robothell | [NSFW] Boiled Crab

[NSFW] Boiled Crab

WHO: Rampage, Sixshot, First Aid
WHERE: Somewhere away from people.
WHEN: Sex pollen!
WHAT: Sex pollen!
WARNINGS: Sex pollen! (Also Beast mode banging)

Rampage doesn't think to blame the strange flowers he casually steps on and over for the heat growing in his belly. He pays little attention to any of the flora progressively infecting the ruins.

He thinks at First that it's just a result of his trust with First Aid, a consequence of first activating long-dormant systems.

He enjoys it at first, playing through that night in his head and experimenting with what First Aid showed him. He doesn't touch his spark at first, preferring to have nothing to do with his mutant core. Holed up in a gap beneath a fallen building, he slides his hands between his thighs and plays until he spills fluids in the dust.

But it's not like the night with First Aid. The charge doesn't stay gone, the heat inside him only rises. His fumbling changes from enjoyment to desperation, body aching with a need that just won't go away. Not even when he lets his chest part and he strokes rough and clumsy fingers over his spark, and the mix of pleasure and pain brings him over the edge into yet another overload with no relief.

He tries to escape the itch by shifting into his beast form, but the sensation only moves, prickling across his belly, itching under his plating.

With a groan, he huddles in his little lair, frustrated and confused, and makes a distress call.

To Sixshot and First Aid, "There's something wrong with me."

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Sixshot thinks to blame the flowers immediately. Unfortunately, that particular span of logical thinking was also almost immediately consumed by the sudden, crashing tsunami of lust. There were downsides to having such a sensitive nose.

He almost misses Rampage's call, so consumed was he with the looping thoughts and just moving that he can barely decipher the words. The sudden realization that it was another person talking to him makes Sixshot stumble with the sudden, sharp spike of arousal that lances through him.

"Where are you?"

Rampage shoots some co-ordinates to Sixshot, though honestly with Sixshot's nose he'll probably be able to smell Rampage from miles away between the mess he's made and the sheer amount of arousal he's stewing in at the moment.

"The heat won't stop," he whines, grinding his underside against the ground in a failed attempt to relieve the itch inside of him.

All Rampage gets in answer is a gutteral growl of vague agreement- and then silence. The person you are trying to reach only has the ability to concentrate on one thing at a time now, sorry buddy.

Fortunately, Sixshot arrives quickly. Like, literally, half a minute. The spot he'd been standing in before he'd launched off little more than a smoking crater. He arrives in much the same way, landing hard enough to shake a few nearby buildings into dust, lifting his lupine head up through the dust.

And then his world narrows down to the dense scent of arousal in the and air and the seething heat roiling under his plating. He zeroes in Rampage's hiding spot and starts striding towards it.

The sudden - and very loud - landing startles Rampage, making him huddle further back into his 'little' hidey-hole. He's running more on instinct than sense at the moment, many of his higher brain functions lost to the haze of heat.

His insides light up like an inferno as a wash of pure arousal from Sixshot crashes over his spark, and he gives a sound somewhere between a whine and a growl. He didn't call Sixshot to make things worse, and he raises his massive claws in confused defense as the Decepticon approaches.

Sixshot strides towards Rampage at a steady, even and unstoppable clip, head low, maws parted and optics feverishly bright.

The end of his snout catches the roof of Rampage's hideout and-

Well.

There it goes.

There's a distant THUMP of it crashing a few hundred meters away, leaving the crab perfectly exposed.

Finding himself suddenly unearthed, Rampage huddles close to the ground, the friction of his underside against the rough metal twisting a warning growl into a moan. Has the taste of Sixshot's arousal on his spark and the scent of him on his chemoreceptors and the heat in his systems and it's driving him mad.

The frustration makes him aggressive, and the snaps out a claw a Sixshot's snout, never mind the futility of trying to pinch an indestructible mech.

The claws snapping at him only deters the Phase Sixer for all of a second before he clamps his jaws down on one of the pincers and starts backing up, pulling his friend out of the hole.

Get out of the hole, Rampage.

Rampage tries digging his legs into the ground, but it doesn't help one bit against Sixshot's strength and he leaves long furrows scratched into the ground as he's dragged out.

He snaps at Sixshot with the other claw, aiming for his eye, as being manhandled leaves him more flustered than ever.

"What are you doing?!" he manages to growl.

Rearing back to dodge the pincer, Sixshot grumbles the most displeased of noises and brings his claws down on the offending appendage. That's really about the most amount of answering Rampage was about to get out of him because the Sixer wasn't any sorts of coherent right now.

Mostly he just knows that Rampage is aroused and he's aroused and the fucking needs to happen right about immediately.

Rampage makes an angry noise as Sixshot pins down his claws. He doesn't know what's going on right now - usually he's the one attacking Sixshot - and he's far too horny too think. Which is ironic, because if he thought a little more, he might realize that this is the solution to his problems right here.

