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“You ever fragged yet?” Impactor asked one cycle, when both of them were at their closet-like cubicle of a recharge station. They had the same off shift, schedules matched as part of D-16’s training period. His designated working station was in the deepest parts of Kaon’s sprawling mining operations, where most of the workers were nameless empties like him: they needed someone to show them how to do it, even in their Primus-given function.
It seemed that Impactor was ready to teach him about more than that, though.
“No,” D-16 answered truthfully, and he turned on his recharge slab to stare at Impactor with bright, curious optics. Interfacing was one of those things he knew about without anyone ever having explained it to him. He hadn’t known that sometimes it was called fragging, though, before someone in the crew had laughed and told him. There were a great many things like that which the lexicon he’d been onlined with didn’t cover, so he was doing his best to learn from his new friends.
Impactor cracked a cocky grin and braced his hands—or hand and drill unit—on his hips, which he arranged at an angle. “What say I show you how it’s done, then?” he asked, with a curious kind of half-lidded look that D-16 could feel drag across his armor.
“Hmm,” he hummed as smoothly as he could in his rasping voice and turned all the way so he could sit up and consider his roommate. “I dunno, are you so good as to be teaching someone?” This too was something he’d learned here in the mine shafts, following Impactor’s example. With fellow miners, you were supposed to be playful, like this, but stand your ground. With foremechs though, you’d just nod and obey.
“Cheeky bugger, eh?” Impactor just grinned wider and punched D-16’s caution-taped pauldron without real heat. D-16 chortled back at him, and caught the offending hand with his own.
“Eh, sure, let’s do it,” D-16 said now, tilting his helm as he observed Impactor’s face and frame language. He knew that interface was bots swapping transfluid one way or another, and that it was supposed to feel good, and be good for your health, the same way he knew that Cybertron had two moons—though he’d only ever seen the one, and briefly at that.
That was to say, he knew about it, but he didn’t know interfacing, not really. There was always a whole lot his inbuilt databanks lacked on basically any subject. That’s what the nursery bot had said at the newbuild redirection clinic, too: that was why he was ‘empty’.
Impactor’s engine was running on idle, an inviting rumble that by now felt familiar from working side-by-side with him. He pulled on D-16’s wrist, encouraging him to get on his pedes so they ended up chest-to-chest. Impactor’s rough hand slid around D-16’s waist, thumb rubbing the small of his back as other digits hooked on the smooth fairing of his pelvic girdle. He had to angle his face upwards as D-16 was about a head taller, but it did nothing to dampen the smugness of his EM field. D-16 matched him with a downwards stare of attentive red optics, clawed hands finding holds on the rough-hewn armor of Impactor’s middle.
“Since it’s yer first time, you can just sit back and relax. I’ll spike, show you a good time.” D-16 cocked a slightly doubtful brow ridge at Impactor’s self-assured boast, which invited the drill-mech to push up on his pedetips to mash their faceplates together.
Ah, D-16 knew of this, too: kissing. He met Impactor’s lip plates with his own, observing the tactile sensations with keen interest. Surprisingly smooth metal, warm, rubbed against D-16’s plating, moving in a way that seemed to invite more… D-16 bent lower to make the contact more firm and felt Impactor’s glossa dart out to feel at his lower lip.
It wasn’t bad.
D-16 could have stayed entertained a good while with just the kissing part, but Impactor’s hand groped his aft area in a way he figured meant the mech wanted something else already. He nipped Impactor’s lower lip carefully with his sharp dentae as he made to break their contact. It made the mech laugh, and D-16 smiled just a little bit proudly at that.
“Better watch yer dentae until you know what yer doing,” Impactor warned him with that same half-lidded look that D-16’s social protocols took to mean he wasn’t very serious about it. His EM field was unchangingly eager as well, the vague buzz of all his sensors directed towards D-16. Such keen scrutiny, the eager interest, felt nice.
