robothell | a long drag becomes a slow dance and a halo of embers

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a long drag becomes a slow dance and a halo of embers

WHO: Ultra Magnus and Wing
WHERE: Whichever building Magnus felt was okay for him to adopt for himself
WHEN: Sometime vaguely early-ish in the sex pollen event
WHAT: The usual sex pollen shenanigans, really
WARNINGS: Smut

He isn't sure how it happened exactly, but Ultra Magnus is painfully aware that the odd flowers – there weren't such things on his Cybertron, only elaborate and delicate crystal growths that crumbled too soon after erupting – he'd been so curious about must have something to do with his current state. It's a burning ache in his every joint and seam that makes the trek back to his 'home' long and exhausting, and it's a worryingly familiar pressure in his lines, electricity running through his circuits. How the flowers did this to him, he also isn't sure of that. He is certain he can't take this to a medic; it's hardly a critical ailment. It's also much too embarrassing.

No, he can simply take some time privately to solve the issue, he thinks, and meanwhile thinks nothing of the sight he makes as he rushes through the streets with a harried, slightly sick look on his face until he transforms and drives instead for the added, critical speed. Buildings and streets go by in a blur, and if he passes anyone, he doesn't even realise it; he's too much focused inward trying to hold himself together until he's no longer in the public eye. Especially if that eye happens to fall on him disapprovingly – a worrisome thought that pushes him faster still.

Even worse than being like this is being seen like this, he decides, and gusts out a sigh of relief as he turns a corner and his door is in sight. Safety.

Magnus barely even registers unfolding himself and taking the last few steps before he's indoors and out of view, and then the door is shut behind him and he hurries deeper into the plain, austere little apartment he's claimed for himself. It's dark and quiet and lonely but instantly he feels more at ease; he settles, shivering now, onto the large pallet that serves as his bed with his arms wrapped round his elbows. He's much too warm, he knows; the heat makes his armour ping softly as temperatures shift and metal swells with the rising temperature. But maybe he can just… wait it out.

Already, he's forgotten about the front door that he didn't lock.

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Magnus nearly bowls Wing over as he blows around the corner, and Wing catches the look on his face as he ducks in through his doorway, his mouth pulling into a frown. He's effected by the flowers too--he can feel heat building low in his chassis, recognizes it for what it is, but he's been doing his best to accept it and set it aside.

Magnus... does not appear to be having similar luck, if Wing judges correctly.

So Wing follows him through and to the door he slammed shut, tapping on it gently and trying the knob when there's no answer. He pushes it open and shuts it behind him, his ventilations deep and steady as he makes his way into the flat and finds Magnus curled into a ball on his bed. A soft, sympathetic sound pulls from his throat as he moves closer and kneels in front of Magnus, barely reaching out and brushing soft fingertips over his elbow.

"Hey," he says, his voice low and deliberately gentle before his mouth quirks up wryly. "You too? Are you all right?"

It's amazing how small Magnus can feel whenever someone notices him in his weak moments. Now is no different, and impossibly, he curls in on himself even more tightly when he feels that bare whisper of contact on his arm and hears that voice.

"Please – don't," he grits out, too ashamed to even look at whoever found him like this. He's too worried about being found to even think about how anyone could gain access to his apartment. "I'm… I'll be fine. I didn't mean to… to bother you." The only reason anyone should come after him like this, clearly.

"I'm sorry," Wing says immediately, drawing his fingers away. He doesn't leave, though--just curls up comfortably in front of Magnus' knees and sits patiently, feeling the heat rolling off his massive frame. "You--ah. You won't, though. Not if you don't let yourself burn off some of that charge. I tried everything." He sounds a little sheepish, but not embarrassed. "Stretching, exercise, meditation--the works. This isn't usually a problem I have, but the only thing that helped was the, ahem, traditional method of relief."

He frowns, leaning in a little, but he doesn't touch Magnus again.

"You're not bothering me," Wing says softly. He sounds a little worried, but not particularly perturbed other than that, despite the heat racing under his plating. "But--would you like some help? I'd like to, if you'd permit me."

