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Cyclonus wasn't as thrilled with their…vacation as everybot else.
The planet's three suns beat down fiercely on his frame, scorching the white sand that practically coated everything. Heat waved languidly above the endless sand, lapping at the horizon and creating small mirror pools in the dips and valleys of the land.
It was too hot to host almost any organic life. Some still managed to cling to this planet though, small winged lizards streaked across the sky, their leathery skin outstretched to aid their glide.
They dove into the rich cobalt blue waters ahead, swimming down into the depths only to return with thin fish between their elongated, saw lined jaws.
Normally, Cyclonus would have been happy to sit and watch the planet’s simple life complete its circle. There was little wind and the enormous lake that now took home in a long since extinct volcano made gentle waves. It would have been good to sit and relax in this world's silence.
But apparently he was the only one that held that sentiment.
A ball was spiked down into the ground next to his peds, sending up a puff of sand that assaulted his armor and quickly settled within his seams. Cyclonus halted his stride to glared down at the offending item, giving the bottle in his hand a slight squeeze.
“Sorry Cyclonus!”
A voice rang out over the obnoxiously loud music blasting across the beach as a red and yellow painted mech came trotting his way.
Rodimus had his hand up in the air, waving it around as he made his way over. A bright smile was plastered over their captain's face which reached all the way up to Rodimus’ optics, currently hidden behind sun reflectors.
The Prime came to a halt right in front of Cyclonus, bending down to pick up the ball and tuck it under his arm. As he stood, Rodimus hooked servos into the fabric garment currently hugging his pelvic armor, tugging it up a bit higher.
Cyclonus thinned his derma at the action.
Because of the sand coating the entire planet's surface, it had been recommended that every bot wanting to go out and enjoy the surface dawn specialized fabrics that covered up areas that could not so easily be cleared of particles. Which happened to be mostly modesty panels and chest vents.
Brainstorm had been in charge of production of these synthetic fabrics that still allowed air flow but kept sand out from these delicate places. And apparently he took a lot of inspiration from a human clothing item known as bikinis.
Though it seemed like Rodimus had opted for something different. The mech was currently dawning what resembled skimpy jean shorts that were obviously too small for his pelvic armor, if the fact the front zipper was completely open and his codpiece was very prominently sticking out was anything to go by. But, Cyclonus had an inkling that it was likely intentional.
Rodimus tugged at the small loops that lined the waistband, shimming in place and causing his crop top to swish around.
“Sorry about that, I thought Drift was going to get it, but he thought I was gonna get it, so neither of us got it.” The Prime gave a flippant wave of his hand, gesturing behind him “Honesty, having a swordsmech on my team wasn't the advantage I thought it would be–”
Cyclonus tuned out the ramblings as he glanced past a blazing spoiler, spotting a collection of bots standing around a net hoisted in the air.
It seemed to be a game of some sorts as the group was split evenly on either side of the net. A tall chair was set up only a few feet away from the net, Minimus was sat atop the tower, helm crowned with a wide brimmed helmet. He was also busying himself with rubbing in a thick white cream into his armor that prevented sun fading on color nanites.
Cyclonus rolled his shoulders and returned to looking down his nasal vent at the mech in front of him.
“—anyways, I wasn't expecting you to join the fun!” Rodimus cocked out a hip and threw the ball back in the direction of the group of bots, Megatron reaching up to catch it from the air “You usually aren't the fun type.”
Optics narrowed slightly at the jab, but Rodimus only offered an innocent blink of his own.
Servos adjusted their hold on the small bottle in his hand, easing off his crush grip. Shoulders squared and Cyclonus lifted his chin slightly.
“I do not intend to stay. Tailgate has requested that I bring him something.” He spoke gruffly, moving to brush past their captain.
Rodimus just let out a hum and stepped dutifully to the side to let him pass, clasping his hands behind his strut and leaning forward to push his aft out.
“Well, if you do decide to stay, we could use another member on the opposing team.” Rodimus started to walk backwards towards their game “Your boyfriend keeps injuring people on accident and we are running low on back-ups.”
Another quick glance over in the net's direction did in fact reveal Whirl to be on the opposite side. The mech was currently in a low crouched position, claws repeatedly opening and clacking closed, optic entirely trained on Megatron on the other side of the net with murderous intent.
It was…mildly concerning. But if Minimus hadn't stepped in yet, it likely wasn't something Cyclonus needed to get involved in yet. Perhaps if Whirl tired himself out with this game, he wouldn't kick Cyclonus in his recharge all throughout the night. Wouldn't that be nice.
Cyclonus gave a noncommittal hum and continued on his way.
Across the stretch of beach was dozens upon dozens of spread out towels, umbrellas and folding chairs. Most were empty as he passed, seeming most of the occupants being more occupied with playing out in the shallows of the lake. Delighted screams and boisterous laughter floated among the waves as half the ship was engaging in a game called ‘Marco Polo’.
It didn’t seem like the round was going to last long with Nightbeat being the one searching. But Cyclonus turned his attention back to his search for his conjunx after watching Nightbeat do a tactical tackle of Chromedome into the water.