Just to prove he could watch his dentae just fine, he ghosted his open intake over Impactor’s heavily shielded audial, glossa dipping out to taste his plating as the sharp angles of his fangs scraped lightly on living metal. …He was pretty sure he hadn’t imagined the small shudder that flitted down Impactor’s spinal strut, and he smirked at the mech as he angled his jaw up.
Impactor grabbed his jaw in a strong grip, mock-growling his engine, fanged grin mirroring D-16’s. “Cheeky bugger, alright. I’ll give you what for… Get on yer knees, now: that way’s the easiest to reach.”
D-16 rolled his motor briefly in assent, and after a little lick at the digits on his face, descended on his knees on the floor. There wasn’t enough space between their recharge slabs for him to comfortably go on all fours, so he braced his elbows and the curve of his upper body on his berth, looking back over his shoulder at Impactor, who was settling behind him.
Impactor kneeled as well, drill unit braced on D-16’s aft. He was looking up and down D-16 chassis, again, evaluating…no: appreciating. Warm digits now slid between D-16’s thighs, cupping his interface hatch and rubbing at the seams. D-16’s fans pushed out a huff of heated air, and he squirmed, but slow, so Impactor wouldn’t remove his hand.
“Doin’ fine?” Impactor asked in a rather chipper tone, and D-16 twisted to throw him a glance.
“Yeah,” he said, contemplating the sensations and how he felt about them. Impactor’s touch was warm and sure, not too fiddly, though not painful either: it didn’t insist too much at all. “Not bad,” he admitted.
Impactor barked a laugh and D-16 could feel his grin in his EM-field. “Well, open up and I’ll show you good,” he said. D-16 grinned too, and then focused to find the commands to control his modesty plating.
“Hm,” he grunted quietly as he triggered the partial transformation that made little parts of armor unlatch and slide aside. Air, and Impactor’s warm ex-vents, hit his sensitive array and he felt the flutter it caused in the softest part of his chassis.
“Nice,” Impactor said, sounding awfully sincere: that somehow made D-16’s internal temperature spike slightly. He grunted again and shifted unintentionally, weight moving from one spread knee to the other, feeling something a lot…wetter and blunter than he’d expected, on his valve.
Impactor pulled back as D-16 turned to look once more, and he was licking his lip plates. …D-16 hadn’t known you could do that. “What’s that look?” Impactor laughed at him, holding onto his aft with both arms. “You look like when you found out you had a pickaxe subfunction inbuilt in yer left arm.” D-16 purged an offended gust of air through his vents, smiling slightly despite himself. It was normal for newsparks to be curious: Terminus had said that too. He was very knowledgeable, being the oldest D-series mech in the Kaon mine complex.
“I’m just gonna lick yer valve a bit, see, make sure you’re good and ready, yeh?” Impactor said, still with the smile and the warm EM field. D-16 nodded. It hadn’t hurt, just…surprised him. It was a weird feeling. But then, Impactor had a drill and the same claws for digits as he did…those probably wouldn’t feel awfully nice on sensor-laden rubber, if he was checking the feel of things. So it actually made a lot of sense, if he thought about it.
Bots of their frame type were all equipped with talons you could dig through rock and mineral and even Cybertron’s natural sheet metal, while their glossae were just as blunt and slick as any bot’s, even if housed behind pointed fangs. (Those were for nibbling on energon crystals in emergencies, when stranded without liquid fuel, Terminus had told D-16. Just like they all had red optics to spare energy when lighting the dark.)
“Okay. I’m good,” D-16 said and turned back to face the wall, bracing his knees more securely. Impactor hummed happily behind him, and ducked down again. D-16 felt the warm mouth parts on his valve again: when he knew to expect it, it was… Not bad. In any case Impactor was still so sure of himself, didn’t hesitate, and that was good.
A wet, dexterous glossa raked through the yielding material of D-16’s port and he drew in a big ventilation, letting his claws scrape on the berth. Impactor made a questioning, wordless sound, and D-16 hurried to answer, “Keep going.”
