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[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."
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."
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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.
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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.
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The rapid change from Sixshot's familiar wolf mode to the unfamiliar face of his mech mode only complicated the storm of emotions he was feeling, if just because it made Tarn's taunt about his lack of witnessing it echo loudly in his audio. He averts his optics, heat from humiliation bubbling up in him to join the burn of charge directed through his system.
He'd almost preferred he never saw it.
It didn't matter that he had been knot deep in Rampage; he had sought relief and comfort in his friend before the pollen had ever ravaged his systems. The waterfall of fluids spilling from the mech's gaping port was an appealing sight even through his lack of focus, but his spark felt like it was shrunk in on itself and his field and armor was clenched tight against his frame.
Slowly, he lowers shaking hands and picks up his bag again.
"Oh, I'm... glad you're okay, Rampage."
That was a silver lining at least. He had been so worried about him before he got there, but as soon as he arrived he'd forgotten for a moment. Nothing to worry about, just the pollen. Sixshot looked like he had things covered here. His frame was screaming at him for relief and there was relief right there but he didn't entirely feel... welcome in the situation.
It felt... rude, not to acknowledge the six changer though. He forces himself to look, but his expression was hesitant. This mech in front of him was unfamiliar.
"Thank you for helping, Sixshot."
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"What was that for?!" he snaps. Turning around, he promptly smacks Sixshot in the head with the flat of a large claw.
The warm contentment quickly washes away in a wave of Sixshot's odd awkward panic and First Aid's strange emotional pain. Ugh, happy time ruined.
Snubbing Sixshot, Rampage scuttles towards First Aid, hoping for some quality head rubs. Because rubbing Rampage's head will definitely make First Aid feel better. For sure.
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Clutching indignantly at his helm, he enviously watches the red shelled bastard trundle off towards First Aid. He can smell the arousal coming off of the medic, the scent so dense in his olfactory sensors now that overrode nearly everything else. It hits him in a wave and it sends his temp spiking again, the heat lancing urgent spikes of lust through his spark, deep codes pinging him over and over.
First Aid was looking at him like he's a stranger though and the hurt cuts through everything else.
It feels like the world was collapsing in suddenly, the air was too dense, his armor was too tight. Ratchet's advice slips from his mind and into the maelstrom of emotions like nothing more than ash and for all his power, the Sixer now finds himself lost and panicking.
He'll take running himself into the ground a million times over if it means he never has to see that look again.
"I'm- I'm sorry." Sixshot shoves his cord back in behind his panel with a wince before staggering to his feet. "I should. I should go."
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He doesn't take his optics off him even as Rampage shoves his massive crab face into him. He at least lifts his hands automatically, fingers scritching into the soft segments of carapace right around the giant mech's maw. He doesn't need to concentrate to find the seams; his hands were trained to find soft sections of metal without seeing them.
"Where are you going now? Running away?"
Anger was one of First Aid's worst vices. Generally, he wasn't murderous or violent, and for the most part he bottled his anger up inside until it bursts explosively. The fallout was never pretty.
"You can at least tell me to frag off to my face instead of ignoring me like a giant coward! I haven't seen you since--" He has to stop to let out an incoherent snarl of frustration, fingers curling into fists against Rampage's armor, his visor burning bright as his temperature spikes.
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Giving a huff, he decides to fall back on snark. "Yes, Sixshot, leaving so soon? I didn't realize you were one to fuck and run."
He's helping.
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"Shut. Up." He's not sure if he's growling that at First Aid, Rampage or his own libido. The Sixer whips around, optics blazing so bright they left streaks of light in the air. "Shut up!"
"To hell with the both of you!" Sixshot hisses, jabbing an accusing finger at them. "I thought it was just camaraderie you wanted but I don't actually have a Primus damned clue what any of you want from me- I'm not- I can't-"
And just like that, Sixshot's uncharacteristic burst of anger dissipates, leaving him overheated and shaking, hands covering his face and sick with guilt.
