robothell | (no subject)

The burst of white hot fluids down his intake draws another chest deep moan from Spinister and he holds onto Brainstorm tight as his friend seizes in overload. The taste of it was euphoric; sweet, thick and hot and he eagerly swallows each load, stroking Brainstorm's spasming valve walls in time, until the mech goes limp in his arms.

Slowly, he eases Brainstorm's shaking thighs from his shoulders, drawing his helm back and letting the slowly depressurizing cord slip free, his facemask sliding closed with a quiet click. The only trace of what'd happened was a little droplet of fluid sliding off his chin.

"That was hot," Spinister purrs, gently turning the smaller flier so that he lay on his front. He leans down and presses his face against one of Brainstorm's wings, scraping the edge of his mask up the leading edge, greedily running his hands over Brainstorm's prone frame.

As the last ebbs of overload leave him -- literally -- Brainstorm's pretty much strutless and limp against Spinister's body. His engine hums with pleasure and he opens his optics again, looking at that stray bit of fluid on the mech's mask, and it purrs a little louder.

"Thanks."

His spike wants to retract back into its housing as it depressurizes, but he overrides the command, letting it flop limply against his hip as he rolls over. Brainstorm stretches out like a turbofox who found a heat pocket in the ground, one arm cushioning his face while the other sprawls above his head. The scrape of the mask over his wing makes him groan quietly, channeling the urge to flick it into a stretch.

"My workshop is ruined," he sighs, but the hands roaming over his frame keep him from getting too grumpy about it yet. He curls into the touches, his armor plating fluffing slightly to let the large fingers beneath the seams.

"I told you not to shoot me," Spin murmurs a matter-of-factly against Brainstorm's wingtip, letting himself be tempted into sliding his fingers under the folds of the jet's armor.

There were a lot of delicious little sensors and circuitry exposed and he could get lost just trying to find them all-- if only his interface drive wasn't pinging him hard enough to ache. With a shaky sigh, Spin plants one last nuzzle against the base of Brainstorm's wing before drawing back, his hands following the planes of his friend's sides and coming to a rest on the inventor's hips with a firm squeeze.

"You know, sometimes," his tone is conversational as he spreads Brainstorm's legs apart with his knees. "Sometimes, I like fucking my partners with my fingers until they cum and then making them take me juuuuusst as they're peaking."

The arrhythmical squeeze of an overloading port and his partners writhing in overstimulation was a sight that never got old. He shudders at the memory of it, sliding his thumbs together over the slick folds of Brainstorm's own valve, gently spreading them.

"But I also like this." Spin's voice hitches just a tad when he arches slightly, sliding the underside of his achingly hot cord against that deliciously wet warmth. "Niiice and mmmm...."

It's all the teasing he could endure right then and there. He pins the rim of Brainstorm's valve apart, angling his hips until the blunt tip of his cord slid into space between his thumbs. Then the heli was bracing his weight on one knee, leaning over Brainstorm's body and slowly, slowing pushing in and in and in.

Spinister did tell him, but when the heli was the ultimate challenge, it was far too hard to resist testing on him. The results were... better than expected, save for the mess of his lab. He'll be spending days cleaning it. For now, he was enjoying the strong of fingers over his wiring, coaxing him into wiggling back against the heli.

"Frag, Spinister," Brainstorm grunts imagining those talented fingers inside him again. He's more than willing to move with the nudging, but he keeps his shoulders down, his face against his forarm as the folds of his valve are spread.

All that talk has him dripping and the hot slide of the cord against his external sensors has him shivering. It's not like a toy. A toy was never that warm, didn't twitch and swell as the head pops past the rim of his valve. Brainstorm gasps, his lining squeezing around the thick spike as it sinks into him, spreading him over and filling him up.

"H-Huge." He's had big toys, thankfully. His port is used to being spread and as the cord pushes in deeper, lubricant is forced out around it, dripping in thick globs. The jet slowly moves his knees, propping up his aft just a bit more to rock into the slide, groaning as each ridge catches around the nodes inside him.

"Tell me if it gets uncomfortable," Spinister bites out, voice strained and optics narrowed into thin slits as he tries to concentrate past the tight squeeze around his cord. Brainstorm was warm. So, so warm, and he can feel little zips of electricity from the jet's nodes as he pushes in deeper and he can feel the pleasure start coiling under his spark chamber...

Ah, that was still open wasn't it? He stares at the thin line of light in his chest plate in sudden, blank realization. Huh. His eyes slide back down to the lovely expanse of Brainstorm's back, down to where their bodies were joined, the obscene stretch of the jet's valve around the swell of his spike.

"Fragging heck," Spinister breathes, shutting his optics off and forcing himself to stop when he feels the blunt head of his cord nudge into Brainstorm's ceiling nodes with a good few inches still to go.