The pressure of Impactor’s faceplates against his array, the hot glossa slipping inside, and finally a knuckle pressing against the anterior edge of the opening made the cables in D-16’s lower frame tense up, his back strut curl upwards. He frowned to himself and pushed his aft against Impactor: the stimulation was making his array feel hot and slick, like it was swollen somehow…but something was missing and he didn’t know what exactly. With no previous frame of reference, he didn’t know what to ask for.
Impactor pulled back with a squelch and smacking of his mouth components, and D-16’s shoulders drew up with a fleeting feeling of something like disgust. The sounds were new: his parts had never produced such noises. Somehow, D-16 knew the sounds were lewd. But then, they were alone now, and he also knew that it was fine to be lewd in private, so he dismissed the brief discomfort with a little shake of his head.
“Lemme guess, you want something else?” Impactor asked, sounding all shrewd. D-16 simply grunted in response, craning his neck to confirm the slag-eating grin he could sense in his friend’s voice and field.
“Yeah, so I assume you know what it is, then?” he said when Impactor didn’t immediately see fit to continue doing whatever it was he had in mind. The sound of his own voice, more hoarse than usual, made D-16’s insides flutter somehow.
“Not really, but I have a good guess,” Impactor replied smartly. His thumb was now kneading on the soft tissue of D-16’s valve, which felt all wet and incomplete.
“Uhuh? Then get on with it,” D-16 growled. “Stop acting like I’m delicate or something.”
Impactor laughed some more, sounding delighted, and revved his engine showily. D-16 hadn’t noticed him unfurling his own modesty plating, but this time he could tell exactly what it was poking at his valve platelets when Impactor straightened up and leaned over his bent back.
Impactor moved his hips slowly back and forth as he settled over D-16, leaning on his drill arm. His spike dragged across D-16’s slick array, and D-16 released a rumbling growl from deep in his frame. He might not have known much of what fragging was supposed to entail, but he did know that he wasn’t very fond of this teasing.
Thankfully, Impactor seemed to get the idea, and pressed a palm against the inside of D-16’s thigh. “Hey, spread yer legs a bit. Yeah, that’s it…” Now, with D-16’s pelvis settled a bit lower, Impactor finally guided his connector into the waiting port. D-16 thrummed a contemplative rumble of his engine, not yet entirely sure of what he thought about all this. He could hear the wet sounds again, but Impactor’s purring motor thankfully covered up most of it.
D-16’s engine stuttered briefly as Impactor’s spike pushed deeper into the clenching valve, spreading him, and hit something just right. He could feel his inside components being forced to part, but it didn’t feel bad: quite the opposite. Something warm and solid, with its own electric charge that was now mixing with his, applying a nice stretch, not too strenuous…more like just right.
Impactor’s pelvis hit D-16’s aft and he let out a deflating ex-vent, sounding awfully content. More of his weight settled on D-16’s back and he nudged his hips into his friend, hands traveling further up around his middle to hold on tight. D-16 felt his port twitch and try and cycle down on the intrusion, and he decided he rather liked it.
“Keep going,” he said, bucking back against Impactor, who again revved his engine goadingly, and complied. Once he got used to it, the rocking movement of the spike docked inside him was…not just good, but great. He groaned appreciatively, and rolled his hips against his friend, who took it as a sign to drive in harder.
“Ohh,” slipped breathlessly from D-16’s vocalizer as a spirited stroke hit something inside that made his systems stutter with sudden pleasure. Impactor’s spike felt alive in him, a strong current circulating and sparking at contact points inside, the shaft twitching slightly, and, yes…growing, too, just a bit. “Rr…that, do that again,” he ground out, optics closed as his frame tensed, but not to reject: rather to grip and pull further in.
