robothell | ROOOOOBOT PROOOOM

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Crossing his arms under First Aid, his brow furrowing in a frown as the little mandibles along the edges of his withdrawn mask press out in a pout.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.

First Aid's visor flickers at Rampage as he stares at him. It doesn't have the same amount of effect as it normally would with the shorted lighting, but hopefully it conveys some sort of emotion.

"Why would I?" Really, Rampage. Why would he make up things about doing things with the interface equipment?

"You have overloaded before, right?"

Rampage doesn't really have a good answer to that. He can't see any reason why First Aid would try to embarrass him by feeding him false information about interfacing. Like it would ever come up again anyway.

He gives a noncommittal shrug. "Probably not."

The text book mentioned something about overloads being releases of pent-up energy generally accompanied by expelling of fluids, and that didn't sound particularly familiar. It was also supposed to be pleasant and his life is pretty lacking in pleasant experiences.

That's a surprise, certainly. First Aid had started touching himself as soon as he had the knowledge of it, even before he had any interface equipment fitted between his legs. It takes him a moment to think of how to respond, since his knee jerk reaction is "Why not?" and followed by "Do you want to?"

He probably should start from the top.

"Okay, you can tell me you're uncomfy at any time and you don't have to answer the question, but do you have any interface equipment?"

Rampage doesn't even really know why he'd be expected to feel uncomfortable talking about this. The textbook said the purpose of interfacing equipment was for 'recreational bonding' and ever since he'd thought of sex as a more intimate version of other common recreational activities like sports or video games. And been about as interested in it as those other things: not much at all.

"Yes," he answers simply. He's not entirely sure why, he figured it was just standard enough that frame designers put it in everyone, including super weapons.

Maybe he should just drop the topic there and settle down for a cuddle. There was still a large part of his spark that was smarting with embarrassment and hurt over Sixshot-- he was really stupid to think that he didn't have an affection for the wolf. It wasn't fair to Rampage, even if he was particularly fond of him too.

Sometime, when more sober, he might wonder when he became so enamored with killers. And if he thought about it some more, he'd realize that was long before he met Sixshot and Rampage.

A bit too drunk to save face at the moment.

"You've never touched it?"

Rampage gives a snort of amusement. "You're awfully interested in my equipment."

Which doesn't mean he isn't going to answer, however.

"Of course I have," he says. Who hasn't explored their body? He gives another little shrug. "It wasn't that interesting."

Because awkward curious fumbling in a cell while your insides ache from being poked and prodded isn't a particularly arousing setting. He hasn't bothered again since.

Hahaha, what are you talking about? He totally isn't super interested in a huge thickly armored warrior mech or what they might be packing! First Aid's field ripples as he heats a little, flustered by the comment.

"I might have gotten a bit carried away."

He pats his hand against Rampage's chest. His broad, warm chest. Ah... First Aid presses his face againdst the crook of the mech's neck and groans.

"I'm a mess."

First Aid is warm against Rampage's chest and it's echoed by an unfamiliar warmth from his spark. It's not something he's tasted up close before, but he finds himself heating slightly in response, a warm and lazy heat.

"You're certainly enthusiastic," he says, large hand resting over First Aid. "Is it your hobby or something?"

Because interfacing is totally a hobby like racing or building models, right?

He rubs his hand slightly over First Aid's back. "You're drunk."

He's familiar with that particular buzz. He visited a few bars before blowing them up.

"I'm very drunk," First Aid corrects.

The gentle stroking along his back, between his kibble, makes the medic shiver, his field rippling with pleasure. He goes limp on top of Rampage, practically flattening out. He enjoys it a little bit more than he probably should, his engine purring at the touch.

"Hobby?" Who interfaces as a hobby? Probably lots of people but at the moment it just makes him snort. "Yeah, I wish. I'd have to do it a lot more. Interfacing feels good. It's fun."

He pauses, then adds. "It's also part of health, so mmm there's that."

Rampage laughs at that, then lets out an involuntary huff at the feeling of First Aid against him, both the warmth and vibration on his chest and the pleasant taste against his spark. Pleasure with an edge. It's... Nice. Nice enough that he keeps stroking, touch growing a bit firmer.

"Then why don't you?" he asks. "If it's as fun as you say I'm sure someone would indulge you."

Go do your weird sport more, First Aid.

"...How is it part of health?"

"It's not that easy. I have a type."

There was no way that Rampage was doing that completely innocently, right? The warm stroke of large hands over his struts has First Aid groaning into the mech's shoulder, his fans spinning a little quicker. His hands flex against Rampage's armor, hooking around the curve of a plate and pressing in his finger.

"You keep doing that and I'm going to end up giving you a hands-on demonstration."

