For the moment, Brainstorm can't be bothered to care that his lab was a wreck, since worrying about that later was a far better solution in his opinion. His aft felt like it had gotten hit by a tank though and even as the last aftershocks of overload ebb away, he was still sparking in places.

He lets Spinister scoop him into his lap, shivering as the spike shifts within him, and sits comfortably against the larger mech's chest. Brainstorm's little daze of pleasure is disrupted right after and he hisses and jerks when his helm is flicked.

"Rude!"

Spinister was still inside him, stretching his valve open and he gives a glance down at their connection and the mess of lubricant and transfluid smearing the obscene stretch of his rim. He groans, pressing one hand to his stomach plating, feeling where the spike was still hard and deep in him, and tries to lift up. As the ridges catch on his calipers, he quickly stops, his optics flickering.

"You didn't say you had a mod," he sniffs. It's not terrible. Actually really hot, feeling so full with his valve giving weak fluttering squeezes around the girth still inside him.