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.