Instead he squirms, trying to tug away from Sixshot, and the six-changer should probably just pin him to the ground, because this crab is far too troublesome.

Well, pinning him down was kind of the plan. There were eight legs and two pincers to work around, but he's going to pin the bastard down if it was the death of him.

After a lot of pushing and shoving and several liberal uses of his teeth, Sixshot finally, FINALLY manages to maneuver Rampage into the right position. Of course, now the crab-former has a giant robot wolf on top of him, radiating heat and steam from the exertion and arousal, two heavy claws pinning down his pincers.

Rampage is suitably flustered by the time Sixshot manages to wrestle his way on top of him, and by the time he's pinned he feels like his brain might just start boiling away in his head. He gives a long whine and gives up, his insides itching and aching, and he wishes someone would just- would just-

...Pin him down and fuck him? Oh. Oh. Bulbous green eyes peer up at the wolf looming over him, and the plating lining his lower abdomen ripples, slick fluid seeping out from between the softer plates.

"Oh."

That was Sixshot's cue to make a wolf equivalent of 'you're a moron', which kind of just sounds like a grumpy huff. Still, he leans down and gruffly licks the flat plate between Rampage's alt mode eyes with something like affection, his plating parting with a click.

This is basically the point where Rampage gets to feel the planet's hugest cock sliding up against his underbelly.

Looks like Sixshot was finally taking him up on his offer. Better late than never, right?

Rampage huffs back, except it's less of a huff and more of a long sigh as Sixshot's massive length rubs over his itching underbelly. Oh.

He doesn't know what to do. He's barely had sex before at all, and he's certainly never done this before, but after a moment of Sixshot sliding against his armored belly, he relaxes and just dies what feels right.

A ripple goes through his underplating and thick plates draw apart on his lower belly, revealing soft, warm metal and releasing hot lubricant to drip over Sixshot's cock. Small appendages unfold from his underbelly, curling around the thick length and guiding it up against that slick channel.

The hot drip of fluids and prickle of strange appendages makes Sixshot growl, the sound vibrating through his chest. He rocks into the sensations, teeth scraping over Rampage's plating hard enough to draw sparks.

Shifting, the Sixer wedges a knee under one of his friend's many legs, braces his weight on his foreclaws- and pushes into the tight, wet heat with a harsh, powerful thrust.

Rampage makes a low noise at the scrape of teeth, somewhere between a growl and a purr. If his claws were free he'd take a playful snap at Sixshot's about, but as it is he just enjoys the soft, brief sting.

Then Sixshot is shifting over him and he suddenly understands completely why First Aid was so intent on trying to get Rampage's spike inside him. He groans out loud at the sudden sensation of fullness inside of him, Sixshot's length touching every itching, aching spot inside of him.

There's a throb inside of him from being stretched so wide so fast, but it feels so good he doesn't think he can call it pain. He knows pain, and he's never known himself to want more of his own. But this? This he wants- no, needs more of, and he wants it now.

Sixshot rocks, pushing in until the tip of his cord pressed against the very end of Rampage's channel- and he keeps thrusting, deeper and deeper until his hips were finally pressing against Rampage's back.

He holds them there for a long moment then, vents blasting overheated air, a low, growling moan reverberating through his chest. It was something he could afford now, some of the edge taken off this insanity by his previous partners.

The moment is broken with another lick to the spot between Rampage's eyes and Sixshot rocks, grinding into his friend.

Several of Rampage's legs twitch and scratch against the ground as Sixshot keeps pushing in, thrusting deeper inside him than he ever thought possible. The throbbing in his valve goes straight to his spark and he shudders all over, his interfacing appendages curling tighter around Sixshot's massive spike - though not so tight as to restrict movement.

He groans and whines when Sixshot pauses, his growls sending vibrations prickling pleasantly over his plating. He's squirming by the time Sixshot's tongue swipes over his head, the walls of his port rippling and squeezing in an attempt to draw the spike in impossibly deeper.

Then Sixshot begins to move and all he can do is brace his legs and try to hang on for the ride.

Slipping a knee under some of Rampage's legs, Sixshot shoves his friend's aft higher, angling him just right for even deeper thrusts. This was probably the weirdest sex the Sixer has ever had and he didn't even have a clear enough head to appreciate it.

Well, that's not entirely true, except the amount of clear head he had was mostly dedicated to feeling somewhat smug. Well. Actually a lot smug. Reducing this particular afthead into a squirming, wanton pile of crab was a pretty damn good feeling.

Rampage huffs as Sixshot manhandles him some more, legs scraping over thick knees, but he can't exactly argue with the results, the 'Con's thick spike pressing sinfully deep inside him. As Sixshot thrusts in, his port clenches tight, as if trying to keep him inside, then relaxes as he slides out again. The little mating appendages begin to stroke, gently scratching over Sixshot's cord.