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First Aid can feel the heat coming off Rampage and his own frame was responding to it, arousal fuzzing through his field, but with the damper firmly in place it redirects the charge away from his interface array. He sort of wished he wasn't wearing it; he'd give anything to have his head too fogged with lust to really register the ache in his chest.
His hands were too shaky to keep up the rubbing -- sorry Rampage -- but he presses closer to one of the huge segmented legs at Sixshot's flare of anger, flattening his face against it. It's more shocking than frightening, but he still seeks out a shield.
"Want from you? This isn't some kind of business transaction." His voice was quieter now, more level despite the crackle of static as he speaks. "You either feel something or you don't."
He lifts the bag higher, pressing it to his chest like armor as he looks back at Sixshot.
"I thought you were my friend. I thought it was worth having Tarn come about screaming in my face. Is the thought an Autobot might have feelings for you so upsetting to you? Is that why you've been avoiding me? I was waiting for you. You used to come by all the time."
This wasn't fair for Rampage to be caught in the middle of this. It didn't feel fair to Sixshot to shun him to extend warmth to the crab mech instead. First Aid just felt stuck, frustrated, unsure what to do besides hug his bag close. The heat roiling off the crab mech's frame draws First Aid's attention after a few moments, and the tense coil he had himself in starts to unravel.
"You're burning up again. How much exposure to the flowers have you had?"
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Which doesn't stop him from letting out a burst of laughter when Sixshot snaps at him. "Oh, but I've already been there, friend!"
He isn't actually particularly bothered by getting caught up in other people's relationship drama, though he is a bit baffled by why Sixshot is dragging him into things. He thought it was pretty clear that he enjoyed bothering Sixshot. It wasn't that complicated.
"I wouldn't mind another overload right now," he mutters under his breath, before he's startled by First Aid turning attention back to him.
"Flowers?" he says in momentary confusion. Someone was too busy masturbating to keep in the loop. Then things click into place. "Is that what's causing this?"
Seriously? Flowers?
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"... And... I wasn't sure if you wanted to see me after that," he admits quietly after a moment, fans spinning up as his temp hikes. He hadn't been entirely sure how to broach the subject of Tarn's friendship with him to First Aid. Tarn bringing up them having sex to First Aid's face was so very out of the left field that he didn't even know how to begin reacting.
The wolf-former stands there quietly for a moment, watching First Aid worry over Rampage and wondering if all of this could have been avoided if he'd just... come by like he always had.
That doesn't really help with the guilt.
"There's a cluster not too far away from here. We've been re-exposed for a while now."
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"Nobody but the two people involved care about your cock, Sixshot. And maybe this guy--" He means you, Rampage.
He's better when he directs his mind to work. That's how he got through the months after Ambulon died. That's how he'll operate now. He puts down the bag and goes immediately to the closest high point to climb onto, squinting at the near meadow of flowers growing nearby.
"I'm going to have to start sanitizing areas. Rampage! You can't live here right now. You'll just get yourself sick."
That meant setting up a controlled burning. First Aid's legs are shaking a bit as he climbs back down. Even with the damper in place, the charge still had affects on his frame. Not nearly as pronounced and he's been paying the price, but moving too much still set his sensornet into a frenzy.
Once back down he takes a moment, hands on his knees, his circuits straining from the charge racing through him. There was a faint smell of burning coming from his taxed sensors. He has to take a deep vent to steady himself before he considers what he wants to say next.
"I wanted to see you, Six. The way you left me made me feel like I wasn't worth your time. That it makes me not good enough to be a friend, let alone..."
He gestures helplessly.
"Tarn is perceptive even when he's drunk. I hadn't really... thought about it, until then."
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He's not particularly concerned about not being able to live here at the moment. He hasn't really attached himself to any particular hiding spot and Sixshot's done a great job of messing this one up in his fervor to pound Rampage into the ground so it's not like it's a great loss.
His eyes do twinkle a little bit at the mention of 'sanitizing'. "I can blow them up."
Being destructive and helpful would be a dream come true. Not that he actually cares much about being helpful. But blowing stuff up is pretty fun.
