♡Bend til it Breaks♡

The calloused pad of a thumb rubs maddening circles, long digits reaching deep. One seems to know just where to press, how to curl, applying the perfect pressure to interior ridges. Wet heat grips, full derma parted in wordless appreciation.

Yet again, he withdraws, pulling an impatient huff from her, along with a scathing look. His laughter does little more than stoke the agitated fire, though his next actions distract her easily enough.

Servo raised, he meets her gaze and proudly displays the slick on his digits, glistening webbing arched between them. The jagged scar along his cheek puckers as he parts his denta, glossa dragging between to steal the taste of her pleasure for himself.

And then his helm is lowering, settling into the cradle of her thighs before his palms press them wide.

Her vision was obscured, darkness broken only by a pale hint of red. The obstruction served only to enhance the other sensations she was immersed in. The raspy revelry of appreciative moans, the firm, fluttering grip of something wet and welcoming on her spike.

One servo was braced against what she could only assume was the curve of a waist, hips rocking up, controlled, into the eager embrace of a valve.

Fainting scraping is softened by the slick that paints her lover's thighs.

Her other servo grips... whatever it was that she held over her fascia. It was a collection of sharp angles, tapering as they traveled downward. Curious, she pulls it from her optics, dim light pouring around the edges.

A mask?

A smarmy chuckle shifts her attention down to the grinning countenance this covering clearly belonged on.

Again, the ending she seeks slips through her digits like a whisper of a smoke, appearing tangible but dispersing as soon as she attempts to graps it.

The thin white apertures of her optics fluctuate in size, shrinking and expanding along with her field. Twin halves of his glossa slide against either side of her node, and as it retracts, she attempts to chase, though her frame is held firm in an unyielding grip.

At this point the sounds that leave her are unintelligible, a chorus of rasping snarls and strangled groans. Her denta snap shut, just barely missing the tip of her own glossa.

Then finally - finally - he gifts her with mercy, derma sealing around the straining cluster of sensory endings with a firm suck.

The rough texture of his cheek scraping the plating of her thigh contrasts sharply with the soft wet of his glossa, the tip of which is tracing a reverant path into the soft mesh near the apex of her struts.

Hooded optics watch the motion with heady intensity, the heat of his nearness sweetly torturous. So close.

His name is a plea, ragged as it claws its way from her vocaliser. Naja wasn't sure how much more she could withstand, his journey having started near the joint of her ankle, an aimless trek of kisses and nips, punctuated now with a possessive branding, carving his claim into her metal.

Paneling retracts, showing him just how much she needs his continued attentions elsewhere. The thought of that scorching appendage licking the same set of glyphs against her node and valve draws another rasping sound from her.

Oh how she did love a mech on their knees; an offering of control and vulnerability. The glistening black hooks adorning her digits curve along the edges of his mask, tapping lightly, an order to remove the obstruction.

He does so without complaint after only a moment's hesitation - very likely resisting the urge to behave like a brat. Allen always did enjoy pushing his luck.

Barrier removed, the scarlet femme slides the rounded edges of her talons along the high angle of his cheeks. A thumb presses gently against the seam of his derma, and - upon their parting - slides past, claw carefully retracted as she feels his glossa sweep along the pad.

Optics shuttered, she allows the multitude of sensations to tell a story. Needletip digits skating over sensitive plating while a glossa - long and dextrous as her own - leaves glistening trails along seams and joints. The stimulating properties of Mourningstar's unique oral lubricant become apparent in only a matter of kliks, every piece of her frame touched by the tentacular limb warming, tingling with a sensitivity not unlike the potent aphrodisiacs some clients preferred to use during her time in the brothel.

Naja's own digits curl inward, claws pressing into the mesh of her palms. Her brow furrows at the effort it takes not to reach down and touch in return, field fluctuating in time with the steady throb that begins to build low in her chassis.