robothell | [ open ] looks like a cinnamon roll but is actually a sinnamon roll

Entry tags:

first aid | lifepersists

[ open ] looks like a cinnamon roll but is actually a sinnamon roll

WHO: First Aid and open
WHERE: Medibay mainly, but around too. Ping me if you want a starter outside it?
WHEN: Sex pollen time
WHAT: copious amount of boning. In shower, bed, or whatever flavor. Pretty much just go for an area and I'll roll with it.
WARNINGS: Smut.

The medibay was one of the first places to see the outbreak for obvious reasons; it was just normal to automatically see a doctor if anything felt unusual. That just happened to mean that First Aid kept getting repeatedly reinfected with the spores, even if he avoided going outside. After a bit, he just sort of gives up trying to prevent that and instead works more on battling the symptoms.

He's found regular rinsing and charge dampeners work best to control the surge of heat coursing through his frame enough he could work, but it was never enough to actually fix the issue. The other catch was that cleanser was to be used sparingly, and for the record, wearing charge dampeners over his equipment for long periods of time was highly uncomfortable.

Trading off between the rinse and the dampeners was always awkward. First Aid's brief stints in the wash was usually accompanied by soft, miserable, overcharged groaning, followed by the fumbling of trying to get the dampener in place again once he was out.

The pent up charge had an almost eerily hyperactive affect on the doctor; with his charge suppressed and redirected to other parts of him frame he was left jittery and unfocused. His attention isn't any better than it would be with the charge, so First Aid was getting a lot of... half tasks done.

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Wing knocks gently on the doorframe of the main room of the medical bay and lets himself in, looking around curiously. He's been handling his own charge relatively well and he knows there are others worse affected, so offering whatever assistance he can render seemed reasonable but there doesn't seem to be anyone staffed. He tilts his head and picks up the sound of the washracks running in the back--he makes his way towards them hesitantly before he hears a pained moan and picks up speed.

"Excuse me?" he says, poking his head, then the rest of him carefully into the room, his optics widening when he catches sight of First Aid. "I, um." He feels charge thread slow fingers low in his belly then tighten suddenly into a fist and he has to fight to keep his panels closed suddenly.

"...can I help?" he manages after a moment, his voice only a little staticky and his optics soft and bright.

The washracks in the clinic weren't technically public, so First Aid didn't exactly expect company save for maybe the staff and most of them knew by now the miserable, heated groans and huffing from First Aid weren't anything life threatening at the moment.

He has one forearm pressed against the wall to bear his weight, his head hanging loosely as his other hand presses between the swollen folds of his valve. It's tender and sensitive from wearing the dampener, almost too much to touch, but cleaning away the excess lubricant and remains of past interfaces was too important before trying to return to work.

First Aid had already overloaded once, right after taking off the dampener, the cool cleanser too much against his sensors after hours of pent up charge. His exterior node was still stiff, his whole frame tense to the point of pain. If it hadn't been for work, it was almost not worth it.

The voice startles him, but he can't bring himself to move too much yet to turn and just lifts his head so his over bright visor could see over his shoulder. He rakes his gaze over Wing's frame, a tight ball forming in the pit of his own fuel tank at the hungry look the stranger was giving him. He couldn't even bring himself to be embarrassed.

Hello mysterious beautiful thick jet.

"You're not... You're not supposed to be back here."

"I'm sorry," Wing says tightly, taking a step back. His voice is strangled with static and his optics are wide, drawn helplessly down to First Aid's fingers between his legs, biting his lip and shuddering helplessly as his fans roar to life all at once, flight engine rumbling loud in the tiled space. He shuts them down deliberately and presses a hand briefly over his mouth, wresting control of himself with an effort.

"Should I--I can leave, if you'd rather. I just wanted..." To help, he nearly says, but his voice dies in his throat as his optics stray lower again and he bites his lip, shivering all over.

I'm sorry, Wing, but where you going somewhere?

First Aid at least has the mind to take his hand away from his valve, though as he pulls his hand free a sticky strand drips down from the rim in an arc to his fingers until it thins enough to break and trail down his leg. He aches, more for the denial of pleasure than the trysts he's had, but generally he's been managing well enough until other needy frames come around.

