robothell | [NSFW] Boiled Crab

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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."

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Bless Rampage.

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.

Rampage growls against Sixshot's faceplate, teeth scraping gently, and his grip on Sixshot's aft tightens for a moment. Then he slides it lower, dipping between Sixshot's thighs to stroke fingers over the heated metal between them.

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.

The hand sliding over his aft between his thighs makes Sixshot jolt and arch, pleasure zipping up his spine, mask scraping against sharp teeth and optics wide. He starts to protest, turning one palm up to press against Rampage's abdominal plates, trying to stop the crab and balance First Aid's knees on his elbow at the same time.

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.

First Aid's interface covers were already open to Rampage's touch as his hand slides between his legs. His fingers find a wet port, swollen and sensitive, and just the brush of the digits over his outer nodes has the smaller medic arching and whining, pushing his array harder against the beastmech's hand.

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."

Rampage gives a victorious growl as Sixshot's pelvic plating folds open under his hand. His own abdominal plates are hot and itching under Sixshot's fingers, enflamed by his touch.

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.

"I-" Sixshot very gently tightens his grip on First Aid to prevent the smaller mech from slipping down his chest as he squirms into position. He belatedly realizes his hand was now holding the medic's tiny waist and the Sixer makes a stifled little noise. He then realizes his hand was still pressed up against Rampage's abdominal plates, the warmth of it against his fingers, and the stifled little noised becomes distinctly more high pitched-

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.

First Aid's spark gives a little flutter. He's too far aroused to really think too hard about anything besides the huge, hot bodies in front and behind him and the wonderfully thick fingers pressing past the rim of his valve. He makes a soft, desperate sound into Sixshot's neck, his visor squinting to a thin line of light, and he spreads his thighs as much as he could manage to give Rampage access between his legs.

"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.

Sixshot's hand gripping his thigh sends thrills over Rampage's plating, but his words make his spark throb. First Aid wants him. Sixshot wants him. They don't just want each other. It feels... good. It feels so very good to be wanted like this.

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.

Of all the things he ever expected to hear coming out of First Aid's vocalizer, 'I want to see your huge cords' was definitely at the very bottom of the list. Sixshot makes a teeny, tiny little noise that was a cross between great concern, extreme arousal and a lot of abashment. It didn't help that the words preceding those had been a revelation for Sixshot either: he... had no idea that First Aid had been wanting this for so long.

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.

Bless those strong hands keeping him from sliding or dropping. Had First Aid been a little less focused on the twitching cock in his hand or the slick, hot cord dripping fluid against his aft, he probably would have clung to Sixshot for dear life as the mech settled back. Instead, he settles in on this new positioning naturally, his plating fluffing under all the petting.

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?"

Edited 2016-01-01 23:55 (UTC)

Rampage lets Sixshot's weight pull him to the ground, giving a little huff as he braces his knees awkwardly to keep all of his own considerable mass from pressing onto First Aid. It's not easy to keep your balance when both your hands are occupied.

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."

Poor Sixshot. He was just not equipped to handle this much dirty talking. His field tightens in embarrassment despite the strong current of pleasure, his optics over-bright. Up until the day the pollen started spreading the kinkiest thing he'd done was don out oral sex and fuck in slightly unusual locations.

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.

First Aid's field throbs with desire, his whole frame scorching, and the pulse of the spike in his hand makes his array ache. Rampage's finger suddenly felt too small. It didn't fill him enough or stretch his lining until it ached or make his calipers strain. He makes a frustrated sound, grinding onto Rampage's palm hard enough to make the tip of his finger scrape over his ceiling node and a ragged moan escape him.

"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.

"No we can't," Rampage huffs, feeling far too impatient to 'go slow'. He proves this to First Aid by pressing a second finger into him alongside the first, ready to work him open in preparation for Sixshot's cock.

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....

First Aid is tiny! First Aid is the tiniest partner he's ever been with! He's not entirely assured by that 'should'!

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.

"Rampage--" First Aid's voice is terse. He's trying to reassure Sixshot, not rush him into things he's uncertain about and get one of them hurt. His chastising was cut off as the aforementioned mech presses a second finger into him, stretching his lining and making his calipers cycle and squeeze around them. Lubricant squelches from his entrance around them, trickling down Rampage's knuckles.

"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."

First Aid can reassure Sixshot all he wants. Rampage is busy finger-fucking the two living people he likes most.

