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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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"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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Aaaand now there were two faces pressed against his neck on either side, the smooth slide of a mask, the scrape of sharp teeth and their mingling hot vents sinking under his collar armor. Sixshot finds himself clasping First Aid close, fingers stroking across the small of the mech's back. His free hand finds Rampage's hip, then slides down to cup the back of a red thigh and gives it an urgent squeeze, his own vents quickening and back curving at the sharp stretch of thick fingers pushing into him.
"I want you both too," Sixshot whispers, so quietly that it was nearly lost under the low rumble of his powerplant.
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"I've been thinking about this so long," he breathes, moving one hand to stroke over Rampage's head and the other over the back of Sixshot's neck.
"Let me see your huge cords."
First Aid lifts his head, turning it to butt his mask against Rampage's cheek as the other mech's teeth graze over Sixshot's neck. He has his work cut out for him here; both of them were much larger and he had to squirm and climb to get his hands on what he wanted.
He reaches behind him, patting and pulling at Rampage to try and draw him closer, and then slowly wiggles so he can get his aft near the beast mech's spike and a hand down between his and Sixshot's bodies to brush feather light over what he could reach of his spike.
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Resting his head on Sixshot's shoulder, he gives an overwhelmed little chuckle at First Aid. The little Autobot did love his talking during sex. Rampage is pretty fond of it, but he has difficulty managing on his own when his brains feel like they're frying in his skull.
He still tries. "It's been waiting for you," he purrs.
He's been waiting far too long for these idiots to stop talking and start banging. Honestly.
As First Aid wiggles into place, he gives a loud huff and rocks his hips forward, his aching cord smearing beads of early fluid over the medic's aft. He moves his hand with First Aid, keeping a single finger inside him and trying to work it deeper.
Sixshot, meanwhile, gets two fingers rocking gently at his entrance, gradually pushing further inside to try and work him open.
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Fortunately for everyone involved, Sixshot's moment of conflicting emotions remains mostly internalized as First Aid has squirmed down between them and gotten his hand on his cock.
"Do you want me to- ah-" the wolf-mech whimpers, his spike twitching under the medic's dainty little hand and valve walls trembling around Rampage's fingers. He loses his train of thoughts after that, deep code ensnaring them and dragging them under. Hot and desperate now, he lets himself fall back to the ground, dragging Rampage and First Aid down with him, back arched over Rampage's arm.
"Primus," he whimpers, curling his legs over the crab's hips, running his hand hungrily over First Aid's sides and back, cupping the medic's helm. His free hand slides down to join First Aid's, stroking over Rampage's satisfying thick cord. The weight of it in his palm makes the mighty Sixer squirm, his port cycling down on the digits inside him.
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First Aid still smelled of burnt wiring and his body screamed for another overload, but he had what he wanted. He lets out a low, groaning sigh as he rocks into the finger curling against his lining, angling his hips and turning around so that Rampage's hand cups his array and he can gind his exterior node against his palm.
"He's big, isn't he, Six?" he murmurs to the six changers as his own fingers stroke up the mech's spike, sliding over the overlapping plating and smearing the remnants of transfluid from his previous frag. He'd felt jealous before, but now the thought of them together was impossibly hot.
"And his thrusts are powerful. You'll feel it in your pelvic joints for days. I can't fit him..." First Aid trails off, sounding regretful. "But you can. Don't you want him inside you?"
First Aid looks up at Rampage and leans against him, turning his head to nuzzle into his chest and lay his audio against it, sighing as he listens to the hum of his spark.
"So, Rampage, what do you think I should do to him?"
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He presses his forehead against Sixshot's affectionately, dim optics curiously watching his expression, only to flicker as Sixshot's fingers slide over his heavy spike. It throbs with charge against his hands as he listens to First Aid, and he moans at the thought of plunging his cock deep inside the warm confines of Sixshot's port.
Tightening his grip on First Aid, his finger buried deep inside him and palm grinding back against him, he gives a heavy thrust forward, spike sliding deliciously against warm metal.
"I-" Slag, it's hard to think with so much arousal swimming through his head and spark. The gentle nuzzles against his chest have his chest plates loosening in memory of his last time with the small mech. "Nnh, you should... ride him." He punctuates this decision with a few hard thrusts of his fingers inside Sixshot. "He should fit."
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The Sixer squirms as First Aid talks, his fans skipping a few beats. Rampage was big and it was an undeniable fact when he had his hand wrapped around the thing: big and heavy and everything Sixshot wanted right now and more- but admitting that fact was hard and all that came past his vocalizer was a strangled, mortified and needy noise. The touches on his spike weren't helping either, First Aid's fingers gliding over his length and he presses his hand against the medic's side, venting heavily both in mild panic and extreme sexual frustration.
Then Rampage joins in and he mostly just wants to explode, the hard press of the crab's fingers making his pelvic span jerk, cord jumping in First Aid's hand. His thighs clench against the crab-former's sides, heels digging into the ground. Yes, god, anything, oh Primus he wanted First Aid's hot little body above him. Oooohhh Primus. Ohh- wait-
"S- should?" Sixshot manages, suddenly very concerned, worriedly running his fingers over First Aid's shoulder armor.
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"I think I'd like that very much. Won't you ready me for him?" he breathes.
The clamp of Sixshot's field against his frame suddenly draws his attention though, and some of that sexually aggressive edge melts away to the medic's usual sweetness. He gives the sixformer a concerned look gives Rampage a parting glance before he turns and stretches out over the mech's chest, laying his cheek against it as the slows the stroking over his spike.
"Are you okay? We can go slow."
For the moment, his mind drifts to positioning. It was difficult to choose which way he wanted to face. He wanted Rampage's spark, but he also wanted to see Sixshot's face. Most of all he just wanted to be enveloped by both of them, trapped between both their bodies, surrounded by their smell and warmth. His own field gives an affectionate pulse, brushing against Sixshot's.
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And just to be fair he adds a third finger to Sixshot's port, because he doesn't want to play favorites here.
Though maybe while they're waiting he can try and slide his own spike in between First Aid and Sixshot....
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That touch on his cord was really distracting however, light as it was, and all he manages to do to convey the extreme amounts of concern was a hitched, "I-is- this wise?"
And then coherent thought leaves him again at the sudden stretch of a third finger. He cries out, thighs trembling, spark pulsing hot pleasure and lube finally beginning to gather significantly in the spaces between Rampage's fingers.
"Oooh," he gasps, bucking up at the slide of Rampage's cord between them, his hands following the planes of First Aid's thighs up to his aft and very gently squeezing the plating.
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"I-It'll fit," he assures Sixshot, his voice wavering a little.
He's aware of their size difference, but he's a medic. Their bodies were very adaptable. Internals shift, plating folds or extends, valves stretch. He hadn't fit Rampage, but he'd tried and managed to get the tip in before he had settled in on other methods of sex. He was certain that Sixshot would fit.
First Aid groans as Rampage's cord slides between his and Sixshot's bodies, spreading lubricant over his belly armor. It takes him a moment to adjust, pushing himself up on one elbow on Sixshot's chest, then guides their own cords so that Rampage's was sandwiched between them. Slowly, he begins to rock, his spike's ridges flaring as it grinds against the top of Rampage's, his aft thrusting against Sixshot and Rampage's hands.
"You'll fill me up," he sighs. "Oh, Rampage. Your fingers feel so good."
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