"A type?"

Not completely innocently, but rather thoroughly ignorantly! His hands still when First Aid groans, though he knows he hasn't hurt the little medic. There's no fresh pain coming from him, only that oddly intoxicating pleasure, hot and heady and making him feel a bit lightheaded. Though maybe he's just getting a bit proximity drunk off First Aid's own inebriation.

He looks slightly embarrassed when First Aid calls him out on his touches and he mumbles defensively, "It feels nice."

Then he fully processes what First Aid just said. "Demonstrate... interfacing?"

Admittedly, First Aid is disappointed when he stops, but his engine is still purring with a level of content. He hums, lifting his head for a brief moment to look at Rampage's face, uncertain if the pleasant fuzziness in his frame was from drunkenness or the charge buzzing through his frame.

"Like... these are only certain traits I find attractive."

Most mechs weren't as picky as him. First Aid had decided it wasn't really a flaw in his personality, but rather just a quirk.

"Not necessary full-on fragging..."

Rampage is starting to think that the anatomy guide wasn't nearly as informative about interfacing as he'd assumed. He'd figured knowing the mechanics of things basically covered it but... There's attraction involved? And what is there opposed to full-on fragging?? Just like... putting the equipment near each other instead of inside of each other?

His horns slowly droop with confusion, and finally he says, "Let's just pretend for a moment that I don't know anything about interfacing beyond how the plumbing works and start from there."

The confusion radiating off Rampage's expression was clear enough the concepts were almost tangible as they went over the mech's head. First Aid decided he was far too drunk to really give an elaborate medical lesson-- he's done that a few times, luckily, to newborns, but in those scenarios he wasn't exactly in a position of, you know, possibly fucking them.

Oooh, gosh. What a rabbit hole he's gone down.

First Aid smooths a hand over his helm, making a slightly perplexed and thoughtful sound, and then flops it back down.

"If you wanna, just keep doing what you were doing and it'll come naturally. But if you do, I wanna kiss you, except I want to kiss you here--" he taps a few of his fingers on the center of Rampage's chest plates.

Rampage has never really thought about interfacing before but, well, so far whatever he's doing with First Aid right now has been pretty swell. Hesitantly, he returns to stroking the small bot's back.

"Kiss my... chest?" he asks, brow furrowed slightly. "I'm not stopping you."

The idea of First Aid kissing him gets more of a reaction from him than the idea of fragging him. He knows about kissing. Kissing is affectionate. Not that he cares. His spark is definitely not fluttering at little at the thought.

"I was kinda hoping to kiss the gem in the package." There was the fact that First Aid was rather fond of sparks in general, and involving them in interfacing was one of his favorite things, but it's not always other mech's preference.

He can feel that little ripple of interest in his field and the warmth beneath him though, and that's good enough for him.

The great thing about getting his plating rubbed was that, if he disassociated it from any sexual connotations, it still felt great. First Aid was still admittedly sore, and the firm stroke of large fingers over his back had him melting back into strutlessness.

"Mm, like that."

As the large panels of kibble along his back shift to pull away from his frame, the medic nuzzles his mask into the smooth armor on Rampage's chest, a little zap of static snaping between the curve the panels.

It takes him a moment to unravel that particular euphemism, but it earns First Aid a startled look. His surprise doesn't stop his hands from moving, though, and his large fingers press curiously over First Aid's frame as he shifts about panels.

"My... spark?" He frowns a bit. "But it's not... right."

He takes in a short, sharp intake at the little static kiss, shifting slightly under First Aid. He's really starting to feel warm now, inside and out, and the pleasant feelings surrounding him keep him calm.

"Did I stutter?" First Aid's tone is dry, since really, he wouldn't have asked otherwise.

There's the fact he's never seen it, but Rampage has indicated quite a few times his spark is different. He's fairly prepared for anything at this point, and being drunk might actually work in his favor right now.

His engine is purring again, vibrating against the crab mech's stomach plating, and already he rocks his hips against him, plating scraping lightly.

It's not like he hasn't showed his spark to people before. Sometimes it's even been entertaining, trying to disturb them with his spark-that-shouldn't-be. First Aid is different, though. He likes First Aid. He doesn't want the little medic to look at him in disgust like the scientists so often did.

However, the warm vibrating press of First Aid against him is awfully persuasive. He's never really felt quite so good physically before, and with First Aid's pleasure throbbing warm against his spark, he finds he can't resist.

Looking away, he lets his chest plating part. It's not the typical shade of a point-one-percenter, his spark pulsing with a sickly green light. The surface of it churns and swirls, as if disturbed by squirming things beneath its surface.

Core on display, Rampage tenses and awaits judgment.

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