He's not quite sure what to make of the rest of the conversation about time and feelings and whatnot. It seems awfully overcomplicated. When he likes someone he just makes them endure his company whether they like it or not.
Eyeing First Aid, he does helpfully remark, "You're frying."
It smells kind of tasty.
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"First Aid," he starts and then stops, the whiff of burning circuitry lingering in the back of his mouth, derailing his train of thought. The little mech was frying. The scent sends a shimmer of conflicting signals running through the Phase Sixer's relays, a dark, hungry glow of arousal under his spark casing that was cut through with sharp slivers of worry.
"There's water nearby." Kneeling down, he reaches out to pick First Aid up so the medic wouldn't have to walk. "Come on, let's get you cooled down."
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"Controlled burning, Rampage. You can't just explode the flowers. It would get pollen..." First Aid starts his lecture, but trails off when Sixshot steps close to him.
In another scenario, it might be really impressive that Sixshot manages to make First Aid flustered just by picking him up, but as his temperature rises another degree, smoke starts to drift out from the medic's chest vents. He presses his hands to his face, embarrassed as various heat warnings and damage assessments pop up on his HUD. Mixed as his feelings are about the circumstances of seeing the mech's robot mode, the reaction had nothing to do with the pollen.
"I'm the only epidemiologist here. I have to work." And he's 'worked over' a few people as well. "That means frequent re-exposure. You can't just dump me in water-- I could short out. Here, don't look. This might be awkward."
He expected them to look anyway, but wearing a damper and water didn't mix and he knew his body well enough to admit that he needed to be cooled. First Aid looks up at Sixshot's face in silent apology before reaching to open his panel. It's sensitive beyond imagination, but the relief that ripples through his field as he tugs the damper free and let's his spike extend could be cut with a knife. All that charge that had been directed elsewhere rushes to his array and he overloads hard right in Sixshot's arms, lubricant gushing from him.
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Well, there goes the remaining relief he'd gotten from being mounted by Sixshot. He can feel it against his spark as First Aid overloads and it makes his own body shudder and throb, the heated haze rapidly falling over him again.
With an aroused whine, he steps closer to the others, butting up against Sixshot and his bundle of overheated medic.
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"Uhm," he manages after a long moment, feeling vaguely grateful that he hadn't gotten up off his knee just yet. Eventually he can't resist the urge to look anymore and he casts a guilty glance down First Aid's small, over-warm frame shaking in his arms.
"Might be awkward," the Sixer manages dryly, static underlining his words. He tightens his grip when Rampage nuzzles up to them, uttering a shaky sigh, trying to focus beyond the growing haze of heat.
"What," there's a pause as Sixshot struggles to gather his thoughts. "What can we do to help?"
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Primus, please gift him with sudden spark failure since it would be far more merciful than this humiliation. First Aid's frame rattles in Sixshot's arms with the last ebbs of overload, his visor light flickering between his fingers as they're pressed against his face. Overload left him feeling tingly through his fingers, but it did little to curb off the throb of arousal coursing through his system.
He feels so stupid, embarrassed beyond belief, especially after that stupid lecture about feelings he gave Sixshot.
"I-I am so, so sorry. I didn't expect... I didn't mean to."
What was he expecting? It was normal to overload when removing a damper because of the build up. That was the purpose of it, but he hadn't been thinking, far too flustered by the awkwardness and the scoop of the mech's arms lifting him. Now he's just made it so much worse. He presses his knees together, hiding his slick valve from view but doing little for the stiff cord curved up against his belly.
Rampage is the only one right now who has the lack of tact to act upon what they were feeling. First Aid gasps as the crab rubs close, bringing back a swift reminder of how he caught them. His temperature spikes again with mixed feelings, jealousy and arousal and humiliation.
"Rampage..."
He's pretty much blown things with Sixshot before he even really had a chance. His hands were firmly clamped against his face, refusing to move, but he squeezes closer to the six changer's chest. Rampage has seen him in a 'worse' state, at the very least. He doesn't have worries about the crab mech's judgement, especially since his focus is on interfacing anyway.
