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[fingerdickfootjobs]

One of the things Minimus had taken for granted about the Magnus armour was that it blocked his heats. There was no point in having the Duly Appointed Enforcer of the Tyrest Accord out of commission, and potentially revealing his identity, for interfacing. Ultra Magnus had a job to do. And Minimus couldn't say he missed having several days of feeling sticky and overheated to deal with on top of the war - let alone the awkwardness of someone helping him with it, and facing them afterward.

But he was no longer single, recent development though it was. He was dating a surprisingly good mech for him, who was more considerate of his quirks than most of his previous partners had been, and he was happy in the arrangement as well, and his finger was hovering over the com in a frankly foolish manner as he stalled.

"Hello?" Megatron didn't seem particularly aroused over the phone, but then Minimus wasn't the best judge of tone. His valve certainly found his voice arousing, giving another insistent throb that tested his resolve not to finger himself while on the phone with his partner without prior discussion first.

"... Magnus? I can hear you venting." Now he sounded worried.

"I -- yes," he said, realising he'd paused too long.

"Minimus," Megatron corrected himself. "Are you ill?"

"No," he said, but then reconsidered: did a heat count as an illness? "I'm not sure."

There was a pause from Megatron, before he said, "I'll bring Ratchet to you."

"No." He didn't want that. "No it's not that it's that I'm --" He couldn't say it. "I'm in -- I'm --" This was frustrating. He didn't have the concentration for this right now. At some point his hand had found his valve cover and was tracing it in a really lovely manner... so close...

"I'm getting Ratchet."

He focused again, shocked back to the present. "No, there's really no need for that. Just, would you be able to come to my quarters? I'm in--" Frustrating. "I'm in h-" He did need to tell him before he got here, this wasn't a fair thing to spring on someone without warning.

"Heat?" guessed Megatron, his voice hard to read although highly arousing.

He nodded gratefully for a moment before remembering that of course he couldn't see him and saying "Yes, that."

There was a pause then, which again he didn't know how to interpret. Was this too sudden of him? Perhaps he should have been taking more care to keep track of his cycle.. was this even in line with his previous cycle? He didn't know. If he found a calendar then maybe.. His valve cover tried to force itself open only for him to send a manual override. It tried again, he sent the override again.

"Minimus? Did you hear me?"

He hadn't. He cleared his throat, sending the override again. "Ah no, sorry, do you mind repeating that?"

"I said I'll be there soon: will you be alright till I get there?"

It was relentless: his valve tried to open again, sending a gush of lubricant down his leg before he sent the override again. "--I might be."

"Use your hands till I get there," Megatron said, "Or use the -- " and then he broke off into a very un-Megatron-like squawk, which would have doubtless puzzled him more if he hadn't been busy revelling in finally getting his hand onto his valve or the shock of the oddly freezing air. "I have to go. I'll see you shortly." Then he ended the call, not waiting for a reply.

Minimus couldn't find it in himself to care, except that he missed his voice. The air in his room had been set to the lowest temperature setting within healthy limits to counteract his overhot frame, and now it hit the wet lining of his valve as a shock, only broken by his hot hands - only hot from the heat - as his fingers were dipping down into his valve finally easing some of the aching emptiness.

He let out a moan as he pulled at the folds of his valve, imitating the stretch of a spike, however poorly, while his thumb slipped near the top to slide across his node for more stimulation. He could feel his charge building up, the static shocking him occasionally when the berth accidentally caught the current.

He rolled to the side, fingers trying to curl and to push deeper while his other hand ghosted over the edge of his spike.

[... more masturbating? ...]

He startled slightly at the sound of the door and the flash of the light from the hall before Megatron blocked it walking through he door and it closed again. He pulled up onto one elbow, his hand coming out of his valve due to the angle leaving him feeling empty and strangely cold, but Megatron wasted no time crossing the room and pulling him up against his chest, and he was almost distracted from the sensation by how much better he smelled than usual and how much more interesting the bold, strong plating seemed.

The half-hearted objections to being "handled" never even formed and just enjoyed the cool, solid weight of Megatron's arms against his back as he curved against his chest.

"Primus, Minimus," said Megatron, close to Minimus' ear, his fans kicking into higher gear, audible over the sound of Minimus' own. Now he definitely sounded aroused: his voice lower and rougher than usual.

He angled his head for a kiss Megatron was only to happy to provide, keeping balance with his hands on Megatron's much larger chest.