The apology – and the absolute, immediate respect of his request – briefly stall the spin of Magnus' thoughts. Slowly, hesitantly, he uncurls just enough to get a better look at this stranger.

He doesn't expect that look of worry on the stranger's face. The offer even less so, and he nearly falls over trying to sit up, the awkwardness of their positions in the context of this conversation suddenly hitting him full-force.

"I – I couldn't," he stammers. It feels less rude than to blurt out that he doesn't want to when someone so attractive – Magnus would have to be a blind idiot to say this bot isn't handsome – makes such a proposition. But letting someone else touch him has never helped in the past. He adds, backing himself up against the wall and looking at the floor, "I'm sorry."

"You could," Wing says gently, not following Magnus in the slightest as he shoves himself back. "You certainly don't have to, and if you did say yes and changed your mind later I'd leave, no questions asked. I'll leave any time you want me to, including right now, if you tell me so. But--" He nibbles his lower lip, ignoring the dull, hot throb low in his chassis.

"But I'd rather stay. This could damage you if you don't do something about it and I--I'd like to help. I want to. But I don't want to do anything you don't want me to. And you have nothing to apologize for, either way."

Magnus doesn't want it to be uncomfortable and painful, which it only ever is in his experience. It's already painful, joints stiff with heat, tension building like a twofold knot between his thighs. Help won't make it hurt any less.

"…Why do you want to help me?" he asks after several long seconds, very quietly, somewhere between shame and fear and resignation. He makes no move to open up or close the gap between them and still won't look up. He doesn't expect the answer will make him feel any better about the situation.

"I--why?" Wing sounds baffled by the question for a moment before he rocks back on his heels, giving his answer serious thought.

"I like helping people," he says slowly, watching Magnus' face, his optics clear and honest. "I don't want you to be hurt. You seem--you seem worried about this, the whole situation, and I want--mmm." He stops and looks away, shivering a little, his own cooling fans dumping heat out of his much smaller chassis. He draws in a rattling ventilation and shakes his helm a little, looking up and focusing with an effort. "Sorry." His mouth tilts up, a little embarrassed. "Anyway, I just--do. I wouldn't want to leave anyone to deal with something like this alone."

Edited 2015-08-04 11:41 (UTC)

That brings Magnus' gaze up from the floor. The stranger could be lying in some way, that voice of doubt says in the back of his mind, but it sounds… nice. That someone would be concerned for him simply because they care, not because he is who he is, or because they need him to do their work for them. He sucks in a sharp, fearful breath.

It would be better than being alone, he tells himself.

"I – I don't," he stammers, then bites his lip. "I mean… I can't – it's…" It's hard to say he's afraid of it being like the other times. "…Could we just… sit here a while first?"

Wing's optics shutter and flare on again in a startled blink before his whole face softens, melting into a sweet smile.

"Of course we can," he says, cycling a deep ventilation of air and settling a little more comfortably, legs folding into a lotus position with the tips of his boots tucked under his calves and his palms resting lightly on his knees. "We don't have to do anything but sit here, if you don't want. But I'd recommend you not sit quite like that, if you can manage it--you're going to overheat that way." He wriggles a little, plating flaring out along his arms and back and sides to let more warm air escape, and he sits up a little straighter and ignores the hard, steady knot of arousal pulled tight and low in his chassis. "Something more like this is better. Or just laying down flat, if you're comfortable. The more exposed surface area the better."

Magnus doesn't say anything, nor does he actually change how he's sitting for several more minutes, but he does nod. Eventually, he relaxes enough to stretch his legs out and lean back against the wall rather than huddle up to it. He doesn't try to explain it; hardly seems worth it.

"…I don't even know your name," he finally says. Though it might be forward of him to assume that someone else automatically knows his… even though so many do. So he adds, wincing with chagrin, "I'm Ultra Magnus."

"I'm Wing. It's nice to meet you, Ultra Magnus. Though I do admit I wish it had been under slightly less pressing conditions."

Wing smiles and shifts a little in his spot, but he doesn't move closer to Magnus, or reach out to touch him at all.

