robothell | ROOOOOBOT PROOOOM

Sorry, First Aid, Rampage is the last person who's going to judge you for having homicidal thoughts. You'll have to judge yourself for that.

For awhile he simply stares at First Aid, watching with bemusement as the little Autobot uses his hand as a blanket. It's strange, this trust First Aid puts in him, when he could probably crush him right now with a simple flex of his hand. He certainly doesn't deserve such trust, but having it makes him oddly disinclined to lose it.

With a heavy huff, Rampage glares out over the remains of the party and momentarily considers just raining fiery death down upon it. Instead he says, "Do you want to go? This party is boring."

First Aid was usually so good with handling his issues quietly and alone, but being completely wasted made him want nothing more than to curl up next to a warm frame and feel wanted. He clings to the hand, unwilling to let go but he turns and looks up at the question.

"Yeah, sure. Let's get out of here."

He's embarrassed himself enough at this party.

With a shrug - and secretly glad that he's not going to spend the night alone - Rampage stands, awkwardly pressing First Aid against his chest with the hand the little guy is clinging to. It's easy to carry him. It'd be pretty easy for him to care most anyone here who's not Sixshot in beast mode.

He wanders away from the lights and sounds of the party, guiding himself only by choosing the point farthest away from any sparks he can sense other than First Aid's and his own.

Finally, he decides on a suitably dark hole where two buildings collapses against each other, and settles down in it.

It was probably for the best that Rampage was carrying him. Drinking and driving didn't really mix and the last thing First Aid needed was to Scooty Puff Jr. straight into a wall. It was still an odd sensation, his legs dangling in the air and his head swimming, that when Rampage found a good spot and settled down he still felt like he was moving.

He turns, his hands curling around the crab mech's shoulder armor, his weight heavy as he sways in the mech's lap. First Aid feels somewhat ill after that emotional rush and he hiccups, just a few times at first, and then a bunch of small little sounds and jerks.

"You don't keep anything?"

Rampage isn't sure what to do with his hands as he sits with First Aid draped over him. He awkwardly pats at the small 'Bot's back, probably a little harder than is comforting, but it's not like he's ever done this before. He's usually more about making people feel terrible than trying to make them feel better.

"I don't have anything," he says, stretching out to lean against some rubble, his free hand propped behind his head.

First Aid leans against Rampage's chest, his expression saddening again. Sixshot seemed to be the same way, moving through life without any particular attachment to anything. Thinking about Sixshot just made him even sadder.

"I used to have badges. A whole wall of them. Now all I have is my friend's brain."

In his drunkenness he doesn't really get how cryptic that sounded. Instead he lays his head against the mech's chest and vents deep as he listens to his mechanisms, the hum of his spark and power plant.

Well, that one certainly makes Rampage pause.

"That's... an interesting trade," he says after awhile, sounding a bit confused. What do badges have to do with brains anyway? "If you want to start a new collection I could probably lend you a brain module."

He doesn't really mean it, because ripping out his brain sounds pretty unpleasant, even if he knows it'll grow back, but he's not entirely sure what else to say.

"It's okay." He snorts. Why would he want Rampage's brain?

First Aid quiets again, slowing his own venting and the spinning of his fans so he can listen to Rampage. He traces small, idle circles on the plating beneath his hands, just enjoying the feel of his field against his palm.

"I can hear you. It's the nicest thing I've heard all night."

Well, he has someone else's brain already for some reason! For all Rampage knows First Aid is collecting them now!

The odd compliment accompanied by the soft touches leaves him feeling flustered and therefore defensive, and he crosses both hands behind his head incredibly casually and looks away before gruffly asking, "Hear me? What's that supposed to mean?"

That's a good question. First Aid doesn't answer right away and instead focuses on his venting, syncing it up with Rampage's own. The crabformer had a much bigger cooling system than him, so it was somewhat of a lost cause.

"Mmm. I can hear your body. All the little moving parts. Tk-tk-tk." He taps his fingers against Rampage's armor in the same pattern of the reverberation of his powerplant. "I can hear your spark."

Rampage has admittedly spent a lot of time listening to his own internals. There were times when he was ignored for ages by the scientists, left to sit in his cell with nothing but himself to entertain him. The boredom was almost worse than when they did pay attention to him.

He never thought about anybody else listening to his inner workings like that. It's... strange. Oddly intimate. He shifts uncomfortably, but doesn't push First Aid away.

"My spark?" he asks, uncertain. "It sounds... nice?"

