robothell | [NSFW] Boiled Crab

Skip to Main Content

[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."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

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.

Rampage feels dizzy, giddy, overwhelmed... The connection feels different than his spark's usual senses, more intimate, more direct. First Aid fills him and his spark can feel himself in First Aid, and what a strange, circular sensation to feel his own emotions echoed back at him.

With a whine, he presses his forehead against the back of First Aid's helm, trying not to lose himself. He can feel himself inside Sixshot, cord aching against twitching calipers. First Aid is sliding Sixshot inside him and he can feel that too. Around him, inside him, Sixshot on the edge-

He wants to complete this loop, bring Sixshot in with them, but there's no way he can manage it. Can't even manage the words to ask. But this is good, too, this is good, this is so good...

With his mind lost to the throb of so many different pleasures, his body is left on autopilot and he begins to thrust, hot and heavy, burying himself to the hilt inside Sixshot over and over, striving for that sweet release.

First Aid's light touch was almost enough to send Sixshot careening over the edge, charge dancing over the edges of his plating.

He can't- he can't- hecan'thecan't-

The glowing wet heat of First Aid's valve slowly engulfing his cord makes the Sixer heave before he could stop himself. He's pretty sure his grip on Rampage's knees weren't just denting anymore, but it's a bleary thought that's lost under the sensations and Primus-!

Rampage draws back and the hard drag of ridges against his calipers and the clench of First Aid's body around him makes every neural relay in his body light up like a star going nova. Sixshot screams, his frame engulfed by snapping strings of electricity, his optics streaking light as he throws his head back, torso frame curving into an almost impossible arc off of the ground.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only