He can feel the smugness radiating off his friend, and if he wasn't such a squirming, wanton pile of crab at the moment he'd totally be shaking Sixshot off and punching him in the face. But for now he's having far too much fun to do anything but tilt forward until the front of his shell brushes the ground and let out a loud groan.

First Aid was recharging -- or attempting to -- when Rampage makes his distress call. It jolts him out of his dreams, and for a moment he's disoriented with a sense of panic, half falling off his slab as he struggles to quickly get on his feet. It's difficult to gather himself, charge ravaging his frame, and he stumbles around half blind as he quickly makes a grab for a clock, comparing it against the time of the message.

Slag!

Rampage was pretty much indestructible from what First Aid had seen, so what could possibly cause so much distress? He quickly grabs his bag, stuffs a few supplies into it, and then shoulders out of his room to the medibay in a rush. First Aid ignores most other events going on, already running late, and he's got most of the bag packed with equipment and supplies when he realizes he doesn't have a location.

He curses, but it's no matter. The communications in the medibay have traces for these occasions. It's just an extra step though, and by the time First Aid has coordinates and is on his way, sirens screaming, way too much time had passed for his liking. He comes skidding to a halt when he arrives at the scene, transforming back to his root mode, and he hauls the bag over his shoulder as he pushes deeper in.

"Rampage!" he calls, and he finally catches sight of bright red plating.

At first, he's not really sure what he's seeing. Sixshot is braced over the big, alien form of Rampage's beast mode, but the sight is so bizarre that for a few moments First Aid just stands there trying to decipher what he was looking at. Then the smell of lubricant and ozone hits him, and he tilts his head one way he can-- his grip on his bag and slack and it drops from his hands with a thump.

"Oh." First Aid presses his hands to his mask.

Fortunately for Rampage, Sixshot doesn't really manage to stay smug for long. The slick heat of the other's body, the stroke and rake of appendages over his cord has the Sixer panting with exertion. His plating was too tight, everything was too hot and charge was rolling over his plating like a storm.

Leaning down, Sixshot rakes his teeth over Rampage's armor yet again, this time hard enough to mark, hard enough to make sparks dance over the red plating as paint and metal was stripped away. He was close and getting closer and there was a knot beginning to swell up at the base of his cord, the length twitching against slick mesh walls.

The long scratches fade almost as quickly as they're made, but the sting of them still has Rampage shuddering under Sixshot's bulk, a throaty groan vibrating through him.

His valve throbs with charge, each strut-shaking thrusts bringing it higher until his port is spasming around Sixshot's spike, mating limbs squeezing and scratching.

When the stretch at his entrance begins to increase, he's done for, the ache of it mixing with the sweet burn inside of him and throwing him over the edge. He howls in overload, every one of his legs curling tightly as he shudders, port clenching, fluid gushing from him.

Something pierces through the haze of warm contentment engulfing Rampage. It's a familiar something and it takes his afterglow-fogged mind a moment to figure out just where he's felt that before.

He jolts with recognition and the movement drags a low groan from him. Sixshot's cord is still buried deep inside him, filling him to the brim with pleasant pressure.

But he's got other things to thing about, and cheerfully greets, "First Aid!"

It's basically his two favorite people on the planet in one place! Both of whom he has had sex with now. The heat in his belly churns pleasantly as he thinks about sex with First Aid. And the sex he just had with Sixshot. And how amazing sex with both of them would probably be.

His port tightens slightly around Sixshot at the thought.

For the first time since the start of the pollen epidemic, Sixshot feels like he can finally think. A lot of the accumulated charge had been burned off by... an ungodly amount of overloads and it was like a blanket of fog had evaporated from his mind.

Still heaving from the aftermath of their exertions, Sixshot takes a long moment to marvel at the mental clarity. It won't last long, he knows, he can still smell the pollen, the thick heavy scent lodged into his olfactory systems. But it was a relief and-

Rampage jolts underneath him, shaking the Sixer from his quiet wonder. The name his friend calls out inspires a bit more alarm.

The last time he'd seen First Aid, it was on prom night.

Whipping his head around, Sixshot freezes on the spot and stares, wide eyed and wings standing on end. It was like a pit had opened up in his nonexistent fuel tank and everything was draining out and being replaced by depleted uranium.

Suddenly panicking, he pulls away and transforms, the mass shift breaking his tie with Rampage. The resulting waterfall of fluids would have been fascinating on any other occasion, but Sixshot's entire world had narrowed down to the little red and white medic standing a few dozen meters away.

He lands on his aft, hands splayed out behind him and legs jacked up to cover his interface array.

"First Aid. I."

This was the first time First Aid was seeing him in his root mode, wasn't it? How awkward.

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Page 1 of 3

«

1
2
3

»