Soon after padding along the length of the beach, he came across a folding chair that was in the fully reclined position with a lovingly familiar white and blue mech lounging across it.
Tailgate was laying down on his front facing the lake, sat up on his elbows and fully engrossed in a handheld gaming console. Peds were slowly kicking back and forth as cartoonist blaster noises fluttered out of the sticker covered console.
It was a beautiful sight. Sun glistened off freshly polished armor, making Tailgate look utterly radiant. It was hard not to have his spark rise up into his throat. His end of their bond swelled warmly, which drew Tailgate’s attention, the minibot jolting slightly and tilting their helm up in his direction. That dazzling blue visor smushed up in delight.
“Cyclonus!” Game forgotten, Tailgate rose to his knees and threw out his arms to hug Cyclonus around the waist in a greeting, only to gasp and point a servo at his pelvic armor instead “You're wearing the bikini! You look hot!”
Small hands shot out and grabbed at the thin cords keeping his bottoms in place, making Cyclonus fumble for a moment.
The garments weren't exactly a choice, more of a ship wide mandate from upper command and First aid. If anybot wanted to step ped off the ship, they needed coverings.
Brainstorm, in an attempt to make everybot feel comfortable, but mostly just to show off his ‘skills’, made an assortment of designs and patterns, along with endless colors to choose from.
Cyclonus, intending not to stay out long, had Brainstorm synthesize his garments in the simplest pattern available. He knew of other bots who'd gone for a more…adventurous look.
Like Whirl. The mech had chosen a frilly white set with lace and bows and far too many straps to make logical sense. But Whirl had said it made him feel pretty as he snapped the fabric of his bra over his chassis guns
He'd chosen to make the color as close to the color of his armor as possible, hoping to have them blend in with his frame easier. But apparently the camouflage hadn't worked as he'd hoped.
A servo hooked around the stretchy cord on his hip, pulling it up and allowing it to snap back into the gap of his hip armor, causing him to jump. All the while another hand was slipping under his top to fondle at his vent. Cyclonus felt a light blush creeping over his faceplates.
Normally Tailgate was a bit handsy at all times. Cyclonus didn't particularly mind as long as it didn't grow inappropriate in a public setting. Nothing his conjunx was doing was particularly egregious, but for some reason having the fabrics covering his frame made Tailgate's touches feel more intimate than it should.
Cyclonus quickly reached up and took hold of Tailgate’s wrists, pulling his touch away. Tailgate at least had the decency to give A sheepish laugh.
“Sorry…you just look really good!” Tailgate sat back on his peds and poked at his thighs “Did you bring my stuff?”
Cyclonus merely held up the small bottle, the liquid inside sloshing around.
Mineral oil. The sight was enough to have Tailgate pause his game and rise up to his knees, snatching the bottle up from Cyclonus’ claws, spinning it around to inspect it.
“I’m going to look so sexy, like some of those freshly built bots back on Cybertron.” Gushing, Tailgate hugged the bottle close and wiggled his visor ridge.
It was an odd desire. Mineral oil when rubbed over armor and baked in with heat tended to darken the color nanites, giving them a richer appearance. Some said it gave a ‘newly forged’ or ‘straight off the conveyor belt’ look to one's armor. Swerve had been handing out tons of jars, saying how it was similar to ‘human tanning’, and Tailgate was often rather impressionable.
The process was ultimately harmless. The darkening of nanites only lasted a few breems at most. Personally, Cyclonus didn't really see the appeal, but he found Tailgate attractive no matter how he looked, so he didn't mind indulging his conjunx–
–Though, he hadn't expected the bottle To be thrusted back in his direction.
“Can you rub it into my armor?” Tailgate wiggled in place, staring up at the taller mech with a wide visor.
“...I did not intend to stay.” Cyclonus pinched the bottle between his servos and frowned slightly.
He could already feel the sand settling into his gears, it was crunching in his knee hydraulics with every shift of his frame. He really wasn’t keen on staying out here, especially if he had to keep wearing this ridiculous bikini. The thin fabric was riding up his modesty panel.
“I know! But I cant reach my back…” Tailgate tried to reach a hand over his shoulder, only to immediately show off the fact that he couldn't reach over his shoulder “I can do the rest of my frame if you just do my back! Just rub it in and then you can head back, easy peasy.”
Cyclonus stood for a moment, staring down at the bottle in consideration. After a klik, he let out a soft ex-vent and sighed
Tailgate squealed and quickly laid back on his front, picking up his game and returning to shooting at the pixel characters flashing across the screen, EM field burbling with delight.
The bottle was uncapped with a small pop.
A hearty drizzle was poured into Cyclonus’ palm, causing the scuffed metal to glisten and catch the light. The bottle was nestled into the sand and hands were rubbed together to create a thick lather of the oil. Leaning over the minibot, Cyclonus got to work.