“Ahh, you like that, huh?” Impactor panted, and his tone made D-16 want to scoff in amusement, only he was too busy running his manual ventilations to keep from overheating. The pleasure was lovely, a soft pulse, a sweet, intense, heavy thing coiling up inside him. Impactor seemed to enjoy whatever sounds he made, and use them to decide what he’d do, so D-16 didn’t even try to censor his breathy sighs and groans. His aft plating and Impactor’s pelvic armor kept crashing together, now, dull clanging sounds much louder than the squelching D-16 had initially disliked.
Impactor’s intact hand had now wandered lower again, both arms constricting D-16’s abdomen as he hung on to help him thrust in harder. D-16 gasped quietly when the work-worn digits found something sensitive, and tightened around it. He hadn’t noticed his spike had extended, but it was pressurized, and his startled nudge even pressed it, and Impactor’s hand, against the side of his recharge slab.
Impactor laughed again, and fortunately, never relented his spirited bucking. He did change his rhythm up, though, and lifted himself a little from D-16’s back plating. D-16 couldn’t criticize the way he rolled his hips in tight circles, grinding into D-16’s aft: he was guiding D-16’s hips to lean back into his thrusts by the hold he had on his spike.
“This one’s in working order too, heh? Mmm…Primus, bit, yer huge.” D-16’s engine stalled again with the unexpected comment, and the squeeze around the root of his connector.
D-16 simply uttered a questioning sound, letting his helm fall against his forearms that were flat across the berth, holding on. Impactor kept talking, voice low and breathless, darkening with something that was probably desire.
“After this round, I’m gonna have you spike me with this thing, oh yeh. Gonna feel real good. Frag…” The firm grip around D-16’s connector stroked him slowly, pumping up and down like Impactor was trying to milk something out of his frame. D-16 made a sound that was halfway between a shout and a grunt and thrust all of his weight backwards against that persistent pressure, the pounding of Impactor’s spike.
Impactor’s heavy frame growled at D-16, gleeful, and he pushed right back: his better position let him drive D-16 forwards so that his chest plates scraped across the bare slab. The spike buried in him hit that particularly nice place again, and hard, so D-16’s systems suddenly flared into a burst of pleasure that made his joints lock up and ventilations seize. It was so good, so sweet, but still not quite enough: just a little bit more, and there would be something… D-16 didn’t know what, but he knew he needed it, and he needed it now.
D-16’s heavy duty engine released a sonorous growl as he tensed his cables and grabbed the edge of his recharge slab with one hand, the other still dragging deepening scratches on the bare metal surface. D-16 couldn’t think in that moment, he simply needed.
“More!” he demanded in a rough voice, throwing his weight back against Impactor again. Impactor replied with a bestial growl of his own, fierce joy in his EM field, and his arms tightened around D-16. He bore on D-16 with what felt like all his strength, and that, that solid weight and single-minded drive, the hard spike stabbing sensors inside, the relentless pounding, it was exactly the thing he needed. The white-out of pleasure, throbbing and intense, made D-16 see stars and his vocalizer produced a sound he didn’t register himself as released charge zapped and rushed through his systems.
Impactor kept going all through it and was still fragging him with an urgent rhythm when D-16 could suck in a manual vent again. His fans were all whirring audibly, and his spark felt too large for its casing, pulsing softly. He moaned through a lazy, open-mouthed smile, rolling his helm on his forearms. Oh, that was nice. Fragging was nice.
Impactor grunted, suddenly, and D-16 instinctively clamped tighter around his spike, feeling the mech stiffen as he pulled at D-16’s plating just as he pushed with his legs, grinding his connector as deep as possible. His frame had stilled, apart for the minute trembling of his taut cables, but his spike was twitching enough that D-16 could feel it. That, and a warmth blooming inside, not born from his own systems. Ah, yes: that was the transfluid. The part that was good for a mechanism, he knew, though not the why.
