Was Cybertron getting a chuckle out of him because of his long term virginity? That didn't seem particularly fair! That had been his choice, not because he didn't have any opportunities. But Spinister here wasn't despite the spores, and Brainstorm really had to stop that train of thought before he really started wondering why the 'Con had apparently been a sex champion.

Too late for that.

Brainstorm's optics are squinted in a look that almost can be passed for pleasure, but really he was just concentrating really hard on keeping his paneling closed, his hand still pressed tight to it. And the rubbing did feel sinfully good, working into spots with sensitive wiring that hadn't had much touch beyond repairs and upgrades for years. A shudder courses through his frame, his plating rippling as he expels more heat, each little touch going straight to his array.

"Nnh," Brainstorm grunts involuntarily, his wings limp in Spinister's hands.

He was leaking through his panels, all over the stool, and he'd be more embarrassed over it if his mind wasn't a complete fuzz of charge. The rubbing just felt so good he-- Brainstorm's frame tenses up as his charge peaks and breaks, rippling over his armor as he's pulled into a painful overload. He twitches with every spurt and contraction of his spike, pressed hard and pressurized behind his cover, and the fluid has nowhere to go but leak from the seams and onto his hand.

That was probably the most embarrassing overload he's ever had.