WELCOME TO THE THUNDERDOME

The pause is brief as bright scarlet stares into intense Caribbean blue. The lowering of the helm isn't exactly submission -- Wheeljack doesn't submit -- and instead it serves as a warning, like a bull brandishing its horns.

But, he did as Dreadwing asked.

The Seeker turns away, removing himself from the white grounder's personal space without further incident. He even avoids smacking the other with his wing tip as he goes, instead tucking it down just the tiniest of breaths in order to do so (shush, Wrecker, you saw nothing -- Dreadwing is infamous for his mute, stone-still wings).

Sighing, he returns to the lawn chair sitting at the bottom of the Sky Claw's cargo ramp.

'.. Pardon?'

The question echoed throughout his helm as he stared with widened azure optics, naked bewilderment painted over his features.

His flared optic ridges gradually furrowed and his gaze searched the mech's golden fascia and crimson optics, trying to ascertain where this sudden urgency was coming from.

He lowered his helm a little, glowering at the Seeker from under his crest.

".. Pretty sure 'say my name' is my line," he said, his voice lowering into a rumbling timbre of further warning—

"—Dreadwing."

Dreadwing very much likes knowing when a partner is enjoying his touch, and sound is a relatively reliable source of information. But not on it's own. The body has tells as well, with how it moves, and Ghost isn't being secretive. The gripping of sheets, the feeling of strong heavy legs around his frame... claws at his helm.

The Seeker pulls back to give the hunter's node a kiss, only to bite the top of one of his thighs -- enough to pinch, but not enough to draw blood.

"Lovely view," he murmurs, licking the spot his teeth scraped.

His helm fell back and he moaned, low and long as thighs twitch and legs curled around the seeker. Arching and pressing more onto his glossa, claws twisting into the sheets and shivering. It had been awhile since anyone had bothered (or since he let anyone) to pay close attention to his valve.

His valve quickly became slick under Dreadwings glossa, clenching eagerly around him and shivering. He felt good, finding nodes that didn't get touched often. One servo reached up and grabbed the Seekers helm, lightly clawing the back of it as he shuddered and moaned.

The Seeker leans back a little, watching the little ornament suddenly get up and onto the table. Daringly, after Rung has sat down, Dreadwing runs the clawtips of one hand along the top of one of his thighs.

"I find this an agreeable trade. But, first..."

His free hand lifts, and a talon gently brushes the other's jaw, tempting him to lift his chin so that Dreadwing can lean in for a proper soft kiss.

{ @sin-cxde }

"... do you want to find out what equipment I have?"

That’s all the prompting Rung needs to go from sitting at the table to climbing up on top of it, carefully shifting around so he can sit on the edge in front of Dreadwing and smile up at him.

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

And, dutifully, the big Seeker began to walk beside the femme, his footsteps heavy and measured.

They wind in and out of the crowd. Most of the others are drunk out of their minds, or altered by some other choice substances. It is customary for celebrations such as these.

Fireworks explode overhead, and Dreadwing flinches despite himself. He hasn't built a bomb since his last build exploded practically in his face, and though he won't admit it, he is nervous.

"I think we can dine and wine elsewhere," the Seeker rumbles. "Where are you staying? I can order us something for delivery."

She hummed, her smile widening a little as she felt his servo wrap around hers. It almost made her giggle just how much of a difference there was between their sizes - though, at the same time, other thoughts swirled through her processor that had her faceplates warming up.

Her doorwings fluttered in delight as he agreed, and she gave his servo a squeeze, "The pleasure is all mine, Dreadwing." She gave him a light tug as she started to walk, "I have to say, I'm thanking Primus for sending you - not sure how much longer I could stand being here on my own."

She laughed softly and looked up to him, giving a wink, "Now, would you like to wine and dine at the festival, or should we head out to enjoy more... private entertainment?"

Send in Kinks and My muse will rate them.

Definitely not | No | Not Really | Its Okay | Kinda | Yes | Fuck yes |There goes my pants |

Bonus: Giving | Receiving | Both

👀 + “I’ve thought about running my servos over your frame and admiring you. I’ve also thought about having you loom over me while you thrust into me or maybe even me riding you like my life depends on it. But those thoughts will stay fantasy since we admittedly aren’t very familiar yet. I’m not the most patient fireball, but I’ll try to be.”

send 👀 + a dirty thought and/or fantasy your muse has had about mine. let's see how my muse responds.

"Patience is a virtue, they say. It makes achieving one's goals that much sweeter."

Dreadwing can't help the soft, heady moan that leaves his lips the moment her mouth touches him. He'd be lying if he was not a bit overly excited, having been eagerly anticipating this. Air Razor is oh-so talented, too...

Fluid bubbles up and dribbles down from his tip, sliding down the ridged length of his shaft as she works.

He groans, helm dropping back. "Ah... please..."

" Why I'd be absolutely thrilled if you did love. Now~" She nibbles him, starting to follow the path of her servo with her mouth. Sinking to her knees as she nips, kissed and teases at the seams of his armor.

Nuzzling over his hip with little bites," Open up dearspark. I very much want a piece of you." Optics glimmering with desire.

I can’t let motherfuckers know I got desires or they’ll think I suck

@air-razor

It has been a lovely, quiet evening.

Air Razor had cooked something that was, as always, the best thing Dreadwing had ever tasted bar none. She was like magic in his little kitchen -- ingredients went in, and mouth-watering, delicious delicacies came out via what the Seeker could only assume was witchcraft.

Dinner, wine, and a couple of movies have gone by, seeing both of them comfortably reclined on the deep sofa he keeps in the cargo bay. Dreadwing has created a little entertainment area, with a vidscreen, a nice soft couch built for two, maybe three mechs his size, and soft lighting. It is getting a bit late, though neither he nor the falcon seem to mind.

Is this what being happy is like?

Dreadwing thrums and picks up one of her hands, gently kissing her knuckles absently.

Dreadwing thrums and watches him, going willingly where Ghost wants him. He settles back and squirms to get comfortable, spreading thick thighs around the dark mech's frame. Not much into being coy, he opens both of his panels, giving Ghostspire a choice between valve and spike. Both are similarly colored in blue, yellow, and silver with red biolights.

"I remain a bit less than fully pressurized. Might you help with that?"

He sighed softly, arching happily into the mechs touch. Panel slid back easily, white biolights and white node flashing a moment before dimming. Loud purr low in his chassis, stretching out more and sighing softly.

"If your offering, i'd love a taste." He purred, shifting to run sharp claws over the parts of his frame he could reach. Plating cool to the touch, small holes in the metal making the plating textured.

"Wanna see how talented?"