He started at Tailgate's shoulder armor, since it was the most accessible from this position. Hands slowly dragged across the light blue expanse, massaging the oil in and watching as it wetted the already glistening armor, making the color just a tiny bit darker already.
Cyclonus tried to be as thorough as possible without jostling the other too much. The mineral oil was gradually worked into every gap and seam before Cyclonus drizzled an extra helping over Tailgate's plump tires, listening to the oil give a slight sizzle as it came into contact with the hot rubber.
It made something tingle inside Cyclonus’ chassis.
There was no denying his Conjunx was vent taking during every klik of every cycle, but something about watching rivets of oil drip off the peaks of blue armor was especially alluring.
But those thoughts were pushed away, he needed to focus on the task at hand. Which was smoothing his palms across Tailgate's upper back. Sharp tipped servos made it easy to drag the oil into the cracks of kibble, Cyclonus watched in satisfaction as the thin liquid pooled inside some of the deeper crevices. He made sure to be methodical about covering every inch of Tailgate even if he wished to be anywhere but this baking beach.
If Tailgate really wanted his armor to look new, Cyclonus wasn’t about to rush through and leave Tailgate with patchy spots just so he could be back on the ship. A little more sand in his gears would be worth it to see Tailgate happy.
Plus…it was hard to deny the appeal. Even after a klik or so, Tailgate‘s cowl was starting to darken, even if only by a fraction. It was attractive.
Cyclonus also found it hard to deny that he did mildly enjoy the methodical art of it all. It was easy to lose himself in the massage. The warmth of Tailgate's already pre-cooked armor lapped at his hands, the distant splashing of water, the sharp calls of razor lizards, an occasional breeze slipping through his armor and cooling his heated internals. Cyclonus almost caught himself calling it relaxing.
A good fifteen kliks was spent on coating Tailgate's upper half.
Everywhere from his shoulder pauldrons down to his mid back was now thickly coated in mineral oil. Blue and white armor glistened tantalizingly, but Cyclonus tried not to let his processor drift from the task at hand. This wasn't about how alluring his Conjunx looked, even if the sight of Tailgate lounging around half covered in oil made something clench deep inside Cyclonus’ abdomen.
Cyclonus thinned his derma, setting his jaw slightly as he sternly schooled his frame into obedience. It wasn’t a time for such things. He was more than his desires, even if Tailgate was testing them unintentionally. Cyclonus just needed to focus.
He uncapped the bottle once more and poured another generous amount onto his palms before rubbing them together. Cyclonus slipped his hands down to the narrow blue waist below him, clasping either side and dragging them downwards to Tailgate's hips.
Two thin cords greeted him there. The synthetic fabric blended in rather nicely with Tailgate’s armor, making it easy to miss, and unfortunately covered in oil. The fabric strings holding up the minibot’s bikini bottoms rapidly grew dark as it soaked up the liquid , making Cyclonus sigh. Thankfully the garments weren’t something they would need to keep, they’d get discarded after their vacation was complete so a few oil stains wouldn’t be a big deal. Cyclonus, in an effort to continue his work, slipped his servos underneath the damp strings.
Only to pause when the fabric gave him some resistance.
The bikinis were meant to be stretchy. It was a way for them to accommodate anybot’s frame type, and give some breathability, so Cyclonus was surprised when Tailgate’s bottoms didn’t do so. Instead, his bikini bottoms bunched, causing Cyclonus to look downwards between Tailgate’s thighs, expecting the garment to be caught in a seam or joint of some kind.
Except when he saw the culprit of the snag, Cyclonus felt all the heat in his frame simultaneously rise to his faceplates, and slither down to his array.
“Tailgate…”
“Mmm?” The minibot raised his helm a little in acknowledgement, attention still entirely focused on the gaming device.
“Why is your valve out?” Cyclonus’ whole intake felt dry as he spoke, glossa sticking to the insides of his cheeks.
That light blue bikini bottom was currently snuggly nestled between two white mesh lips.
A damp circle had already formed at the center of the fabric, right where Tailgate’s entrance was. It wasn’t very big, likely caused by the natural lubricant valve produced at all times. Optics raked their way across the crease of the garment, Cyclonus was well acquainted with his Conjunx‘s valve, so it wasn’t hard to find where Tailgate’s node was trapped and pressing up against the bikini.
The obnoxiously repetitive music finally stopped as the game was paused, filling the air with an awkward silence as Tailgate peaked over his shoulder.
“What do you mean?” Genuine confusion laced his vox, his thighs pressing together a bit “It's not out! It’s inside my bikini like Brainstorm instructed.”
Cyclonus swallowed, briefly glancing back down at the bikini bottom now partially obscured by those glossy thighs. The heat in his array stirred further with interest, making his own valve twitch online.
“I believe you…misinterpreted his instructions.” Cyclonus cleared his vocalizer a bit, bashfully looking off to the side to preserve some of his Conjunx’s dignity “These garments were supposed to be worn over our modesty paneling to keep unwanted particles out. Having your arrays out in them is counterproductive.”