Then the heat is like an inferno again, pooling in his array, making coolant steam off his plating. He turns towards the jet, baring more of a hip now and the subtle hint of extended spike, and makes a motion to come over.

"Didn't mean leave." First Aid sounds exasperated. "Come over before you blow a circuit."

"Oh," Wing says, sounding a little stunned before he's making his way across the room, careful not to slip. He stops in front of First Aid and reaches out, touching soft hands to his plating, stroking down his sides before he drops to his knees to nuzzle at the center of First Aid's breastplate.

"Please," he manages, trying not to sound too needy, a shudder wracking through his frame. One hand slides up, taking First Aid's and drawing it to his mouth to close gently on slick fingers, making a raw, needy sound as he sucks them clean. His free hand closes on First Aid's spike to stroke, slow and firm and steady. His mouth pulls back once First Aid's fingers are clean, pressing hungry kisses down First Aid's belly to vent scorching air against his spike. His mouth brushes briefly before he speaks against First Aid's hip. "Please let me--I want to. Please say yes."

Medic hands are typically sensitive. They're designed to be able to determine ailments by touch and First Aid's hands are no exception. The slide of soft lips over the sensors in his hands and the gentle sucking sends charge straight to his already throbbing interface array.

As Wing's lips release his hand and travels down his stomach, his plating starts to ratttle with small shivers.

"Oh, god, please yes."

He doesn't have the strength in him to say no. He doesn't even know who in their right mind would, let alone if they were as charged up as him. First Aid at least has enough presence of mind to fumble with the valve for the shower and shut it off, but not to ask for Wing's name as his hands move to the finials and rub slow, firm circles over the tips of each one.

A flesh glob of lubricant was already sliding down his leg, making a sticky path towards his knee. His spike was twitching at the warm venting against it, fluid already beading at the tip.

Wing moans, hungry and sweet, and leans in to swallow First Aid whole. His lips tighten softly as they touch his baseplate, plating already slick, optics burning as they lock on First Aid's face. His hands stroke up First Aid's thighs, not restraining him, and one slips in between his legs to touch light fingertips against his valve before they press a little harder, circling his anterior node. He shudders as he presses harder, fingers slipping up and in as his thumb replaces them, stretching First Aid gently and dimming his optics as he works his mouth against sensitive plating, moving in a slow, steady rhythm between First Aid's legs.

"Are you sure you're alright?"

Megatron gives Impactor an inquisitive look, lifting the other miner's chin up slightly to get a better look at the pollen dusting his vents and crowding the neck cables and other small spaces between his armor plates. Despite his own exposure to the pollen, his symptoms were relatively mild. A little less inhibitions maybe, but otherwise he could continue working with no issue.

"You're definitely covered in contaminant," he lets his friend's face go, continuing to check over his frame, particularly the joints and abdominal plates where there were the most junctions and breaks in armor pieces.

Perhaps asking him to come to the clinic to get a check-up was a bit excessive, but he was worried.

"'m fine."

He honestly didn't see why he had to visit Megatron so urgently. It was just some dust that had kicked itself up in there. Nothing worse than what the mines did to their circuits in any case. Still, he holds still for him, looking up at the ceiling....absolutely bored.

"It's dust, Megaton," he smirks at the nickname, nudging his face away a little. "Or have you forgot already with your new promotion?"

With Megatron letting his face go, he watches as he inspects the rest of him.

First Aid was so used to the sound of Megatron's voice he didn't even really register it, but the sound of Impactor's catches his interest. Nothing against Megatron, but the low rumble of Impactor's vocalizer did things for First Aid's libido even when there wasn't a charge building spore epidemic was going on. Right now it drew him in like a neon sign.

He just barely keeps from making a sound when he spots the two of them, one fist clamped firmly against his mask. For now, he was pretty content to watch the two interact, if just because it meant he got to watch two heavy class, attractive mechs touch. First Aid leans against a door corner, his other hand cupped under his elbow to keep it far enough away from anything more sensitive, watching Megatron's hands and optics comb over Impactor's playing, fitting in the gaps.