"I'm fine. I'll be okay."
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Irritated by the emotional soup boiling around him - why are you making things so complicated, you both like each other, ugh - he decides to take things into his own hands.
Transforming with a growl, he kneels in front of the pair, leaning over them. One hand immediately curls around Sixshot to grope gracelessly at his ass, the other hand reaching to rub over First Aid's belly and cord.
His own pelvic plating unfolds, letting his spike free to rapidly pressurize, heavy between his legs. At the same time his mask parts, and he ducks in to scrape the first rows of teeth in his gaping maw against Sixshot's face.
That's a good way to say 'shut up and give me attention', right?
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Sixshot and First Aid probably would have ping ponged back and forth until the both of them overheated. Fortunately, they had Rampage.
The large hand clamping over his ass yanks the most indignant, involuntary yip from the Sixer, his entire frame jouncing from the contact. It generated equal parts arousal and righteous, indignant anger, temperature spiking sharply with a screech of overworked fans.
"RaaAMPAGE!" His voice hikes a few octaves as he locks his arms around First Aid to stop this asshole crab from crushing the smaller mech between them when he-
Sixshot gets a decidedly intimate view of Rampage's teeth before they clamp down on his face mask. The spark of sensations that generates sends a frission of heat down his spinal strut. Between the hand, the teeth, the achingly heavy scent of overloads and First Aid's warm frame pressing against his chest, Sixshot's mind blanks and he freezes in indecision.
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Without that crab, First Aid would have probably melted in Sixshot's arms between all his embarrassment and the scorching heat of pent up charge. He's lucky he's not currently on fire. Instead he gasps as he arches reflexively into the touch, a little bead of pre-fluid oozing from the tip onto his belly just just that pawing touch.
And he's still in Sixshot's arms, but it's hard to find his humiliation again when all he can think about is how much his tiny body wants to be filled with a huge cord. First Aid groans, clutching at Sixshot's chest armor with one hand and Rampage's arm with the other, his EM field pulsing with a thick mix of need want affection.
Even with his humiliation, these are two mechs he adores and though Sixshot has been a source of sparkache lately this is something he wants and struggles to express. First Aid makes a needy whine, words leaving him, as his spike twitches against Rampage's hand.
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Venting hot air, he manages to croak out, "A little less conversation, please."
Because between his own pollen-inspired desire and that radiating from both First Aid and Sixshot around their other more awkward emotions, he is seriously losing his mind here.
It doesn't take much thought, however, to press his palm firmly over First Aid's cord while curling his fingers to tease their way between his thighs. It is apparently time to try and touch every port.
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But then First Aid groans and Sixshot feels his tiny hand and the bloom of the medic's EM field against his chest. It was getting so awfully hard to think.
His pelvic armor slides apart before he could stop it, cold air against his cord and Rampage's warm, thick fingers against his port. He rocks into it power plant rumbling, arousal peaking sharp and sudden and soft noise of pleasure escaping his vocalizer despite his attempts to suppress it.
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He's not sure what to do, his mind caught up by the deep need to interface and anxiety. First Aid stares off at nothing, out of focus with his surroundings but the hot hand stroking between his legs, and when he forces himself to look he looks up at Sixshot's face and the look of pleasure flickering over it.
Right about then he becomes aware of the sound of the mech's cord pressurizing, and that's the last time he gives thought to the possibility of Six not wanting to frag him.
"I want you." God, it was so true. He could be crushed between these two mechs but he wasn't worried. "I want you both."
First Aid squirms in Sixshot's arms, against Rampage's hand, and hooks his fingers securely into the sixchanger's armor so he could pull himself up against his broad chest and nuzzle his mask into his neck.
"Please."
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First Aid's words are music to his audios. He wants them both. Not just Sixshot. Rampage too. He feels impossibly warm.
Moaning, he shifts his head to tuck his teeth against Sixshot's neck, scraping gently at his paint. Without further warning, he curls his fingers, pushing at the slick entrances of both mechs, thick digits striving to press into the warm heat inside them.
Some people aren't very patient.
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