“Oh.” Tailgate’s visor flickered slightly, an equivalent of a blink “That makes way more sense! I thought it was a bit weird wearing them like this-”
Tailgate suddenly moved, lifting himself up onto his hands and knees for a moment, and much to Cyclonus’ dismay, his optics found their way back to Tailgate’s barely covered equipment. The fabric was pulled even tighter as Tailgate moved to sit up, effectively giving the minibot a wedge that only exposed more of his intimates. It slid through the mesh and bunched through the cleft, hugging Tailgate’s node rather snuggly, and Cyclonus swore he could see the gentle glow of the yellow biolight coming through the fibers-
But what was really a punch to the gut, was finding out his valve wasn’t the only thing that was out.
As the minibot came to sit on his hip facing Cyclonus, his attention was drawn down to the thick spike practically bursting out of the bikini bottoms. Immediately his intake grew wet with oral solvent and his spark swell in its casing. Had Tailgate’s spike been out this entire time? Cyclonus certainly didn’t see it when he first walked up, but there it was, almost fully pressurized and being pressed into the mech’s abdomen by the waistband of the bikini.
The blue tip was wet with some prefluid, obviously it had been leaking for a while as a tiny puddle had formed into the towel which Tailgate was previously laying on.
“It was rubbing against all my nodes and stuff, but nobot else was complaining so I didn’t think anything of it.” A thumb reached down and hooked into the elastic, pulling it away from the well endowed spike, only to let it snap back and cause him to jolt.
At that moment, Cyclonus’ sensibilities returned to him all at once and he whipped his helm towards the large group of bots that were only a few feet away in the water. Quickly, he darted forward and pushed Tailgate flat onto his strut and used his hands to cover up the mech’s shame. Or, lack of shame.
“Put it away before somebot sees!” He hissed, a dark blush settling across his features.
“Wha—I cant!” Tailgate squirmed, hands lightly smacking at the taller bots’s forearms “It’ll hurt trying to shove it back into its housing when it’s fully pressurized like this…”
He wasn’t exactly wrong.
Once a spike was more than partially pressurized, it would cause immense discomfort and pain if it was forced back into the sheath, sometimes it can even cause damage.
But this was a public beach with a good portion of their peers, public indecency would absolutely have Tailgate thrown in the brig for two to three business cycles, and it was Friday.
Tailgate also wasn’t known for his charge going away easily. Once he got going, it was an all night affair.
Cyclonus’s wings gave a slight twitch, hitching higher. His optics darted back to the group in the water. A seemingly knocked out Chromedome had been dragged up onto the sand bank, Rewind standing on Chromedome’s chassis and very animatedly telling an apologetic looking Nightbeat. Apart from that, everybot else was still engrossed in the game with the new Seeker being a less than enthused Ratchet.
They all likely wouldn’t look over their way…
Twisting up his facepl slightly, Cyclonus pulled his hands away from Tailgate’s spike, only to lean over and grab at the umbrella next to the chair. A talon dug into the mechanism, making it suddenly jerk and unfold, the thin metal blades spreading out and creating a large shield from the sun. Except Cyclonus wasn’t worried about the harsh rays, instead he grabbed the metal plates and forced the umbrella forward slightly, obscuring Tailgate and him a bit more.
“I’m going to jerk you off.” Cyclonus tried to sound professional about it, but there was no hiding the slight static that laced his words “So that you can put your equipment away.”
“But…won’t we get in trouble?” Tailgate tilted his helm, visor brightening a bit.
“If somebot were to discover you with your spike and valve out, you would also get in trouble. This way is safer.” Swinging a leg over, Cyclonus sat upon Tailgate’s thighs and tugged the bikini down.
Without the elastic holding it firmly against his abdomen, Tailgate’s spike sprang forward, bobbing back and forth until it stood proudly straight in the air. The soft whir of cooling fans kicking on filled Cyclonus’ audails. There was a tantalizing excitement in his Conjunx’s field, it lapped across his own and made the charge in Cyclonus’ array swell further.
He couldn’t deny how seeing Tailgate like this made him feel. His Conjunx was…big for a minibot. Even now as Cyclonus wrapped his hand around the base of the mostly white spike, he had to adjust his servos so they wrapped around. It even somewhat rivaled Cyclonus' own. It was predominately on the thicker side with a uniform in girth from base to tip, the underside lined with a yellow biolight strip.
Running a thumb across the strip made Tailgate shiver, the mini’s back rising off the lounger slightly.
Strips were more popular back in the cycle for their look and feel, but were eventually replaced with individual biolights nodes as they helped build and disperse charge more effectively. Strips required a lot more stimulus, but gave much more intense overloads due to their slow build and release of charge which was their main appeal.
On any other cycle Cyclonus wouldn’t bemoan his Conjunx’s almost otherworldly stamina, this was a time sensitive situation.
His servos tightened, giving the base of the spike a squeeze, before Cyclonus drew his hand up the shaft. He stopped at the thick head, watching as another glob of prefluid wept from the slit. Cyclonus vented, glossa briefly flicking out to swipe across his bottom derma involuntarily, his node giving a sweet twitch at the sight.