Oh, now if it was a tongue--

Not going to lie, it wasn't the first time he's looked, although with a bit more guilt before because of the lack of professionalism. Wasn't his fault the two miners were just up his alley of eye candy. First Aid's vents hitch a little, heat pooling in his array even with the dampener in place.

Edited 2015-08-16 08:11 (UTC)

"They're spores, and some people have had adverse reactions to them," he says as he continues his examination, going down on one knee to look over his legs. From the knee to the ankle, he lightly flexes the joint to see light puffs of spores get disturbed from the movement. The dusting seemed to be heavier there,"We should probably clean you off while you're here."

He stands up when he finishes.

"Besides, I wouldn't have pulled you here by the fin if it was just dust," he remarks, playfully pinching a wire in Impactor's hip joint that he knew would make him jump a little. That was for saying his name wrong.

Ordinarily, he wouldn't be so touchy, but he was familiar enough with the other bot to do it(and perhaps a little less restrained than he'd normally be). His other hand rests at the thigh, glad he at least wasn't plagued by his own charge. Though knowing Impactor, it'd likely just make him more itchy to punch somebody in the face.

Edited 2015-08-16 16:07 (UTC)

If Impactor could roll his optics any harder, they'd probably short circuit. He knew Megatron was a full fledged medic now, but he didn't see the big deal with these spores. They clogged his wiring at most, and was itchy at worst. Still, he can't help but tease. "You always did like making sure dirt was off me."

Is he teasing? Maybe a little. His hip jerks at the pinch, that smile growing wider as he gives him a little nudge, that fighting spirit still in him at least. And maybe a little bit more than usual due to the pollen's effect.

"Yeah you would. You always fuss over me."

To which he reaches his good hand up, pinching a little wiring in the tank's side.

This was terribly cute watching them interact, but honestly nothing really good was happening yet and that was terrible. There needed to be 300% more kissing and touching. First Aid was torn over what he wanted to make his presence known by posing the suggestion or if he just wanted to hang back and see where the ride took him. Both sounded fairly good to him.

Both of them sounded good to him.

His fans were going to give him away eventually, growing louder with his rising arousal. Thanks wild imagination. Thanks out of control libido.

He's going to go for the gold.

First Aid clears his vocalizer. "You know, have you two ever stopped to consider that you're flirting?"

Megatron's struts straighten as Impactor finds sensitive wiring to snatch between his fingers, and lightly whaps his teasing hand off. Of course, 'lightly' between two mechs of their size still resulted in a bit of a resonating clang of metal.

Still, he grins back good-naturedly. Okay, maybe he would fuss, but was that really so bad?

His cheeky look turns to mild surprise as First Aid pops up at the entrance of the room, and he takes a sheepish step back from his would-be patient. Ok, flirting in the presence of one of the doctors, even if he seemed to be.. appreciative, was admittedly still a little embarrassing. Even under these circumstances.

"Er- First Aid. Hello."

Impactor please say something less awkward.

First Aid's voice rings through their conversation, and while Megatron may straighten up out of surprise, Impactor just seems to tilt his head, completely unphased by the new entrant to the conversation. Flirting? Well, he'd never considered it that--maybe he just didn't realize he was doing it, mostly.

But he looks at Megatron, and at his awful attempt to be casual about this.

Before looking back at First Aid.

"Yeah. What of it?"

IMPACTOR...

Megatron's sheepish reaction was rather endearing, though it does make First Aid regret piping up when the mech takes a step back from Impactor. He'd been enjoying that view, after all. He hums, rubbing his chin, visor twisting into a smile when the future leader of the Wreckers responds much more casually and accepting than his miner friend.

"Good, actually. You don't have to stop on my account."

Was that going to make things awkward? Probably. He was in knee deep already, but he gives the two of them space rather than getting closer.

"It's better if you start with someone you know. I might suggest kissing,"

When it's clear he isn't going to get reprimanded for acting unprofessionally, Megatron seems to lose his apprehension. While he wasn't brimming with lust by the spores he was exposed to, he has been feeling a little more bold than the usual.

There's a well-meaning, mirthy chuckle at First Aid's suggestion.

"Ha! Impactor wouldn't know a kiss if he was smacked in the face with one."

