Tag: my fic

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.

(Longrange is indoctrinated if not outright brainwashed, Sharpshot is furious at that, confusion ensues when those collide.)

“You forgot everywhere
else.” 

Longrange paused, mildly puzzled,
and looked their frame over for a moment. They hadn’t missed any visible areas,
and they knew they hadn’t gotten dirty enough to need any sort of deep
cleaning, so they were done. They tried to tell Sharpshot as much, but he was already
steering them back into the shower. Puzzled but cooperative, Longrange sat down
on the bench again, helm tilted to watch Sharpshot. “I’m- I’m sorry, but I
don’t know what you’re talking about, to be perfectly honest.” 

Sharpshot, electing to demonstrate rather than talk,
sat down next to them and showed them a long, thin brush. “This is for
cleaning under plating. Someone clearly hasn’t shown you how to use one. You’re
shiny and attractive, yes, but you need to clean the parts of you that are not visible. You need to keep
yourself comfortable. Hold still.” 

As expected, Longrange
cooperated. It usually made Sharpshot angry that they were so compliant, but,
in this case, it might be helpful. Wasn’t as if one could easily scrub under
the plating of someone who was actively running away from you. 

It was working, at least.
Longrange was still wearing their all-too-common “what in Primus’ name are
you doing” expression, but they were relaxing, and there was no undercurrent of
anything negative. Still- best to ask. 

“Longrange, do you want me to
stop doing this? If it’s unpleasant for you, I will stop.” 

No, they really didn’t mind. In
fact, Longrange leaned into Sharpshot, more than happy to go with… whatever
this was. He confused them, but he seemed very earnest about helping. However
this was supposed to help. They looked nice! They were fine! 

…although that did feel good.
If ticklish. “No, no objections, thank you, this is actually quite nice,
but- ah! Goodness! That’s- I- oh!” 

Wait, no, too ticklish. 

People who started to squirm that
much generally wanted whatever was happening to stop, so Sharpshot paused, then
shifted to a different area that didn’t earn as much wiggling. “Good. Hold
still. And, urgh- look down.” 

Primus. How long had it been
since anyone had done this? Ever? The solvent running from under Longrange’s
lifted plating was filthy where Sharpshot was scrubbing, Not enough to truly
interfere with anything, but it couldn’t be comfortable. “How much of your
weight is grime?” 

Longrange would have been light
in the first place, meant to be held on someone’s arm, and the carved markings
in their plating lessened their weight even more. It was absurd. Sharpshot
could throw them over one shoulder and carry them away. Had, once. It made them
even more confused. 

Poor, deluded, brainwashed Longrange. Somehow not
aware that they should be outraged over having their genetics lab-modified to
make them prettier for their owner. What on Cybertron did a noble even need with
a long-range telescope? What-

Oh, he was getting riled up
again. Probably best not to do that, Longrange was confused enough already
without further outrage on their behalf. 

Oh good, he’d stopped. Longrange
had no idea how to communicate “please continue doing this thing but alter
it slightly to suit my minor and unimportant request” without sounding
incredibly selfish. This was lovely. 

Entirely unnecessary,
though. “Sharpshot, this… this feels very good, but… I’m quite clean
enough. I need to maintain my image if I am ever going to find a new Lord. I-”
almost a chuckle, but not quite, this wasn’t the funniest thought, “I do
terribly hope that wouldn’t require me to take my plating off. Not that I’m…
quite certain. People have been unofficially appointing themselves to the
position for me. I haven’t needed to look. Would you… happen to have any
ideas?” 

That’s a bit sad, isn’t it?
Servitor-class mech asking how to find a new Lord. It wasn’t as though they’d
had any practice in this. Every time they’d been available, someone had…
picked them up. Often literally. It was their role in life. 

Longrange was making it very hard not to be visibly
outraged on their behalf. “No. I… wouldn’t know how to go about finding
yourself a new owner. Unless you want to go all-out, put a leash on yourself,
and hold an auction,” Sharpshot grumbled, then paused, hissed, and outright
glared up at them. “Do not do that. Instead, explain to me why you need an
owner.” 

Dear Primus, there’s that
brainwashed expression again. Like they’re baffled by the very thought of
questioning any of this. Perfectly happy with their life as a decorative
pet. 

Was it not obvious? Genuinely taken aback, Longrange
leaned away to look down at Sharpshot, optics wide and helm cocked. “I’m-
first of all, not an owner, a Lord. And… look at me. Really. My alt mde is
immobile. I am entirely useless without someone to use me.” 

This was true. Yes, they could
theoretically position themself to look at things themselves, but what good
would that do? They weren’t any sort of leader, they weren’t a strategist. The
best they could do was look at things and enjoy it. Enjoyable, admittedly, but
useless. That didn’t do anyone any good. Sharpshot really didn’t seem to be
getting the idea, though, and evidently something was upsetting here.

Turning slightly to the side,
Longrange placed their servos on Sharpshot’s servos, meeting his optics. Well-
meeting his center optic, that was probably the best place to look. “Sharpshot,
I am servitor-class. When needed, I work for strategists. When not in active
warfare, I work for nobles. Nobles use my alt for their enjoyment, and, as you
can see by my plating, the rest of me is used for decoration. That is my role
in life. And it’s, really- it’s fine!” they crooned, armor lifting, optics
bright and earnest. “It’s not hard! I follow someone around, I keep myself
clean, I transform when requested, and that’s it. One of the easiest jobs I
know of.” 

…oh dear. Sharpshot had that
furious expression in their optics again. It was borderline terrifying,
honestly, his scope-optic whirred and dilated rapidly as if focusing on a
target. 

Ow, okay, that hurt. Sharpshot’s
primary optic physically couldn’t focus on anything this close, so he shut it
and shook his helm, using the moment of time to settle his plating down. He was
probably scaring Longrange, wasn’t he? 

Dear Primus. He’d hoped that
asking Longrange what they thought was happening would help him figure out how
to get around it, but it was mostly just making him angry. 

A few deep vents to settle himself, then he patted
Longrange’s arm, sighing quietly. “I understand that you… are very set
in your role here. I suppose it offers you some level of stability, hm? But
stability that centers around being controlled by, used by,
other people for no reason other than the frame you were born into. You are a
person. You are not a tool. Look at me- my alt is incapable of operating
properly without assistance! But I do fine on my own. I don’t need an owner. Stop- stop
saying ‘Lord’, Longrange. If someone controls your every movement and what
you are allowed to do, if they fuel you and provide you with a place to live
only so you will do something for them, if they have ultimate control over
everything including whether or not you are allowed to interface, they see
themselves as owning you!” 

He tried to stay calm. He really
did. It didn’t work. “And- and another thing! You are not going to burn
out your lenses if you overload! Believe me, overloads have not hurt me, not one iota. We
are living beings born of a species meant to self-reproduce in a process
involving overloads, there would be no practical reason for overloads to do us
any harm! How do you think your ancestors reproduced if not by interfacing and
overloading?” 

Ah, he was getting through, Longrange was starting to think, he
could see it in their optics- 

Until it faded into a
forced-looking version of the infuriating mindlessness from before. 

That- that couldn’t be- 

Sharpshot was almost scaring Longrange at that point
with the outright fury in his optics. He was nearly shaking, armor
flared, optics blazing, gripping Longrange’s arm in one servo, as intimidating
as someone his size could be. The one thing keeping Longrange from being
genuinely afraid was the fact that it wasn’t directed at them. It was at, what-
their Lord? For- for wh- 

He was right. He was right about-
about overloads, wasn’t he? And about- yes, fine, “owner” was a more
accurate word, Longrange had nearly been their Lord’s pet, but that was okay because pets got fed
and- 

…being
a pet was okay? Being, essentially, one of the bred-out-of-practicality leashed
mechanimals was okay? Being- being lied to about their own frame, being told
they couldn’t interact with others because their Lord was too busy to stand
around and allow it, being picked up and carried at any moment despite their
feelings on the matter was okay? 

…no, no, this line of thought was dangerous, this
line of thought got people transferred -no, sold– to places no one ever heard
from them again, and it- and their- 

Their Lord had always been kind
to them. Aloof, but kind, keeping them clean and well-fueled and away from
people who looked at them wrong, had never demanded anything of them but what
their frame was made for, had- 

-how had it become such an
accepted thing that a servitor-class mech might have to do more than what their
alt was made for? How- how was that- 

How did- 

What- 

But they- 

Vocalizer clicking a quiet noise of distress,
Longrange sat back against the wall, hunching into the corner for protection
against the onslaught of things they’d never had reason to think of before.
They didn’t have anything to put against Sharpshot’s- well, not quite evidence,
but everything he was saying made sense. Far too much sense. 

They didn’t know what to do.

They really, genuinely didn’t
know what to do. 

So they defaulted. They stood up,
stepped in front of Sharpshot, and waited for orders. 

Frag. 

Frag frag frag. 

Was that- had he just run afoul
of some sort of slave coding? Sharpshot’s spark lurched, but Longrange didn’t
have that faded look in their optics, the way people did when something pushed
their rational thought away. They looked incredibly, unbelievably confused, and
a little bit like they might be about to cry. 

Whoops. 

Maybe Sharpshot should have been
more gentle. This was probably his fault.

At least Longrange was thinking.
Even if that thinking included seemingly running out of processor power and
just standing there waiting for him to give them an order. Poor mech. 

…maybe an order would help,
actually. Gesturing slightly, Sharpshot whispered “come here, Longrange”
and coaxed the taller mech closer, petting and lightly pressing on their frame
until they were back on the bench with him. This time, lying down, helm in his
lap. “There. Now… stay here. Let me keep cleaning you. All right?” 

Longrange
didn’t seem to have any complaints. 

Probably wouldn’t say if they did.

Primus save the poor thing from their own processor.

(Hijack meets Acus and ends up semi-permanently latched to him. Warnings for this: slave coding, mention of dubcon. Acus is somewhat unhappy. Hijack is surprisingly okay.)

Acus very rarely stood up for himself, even now that he was feeling better. Some of it
was a lack of will to fight, most of it was because Scalpel never gave him the
chance. Not that he minded. She was very good at standing up for people.

Trouble was, that meant Acus had no practice in this sort of
thing.

It helped, in this case, that he was standing up for- well, somewhat for
a patient, but also for the health of his friends. Still, his winglets were low
on his back as he spoke, and he was stroking his fingertips in small patterns against
each other in an effort to stay calm. “I’m- I’m sorry, but , no, we all know
none of that will- will work. It needs to be a-a medic, the coding pathways are
smoother that way, we have access to and processors for things that others
don’t. And- and you both-“

They were listening, albeit
a bit skeptically, and Acus’ winglets lifted in a gesture of hope. “-you both
have to admit, you’re- you’re a lot more emotional than I am. We- we don’t know
how strong this coding is. I’m sorry, Scalpel, but- but you’re really- you get
angry very easily, and it’s not a bad thing, it’s not! Except that… how do you
think the coding will- will respond to that? It- if it’s the really strong
kind, it’s probably going to hurt them
for- for upsetting you, and just it existing
will upset you. Patches, you’ll- you’ll just get all sad, and the- you know, the-“

Acus made a sort of squishing motion at the air, attempting
to indicate Patches’ soft-friendly-sad feelings that he got at people. “-those.
The feelings. Not good, either. I’m… I get anxious, but not emotional, usually. I’m… maybe not the
best choice ever, but… the best choice here. I can do this. It’s… just
temporary, after all, right? I can do this.”

Turning slightly, Acus gestured to the motionless frame of
the mech in question, his winglets lifting higher in the most confident gesture
he could manage. Up, out to the sides, presenting the bright orange trim, a
gesture he’d accidentally picked up from Scalpel and her tendency to show off
her sharp edges. “I can do this. And
I can’t exactly not. They need help.
I can help them. I can.”

No one liked this idea. He could see that much. But… no one
had any coherent objections.

Patches, in lieu of objections, offered a stabilizing hug. Nuzzling
Acus’ forehelm, he rocked gently back and forth, taking Acus with him, until he
felt the smaller frame relax. “I know. You’re right. I hate it, but you’re
right. We’re here, okay? We’ve got you. Whatever you need, we’ve got you. I’ve
got you right here… whenever you’re ready. We’ve got you, Acus.”

Ready to most likely activate the slave coding of a nearly
comatose mech who would probably latch onto him? No. No one decent could ever
be ready for that. He wasn’t going to get any readier by waiting, though, so he
nodded despite himself and let Patches half-carry him to the berth. Sometimes
Patches’ walking hugs felt more like being awkwardly carried. The effort was
appreciated, and… somewhat helpful.

Acus vented deeply, then reached up, tucked his patient’s
hem forward to access the panel at the back of their helm, and clicked it open
via a medical override tool. Best to be quick about this. As he’d suspected,
the ports under the panel were scratched, healed over but clearly damaged
previously, and Acus spent a nanoklik or two searching for the least damaged
ones. No sense causing any further discomfort if he could avoid it.

When the plug locked into place, Acus was met with a nearly
blank wall. No traps, no defensive measures, just a wall. A wall and a door,
carved out in coding so clearly he could nearly see it. Another deep vent, and
Acus reached out, pushing at the door. He fully intended to pulse medic
override coding at the door, let it know he wasn’t someone who needed to be
locked out, but it opened at the lightest nudge.

Before Acus could reach inside, something else reached out,
wrapped around him, and latched into place like a set of animated chains. It
held for a fraction of an impulse, then released almost entirely, leaving a
thin trail between Acus and-

And slave coding. Coding that had imprinted on him, was
registering him as its commander, and had just presented every aspect of his
patient’s mind for him to peruse.

Acus politely but firmly declined the offer. A quick
once-over for clearly damaged or dead-end coding that would need to be removed,
then Acus retreated, firmly closing the door behind him. The chain stayed,
though, and he could almost feel it still around him as he unplugged.

His patient’s optics flickered furiously for a moment or
two, then shut off, and their frame slumped from sitting ramrod-straight to
almost falling against Acus. Blackspark, fortunately, caught them. “Whoops,
Pit- there ‘e go. You see anythin’ useful in there? They sure ain’t givin’ any
answers out.”  

Acus, settling against Patches for further support, rubbed
his temples briefly before responding. “Yes, I saw some things. They are… as ‘okay’
as they can be. We were right- slave coding. Imprinted on me immediately, no-
no barriers to keep me out, must be some sort of succession protocol. They’re
rebooting, and should… hopefully be slightly more animated when they wake up,”
he sighed, settling into Patches’s arms, and slowly shook his helm. “Goodness,
I still don’t like this, but… we have to get the coding out of them, and it is active regardless of if it’s latched
onto someone. Better they not be forced into that blank state. We can work with
most other things. If- if they’re imprinted on me, at least I can try to treat
them well, give them some degree of freedom. Worst case scenario, they can be
sedated while we work on the code, but, Primus, I do hope that won’t be the
case. Please, could you- wrap them up in something?”

Responding with quiet sympathy to the pitiful, trilling
undernote in Acus’ voice, Patches hugged the smaller medic tight, reaching out
to pull a blanket up over their patient with his free servo. “Poor thing. You’re
right, though, this is… probably the best option. I almost hope the coding is
old, because it- it means they might be somewhat resigned to it at this point.
Less stressful for them.”

Blackspark, leaning against the edge of the berth, lifted
one of the mech’s forearms and tapped a fingertip against one of multiple
panels along their arm. “What d’you suppose is up with this? That’s, what- a
good twenty panels, easily visible, an’ I bet more out of easy sight. Not even
databirds got that many wires. I’d almost think they were some kinda charge
hub- this many wires an’ slave coding don’t bode well. If that were th’ case,
though, I’d think they woulda been modded to be a bit less, well-“

Pausing, he gestured at the mech’s frame in general,
especially the completely flat chassis and stomach and the oddly oriented hip
joints. “-that. Weird as Pit. I guess it could be a kink, but can’t be this
many panels wortha mechs with a kink like this. Wouldn’t be profitable. So, I
don’t think that’s right. Dear Primus I hope I’m right about that not bein’ the
reason.”

“Well, we’ll just… put that on the list of things to check
for on the exam, then,” Acus muttered, and sat down next to his patient, not
sure what to do other than wait for them to wake up. And, well, pet them.
Nothing much, they were unaware and potentially unconscious, but he lightly
stroked their forearm in hopes that they would wake with some awareness of
softness. It worked for him. Completely innocent contact, not looking for
anything, not touching anywhere most people would object to. Who knew, with
this patient, but… worth a try. Hopefully it wouldn’t do any harm.

Eventually, their patient’s optics onlined, slow but steady.
Optic lids flickered, then each piece of plating slowly rose and settled, a few
plates at a time, a clear manifestation of a physical reboot. Blinking, they
watched the ceiling for a few nanokliks, then turned their arm over to offer
Acus the small panels. “Do you require access for further scans?”

They looked better. Neutral, field restrained, minimal to no
body language on any part of them, but better. They were awake, their optics
were focused, and they weren’t in any sort of visible distress. That was a
start. Acus in-vented deeply, relieved, and offered them a gentle, professional
pulse of greeting/reassurance/comfort with
an overlay of medic-signal. “Not right now, no. Thank you. My name is-“

“Acus. I know. I heard, and” the mech sighed, sitting up and
crossing their legs, “my coding imprinted on you. Coding you evidently intend
to remove. I was locked, not unaware. It happens if I go long enough without
interacting with my Commander.”