Truthfully, Brainstorm has imagined that fragging would be much more romantic than being face down on the wet floor of his lab with his aft getting filled by a mech who enjoyed describing the scenario in detail. He now knows he was a complete fragging idiot, because he felt amazing.

The stretch of his port burned a little, the lining slowly easing open, but it was a dull burn that ebbed away the longer Spinister stayed inside. His calipers cycle and adjust, finding the right squeeze around the spike inside him, and then they twitch with almost each pulse of the scientist's spark.

"Haaah," he grunts, keeping his head down, and he cycles a few times to keep his frame relaxed. If he tensed up, it might feel fine for Spinister, but it wouldn't be a great time for him.

"Are you... Are you all the way in?" Spinister had stopped. He can feel the head rubbing against his ceiling node, making little zaps of electricity course through his pelvic span. He couldn't feel the mech's baseplate against his aft though. There's... no possible way he could be that big, could he?

Brainstorm gives an experimental rock, pushing back, and it immediately draws out a staticy moan from his vocalizer as the head of the spike pushes up against the terminus of his valve harder. The opening of his port gives a weak squeeze around the girth, stretched wide open.

"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.

The intense pressure from the last two inches few was like having the head pop in times ten. Brainstorm keeps still, knees locked to help support the weight of Spinister curled over his back, vents in short huffs as the blunt head pushes into the end of his valve until it starts to stretch again, inner components shifting to make room.

It made a weird fluttery sensation in his gut and the jet makes small sounds to accompany it, condensation building against his armor. It was sort of ticklish; his abdominal armor twitches as everything shifts, his valve rippling weakly around the huge girth. Finally, Spinister bottoms out.

"Uh...huh." He doesn't even need to suggest to take it easy. Too sharp of a movement might bruise or crimp some cabling inside. Nothing life threatening, but he'd be sore. Probably will be anyway.

"Hhhnn," he groans as the length starts to slide out, the ridges catching over his nodes, making his valve ripple with the friction and building charge. His spike was half pressurized again, coaxed back to attention by the pressure and build of charge. Good thing he hadn't retracted it-- he'd need the room.

The backwards movement draws more lubricant from his valve. Spinister's cord is slick and wet with it, and the slow withdrawal causes some thick drops to roll down it to the baseplate. Brainstorm is plenty slick, keeping his lining from catching, but he's still tight enough the rim is stretched taut. Brainstorm arches his back, pressing his canopy into the hand cupping it, and curls his fingers into the floor.

With all the patience he didn't really have right now, Spinister makes himself go slow, listening to the lube splattering on the wet floor as he draws back before pushing in once again.

"Ah," he moans when he fully hilts himself once again, fingers curling against Brainstorm's cockpit, cord twitching against glowing terminal nodes and the tight clench of the valve's calipers. "Ahh..."

This wasn't going to last long. Not at all.

Might as well go all out.

There's a series of clicks and then Spinister's chest unfolds, spilling a sweltering wave of hot air, light and heavy energy pulses over Brainstorm's back plates.

The slow slide in and out was maddening. Brainstorm has half a mind to demand Spinister to go faster if he wasn't certain that "faster" might be interpreted as "pound me" and then he'd likely really regret it. The drag of the cord over his nodes was one of the only things he could think about, his mind blank except for the need building in his chest.

He's not really listening to the sound of the mech's plating parting, but the sudden intense pulse of his EM field against him and the hot light radiating against his back, reflecting off the puddles on the floor rouses Brainstorm to attention.

He's... uh, not sure what to think.

"Spinister." He blinks a few times, shifting his legs so they're better bracing the mech's knees. The warmth of the spark against his back was distracting and he flicks his wings uncertainly. "What are you doing?"

Was he supposed to open too? He was woefully ignorant of what was acceptable here.

"I don't really know," Spinister laughs, optics over-bright and voice laden with static and relief at the rush of cool air into his chest cavity.

It was mostly true: Spin had no idea what he was doing showing his spark to a mech he'd barely known for more than a few months- but it seemed like a really slagging good idea right now.

The way he presses close until the corona of his spark was humming against Brainstorm's plating suggested he's definitely done this enough times to know exactly what he was doing, however. His spark lashes pure energy across the jet's back and wings, sending static shimmering over their armor.

Spin shuts his optics off, overwhelmed and overheating and rocking his hips into Brainstorm's, thrusting harder and harder despite himself as his starts losing control.

That's not comforting at all, Spinister!

Brainstorm realizes, just maybe, the heli can't help himself and that's not really comforting at all so he keeps his own chest closed. Spinister's spark was swollen with enough charge for both of them, rubbing against the armor where his wings meet and making spiderwebs of static dance over his frame. He vents heavily, his own spark pulsing hard in it's casing, gathering with sympathetic energy from Spinister's bared one.