A medium speed was set, Cyclonus slid his hand up and down the thick shaft, making sure to apply more pressure to the biolight strip. He made sure to drag the prefluid down with each stroke to ease the glide.
Tailgates hips give a slight buck, his vocalizer clicking as he tried to keep himself quiet. Hands tentatively lifted and hovered over Cyclonus’ thighs, servos flexing with indecision on if they were allowed to touch or not. Eventually they settled, smoothing themselves over the silvery expanse, kneading at the metal. A tingly feeling was left in the wake of Tailgate’s touch, especially as Tailgate grabbed at his inner thighs and grew dangerously close to his codpiece.
A thin layer of lubricant had started to coat Cyclonus’ valve. He could feel his node swelling with energon and how it twitched with every venty moan Tailgate was letting out. He could even feel when lubricant drooled down into his panel when Tailgate gave a particularly hard buck. Biting the tip of his glossa, Cyclonus tried his best to ignore the way his valve was demanding its own attention, even if the idea of thinking with his array was gradually growing in appeal.
A few kliks passed with Cyclonus keeping this steady rhythm, but it still only felt like they’d just begun. Tailgate’s charge wasn’t really that much higher than when Cyclonus first sat in his lap. At this rate, he feared Tailgate would be walking into the brig with his spike still pressurized.
“Hey, Cy…?” Tailgate spoke up after a while, his hands making their way up to his larger lover’s hip skirts “Do…could we?”
Before Cyclonus had a chance to ask what the minibot was talking about, Tailgate hooked a servo into the waistband of his bikini bottom and drew it away from his hip, only to allow it to snap back. Cyclonus jumped with a small gasp, his heavy blush returning as he leveled a sharp stare down at his Conjunx.
“Absolutely not—!” Pausing mid stroke, Cyclonus gave the spike an extra firm squeeze that caused a fat glob of prefluid to spurt from the tip and roll down onto the back of his hand “It is like you desire for the both of us to get public indecency charges.”
“I don’t wanna get you in trouble!” Tailgate sucked in sharply through his vents as his spike got squeezed, his own hands tightening on the flyer’s hips “I asked because I want to avoid getting you in trouble!”
Cyclonus narrowed his optics and sat up, crossing his arms over his chassis.
“Enlighten me.”
“I’ll probably overload faster if we interface…plus I can feel how you wanna with your field anyway, so why not?” Servos absentmindedly fiddled with the elastic of the purple bottoms “I feel bad that I got you all charged up because of my misunderstanding, Lemme make it up to you!”
He huffed indignantly, helm turning to the side.
It was a stupid suggestion that would likely get them more easily caught, so why was Cyclonus even considering it? Maybe he was thinking with his valve more than his processor, but Tailgate did have a point, even if he didn’t like it. Proper interface would lead to Tailgate overloading faster, but it greatly increases their chance of getting caught if somebot were to look over.
Even though the umbrella obscures a good majority of them, there was still a big enough gap that Cyclonus didn’t feel very confident.
“I do not think that is a good idea, we are already pushing our luck.”
Tailgate tipped his helm back, peering out through the gap their umbrella left
“What if we made it look like we weren’t fragging?” Looking back towards Cyclonus, he patted around the reclined chair until he found the mineral oil bottle again and held it up “Make it look like you are just rubbing this on me!”
“That won’t hide your spike in my valve.” Cyclonus reached forward and took the bottle regardless, glaring at the tiny thing because it was the reason he was in this situation.
“Oh! Uh—“ Tailgate’s hand shot down, grabbing hold of the towel below him and tugged it free with a bit of effort, he hanged it to the stoic mech “Cover your lap with this!”
That wasn’t the worst idea Tailgate could have come up with. It still wasn’t ideal, but it would have to do.
With a sigh, Cyclonus took the towel and placed it on Tailgate’s abdomen for a moment and moved to stand so he could remove his bikini bottoms as inconspicuously as possible—but before he rose up too far, Tailgate grabbed his hips.
“Don’t get up!” His visor blew wide, giving Cyclonus a pleading look.
“How do you expect me to take these off if I can’t stand?” Knitting his optic ridges together, he gave his Conjunx a bewildered look.
“I want you to keep them on…you look so sexy.” A hand slid down between Cyclonus legs, rubbing at the purple fabric covering his array “Just pull it to the side and open your panel.”
A hot flush washed through his frame, his derma parting as he let out a shuttering vent. All that heat immediately rushed south, settling all in his node. Lidding his optics, Cyclonus reached down and slipped between Tailgate’s hand to hook a talon around the edge of the bikini, pulling it out of the way. It was embarrassing in a way that Cyclonus couldn’t really explain. His modesty panels were out for all to see every cycle, everybot’s panels were, but something about covering them with a thin piece of fabric made the whole thing feel so much more…intimate.
The command was sent, causing the panel to slide out of the way and expose his valve to the heated planet’s air. Immediately a string of lubricant dripped from his silvery folds down onto Tailgate’s thighs.
