Capitalist Dirtbag(tm)

He loved tailgate, he truly did, and he truly wished he could show him every way he loved him. He wants to tenderly kiss up and down the silvery blue metal of his body, and ride his spike until blunt gray digits, glittering with his lubricant, leave dents in his pelvic plating from the force of his overloads.

But that’s not an option right now. Luckily, Cyclonus is a patient mech, who enjoys the journey more than the destination. So really, who is he to complain about the slow pace he’s taking with his beloved. If anything, Tailgate is the one being impatient about this, about their interfacing life.

Tailgate is impatient. He’ll admit it. But shouldn’t he be impatient about this. Not when Cyclonus reaches deep inside him, his valve, his spark, and wraps around him, his spike, his servos, like a boa constrictor waiting for the perfect time to squeeze just right, and take everything.

“I want to touch your valve,” he says as firmly as he can. He’s trying to be assertive. He’s working on asking for help, or things he wants. And well, he really wants this. More than anything, really. His servo itches to stroke lilac folds and his mouth salivates at the thought of wrapping his lips around that glowing yellow exterior node.

“I don’t think you’re quite ready for that,” Cyclonus responds. He denies them what they both want, knowing that they need to wait longer. That tailgate loves him, but that interfacing with someone like him can be terrifying. He just needs to wait one more month, to get the mods to remove the teeth around his labia and around the calipers inside him.

“But I was ready for you to turn me into an overstimulated mess 5 decacycles ago?” tailgate snaps back. And then his hands cover his mouth immediately. “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to snap!”

Cyclonus sighs and gestures him to come closer. “ ‘Tis fine, come here.”

“It’s not fine! I shouldn’t talk to you like that! Ever!”

Tailgate finds himself helplessly pulled into Cyclonus’s lap, and his neck being nuzzled into by his conjuring. “I understand you’re frustrated, however it’s not you, the issue has never been you.”

“Babe…”

“Please do not call me those infernal Earth pet names.”

Tailgate chuckles and Cyclonus’s engine rumbles into his back. It’s nice, it’s peaceful, at least until Cyclonus speaks again. “You have to understand the issue is that my anatomy is dangerous, especially for a bot such as yourself.”

“Cyclonus, Ratchet showed me the diagrams of Tetrahexian interfacing parts when i went in to get tested for virus’s and get a cap put on my gestational chamber,” Tailgate responds, “I know what I’m going to see when your panels slide back.”

Cyclonus freezes. One of the few things he was afraid of was the eventuality that tailgate would see the barbed spike, which frankly intimidating for even other Tetrahexians, and see the sharp denta peaking between the folds of his valve and decided that Cyclonus wasn’t worth it anymore. That he was just as bad as everyone thought he was. But here he was, panel closed, and tailgate telling him that he knew, and the possibly, he didn’t care. “And you don’t mind?”

“If I minded I wouldn’t have been begging for the last few cycles for you to pull the panel back so I can like your pretty valve,” tailgate responds. He feels Cyclonus’s vents hitch and then blast hot air onto him. It’s soothing and arousing in the sense as it foreshadows what is to come.

Tailgate takes the silence as a queue to continue talking, hating to leave this moment quiet, when there’s a chance that Cyclonus is stewing in hurt and fear he is too prideful to show, a vulnerability he can’t show because he has to be strong for his conjux.

“In fact, the idea is really hot,” he finally settles on, “the idea that you could hurt me, but won’t, because you love me.” Tailgate takes a deep breath. “Oh slag. I want to touch your valve so badly. I don’t want to pressure you but-“

He’s interrupted by the sound of Cyclonus’s valve panel transformer in away and he scrambles out of his lap to take a closer look at his lover’s array. Tailgate is on his knees, in between Cyclonus’s legs, and his vents hitch at the glow behind his brilliant blue visor. It bathes his inner thighs in aqua light, and his yellow node pulses sunlight against the servo the Tailgate brings to it.

His fingers spread the lips of Cyclonus’s valve and show the rippling calipers inside. Sharp denta around the entrance almost completely retracted from arousal. He traces his finger around the edges of them and Cyclonus’s legs twitch and he brings a fist to his mouth to try and hide the noise that leaves his intake.

With one last look up, to confirm that Cyclonus truly wanted this, Tailgate transforms his battle mask away and lets him watch as his glossa traces his derma before he dives in.

He tries so hard to remember what feels good for him, what makes him wail and cry while Cyclonus is in between his legs, but he’s just so consumed in the smell and taste that he almost forgets he’s supposed to pleasing his partner.

His lips wrap around Cyclonus’s node and he doesn’t hear the keen because quivering purple thighs trap his helm exactly where he is, a clawed servo on the back pushing him deeper into the valve he’s currently devouring. He feels like he’s tasting sunlight, the way his tongue tingles with electricity and warmth.

His two servo trace the edges of his labia, the first ring of calipers with teeth, gently coxing them to retract before he pushes his two servos inside his valve, tips caressing the next line of calipers and denta.

Cyclonus has completely thrown his body back and is shaking, overwhelmed by the pleasure and love going through his system. He doesn’t know when his spark chamber opened up, he doesn’t know when his fisted servo left his mouth and began playing with the physical light pouring from him. He doesn’t know when it started spinning so quickly, flashing the room in bright blue light in flashes so brightly and quickly, that the echo of everything never left in the dark.

“I’m close!” He calls out to his lover. Was it in warning or was it a plead to continue? He doesn’t have time to figure it out before Tailgates servos push past the second and third calipers of his valve and the spasm around them in his overload.

Tailgate sucks his node and thrusts his servos through it, carrying him through easily the most intense overload of his life. Cyclonus has rip Tailgate’s head from between his thighs when the overstimulation gets too much.

His faceplates are burning blue, spark chamber open bathing tailgate in blue light, and he sees Tailgate open his as he crawls back up, faceplate-to-faceplate with his lover. Their chasises’ press together and he feels the flood of love, trust, and joy, carry and float him down from the high of his overload.

Cyclonus offlines his optics for a moment, he swears it’s just a moment, but when he comes back online his valve is closed and cleaned, his spark chamber closed covered by Tailgate resting on top him.

“You okay?” Tailgate asks.

Cyclonus grumbles at him lowly, but holds him closer to his chassis, to his spark.

“Okay less talking, more napping, got it.” He chuckles before nuzzling into Cyclonus’s kibble.

Silence passes over the two for a few kilks.

“How long until we have that double date with chromedome and rewind?” Cyclonus eventually asks.

“It started like… a human hour ago… I think.” Tailgate says. “We missed it.”