"It... was. I was under the impression sex isn't usually planned." Brainstorm had forgotten about telling Spinister not to get used to it, but he recalls the words pretty vividly now. His focus was supposed to be on Quark, and out of some sort of loyalty to his dead love he'd insisted.

But he wasn't going to be able to finish his work here. He'd kept busy, but the weight of that reminder was heavy on his shoulders. Brainstorm looks away, optics distant as the larger mech's hands stroke over the small winglets on his chest.

"You don't have a conjunx endura, do you?" It felt stupid to ask now, especially with Spinister's spike still deep in him. Each twitch of that cord felt sinfully good, the ridges rubbing against his nodes while the fluid trapped in him shifted and sloshed.