He does offer, "I almost fit." And as Sixshot can feel, Rampage is thicker than he is.

No more talking for now though. Nibbling at the edge of Sixshot's head he releases a long moan. There's slickness on both his hands now and it feels good on his fingers, as does the clench of calipers around them. And the feeling of cords against cords-! He bites harder as the ridges lining his spike catch against those of his partners'.

Rocking his hips gently, he groans, "Is this enough fingers?"

He's not sure which of them he's asking.

The teeth on his cheek guard sends a sharp little white spark of sensation through the overwhelming pleasure. He tilts his head back, leaving his throat vulnerable, his entire frame heaving as his vents drag cool air into his systems.

"Hh-ah-" He's still not entirely sure how to interpret what 'almost fit' means in this case but he's too aroused at this point to question further. The Sixer will just have to trust that his partners knew what they were doing- and god do they ever seem to know what the hell they were doing.

"Yes!" he whines, rocking his hips, trying to seat the fingers deeper inside him, venting sharply at the way their cords slid together. "Just- Primus, yes!" His own fingers slide under Rampage's to stroke over First Aid's exterior node, slipping through the gathering lube. His free hand moves up to cup one of the medic's chest vents and he draws a thumb over the slats, the legs hooked over Rampage's hip giving an impatient squeeze.

"Mm," First Aid groans as Rampage's fingers spread him open, and that's his own answer to the question.

Bless him for being so large. Sixshot's own cord was somewhat thicker than the three fingers in him, but the stretch up from the fingers to the girth of the cord would be an easy one now. His walls squeeze down around them, twitching as they scrape over deep nodes, and he arches into Sixshot's palms.

"Sixshot--" he gasps, rocking his hips back against the fingers fucking him and the fingers rubbing over his exterior node. "Oh, you feel so good."

It was almost too much stimulation at once being caught between them. They were both so warm, and the charge rippling over their frames catches and jumps to his own, heightening the speed of his own rapidly building charge. It was hard to tell if the charge would break without overload or if he'd come against both their hands.

God, does he want to.

"Rampage..." First Aid's voice is strained, but he reaches back to touch the crab mech's armor as it scrapes against his back. "Are you gonna fuck him now? Won't you give me your spark too?"

"Oh, I-" It's almost too much for First Aid, but it is too much for Rampage. Even without his inexperience it's so much. Bodies moving against bodies, the heat and friction of their cords together, the gasping voices, the crackling pulse of charge between them, his spark throbbing with his own pleasure and Sixshot's pleasure and First Aid's pleasure-

With a groan pressed into Sixshot's cheek and a hard shudder, trans-fluid spills between them all in thick bursts. It hardly makes a dent in his charge, not with his friends still aching so near.

His spike is still stiff as he slides it out from between their three bodies to press between Sixshot's legs. His fingers withdraw, slick with lubricant now, making room to press the head of his cock against Sixshot's entrance.

His spark hasn't even settled from his overload when he spreads his chest wide for First Aid, the rippling light of the acid green storm in his chest spilling out across First Aid's back.

Rampage's overload sends electricity skipping down Sixshot's neural relays and the Sixer's optics roll up as he arches, vents stuttering. He can feel the warm cum gathering on his abdominal armor and slowly trickle down the sides of his hips in slow, thick streams, the smell of it so heavy he could taste it on the back of his tongue.

The low groan against his cheek draws another shudder from him- and then First Aid's words make him shake, fingers sliding feather light over that tiny chin and jawline. As Rampage pulls his fingers away, Sixshot raises his hips off the ground until his and First Aid's meager weight was balanced on the tips of his feet, trembling thighs spread wide. The ridges on the medic's length slides against his and then the blunt head of Rampage's presses against the folds of his valve--

Sixshot has to let First Aid go before he accidentally crushes the little mech. His hands smack against the ground several times before coming to a rest around the Rampage's knees in an unforgiving grip, optics narrowed into red, thin, unseeing slits as the world suddenly collapses down to the agonizing pleasure of being spread open by a too-thick cord.

All he sees for a moment is First Aid's blurred silhouette against a blooming halo of green.

Rampage's overload did it for him. The surge of energy rippling over his own plating and the pulsing cock beneath his own sets his own sensors ablaze. He jerks back, his body freezing as he overloads around Rampage's fingers, his own spike jetting a spurt of transfluid. He cries out, his visor so bright it was almost white, and his fingers press down hard into Sixshot's plating. He's trembling as it passes, his fans whirling, and little shocks of static jump off his armor.