“…right,” Acus muttered, turning to properly face them, and
shut everything else out in favor of his patient. “Good to know. Now… I need
your name, and I need to know the details of how your coding works, as much as
you can give me. I’d rather not have to go prying into anything if I can talk
to you instead. You’ve had enough of that, I’m sure.”

“Hijack,” the mech replied, quiet, optics flicking briefly
to the rest of the room before going back to Acus as if pulled. Look a
Commander in the optics when speaking to them. “Relatively long-leash coding. I
am largely functional if left to myself, but need to interact with my Commander
occasionally to avoid a forcible lockdown. I cannot disobey an order you give
me, and you have the authority to give others total control over me. I also”
with a clear expression of distaste “have been explicitly ordered to include in
this description that I am bound to the word
of an order. I can be creative in
my interpretation of an order, and” still unhappily “I have learned to find as
many loopholes as I can if I disagree with an order. I personally find this
entirely reasonable. I also have a few long-standing orders of etiquette. One
of them is optic contact, I am not choosing to keep my optics locked on yours.
I would rather be looking around. I am not obligated to speak my thoughts
unless ordered, and I am not obligated to do anything that is not a direct
order. I will be very creative in my interpretation of broad orders regarding
your intent. I also-“

Armor clamping, Hijack made a clear effort to shut up, but
failed as if it was being dragged free of them. “…I have numerical codes which
can trigger various punishment subroutines, you should have a file of those
freely available now. I am additionally unable to refuse direct orders to
injure myself if you feel as though ‘your creativity should match mine’.
Lastly, I am not allowed to make direct contact with you, with any part of
myself, without explicit permission.”

Acus, trying not to look upset, gave a jerky nod of
understanding. “Registered. First- I do not care about your manners. Please
discard any sort of etiquette rules you have as far as you are able to, I-“

Excellent. That bled a considerable amount of tension out of
Hijack’s frame as their optics immediately moved from him to everyone else in
the room, flickering back and forth, clearly assessing the situation. “-ah,
that helped? Good. Second, I am not going to order you to harm yourself. Let me
be clear about that. Before I say anything else, I need to know why you have this coding in the first
place, and I need to know the truth. I’m…” Pit he didn’t like this “I’m afraid
I’ll have to make that an order.”

Muttering something about “nicest order ever”, Hijack cut
their optics over to Acus, smirking inwardly when they didn’t immediately have to meet his optics. Oh, they liked that.
They liked this mech already. “It was decided that my ability made me too much
of a risk. Especially a political risk. Would you like me to show you?”

Of course Acus
would like them to show him. He wanted to know what was up with Hijack’s
frame, he’d never seen anything quite like this. Though- with caution. “Assuming
the demonstration won’t harm anyone in this room, absolutely.”

Hijack, almost smirking, obliged. Every small panel along
their front opened up, and twenty-plus thin, prehensile cables of varying
thicknesses, most tipped with small metal points, unspooled into thin air.

They were expecting some variety of interest, probably mixed
with horror. They were not expecting utter fascination and no concern
whatsoever. Cocking their helm slightly, they extended one cable slightly
towards Acus, offering him the chance to inspect. “I don’t mind if you touch. They’re
highly sensitive to electrical signals, but not especially to contact.”

Oh. That was cute. Acus’ first touch was gentle, soft,
taking the cable between two fingertips and almost-but-not-quite flinching back
as it wrapped against his fingers. “Those locate and fasten around signal relays.
If I land on someone’s back and get enough cables fastened into place, I can
draw away their movement impulses and replace them. It enables me to completely
control any motions from the neck down. Hence the political danger…
incriminating actions and all. And-“

Acus looked fascinated, and Hijack slowly stood up to
demonstrate further, stretching their arms out to either side. What looked a
bit like a thick bio-light ran down each arm from about mid-forearm to their
knee, on each side, and expanded out as they stretched. An electric current ran
through each slack membrane, and the membranes tightened to almost resemble a
glider suit such as a humanoid being might use. “-I can glide, if thrown or
given a high platform to dive off of. The coding was a precaution against any
political manipulation I might attempt… and is largely the only way they could
get me to use my ability against anyone. I don’t particularly enjoy taking
control of people who’ve done nothing to me.”

Acus, still fascinated by the cables, wrapped two of them
around his wrist and stroked a third between his fingertips, then reached to
touch the membrane. “Ah, this explains the odd frame arrangement- fascinating. And it makes the coding
understandable. Not, agh- not excusable,
of course, it’s still a horrible thing to do to someone, but I see why they
would think it a good idea.”

“Mm, no, never questioned that,” Hijack murmured, optics
cutting towards the multiple doors along one wall, and shifted their weight
slightly. “I would… like to take any further discussion to somewhere else, if
we can, potentially somewhere with a berth. I am going to need fuel, if
possible. And I would… like elaboration, now that you know what I can do. I don’t
intend to hurt you. I couldn’t if I tried, and… so far, I like you well enough.
I heard your… very long discussion about my potential coding, well before you
had any idea what you were dealing with. I don’t believe any of that was a lie.
As far as I can, as of right now… I trust you. I definitely like you.”

“I’m. Well. I- thank you?”

Seeming uncertain how to respond, Acus fidgeted slightly
with both servos, accidentally involving the cables around his wrist, then
nodded once and attempted to disengage. “-yes, sure, we can go somewhere else,
there is a private room through that door with a berth and energon. I. Ah. I
can take this from here.”

Patches, trying his best not
to engulf Hijack in hugs, settled for hugging Acus once before backing
away.

Scalpel did not take a similarly cuddly role. She pulsed a
quick wave of supportiveness at Acus, but aimed a glare at Hijack, winglets up
and flared. “Lemme be clear, mech. You try and hurt him, I hurt you. You
successfully hurt him, I kill you.”

“Scalpel, maybe don’- ah, no, you threatened ‘em, sorry,”
Blackspark muttered, shrugging apologetically from behind Scalpel, and dodged a
half-sparked smack at him. “-oi, fine, I’m leavin’, I’ll go sit down, but she
ain’t kiddin’!”

“Sorry, she’s-“

How the Pit did he- react to that? Acus disentangled his
servos from Hijack’s assorted parts, stepping away, and shook his helm
slightly. “She’s, ah- not, um, not bluffing, no. She’s very protective. I
promise she won’t hurt you if you don’t try
to kill me or- or anything, though. So. Don’t do that.”

“Noted,” Hijack muttered, following after Acus, eyeing
Scalpel over their shoulder the entire way into the room. She meant it.
Clearly. They’d avoid hurting Acus. Not that they wanted to hurt him in the
first place. This mech, they could work with as a Commander.

The instant the door shut behind them, Hijack gave in to exhaustion
and impulse and flopped onto the berth, face-down, groaning quietly against the
padding. “Ow.”

Oh, concern from Acus. Cute. “Fine. Just. Ow at life.”

Goodness, right, low fuel levels. Acus pulled a cube from
the cabinet on the wall and sat near Hijack’s helm, reaching to touch one of
their- winglets? Almost winglets. Two thin ribs sticking up from their upper
back, slightly curved, with a membrane stretched from the tips to a point
attached below them. Probably for steering help while gliding. Decent for
expression. “You need fuel. Are you steady enough to hold the cube? I can get
an IV, if not, or help you keep it steady.”

“That’s… another thing,” Hijack muttered against the
padding, and propped their helm up just enough to speak clearly. “If my fuel
levels are low enough, I can only fuel out of a container held in a Commander’s
servos. Someone added it as a manipulation tactic. I don’t want to fight it
right now, I don’t like needles, I just want to go with it for once, but… I am
not allowed to touch,” they murmured, shrugging against the padding.

Acus didn’t like that, but he settled a servo on Hijack’s
back and guided them halfway into his lap, holding the cube easily where Hijack
could sip. “Well, as I offered, I will… happily assist you. And I would like to
remove this order, if I can. I would also like to… set some boundaries, or lack
thereof. I do not want a slave.”

Once he was sure Hijack was listening, Acus spoke softly,
gently, but as firmly as he could in that tone. “Unless I specifically phrase
something as an order, please take it as a request. Also, please, please tell me if you object to an
order. You are… not quite welcome to freely touch me, I can be somewhat
contact-averse, however I will not require explicit permission for anything
that does not involve your interface equipment or the use of your ability.
General permission or positive responses should suffice. And I am making this
an order- do not use that ability on anyone who is not threatening bodily harm
to another. Though I gather that may not be something you want to do in any
case. In short… please behave as though this coding does not exist, unless I
specify otherwise, and do not make a puppet of anyone who is not thoroughly
earning it.”

“Fair enough,” Hijack declared into the half-empty cube,
then drained the rest of it, optic lids fluttering slightly as if they were
sleepy. “Now… my turn for ‘n order. Be honest. What do you want me to do? I-I
know you want something, however nice you are. You must want me to do
something. Mix you drinks, bring you things, polish some part of you or another…
I honestly wouldn’t object to a decent number of things. Could also take notes,
potentially assist during some procedure or another that requires extra servos
with no skill, could-“

They were rambling, they knew, they didn’t care. They were
just listing off… things. Things with no serious connotations. Things they
wouldn’t much mind.

And then things they didn’t want to do.

“-wouldn’t like that much. Or, Pit, could make me suck you
off, had someone consider that before my looks put them off i- oh.”

Acus cringed, and
Hijack instantly regretted what had been something of a joking statement. Pit.
Acus had seemed at least okay with most of the joking, but that, agh- people
didn’t flinch away from the entire room for anything less than personal. “…apologies.
What, specifically, if you can clarify, do I need to never say again?”

Acus, resisting the urge to curl up and hide, shook his helm
violently and pushed at the air with both servos. “No, no, I’m- I’m not, not going to order you not to say
something, I, no-“

Hijack lifted a servo and patted at the air a distance from Acus’
face, managing to quiet him, and pointed almost sternly at his face. “D’you
think I’d suggest you order me not to say something? I mean, what do I need to
never say around you again in order to be a decent person? Because that- that
is personal. Something happened. I don’t want to mention whatever it was again
if it makes you do this. Also. Give me permission to hug you.”

Oh. Acus blinked twice, startled, and ex-vented heavily. “I’m.
Ah. You- you’re perceptive. And I’m blatantly upset, I-I suppose. Just, ah..
any- any mentions of… those in positions of power abusing their power to gain
sexual favors from- from subordinates. Especially. Ah. Oral favors. Please.
That’s… not an order. It’s a request. As for… the hug? I. Shouldn’t. You’re a
patient, and- and forcibly anchored to- I’m- I- oh, frag, okay, yes, please.”

Selfish. Incredibly selfish. But he wanted, dear Primus he
wanted, and it looked like Hijack wanted just as much. Hijack looked… apologetic.
For triggering him, evidently.

And then Hijack flipped over, slid into his lap, and hugged
him. With all their limbs. All their
limbs, legs and cables included. Acus chirped in surprise, then relaxed, optics
almost shutting in response to the pressure. “…that’s nice. Thank you.”

Hijack, groggy as the energon flooded their systems, pulsed
shivering bliss at the contact and at
the praise. “Mmh, okay, I… am staying
like this, we are not moving, deeeear Primus I don’t think I have ever hugged someone with cables and it
is good, you feel warm. And praiiise,
I like the praise, thaaaat’s fun, that’s awesome, never got enough of… oh,
lookit, ‘m drunk. Okay. Yay. Sure. Whatever. Gonna hug you.”

Pressure. Pressure through his entire frame, firm and snug,
warm, friendly. Acus didn’t mind the cables- Hijack physically couldn’t hurt
him and didn’t likely have any desire to do so. They were strange, alarming to
most, but not that bad. This… was far too warm to protest. Mm. Deep pressure,
always fun. Chirruping in the back of his throat, Acus about keeled over onto
his side, pulling a spare blanket up with one servo to cover them both. “Ohh.
No. No complaints. Good- good mech, good, warm, kind mech, thank you, this is
nice, very nice, good, good dear
mech. Relax, Hijack. ‘s only fair. Gonna relax.”

Well.

This? This, Hijack could work with. Ending up this cuddly
with a new Commander was probably a good sign. Especially one who seemed so
repulsed –or traumatized- by the idea of taking advantage of them. Nonsexual
contact, they could and would happily do. First hug they’d had in a very long
time. Good hug.

Awesome.

Time to sleep. Stasis pods didn’t count as sleep.

There was a party going on.

Optimus wasn’t one for partying, but sometimes he liked to
sit nearby and watch everyone. It was interesting to see how everyone acted when
they were buzzed and happy, how the groups sorted themselves out and interacted
with others.

The medics were off to one side, complaining at each other
and anyone who would listen about idiots and idiotic medical cases, thoroughly
enjoying their complaining. Except Acus, who was pressed tight to Scalpel’s
side, silent but awake and watching. Poor mech didn’t socialize much in larger
groups, he just sat and listened. Maybe that was socializing for him, Optimus
didn’t know. He seemed happy, and Scalpel wouldn’t be here with him if he wasn’t.

Over by the bar, Swerve and the silver-green limb bundle of
Duo were chattering chemical formulas around a strange, twisty apparatus,
evidently distilling or mixing or chemically altering something. It was
probably supposed to be a drink. If Swerve was involved, it was most likely a
drink. Hopefully they’d remember to keep in mind that others couldn’t drink
quite the variety of things that Duo could.

And, that was unusual- everyone past a certain size had
grouped into one part of the room. Avalon was in the group as well, oddly for
him, though he’d fit himself into a corner rather than getting involved in the
literal, friendly shoulder-bumping of the rest.

Something else unusual; someone being thrown through the
air. That almost never happened. 

Optimus stopped in surprise as a small frame
zipped by him at about chassis height, hitting the wall opposite the group with
a rather amusing splak sound. It
would have been concerning, except that the mech –oh, that was Hijack, wasn’t
it?- stuck to the wall on a hastily-painted target, looking thoroughly
unconcerned. Leaning back with three limbs still attached to the wall, they
tapped the spot they’d hit and called “two points!” back at the audience, then
dropped off the wall and trotted back over to jump into Bracer’s servos.

Well. Evidently there was a game going on. Consisting of
throwing Hijack at a target on the wall. Hijack looked to be having fun, and
they were genetically designed to be
thrown at solid targets, but Optimus stayed where he was to watch and be sure
all involved were having fun.

Hijack, giggling and tipsy but clearly aware, shifted around
until their stomach was against Bracer’s palm and spread the thin, metallic
flight-membrane that led from their elbows to their knees. Goggles and face
mask in place, they wiggled in evident anticipation, tapping on his servo. “Go
on. Hard mode!”

Bracer had clearly done this several times already, and he
pulled his arm back as if to throw a dart or a model glider. As he did, Hijack
shifted, spreading the membranes askew in what would probably make them spiral
in flight.

Nobody got to see if Bracer could still make the shot while
tipsy and on “hard mode”, though, because he sneezed right as he launched
Hijack. Hijack, spiraling thanks to the tilt of their membranes, spun wildly
off to the side-

And hit Optimus’ chassis with, hilariously, the exact same splak noise it produced when they hit a
solid wall.

Everyone aware of the situation froze, seeming unsure how to
respond, then about half the watchers started laughing. Bracer among them, apologizing
through wheezy giggles, rubbing the back of his helm awkwardly but looking far
too amused to be contrite.

To be fair, it was rather
funny. Hijack was still splayed along Optimus’ front, stuck on by magnets and
suction cups, face against Optimus’ windshield. After a nanoklik or two, they
looked up at Optimus, blinking owlishly, then somehow shrugged without moving
their arms. “This works.”

Optimus, still among the mechs with no idea how to respond,
automatically settled a servo on Hijack’s back and attempted to pull them off.
They did not come off. “Ah. I… suppose it does, for you. I will be honest,
however, it is strange for me. I would prefer to return you to your game. Would
you… let go?”

He might have been able to pry Hijack off if he tried, but
he didn’t want to risk injuring them. They weren’t threatening him or being
aggressive, they’d just stuck onto him and decided not to move. The friendly,
tipsy EM field explained that reluctance- evidently they were a cuddly drunk.

Hijack blinked several times, looking around, then grinned
up at Optimus and cocked his helm further. “Let go if you throw me back
over.  Actually- at the ceiling. Throw me at the ceiling.”

…why not? Optimus offered a tiny smile, attempting to grip
Hijack’s back plating firmly enough to support them if they released their hold.
“I will, however it will be difficult if you continue to hold onto me. I cannot
throw myself at the ceiling, unfortunately, the Matrix does not allow me to
alter physics to that degree. I also have no way to hold myself up if I were to
hit the ceiling.”

Hijack slumped obligingly into Optimus’ servos, and Optimus
turned them over, then brought his arm back and tossed them at the ceiling. No
reason not to. At worst, he could catch them if they fell, and they probably
wouldn’t fall hard enough to do any damage in any case.

The worst did not happen. Hijack hit the ceiling and stuck
fast, heralded by several enthusiastic whoops from the watchers. The voiced
approval only increased when Hijack began to move across the ceiling, slowly
but surely, detaching one suction cup at a time and fastening it in a new
place. When they were over the game-players, they let go and fell onto Bracer,
ending up stuck to his shoulder.