"...is that a little better? Is there anything else I can do to help? Besides the obvious, I mean--a distraction, something?"

"…I don't know," Magnus answers honestly, looking at the wall to his right somewhere rather than at Wing and trying not to think about how frightening it is to lose control of his body like this. Or how uncomfortable he feels. "This… isn't me," he says and tenses, fists tightening in his lap, shoulders bunching inward again. It's hard not to spread out on the cool floor just as Wing suggested, or touch himself – and what a mortifying thought, doing that in front of a near stranger. "I don't – I don't do this." His gaze darkens with worry and he glances at Wing briefly before fixating on some point on the wall again.

It doesn't seem as though Wing is judging him, at least. Or he doesn't think so. Reading someone he's only just met is not easy, but… Wing has a very open face, he thinks. A very kind face. It's nice to have someone look at him like that.

"This sort of thing," he says, "isn't… me." No, it's for other, better, more attractive and appealing bots.

Wing huffs a soft, self-deprecating noise and presses his lips together as another helpless shutter rattles through his slighter frame.

"Believe me, I usually have better control of myself too. It seems to be affecting a lot of people." Wing's optics sharpen on Ultra Magnus' face, trying to read him, but his voice softens. "It's a--a medical condition or something, Ultra Magnus, not a moral failing. It's frightening and of course it's embarrassing, but you don't have anything to be ashamed of. I'm not here to shake my finger at you or make you feel worse--I really do want to help. And if I can do that by just sitting here so you're not alone for a while while this burns itself off or whatever it's going to do, then I'm glad."

"It isn't like that!" Magnus blurts out, lurching forward. Then he catches himself, biting his lip and shrinking into the wall again. Snapping like this isn't really him, either, but… he's on edge. He burns. He hurts, outside and in, and it's getting to him even though he doesn't want it to. Much more quietly, he goes on, "I apologise for my outburst. I just– I don't like this. Feeling like this." Like he might burst any second now, and only hurt more for it.

Wing's whole body spasms in surprise at Magnus' sudden cry, drawing in a sharp vent of air but managing to mostly stay still. He bites his lip and dims his optics, the searing ache running through his lines biting deep for a moment before he regains control of himself, his optics flickering on again.

"My apologies," Wing says gently. "Many people have been having difficulty with--with how this has been affecting them." His hands flex against his knees and he has to look away from Magnus for a moment, need twisting through him briefly. His voice is only a little staticky when he speaks again. "I know how you feel."

Magnus blinks once, twice, surprised.

"…You… you do?" he asks, barely louder than a whisper. Something like wonder softens his face and eases the tension in his back and shoulders as he leans forward again, curious this time.

Wing makes a low sound, not quite a laugh, and nods his head shakily.

"I'm having similar symptoms, Ultra Magnus. And I am extremely, exceedingly" his teeth close on the word, the first hint of sharpness in his voice, "unused to not being in control of myself. But... it doesn't seem to go away from sheer wanting it to, so I've been trying to accept it as much as I can and... work from there, I suppose. But don't mistake that for being unaffected."

The answer isn't quite what Magnus meant; his face falls a little, both with disappointment and shame at the perceived remonstration. He closes in on himself again.

"I'm sorry," he says, lowering his eyes. "I – I don't–" It's hard to say something like this when someone clearly in need sits right there in front of him. He's turned his back on others before and it always ended in disaster and suffering. But… "I don't want to do… this. I can't. It… it hurts." It hurts already. He doesn't want to think about how much worse it could get.

And still he feels he's abandoning Wing like this.

"…I'm sorry."

Wing falters, his optics widening in belated realization as he looks over at Magnus, enlightenment dawning.

"Oh," Wing says. "Oh, Magnus..." He bites his lower lip for a moment. "I'm sorry. I know it can hurt, and I'm sorry there isn't more I can do. But the last thing I want to do is hurt you. I never want that. I don't want to do anything that will make this worse. You don't have a singe thing to apologize for."

