robothell | ROOOOOBOT PROOOOM

ROOOOOBOT PROOOOM

Who: ALL ROBOTS.
Where: THE FORUM
When: RIGHT THE FUCK NOW
What: ROBOT PROM
Warnings: teenagers making out, galvatron doing his thing, a throwdown between first aid and tarn over sixshot. usual prom shit.

ROBOT PROM

the punch has been spiked, the music is whatever they could scrape together, and there’s bleachers to make out behind. takes place OUTSIDE in the forum so there's plenty of space and people can easily crash it.

prom king is optimus prime, prom queen is pipes.

please behave as irresponsibly as you would at real prom.

comment around, mingle, you all know the drill.

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Tarn gurgles pathetically as he doubles over himself. Great, now someone is baring witness to this shameful display. He doesn't even cast them a glance, waving off their suggestion rather quickly.

" No...No medics..." As far as he knows the only two medics here are Frist Aid and Pharma, neither of which he particularly wants to see him in this weak state.

"I-I'm fine. Truly." He wipes uselessly at the half processed energon leaking from the bottom of his mask, smearing it across his cheek.

Gross.

Miria would think it's gross, if she had any concept of gross to judge it by. Also she is very sure that whoever this is is not fine, not fine at all.

Hopefully he won't mind having someone who is minibot sized coming up closer and kind of, awkwardly reaching out in an attempt to be comforting? Again, not that she's all that good at it.

"This Unit is sure that Cybertronians should not be making that sound." She said, trying to sound like she knows what she's talking about. And hey, if Tarn does decide to pay attention he will get to notice that this robot looks very... Organic-like.

He looks skeptical, despite Pipes' enthusiasm, reaching out to prod the truck with a foot in curiosity.

"A maintenance bot... you were allowed to do that?"

"I was built for it."

Ahh, functionism.

The touch of a hand on his plating rouses Tarn's attention. The voice and speech pattern was unfamiliar but he certainly hadn't expected an organic.

Under more typical circumstances, he would have made an attempt to seem threatening, maybe even made steps to cause her harm. But, the damage is already done to his image as he sits curled in on himself, weak and blindingly drunk.

"Urghh- leave me alone." He lurches away, trying to put distance between them. "I don't need help, I can handle myself."

When he lurches away from her, she doesn't make any kind of move after him. Not out of any realization that touching him would end badly, but because she's not all that good at this kind of thing.

"It does not appear that you are capable of handling yourself," is her reply, as she just stares at Tarn. "Nor does this Unit think you should be alone."

She is also not going to point out that, after hearing something other than horrible retching, she heard him shouting about cock earlier in the evening. That bit of information is not in helping making Tarn seem capable of doing anything by himself right now.

“...that's good to know, I guess. Just as long as you ain't gonna explode.”

Grimlock just stares at the bot cause wow what a weirdo.

“Uh. I'm standin right here.”

He linefaces pretty hard.

“That's my face you just touched.”

"Built for it...?" His head tilts back and forth, body shifting. "That's your purpose?"

No, Kagerou, it's different.

"Yeah? Yeah? Is it...? It's all like. Tough."

Which is meant to be a compliment. Really, it is. He's trying to drunkenly compliment the big Autobot.

Up close and personal.

It's been at least ten years since First Aid was last with someone; while his preference for large toys made the stretch easier on his frame, months without them still made the rim of his valve slightly as the thick fingers press into him. They fill him, stretching him to his limit as he sinks down on them in gentle rocks of his hips, until his exterior node was flush against Rampage's palm.

His legs were shaking as Rampage thrust's up, caught in the rush of his overload, and First Aid doesn't have the time to brace for the spurt of transfluid jetting against his belly. Even the helpless twitch of the mech's fingers inside him rubs against his sensors and First Aid gasps as he clutches Rampage's arm, his port squeezing reflexively.