Cute. Oddly cute for such a strange mech.

Optimus almost considered joining the game, but decided
against it. Among other things, he wasn’t drunk enough to make it a fair match,
nor did he particularly want to join the drinking. Not to that extent, at
least. Maybe he’d go find out what Swerve and Duo were working on.

Circling around the group, Optimus made his way over to the
bar counter, and heard another splak behind
him. A quick glance over his shoulder revealed that, yes, Bracer had made the
shot.

Good for him.

And good for Hijack, getting around the semi-understandable unease
of them to make friends.

Now, what in Primus’ name were the twins doing with a bottle
of glitter?

7803 words of Twitch, my lil garbagebot, helping Rung out with a heat cycle.

Contains sticky smut, heat cycle (duh), potentially dubcon due to said heat cycle but there will be no regrets. Twitch talks a lot and some of it is very dirty. Also, oral.

“I’m- I’m sorry? What did you say?”

Rung doesn’t usually miss anything of what people say,
especially not when they’re in his office. In his defense, though, he’s
distracted. Ratchet has cleared his schedule and blocked his attempts at
filling it again, Twitch has shown up despite being informed about the change,
and- oh, and Rung is in heat. Which Ratchet insists means that he needs to take
a break. That doesn’t help.

In short, everything
is distracting. Which gives him a decent excuse for having entirely missed what
Twitch had said. Which he hasn’t, not really, not if he’s being truthful- he
just needs to be very sure he’s heard right.

Twitch hops off the couch and trots up to Rung, servos
clasped behind his back, blatantly looking the therapist over as he speaks.
“I’m just trying to be certain. The only reason you don’t want my help with
this is because I’m your patient, yes? Not anything to do with me or your own
preferences?”

Because if it’s just that, he can fix it. Easy enough. If
it’s his odd appearance, or the fact that he might not happen to be Rung’s
taste? He can understand both, he’s strange and people have preferences, and
both of those… might or might not be workable. No one says they need to be
staring into each other’s optics all romantic.

If Rung just outright doesn’t want to interface with him,
he’ll leave, but that doesn’t look to be the case. His initial offer had been
met with genuine interest, not just
heat-driven arousal, before Rung visibly shut his own interest down and tried
to settle. It failed. Poor mech. How long has he been trying to endure this?

Apparently Rung hadn’t heard wrong.

And, no, that isn’t the only…

Actually, yes, come to think of it, that is the only reason. Twitch isn’t
conventionally attractive, but he is calm, friendly, and stable, and he is offering.

Rung is tempted. And he lets himself be tempted, just for an
instant, before he shuts the idea down. No. He can’t. He’d taken (evidently mistaken) the offer of help for a casual
offer, even a joke, and had turned it down immediately. For good reason. He cannot interface with a patient. It
would be a massive breach of trust, of ethics, with too much potential for
manipulation to even approach a
healthy relationship.

So, with reluctance, he takes a step back (though a tiny
one) and nods. “You are correct. I do apologize, Twitch, and I thank you for
the offer, but I-I simply cannot accept. It would be extremely irresponsible of
me to- oh-“

That’s all he needed to know. Twitch stepped forward again,
raising a servo, and set it firmly on Rung’s arm to pull even more of his
attention. “All right, then. I am officially firing you as my therapist. The
paperwork can wait. Come on- let me help you out. This way.”

He’s strong, much stronger than people tend to expect, but
he’s careful not to use much of that strength as he tugs on Rung’s arm. It’s
meant to be a firm invitation to an uncertain mech, nothing to force any sort
of movement. Best bet here? Probably to pretend that everything is perfectly
normal, perfectly casual. “Nothing against you, of course. You’re a very good
therapist. I just don’t happen to need one. I’m quite stable, as you’ve
noticed. However strange that may be, and I do understand that it is strange,
it is genuine. I don’t need therapy, and you
don’t need yet another patient. What you do need is someone to help you through your heat. So- come with me,
we’ll go back to my room and I’ll give you a servo or two. Also a spike and/or
valve, whatever your preference, and a glossa if you want. Really, you’re
welcome to most of me.”

Oh, Rung is sputtering again. Cute.

What.

Caught off guard, Rung leans into the contact, actually
taking a couple of steps after Twitch before he stops himself. Twitch is a
calm, casual mech, so Rung was expecting a calm acceptance of his refusal. He
was not expecting to be fired and then immediately propositioned, again, quite
firmly this time.

…is Twitch right?

From what Rung knows, it would seem that he is. He’s almost alarmingly stable, unfazed by a
significant and forcibly administered rebuild that included empurata-esque
traits. Casual about it, even. Capable of emotional responses to injustice, and
without the unhealthy idea that he’s of a low enough rank to be essentially
worthless, just… calm. Truthfully,
yes, Rung is willing to discharge Twitch as his patient, he doesn’t have any
significant concerns, and it-it would give
him more time for his more critical patients, but-

But that’s not- “I’m- oh, Twitch, I-I really- that’s simply
not how this works, I can’t- I- ah-
oh dear.“

Twitch is still touching him, but moving, placing both
servos on his stomach, and Rung’s faceplates flush as he’s reminded of how
unusually hot his frame is. This is incredibly
unprofessional of him, it’s shameful,
he- he shouldn’t even be considering-

But he is, he is very much considering, and he is tempted. He should stop, he really should, he should leave (never
mind that this is his own office) and remove himself from- from the situation,
preferably to a cold shower, or to-

In that moment, Twitch makes up his mind. Rung isn’t saying
“I don’t want to”, he’s saying “my morals and/or code of law say I shouldn’t”.
Which, though the law makes sense, isn’t particularly sensible in this case.
Not in Twitch’s opinion, at least. Therefore, he’s going to fix the situation.
He should probably explain himself while he can still look up at Rung and meet
his optics, though.

“Rung, I understand what you’re saying, I do. You have
morals. Your morals exist for good reason. This? This is not a good reason. So-
here are some facts.

“Fact one, you are in heat, and will continue to be in heat
until someone helps you or until you exhaust yourself. Two, the first option is
much faster and much more pleasant for you. Three, you cannot treat patients
like this, it’s not fair to them and it’s not fair to you. From that, we get fact four- you need someone to help you with
your heat. Five, I am not your patient, regardless of when that change
happened. Six, that is not likely to change again, as I don’t seem to have any
need for therapy. Seven, I am willing. I
do not offer out of obligation, I am not being manipulated. You are in need, and
I want to help you. I also genuinely expect to enjoy myself. And, eight- Rung, you
are attractive.”

Oh, that gets
Rung’s attention. Twitch would laugh at the startled expression if it wasn’t so
sad. “Yes, you heard me. You are attractive. You are remarkably handsome with your glasses off, cute with them on, plus
this-“ he has to stretch to tap the glowing blue window in Rung’s chassis “-is
beautiful, and remarkably poetic considering your profession. And I like your
voice. Especially when you get flustered. I want to hear what you sound like
with my helm between these pretty thighs.”

With that matter-of-fact statement, while Rung is distracted
and sputtering, Twitch moves in a bit closer and lifts the psychiatrist off his
pedes. He’s shorter than Rung, yes, but weighs almost the same, and he’s built
to carry heavy things. His mods didn’t change that. Informing his startled
cargo that “this is probably easiest if you sit on my shoulders”, he moves to
do so as much as possible, smiling as Rung (though clearly startled) moves with
him.

Yes, yes, those are all- those are certainly- seven of those
are definitely facts, and the eights is subjective, and the conclusions Twitch
is drawing are clear, but it all feels too convenient for them to be pointing
straight at Twitch-

And then his thought process is cut off by Twitch picking
him up. Right. Waste disposal mechs. Strong. Stronger than him. It might have
been slightly alarming if it hadn’t meant warmth
pressed all along his front and-

And, dear Primus, his codpiece against Twitch’s face. Not by
design, it just happens, and Twitch-

Makes absolutely no response to that, just helps him move to
sit astride remarkably sturdy shoulders. It probably looks ridiculous, and his
pedes aren’t far from the ground, but he doesn’t feel like he’s about to fall
off. Nor does Twitch feel unsteady as he starts walking. Intending to- right.
To get Rung to his own quarters. So they can interface.

Evidently the decision of where to go is out of his servos
now. Or off his pedes, as it were.

Rung is light by Cybertronian standards, but fairly heavy
for Twitch. Not heavy enough that it causes him any real difficulty walking,
though, nor does it prevent him from moving his arms freely enough to catch and
hold one of Rung’s servos. “Surprise. I’m stronger than you! It’s useful. I
promise not to use it against you, though. You have my word, if you want to
stop, all you have to do is say. I’m gonna be specific- you have to actually
say, and mean, something to the meaning of ‘I don’t want to interface with
you’. Okay, Rung? I’m not gonna make you do this. I think you want to, though.
So, what do you like in ber- oh, hello. Reaver, right?”

Reaver stops, clearly rather taken aback at encountering a
minibot stack in the hallway, and narrows his optics at the cloud of
heat-scent. This is probably fine, but… with this sort of thing, best to check.
Politely. Rumbling “forgive my suspicion, I don’t know you well”, he crouches
in front of Twitch, holding out a servo to stop him, and meets Rung’s optics.
“Is he going where you want to be going, to do something you want to do?”  

Rung stammers for a moment, caught between his own
indecision and his embarrassment at an actual
patient, and one who needs some degree of therapy, seeing him like this.
It’s- it’s not so much being on Twitch’s shoulders (though that must look odd)
as being blatantly in heat and not sure what to do with himself. But-

Yes. Dear Primus, yes, he wants to go somewhere private, and
he- he can feel his cheekplates heating at the thought, it must be visible by
now- he wants to feel whatever Twitch has planned for him. He certainly doesn’t
feel unsafe, he’s not trapped. “I’m- I, ah- yes, thank you, Reaver. I’m- I’m
quite all right. Thank you for your concern, but I, ah… oh dear.”

“But you’d like me to move,” Reaver finishes, and does so
with a small bow and a gesture along the hallway. “My apologies. I thought it
prudent to be certain. Carry on.”

Not sure how to respond to the bow, Twitch pats the
outstretched pointing/gesture servo, deeming that close enough. People tend to
find it cute more than anything if he misresponds to something in a polite way.
One benefit of his small size. “Oh, of
course! I understand entirely, and I’ve done the same thing myself. I promise
I’m not a rapist. You’re handsome and have a nice voice, we should talk later,
but I’m a bit busy right now. Do COMM me.”

And he does actually ping the pretty near-stranger his
private COMM code as he continues. Reaver, hm? And pretty! And –a quick glance
over his shoulder- responding with an expression somewhere between flattery and
bemusement at the comment. Cute. Might try propositioning him once Rung is
sated.

Speaking of Rung, he looks up as much as he can with someone
behind his helm, projects a smile with all the plating not currently being sat
upon, and pats one of Rung’s legs. “There we are! That’s something at least
close to verbal consent. I’ll take it. You can take it back at any point, I’ll drop you off in the showers or somewhere
private, though I insist you at least
borrow a good toy. I think I’m a better option here than loneliness, though. I
promise to do my best to give you no reasons to leave and many good and
pleasurable reasons to stay. And my best is enough to keep a Seeker happy, if
that gives you any sort of comparison point. Granted, it takes some gymnastics,
I don’t mean a minibot seeker, but it works.”

Oh, cute, Rung looks- well, a lot of things, but sort of
impressed. Good! Him satisfying a Seeker is impressive. Twitch winks, cocks his
helm in an approximation of a grin, and rotates his hip joint a simply
ridiculous degree outward on his next step. “My legs are jointed oddly for
various work-related reasons, and I stretch
because of one of my mods. I told you about it- the one to collect and edit
transfluid nanites? They changed my valve to help with that. Looks like they
got the design from porn, supposed to be appealing to potential ‘donors’.
Mostly it looks hilarious, ‘cos my spike- well, you’ll see. I like it, though,
especially the stretchiness. If you feel up
–heh- to spiking me, I promise I can take whatever you’ve got. Unless it’s
barbs, I might have to object to barbs, but that’s not really a thing most
people have.”

Maybe he can just keep Rung too distracted to overthink
things. All he has to do is get Rung into his berth, and then he can be very distracting. For now, he’ll talk.
He’s good at that! Going unnoticed for long periods of time is useful, but he
ends up having a lot to say.

“Heh. ’Most people’ says
the mech with the formerly-reproductive-system that now edits nanites. Oh- as
part of that, my transfluid is full of repair nanites instead of reproductive
nanites. Your valve might be a bit tingly after this, but it’s nice, promise,
tried it out on myself. They’re blank-code, too, your system’ll take ‘em and
use ‘em. My system won’t- I’m are tweaked so my immune system can’t accept blank-code nanites,
otherwise the ones I make would all be my immune system. I gotta make my own and everybody else’s. Don’t mind, though.
Medics love me. Gets me lots of servojobs, since nanites, an’ since I can
usually make the ‘this doesn’t count as an inappropriate relationship because
it’s a valid part of the nanite-factory-and-medic working relationship’
argument. And let me tell you- medic servos? Best servojobs. Ever. Soft! And-“

“I’m- I’m sorry, but I’m not certain I-I want to be
picturing you and- and Ratchet right now, but I find my thoughts going further
along that path the more you- I-I don’t object to the rest of this, just- no-
no more about medics and interface, please,” Rung manages, trying not to think
about the fact that said mental image is almost unfairly attractive. There’s no way Ratchet isn’t experienced as
all Pit by this point, especially not with what some of what Rung has heard
once Ratchet gets drunk, and that could mean something amazing for any of his
partners… and an incredibly awkward next checkup for Rung if he doesn’t head
off these thoughts, now.

Casting around for something else to think about, Rung lands
on his immediate situation, which is also a mortifying thought. Mostly because
he realizes that he’s been leaning his weight against the back of Twitch’s
helm, rocking his hips,  trying to get
some kind of stimulation. He’s been
holding himself together all day, seeing patients like normal, ignoring
everything, but his charge is past the point where it can be ignored.
Fortunately for him, Twitch seems… incredibly determined to not ignore him.
And, honestly, it feels good. Twitch
remembers his name, greets him in
contexts outside of therapy, doesn’t shy away from interacting with him. Some
of that might be his utter nonchalance about his own what-should-be-trauma,
most of it is probably his friendly nature, it probably isn’t due to anything
Rung has done, but it feels good. Especially
in this particularly physical context.
Rung is just going to… not think about that.

Or anything else involved in this.

What else is there to think about?

Maybe the fact that this is a maintenance hallway. “Ah…
Twitch? The berth rooms are all- ah-“

Right. Speaking to Twitch means Twitch looks up at him,
which means helm plating rubbing against his codpiece. Makes it hard to think.

 


Twitch shrugs slightly, internally giggling as Rung’s vents squeak in response, and pats his cargo’s
thigh. “My berth is a large bucket on the top shelf of a maintenance closet.
I’m a trash can, ‘member?”

He waits a moment, just long enough for Rung to look
startled, then chuckles and shakes his helm. “No, I’m joking. I am basically a walking medical waste trash
can, we both know this, but I’m a person. I wouldn’t put up with that. I have
an actual room, I just live down here ‘cos there’s easy access to all the
maintenance ducts and air vents. I hear lots of things and I can get places
without having to worry about being stepped on. And don’t go on about
self-esteem, my self-esteem is fine, thank you. My fuel tank is a container
into which medical waste is placed for disposal, that means I’m a trash can.
I’m just a very sexy trash can. Especially judging by your vents! Oh, don’t be
embarrassed, you’re in heat and your codpiece is rubbing against my helm. I’ll
speed up.”

He’s not made for fast, but he can at least jog. Should
probably stop semi-accidentally teasing poor Rung. And, ooh- gets those pretty
white thighs clamped around his helm for support. Delicious. He can’t resist
turning his helm just enough to nuzzle into Rung’s thigh, purring as he speeds
up further. So sweet. They’re both going to love what’s coming up.

Yes, actually, Twitch’s self-esteem is fine and he will more
than stand up for himself and others if needed, that’s well-established, but
never mind that. Rung’s attention is diverted as they step through an unmarked
door into Twitch’s room, which is- yes, definitely a room and not a closet. A
bit small, but reasonable for a minibot. And this gives him something else to think about- people’s berthrooms
are always interesting.

Most of the furnishings look either scavenged or put
together, but well-made. A stack of crates-turned-cabinets on one wall, a table
made of some twisted metal, and a cushy-looking minibot-sized chair that Rung
thinks might be the padding of a sparring ring’s walls. The walls have been
painted with what look like paint samples, semi-random, multicolored patterns
that would probably make Ultra Magnus cringe to see them- if he could even fit
through the small door.

On top of the crates is a broken glass cube, probably once
an art piece, filled with shards of metal and a touch of energon, a spiraling
crystal cluster growing from within. On the floor in one corner is a tiny
shelter, and a little floor-cleaning drone whirls in unsteady circles nearby,
almost silent except when it beeps in response to their arrival. It looks as
patched up as the rest of the room, but seems to be working well. A pet? Some
people have taken to keeping nonsapient drones as pets, some even with
programming to make them respond to their owner’s arrival and any sort of
petting.