His valve twitched, as though unhappy to be ignored after coming so close, and his body twitched with it. Megatron shifted his arms somewhat, still continuing the kiss. His tongue slipped out against Minimus' mouth, and his legs started opening as if on their own, looking for friction but only bucking rather awkwardly against Megatron's chest.

Megatron shifted his arms again, and Minimus was already regretting the loss of contact when one of his legs was pulled up to wrap around Megatron's middle, and he could feel his hand back against his aft and then at the lower edge of his valve he felt something rounded and cool tease its way inside. How he had never paid attention to how very big Megatron's hand were he didn't know, but he could feel him hit nodes and tease callipers he'd been unable to reach with his own hands.

"Is this better?" Megatron asked against his lips, and he could feel his voice reverberate against his faceplates.

"Much," he said, with relief, kissing him again.

His charge kept building, higher than he was used to. They broke off the kiss briefly with a small spark of static, which crackled along his face, so that he wrinkled his nose and shuttered his optics reflexively.

The static cleared and he was able to look up into Megatron's face again. He was smiling the smile that was so distracting during shifts, seeming so satisfied and ... amused?

Before he could ask what was amusing, Megatron moved the hand that was against his back up to his face, and straightened his moustache, and then kissed his nose, before pressing their foreheads together and slipping another finger into Minimus's valve. He almost didn't hear the click as Megatron's panel opened as his finger touched a new node and the charge sent him into a staticky overload.

[fingerdickfootjobs]

WIP

"Come here! I need to show you something -- it's almost ready!"

The words cut through Whirl's usual beaming at the sound of his lover's cute hissing voice and he craned his neck around with interest, trying to see what he was holding out of sight. Had he known that dating a weapons maker would mean so many free and fantastic upgrades he'd have made a few more serious passes at Brainstorm.

"Oh? And what surprise does my fuzzylumpkin have for me? Is it *naughty*?" he teased, softly butting his head up against Tarantulas' shoulder in what passed for kissing from him, given his lack of a mouth, when his neck craning didn't yield the desired results.

Tarantulas turned and nuzzled the top of his head, mandibles softly ghosting across the metal as he made more of those adorable cooing sounds that Whirl loved to tease out of him. Briefly he was distracted by how *soft* Tarantulas was and he relaxed against him involuntarily as the mandibles brushed against the crest of his helm.

Optic narrowing, he looked back up at him. "You're just trying to distract me."

"Maybe I am." Tarantulas' optic band was lit up in a way that seemed a bit too smug. "Maybe it's a surprise."

"Give me a hint!" He reached out with a claw, snagging one of his partner's altmode legs and guiding it to his right canon - somewhat too slow to seem properly playful perhaps, but they weren't like actual arms, and the last thing he wanted was... he shook his head to rid it of the crunching sound.

He was gearing up his vocaliser again when Tarantulas brushed across the opening of the canon with his foot -- and that wasn't supposed to be sensitive but then it also didn't come into contact with anything so soft. "No, not these -- I like these the way you have them, Whirl." There was a pedipalp on his antenna -- he'd never get enough of how Tarantulas said his name.

He shoved his face into his shoulder again. "What *is* it?"

"It's a surp--" a little chime rang out from a near corner of their modified suite and he stood up straighter, pulling Whirl up against him as he did so. "They're ready!"

Whirl found himself pulled across the floor crushed up against Tarantulas side hard enough he could feel the hard armour under his fluff. After a few scraping attempts to walk with him in the awkward position he decided it wasn't worth the bother or the repainting and looped his legs up to hook over one of Tarantulas' lower legs, and was rewarded with a delighted chirr of pleasure and another nuzzle of mandibles against the top of his head. It was strange but oddly liberating not to be held up by his own legs or wings.

He only noticed he'd closed his eye when Tarantulas put him down and turned him around to a steaming tank, with a little light blinking on and off evenly on the side of the lid, excitedly rubbing his forelimbs together in the way that signalled he was trying very hard not to touch. He looked over at him -- Whirl rarely saw him this giddy -- beamed and tickled at the fins on each side of his head with his pedipalps before nodding at the tank, and pushing a button, revealing what was inside.

It may have been years since his own had been artistry, but Whirl knew craftsmanship. The blue was perfectly matched to his own, each joint of each finger clearly meticulously crafted.

He reached out to touch them gently, reverently, with one claw, almost feeling the ghostly sensation of a flexible palm and sensitive fingers as he looked at them before jerking his claw back as he felt the echoes of crunching and slicing just as strongly -- he couldn't do that to these.