The warmth of fluid dipping down his belly and between his legs does it for him; First Aid arches against the fingers in him as he rolls over into a small overload, energy rippling over his shaking frame as his hips jerk involuntarily. Fluid, in a much smaller volume, spurts from the tip of his spike onto the crab mech's warm plating while lubricant gushes from corners of his over stretched valve.

When his overload starts subsiding, First Aid leans heavily into the larger mech, his fans spinning loudly.

"You must... ah, you must have a lot saved up in your fluid tank. Just like I thought. A gusher."

"Don’t tell me what I need!” Tarn slurs, batting blindly in Miria’s direction. He tries to stand and walk away, but finds that when the room is spinning this quickly, it is difficult to stay upright. He falls back to his knees with a dull 'clang' and leans against the bleachers, having only made it to a partially upright position.

“It’s none of your business, organic. You’re fortunate that I am somewhat infirmed at the moment.”

His voice lowers to that deadly spark snuffing timber that is so handy in deterring most mechs. He doesn’t consider that it may not have the desired effect on organics (or organic made machinery).

“Now, Leave. me. alone."

As soon as Tarn bats in Miria's direction she sort of jumps back, taking on a defensive stance just in case he does actually try to start a fight. But then there is the falling to the knees and she doesn't consider him much of a threat.

That and Tarn completely gets what she is wrong, the smallest of frowns crosses her face. More so when the Decepticon does whatever it is with his voice.

"This Unit is not organic," she simply corrects him, before once again moving closer. While trying to not look threatening.

"Also it appears that your vocal synthesizer is malfunctioning?"

Yep, Miria thinks Tarn's fancy spark killing voice is a glitch.

Mayday looks progressively more horrified with each passing second, before he finally squeaks.

"Um, maybe we should- maybe I should- oh, hey! There sure is somewhere else I'd like to be right now!"

Run away and hide with him, Pipes. It's the only way to deal with conflict.

"I'm not going to- what- who explodes?" Sorry Grimlock, he's in a mood now and exploding people is downright horrifying.

"Uh." Rampage isn't sure how First Aid can manage to form words at all at the moment, let alone complete sentences. Sagging limply back against his supporting rubble, he moans softly at First Aid's wet valve clenching around his fingers and the sensation of hot fluids slowly cooling on his plating.

His spark is tingling from his own overload and the aftertaste of First Aid's own, and he lazily shifts his fingers inside the smaller bot, curling gently against sensitive walls.

Finally he gathers himself together enough to actually online his optics and look at First Aid, his fans giving a short burst of speed at the sight of him covered in his fluids. Slag, some even managed to splatter on his face. Releasing his grip on First Aid's waist, he reaches up to wipe the drop away with a large thumb.

"Sorry," he mumbles.

Tarn's face twists into the most affronted expression behind his mask.

"It is not malfuctioning!" He snaps defensively.

This is the worst. This is the legitimate worst. He rests his face in his hands as he curls more tightly in on himself as she begins approaching him again.

He can't actually fight her in this state, but, he can continue to kick at her with one of his massive feet.

He may be drunk but he at least is coherent enough to realize that this is mortifying.

"Oh," First Aid moans, both hands clutching onto Rampage's forearm between his legs as he rolls his fingers in him. "Ah--"

He's sensitive after his small overload, his systems already primed to build charge again, and his plating rattles as a shiver runs down his struts. First Aid rocks into the mech's hand, pulling up and sinking down on the fingers inside him, his venting coming in staticy huffs.

"I liked it," he manages between huffs, then reaches up to take Rampage's hand and turn it so he can wrap his lips around it. His digits are smaller than his interface, easer for him to slide his mouth over and suck it clean of fluid. His visor shutters and he moans softly as he pulls back, giving the tip of the mech's thumb a parting flick with his tongue.

"Are you spent?"

The sensation of First Aid fucking himself on Rampage's fingers is incredibly distracting, if not just from the tight, warm squeeze and shift against his plating then from the sparks of the medic's pleasure it sends dancing against the surface of his spark, making the green beneath the surface swirl and writhe like a living storm.