Twitch ignores everything, of course, just locks the door
and-

And introduces Rung unceremoniously to the berth, dumping
him into a heap of softness. He doesn’t get a chance to try and figure it out
before Twitch thoroughly distracts him, though.

Specifically, by prying his knees apart, pressing up between
his thighs, and-!

Twitch leans his helm against the inside of Rung’s knee,
retracting the cover over his oral intake, and flicks out a fairly impressive
glossa. Long, flexible, almost segmented in appearance, pointed at the tip and
nimble enough to curl around his finger. Which doesn’t impede him in the
slightest as he speaks, casually, slicking up his fingers. “I don’t have a
mouth, not really. I don’t use this to speak, and I don’t have lips, so it’s
just considered an oral intake. I have a glossa, though, clearly. You wanna try
it? Gonna need a clear response, please, but it can be nonverbal.”

Primus.

Yes. Fine. He’s in Twitch’s berth, with Twitch up between
his thighs. He could stop if he wanted, yes, true, Twitch is sweet and would definitely
stop, but he doesn’t want to stop. And he’s gotten this far, he may as well go
further- right?

Yes.

Cycling his vents, Rung parts his legs further, nods once,
and retracts his panels, offering himself to Twitch. And immediately covers his
optics in embarrassment.

He’s dripping.

Retracting his panels frees a gush of lubricant and a wave
of heady scent, and his spike starts to pressurize immediately. It’s not all
that surprising, but it’s mortifying, especially
since he can’t help squirming at Twitch’s gaze.

Twitch is eyeing him like he’s a particularly tasty meal. Which,
given that long glossa, is probably very true.

Tense in anticipation, Rung braces his heels against the
berth, not sure what to expect from Twitch. Twitch is strong, stronger than
expected, and has been- not forceful, but not gentle. And Rung honestly can’t
tell if he wants gentle at this
point. He’s a bit apprehensive about the glimpses of fangs he can see through
the half-opened intake covers, but Twitch looks confident enough that he must
know what he’s doing here, or at least Rung very much hopes that he-

Ohh.

 


Twitch purrs, soft and reassuring, and tucks down to hook
Rung’s leg over his shoulder. Winking up at Rung, he licks gently over his
partner’s exterior node with the tip of his glossa, testing the waters. The
waters are sweet and very turned on, so he purrs and presses a finger gently
into the hot, inviting valve.

“Oh- you taste good, Rung.
Do you know that? So lovely. Now- what do you want, hmm? Do you want more?” Twitch
purrs, reaching up to stroke Rung’s thigh with his free servo, and rubs a bit
more firmly at his inner walls when the larger mech bucks into him. “I have
you. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you, I just need a moment to let my spike
pressurize. For now- legs over my shoulders, come on, good mech. Let me know
what you want me to do, if you can manage that, and enjoy.”

With that, he ducks his helm and presses his glossa into
Rung’s valve alongside his finger, as deep as he can reach. He’s fully intending
to get at least one overload out of Rung before spiking him, less out of
necessity and more for fun. Also so he can hopefully get Rung slightly more
coherent and ask exactly what he’d like. And what positions, mm. And whether
he’d like to use a few toys.

For now, he sticks with his own frame, rubbing gently at
Rung’s node with one finger and spreading the lovely valve open as much as possible
with his glossa. Rung is tight, but deliciously wet, and his calipers loosen
gradually around Twitch’s glossa with no spasms or any signs of discomfort. Not
that any sort of frame-reluctance issue is likely during a heat, but best to be
sure. Especially with a partner this incoherent.

Rung is panting, vents open as wide as they’ll go, hips bucking
occasionally as Twitch’s glossa squirms over node clusters or spreads him
especially wide. Primus, he’d nearly forgotten how good it feels to have a
soft, powerful glossa working him open, and Twitch-

Twitch has an amazing glossa
for this. Minibot or not, his glossa is long enough to reach some spots that
have never been stroked over like this, caressed so delicately at the same time as the rest of his valve is being
powerfully spread open. Never mind what a glossa like that is probably supposed
to be used for, it is amazing for
oral. Nothing Rung can manage on his own compares. Especially not since Twitch
is completely coherent and can focus entirely on responding to Rung’s rising
charge, drawing it higher and higher with every lick to his valve and rub to
his node. It is amazing, but, Primus, he should probably tell Twitch about-

Panting, Rung tries to push himself up onto his elbows,
attempting to get Twitch’s attention. It isn’t working, though, Twitch is
focused intently on licking him out
and is making it very hard to speak clearly enough to break his focus. “Nnh-
o-oh dear, Twitch, I- I’m going-“

Antennae flickering, heels kicking against his back, optics
and biolights starting to flare brighter- Primus, Rung is adorable. And still
trying to be polite!  Really, though- has
anyone ever buried their glossa in someone’s valve and not been ambivalent or
better about having their face overloaded on? He’s all for this. Twitch pats
Rung’s thigh and hums reassuringly, then curls his glossa up to press against a
particularly sensitive spot he’s found, tweaking Rung’s node in the same
instant- and purrs louder as Rung overloads with a sharp cry.

And, oh, that might
be what he’d been trying to tell Twitch about. Rung is a messy overloader, and Twitch gives a muffled, mildly surprised
noise, optics shutting, as he learns that for himself.

Chuckling quietly, Twitch slurps at Rung’s valve for a
nanoklik or two, lapping up the bulk of the lubricant, then sat up and looked
down at the panting psychiatrist. Well- as soon as he rubbed the lubricant out
of his optics. “Goodness- was that what
you wanted to tell me? You are messy. Li’l
squirter,” he chuckles, patting Rung’s valve, and waves away the stuttering
attempt at an apology. “Don’t be silly, that’s a good thing. It’s hot. You taste good. Fine for optics, too, ‘s
lubricant. Made to be not an
irritant.”

Rung takes one look at Twitch with his face covered in
lubricants and covers his optics, embarrassed, but can’t avoid the minibot’s
field wrapping around him. Strong, purring, friendly, and absolutely genuine.
Oh. Twitch likes that.

Of course he does.

Rung peers out from between his fingers, gets another look,
and blushes furiously, but doesn’t hide again. Goodness. That is an…
interesting sight. Twitch sitting there, chuckling, face drenched in fluids, licking
what he can reach of his own faceplates with a glossa that had moments before
been buried in Rung’s valve. Makes it very hard to actually speak to Twitch
about anything.

“Oh… oh dear. Um. I- goodness. T-thank you, Twitch,
goodness, but, ah- I’m- I’m fine now, that’s- that’s quite enough, I’m-“ he
squeaks, beginning to make his escape, and is immediately tipped back into the
berth. “-um. Oh, my- my apologies, I’ve forgotten myself, do I- what would you
like in- in return?”

Twitch probably wants him to return the favor. Entirely
reasonable. Might be awkward for Rung, though, his frame is likely to respond
more eagerly than he’d like. The overload he’s just experienced has taken the
edge off his arousal, but he doesn’t want to stop, not yet. Should probably
escape, get to a shower, overload another couple of times, and try to get back
to work. Hopefully his frame’s had enough attention to let him-

And now Twitch is sitting on his stomach.

Really? They aren’t over the guilt yet? Rung’s normally
coherent, withheld field is flaring out, wrapped around them both and thrumming
a strange mixture of arousal, satisfaction, and guiltiness. That isn’t okay. At
the very least, he needs to get Rung perked up a bit. “Mm, no. Stay here. We’re
already interfacing, yes? May as well satisfy you. Or, bare minimum, clean you
up. Drink you up, slickvalve, lick
you clean, feel you moan, get you all nice. Hm?”

Oh, Rung is blushing again. Cute. Is dirty talk the way to go,
then? Might be worth a try. Chuckling softly, Twitch leans back to offer his
equipment for inspection, grasping his spike in one servo for a couple of
leisurely strokes. “Come on. Both know you want. No shame, Rung. Biological
needs, and feels good. Already here,
already seen your valve, already tasted you… want more? I do. You?”

Seeing that Rung is definitely watching, Twitch rocks his
hips back to properly show himself off, helm cocked in the closest thing to a
grin he can manage. “See? Mismatch. Like it, though.”

As he’d mentioned, his valve looks like it might have been
transplanted off a porn star. Especially plump lips, glinting silver, with
thick blue bio-lights that run past his valve lips and up inside him. Something
of a contrast against the rest of his frame, and a massive contrast against his
spike. Twitch’s spike is short and thick, as one would expect from a minibot,
patterned in toxic green and yellow. Not the most attractive color scheme, especially
given that both colors are usually used on biohazard warnings, but the contrast
is hilarious. In his opinion, at
least.

Even with Rung’s processor still recovering, it’s blatantly
obvious that Twitch is excited. Not only aroused, either. His vocal patterns
have changed, and his optic tic has spread to include part of his cheek. Nothing
to worry about, Rung has seen this before when Twitch is especially eager for
something. He’s clearly holding himself back, though, waiting for Rung to
respond. Aside from the self-stimulation. He’s putting on a show, but that’s
it. Just toying with his… interestingly
colored spike.

Which Rung wants to lick. Not that he will, he’s already taken this more than far enough, he really
needed to leave. Except that his valve is still tingling and his frame is singing at the attention from Twitch,
and-

Crude terms aside, Twitch seems to care. His field is heavy
and hot, just about dripping arousal where it brushes against Rung’s, but
there’s an undercurrent of concern/reassurance/comfort
wrapped up in it. He isn’t just in this for access to Rung’s valve, he is
trying to help. At least… it seems
like he is.

Rung pushes himself up onto his elbows, looking Twitch in
the optics as much as possible, and speaks as clearly as he can. It seems to be
working. “Why were- were you in my office earlier? Did you not hear that your
appointment had been canceled?”

Oh- had it not been clear? Twitch scoops up one of Rung’s
servos and nuzzles into it, purring quietly, trying to make his point clear.
“Worried. Thought something was wrong. Found something was wrong. Decided to
help. Helping. Want to continue helping. Good? Easier on you than waiting. Help
people sooner, too. Besides- frame stubborn enough, might not be done ‘till you
get help. So- here to help.”

Less than eloquent. Ah well- he has more important things to
focus on than coordinating his speech center beyond basic sentences. Like
wrapping his glossa around two of Rung’s fingers and sucking as noisily as
possible in an attempt to be- well, it can’t be called ‘seductive’ if it’s this
crude, could it? What exactly is the crude version of seductive?

Rung’s vents stutter, but he doen’t pull his servo away from
the… admittedly pleasant sensation. In fact, he manages to catch hold of
Twitch’s glossa between two fingers, feeling the powerful appendage flex
against his fingertips. “I. Ah. Oh dear- goodness,
Twitch. You… you are persistent, aren’t you?”

Despite himself, Rung is smiling as he let go and settles
back. That is genuine concern, isn’t
it? And Twitch… certainly doesn’t seem inclined to let him go until he’s sated.
Nor can Rung escape, come to think of it, Twitch is stronger than him. He doesn’t
feel threatened, though. Twitch isn’t hurting him. Is, in fact, trying to help
him.

Is helping him. Primus,
Twitch is right. Rung has been in heat in the past, of course, but it has
always been mild. Enough that a little alone time in the mornings was enough to
keep him satisfied all day. This? This is strong,
far more than before, and self-stimulation hasn’t helped any. Momentary
relief, yes, but always followed by stronger need. Evidently he isn’t going to
get much, if any, relief until he has a few overloads with a partner. Just one
has helped already- he can actually think,
clearly think, at least for the moment. Clearly enough to consider that
this situation isn’t going to resolve itself.

Three options. Option one, stop off at the nearest port and
try to find a Cybertronian partner who isn’t his patient, isn’t going to be his
patient, and isn’t about to hurt him somehow. Probably not the safest idea, and
dubiously enjoyable at best.

Option two, go to the medbay, see if any of the medics have “relief
of heat cycles” on the list of services they’ll provide. That would be…
awkward. As impersonal as possible. Tolerable, but not what his frame wants.

Option three is… this. Let Twitch spike him. Potentially
more than once. Get as many overloads as Twitch is willing to give him, which,
by the look on the minibot’s- hmm, more frame than face, his face isn’t
terribly expressive- is going to be more than one.

Option one is unsafe and might not succeed at finding him a
partner. Option two still involves interfacing with a patient, albeit with a
legal excuse, and, again, awkward. Option three is… more or less already
happening.

To the Pit with him. Twitch has just licked him out and is
now sitting on his stomach, self-stimulating and waiting for him to choose. He’s
already in this situation, so… it dioes make sense to continue and get himself
back into a shape where he can assist people. And it’ll be… quite a lot of fun,
won’t it?

Rung reaches up to press gently on Twitch’s chassis, nudging
him backwards, and offers him a little smile. “You are persistent and… entirely
correct. Thank you for your concern. You’re- you’re quite right, I’d say, I’m
not used to heat cycles this strong.
I’ve seen this happen, though. Frames occasionally object rather strongly to…
long-term lack of a physical partner. You must understand, I- I cannot allow this to be made public. I
cannot give the impression that I will readily take excuses to interface with
patients. But… if you can promise me that you can keep this to yourself…”

He pauses, biting his lip in embarrassment and lowering his
antenna, but lifts a servo to stroke Twitch’s flank regardless. “…then I would
greatly appreciate the help.”

Twitch squirms his glossa loose of Rung’s hold to nuzzle
into his servo again, buzz-purring a noise that is half vocalizer and half
rattling dentae. Interesting to have one’s fingertips against. “Mm. ‘course. Get
settled, mm?”

Engine rumbling a note deep enough to nearly rattle his plating,
Twitch scoots back to sit between Rung’s legs again, patting his thighs encouragingly
as the lanky mech shifts. He’s eager, incredibly so, but he isn’t going to
push. Has to make sure Rung is comfortable, is ready, even if it means
wriggling in place to burn off a fraction of his energy and hopefully keep his
anticipation from rising too far.

He wants, Primus, Rung is adorable and handsome and smelled amazing, but he is not going to push in the slightest. Has to wait. He’s with a
partner who was in heat, while Twitch himself is not, so he’s responsible for
both of them until Rung no longer has his frame pushing him to interface.

At least Rung is aware enough to blush and be flustered.
People lost in a particularly strong heat cycle don’t blush and act flustered,
they do their best to jump the struts of anyone nearby. Rung is not doing that.
He’s starting to look like he might want to, but he’s keeping himself contained.
It’s impressive.

Once Rung looks comfortable, Twitch nuzzles into his inner
thigh once more, then presses up close and meets Rung’s over-bright optics.
“Whatever you want. Want to stop, want more, tell me. So good, Rung… control!
Impressive. Not needed. Let go, Rung, enjoy. No control needed. Enjoy.
Preferably, squeal.”

Oh, more blushing. Primus. Twitch beams, and has to pause
for an instant to enjoy the view.

Rung, stretched out on his back, gripping the blankets with
both servos for support and watching Twitch with an expression somewhere
between anticipation and embarrassment. Optics bright, vents running on high,
panting between parted lips, antenna flickering unsteadily against the air. So,
so lovely.

Twitch purrs, winked, makes a kiss-noise with his glossa, and
lines his spike up with Rung’s valve. Hooking one of Rung’s legs around his own
frame, he purrs and thrusts without any further delay, burying his spike fully
in Rung’s valve in one easy slide. “-ooh, slick.
Poor, poor” a quick hip-roll “sweet mech, waiting so long for” another roll, a
bit harder, closer to a thrust “someone to give you some relief. Don’t worry- relax. Enjoy. Make you feel good. Ready?”

Rung’s legs clamp tighter around his frame, and Twitch takes
that for ‘yes, please, ready’.  Usually
good to be careful with a smaller partner, or one who might not have taken a
spike in quite some time, but, mm, Rung is ready. His valve is slick and pliant
around Twitch’s spike, tight but not overly so, and an experimental thrust
meets no resistance. Perfect.

Rung is not going to squeal. He’s embarrassed himself enough
already, he is not going to squeal, he is not
going to-

Oh Primus.
Twitch’s spike is thicker than he’d expected, and the first gentle thrusts rub the
tip deliciously over an area of shallow nodes that aren’t usually hit by a
partner’s spike. Rung moans despite himself, bucking into the stimulation, and
internally corrects his declaration. He is not going to squeal, but he might be
making some interesting sounds in the near future.

And then “near future” becomes “now” as Twitch thrusts
deeper, putting more of his strength into the motion. Right- Twitch had lifted
and carried him with no visible effort. That means core strength. Including leg strength. Rung moans, shudders, and
grips the berth tighter, bracing himself to rock against the thrusts. Yes- this
is what he needs, what his frame has been craving, but he wants more. Harder, faster, more. Rung moans again, and Twitch growls
in response, grip tightening on Rung’s hips as he thrusts more firmly.

Responsive.
Ancient coding stirred to life by the heat thrills at having a partner so aware
of his needs, and Rung finds himself fully agreeing. The physical sensation is
amazing, and so is having someone devote their attention entirely to him. Selfish, maybe, but selfish in a
way that Twitch seems more than happy to oblige.

That’s what lets Rung finally relax. The sound of Twitch purring
down at him, the thoroughly pleased expression on his entire frame, the way he croons in response when Rung rocks
against him. Twitch is loving this, Rung isn’t
being entirely selfish.