At length, Impactor heaved a mighty huff and fell upon D-16 again, hugging his middle tight as he nuzzled the gray back plating between the clunky kibble of his treads. D-16 rumbled his motor fondly at him, and stayed still, though he rather wanted to cuddle, too. He felt pleasantly warm inside, soft aftershocks still rolling enjoyably from his core. The wet feeling outside of himself, and between his and Impactor’s arrays, was perhaps less pleasant. He was still deciding.
After a while, D-16 registered a dull sort of pressure in his interface components: his spike was still out, and apparently charged enough to keep demanding attention. He had yet to get acquainted with his own version of that piece of equipment, and he remembered what Impactor had said earlier. Suddenly, he was curious to see it, himself.
As if reading his processor—and he probably was reading D-16’s field—Impactor’s digits snuck back to the hard spike, squeezing around it fondly. D-16 jolted slightly and grunted, pushing himself up on his arms.
“Switch around?” D-16 asked, turning to peer at Impactor as best as he could, with the mech still docked in his valve. Impactor’s engine was running a happy purr that made D-16 still want to cuddle, as well. Maybe both desires could be fulfilled at the same time?
“Aw yeh. Eager to get yer spike wet, hm?” Impactor started his dirty talk again, and D-16 felt a warmth under his face plates, illogically enough. Why should words make him feel like that, when he had just clanged a mech and was still sticky with their fluids? The real act had to be more perverted than just talking about it.
D-16 let his fans hum as loud as they wanted to and waited for Impactor to extract himself from his valve. He turned to look as soon as he could, optics bright with curiosity. The slimy feeling on his aft and inside, after the spike that had been keeping those fluids trapped pulled out, was not actively pleasant, unlike the warmth deeper inside. Still, it was nothing D-16 couldn’t handle. Impactor’s spike was diminishing already, slowly retracting into its housing. D-16 noted with interest that it had the same purplish color as the mech it was a part of, and looked down at himself, now that he was standing upright on his knees. His own spike was a silvery gray color, also matching his armor.
D-16 cocked his head to the side, considering the differences: he supposed he was bigger than Impactor down there.
“I’m guessing you haven’t self-serviced before?” Impactor had sat down, to gather his strength, perhaps. He was kneading his bared valve carefully with two clawed digits, a sight that pulled D-16’s optics as if they were magnetized to it.
It was easy enough to infer what the term meant in this context, and D-16 glanced back up to Impactor’s optics. “You can do that?” That wasn’t a tidbit he’d been onlined with. “Innit a waste though?” The transfluid that was useful inside a mech would go to waste without a partner, wouldn’t it?
Impactor laughed at his question, though D-16 knew not to take offense by now. “Yea, I guess. But it still feels nice.” He took a break just to inspect the claws that had been fingering his array, and showily licked them clean while locking optics with D-16. “Not that I think you’ll have any lack of fragmates, after I show you the cables.”
D-26 inclined a brow ridge at Impactor’s cocky self-assurance, but he couldn’t help smiling, as well. “You saying you have your pick?”
“Oh, you bet,” Impactor replied brightly, flashing his flawless rows of fangs. “I’m practically famous round here.”
“Uh huh,” D-16 responded with feigned disbelief, but his answering grin betrayed him. “Well, anyway: how should I do this then?” he asked a bit more seriously, shuffling over to Impactor on his knees. He touched his own spike curiously, dragging the knife-like edges of his talons up the underside of it. His whole frame shuddered slightly at the sensation, and he watched the spike twitch and jump a bit, like it had a mind of its own. His touch made him feel a pleasurable sensation, something that seemed to bypass his logical processor and zip an express line to his sensory suite. Something very simple, very nice…easy. Uncomplicated.
There was a pressure too, and a heat, an insistent throbbing that demanded something more. It was clearly slightly different than the way his valve felt good, though related. It was less intense, maybe, but also less invasive. Which one would he like more? He was eager to find out.
“However you like?” Impactor told him with a cheeky, lopsided grin, but finally did offer actual advice. “How bout we do it face to face, hm? Jus’ come on over here.” He leaned further back right there on the floor, yellow and purple chassis bending backwards to show inviting glimpses of tender wiring. It felt like D-16’s spike somehow pulled at him insistently, and the vents under his chest plate released a heated huff.