"Oh," he says, voice hoarse as soft lips curl around his thumb. It might as well have been his spike First Aid was sucking for all that the motion makes his cord stir and repressurize.

"I, uh, no," he manages to stutter out as First Aid's tongue takes a parting swipe and his moan sends a shudder shaking down Rampage's spine.

Dammit, he's usually more eloquent than this.

Oh Tarn, kicking at her is a bad idea. As Miria's instinctive reaction is to level one of her cannons at the offending foot, she's had a bad run in with robots and their big stompy feet since she's gotten here.

She's not going to shoot him, that would not help the situation one bit, but she is most certainly giving Tarn what could pass for a dirty look.

"This Unit would suggest you do not try to attack it." She's not gonna lower her weapon, but her tone isn't actually threatening as she's stopped approaching him once again. In fact she's moving to sort of.

Sit by the bleachers in a way to make sure no one at the party could say, wander by without running into her.

"But if the Cybertronian wishes to be alone, then this Unit will make sure no others can bother him."

As drunk as he was, First Aid still found it in himself to be impressed by Rampage's rebound time. Maybe it was part of his making, or his youth, or his experience; whatever it was, it wasn't any less delightful.

"Sweet Primus, aren't you a gift?" he breathes, fingers brushing up the slick underside of Rampage's hardening spike. "All ready to go again!"

Just touching the warm, wet metal plating makes his valve twitch, squeezing the fingers in him. He shudders, lubricant dripping down his thighs as he shifts on Rampage's fingers, trying to steady himself enough that he can reach a shaky hand toward's the mech's face.

"You wanna overload inside me? Watch it drip out, down my thighs..."

He pulls his hand away from Rampage's spike and wraps it around his own, stroking up it in slow, firm tugs until it was hard and twitching in his palm. First Aid makes some soft sounds, biting his lip as his hand slides up and down his cord, wrist twisting.

It's all of the above, really. He's young, inexperienced, affection-starved, and has a lap full of a scorching hot medic who really seems to know what he's doing regardless of his drunkenness.

Rampage whines happily, as much at the compliment as from the soft touch on his spike, and his fingers twitch reflexively at the warm squeeze of First Aid around him.

He leans forward to meet First Aid's touch, hungry for more gentle affection, and he groans loudly as the medic speaks, painting a delightful image clearly in his mind.

"Yes." That sounds amazing.

His optics and spark both blaze bright as he watches First Aid jerk himself to full hardness. Inside First Aid, his fingers wiggle playfully, while his other hand hovers over the smaller mech's spike, wondering if he should touch.

First Aid curls his fingers over Rampage's cheek, tugging him down a bit more to bump his lips against the mech's maw, his back arching and tensing as the fingers shift inside him. It feels so good. He doesn't even remember the last time he was so full. First Aid vents pull in a shuddering gust of of air, his plating steaming as coolant evaporates off him.

"Mmn--" The medic is a bit lost for words at the moment, too caught up in the shiver of charge crawling up his spine. He feels hot, his armor prickly like it was vibrating at a frequency indiscernible to outside perception.

"Touch me," he murmurs lips falling against Rampage's chest, peppering kisses along the edges of the folded back armor. If anything, he wanted to encourage the crab mech to explore.

It takes a moment for the medic to move his weight to his shaky knees, pulling himself up from Rampage's fingers slowly. He whimpers, his port clenching as he's emptied. He clutches at the red armor under him, then reaches for Rampage's twitching spike, fingers stroking down from tip to housing.

"So, so big. You can't mass shift it at all?"

"It was."

Kinda. He still did maintenance during the war. Wow that's depressing.

"We can go back to your place if you'd like."

Not in a SEXY WAY in a 'wow let's not be around these GIANT MOTHERFUCKERS ABOUT TO CATFIGHT'

Too bad he didn't specify.

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ROOOOOBOT PROOOOM

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