Medics don’t work
after servo repairs or upgrades. Understandably so. It’s like asking a flier to
pull off complicated stunts just after wing repairs. The only way you can
easily convince a medic to take some downtime is by getting them an upgrade.
This is relatively common knowledge.

What is less common
knowledge is that some of that downtime generally includes something that isn’t
quite standard procedure for after a mod or repair of most sorts. Medics have
an extraordinary number of sensors in their servos, and some people’s
processors interpret the sensory input in very interesting ways under certain
circumstances.

Forceps is one of
those people, here are those circumstances.

 (This be NSFW. No other warnings. Masturbation via servo stimulation, and what may or may not be oral depending on what counts. Medics have very sensitive servos, ‘nuff said.)

Between several modded-in additions and many servo repairs
over the course of the war, Forceps had figured out the perfect way to do this.
A comfortable chair with enough width to let them comfortably splay their legs,
a table in front at just the right height to support their servos on it, and
the supplies set up nicely in front of them.

Vents quickening in anticipation, Forceps carefully lined up
a row of small, delicate brushes, aligning them with a bottle of polish, a
buffing cloth, and a tin of high-quality paint. This was part of the ritual-
slowly run their fingertips along the lid of the bottle, around the tin,
against the brush handles, then pick up a brush and flick it against their
fingertips. One-two-three, testing that each non-thumb digit on both servos had
the same level of sensory input despite the work, then stroke the brush down
from each fingertip to their palm. Perfect. There was still the soft ache from
having their fingers opened up and reassembled, but it was satisfying, like they’d done a series of intricate repairs in
record time.

Drawing out the anticipation a bit further, they stroked the
brushtip in slow, even circles against each fingertip, in order, focusing on
how the brush moved and how it felt. The sensory input was usually practical
only, nothing like something suggestive, but this… mm.

Slow, gentle, focused attention, dim lighting, a comfortable
temperature, no pulse under their fingertips, nothing but the stimulation they
chose to feel. Pampering. Well-deserved pampering. And it… felt… good.

No need to rush their arousal. That would come. Best to try
and be productive right now.

First, Forceps transformed the new mods out, flexing their
servos slowly and watching them shift. Two tiny, razor-sharp, curved blades,
affixed to a series of tiny piston-like mechanisms that could perfectly adjust
the angle in almost any direction. These would let them cut perfectly and shift
the blade as it cut, and their self-repair had already been coded to keep the
edges razor-sharp. Their laser scalpels were suitable for the majority of
procedures, but these had their uses. Excellent for scar removal with a minimum
of damage. And so, so sharp.

Itching to slice something, Forceps pulled a chunk of dense
silicone from subspace, set it on the table, and cut into it. Slowly at first,
watching the knives slide with the barest trace of resistance, then a quick
twist and a motion out to the sides. It felt perfect. Satisfying. And a valid
test!

Forceps enjoyed the clean sliding sensation for a few
moments more, optics dimmed and half-shut, purring, then set the silicone aside
and picked up the brush again. This time, they ran the tip and handle against
the mechanisms of the new mods, testing the sensation, then tucked the blades
away and flexed their servos again.

Picking up the cloth, Forceps dabbed the slightest bit of
polish onto it, then leaned back in the chair and began buffing their fingers
clean. It looked a bit odd to have just the middle finger of each servo
unpainted, but mods this delicate took best when the paint nanites had been
drawn away from the area. Besides.. they weren’t about to pass this up.

The initial buffing was too much sensation at once to feel
like anything in particular, but necessary to make sure the area was clean.

Next… mm.

Biting their lip, Forceps opened the paint tin, then dipped
the tip of a brush inside and swirled it. Slowly, slowly, watching the flow of
the paint, then how it dripped free of the brush as they lifted it.

The first touch of paint was always the strongest sensation.
Cold, wet, slick, a slow, even slide from the tip of their finger to the base,
luxury more than practicality. Forceps’ cooling fans kicked up another notch
and they ex-vented softly, optics shutting entirely for a moment, then opened
them again and kept working. This was a very thin paint, it had to be to
prevent imperfections. They were going to need, mm, multiple coats.

