Dreadwing Can't Help The Soft, Heady Moan That Leaves His Lips The Moment Her Mouth Touches Him. He'd

Hey I spoke to my therapist and he said getting fucked so hard I can't think the bad thoughts anymore is actually part of my treatment plan so I'd really appreciate it if you could accommodate that and just bend me over whenever thanks 💕

[M!A]Was it a virus? A corrupted data packet triggering a glitch? A public software update / upgrade that'd been maliciously coded with petro-rabbit protocols? You've already heard about it across the datanet that something is spreading through the community; something that is causing your colleagues, your brethren, and even your enemies to become… vigorously amorous. You think that you got your firewalls up in time, but… what is this warmth building in your seams? [Heat Cycle M!A] [You must seek out a minimum three (3) partners to alleviate your symptoms to a manageable level.] M!A: Muse has started a week-long heat cycle! If already afflicted with a heat cycle, muse will ALSO orgasm every time someone says their name during the heat cycle.

A warning pops up on his HUD, telling of a viral strain he's not been given coding for.

Oh well. That isn't unusual. Every time he enters a new universe, he inevitably ends up in the hospital because he catches every single horrid flu they ever had. It's just ...

This isn't a new universe. Dreadwing has been coming and going for a while.

Meh.

It's probably just a cold.

// yall are thirsty

I love it

Hmm, clearly.

PANTS.

Anonymously (or not) send sexual fantasies your muse has had about mine 💣🧡💦

...pretty accurate.

@ghostlyvisage

A low, happy purr from the flightless seeker as armor flairs out and rattles quietly. "If your willing to give it.. a taste of your spike and a nice, hard frag..." Returning the nip as claws trace along his frame. "Think you'll be able to indulge me?"

One big bear paw of a hand lifts and gently, very gently runs over Ghost's back, playing lightly with seams.

"If that is what you want, I can give it. "

Orgasm denial. Orgasm anger. Orgasm bargaining. Orgasm depression and orgasm acceptance.

Anonymously (or not) send sexual fantasies your muse has had about mine 💣🧡💦

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