Tailgate’s servos quickly dipped and swiped through Cyclonus’s valve, spreading the wet mesh and rubbed at his entrance. The minibot’s visor practically sparkled.
“You’re so wet already! Do you like public stuff Cy?” Tailgate sounded so delighted as his second and third servo plunged inside the purple flyer.
The sudden intrusion caused his internals to clench sweetly. Cyclonus’ helm dipped slightly, chin resting against his chassis and intake falling open to let out a soft moan in surprise.
The idea that being in public turned him on almost short circuited his processor. Cyclonus’ wasn’t one for crazy interface, he preferred to keep it ‘vanilla’ as Whirl once said, though he couldn’t deny how charged up he was currently.
“No.” He hissed, but it held no true bite, especially as Tailgate started plunging his servos inside him “Your charge is simply affecting my own.”
“You’re so wet though!” Tailgate slid his servos all the way to the knuckles before spreading them apart to stretch Cyclonus out further “You almost don’t need any prep!”
“Hush.” Cyclonus wretched Tailgate’s hand away from his internal’s, ignoring the trail of sticky lubricant coating the mech’s servos, and how his internals clenched mournfully at the loss.
Raising up on his knees slightly, Cyclonus scooted forward an inch and grabbed hold of the spike with his free hand, giving it a few pumps and smearing around the prefluid a bit more. The bottoms were held to the side as far as they would go as Cyclonus lined himself up with the head of Tailgate’s spike.
The blunt blue head nudged against his entrance as it was slid through the cleft. His node had begun to ache with all the charge swelling there that when the injector tip nuzzled past it, Cyclonus’ hips involuntarily bucked and a short whine tumbled from his derma. He almost wished he could grind against Tailgate’s spike for a little bit, drum up some more of that delicious charge, but unfortunately this wasn’t the time to be fooling around.
So once he was finally in position, Cyclonus sank down in one fluid motion.
Calipers bowed out of the way as he speared himself onto the mini’s hearty spike, nodes singing with charge as they were brushed against the shaft. It sent energy crackling up his back strut and it made his processor a bit funny. It felt so right to be full in this moment, so much so Cyclonus almost lost himself in it and bellowed out a moan. He just managed to silence himself by clicking his jaw shut and rolling his helm back.
“You’re so beautiful Cyclonus…” A warm venty coo left Tailgate, his back arched ever so slightly “Primus, we should do this more often.”
Cyclonus gave a lazy blink, finally releasing the servo holding open his bottoms as Tailgate’s spike would now keep them out of the way. Hands gave a slight tremble as he reached forward and gathered the towel, loosely draping it across their laps to cover the evidence of their coupling.
“Go back to your game.” He tried to instruct though a static laced vocalizer, finding the oil bottle and flipping open the cap.
“I don’t think I can play in these conditions—“
“Pretend then.” Cyclonus squeezed out a large amount of oil onto his palm and tossed the bottle down onto the sand.
Tailgate whined but did as instructed, picking up his forgotten gaming device and holding it in front of his face. Cyclonus rubbed his hands together to spread around the oil before placing them on the curve of Tailgate’s chassis, and rose up on his knees slightly.
Calipers clenched at the shaft sliding out of him, desperately squeezing to keep it inside. Once he was about halfway up, he slid back down all the way to the base and immediately rose back.
A quick but shallow pace was set in an attempt to be as inconspicuous as possible. Occasionally he would press all the way down and roll his hips in a circle to grind the swell of his node against the edge of Tailgate’s open panel.
The copious amount of lubricant his valve eased the glide considerably, and made the most obscenely wet noises imaginable.
The towel was muffling them slightly, but definitely not enough. Cyclonus let out a throaty moan, optics slightly lidding. He didn’t think he’d ever been this wet before, was this all because they were having risky interface in a public setting? His node gave a twitch almost as if it was answering the question for him.
Cyclonus’ hands slid around haphazardly in an attempt to look busy, while in reality he was looking for perches to get better leverage. His valve clenched, lubricant drooling down further between them, which would likely be a pain to clean. Right now though Cyclonus could hardly care, his processor was rapidly switching all of its focus onto chasing his overload. A little self preservation remained though, just enough to stifle his cooling fans from kicking on
Tailgate also seemed to be enjoying himself. The minibot had pulled the handheld console closer to his faceplates, gripping it tightly, his visor constantly switching from its dimmest setting to blooming brightly. It didn’t take long before Tailgate was panting, hips twitching upwards to thrust up into Cyclonus as he slid down.
At least Tailgate was starting to build some decent charge now.
Every slide of that spike dragging against his internals had each of their charges spiraling higher. Electricity arced between their nodes and caused both of them to bite back groans. Tailgate still had a ways to go before his overload, and Cyclonus was already fearing he would reach his sooner than anticipated.
“I don’t know how Minimus handles having that rod so far up his aft every cycle.”
A sudden voice had both of them jumping with a gasp.
