowns. “What if I am not?”

There doesn’t seem to be an answer to that. Song Lan stands up and carefully kisses Cao Huan’s forehead. “You are. Even if they don’t make sense.”

Cao Huan sighs and rests his head on Song Lan’s shoulder, muffling his words. “What if I did something terrible? Unforgivable, even?”

We’ve all done terrible things, Song Lan thinks, but he isn’t sure if that’s actually true. Maybe other people have lived normal lives and never needed to seek revenge. Justice, he reminds himself. It was justice.

Song Lan smooths a hand up Cao Huan’s back, mapping the dips and ridges, tracing a path around his shoulder blade. He settles it against the nape of Cao Huan’s neck and rubs the tense muscle there.

“You are too good to me, Captain Song,” Cao Huan mumbles, and Song Lan huffs, a single sound of disbelief. Kindness has not been forefront in his thoughts recently.

“Would you be so kind if I’d killed someone?”

The words hang in the air, and Song Lan can feel Cao Huan’s body still, waiting, ready...to run? Ready to fight?

Song Lan rests his other hand on the center of Cao Huan’s back, massaging his thumb in a reassuring circle, a circle that means yes, I would, before he moves away just enough to sign.

“I killed someone—the man who took my voice and killed my partner, my love. He was a hired assassin, only doing his job, but I hunted him down and killed him anyway.”

He searches Cao Huan’s face for shock or censure, but all he finds is understanding, an ever-blooming field of empathy, and it’s a relief, such a relief to admit this vicious secret, the worst thing he’s ever done.

“I don’t regret it. If I could have killed his patron, I would have. I don’t think you’re the kind of man who would kill without reason, but even if you are, it’s your choice to let it consume you or make peace with yourself.”

There’s so much else Song Lan could say. That he’d planned to kill Xiandu, even though the assassin claimed the hit hadn’t been his order. That he cried when he learned the man was dead; he hadn’t cared how it had happened, only that it had. That he’d been drunk for days afterward, both in relief he did understand and despair he didn’t. That peace is a daily battle.

Cao Huan leans into Song Lan, hugging him around the waist. When he finally does speak again, his words are small and brittle eggshells.

“I loved him, and I hated him. And yet, killing him is not the most unforgivable thing I have done. What is unforgivable is that I did not do it sooner. What is unforgivable is that I love him still. And hate him still. What is unforgivable is that I am allowed...expected...to go on with my life as though I did nothing wrong.”

The last words break away in a bitter snap, and Song Lan frowns. He sits Cao Huan down on the bed and crouches down to look at him, at the tear streaks on his cheeks. Gently, he dabs them with his sleeve.

“Huan-ge. You and I get to live with our mistakes. You and I are alive to forgive ourselves and the people we loved. It’s not unforgiveable to live.”

He only half believes it himself, but he hopes if he says it enough, eventually it’ll be true.

Cao Huan doesn’t look convinced either, but he touches Song Lan’s face, and it seems to steady him. The tears stop falling, at least.

“I...I…” He tries to say something and fails. A wan smile flutters over his lips, barely long enough for Song Lan to be sure it was ever there. “You are good, Lan-er.” The smile tries again and sticks this time, slow and resolute, and it reaches the deepest places inside Song Lan, places he has tried to close off. “Thank you.”

When they finally go to bed, it’s only to sleep. Although, with Cao Huan’s fingers fitted between his, Cao Huan’s legs tangled together with his, “only” doesn’t seem like a fair word for the way it feels to sense a new planet forming around him, and Song Lan is afraid he doesn’t know how to face the swiftly shifting landscape of his life.

[stawscweam]

Starlight (Transformers OC)

General Information: 

She/Her pronouns

Forged

Minibot

Microjet alt-mode

She’s a Primalist that has a tattoo of the Matrix on her left cheek

Her optics glow vibrantly when she’s strenuously using Empath, they naturally glow brighter than most Cybertronians because her power is always active

Personality:

Pure, passionate and precious

Soft-spoken but adamant on her values

Always sees the best in others and believes anyone can change for the better

Can never say no to others and always puts their troubles over her own

Vehemently despises using her powers, because she feels like the abomination those in power view her and her kind

She fears she unintentionally manipulates the emotions of others to benefit her, whether that’s by befriending her, agreeing with her or any other such possibility

Refrains actively using her powers on others without their explicit permission

History:

An outlier with the ability called “Empath”

She can experience and control the emotions of others

Her range is city-sized and is always active, but it drains her immensely and she constantly has to keep her ability in check

Experiences massive migraines when she overly exerts her powers and can offline temporarily from sensory overload 

Thoroughly exhausts her to experience extreme emotions from others or apply to others

Could permanently offline herself if pushed too far 

The versatility of her powers include:

Forging emotional bonds with loved ones via touch that allow her to sense their emotional presence from any distance

Healing emotional wounds by taking their pain into herself

Experiencing the emotional residue left in places from major events

Imprinting her own emotions onto others

Senator Shockwave enrolled her into the Jhiaxian Academy of Advanced Technology in her youth