When he feels some days that he must apologise for his very existence, hearing such reassurances makes Magnus ache deep in his spark. He still keeps his gaze averted, but he eases a little once more. Maybe Wing is only saying it to pacify him. Maybe Wing truly means it. Either way, the words are still nice to hear.

"If you want to find someone who can help you," he says, "I understand." He shifts uncomfortably, trying to not think about the white-hot tension coiling low, making both arrays feed into each other. He burns with it, the need for relief, but his fear is still stronger; he puts it out of mind and gives Wing a thin but sincere smile that doesn't quite reach the sadness in his optics. "Thank you," he adds, "for listening to me."

Edited 2015-08-12 09:30 (UTC)

"Magnus," Wing says gently. "You are helping me." His mouth quirks up in a soft return smile and his optics light briefly, a self-deprecating laugh shivering in his voice. "There's only so many times I can take care of the symptoms on my own before I end up sustaining an injury I'd really rather not explain to the medical staff. And I can only meditate for so long without giving myself a headache. Honestly, I'm just... very glad for your company, whatever else ends up happening, or not. So thank you."

He nearly reaches out and touches Magnus again, just from sheer comfortable habit--he catches himself halfway and returns both hands to settle firmly on his knees, cycling his vents and letting the tension drain visibly out of his frame as he watches Magnus' face.

"O-oh." Somehow, the gratitude warms him even more than the unrelenting charge sitting on his circuits and Magnus shifts as his temperature climbs. It's true; he can't sit like this much longer. Venting is difficult and uncomfortable – probably more uncomfortable than it would be to simply lie down, even with Wing here.

Wing also said he'd leave if Magnus asked him. He could ask.

"I… need to lie down," Magnus says. He pauses, worries at his lower lip for a moment. He could ask Wing to leave and lock the door behind him and that would be that. And he'd be alone, just like he wanted.

All he has to do is ask.

"Could… would you – that is," he fumbles through the words, "would you stay with me a while? I… I don't mind the company." Maybe he shouldn't have asked that. But Wing has been careful of him, and respectful, and the prospect of being entirely alone right now, like this, is growing into a huge and terrifying thing. At least Wing seems kind.

"I'd be glad to," Wing says warmly, and he shifts to give Magnus room to stretch out. He's almost startled by how large Magnus is--he'd tucked himself up very effectively and seeing him stretched out now is striking. Heat lances through Wing's belly, slamming into him like a blow as he imagines that bulk pressing him down and sinking into him, imagines the ache in his thighs if he tried to spread them over the wide, wide span of Magnus' hips. He ducks his head to hide his expression for a moment and shutters his optics, biting down on his lip as need rolls through him like a rising tide--but like a tide, it recedes after a few careful ventilations, leaving him shivering softly but firmly in control of himself.

He curls up next to Magnus, close enough to reach out and touch but not quite doing so. The helpless spikes of arousal were annoying, yes, but once he accepted it this--this slow, burning, lazy ache, desire without real urgency or direction--was actually sort of pleasant, in its own way. He listens to the churn of their cooling fans and pillows one finial on his arm, watching Magnus's shoulder with half-dimmed optics and relaxing into the dump of hot air from Magnus chassis onto his own like a cat in a sunbeam.

"Would you like to talk, as a distraction?" he asks, sounding content and almost sleepy. "Or would you rather have quiet for a while?"

Magnus is large enough that he spends much of his time trying to avoid taking up as much space as he physically occupies, self-conscious of sticking out too much, of being noticed too readily. After the disaster that was the treaty ceremony, well… it bothers him. Even though it shouldn't, much as it shouldn't bother him to lie on his back so more of his armour can transfer heat to the much cooler floor and pallet. But it feels awkward even thinking about it; the idea makes him feel too exposed. So he lies on his side, trying not to stare at Wing because it seems rude.

Though he says nothing about Wing looking back at him. Those warm optics – yellow-gold, like his – aren't focused on his face, so it's easy to not feel so embarrassed.

"I would like that, yes," he says and looks at his own hand on the pallet. "The quiet, I mean. Need… just a little quiet for a while." In the quiet, maybe he can get his head back on properly.