"F-Fraag," he whines, letting his head drop again as the rocking speeds up. Brainstorm adjusts his arms on their elbows to brace himself better, rocking forward slightly when the heavier mech slides to the base within him.

His own spike bobs with the movement, leaking a few small drops of fluid onto the ground, joining the puddle of water and lubricant between his legs. As the charge swells, his valve becomes more relaxed and open to Spinister's thrusts, squeezing as he drags out and relaxing as he pushes back in. It makes a few involuntary sounds escape the jet as his aft gets a pounding.

Slaaag, he already ached. In a good way.

"Spin." It was hard to concentrate on talking when each thrust against his ceiling node made his vocalizer short and click into cute sputtering static. "Gonna cum inside?"

The hand on Brainstorm's thigh tightens hard enough to dent.

"That-- what you want?" Spin grits out, barely able to focus anymore, his spark swelling in his chest, mind blanking each time the edges of his open chest plates brush over his partner's armor.

He rakes his fingers down Brainstorm's canopy, down to squeeze at the smaller mech's spike and using the grip to drag Brainstorm into each deep, impaling thrust. Spin could feel the little snaps of charge from Brainstorm's nodes against every sensor on his spike and he was so close so closesoclose-

Spinister cries out as his spark explodes with energy, sending wild strands of light zipping over their armor, over the water around and he arches hard, ramming into Brainstorm and holding them there. His spike swells, every ridge flaring against the walls of of his friend's valve- and he overloads deep inside the jet, transfluid pulsing hot and thick against Brainstorm's terminal nodes, filling and overfilling before spilling free from their joining.

Pain laces through Brainstorm's cabling as the armor on his thigh crumples beneath Spinister's hand and he jerks back into his friend just as the larger mech drives into him to the hilt. Spots explode in front of Brainstorm's optics as their armor shrieks against each other, leaving long trails of paint transfers over his aft and Spinster's pelvic plating. Scrapes cover his canopy from the drag of the mech's blunt fingers, and he couldn't care less.

Holy slag is that what he wants.

Overload was just out of his reach; the hand on his cord was too tight, the pounding against his ceiling node too hard, dragging him right to the cusp of it. Brainstorm could taste the energy build on his tongue, so frustratingly close, and then Spinister rams into him to he hilt and stays there, overloading hard.

"Hhnn!" the scientist practically squawks as the energy from Spinister's overload slams into him hard, crackling over his whole frame, across his turrents and wings, gathering in his spark. The fluid pumping into him batters against his nodes, hot and thick, filling him up till there was no room and his plating groans from the pressure and it only has the small gaps at his rim to force through.

His own overload hits him hard and he cries out, a few fuses blowing in him with audible pops and snaps of electricity. The lights in his workshop flicker from the surge from both of them, traveling across the water in the floor, making a few electronics spark. His own spike jumps and spurts fluid in an arc, most splattering the floor, some against his belly and oozing over the heli's hand, and his valve squeezes in rhythmic pulses around the spike flared inside him, drawing out the last few ebbs of Spinister's overload.

Shuddering hard enough to make his rotors rattle in their housing, Spinister makes a pitched, strained noise as Brainstorm's valve milks the last ebbs of transfluid from him, spark flickering and sending electric fizzles over his armor. Slowly, so slowly, he starts coming down from the sex high, tensing now and again as aftershocks run through him, feeling vaguely like all of his joints had been replaced with jelly.

He lets go of Brainstorm's spike, gently brushing a drop of fluids off of the tip. Then he gingerly peels his fingers free from the dent on Brainstorm's thigh, smoothing the bumps over and quietly assessing the damage. It was entirely superficial, but the plate would need to be taken off and hammered smooth instead of just using a dent popper on it.

Venting a shaky sigh, Spinister lets his chest plates fold closed once more before scooping Brainstorm up by his shoulders and sitting up so that the jet was on his lap, comfortably tucked against his front. He was careful not to jar the connection, but the shift of the inventor's valve around him still sent a tight pulse of pleasure up his guts, fluids shifting around.

Primus.

It'd be a little bit before the ridges on his spike flattened back down. It's a little bit that Spin uses to vengefully flick one of Brainstorm's stupid headfins.

"Not smart," the heli rasps.

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.

"H-mm." Spinister twitches when Brainstorm tries to pull away, the over-sensitive ridges shifting. He takes a moment to regather his thoughts before leveling the smaller flier with pointed look.

"Figured the pollen thing was one-off," he answers, sliding his hand down to join Brainstorm's where it was pressed against the jet's belly. His optics dim as he imagines just how deep inside he was and it makes his cord twitch involuntarily, ridges rippling.

"Also wasn't planning on banging you today," Spin points out, a little bit of static edging his tone, other hand reaching up to stroke one of the winglets on Brainstorm's chest. "It's not like I had time to plan out dick introductions."