"The nicest thing I've heard all night." First Aid sighs, stilling the tapping against Rampage's plating. "I could fall asleep to that."

And he was definitely mentally exhausted, but not as much physically. He didn't think he could actually sleep until he sobered up a little. It was nice to be laid against a big, warm chest after the night.

"Thanks, by the way."

His spark? His mutant spark? The one that shouldn't exist? Sounds nice?

"...You're imagining things," Rampage says after a moment. One of his hands shifts from behind his head to drape loosely over First Aid.

"For what?" he asks. "I didn't even help you murder anybody."

"No I'm not!" First Aid sounds so defensive at that accusation, lifting his head. "You helped me, though."

He settles his head back down, nuzzling his mask into Rampage's chest, just enough to bump rather than grind the metal. The hand draped over him feels good, securing, and he really, really needed the comfort.

"I know sparks. Yours is saying, 'I'm very cute.'"

First Aid's denial is fervent enough to make Rampage look down at him in amusement. He quickly looks away again as First Aid nuzzles him, ignoring the flutter in his chest. The medic's next words have him spluttering indignantly.

"That's- that's ridiculous. My spark is not cute." He wants to cross his arms, but there's an Autobot in the way, so he prods at First Aid's side instead. "If it's saying anything, it's a wordless scream of torment."

Gosh.

"Oww." So much prodding, Rampage! Can't you see he's dented up?

First Aid huffs and climbs up the mech's frame until he's face to face with him, then reaches and pats his hands against Rampage's cheeks, threading his fingers between one or two of the horns.

"Do you have a mouth? I've only seen you eat in your ummm... leggy mode."

It's not his fault First Aid is so delicate!

Rampage stares in bewilderment as he finds himself quite suddenly face-to-face with First Aid, his spark giving a hard pulse as small hands cup his cheeks.

"...define 'mouth'."

"You know what a mouth is."

First Aid brushes his fingers lightly over the faceplate, touching gentle and curious.

"Or do you eat somewhere else? Maybe you have a big toothy maw in your stomach."

Rampage gives a little huff of amusement even as he leans slightly away from First Aid's gentle fingers.

"Not quite," he answers, before letting his faceplate part along the center, following the jagged line. Clearly someone got creative while building him, because behind the mask are teeth. And behind those teeth are more teeth, and beyond that it seems like teeth all the way down.

"Wow," First Aid breathes, leaning back in as Rampage moves away.

His automatic reaction to seeing all those teeth is to reach towards the mech's mouth, fingers brushing over one of the sharp tips firmly enough to knick one. It hurt, but he laughs instead.

"Jeez, I bet you give some really terrible blowjobs."

Rampage goes a bit cross-eyed watching as First Aid sticks a finger into his mouth. He gets more baffled when he tastes the small tang of pain from the medic's spark and First Aid simply laughs. His confusion only deepens when he speaks.

"Terrible... what-jobs?"

Seriously, sexual slang was never part of either his lacking education or his patchy self-education.

It takes a moment for First Aid to really realize that Rampage wasn't joking and he really didn't know what he was talking about. In that moment the medic coughs a laugh, pressing a hand against his mask.

"Oh no, you're too cute. You mean you've never..." Right, he may be totally wasted medic, but he was still a medic.

"It's when someone sucks on your spike until you overload."

Everything Rampage knows about sex he learned from an anatomy textbook and occasional snatches of conversations that he overhead from the guards and scientists that he didn't really have the context to understand at the time. So basically he knows that sex is a thing and apparently people do it recreationally. None of this makes him appreciate it when First Aid laughs at him.

Crossing his arms under First Aid, his brow furrowing in a frown as the little mandibles along the edges of his withdrawn mask press out in a pout. "How does that make me cute?"

He sounds rather disbelieving when he responds, "...That's a thing people do."

This was the BEST. Definitely something much better to focus on than Sixshot and Tarn and Tailcutter. First Aid loved talking about sex almost as much as he loved having it; Rampage was in for a real surprise.

"Because you're not filthy like me." He nods to himself. Not filthy like Tarn. The good kind of filthy.

"It definitely is! Not-- well, generally not with teeth like yours, but it feels wonderful otherwise."

Rampage almost retorts that First Aid is the one who cleaned him before realizing 'filthy' means something different in this context. A sexual context. He has no idea what to do with a sexual context, he's never talked about it before.

Shifting restlessly, he squints suspiciously at First Aid. "You're not making this up are you?"

He knows about the whole Tab A into Slot B mechanics of interfacing equipment, but involving your intake in things just sounds weird. Food goes in there.

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