The touch of the brush, the slide of the bristles across
their plating, the cool sensation of the paint, the barely-there sensation of
it just beginning to dry around the edges… Forceps shuddered, legs sliding
apart, and retracted the cover over their valve. They weren’t going to use it,
not any time soon, but the air against their valve was all it took for their
processor to set the luxurious sensations firmly in the “sexual” category.

As the first layer on their left servo began to dry, they
switched the brush over and did the same with the right finger, biting their
lip slightly harder and lifting the sawlets on their back.

Next… both their favorite and least favorite part of this
whole thing.

Waiting for the paint to dry enough for the next layer.

They knew down to the nanoklik how long it would take in
this air temperature. It was a tease. They’d
never been sure whether or not they liked that.

As they counted down, they flexed their servos slowly
against the air, rubbing the tips of their not-recently-painted digits
together. Helm lolling back, they lowered their servos and stroked over their
inner thighs in slow, even circles, purring, shivering as they felt the paint
drying. Cool, perfectly smooth, contracting slowly and evenly around their
fingers, a firm squeeze that had the sensors tingling gently as they were
constricted the tiniest fraction.

They were less sensitive for the next layer of paint, so
they applied it a bit faster, quick little flicking strokes, vents quickening
and charge rising at the sensation. This time, they lowered their servos to
play along their inner thighs as the paint dried, fingers dipping into their
inner thighs to feel how the muscle cables slid and tensed against their
fingertips.

Forceps was aroused. Their valve was starting to lubricate,
and their spike would probably have been pressurizing if they’d retracted their
panel. On some level, they were aware of their interface equipment activating,
but it was background noise against the sensory input from their servos.

The third coat of paint went much the same, but took
slightly slower motions, they had to focus intently to keep their servos
steady.

The fourth… the fourth was less practicality and more pure
luxury. Half of it was done with their optics shut, purely by touch, helm
lolling back and thighs splayed wide. Midway through the second finger, a
shudder ran down their spine and they moaned, ever-so-softly, pausing for a
moment to let their frame settle. There was only so much their servos could do
to stay still against their frame moving, and this- well, it didn’t demand
absolute perfection, not like delicate surgeries, but Forceps saw no reason not
to be this precise. They couldn’t be precise while shuddering in pleasure,
though, so they had to wait for a moment.

And then, mm.

Then a brush. Tiny, gently tapered at the tip, stiff little
bristles. Ostensibly for simple detail work, for cleaning, but there was no
cleaning needed here. Forceps’ servos were pristine. Still, it was best to
check, wasn’t it?

A check that meant bristles sliding between delicate structures
in their servo joints, against the backs and sides of the hidden mechanisms. Others’
servos were complex enough, but medics’ servos added a whole other layer of
detail, hidden tools and devices packed tight together. A thousand nooks and
crannies to explore with the brush, innumerable sensory nodes to set alight
with pleasure, every press and stroke of the brush finding new sensors and
sending pulses of bliss up their spine.

It wasn’t spread out enough, though, wasn’t enough
sensation- too pinpoint, one internal joint of one finger at a time, and they
couldn’t do anything with the other servo because they needed it to hold the
brush. Crooning in the back of their throat, they sucked lightly on their thumb
for a moment or two, glossa tracing over the tip, then slowly pulled it out and
dipped the brush into one joint. The cooling sensation of evaporating oral
lubricant was perfect, spreading the sensation out, and they kept their servo
against their face so they could feel the heat of their panting against their
palm.

Warm air and cool wetness and the soft, firm strokes of the
brush, enough sensory input that they could narrow their awareness down to
nothing but. Forget their dripping valve, the spike trying to pressurize behind
their panel, forget everything but the strokes of the brush, the temperature
gradient on their servo, and- in a quick motion- their glossa running over
their newly modded finger. The entire world fell away, and Forceps melted into
their chair, sucking lightly at two fingertips and teasing the seams of the
other fingers with the brush.

Overload like this was always a slow build, gradual, gentle,
their charge rising a fraction with every tiny motion of the brush. When it had
a-l-m-o-s-t crested, they set the brush aside, gripped the seat of the chair
with their free servo, and delicately scraped their teeth along the sides of
their finger. That burst of hot pleasure-pain sensation brought their charge to
its peak, and they muffled a quiet, shaking wail of pleasure around three of
their fingers as they overloaded.