But no length of time spent in silence really stifles the ache, nor damps the heat, and he's lost track of the time long before he realises he's running his fingers along the back of Wing's hand. Of course he stops, frozen in place, with a wild, worried look in his eyes.

Wing nods and settles, content to just lay like this for a while--until Magnus' fingertips find the back of his hand and just stroke there, very softly. He doesn't tense or startle or react at all aside from a slight dimming of his optics and a soft sigh until Magnus freezes in place and Wing's optics flare all the way on again to look up at him, inquiring.

He catches Magnus' expression and his own softens helplessly and he shifts, very gently catching Magnus' huge hand between his own and petting across the back of his palm.

"It's all right," he says quietly, and he'd thread their fingers if Magnus' weren't so large. "That felt nice. And for some, just simple contact can help alleviate the symptoms. It doesn't have to be any more than that if you don't want." He stretches out, Magnus' hand still caught loosely between his own, and looks up at Magnus fondly. "How are you feeling, otherwise?" He squeezes, very gently, before his grip slackens again. "Is this helping at all?"

For a very long moment, Wing gets no answer. Magnus is too enthralled by the slow, gentle touch of hands on his. Not pulling, not entrapping, not painful. Wing's hands are warm and careful and his touch soft; the pressure when he holds Magnus' hand is comforting rather than stifling. So he stares in rapt fascination, almost as if moving or speaking will break the moment and he'll wake up to find he imagined everything.

"Yes," he says, shyly, almost whispering. And it does help, just a little. It's relaxing at the least.

Wing's whole face lights in a smile and he rubs gently at the center of Magnus' palm with slow fingertips, barely hesitating before he leans in to brush a soft, chaste kiss against the backs of his knuckles.

"I'm glad," he says, relaxing back again, his cooling fans churning and his optics lazy and sweet as he looks up into Magnus' face. "For me, too."

The shiver that runs through Magnus as he watches Wing kiss his hand is visible, plating shifting and settling in a ripple that travels up his arm and down his back. It's such a simple gesture and yet it seems so intimate a thing to do. And to know that this is good for Wing, too, that he isn't being selfish asking for this time and this care.

"O-oh," he says, breathy, helpless. Another shiver clicks back up his frame and his optics brighten and then dim to a low, hot amber tone and he chews on his lip for a second or two. "…Could… would… you do that again… please?" he asks. It's okay like this. This is slow and careful. This is safe.

It's also nice.

Wing looks a little surprised, then his optics sharpen, warm and intent as he leans in again and presses his lips to Magnus' fingers. It's... less chaste this time, somehow, his lips closed but lingering, dragging lightly against warm plating.

"I'm glad to," he murmurs, mouth brushing Magnus' fingers before he presses them down again, nuzzling delicate kisses to each of his knuckles before he turns his face, rubbing his cheek against them, his voice a low, resonating rumble in his chest. "Still good?"

"Mm," Magnus hums in answer, optics dimming to embers. Maybe he's just overly sensitive because of… whatever those flowers did to him, because it's only his hand but he feels loose and staticky every time Wing's lips touch his plating, like he's sinking into a warm oil bath. Tension seeps from his frame little by little even though the need for more remains.

Dizzy with fascination and heat, he slowly traces his thumb along the curve of Wing's lower lip.

"I like… this," he admits softly.

Wing's optics flare suddenly bright and snap up to Magnus' face, his lips parting under that delicate touch of thick fingers.

"Oh," he says, and a shudder wracks him, rattling his own plating as he resists the temptation to close his mouth around Magnus' finger, a soft, hungry sound pulled from his throat, just shy of a moan. He clears static from his vocalizer but doesn't pull away, just letting Magnus touch his face with soft fingertips and staring at him and hoping his expression is slightly more composed than 'naked hunger'.

"Me too. I like this too."

