[network post--marked urgent]

[asafepairofhands]

Hello? Yeah, all right, it looks like this thing is on.

[The vid flickers on and Ratchet's face fills it, somehow more exasperated and peeved than usual.]

Look, public service health announcement, stay away from the damn stupid flowers that are popping up everywhere. They're releasing a pollen that's hyperconductive that causes an allergic reaction in both organics and inorganics. Nobody's going to drop dead, unless you're set on being a medical miracle and being the first to die of overcharge, but if you're affected, for goodness' sake, be careful until it wears itself out. If you don't release the pent-up charge or whatever periodically it's possible you'll overheat.

If you absolutely need medical assistance, I'm going to be at the first medibay trying to figure out more precisely what the fresh smelting hell is going on.

Ratchet out.

Comments

[triggerhappycopter]

[Spinister cackles, the most delighted and evil noise that had ever come out of his dusty vocalizer, even as he grabs at Ratchet to make sure he didn't fall and hurt himself- in spite of the crutch being waved at his face.]

I'm using my hands and it's doing the job, isn't it?

[Of course, now he's kneeling in front of Ratchet and the tone of his voice takes on a decidedly lewd twist. Spin's hands find Ratchet's hips and he pushes the smaller medic up onto the berth proper, leaning in to press his mask against white abdominal armor with a playful engine hum.]

[asafepairofhands]

You are a monster.

[But Ratchet's choking on a low laugh too, shivering a little in Spin's grip and trying not to let his engine rev at how easily Spinister lifts him. He reaches down and touches Spin's helm gently, almost petting, his teeth digging into his lower lip.]

Spinister... [He draws in a shaking vent of cool air.] ...can I do anything for you?

[triggerhappycopter]

Squirm a lot?

[The touch on his helm draws a pleased noise from Spinister and he peers up at Ratchet from under his chevron. Tracing a teasing line down from the very top of the Autobot's pelvic armor, down over to the plates covering his valve, he then rubs his fingers in firm, swirling strokes.]

Make lots of noises.

[asafepairofhands]

Not--not what I mean--nnnn--

[Ratchet arches as Spinister strokes against sensitive plating, his thigh trembling and his panel snapping aside unbidden. He cries out quietly as his spike extends, his optics wide as he leans back hard on his elbow and arches his back, his hips still as Spinister's fingertips press against him.]

[triggerhappycopter]

[Ratchet's spike popping up between them makes Spinister's optics light up in delight. His thumb finds the smaller medic's exposed anterior node in short order and he curls one thick index finger into the slick heat of his valve.]

What do you mean then?

[Of course, just to make things easier for Ratchet, Spin is nuzzling showily against his cord, dragging the edge of his mask up to the very tip. There's a quiet sound of plates sliding apart, and then the heli-former was slowing pushing the head of the length down his fuel intake.]

[asafepairofhands]

You--

[But then his spike is pushed into dense, slick heat and he gives up, tipping his head back and moaning desperately. His hands find Spinister's shoulders and squeeze hard, fumbling up to his helm, but his touch there is gentle and slow, stroking deliberately even as he writhes and curses and struggles to keep his hips still.]

More. [His voice is ragged and he clenches down around the finger Spin pressed into him, pushing his hips lower without really thrusting up. His fingertips trace down the side of Spinister's helm, following gently along the edge as he shudders.] Come on, not going to break.

[triggerhappycopter]

[The edges of Spinister's split mask touches Ratchet's pelvic armor and the big heli hums a low, pleased noise. It's takes a moment to get used to the slight stretch again and then he sucks, lazy and slow.]

Mmhf. [That was either a rude disagreement on Ratchet's ability not to break or a very pleased noise induced by the gentle touches on his helmet. It's really up for interpretation there.

Either way, Spinister's sliding a second finger into Ratchet, curling both digits against sensitive bundles of sensors. He starts picking up a rhythm, stroking and thrusting in time with the bob of his head.]