"WHAT?!"
@suckmybearings
He exvented when his subverted connection was abruptly cut from the ship's communication channel; an alert of failure flashed across his HUD when he attempted to call back. With a fissure of annoyance, the Wrecker knocked hard against the underbelly a two more times, and then continued to knock as he started walking to the front of the ship. "C'mon, hoss," Wheeljack coaxed in a loud, taunting voice, banging his fist against the steel hull with every step he took. "You're one of my girls, too. I got somethin' y'a need." As he rounded to the front and positioned himself to be seen, full-view, through the ship's windscreen, he reached down and unholstered the grenade from his hip.
"And one way or another, I'm comin' in."
The floor is at least somewhat cool, though it is rapidly heating up as it absorbs the excess off of his frame.
He's already tried the washrack, turning the flow of solvent off in favor of straight water (from the outdoor hookup), as cold as it would go. It felt nice while he was in there, but the second he stepped out, things just got hot all over again. And somehow, it just seems to be getting worse.
The unnatural revving of internal processes has transcended from profoundly needy to painful. Everything hurts, everything throbs -- Primus, even his dermal layer is aching. A breath of breeze feels like sandpaper against the Seekers extremely raw external sensors, and for a while he deeply considers trying to get to the hospital.
That thought is quickly dismissed. What is he supposed to tell them? That something in his head BROKE and he's so horny that it can't even be classified as "horny" anymore and he feels like he's going to have a fuel pump failure and a brain aneurysm all at once?
And what the FUCK is that noise?
"The intruder is still outside, captain," the Sky Claw's AI informs him.
Wheeljack. The rat bastard is outside, pounding on the underbelly of the ship.
Dreadwing groans.
"Captain," it repeats. "The intruder appears to be brandishing an explosive."
He's what. That gets his attention.
Despite his intense desire to just stay on the floor until he dies, the Seeker forces himself to his feet and lurches up towards the cockpit. It takes him four tries to type in the correct code (his hands are shaking something terrible) to unlock the port side quick-access door panel, but when he hears it click and hiss a bit, Dreadwing slams the hatch open, making it rattle on its tracks.
The ladder rungs, normally tucked seamlessly into the ships paneling, pop out when the door is opened.
"WHAT?!"
It's probably the most horrid and aggressive he has ever sounded.
"Wheeljack, if you are stupid enough to even think about setting that off, reconsider. I have enough explosive material in here to level this entire yard and half of the slagging space port across the street. Now, go away."
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"It is. Come on."
Dreadwing turns and leads Ghost through his ship, going up into the living area of the Sky Claw. There, he comes to a... wall. Simple, nondescript ship metal. He types a code into a small pad off to the side and the wall reveals itself to actually be a door -- Dreadwing's sleeping quarters are a small hidden room, recessed into the hallway. That makes it hard to find should he be boarded while asleep.
The room itself is tall enough for him to stand up in, but not much more, with the large, plush berth ahead maybe two good sized steps. Well, there is a berth, absolutely, but it's underneath a proper Seeker's nest.
"Here we are."
He groaned into the kiss, eagerly tilting his hips up into his touch. Relaxing into him before following him up.
"Berth would be a good place for a frag."
Cybertronian sex toys must go crazy
False spikes that expand every time a bot overloads making it impossible for them to clench around it properly and leaving them absolutely gaping by the end
Fake panels designed to vibrate and stop keeping the wearer constantly edged through out the day
Magnets that connect to each node inside a valve, stimulating them individually and in different ways and rhythms
Ballbearings that have been magnetised in different ways so they’re constantly shifting inside a valve
A matching set of a false spike and valve that can be connected to specific bot spike or valve so partners can interface not matter the distance
Vibrators that are made specifically for a bots spike sheath that keep the spike from extending as well as keeping unbearably it stimulated
He can do that. Dreadwing will never be the roughest or hardest of tops, but he can do firm. He can give this mech what he wants. At least, mostly.
Purring softly, he strokes the plush lips of Ghost's valve, only to take his hand away and pick him up. But he remembers the warning about his back, and sets the hunter down on the berth gently.
And slowly, he kisses his way down Ghostspire's body. Both hands palm along the insides of his thighs, and finally, he teases the mech's node with his glossa.
"Better?"
He grinned, letting his panel slide back and rocking into Dreadwings servo. His valve was soft, not quiet wet enough for a spike yet though.
"I want to be pinned down, bitten, mechhandled and fragged until I can't think." He growled, claws raking down Dreadwings arms again. He could do soft, yes, but it wasn't always what he wanted. When he fragged he wanted to forget everything but the heat and the feel of the other against him.
Leaning close and nipping the edge of an audial with a purr.
"If you think you can handle that, Dreadwing~"
praising / being praised
Definitely not | No | Not Really | Its Okay | Kinda | Yes | Fuck yes |There goes my pants | Bonus: Giving | Receiving | Both
Praise also has its place! He doesn't get off on it, per se, but being told one is doing their job well is always nice, isn't it?
Which do you prefer, Dreadwing - topping or bottoming?
Sigh.
"I... prefer to "top", most of the time. But I am not adverse to the opposite if it is what my partner wants. Sometimes it is nice to lie back and just enjoy."
"I certainly wouldn't mind resting my legs on those cheek guards."
"Then get over here, girl."
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