"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.

"It's extra super not planned when there's pollen and sex bows involved."

Honestly now. Although admittedly, Spin isn't entirely sure what Brainstorm was expecting to happen when he'd been shot with the bow.

That question caught him off-guard though and Spin blinks, glancing up at his friend's face. He stays silent for a moment before shrugging.

"Nope."

Spinister doesn't really bother to elaborate more on the subject and he doesn't ask Brainstorm in return. Instead, he keeps stroking the winglet in his hand, touch turning gentle.

He definitely wasn't thinking about what happens when his sex bow works, that's for sure. There wasn't any doubt that Brainstorm enjoyed it, the mess of his array and the floor was obvious enough about that. Still, he felt a bit strange about the circumstances since Spinister pointed that stipulation out.

"Good!" That's a relief. Better to focus on more positive things.

He raises a hand, rubbing over his face. He doesn't feel bad about fragging Spinister. He hadn't bothered to frag anyone before, but if his plan worked, it wouldn't matter anyway. With their lifespan, virginity was something that wasn't exactly valued anyway. The fact that he'd managed to fool Spinister into believing he had been experienced with this so far was rather pleasing to the ego.

"Well, was it good?"

"Mmm. It was okay, I guess," Spinister says coyly, optics slanting in mischievous mirth, gently pinching Brainstorm's wingtip.

Honestly, he could kind of tell Brainstorm was new at this, but he just wasn't sure HOW new. Or if the guy was just plain awkward about things, which was also likely considering he'd just randomly dropped the 'C' question a moment ago.

Either way, he abruptly gets distracted, optics shuttering closed.

"Ah, this is gonna get messy," Spin warns quietly, shuddering as the ridges on his spike start flattening back down in a smooth, rippling wave, releasing the fluids they'd been trapping before.

A little of column A, a little of column B. Brainstorm was obviously a person who just didn't have much social interaction outside of talking about science or gloating about himself. He makes a really offended noise when Spinister doesn't compliment him though. The mech had his spike buried halfway up his belly and he won't even give him a compliment!

"I'm certain it won't be--" he starts, but then the ridges flatten, leaving his calipers to readjust, and the shiver through his valve helps ease the thick fluid out, the gush dripping stickily over his thighs and aft.

Brainstorm groans at the sensation, a flush of prickly warm washing over his frame, and he closes his eyes for a moment as the pressure starts to ease. Slowly, he starts to lift himself up on wobbly knees, leaving just the head of Spinister's spike still inside as all the trapped fluid trickles out.

"Do you always come buckets?"

"It's a normal amount for my size," Spinister says serenely, relighting his eyes and watching their combined fluids run thick rivulets down Brainstorm's stained thighs as he gently helps his friend ease off, hands on the jet's waist.

It was almost tempting to pull Brainstorm back down and do it all over again. Properly this time instead of hopped up on some kind of ridiculous aphrodisiac. With all the paint streaks to clean up and the canisters to prepare though, he didn't really have a lot of time left before Tarn would start missing him.

Instead, Spinister is left to hungrily watch the smaller flier stop with the head of his spike still buried inside him. Venting slowly, Spin squeezes Brainstorm's waist.

"I'll bring you some replacement explodey plants," he sighs, leaning in to nuzzle at the base of Brainstorm's wings.

There's an audible pop when Brainstorm rocks himself forward enough that the head pops free. That part is a little bit embarrassing, especially as the rest of the trapped fluid comes out after. Vaguely, he wonders what would happen to his frame if Spinister had fragged him again without freeing all that fluid. His internals could shift, definitely. Their bodies are kinda made for that.

Too late to find out now though.

"Wonderful, considering the last one exploded. Consider the canisters as payment for being a good sport."

Brainstorm is a bit sulky that he lost the fire flower crystal. And his lab is a disaster area. He sighs and rolls off Spinister's lap, sprawling on the floor just to the side of the mess they made and flops an arm over his face.

After a moment, he moves it.

"Do you want this to be a regular thing? You get me stuff, I give you a shower, energon, maybe a frag. You do have that enormous baby to take care of though."

Once Brainstorm was off of his lap, Spin slowly eases off of his knees and onto his feet, taking a moment to brace he hands against his thighs. Heck but that bow really packed a punch. Getting up right now might not be a terribly good idea but, again, there was the issue of time limits.

Cycling a deep breath, he eventually straightens up and gently tucks his cord away with a little wince, letting his pelvic armor slide shut. It's only then that he turns back to Brainstorm, flipping a rag from one of his compartments.

"Honestly, I was visiting you just because I wanted to hang out," he says as a matter-of-factly. "And to steal your shower. But if you want that kind of an arrangement, I'd be pretty happy with it. There's some neat stuff in the wastes."