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Who: Brainstorm & Spin
What: Brainstorm works on a horny bow
When: Over time after sex pollen
Where: HIS WORKSHOP
Warnings: regrets and a cupid's bow
Never teach Brainstorm that something can be an effective distraction or deterrant, because he'll find a way to turn it into a weapon.
Unfortunately, that's exactly what happened in the aftermath of the pollen. After seeing half the planet incompacitated by their own interface protocols, it gave him a few ideas for a new concept.
Brainstorm hangs upside down from the ceiling of his workshop, gently running his fingers over the lightstring connecting one limb of the bow in his hands to the other, testing to make sure it responded to his touch. That part was easy -- it's not like he hasn't used lightstring before -- but the actually affects of the ammo was still a work in progress.
What: Brainstorm works on a horny bow
When: Over time after sex pollen
Where: HIS WORKSHOP
Warnings: regrets and a cupid's bow
Never teach Brainstorm that something can be an effective distraction or deterrant, because he'll find a way to turn it into a weapon.
Unfortunately, that's exactly what happened in the aftermath of the pollen. After seeing half the planet incompacitated by their own interface protocols, it gave him a few ideas for a new concept.
Brainstorm hangs upside down from the ceiling of his workshop, gently running his fingers over the lightstring connecting one limb of the bow in his hands to the other, testing to make sure it responded to his touch. That part was easy -- it's not like he hasn't used lightstring before -- but the actually affects of the ammo was still a work in progress.
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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.
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"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.
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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.
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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.
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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?"
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"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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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"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."
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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.
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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.
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"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?"
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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.
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"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?"
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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.
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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."
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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."
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"If you're just going to keep giving me things for free then nevermind."
He also was never one to turn down free stuff.
Brainstorm lets his cord retract into its housing, but his covers dont slide into place yet. He still kind of felt like all his limbs had turned to jelly and transfluid was still leaking from the mouth of his valve.
He really did need a shower.
"Anyway, help yourself, but you're not going anywhere until you help repaint my aft."
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Eventually, Spin gives up trying to go anywhere and gently sits down next to Brainstorm, venting a long sigh of relief once his weight was off his feet again. He folds the rag in his hands and turns to his friend, getting to work wiping some of their fluids off of the smaller fellow's armor.
"Yeah, yeah, you'll be spotless by the time I'm done, don't worry."
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How does it feel to be Brainstorm's selected guinea pig, Spinister?
The jet makes a few huffy sounds when Spinister moves to clean him up. He could bathe himself, he was just... He was just resting and gathering his strength, that's all. Despite all the noise he doesn't move to stop Spinister from wiping some of the fluid away from the armor. Instead, he folds his arms behind his head.
"Aside from being an all around genius and weapon expert, sometimes I do have a few of my own personal projects. Besides, it would decently stop an enemy in their tracks. Make love not war."
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Spin thinks about Tarn having sex. He makes a face. Then he bundles Brainstorm up and starts fussing over the smaller specs of fluids on his armor.
Really now Brainstorm, you didn't really know what you were getting into when you asked Spinister to help repaint you, did you?
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"If I ever shot him it would be so I could fly away while he combusts. I heard enough about him at that party."
Sometimes, he wishes he could selectively delete some memories. Such as that one.
"How much longer are you staying?"
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He tosses the saturated rag aside before taking an other out and getting to work on Brainstorm's belly. It's going to be a good hour of cleaning and and scrapping off paint transfers and popping dents at the very least.
Brainstorm's going to look fresher than the day he'd stepped off the conveyor belt by the end of it.
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Once he's sufficiently clean and paint scraped and repainted, he works on helping Spinister with his own cleaning and filling the canister. By the time the heli leaves he'd be-- well, not as fresh as Brainstorm was, but enough to take care of all the paint transfers they can find.
Brainstorm will be a bit paranoid about missing some for a few days.