Impactor inclined his head proudly, slag-eating grin widening. D-16 was already shuffling closer, settling on all fours over the sturdy frame, so obligingly yielding for him. That, he liked, he decided: Impactor’s trust, the feeling of confidence it gave to him.
Impactor’s powerful engine purred for him and his field was bright and eager. His claws settled on the narrow of D-16’s waist, tugging him closer, guiding him between the strong legs that twitched even wider open to admit him. It was a little awkward to align such broad, clumsy frames as theirs, but shared enthusiasm went a long way.
D-16’s optics brightened with anticipation as he kept staring at the wet valve on offer: Impactor’s hand that wasn’t guiding D-16 closer was on his own array, drill tip pulling on the rubbery tissue protecting the eager port in a lewd display. The internal workings of it moved and clenched under the red glow of D-16’s optics, and his engine stalled momentarily.
D-16 found himself licking his lip plates, much to Impactor’s apparent glee. “Ah yeh, looks tasty, innit? Get that big, hot spike in me, bit. Can’t wait any more…”
D-16 didn’t need any more encouragement. He growled and crashed down on top of Impactor, thick armor clashing together and holding strong. D-16 wanted to taste: he licked over a chest-mounted headlight sprinkled with mineral dust, bit down on the grating covering it, the edge of the armor between them. The groan this earned him was extremely gratifying. Impactor’s talons kept pulling at him though, insistent on getting him higher, closer, to align their interface arrays.
Air whooshed out all across Impactor’s frame with the weight of D-16 settling against him, his curved chest plates resting on his friend’s more angular chassis. He kept his optics on Impactor’s face now, felt his field, the need in it, and slid one servo down to hold his spike and finally guide it to the hungry valve. His other hand closed over Impactor’s pauldron, instinctively ready to hold him down, possessive.
D-16 inclined his hips forwards, finding the wet softness of Impactor’s port. He was eager to push in, to learn that new sensation, but stalling on the cusp was making his internals flutter so nicely, too. Just a wet heat and a soft clutching at the very tip of his connector… Not to mention the impatient grunt Impactor gifted him, and the increasingly annoyed, expectant surging of his EM field.
“Oi, get on with it now,” the miner growled and dug the tips of his claws in D-16’s seams, for now just a tiny prick of pain. D-16’s fanged grin earned a harsh tug that pulled a hiss from his vocalizer, though didn’t manage to dispel the smile. “Cheeky newbuild…” Impactor grumbled and curved his back strut, bucking his hips against D-16’s hard spike. But he was smiling, too.
“Just…following the example,” D-16 rumbled, deliberately goading, expressive optic ridges rising upwards and knotting together. It was their usual dynamic of sassing back and forth, and D-16 loved it. Interfacing was very nice, he decided: a very fun game.
Jaws falling open with a loud exhale, D-16 pushed in. Impactor’s vents hissed appreciatively in turn, and his slick valve accepted D-16 so readily, pulling him in with wave-like contractions. D-16 groaned contentedly, other hand hurrying to brace on Impactor’s arm to support himself and keep Impactor near. Ah, it felt so good, nice and tight, charge running between receptors, mirroring their previous docking. There was just a hint of a resistance, the firm hold of Impactor’s valve needing some coaxing before it spread for the stiff spike slowly pushing in. D-16 did his best to inspire the snug squeeze to take him by moving back and forth in little questioning nudges.
Impactor’s engine purred loudly and D-16 observed a pleased smile spreading on his face, his optics dimming as he seemed to focus inwards. His claws stayed anchored in the seams in D-16’s waist, reluctant to allow him any leeway to pull back. D-16 grinned proudly and licked his fangs, cables all across his frame tense with both his effort and excitement.