Extremely fond of Shockwave and his friend Senator Dai Atlas, aspired to become a liberal Senator like them 

Starlight learned more of the Knights of Cybertron and ancient Cybertron from Dai Atlas directly, he quickly became fond of the young Primalist

She had a crush on Skids during their academy years, but never acted on her affections due to her shyness and fear of artificially implanting her feelings into him

Focused her studies on the social inequalities of pre-War Cybertron and solutions to rectify them

She also researched the societies and cultures of other species in the universe

Rejected Functionism and believed the alt-mode of a Cybertronian was not an indicator of their vocation

Did not subscribe to the notion of ratioism, abundance or scarcity of an alt-mode did not dictate a Cybertronian’s worth

Horrified by the past social apartheid administered against cold-constructed bots and routinely debunks the myth of their “inherent” depravity

Opposed the vile caste system rooted in the social structure of Cybertron perpetrated by the Grand Cybertronian Taxonomy and advocated the equality of all mechs

Against the belief of Cybertronian supremacy

She avoided “altercations” with the Senate and Functionist Council by utilising her “resources”

Senator Shockwave and Senator Dai Atlas protected her as well

She ended up becoming a scholar on social sciences who joined the Circle of Light in the new Crystal City on Theophany after the rise of the Decepticons

Sympathised with the Decepticons, but did not want to join the war

Starscream tried to recruit her, “One Star-person to another...”

A pacifist who believes in peaceful revolution

She’s not a fighter and cannot fathom the idea of hurting another being

Saddened by the corruption of the Decepticon’s cause

Afraid of Star Saber and tried to talk him out of his plans for an atheist holocaust and his hostile faith while they resided in Crystal City

Dai Atlas told her to give up on convincing the stubborn evangelist, but she could never do such a thing, “Everyone can be saved.”

Amica Endura to Wing and prayed for him, Drift and the others to survive their battle against the Slavers and Lockdown

She and Dai Atlas shared a cell when they and the rest of the Circle of Light were captured by Star Saber and the Legislators

She eventually joins the Crusadercons after her people are saved on Luna 1 as the Lost Light’s sociologist

As a member of the Circle of Light, finding Cyberutopia and the Knights of Cybertron was her dream

She paints her face in honour of Dai Atlas

Becomes Conjuxed to Skids and grows closer to Megatron after her beloved’s death

Felt it was fate that she reunited with him on Luna 1 when he presented the Lost Lighter’s recruitment video

Chromedome: “Cynical? Skids, I was suicidal....but then I met someone who saw the best in everyone—even me. Maybe there’s someone out there who can save your life, too.” 

Skids: “It’s your fault, actually. After we had that talk on Theophany, I decided that abandoning my lost memories amounted to a kind of betrayal. All those people I’ve met, all those people who’ve touched my life—I mean, I don’t know if there are any, but that’s kind of the point: I hate to think I might’ve forgotten them.”

Due to her aversion towards violence, she stayed behind with Teebs when Roller and Chromedome recruited Skids and the other outliers during the Fake Matrix Heist

Stays behind with Ultra Magnus, Percy and Megatron when the Crusadercons follow Stormy into the past

Troubled by the flowers around her statue on Necroworld and prays for the fallen due to her pacifism

Wing’s spark energy resided in one of the flowers and it confirmed her fear that her inaction led to his death

Delighted when Megatron declares his refusal to fight and supports him in his non-violent journey

Headcanons:

She’s a Spectralist and fluent in Chirolinguistics

Fan of Megatron’s works such as “After the Ark: Nominus Prime and the Illusion of Progress” and his polemic “Towards Peace”

She meditates to clear her mind and ground herself

Senator Shockwave enjoyed it when she used her powers on him whenever he asked her to calm him down from one of his passionate outbursts

She also enjoyed experiencing the richness of his emotions, one of the few moments she liked her powers

Devoted to Dai Atlas for providing a safe haven for those who wished neutrality with the help of Tyrest

She adored asking Senator Dai Atlas questions of Cybertronian history and his personal past

Dai Atlas taught her Old Cybertronian

Perhaps it was Dai Atlas who suggested she wear an inhibitor chip to disable her cursed powers?

Perhaps she’s able to save Skids’ life by deactivating her inhibitor chip and taking away his emotional guilt and trauma related to Quark and the other prisoners’ deaths?

Fond of holding the hands of her loved ones with their permission

Her dates with Skids involve playing games of trivia like quizzing each other on different species’ culture and politics, the question game, movie night, chilling at the oil reservoir, browsing in gift shops and dancing

She doesn’t drink, but enjoys accompanying Skids and Trailcutter in their bar outings

Helps Trailcutter with his self-worth issues and always makes sure to know he’s appreciated and loved

Brainstorm delights in showcasing his latest Unmentionables to her horror, it reminds him of his days on Kimia

She loves Brainstorm, but the way his mind works frightens her

Joins Cyclonus in prayers and participates in singing in Old Cybertronian with him and Tailgate

Attends Megatron’s poetry readings