S P I K E //Alphabet Meme (No Pressure To Write All)
S P I K E //Alphabet meme (No pressure to write all)
S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)
Dreadwing's stamina is good especially for his age. He is no spring chicken anymore, it's true, but he can still often keep up with the shenanigans of most younger mechs. Though, he has far more stam when he's topping and using his spike. He tends to come unraveled far more easily when he's using his valve, as he doesn't do it much.
I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)
Intimacy is just as important or more so even than sex itself. He can go without interface just fine, but if there is no intimate connection to his partner, his interest very quickly wanes. Dreadwing is fine with one-night stands, but in the long run, he vastly prefers emotional connection.
K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)
He doesn't have too many kinks, but one would be that he very much does enjoy threesomes and group sex, though more than four including himself and he starts getting uncomfortable.
E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)
In terms of what he knows, Dreadwing is very experienced. Tactile, fingering, mouth, general penetrative interfacing in common positions -- he's been doing that for ages and has worked hard to be good at it (like everything he tries to do). But kink and heading farther south than french vanilla territory and his knowledge quickly becomes very limited.
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Can't sleep the clowns will eat him.
MORE SPIKES AND VALVES HELL YEAH
The knots continue on. I assume the knot inflates through energon being pumped straight into it through the fuel lines. I'll maybe draw it in its regular form at some point. Whenever that will be I blame bad dragon for the knot idea, but also thanking them for pushing my spike and valve designs. Alien genitals gotta look weird
He’s out of options. Everything is too hot and too much, and he knows how to make it all stop.
::Idk who this is but free sex. I’m offering. Just. I’m gonna explode. Interface. Now.::
And lo, it has happened. The weirdest comm. call Dreadwing has ever gotten.
It takes him several seconds to even come up with a response, given he's not doing especially well either.
:: ... Excuse me? ::
Smash or Pass Optimus big mech? Smash or Pass Me~ for that matter
"...Based on political leanings, pass on the Prime. Based on looks? ... 50/50."
"And you? You are cute, but I do not know you."
It’s a lazy, golden haze of an early morning. The sort of morning where lounging in bed doing next to nothing is only made better by sharing it with someone else. Rung’s glasses have been forgotten on the nearby table, but he’s shifted from recharging against your side to straddling your undercarriage, thighs pushed wide apart around your far larger frame.
His servos are warm from being held in yours, and careful, too, as they trace along seams and parting lines.
When he stretches up for a kiss, his bared valve rubs against your armor with a wet squeak that makes him laugh and shift back to lick at the smear he’s left behind.
“I’ll fix it,” Rung promises, servos wandering lower to caress your hip-joints, your modesty plating, as he ends up between your legs, sea-green optics glowing. “You just relax, brightspark. You do so much already.”
It was... such a good night.
Dreadwing has taken his time with Rung. There has been no hurry. It is true that the blue and gold Seeker comes and goes, and there is always the chance that he may come across some obstacle in the multiverse that that he cannot overcome. But, in his opinion, that maybe was never worth rushing things.
The little orange mech has his family -- his support system. He has Megatron and Elegy and countless other close ties and friends. If anything were to happen to Dreadwing, Rung would be okay. He never doubts this.
So... he has allowed himself this comfort.
As is his nature, Dreadwing had lavished Rung in attention. Helm to pede, he'd smothered him in touches and love, and had received the same -- they're both service partners in their own way. But it was nice. They had spent the night tangled together, giving and taking in equal measures until the lines blurred and neither of them knew which way was up. All they could do was feel.
And then they rested, until the soft purple-blue of dawn stains the sky and casts the room in a balmy, inky light.
Unlike Rung, Dreadwing has no removable privacy panels; his retract, slotting away with a thought, so the concept of leaving one's underwear off (as it were) is foreign to him. Thus, the wet squeak catches him off guard, forcing a chortle from his frame.
He will be stealing that kiss regardless.
"There is nothing to fix," the Seeker rumbles in his deep timbre, optics low, like a wine dark sea.
"Good morning."
@sparkchamber
I can’t let motherfuckers know I got desires or they’ll think I suck
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