He’s just being… incredibly, incredibly flustered. Twitch is
watching him, optics gleaming,
purring absolutely filthy things
under his breath. Twitch is vocal under most circumstances, it’s no wonder he’s
still talking. And Primus help him, Rung likes
it. None of it is degrading, only lewd,
telling him how- how wet he is, and how good his calipers feel rippling
around Twitch’s spike, and how-

“-so good, so sweet, still taste you- want to taste again. Overload in you, fill you up, lick
you out again- you’re so wet, you’d be dripping already if I stopped,” Twitch
purrs, leaning in closer, and squirms until he has one of his berthmate’s legs
over his shoulder. With Rung’s legs wrapped around him, he can’t pull out
enough for any particularly long thrusts, but that isn’t what he has in mind.
Instead, Twitch rocks his hips in small, steady motions, grinding more than
thrusting, focusing on what must be a node cluster judging by the noises Rung is making.

Primus, he’s so sweet. Moaning, arching against Twitch, soft
noises of pleasure gradually getting louder and punctuated by gasps and chirps. The blue-glowing circle on his
chassis brightens until Twitch has to squint to see properly, his legs tighten
further, and he bites down on his knuckle in an effort to silence himself. Shy!
Twitch isn’t used to shy, most of his past partners have been absolutely
shameless, many of them kinky-interface-in-near-public levels of shameless.
Rung? Primus save him, Rung is flustered by the sound of his own enthusiastic
noises. It really shouldn’t be this sexy, but it is.

Twitch beams, whispers “so lovely” to Rung, and pulses arousal/excitement/affection as strongly
as possible as he keeps talking. “So sweet, so pretty- let me hear you, please,
Rung, let me hear, so lovely, love
your voice, could listen to you all night.
Gonna ov‘load, gonn’ fill you up, nice’n full- I got you, Rung, got you.”

Rung is close, squirming
again, valve clenching in fluttering motions, but he doesn’t overload. Probably
can’t, Twitch realizes- strong heats sometimes won’t let up for anything less than an overflow tank full of
transfluid. With that in mind, Twitch lets go of his control almost entirely, thrusting
as hard as he can a few times before his charge spills over.

That’s about when Rung loses track of things. He’s aware of
his own overflow tank opening, aware of Twitch overloading with a spiraling cry
and filling his valve with wet, sticky heat,
and then overload crashes over him and knocks him into a reboot.

He remembers waking up to Twitch licking at the fluid that’s
dripped onto his thighs, remembers Twitch gently coaxing him to roll onto his
front, and- Primus. Remembers pushing himself up onto his knees to offer his
valve to Twitch. Remembers being past all embarrassment, moaning unashamedly into
the berth as Twitch licks gently at his valve… remembers responding, muffled
but approving, to Twitch asking “rough okay?” just before spiking him again.

And he remembers Twitch practically mounting him,
enthusiastic and not at all bothering to be gentle. Not that Rung has any complaints about being fragged into
the berth by someone who continues praising him in an increasingly shaky voice
the entire time. It feels good. Rung
overloads again, loudly, practically screaming into the blankets he’s buried
his face in, and takes longer to reboot this time.

He hasn’t overloaded this hard in centuries. Self-stimulation
is satisfying enough, but enough of an overload to force a reboot is…
impressive.

When his optics refocus, Twitch is holding a… rather
garishly colored false spike, one that vibrates audibly when he flicks a switch
on the base. He doesn’t even need to ask out loud. Rung isn’t yet exhausted,
not quite.

This time, Twitch is gentle again. Rubbing the toy over his
valve lips, lingering against his node, pausing to lick the dripping lubricants
now and then. When he thrust the toy inside, it was in long, slow, even
strokes, relying on the nubbed surface and vibrations for stimulation rather than
pure stimulation. That, the gentle rubs to his node, and the sensation of the
liquid heat in his overflow tank bring Rung over one last time, a gradually
building overload that wraps around him in a crackling wave.

When he reboots once more, Rung is on his back, wrapped up
in at least one blanket. His inner valve panel is shut, and he doesn’t feel
anywhere near as sticky as he probably ought to be right now. He’s thirsty,
tired, and lightly sore, but he’s satisfied,
and Twitch…

Twitch is cuddling him, tucked up against his chassis and
nuzzling into his throat.

He shouldn’t have done this, but, Primus, he feels amazing.

And then Twitch stirs and looks up at him, plating lifting
happily, and something zings through Rung’s spark as Twitch purrs. That’s… that’s
adorable. Twitch genuinely looks happy to see him awake.

…Primus only knows how a mech who’s just fragged him into
the berth is adorable.

Twitch beams, conveying the expression with a perk of his
shoulder plating and a friendly field-nuzzle, and rolls over for just long
enough to grab a cube of energon from nearby. “Here- Ratchet came by and
dropped off something you can drink, all the energon I have in here isn’t
edible for others. He also told me to, quote, ‘tell him to keep his overworked
little aft in here until he’s actually relaxed for once’, so I might do that,
if you don’t mind,” he giggles, nuzzling into Rung’s chassis, and gently
strokes soft grey sides. “Slag, you’re a cutie, y’know that? Made good noises. Tasted
real sweet.”

Oh, he’s blushing again. Twitch purrs and snuggles closer,
tucking himself firmly against Rung’s stomach, and leans up to kiss the window
in his chassis. “This got real bright. And, what- y’never had someone dirty
talk ya?”

Rung sputters quietly into the energon cube, midway through
gulping down as much as his tank will hold, but doesn’t put it down. “I- well,
yes, but- not that thoroughly! You-
I-I shouldn’t be surprised, but you have an absolutely filthy mouth. Not, um. Not that I’m, ah. Complaining.”

Twitch starts giggling at the admission, and Rung hides his
face behind the cube, embarrassed. He knows it isn’t rational, Primus knows how
many patients he’s told not to be ashamed about their desires, but he got
worked up so quickly. Makes him feel
like a newbuild who’s just lost their seals. Heat or not, it’s embarrassing.

And Ratchet… Ratchet may have a point. Rung is flustered,
but he could be coherent if he needed to. Not like before. He doesn’t smell so
strongly of a heat cycle, either. Smells like interface, though.

Twitch giggles for a moment, then clings tighter to Rung,
nuzzling into his front. “Gonna keep you. Got all relaxed. You can leave after you fuel, an’ only so’s we can go
shower ‘n be clean. Then… obs’vation deck? Ratchet stole y’ schedule. Says ‘ll
put ya on official medical leave. Now- ‘m gonn’ sleep. You can either try’n
escape but not ‘cos I’m strong, or y’ can stay here an’ enjoy an’ maybe also
sleep. Yeah?”

…hard to argue with that.

Fine.

Rung sighs, sets the cube aside, and looks down at Twitch in
consideration. Resigning himself to his warm, snuggly, affectionate fate, he
strokes both servos down Twitch’s back, rubbing gently at tense spots.

Twitch purrs again, softly, and Rung’s spark zings again at
the noise.

Primus save him from overly stubborn, sweet, incredibly
considerate minibots.

(Blackspark makes a joking suggestion, Soundwave accepts it, kink experimentation ensues. 

Moderate spanking, sticky interface, oral, and a bit of aft play under the cut. Also a bit of pretend-struggling from someone more than capable of escaping if he actually wanted to.)

Blackspark had been joking
when he’d offered to see if a good spanking made Soundwave more inclined to
behave himself and actually get enough recharge like the medics said he should.

He really, really hadn’t
expected for Soundwave to pause, size him up, lock all the doors into the room
with one gesture, and nod. 

Moreover, when Blackspark approached, Soundwave
lowered his plating in an odd gesture somewhere between submissive and coy, and
gave only a token resistance to being grabbed.

It was odd, but Soundwave’s restrained field was
prickling something like eager/intrigued,
and he made no effort to get away from the firm arm around his waist. Well- no
real effort. He was pushing on Blackspark’s chassis with both servos, playing a
recording of a low growl, but Blackspark would have had no hope of containing
Soundwave if he’d actually wanted to get away.

Baffled but more than eager to try this whole thing out,
Blackspark sat down on the padded-for-silence floor and pulled Soundwave with
him. Still, no real resistance, even as he pushed Soundwave over his lap and
pinned the spymaster’s front to the floor. Aft in the air, chassis and knees
pressed to the padding, claws digging in lightly, visor glinting as Soundwave
lifted his helm enough to look over his shoulder and watch. Gorgeous. A servo on
his back between his spines to pin him, and Blackspark stroked his other servo
gently over Soundwave’s aft, pausing for a moment to let Soundwave get used to
the situation. Comfortable enough, easy for someone who might not have tried
this sort of thing before. “All right then, mech… let’s see how you feel ‘bout
behavin’ after a few good smacks, hm?”

Just in case, he opened a private COMM link, one set up for
easy vocal and glyph transmissions. .:I
won’t push ya, mech. You an’ I both know I can’t make ya do anythin’. But, hey-
you wanna play? I am happy to oblige. Just lemme know if ya wanna change
somethin’, or if somethin’s too rough. Not gonna aim ta really hurt ya, but I
figure you got decent pain tolerance, so this’s gonna sting a bit. If yer up
for that:.

Soundwave pinged him a glyph for understood/appreciated, then stareed up at Blackspark and played –in
Starscream’s most challenging tone, no less- “bring it on”.

Well. Blackspark didn’t pretend to understand Soundwave’s
motivation here, his field was too tightly wrapped to really read, but there
was a tingling of intrigue in the little of his field that Blackspark could
read. Curiosity, then? Soundwave already knew that Blackspark could keep
secrets. So- why not? They could have some fun.

Blackspark patted Soundwave’s aft, then brought his servo up
and landed a firm smack against shadowy grey aft plating. Not too hard, not
yet. Soundwave didn’t even twitch in response. Right- controlled. And evidently
not quite meaning to give up that control all that easily.

Alright. Blackspark could try harder.

Purring softly, he landed another couple of smacks, slightly
harder, and grinned as Soundwave’s vents revved just a fraction. Well now.
There was always the slim possibility that Soundwave actually wanted –for whatever
reason- to be spanked in a non-sexual context, but Blackspark’s suggestion had
been laced with suggestive undertones, and feeling the air patterns shift as
the spymaster’s vents widened was a good indication that this was not meant to be non-sexual.

In the interest of making it even less so, Blackspark
activated the vibes in his fingertips and traced them gently over the sensitive
plating he’d just been striking, plating he knew had to be tingling by now. “Hm.
Not havin’ much of an impact here, am I? Lemme see if I can change that.”

Another spank, this one considerably harder, with his vibes
momentarily running at top speed. Soundwave jolted at that, and Blackspark
swore he saw twin optic-glints through the blank visor for half an instant,
then Soundwave’s engines growled up at him and narrow claws dragged roughly
against Blackspark’s hip. Enough to leave light scratches, with enough force to
dip into a seam and prick at the mechanics underneath. Not an escape attempt,
though, and what little he could feel of Soundwave’s field unfurled a fraction
and pulsed a blatant challenge.

Well.

Blackspark purred, engine growling in return, and landed
another smack- still hard, but without the vibes to push the sensation towards
pleasure. This was hard enough to at least border on hurting, and the spymaster
almost twitched in response, then removed his claws from Blackspark’s frame
after another swat.  Progress.

And then Soundwave growled up at him, louder, obviously
braced his pedes, and tried to squirm away. It failed, of course, because his
telegraphing his attempt made it easy for Blackspark to grab him by the scruff
and hold him still.

“Ah, naughty,”
Blackspark purred, and repeated the vibe-aided swat that had gotten him a good
reaction before. Soundwave jolted again, speakers making a staticky noise, and
kept squirming. At least, for the next half-dozen smacks, to the point where
Blackspark knew from experience he had to be getting sore. His plating was
definitely scuffed. His field was tingling excitement/interest/rebellion
with a clear undernote of arousal, though, and a gentle caress to his codpiece
was all it took to feel how hot he was getting. Optics narrowing, Blackspark
revved his vibes and landed another swat- this one much gentler, but targeted,
aimed with his buzzing fingertips directly against Soundwave’s heated panel.

Soundwave made another staticky noise, legs twitching
noticeably this time, then shuddered and went limp in Blackspark’s lap. Another
burst of static, this one much quieter and almost apologetic, then Soundwave
un-braced himself in a clear sign that he was done struggling.

“Aw, there we go. Good mech. Now… I wanna make my point real
clear. An’ I wasn’ gettin’ very far before I started on this hot li’l panel of
yours, so… let me try somethin’. You open up for me, Soundwave, lemme make sure
this li’l lesson sticks in your mind… an’ I will make it” a brief pause,
Blackspark tracing his buzzing fingertips around the seams of Soundwave’s panel
“more than worth your while. C’mon, beauty… open up.”

A glance over his shoulder, Soundwave’s field fluttering a
mix of consideration/arousal, then he
lowered his helm and opened his panels as requested. Outer and inner panels
both, revealing his valve, the bio-lights pulsing brightly as a trickle of
lubricant dripped down over his brilliantly glowing exterior node. Enough that
he’d evidently been turned on almost since the start of this.

“Oh… good mech. Good Soundwave,” Blackspark crooned,
ever-so-gently caressing Soundwave’s node, and lifted his servo to taste his
fingertips. “You taste so sweet. Now…
be good for me. Keep these pretty hips up, keep your panels open, lemme give
your valve a few li’l spanks.”

He wasn’t about to be that rough with Soundwave’s valve. He
might, if he knew for certain his partner enjoyed outright pain, but it wasn’t
the sort of thing he wanted to do without discussion. So far, nothing he’d done
should truly hurt. Sting, yes, and Soundwave was probably aching slightly by
then, but always with pleasure signals thoroughly mixed in. Blackspark had
plenty of practice on both ends of this, he knew what he was doing, and he wasn’t
about to be any rougher without Soundwave specifically stating that he wanted
to be hurt. He was reasonably certain that Soundwave didn’t want that, so he
was gentle with the pretty, wet valve. Mostly.

The first smack to his valve was more of a firm pat, and
Blackspark lingered, caressing softly with stilled fingertips. Gentle. Then,
just a bit harder, activating his vibes. A half-dozen reasonably light swats to
Soundwave’s exposed valve, interspersed with light spanks to his aft plating,
clearly having more effect on the spymaster than anything Blackspark had done
yet.

Soundwave’s vents kicked up higher, enough to be easily
heard, and he squirmed just a fraction. Strong legs twitched at every smack to
his valve, his bio-lights brightened, and the drip of lubricant from his valve
became a steady trickle. At the final spank, gentler than the rest, all vibe
and no strength, his speakers blatted static and his back arched, then he
settled again and his engines purred.

Moving in a languid manner that suggested he was tired,
Soundwave propped himself up on his elbows, almost wobbly as he leaned in to
bump his helm against Blackspark’s shoulder. Submissive, almost, and definitely
relaxed.

Blackspark loosened his grip, letting Soundwave move, and
stroked a firm servo down his back to help him settle. “Aw. That’s it- good
spymaster. Bein’ real sweet, hm? Good. I think we’re done here, Soundwave,
though I might have to insist you come berth with me so’s I know you rest some.
First, though…”

A lingering stroke over Soundwave’s dripping valve, then
Blackspark lifted his servo and sucked lightly on his fingertips, giving
Soundwave a moment to watch and listen. “That’s gotta ache. You want me t’ kiss
it better?”

Soundwave purred, and Blackspark purred back, gently nudging
the spymaster out of his lap. “Alright. Here- up. C’mon, brace them servos on
that chair. Bend over, panels open, legs apart, lemme at yer valve. I am gonna
lick you out ‘till yer knees give out, an’ I got somethin’ real nice in mind ta
show you once you get comfy.”

Was it his imagination, or was Soundwave unsteady as he
stands up? Just in case, and under the guise of maintaining control, Blackspark
supported the lanky frame until Soundwave was braced against his own chair. Again,
a beautiful image- bent over with his pedes braced apart, scuffed aft plating
and dripping valve on display, bio-lights flickering and pulsing brightly as he
looked over his shoulder again at Blackspark. The perfect invitation.

Blackspark purred and dropped to his knees behind Soundwave,
ex-venting hot air over that pretty valve, then leaned in and licked a long
stripe up the glowing folds. Hooking one servo around Soundwave’s thigh, he
leaned in and set to work, licking in long, slow strokes. As he did, he reached
into subspace and pulled out a little toy, one of his favorites that he kept
easily available for impromptu interface. A small thing, its thickest part not
even as wide as two of his fingers, tapered smoothly at the tip and narrowed
just before the wide base. Turning it on, he pressed it firmly against
Soundwave’s inner thigh and trailed it up, demonstrating part of why this toy
was a favorite. The vibrations were surprisingly deep for such a small toy,
rumbling and beautifully penetrating, perfect for what he had in mind.

A long, lingering suck to Soundwave’s node, then Blackspark
pulled his mouth away and replaced it with the toy, sliding it gently between
the spymaster’s folds to slick it up. With his other servo, he stroked gently
over Soundwave’s aft, then tapped firmly on the little cover over his aft port.
“Got a nice li’l plug here. Gonna feel it all th’ way up yer valve if I pop
this in yer aft. So, as long as yer bein’ good… how ‘bout you open up for me?”

.:I’ll take a ‘no’ for
this, Soundwave, no questions. Your choice here. You are gonna love this if it’s
somethin’ yer into, but if not, I’ll stick to teasin’ elsewhere. Either way,
gonna be gentle:.