“Ahh yess,” Impactor uttered in a gravelly voice, and his pedes rose to latch around D-16’s hips, bending at the knees to encourage him even closer. “Primus, but I’m feeling you, bit. Go on now, gimme all of it,” the thick voice kept talking, stoking the heat building in D-16’s core.
Their chassi trembled against each other with the unique frequencies of their engines, and D-16 pushed on, until he felt the head of his spike meet a more solid resistance than before. He grunted questioningly, rocking against the tightness, and Impactor made a curious sound, slightly more high-pitched than before. D-16 turned his optics back to Impactor’s faceplates.
“…You, you in all the way?” Impactor ground out, one optic flickering. D-16 rose higher, braced on his servos, and bucked into his friend with some more gusto, and Impactor’s whole frame nudged slightly forward on the rough-hewn floor, with another low-pitched yelp.
“…No?” D-16 answered, tilting his face as he regarded Impactor again. He didn’t seem pained, but he was making D-16 worry. “Problem?” His voice box clicked with static. Lots of charge was building up in both of them.
“No…” Impactor answered slowly, and his legs tightened around D-16’s thighs. Then, Impactor dispelled D-16’s worry by chuckling low through a fierce grin. “Never had such a big one before, is all,” he admitted lightly, and D-16’s fans sped up with a quiet roar.
“I, I’m gonna move,” he said hastily, feeling like some base-level protocols were taking over the processing power normally allocated to higher functions.
Impactor egged him on, too, still smiling. “Yeah, come on, bit.” The clenching hold around D-16’s spike was delicious, and he didn’t even remember to care about the wet sounds.
D-16’s spike kept running up against something, and each time it inspired a gratifying sound from Impactor’s vocalizer, more and more urgent. D-16 felt a need to get in deeper still, and a stroke of inspiration encouraged him to grab the thick thighs where they parted, so he could lift them up as he gathered his knees under himself.
Impactor reacted with an inquiring sound, raising his helm as his optics lit up brighter. He seemed to catch on quick and grinned again, pressing his drill and claws both over D-16’s grasping digits. He helped with his pedes as well, constricting D-16’s aft and legs between them.
“Yer quick on the uptake, aren’t you,” Impactor drawled, but fell silent with D-16’s first buck in the new position, back strut arching upwards tensely.
“Good?” D-16 asked with some concern, voice constricted and almost drowned out by the roaring fans and engines. Impactor apparently couldn’t muster a verbal response, but the way his legs tightened and pulled him against D-16 was telling enough. D-16 flashed a grin and plowed in again with all the more drive. “Good.”
In this new position, D-16 could push in deeper, and he finally felt his plating hit Impactor’s aft, and he groaned in appreciation. Impactor’s gusty ex-vent seemed to match the sentiment. The clawed digits over D-16’s hand squeezed harder, seemed to try and goad him on along with wordless sounds and the pulsing of his field and valve.
D-16 felt near to some sort of a precipice, a release, though it was a different kind than with his valve. His manual ventilations chuffed rhythmically in concert with his pistoning hips and he had to fight his optics online, not wanting to miss what his friend would look like when experiencing that same kind of pleasure he’d provided D-16 with before. Impactor’s valve somehow felt tighter and tighter, throbbing in tandem with his urgent spike, and D-16 grunted a surprised sound when he was tripped into an overload.
The feeling surged across his frame, drawing his focus in his core, in his array, in his connector. It was pressure released and current flowing back and forth in a circuit between him and Impactor: different, maybe less intense than the valve overload, but still no less delicious. His claws scraped over Impactor’s scuffed thigh plating, and the sturdy miner armor creaked both with the pressure of D-16’s grip, and with how Impactor was squeezing around D-16.
D-16 came down still bucking mindlessly, though his movements were becoming more sluggish. Impactor’s chest plates were heaving with his ventilations, though now his single hand had let go of D-16 and slid down to his own array. D-16 realized Impactor was kneading the front of his valve mounting, careful but urgent. There was the little biolight twinkling arrhythmically under his claw tips, one that marked the spot of a cluster of sensory nodes primed for tactile information, and for reading and grounding charge shared between two mechanisms…or that was what D-16’s internal data bank provided.
