"No I'm nnnmmm," Spinister's engine rumbles when Brainstorm rocks onto him. Okay, okay, alright, this was getting a bit much, holy hell.

He leans over Brainstorm with a low gasp, cupping the jet's canopy and easing their frames together until the only gap left was the space between the inventors aft and his pelvic armor. Bracing his weight on his elbows and knees, he presses his crest against the back of his friend's shoulders, venting harshly.

"Just- easy." Stroking his hand up Brainstorm's thigh, Spin draws his fingers through the streaks of lube there, his fans spinning harshly. It's only then that he finally lets himself very, very gently rock back, optics squinting at the sensations.