Blackspark was a reasonable person. Some people didn’t like
aft play, or didn’t want to try it, so he wasn’t about to push in the slightest.
He wasn’t above making the idea more tempting, though- tracing the slicked-up
toy gently over the thin cover in his way in a little tease.

Soundwave cocked his helm, staring over his shoulder at
Blackspark, clearly considering the idea. After a moment, he nodded once and
opened the cover over his aft port, claws tightening slightly on the berth.

As promised, Blackspark was gentle. Another few rubs of the
toy against Soundwave’s valve, coating it in lubricant, then he pressed the tip
of the toy against Soundwave’s port and rubbed a fingertip of the other servo
against his node. “Good, good mech. Juuust relax… nice’n easy. Lean back a li’l-
there we go.”

The tapered shape of the toy made it easy to fit into place,
and Blackspark purred approvingly once it was in, lightly patting Soundwave’s
aft. “Good, Soundwave. Now… you jus’ enjoy that.”

When he applied his glossa to Soundwave’s valve again, he
could feel a hint of the vibrations. Soundwave would be feeling a lot more than a hint, and having the vibe in
his aft port meant Blackspark could lick at his valve unobstructed, lapping and
suckling at slick folds and gently pressing inside. Mm- it was things like this
that made him strongly consider adding a vibe mod to his glossa, if he wasn’t
worried that he’d cut himself on his own fangs. No need for a vibe toy then.
The added weight of an aft plug was nice, though.

Soundwave hadn’t shown any particular response to the little
toy, only obliged Blackspark’s request, but the vibrations in combination with
Blackspark sucking on his node had his legs shaking. Outright panting,
Soundwave shuddered and shifted his weight, supporting himself more on his arms
as his knees refused to quite obey. He was near overstimulation, but
deliciously so, and his speakers gave a strange crackling noise almost like a
moan as Blackspark pressed deeper.

Not surprising, it wasn’t long before Soundwave overloaded
with a cry entirely made of static. His knees almost gave out before Blackspark
caught him, and he shuddered and purred, curling
to the side as he slumped to the ground. Deliberately- that was where
Blackspark was.

“Yeah- I gotcha,” Blackspark muttered, supporting the lanky
frame with his own, and helped Soundwave down onto the padded floor. “Told ya I’d
make yer knees give out. Hold still- lemme turn that toy off. There we go. I like that thing- take it you do, too?”
he chuckled, lightly patting the base of the turned-off plug, but made no
effort to pull it out. “We’ll just leave that there a bit. You are gonna stay
right down here, relax, an’ I am gonna be sure you come back outta subspace for
me. You feelin’ alright? Anythin’ hurt more than it oughta? Shouldn’t be
anything hurting, not really, just a li’l sore.”

Soundwave nodded, curling so that his helm was in Blackspark’s
lap, and extended his datacables to grab the bounty hunter. Engines purring, he
curled around Blackspark, then flicked demandingly at a particular subspace
hatch until Blackspark laughed and pulled out an energon cube to give him. And
a straw. Blackspark evidently carries straws.

“I’m takin’ this as you bein’ fine. Still, I want you to
rest a li’l bit. After you get some rest… round two? I can spike you, you can
spike me- Pit, you can try spankin’ me if you want, I can give you some
pointers. Got any other kinks you wanna try out?” Blackspark chuckled,
half-joking, and grinned a sharp-edged grin as Soundwave nodded.

He was more than up for whatever else that would be. Maybe he
was halfway joking, but he didn’t make sexy jokes that he wouldn’t be entirely in favor of following through
on. Partly because sometimes people took things like “let’s see what happens if
I spank you” as actual suggestions, and when they did, it was fun.

Soundwave, for his part, had zero regrets. Blackspark didn’t
discuss interface partners who didn’t want to be discussed, and he already knew
Soundwave didn’t want to be. He could keep secrets, and was far from the type to
take advantage of potential blackmail material unless someone had done
something he considered to be a serious moral wrong. His morals were closely
aligned with Soundwave’s, so that wouldn’t be happening. Plus, none of his
blackmail material (most of which Soundwave had seen) was about interface
preferences. He considered that an extremely low blow.

And, as for the physical aspects… mm. Soundwave felt…
pleasantly light. Relaxed. His aft plating and valve rim ached slightly, but it
was an enjoyable ache, and the strange sensation of the toy in his aft port was
nicer than he would have expected. He’d accepted the toy with the vibrations in
mind, and because he hadn’t felt like refusing something merely because he had
no strong desire to try it, but the stretch of the plug itself had turned out
to be fairly nice. He… might have to see if Blackspark knew where to get
another of these toys for his own use. Could make a nice counterpart to his own
data-cable in his valve.

And, as for trying out another kink… he had something in
mind. Wouldn’t mind a round two. Or three.

For now, though, he was going to enjoy the lingering
floating sensation and curl up with his helm in Blackspark’s lap. He could
trust Blackspark not to laugh, poke fun, gossip, or murder him in his sleep.
Roughly 57% of that tough attitude was an act hiding a genuinely kind spark.

A genuinely kind spark that was now manifesting in
Blackspark stroking Soundwave’s audial fins as he drifted off. Not at all objectionable.

Mm.

(late) Valentine’s Day Alzu + Taur Knight smut

NSFW, clearly. Tags for dirty talk, proper(ish) use of a knot, technically cross-species sex, and some playful roughness. 3036 words of a great deal of fun happening. 

Alzu and @lewdbees‘ Taur Knight character having some fun on Valentine’s Night. Followup to this series, art mostly by @lewdbees

https://lewdbees.tumblr.com/post/170853071547/valentines-day-would-be-the-perfect-day-for-taur

https://lewdbees.tumblr.com/post/170859650442/i-have-a-sorta-werewolf-with-extra-wolfness-named

https://bettsplendens.tumblr.com/post/170895318154/lewdbees-alzu-is-here-for-his-date-hes-brought

https://lewdbees.tumblr.com/post/170997422087/bettsplendens-the-taur-knight-enjoyed-his-date

“Yeah, hey… told ya I was comin’. Which means you’ll be cumming,” Alzu cackled, looking
thoroughly pleased with himself, and drew back to pat the nest of pillows and
blankets. “C’mon in, cutie. Get comfy. Lemme get a taste of you.”

That was a truly dreadful
pun, but the knight was more than glad of the company, and Alzu was
attractive enough to make up for the bad jokes. 

Taking a deep breath of the
mingled scent of fresh meat, honey, and arousal,
he slowly stepped into the nest, careful not to knock anything loose, and
settled onto his side to see what Alzu might do.

Oh.

Apparently “get a taste” had been literal, as Alzu
immediately wriggled up against the taur’s stomach, tongue flicking out to lick
over thick scales. Growl-purring, he placed both hands on the other’s flank and
kneaded his claws in almost a catlike motion, licking and nipping his way up to
his partner’s throat. “Mmh- smell real strong. Pretty, pretty thing… I am gonna
make you feel amazing. C’mon now- settle back, get comfy, spread them legs. We
gotta get you all loosened up.”

The knight swallowed hard, head lolling back slightly to
give Alzu better access to his throat, and shuddered as sharp teeth scraped
over his scales. Alzu was- not a threat, not
quite, not even if he’d been inclined to try something, but he was strong, and those jaws were a formidable
weapon. Which, in this context, was hot.

A bit cautiously at first, then more firmly, he began to run
his hands through Alzu’s thick fur. The fur along his chest, throat, and neck
was long and thick, a ruff to slow down an opponent’s teeth, and the knight
tangled his fingers firmly into it for something to hold onto as Alzu pressed
insistently into him and rolled him onto his back.

Next thing he knew, there was a werewolf in his lap. Straddling
his tail, really, leaning in to plant one hand on his chest and slide the other
down his belly, touching-teasing at the edges of scales, ears up and tail
swishing merrily.

Alzu leaned in to lick the knight’s armored cheek, then
rocked back to look down at what he was doing, intently focused on the scales
he was inspecting. He’d had a reptilian-frame partner before, and scales
usually had sensitive edges if you knew where to look. Belly, thighs, groin-
everywhere near but not quite over the pretty thing’s slit. Tease, first, see
if he could get his partner’s cock out without touching it.

Which was working. Letting his tongue loll out, Alzu inhaled
deeply and gave the knight a wide, lazy grin, tail thumping audibly at the
scent. “Mmh- you smell real good. You
like this, don’cha, handsome? You like me playing with- ohp. What- you
been thinkin’ about this for awhile?”

One hand slipping down further, he rubbed his palm over the
tip of the emerging cock, then edged up and rubbed his own cock against his
partner’s. “Mmh- yeah, there we go. Handsome knight, handsome cock. An’ a good
size- I oughta try this out. First, though, I wanna fuck you. Wanna bend you
over-“

Alzu pressed up close in one quick motion, bracing his hands
against his partner’s belly scales and putting his mouth just next to the
taur’s head, breathing the rest of his words right up close, “-an’ mount you.
Spread y’ open, lube y’ up, grind against you good’n firm, then press inside.
Don’ worry, cutie, ‘ll be real gentle at first, get all settled in an’ make
sure you can take me, an’ then I’ll
get down t’ fuckin’ you. See how long it takes to make y’ moan for me.

Oh goodness.The
knight rumbled softly under his breath and rocked up against Alzu, gripping
onto his shoulders for support. “You, hm- you have ideas, I see. I have no
complaints. And you- you are- ah–

He’d like to speak, try and return the dirty talk, but Alzu
seems to be intent on having him speechless. Licking and nipping down his
front, hands kneading on his belly, until he could lick firmly at the scales on
the taur’s inner thigh. More than that, he began to tease the tip of his tongue
under the edges of the scales, one hand braced on his leg and the other-

The knight jolted as the other hand slid quickly up the underside
of his tail, one leg twitching slightly, then he melted again and groaned
softly as a slicked-up fingertip slid over the scales half-hiding his entrance.
Where had- ah. Alzu’s cock was slick, practically dripping, had been since the
knight had walked in. That- that was going to come in handy, especially if Alzu
planned to, nnh, mount him.

Which, by the feel of it, he did. That hand vanished for a
moment, then returned, coated in lube, and began to massage gently at the
scales around his hole. Meanwhile, Alzu kept licking at his inner thigh and
playing with the scales there, offering no more attention to his cock than what
happened accidentally- no more than nudges.

Tease.

The knight whined quietly and rocked his hips up, whispering
“more”, and got it. Not quite in the form he’d expected, though. Rather than
taking the hint, Alzu pressed one fingertip just inside him, rubbing gently at
his inner walls to spread him open. Then, much to the knight’s relief, lifted
his head, grinned, and licked a long stripe up his cock.

Muttering “oh, don’ worry, I gotcha”, Alzu began to lick the
knight’s pretty cock, one hand pushing firmly on his inner thigh and the other
continuing to spread him open. Now and then he dipped his hand down to stroke
his own cock a couple of times, gathering more lubricant, taking his time with
his lovely partner. First one finger, then two, grinning as he felt both legs
kick at the air around his head. Ooh, sensitive. And responsive!

Alzu licked a messy stripe up the knight’s cock, pressing
both fingers deep into him and spreading them apart at the same time. That
earned him a noise somewhere between a grunt and a squeal, powerful hips
bucking up against him, and he gripped the base of the thick tail in one hand
to keep hold of the knight. “Mmh- good boy. Good, good boy. Up, c’mon now- up, flip over, rump in th’ air. Wanna
mount you, wanna fuck you, gotta get
you all ready- flip over.”

That wasn’t exactly easy with Alzu still pressed against him
and spreading him open, but the flustered knight obliged, squirming around
until he could flip over onto his stomach. Panting softly, he stretched out on
his front,  hindlegs almost straight to
lift his hips and bare his equipment for Alzu’s attention.

Attention which was immediately given, in the form of a nip
to his spine and a firm stroke to his cock, plus another finger thrust firmly
inside him. It didn’t last long, though, and then Alzu’s hands were trailing up
his flanks to grip onto his waist.

Before the knight had time to protest the sudden lack of
stimulation, Alzu was settling onto his back, growling softly against him and-
oh!

And grinding that wonderfully slick cock against his rump.

Drooling and nipping firmly at the knight’s back scales,
Alzu wrapped the thick tail around his own waist, keeping it out of the way and
leaving him easy access to the knight’s entrance. A murmur of “good boy, good-
be still now”, and he carefully lined himself up, teeth scraping across thick
scales as he tried to find something like a scruff-hold.

He couldn’t reach the back of the knight’s neck, not like
this, but he managed to bite down on the ridge of scales over his spine and get
a decent hold. Partly out of determination fueled by desire- with thick scales
like this, no way was he passing up the chance to bite a partner without any
damage. He liked to bite, to hold a partner by their scruff, and this was the closest
he could get. It worked, he got a firm hold and bit, growling as he did, and
felt the knight shudder under him.

His first thrust was gentle, really more a rocking motion
than a thrust, pressing just the tip of his cock inside. Testing the waters,
testing if his partner was stretched enough… and dragging things out enough to
listen for a plea.

Powerful hands around his frame, soft fur against his
scales, lithe frame grinding against him- this was unbearably sexy even before
the knight felt Alzu’s cock press against him. As he felt that tantalizing
little motion, he tried to rock into it, tensing in anticipation, but found to his
disappointment that Alzu moved with him and didn’t press in any deeper. Giving
a frustrated little whine, the knight rocked back again, then lifted his face
out of the pillows and looked over his shoulder. “Tease.”

Another rocking motion, also unsuccessful, then the knight
tightened his grip with his tail in an effort to pull Alzu in close. It almost worked, but the canid was strong
enough to resist him, growling playfully as if this was all a game and not the
world’s most pleasurable torture.

Alzu held back for a moment longer, tail waving, chuckling
against the knight’s back, but he was barely in better shape. He wanted. Oh, gods, he wanted, and physical
desire won over the desire to hear the knight beg for him. Drooling happily
against his semi-scruff-hold, he braced his paws and thrust, a slow, firm
motion that buried his shaft over halfway into the knight’s ass. Grinning at
the shaky whimper of pleasure it earned him, he rocked back and thrust again, a
bit harder this time, and released his bite-hold so he could talk.

“Yeah- you wan’ that? Y’ wan’ more? Oh, good boy, good boy- yer hot, y’know, so hot inside, sweet ‘n tight, wrapped ‘round
me- y’ feel that? ‘s my knot, gonn’ fit that in ya too, gonn’ spread you open
an’ feel you ‘round all of me-“

The knight keened in
pleasure and rocked back, as hard as he could, burying his face into the pillows
again as Alzu’s cock slid over a particularly sensitive spot deep in his frame.
Hissing “yesss” under his breath, he braced his feet apart and thrust
backwards, as hard as he could, and was met with a particularly firm thrust
that spread him open further around the bulge of Alzu’s knot. Oh, that was amazing, that smooth swell in width, and
the thought of what it could do-!

Hands tightly gripping the pillows he’d shoved his face
into, the knight panted and rocked back again, earning another strong thrust-
and another, and another, and then Alzu shifted positions and began to fuck him
in earnest. Hard, strong thrusts, just a fraction deeper every time, until he
was taking that delightful cock up to the widest point of the knot every time.

Lifting his head to pant for air, Alzu panted happily and
growled, spanking the knight’s rump with one hand as he thrust once more- hard.
That buried his cock all the way to the base, past the knot, and his next
thrusts were more like grinding motions. He couldn’t pull out quickly enough to
continue those fast thrusts, not with the rim of the knight’s entrance clamped
around the base of his cock past the knot, so he rocked in slow, rubbing motions
instead. “Nnh- all nice’n smooth, tight, hot- y’ feel amazing, lovely, an’
those noises– can’t wait ta hear how
ya sound when I knot ya. For now- I am gonna fuck you, gorgeous, an’ I hope yer ready for more.”

With that, he rocked backward, pulling out almost to the
tip, then thrust again- back up to the widest part of his knot, no further, so
he could keep fucking the lovely knight who was starting to squirm under him. He could feel deep,
rumbling growls of pleasure rippling through his partner’s frame, feel thick,
powerful legs starting to quiver, feel soft inner walls rippling and clenching
around his cock- absolutely amazing. Such a strong
being, pretty knight, so sweet. And
such a noisy bottom, mm, gasping and grunting and whining into the pillows. He
might have to try the knight on his back next time, leave him no good way to
muffle himself. For now, this would, mm, more than work.

Did- ooh, did Alzu like his sounds? Curious, the knight
turned his head to the side, just enough to be clearly heard, and was rewarded
with a louder growl and a firmer thrust that stroked just right over a particularly good spot. “Nnh- ah, more,”
he panted, grinding back against Alzu in an effort to take that lovely shaft as
deep as possible, and almost howled when Alzu obliged with the hardest thrust
yet. A thrust that bottomed out deep inside him, followed up by a grinding
motion and a surprise rub-squeeze to his own cock from one of Alzu’s wandering
hands, and the knight felt his legs start to tremble in earnest under the
onslaught of pleasure.