Cyclonus quickly halted all his movements and whipped his helm around, an explanation already forming on his derma—
—But when he caught sight of the bot who’d walked up on them, he didn’t know whether to relax or put it guard up further.
Whirl, still clad in his ridiculous lacy white bikini, was approaching them, each one of his steps kicking up sand. At the moment, the blue mech didn’t really seem to be all that focused on them, currently he was holding his claws up in a menacing manner and his narrow optic staring off in the distance.
“W-Whirly Bird!” Tailgate sputtered, sitting up on his elbows to stare at their Conjunx in bewilderment “I thought you were doing volleyball?”
“I was, until that slag helm Minimus tried to say I did a foul or something, which I didn’t.” Clacking his pincers together, he pointed one at Tailgate “So I spiked the ball at his face on accident and it sent his stupid little mustache flying, and I ran away while he was looking for it in the sand.”
Dear Primus below. Cyclonus would have rubbed a hand down his faceplates if they hadn’t been covered in oil. How is it that both of his Conjuxes managed to get themselves into slag on a vacation.
“How’s tanning goin’?” Whirl finally joined them under the shade of the umbrella, coming to stand next to the pair “Seems sorta counter productive to be using one of these, doesn’t it?”
Cyclonus and Tailgate shared a look. He returned to rubbing the oil around the other’s frame, switching to rubbing at Tailgate’s arms to seem less inappropriate. He also tried to ignore the fact that his valve was frantically cycling down on the shaft still buried deep inside him, and how that same spike was also twitching.
“Oh, uh, it’s going good!” Tailgate offered his equivalent of a smile, deciding to take over the task of talking “We decided to use the umbrella to try and give me a more even tan…my backs got a gradient going on.”
“Makes sense.” Whirl nodded, staring them down with a look of indifference.
A beat of silence passed, making Cyclonus feel awkward in a way he never thought possible. There was currently a spike deep inside him and he had to pretend as if nothing was happening in front of his second lover. All the while being still completely out in the open on a public beach.
For a moment he started to fear what would happen if he had to get up.
“So when did tanning involve fragging each other's circuitry out?”
Until Whirl spoke again.
Cyclonus immediately stiffened, his shoulders and wings hiking up several inches. Tailgate also seemed finally at a loss for words as he just stared wide-visored at their third.
“What? Did you two seriously think I wouldn’t notice? I could smell the ozone from ten feet away.” Whirl motioned a claw over his shoulder and leaned his long neck forward to squint at them “Cyclonus also has his ‘I’m gonna cream but I’m gonna be stoic about it’ face on.”
“I have no such face.” He shot the helicopter a leveling glare.
“I think you’re just embarrassed you are doing something other than missionary.” Despite having no intake, his wide grin was practically dripping off his words.
“He’s really wet…” Tailgate finally chimed back in, once again discarding his game now that the jig was up “His bikini bottom had little drops of lubricant that had leaked out of his panels when he sat in my lap.”
A heavy blush practically set his faceplates alaze. Is that why Tailgate insisted on riding him?!
“Leaking into your panties Cyclonus?” Whirl tutted, moving so his optic was only an inch or so away from Cyclonus’ face “Somebot likes getting railed in public, don’t you Cy? Did Mr. Vanilla found his kink?”
Humiliate him, they were trying to humiliate him—!
A shiver ran through his frame at that realization , his valve tingling and tightening around the spike. It was like he was losing control of his frame. His helm was spinning. Cyclonus found himself liking the treatment.
“Well I don’t see why only the two of you get to have all the fun.”
A claw suddenly reached up and seized hold of his chin as the other hooked itself in the bow lined bottoms, tugging them down to expose his cod, which very quickly folded out of the way and he was greeted to the sight of his Conjux’s spike.
“Really give him all you got Tailgate, I’ll make sure he stays quiet.” When Tailgate gave an enthusiastic nod, hiking his legs up behind Cy’s back for leverage, Whirl tilted his hips forward “Open up.”
Whirl’s spike was narrowest at the tip but grew in thickness down the length, being thickest at the base. It was mostly a dark navy color, yellow biolights dotted the sides of the shaft and glowed alluringly. The underside had a soft, horizontally ribbed texture that was meant for scraping the walls of a valve to stimulate every sensor.
The narrow injector tip rubbed across his derma, living a small trail of some pre-fluid in its wake. Cyclonus probably should have put up a fight, should have pushed the mech away and told them both off for ganging up on him, but he didn’t.
Cyclonus merely opened his intake and obeyed.
Whirl wasted no time in pushing his spike inside, the ribs forcing Cyclonus’ glossa flat and making a string of drool slip down his chin. Whirl continued until the head of his spike was nudging at his throat tubing, at which Cyclonus instinctively sealed his derma around the shaft and swallowed, trying to adjust to the feeling.
And then suddenly the mech below him thrusted upwards. Tailgates thick spike slammed up into his ceiling node, making Cyclonus choke and moan around Whirl’s own spike, his visual feed glitching out for a moment.