“This here’s the anterior node, yeah?” Impactor panted. “Feels good, yeah? Don’t pull out now. I need just…just a lil bit…more…ah…”
Impactor overloaded under D-16’s optics, seizing up visibly: his back strut straightened, helm rolling on the floor and then rising and clanging back down. D-16’s own valve throbbed in sympathy as his intake fell ajar. Impactor was a big, bulky mech with angular features, more crude and practical than artfully molded to please the optics, just like all of the mining equipment models. In the throes of his pleasure, though, he was bewitching. D-16 instantly wanted to make him do this again, see more of him like this. Particularly, he wanted to make him unfurl like this all by himself, next time, without Impactor having to help himself along.
Impactor’s tight port convulsed around him, and though his spike felt vaguely numb now that he was over his own peak, it still caused smaller jolts of sweet sensation, little peaks of shared charge that twinged in his sensitive components.
Yes, interfacing was great.
As Impactor sighed a deep and charmingly sated ex-vent, D-16 felt an altogether new kind of intense fondness for his friend. He was thankful that Impactor had shared such a nice thing with him, he supposed, and found himself smiling in a bright-opticked way that Impactor had called goofy in the past. Before he could get on D-16’s case about it, D-16 settled down over the still-heated chassis, arranging himself to lie on top of his friend. D-16’s engine now purred sonorously and he wound his arms around Impactor, tangling their legs. With a bit of wiggling, he managed to fit their angles and curves together and relaxed on top of Impactor, nuzzling his face against the admittedly dusty but oh-so-warm plating.
Impactor still chuckled at him, and pet his backside awkwardly with the hand D-16 had trapped under himself. His spike was still seated inside Impactor’s valve, slowly offlining, but regardless quite comfortable in the hot, snug hold.
“Did I do good?” D-16 asked, not even trying to sound like anything but smug.
“Ehh, okay for yer first time,” Impactor huffed alongside a deep ventilation that sounded all too content for just ‘okay’. D-16 let him know that, too, along a rumble of his motor and a tug of claws on the grating over one of his headlights.
Impactor laughed quietly and punched D-16’s arm with his drill unit, but it was gentle. “You don’ even know anything yet, bit!” Now, he briefly nuzzled D-16’s angular helm before continuing. “I’ll show you though, if you’d like.”
D-16 certainly had nothing against that offer.
“Firstly, lessee about cleaning us off, eh?” Impactor said, bonking the drill arm against D-16’s armor a bit more energetically. They didn’t have access to shower racks of their own, D-16 realized: and both of their arrays were no doubt slick with all the lubricant and transfluid… That kind of a mess seemed embarrassing to have to walk around with.
Impactor’s solution for the problem made D-16’s engine give a suffocated rev. “Pull out and I’ll clean you with me glossa,” he said, smiling wide and wicked. Then, his brow ridge twitched, and he glanced down, as ineffectual as it was with their bulky frames sandwiched against each other. “…Feels like you like the sound o’ that, hm?”
D-16 simply grunted his assent, staring at Impactor’s face, still caught up with the mental image of his friend putting his intake on his spike, this time, and so that he could see it. His connector seemed taken with the idea, as well, and was already growing back to its full size, while still seated within Impactor. It was making Impactor’s ventilation cycles deepen again as well, and D-16 hastily clambered back on his knees.
“Uh, third round?” D-16 asked hopefully, staring down at Impactor, claws inching into his seams to tug pleadingly. Impactor heaved a sigh as if put upon, though his fond smile never faltered. As D-16 watched, he licked his miner fangs lasciviously.
“Well, let me up then, I’ll show you how to use yer glossa properly. And then we can see how well you can copy that…”
D-16 hurried to comply.