As they came back to themself, they pulled their fingers
from their mouth, long and slow, savoring the wet slide and the drip of oral
lubricants. Lips parted, they panted quietly and gripped the padded arms of the
chair, grounding their frame in the present enough that their optics refocused.
That… that was good. They’d need to be able to see to get over to the berth.

The berth sounded very good right then. Pushing the chair
back, they carefully stood up, now fully aware of their valve –and its
lubricant dripping down their thigh- and the fact that the rest of their frame
existed. The rest of their thoroughly unsteady frame.

Berth. Definitely, berth. Calipers clenching insistently on
thin air, Forceps staggered to the berth and flopped into it, face-down, taking
a moment or two to pant for breath. Crawling up to rest their helm on the
pillow, they spread their legs and propped their hips up, exposing their valve
to the air. They could overload without touching their equipment at all, but
their frame always ended up wanting a bit more.

Hence… this. Snuggling their cheek against the pillow in
enjoyment of the softness, they pulled a nubbed, squishy vibrating egg from
subspace, squeezing it firmly with their less-slick servo. Had to make it even.
One overload per servo. With a valve overload somewhere in there, preferably. Forceps
turned the vibrator on at its lowest setting, squeezing it again, then pressed
it just past their valve rim and cupped their palm against their valve lips.
They could feel the vibrations like this, thrumming into their servo, and their
previously-slicked servo clenched tight on the blankets for support as they
pressed their fingers past slick folds.

There was nothing quite like this. Sliding their fingers
into their own valve, fingertips braced against the thrumming toy, charge and
lubricant coating their fingers and submerging them in sensation. Their
calipers clamped tighter in response, rippling to draw the toy deeper, and
Forceps shuddered as it clenched
their fingertips tight against the toy. Tight, intense, almost too much, but
so, so good, the sensations in valve
and servo almost blending together but still distinct enough to feel the difference.
Another squeeze of their calipers, and the toy slid that much deeper, their
hips bucking in instinctive response-

Then, with the toy out of easy reach of their fingertips,
they pressed two fingers in alongside it and nearly overloaded on the spot.
They hadn’t done this trick with a
new mod, only as a part of their typical relaxation time, and it was strong. Gasp-groaning against the
pillow, they held still for a moment, lubricant dripping down their fingers and
into their palm, then revved their engine and went with it. Hard. Quick, strong
pumps of their servo, thrusting as steadily as they could, riding the tsunami
of near-overwhelming pleasure to bring their charge up faster than they could
normally manage.

Curling into themself, Forceps gasped, shuddered, and curled
their fingers in their valve, spreading it wide, driving their fingertips into
the toy’s soft cover in search of more.
Delicate sensors met the vibrating core of the toy, and Forceps squealed, balanced right on the edge of
overstimulation as their valve clamped down and the tidal wave of their charge
crashed over them.

Forceps’ back arched and they moaned, thighs clamping tight around their arm, pedes skidding
against the blankets and free servo gripping the blankets so hard their
clawtips stuck through.

The toy had a very simple bit of programming in it, and a
couple of sensors; when its user overloaded, it revved harder for a nanoklik or
two, depending on intensity of the vibrations, then shut off completely. At
that point, Forceps was grateful beyond expression for said feature, stopping
them from being overwhelmed past the point of pleasure.

Groaning, they settled limp against the blankets, wrapping the
cable of the toy around their finger, and slo-o-owly pulled it free of his
valve. That last bit of stimulation from the toy sliding through their valve rim
sent a shudder through their exhausted frame, then they went limp, pressing
their near-overstimulated servos together so both would be equally damp with
lubricant. That… that was perfect.

…hm. They’d gotten both servos thoroughly slicked with two
different kinds of lubricant.

They were probably going to have to clean that up, weren’t
they?

An amazing thought. For later. Right now, they were
exhausted, and they were going to stay like this; face-down in a pillow, valve
aching pleasantly, servos tingling all over, too wrung-out to have any
inclination towards movement.

It was great to have time off.