That seemed to be enough confirmation for both of them to start up.
Tailgate dug his heel peds into the chair for leverage as he started thrusting in and out of that silvery soaked valve, the welt ‘plap’ noises rapidly picking up once more, but this time with much more vigor and intensity. Whirl himself started thrusting into Cyclonus’ intake, hooking the back of a claw over the purple mech’s helm to keep him steady. The two set a bruising speed, one thrusting in as the other was sliding out. It was sending all of Cyclonus’ sensors into a tisy with all the tactile data and pleasure now flooding his processor.
He couldn’t help but keep moaning, every thrust ended with his ceiling node being punched and it made the charge thrumming through his frame skyrocket. His internals squeezed and rippled repeatedly, a sweet tightness settling in his pelvic array.
Through the haze bogging down his processor, Cyclonus tried to swallow around Whirl over and over, the holes in his cheeks not really allowing him to swallow. With each one of Whirl’s thrusts, his nazel vent was smushed up against the helicopter’s abdomen, especially as Whirl slowly nudged more and more of his spike further into his throat.
It burned in the best way possible, tears pricked the edges of his optics as they rolled towards the sky. Cyclonus reached a shaky hand up to paw at Whirl’s thigh, another pathetic moan filling the air.
“Yeah, you like that?” Whirl craned his neck down to squint at the flyer, pulling his hips back and freeing his spike, only to let it smack across his face, smearing the oral lubricant coating it onto Cyclonus’ features.
“I bet you do, you're trembling with charge, I can practically taste it. I bet you’re going to overload soon, aren’t you?” Tilting Cyclonus’ helm back, he began to thrust against his faceplates “I bet you feel so pretty in your little outfit, in your soaked panties.”
Cyclonus whimpered, shuttering his optics.
“We should have Brainstorm make you a few more of these, he owes me a few favors.” A claw reached down and hooked itself around the small string connecting both panels of Cyclonus’ bikini top, yanking it upward and exposing his chassis vents.
He wanted to reach up and cover his newly exposed vents, but Tailgate was too fast. The minibot’s hands promptly shot up and servos dug themselves in between the sensitive slats. Cyclonus could only groan sweetly, arching into the touch.
“You’re our—what’s that word humans say? Spike slut?” Tailgate panted harshly, his visor flickering “Yeah! You’re our little spike slut Cy, we’ll have to take you out to more places like this.”
This was humiliating, and Cyclonus felt like he was about to have the most intense overload of his entire functioning.
His thighs were uncontrollably, an overheating warning popped up on the edge of his HUD, his internals felt bruised and warm. He attempted to mouth at Whirl’s spike as it slid over his face, sticking his glossa out to lap at the ribs. Cyclonus’ attempts were rewarded with a claw snaking down and tossing away the towel in his lap, before it pressed against his chubby, swollen node.
That’s when it all came crashing down.
Cyclonus’ charge finally snapped and overload came like a punch to the gut. Unadulterated pleasure flooded his processor, he couldn’t help but cry out, unmuffled. He convulsed and his valve spasmed, calipers frantically cycling down over and over around Tailgate’s spike, making a mess of lubricant as it leaked out of him and down onto the mech’s thighs and pelvis.
His overload must have tipped tailgate over the edge too as he let out a pitchy groan and fully sheathed himself inside Cyclonus, his spike twitching once, twice, before transfluid spurted from its tip and painted Cyclonus’ internals. The feeling of being filled only added to Cyclonus’ own high, a litany of pitchy mewls escaped him as he ground down onto his Conjunx’s spike, shivering at the feeling of transfluid dripping out of him.
Cooling fans were practically squealing with the speed they were spinning at, dumping out the excess heat into the air around, making the already sweltering air become wavey. It took several kliks for Cyclonus to come down from his high enough to attempt to open his optics, the visual feed slightly warped and hazy, but with a few blinks it cleared up enough that he would blearily stare up at Whirl. Or more accurately, his spike that was dripping a sticky silver fluid from the tip only a few inches from his face.
He realized Whirl must have finished as well as a bead of that sticky transfluid rolled over his derma, making Cyclonus flick his glossa out to catch it. The claw holding his helm still finally released, so it could instead scrape off a rope of transfluid draped across his nasal vent and shove the claw tip into Cyclonus’ mouth.
“Minimus is going to blow a gasket when he sees us.”
Reality all came worming back to Cyclonus at that moment. He shot up right, smacking his Conjunx’s pincers away and glared daggers.
“Whirl!” Cyclonus hissed, almost exactly at the same time as the mech’s name was yelled by a quickly approaching Minimus, who’s mustache was not only crooked, but bent as well.
“There he is.” Whirl chuckled, leaning back and pulling his bikini bottoms up over his still softening spike.
“Ooo! At least we’ll get locked up all together!” Tailgate patted warmly at Cyclonus’s thighs “It’ll be like a sleepover, but we’re in jail.”
Cyclonus clenched his derma as he pressed his face into his palm, uncaring of the mess he was only smearing around.
They were lucky he loved them.