Alzu was drooling against his back, alternating between
sloppily licking at his scales and nipping him, had mounted and was pounding him. This was far, far hotter
than he ever would have expected, and it came with firm strokes and heavily
accented purrs about how hot he was, and he could still smell the steak that
Alzu had brought-

Sex and affection?
Perfect. Especially when it came with-

Panting harder, Alzu thrust into the knight a few more times,
then curled in and gripped on tightly with one arm and his mouth as his knot
expanded. He was close, so close, but that was fine because he could almost feel the knight’s arousal building. They
were both close, and his knot expanding tended to-

Alzu grinned around a mouthful of scaly hide as his partner squealed, claws tightening on the
pillows, and used his last few scraps of coherence to angle his hips and grind
the tip of his cock against the spot that’d had his partner whining before. It
had worked then, it worked now, and that little trick combined with the new
stretch of his knot to turn those panting moans into a roar.

It could have been frightening for some, but here it was a
mark of pleasure, of victory, of the orgasm that had soft inner walls
tightening around Alzu’s cock as his partner clawed at the pillows under them. And
that, the additional stimulation combined with the sound and scent of his
partner’s pleasure, sent Alzu over the edge as well. Releasing his bite on the
knight’s back, he arched his back and howled,
thrusting twice more as hard as he could manage with his cock firmly locked
into his partner. That knot meant neither of them was going anywhere- he could
still move, but not much, and every drop of the cum he was filling the knight
with would stay inside.

And wasn’t that just
the hottest thought?

Still drooling, Alzu licked softly at the spot he’d bitten,
cleaning the tiny marks his teeth had left-

Then yelped as the knight’s legs abruptly gave out under him
and pulled Alzu down as well. By his cock.

Ow! Not fun. That was okay, though- the stab of pain was
overshadowed quickly by sheer delight at seeing how thoroughly he’d wrecked his
partner. Poor cutie was too tired to stand.

Moaning softly, the knight settled down into the nest of pillows
and blankets, carefully moving until he was comfortable halfway on his side.
Alzu was still… still deep inside him, nnh, goodness, he could feel himself blushing at the sensation
of the cum trapped inside him, not to mention the knot-

Overcome, he grabbed a pillow and pulled it up over his
face, trying to hide from the canid grinning down at him. Well- not all of him, he didn’t want to hide from
the hands running up his back or the lovely knotted cock, but that grin and those bright eyes- goodness.

Alzu rubbed slowly up and down the knight’s spine, or at
least what he could reach of it, then settled in behind him and began to
massage firmly at the thick scales. Rubs and gentle kneading motions,
fingertips scraping along the edges of scales or dipping underneath, a slow,
exploratory massage. “Mm. Good, good boy… so good. So tight, still, tight’n
warm ‘round me… you jus’ sit still now, lemme rub ya. Hey- ya get the chance,
you grab that steak, huh? Get you some, digest while I’m still in ya, get
yerself some energy for more.  An’ gimme
a chunk.”

Tail thumping wildly at how adorable the poor, flustered thing was with his face hidden, Alzu
kept massaging until he felt the knight relax fully, then just settled in for a
firm hug. With snack- wolfing down the piece of steak that was offered. Mmh-
nice and bloody, seared on the outside, on the heat for just long enough to get the juices mixed with a hefty pinch of
salt, just how he liked it. Probably still considered raw. Worked for him.

The pretty knight finally looked up and over at him, for
just long enough to take a bite of the steak, and Alzu grinned wider as they
managed to lock eyes. “Oh, hey… lookit you, cutie. Eat up, grab that water, y’
gonna need energy. Now… what d’you wanna do next, hm? Knot oughta loosen up
soon… you wanna see what it’ll feel like ta pull out? Or I can stay in, grind
int’ ya ‘till I get hard again, get my own
sloppy seconds- what d’you think? Aw, there’s that blush again- hey, you
come out from behind that pillow, cutie! Ya gotta tell me what ya want! Aw- tha’s
okay. I’ll stop talkin’ ‘till you eat. You can tell me later. Jus’… not too much
later. Or I might haveta spank you. Oh- oh! You like that, huh? You want- awh.
Okay. I’ll let ya eat.”

(1068 words of Twitch, my weird little minibot, riding Blackspark’s spike in a lab in order to get a sample of transfluid nanites. Ft. a mention or two of @crowoflight‘s char, Hotzone. No warnings, just some good wholesome smut. In a parasitology lab.)

“So, uh- no objections to this, y’know, happy to be of service, but why, exactly, am I- ooh.”

A table in a laboratory full of suspicious vats wasn’t the
sexiest environment, and, truthfully, Twitch wasn’t the sexiest partner. Those flat
camera-optics were weird, and his voice sounded like there was at least one radio
between him and the listener.  He was
nice, though, Blackspark liked him. And he certainly wasn’t objectionable to look at, just not within the range of traits
that Blackspark considered hot. Didn’t mean he wasn’t happy to offer his spike
when asked. And those clever little servos stroking along his inner thighs were
more than doing what Twitch’s
appearance wasn’t. Now- why were they doing this in a lab, again?

“Scoot back- there. Up, leg over my shoulder,” Twitch
muttered, lifting and tugging until Blackspark hooked one leg over his shoulder
as ordered, and teased his fingertips along the glimpses of pretty white
bio-lights it revealed. “Good. Well- Hotzone over there wants a look at how my
frame modifies reproductive nanites into repair nanites, and, for that, we need
some reproductive nanites to start with. And he’s a bit too big for me, you’ll
notice, but you aren’t. Open up.”

“Works for me. You sure yer okay, though? Don’t want me
stretchin’ you a bit better? I got vibe fingertips, y’know,” Blackspark
offered, wiggling said fingertips at Twitch, but opened his panels to release
his half-pressurized spike regardless. Twitch was the sort who knew what he
wanted, Blackspark assumed that was still the case in this- oh!

Twitch, in one swift motion, slid Blackspark’s leg off his
shoulder and lifted himself up, straddling the bounty hunter’s hips. Retracting
his valve cover, he immediately sank down onto Blackspark’s spike, then-

Blackspark’s initial surprise at the easy stretch of such a
small mech’s valve was immediately drowned out by startled pleasure as said
valve clamped tight around his spike and rippled powerfully, a sensation that
had his spike pressurizing fully in a couple of sparkbeats. Deeper into
Twitch’s valve, of course, which Twitch very much seemed to enjoy. Oh, right- mods, and, Primus, tasty mods. Blackspark outright laughed, servos curling around
Twitch’s sides, and slowly rocked up to bring the node prong above his spike
into contact with Twitch’s node. “Ah, Pit,
I like that- damn you are stretchy! And dear Pri-iiimus that feels good- tighten up ‘gain? Ah, yeah-“

That was what people tended to think of that trick, yes.
Twitch ‘smirked’ with a lift of his plating, rocking his hips more firmly
against Blackspark’s to take the larger mech’s entire spike into his valve, and
lingered where he could grind his node against that lovely prong. Mmh- oh.
Usually only toys had that, it must be a mod, and it was a nice one.

As requested, Twitch clamped his valve tightly around
Blackspark’s spike, then let his calipers settle into their usual rippling
motion- intended to draw a partner quickly to overload and then milk a spike of
transfluid. People generally approved. Blackspark seemed to be no exception, if
the crooked grin on his face was any indication. That, and the sounds he kept making.

Turning his optics away from Blackspark for a moment, Twitch
locked optics with Hotzone and winked, slamming his hips down particularly hard
to earn himself a gasp of pleasure.

Servos wrapped around Twitch’s sides, Blackspark crooned and
thrust gently but firmly into the pretty valve wrapped around him, playing with
how different thrust patterns felt against those rippling calipers. “Ah,
Twitch, this’s good-  Pit, I’d steal yer calipers if mine
weren’t already modded. Tha-at is
nice, lemme try- ooh-

Deciding not to bother with coherence, Blackspark settled
into the rhythm he’d found, thrusting almost in time with the rippling but a
bit faster. Twitch easily met his thrusts, so he thrust harder, helm lolling
slightly to the side and optics unfocusing in enjoyment. Twitch didn’t appear
to be in the mood for leisurely, so
Blackspark happily went along with the pace, his charge building quickly as the
calipers ripple-squeezed along his spike with every thrust.

Twitch’s mods included a set of sensors high up in his valve
that could detect charge, so, when he felt that Blackspark was nearing
overload, the entrance to his overflow tank opened wide and the first few rings
of calipers in his valve clamped down tight around the base of Blackspark’s
spike. Almost the same effect as a knot, and the combination of tightness and
continued squeeze-rippling tended to trigger a specific set of subroutines in
his partner.

It worked.

Blackspark overloaded, rather loudly, hips bucking up into
Twitch, and didn’t stop. Back arched, keening loudly, his frame doing its
absolute best to empty his transfluid tanks into Twitch’s valve. Tended to
happen when one triggered subroutines meant to satisfy, fill, and spark up a
partner in heat. His frame satisfied, Twitch overloaded as well, albeit much
more quietly, and regained himself before Blackspark had even pried his optics
open.

Chuckling softly, Twitch patted Blackspark’s chassis as the
bounty hunter settled down, helm cocked in an expression resembling a grin. “Settle,
tough mech.”

“…holy slag,” Blackspark chuckled, blinking until his optics
focused again, and rather dazedly patted Twitch’s sides in return. “That… oh, that is fun. Though… when y’ said y’
needed fluids, wasn’ think’n you’d wan’ all
th’ fluids. Not complain’n.”

Grinning crookedly, Blackspark watched Twitch lift himself
up, raising a shaky servo to pet over the minibot’s valve. Generic silver-blue,
with thick, plush, inviting lips, wet but not dripping nearly as much as one would expect- evidently his frame was keeping
the fluids inside. Outwardly not all that unusual, just pretty. A striking
contrast to his spike, Primus. That must be the original colors, and,
wow, people didn’t usually have spikes patterned like their transfluid might be
a biohazard. That was a bright shade
of green. “Sheesh. Tha’s somethin’. I like. An’ thought I saw some ridges or
somethin’, yeah? Might… haveta try tha’ out.”

“Well, I’m glad you approve. You are welcome to my spike after we’re done here. For now, prop
those knees up?” Twitch requested, moving up to plant his aft on Blackspark’s
stomach, and leaned back to brace his shoulders against vantablack legs-
splaying his own legs open to give Hotzone an extremely lewd view of his spread
valve. “I figure that oughta be enough of a sample.”

“You lemme know if’y need more,” Blackspark offered, sounding a bit drunken, and licked his lips where Twitch could see. “An’ lemme know if’y need cleanup help.” 

bettsplendens:

(7078 words of Duo finding a bedraggled little nerd and proceeding to try their best to help him. It… mostly works. They’re too enthusiastic for this. 

No significant warnings, but the unfortunate nerd is some degree of traumatized. Somebody manhandled him pretty badly before this.)

It was an abandoned laboratory, so of course they needed to inspect it! Especially with the temptingly
large hole in the roof, a hole that turned out to be directly over a relatively
solid floor, and no signs of Insecticons in sight. That was an absolutely
perfect place to inspect and/or loot, and Duo climbed inside with barely a
second thought.

There was less inside than expected, unfortunately. Someone
had clearly looted the place already, taking everything they had easily found.
Duo could find more, though, as they were entirely willing to crawl under
crumbling walls and creep through any gaps they could fit through. Basic
chemical supplies, a tool here and there, the occasional shatter-proof test
tube or flask. All useful to them, albeit not terribly exciting.

Something else was more exciting, though. Prints! Tracks
through a spilled puddle of paint from an old closet. And not Cybertronian in
origin, the shape was too pliable. More like footwear, with toes. Interesting-
organics? And large ones, judging by the prints, but long gone. The paint was
dry and starting to show some weathering. Presumably the ones who had nearly
emptied the place before. Shame Duo didn’t get any of that, but- ah well,
everything on the planet was free-for-all at this point. Too many dead people
to worry much about who got the scraps.

A scraping noise up ahead caught their attention, and they
crept up onto a leaning cabinet to peer through an air vent into the next room,
checking whether it might be any sort of predator.

Reasonable expectations included a turbo-fox, a lone
Insecticon, or a very large wire-rat. Unreasonable expectations included a
Sparkeater.

It was none of those things. Fortunately.

It was a mech. 

Keep reading

(Followup, 4444 words more or less in Spinflask’s point of view. Additional warnings: fairly vague mentions of testing on live, sapient subjects, and a mech with a particular blend of depression and guilt.)

It wouldn’t have been unreasonable for him to be wary of
Duo.

They were agile, nimble, and definitely stronger than him.
One would be stronger, both could easily restrain him- and had, before. To add
to that, they had extra limbs, sharp dentae, flexible frames, and-

Well, he wasn’t certain of the mechanism, but he’d seen one
put a test tube mostly into his mouth and then withdraw it full of a
toxic-green fluid that sizzled when it hit the mixture in progress. Evidently
at least one of them had something
like a poison gland in their mouth or throat.

They were strange to
look at up close. The splotched colors were unnatural for Cybertronians,
asymmetrical and rounded, and the green areas looked almost toxic. He’d almost
have taken it for some sort of disease if he hadn’t seen them up close, even
touched them- their plating was too smooth, felt healthy. Their smiles were
odd, as well, despite their efforts. Fanged, and a bit too wide, even with what
looked like an attempt at restraint.

And then there were the brands. 

High up on the backs of
their shoulders, clearly having been carved off by something, the base outlines
not yet healed over by standard plating nanites. They’d worked in a bioweapons
institute. Spinfoil had met several mechs who were probably their bosses, who
had been interested in what he’d learned from his work, who had worn the same symbol in much more prominent areas.
That wasn’t where people wore brands of authority or alignment, though. Brands
on the back were labels. They hadn’t
been supervisors, they’d been lab workers.

Might explain the drug they’d used on him, though it was
oddly harmless for bioweapons
manufacturers to be carrying around. What- change of spark? Escape? The removed
brands would certainly indicate something of the sort. Wouldn’t be the sort of
thing one would remove for safety, mechs would see it as a sign to avoid them.

Bioweapons manufacturers who could easily overpower him,
could probably eat him, could poison
him in any number of ways… who should probably have been frightening.
Especially since they kept touching him-
moving him around in the nest, stroking him, realigning bits of plating, even
taking his servos and playing gently with his fingers. Far more than he was
used to, but… that was all right. He was too tired to feel particularly upset
about it, and… probably wouldn’t have minded that much if he hadn’t been tired.

They were… gentle. The inspection really should have been
upsetting, given previous circumstances, but it definitely wasn’t. Perhaps because
they had distinctly Cybertronian servos? Rather a lot of servos, but metal. In
addition, they smoothed plating back down rather than lifting it, and they
didn’t push. They didn’t dip under his plating, didn’t try to lift it, hadn’t
lifted anything aside from checking
inside his hatch earlier. They were just curious. Respectfully curious.

Almost… cute.

An observation that made him feel a bit, agh- a bit perverted.

How old were they?

Young, to be sure, and here he was looking them over and
strongly contemplating touching them both. They wouldn’t want his servos on
them, not if they knew what he’d done. Wouldn’t want him alive. That or they’d like it,
want his research, but- no, no, they were so gentle, trying to help him, reassuring him as much as possible-
they’d be angry if they knew.

Might want him dead.

It’d be reasonable.

He’d rather not be dead, though, so he’d avoid telling them
and hope like Pit that they didn’t read his file too closely.

At least they hadn’t shown any more interest in his file.
For now, they were working on- something. Spinflask hadn’t seen half the
components, so he didn’t know what it was, but they were certainly invested it
in. Practically climbing on top of each other as they worked, stretching up to
work with a complicated apparatus meant to distill and concentrate chemicals,
at least seven servos occupied at all times- either working on it or fiddling
with various small tools, fidgeting about. They couldn’t sit still, could they?

Again, cute.

It still didn’t quite feel right, but Spinflask found
himself watching them. Forget almost climbing on each other, they were. Spinflask couldn’t tell exactly
how, but he was fairly certain the mech on top had one pede on his brother’s
shoulder and the other on his thigh. Was that comfortable? It certainly looked
like something they did frequently, it was too casual to be new.

Whatever they were working on, they seemed excited about it,
if their body language was anything to go by. Which body language usually was.
They weren’t speaking, aside from single words now and then, but that wasn’t
surprising given-

Well, they had to be twins, didn’t they? Too similar for
anything else, but not identical enough to be clones or specifically developed
that way. And the flawless coordination, communication without words- they had
to be split-spark twins. Probably incredibly useful for teamwork, though with
potential to be fatal if one of them was killed. The term was literal-
splitsparks had one spark each, but barely. They lacked long-term stability if
not allowed to merge occasionally, and the death of one would frequently result
in the immediate death of the other. If the other survived the backlash of the
broken link, the combination of grief and a lack of a way to stabilize would
prove fatal.

The coordination, though… that was amazing. They functioned
almost as one being, transferring items from one mech to the other, even
holding containers between two servos belonging to different mechs. Spinflask
had read about splitsparks before, but never actually met any, let alone seen
them at work. That- that was extraordinary! Spinflask couldn’t have coordinated
four servos at once belonging to him, so
coordinating a total of eight servos between two beings was amazing.

Before long, Spinflask found himself moving closer, edging
in to watch them more closely. Their servos, this time, their work- how fast they moved. It was fascinating,
better coordination than he’d seen anywhere before. Primus, he’d seen
assortments of AI-run limbs with less coordination than these two. Absolutely
worth watching.