Magnus doesn't quite smile when he hears those words, but his brow un-knits and the tension around his mouth slackens and he vents a deep sigh of too-hot air he didn't realise he'd been holding. If allowed, he keeps shyly exploring like this with his fingers, tentative but curious all the same, for a while longer. He's silent as he goes, save the hum of his ventilation as warmth continues building in his systems and his cooling fans work double-time to keep it under control, half-afraid that this is still some strange dream and he could break it at any moment with the wrong words.

But Wing says he likes this. And Magnus is not dreaming the pressure in his array still building, leaving him aching behind his interface cover. It's hard to shake the fear of how this could go, how badly it could go. But… maybe it could be all right, too.

"M… may I," he stammers, voice a loud whisper, expression caught between terror and longing, "kiss you?"

"Oh," Wing says, his optics widening a little and sweeping up to lock onto Magnus' face. His voice is soft and stunned, lips parted, and heat lances through him helplessly as he stares up into Magnus' face. He fights to ignore the charge searing hot tendrils from his away, wrapping around him and drawing tight, pressing a quick kiss to Magnus' fingertips to try to mask any other more pressing reaction.

"You certainly may," he says, his voice static-soft. "If you'd like. I'd like that very much."

Now Magnus does smile, a tiny, shy thing that vanishes quickly as he leans his head down. He's never actually kissed anyone before, not like this; but he's seen it, thought about it. He has no idea if he's doing it right. He hopes he's doing it right.

His hand slides down from Wing's chin to rest awkwardly on the pallet between them because it doesn't feel right to hold Wing in place but he doesn't know what else to do with himself. And slowly, half-afraid Wing will pull away at the last second, Magnus tilts his head and presses his lips to Wing's. Very briefly. Just long enough to feel how strangely soft it is, the warmth against his face, and ho it almost makes his own mouth tingle. It's… very nice. So he does it again, lingering a little more this time. It makes him shiver like when Wing kissed his hand, and his fingers curl into his palm.

Wing hums low in his throat, a warm, pleased sound as Magnus' mouth touches gently to his. He doesn't lean in for more but he does shift, settling just a little closer and parting his lips to slide them gently against Magnus'. One hand comes up to stroke lightly at Magnus' cheek, a light shudder pulling through his frame as he smothers a moan, feeling Magnus' mouth press to his again.

Wing aches all over, charge arcing under his plating from his finials to his fingertips to the soles of his boots, strikes of lightning that all ground themselves in his array. But he doesn't push, doesn't demand, doesn't even really ask--just kisses Magnus softly and sweetly, touching his face and all but melting into him.

The soft touches and softer sounds Wing makes stoke the low burn in Magnus' circuits and encourage him to be just a little bolder. He lifts his hand from the pallet to cup Wing's elbow, fingers light, and draw him in closer; his kisses turn slower and firmer, questing. Questioning. He's afraid to actually ask with words.

Words can sting. This… doesn't.

So he asks with the cautious tug of his lips, kissing each corner of Wing's mouth, pausing on his lower lip to lean in. Heat seeps through him from his core outward, leaving him a little light-headed, air blowing from his vents and hardly doing a thing to alleviate the pressure or the static in his arrays, the static that seems to trail behind Wing's fingers everywhere he touches. It feels good. Magnus sucks in a breath, shivers; it feels wonderful.

Wing arches a little, scorching and pliant and utterly open under Magnus' broad hands, shifting into every slight touch and making warm, hungry little sounds as his own hands start to wander, tracing lightly over seams in Magnus' plating. His array aches behind his closed panel and he can feel lubricant slicking almost down to his knees, but he ignores it for now in favor of this, the sliding heat of Magnus' mouth and the soft touch of his hands.

He can't help a ragged little moan as Magnus' mouth shifts to brush his cheek, his head falling back to bare the long line of his throat, delicate cabling exposed, vulnerable and unselfconscious. He gasps for air through heaving vents, almost dizzy, his whole body responding to Magnus as he trembles against the need flooding him, trying not to let it sweep him under.

"You feel so good," Wing gasps, then bites his lower lip and shutters his optics, shivering fiercely. "This is, oh. I like this. Just this. Your hands..."

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a long drag becomes a slow dance and a halo of embers

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