Megatron closes in, a hand cupping his friend's chin before he presses a warm kiss to the side of his neck, instead. He lightly brushes his tongue over the unarmored neck cables, the surface tingling with charge and a light roughness before he pulls away.

Well, that certainly wasn't the answer he'd expected from First Aid, nor was it the reaction he expected from Megatron. Okay, maybe a little bit of that answer was expected--the bot did like to tease him about how upfront he was. Not that it mattered in the end, because for someone who'd just been so humble about it, Megatron's certainly taking to it rather well.

Not that he minds. His vents let off a little steam as he tilts his head back a moment, letting golden optics dim ever so slightly before he smirks at First Aid.

He wanted a show, right? Sure, why not.

"You think that, Megaton?"

Because he's going to nudge that face up and kiss back, on the lips this time. Although it's crude and aggressive and...well, looks like two seals wrestling for a grape.

Ambulon hasn’t seen First Aid in some time. Since the arrival of the spore outbreak things have been…strange around the Medibay. Of course Ambulon had been exposed to the spore early on; such is the occupational hazard. He knows how the pollen has effected his systems and he can only imagine what havoc it is wrecking on his coworkers.

Shifting uncomfortably on his feet, Ambulon pauses outside the washracks where he suspects First Aid is rinsing. He’s seen a lot of things this past week. A lot of mechs in dire straits, desperately overcharged. He’s managed to keep a level head thus far, he can’t see any reason why just checking up on first aid would be any different.

“Hey. First Aid, are you in there?” He calls, knocking gently on the metal door.

He was definitely in there, but he was more wishing someone was in him. First Aid's array was over sensitive from the damper and his circuits were at their limit. He knew the risks when he put it on -- dampers were meant for short term play, not long term suppression -- and he was feeling the affects now. He could barely keep himself on his feet, eventually succumbing to just sliding limply down the wall under the cool stream of the shower to try and cool his overheating frame off.

His visor gives a flicker of recognition when Ambulon calls his name, but calling back seemed like too much effort at first. His vocalizer fritzes a few times, resetting with a few clicks before he manages a groan.

"Ambulon?"

First Aid trusted his fellow staff, but it was still embarrassing to let them see him like this. Even Ambulon, who he had spent ten years working with, deserved a bit more than seeing him with his interface hatch wide open, too swollen to close. Slowly, he drags his legs up to give himself a little bit of modesty.

Private showers would have been wonderful about now.

"I'm. I'm not sure if you want to come in here."

Ambulon’s concern only grows when he hears First Aid’s soft reply.

"Are you alright?”

His hand immediately flies to the handle of the door. He could be ill—or even worse, injured. Ambulon pauses before bursting in. He has an inkling of what might be amiss with his colleague. With the amount of time his friend has been spending out in the field, Ambulon wouldn’t be surprised if he is feeling it more than himself. Regardless, part of him still wants to make sure that he’s alright. He announces his intention as to not startle him.

“I’m coming in.”

Taking a deep breath, he pushes the heavy door open. As he had suspected, First Aid sat huddled in the corner of the wash rack, legs pulled up enough to just barely protect his decency. Ambulon feels his mouth go dry.

Of course Ambulon decides to do the opposite of what he just advised against. He should have expected that. First Aid groans more out of humiliation rather than the throb of charge rolling through his frame. Ambulon might not out rank him anymore and he has known him for ages now, but this was still an embarrassing situation.

"I told you not to come in." Well. Those weren't exactly the words he used. First Aid puts his head in his hands.

"It's the pollen." That was obvious enough. He shifts his legs and hisses softly as the head of his spike rubs against his stomach plating. "I've been treating it like an epidemic. Keep getting exposed."

He's so sensitive from the damper that it was hard to deal with all the built up charge. Typically he'd overload as soon as he pulled it off, but if didn't take care of all of it. Honestly, First Aid wouldn't be surprised if he'd fire off again at just a meaningful look he was so badly charged up. It was hard to even look at Ambulon without fucking him with his eyes, so he does his best to not look at his friend.

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[ open ] looks like a cinnamon roll but is actually a sinnamon roll

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