…oh- oh Pit, they’d noticed him watching. Spinflask
retreated slightly, on the verge of apologizing, but-

No, that- that was another smile, from both of them, just
enough to show dentae. Were they-

One of them flipped a test tube into the other’s servo, a
clearly playful gesture that they hadn’t been doing before, and that left no doubt.
They were- what, showing off? Another glance up at their faces to be sure, then
Spinflask sat more comfortably where he was, watching their work to see what
they might be doing. Now- what was this? They’d labeled most things,
fortunately, but some of the ingredients were things he was completely
unfamiliar with.

And then there was- whatever the one twin had spit out. The
color was ominous, but it couldn’t possibly be Tox-En, they’d be dead and
making him sick if that was the case. So, what- a venom? Mechs weren’t usually
venomous, but mechs didn’t usually have transparent domes in their backs,
either.

Eventually, one of them must have picked up on what he was
watching in particular, because the twin who’d provided the unknown substance
picked up a piece of scrap metal from nearby and- oh!

What Spinflask had originally taken for some sort of
auxiliary audial fins unfolded from low on the mech’s helm, spreading into a
set of fins brightly patterned in that same toxic green, and sharp fangs parted
uncannily far as the mech spit more of the same substance onto the metal. Which
popped, sizzled, and began to corrode, pits
appearing and widening with alarming speed.

Ah. Acid.

Spinflask didn’t have a way to tell what that might do to
living plating, not without knowing what the scrap metal was, but anything that
would corrode metal that way would hurt anyone without acid resistance. It
stopped before it ate through the
metal, but that would still hurt, and it would be alarming as Pit. And on soft
materials, muscle cables, protoform, optics-
urgh. No wonder they weren’t afraid- who would think to guard against that?

Probably would have unnerved most people.

Spinflask?

Spinflask leaned in closer, helm tilted, winglets raised,
and almost reached to touch the mech
in question. That was fascinating. Would
they- would they let him-

“Oh my. Ah… I do apologize, but… is- is there any way I
could…”

He didn’t even get a chance to finish the question. The twin
in question moved away from the table, coaxed Spinflask’s servos to his face,
and, once again, opened his mouth uncannily wide.

Spinflask blinked, taken aback, but leaned in nonetheless to
get a better look. The frills weren’t up, so hopefully this wasn’t a trap? It- okay, no, he could see the
apertures now. Two small slits in the roof of the mech’s mouth, just above his
throat, and-

The frills rose just a fraction, and, in the same motion,
the slits widened and a pair of what looked like small nozzles extended
slightly. They retracted after a moment, though, and the fangs clicked back
together. However, the larger mech made no attempt to move out of Spinflask’s
servos, which… was… huh.

Confused, Spinflask sat entirely motionless for several long
moments, staring at the mech who was evidently content to sit with his helm in
Spinflask’s servos. What was he supposed to do here? Start petting?

Eventually, he did- stroking along a spatter of green
pigment on the other chemist’s cheek with his thumb, at a loss for what else to
do. Which didn’t get any complaints, so
he kept going- and felt the pretty mech lean into his servos.

…oh.

Oh dear.

Guilt curled taunt in Spinflask’s tank at his own thoughts,
and he started to pull away from the other, but that lanky frame uncurled and
followed him- and Primus damn him, he liked it. He liked this sweet young bot following his touches, looking up at him
like that, with those soft, wide optics and a hint of a smile- damn him for this.

They must have felt something in his field, because the one
in his servos tensed after a moment, and his twin immediately turned to see.
But they weren’t afraid, they were concerned,
servos lifting to pet at him again and draw him close- they must think this
was about before, about the raiders, they were pitying him when they should- should hate him!

A distressed noise escaped his vocalizer and he flinched
away, curling into himself and taking his servos off the mech’s face in favor
of covering his helm. And there was the pity
again, an attempt at comfort in their odd combined field, clinging to him
and pressing around him and trying to help-

That massive surge of adrenaline didn’t come, but Spinflask
shoved at them nonetheless, his voice high and quivering in distress. “No, don’t, don’t let me- don’t let me touch you, I shouldn’t, I’m- don’t, I
don’t deserve, you don’t know what I-
what I did, it’s- it’s in the files,
you- you got my name, must have the file- read it, just- just read, you’ll-
you’ll know-“

They had the file, yes, but Spinflask kept talking, not
wanting to wait for them to find the data and start reading. Too long, he just-
he had to tell them now, get this
over with so they’d stop letting him touch
like this, so he could get whatever they’d do over with. “I should have known it wasn’t how they said, but I- I
needed subjects, and the- I studied dark energon, y’see, its main- main effects
are psychoactive for a long- long period of time, you can’t test that on animals, have to have people and their minds, and they- they told me
it was convicts, and it was
important, it was, there had to be a cure somewhere, but-“

A tighter curl, a deep vent, and he continued, his voice pitching
high enough that it no longer sounded like him, “-but I should have known, they didn’t look like criminals, they looked like soldiers, like warframes, and nobody- nobody read the cure data, just infection, what-
what was fastest, most effective, most violent,
I should have known so much sooner, should
have wondered sooner why they wanted information on what- what dark energon
does to soldiers, but I didn’t think, I was too eager, I wanted to know- and
I knew, but I murdered people to do it, I poisoned
innocent people and watched how they died
and I never asked why! I’ve-
ngh-“

And then there was a servo over his mouth, and Spinflask
yelped once before going limp and shutting his optics, fully expecting them to
hurt him.

Who wouldn’t?

They didn’t, though, in fact nothing happened. They just…
stayed like that.

So he opened his optics, just enough to see, and he saw. Two
lanky frames, twisted around to show him the insignias on their backs.

After a long moment, the twins spoke, voices so soft he
barely heard.

“And what do you think
we did?”

…what?

Oh.

Oh.

Bioweapons.

They’d made bioweapons.

Weapons had to be tested.
Over and over and over again, and then used.

He had dozens of bodies on his servos. They’d have, what-
hundreds? Thousands, likely, counting the ones killed on battlefields.

Well. No wonder they weren’t horrified.

Spinflask made a noise somewhere between a laugh and a sob,
then again, then they were curling against him and his vocalizer fritzed out as
he was flooded in remorse. Not his,
theirs, their field was dripping with it.

Primus.

What did he do now?

The twins stayed pressed against him for a few long moments,
then leaned up just enough to put the caps back on a couple of containers
before lifting him between them. Back into the nest, and they curled against
him once again, but only because he was between them- they were more focused on
curling against each other. He could still hear them talking, though- and they
were almost out of sync. They weren’t hopping between each other in fluid
motions in the middle of sentences, these were short, choppy half-phrases.

“Didn’t want to.”

“Tried not to.”

“Split us up.”

“Hurt us if we
didn’t.”

“Wasn’t us.”

“Our servos, but them.”

Two helms raised, four optics met his, and the twins kept
talking, still out of sync but starting to get closer, voices and field laden
with conviction.

“Wasn’t you.”

“Feel this? Is not- murderers don’t-“

“Murderers don’t hurt like
this.”

“They lied. Was them, wasn’t you.”

“Wasn’t us, wasn’t you.”

Well that- that wasn’t-

That wasn’t the same, and Spinflask tried to say it, he tried, but all he could get out was “that’s not-“ before his vocalizer cut out. They
were- they were touching him, still,
curled against him- for comfort, yes, but- against his servos, against-

A quick set of motions, and they’d shifted positions, each
putting one of his servos against their cheek and placing a servo on the hatch
in his chassis.

Well. That… that wasn’t disgust. Or fear. Or some sort of
sick enjoyment.

That was… sympathy. Understanding, of a sort.

Oh.

Maybe… maybe it was okay to touch them, just a bit, just for
right now. They- they needed comfort, after all, didn’t they? He should try to-
to comfort them, yes? That was the right- right thing to do. Just… just him
comforting two young mechs, nothing creepy, nothing perverted… nothing to do
with the fact that they were still cute…

Pit.

But they were leaning into him, their field was soft and
upset (and wasn’t that an odd thing, an identical field from both sides), they
wanted touch-

They wanted him. Maybe
just his servos and warm frame, but they wanted him, and that made something deep in his chassis start shimmering.

So he stroked carefully against their cheeks where his
servos had been placed, then up to their audial fins, then down until his servos
brushed against the smooth domes in their backs. What were those? The material
looked and felt like something akin to glass, it was definitely transparent,
and it wasn’t as warm as the rest of their frames. And inside- liquids, not
energon, liquids in green and yellow and silver-blue, swirling idly against the
insides of the domes. Must be some sort of storage areas. Where was the outlet,
though? Couldn’t be in their mouths, that would risk the mixtures within
interacting with whatever came from their throat glands. Maybe hidden ports
somewhere, or, Pit, even their vents. Could be something volatile enough to
turn to gas if it hit the air. He’d have to- would they tell him if he asked?
They’d showed the throat glands without him even asking, so- yes, unusual
details like that, he’d have to ask.

Spinflask’s musings were cut off by the larger mechs
re-settling, clearly aware of his presence, and-

Giggling quietly at the sound of Spinflask’s vents
stuttering, the twins settled with their helms against his chassis, petting
lightly at his plating once again. “There… see? No- no nastiness, just this.
Oh- never introduced. Scissors, Syringe- collectively, Duo. Only separate when
needed. Uh- splitsparks, probably noticed. Now… where, exactly, is…”

A pause, both of them lifting their helms and blinking in
confusion, then they pressed their helms back down and shifted around- clearly
listening to his chassis. “…no sparkbeat. Explain?”

Spinflask shook his helm slightly, stirring himself back to
reality and out of the swamp of confusion, and looked down at his own chassis.
“I- oh. That’s- you found the hatch earlier? My alt is a centrifuge, the rack
folds into my chassis and stays semi-accessible. My spark chamber is located
further back than usual to allow for the rack and the thick lining which
protects my spark from any incidents while my alt is in use. I would imagine my
sparkbeat is… ah… is muffled?”

Voice faltering, Spinflask stared down at the lanky mechs
curled up against his chassis once again, something like a smile trying to
sneak onto his face. They… liked this. Seemed to like him, to some extent, or
at least found him interesting. And, oh- could be useful to them. They were
chemists, after all, and he was a centrifuge- a good centrifuge. Voice still
soft and servos still petting at their backs, he slowly listed off his own
statistics, rotation speed and capacity and everything else they might need,
ending it up with “…and I would be happy to assist you.”

They –Duo- were listening. Clearly listening, looking up at
him, and still petting his frame. “Will take offer- not now, but definitely
later. Nice strong engine, yes?” they chuckled, patting his chassis, and
grinned when he obligingly revved his engine. “Oh, yes. Very strong engine. Very nice. Now-“

Scissors arched his back for a moment, presenting the
transparent domes, then settled back down. “Can pet, but not sensitive- only
around bases. Try around seams in armor, down spine- there. Domes are for
storage, chambers to retain chemicals. Mostly gases. Outlets in vents, inlets
just below neck and in throat mechanisms. Can swallow substances to retain and
use later. Smallest chambers usually used to hold new substances, see? Flat
windows. Domes contain useful chemicals to breathe through vents- mostly Scraplet
repellant, sedative-substance made to intimidate and slow potential threats,
scent disguise for avoiding predators. Show you later.”

After a moment or two, they pushed their faces further into
Spinflask’s frames, tugging blankets up further, and wrapped the whole group in
softness. “Here- cuddles now. Yes? Nice, soft… think nice things. Talk, get
ideas. Working on more of drug we used before- need to keep a supply. And,
honest? Might need more for you. That okay? Don’t- don’t want to use drugs, just- don’t want you hurt, not sure how else to
stop adrenaline,” they whispered, stroking his arms a bit more firmly, field
flickering apology/regret/reassurance to
the mech between them.

The mech between them was not pleased by that idea. Being
drugged into a temporary stupor was alarming at first, unpleasant in
retrospect, and he didn’t like the clinginess
it wanted from him. However… the alternative was that strange blackout.
He’d experienced it before, multiple times, and it always left him exhausted.
And usually in some degree of pain.

Adrenaline was an… interesting
thing, apparently. And not a pleasant one for him. Dear Primus, he was a biochemist. He didn’t even have any built-in
weapons. He wasn’t supposed to have aggressive responses to anything! What sort of defective adrenaline response would it take to make him act
aggressive enough to injure himself?
Systems assessments warned that he’d newly wrenched his shoulder joints, his
hip, and his ankle on the same side, almost every latch on his frame was trying
to repair itself (though that was from a prior
and incredibly unpleasant incident), and there were enough minor dents and
scrapes that they were in their own subcategory. Organized by date, of course,
with an option to sort by severity or by percentage repaired.

Spinflask distracted himself for a moment re-sorting the
list to at least get the basic idea of his injuries, then sighed and re-focused
himself on the matter at servo. Namely, his thoughts on being drugged again if
he had another panic response of the sort. None of the thoughts were positive, but…

Sighing quietly, Spinflask patted the nearest
silver-and-green servo, resigned to his fate. “I would rather you not use the
drugs either, but… I do understand the need. If I have a similar response
again, and I cannot guarantee that I will not, you have my permission. Though I
would… like to request that you only use the same substance as before, as I
have some idea of how my frame responds to it.”

Murmuring “apologies, don’t want to, low on options”, the
twins snuggled up close, humming their reassurances and stroking everything
that came into their servos. “Sorry. Promise- only same thing. Still no
negative response? Felt touch-need, but nothing else?”

Not bothering to wait for an answer, they started moving,
servos tracing over his frame in search of answers. Up to his throat to check
his energon pulse, under the edges of his chassis plating to check his
sparkpulse and the thrum of it, lingering against his stomach and wrists and
anywhere else they might find information.

“I- oh, there’s- goodness, you’re- you’re quite thorough,”
Spinflask managed, honestly a bit taken aback by the sudden exam, but relaxed
into the touches. “I’m- thank you, no, nothing else. System reports are coming
back, ah- not normal, but not with
anything that can be linked to your… efforts. And I- I cannot believe I am
saying for this, but… thank you for dosing me.”

Oh, they were- Primus. They were smiling now, looking relieved beyond expression, even nuzzling into
his servos. Like they’d, what- had they expected him to be angry? He… no. He
wasn’t angry. They’d helped. Maybe not in a way he liked, but they’d helped.
More than just calming him down- he was here
instead of being chained to a table. Here, tank full, being snuggled and
stroked by two lovely mechs. They-
they were- oh.

Spinflask’s vents hitched and he whined, overwhelmed by the shameless affection being offered to
him. They were probably contact-starved, touchy mechs like this out on their
own, but they were touching him and
actually seemed to be enjoying it. They knew
what he’d done, they knew, and
they weren’t acting any differently than before. They’d just… accepted it,
tried to reassure him, and kept petting.

The petting was amazing. Dear Primus was it amazing.

How was he supposed to deny them? They wanted to touch him, and
he wanted to be touched. He couldn’t deny it- he wanted. Even if he shouldn’t.

Well… it wasn’t as if they were going to stop petting him
any time soon, by the look of things. Surely it wouldn’t hurt anything if he…
tried petting them back?

Spinflask had never done anything like this. He didn’t just…
start petting random people. Nor did people start petting him. Ever. He had no
experience, which was unnerving, and- what if he did this wrong? What if he
accidentally touched an erogenous zone and gave them the wrong idea, or worse,
made them feel uncomfortable? He didn’t want to upset Duo, they were so sweet, those optics and the careful
servos and the- the care-

His vents hitched again in a quiet sob, servos curling on
thin air, field shuddering gratitude/uncertainty/confusion
as he tried to figure out what to do.
He wanted to touch, and it was probably expected, but- but what if he-

Scissors nuzzled into his servo, cooing a quiet noise, and
Spinflask’s uncertainty-laden, near-panicked attempts at figuring out what he
was doing slid to a grinding halt. Voicebox click-sputtering awkwardly as the
twins curled around him and into him,
he slowly ran his fingertips over the silver-speckled cheek, earning a gentle
crooning sound and a firm press into his servo. That… oh. Oh.

One thing that people didn’t usually know about natural-born
chemists was that they had something built in to clear their optics of
potential contamination. Namely, an extremely well-developed tear duct system.
Which responded exactly as it was supposed to in this situation, a clear signal
of his distress. One that had him trying to hide his face in embarrassment as
thick, fat tears dripped down his cheeks, coating his optics so thoroughly that
he couldn’t see properly even when he opened his optics. Mortified and overwhelmed
but unquestionably safe, Spinflask
pushed his face into Scissors’ chassis and sobbed,
wrapping his arms around-

Primus this mech was lanky. But warm, so very warm, pulling him close and settling him so both twins
could press their warm, soft, un-armored stomachs against him. Like they knew
what he wanted, what he needed, what-

Spinflask’s servos tightened on Scissors’ back, and he
curled into a ball between the two larger mechs, his vocalizer giving a series
of soft little noises as they continued to pet him. They knew, they knew what
he wanted, what felt good for him- and they were doing it.

“Thank you.”

 

Duo crooned reassurance and curled more firmly around the
small mech, whispering “most welcome” to the shivering bundle of silvery-white.
At least he was relatively calm now, working out emotions rather than panicking
and trying to kill them again.

He’d probably be fine. 

Poor, cute mech.