Sorry for adding to the mess, Six.

It doesn't do much for his own pent up charge either. He'd spent too long holding it back that his charge levels had skyrocketed. Looking at Sixshot's armor, splattered with the mixture of his and Rampage's cum and lubricant, makes First Aid's valve clench in desire. Tension grows in the pit of his stomach and he groans, rubbing his hands over the seams of Sixshot's chest.

"You look so good like this," he sighs, smearing some of the cum with his thumb.

Even if he was facing Rampage, he wouldn't have been able to rub his core against him if he was impaled on Sixshot's cock, so he has to improvise. First Aid lifts himself gingerly off Rampage's fingers and turns to face him, own chest plating parting. His spark is small and blue, but it's swollen with charge, pulsing with excitement.

Gently, he reaches for Rampage's spark, brushing his fingers over the casing, laughing at the tingle of it against his palm. It feels different than other sparks, but a good sort of different, and he traces the edge of the core until he finds one of his ports, flicking it open and pulling his cabling free.

"Let's get you hooked up." He takes the first cable, sliding it home into one of his spark ports, and then gasps at the surge through his systems.

If there'd been any more time for him to build up charge since his last overload, Rampage would have gone over again right then and there. His head swims with threefold pleasure, Sixshot's ecstasy sending pulses shivering up and down his spine, First Aid's overload making his spark throb and shiver. Even the tight clench of Sixshot's hands pressing dents into his knees feels amazing.

Venting heavily, he curls both his arms around Sixshot as First Aid frees up his hand, too overwhelmed to start thrusting, though the ridges lining his cord flare with each throb of his spark.

Then his optics catch the blue glow and he's transfixed by the delicate pulse of First Aid's spark.

"Beautiful," he mutters, both in awe and a bit of jealousy. He hardly notices the sweet touches on his own spark - though it flashes excitedly against First Aid's fingertips - or the unspooling of cables. But when the connection slides home he gasps and his hips slam reflexively into Sixshot.

"Oooohhhhgod," Sixshot chokes, his thighs clattering against Rampage's sides, mouth full of the smell of First Aid's overload. The world condenses down to that thick scent, the small hand smearing mixed cum over his chest and the dense weight of the cord inside him... and for a small eternity that was all there was. His calipers tremble on the verge of climax every time the ridges flared inside him, the mesh still burning from the sudden stretch of the girth being pushed into his valve.

"First Aid," he gasps suddenly, squirming as he tries futilely to keep staving off the oncoming climax, raking his fingers down Rampage's thighs. "First Aid, I can't- hold on-"

He arches, then curls in on himself with a strangled noise, charge zipping over his plating in little rivers of light, venting sharp and short. There was a slight swell at the base of his cock already and it was getting so hard to keep holding back...

Rampage could feel people's sparks all the time, but for most mechs, that was only achievable during intimate acts like this. The rush hits him hard, and First Aid arches and gasps as his spark flares from the surge of energy and brush of emotions against his. He feels Rampage's need, and the hot clench of Sixshot's body, and he's shaking when he's finished hooking them up.

"Oh, Primus." It's not even the same as pressing their chests together, but Rampage has an overwhelming spark.

It was hard to hear Sixshot over the thrum of Rampage's spark radiating through his whole frame; he feels drunk and unsteady, almost floating, and as he turns back to face the six changer he's clumsy, tripping over his own hands.

"I've got you," he whispers, his vocalizer slurring the words slightly as he takes Sixshot's cord back in hand.

He knows that Sixshot will probably overload as soon as he's in him -- maybe not even fully in -- and he's tempted to stroke the six changer to completion instead and feel the hot spurt of fluid and pulse of his knot in his hands. He'd probably like that very much. It's the pulse of need in his own frame that decides for him though; he aches to be filled, his valve clenching down on nothing at the moment.

First Aid shifts, pressing the thick head against his opening, stretching the rim almost to the point of pain before it pops past it, and he stills suddenly at the sudden pressure against his interior nodes. He doesn't linger for long, trying not to tease the six changer, and he drops his weight, sinking down to take the spike further in, his calipers clenching and squeezing to help ease it deeper until he was completely seated.

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crabcake - 2016-03-31 15:50 (UTC) - Expand

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phase6kindofbot - 2016-05-07 06:05 (UTC) - Expand

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