Games of Desire

"There's never anything to do around here, I'm going to go hit the racks," he had whined.

He had been bored. Well, he certainly wasn't bored now, not in the least, as he gave a heavy moan. Behind him, a green mech worked, each thrust into his valve causing deep chills of pleasure to move through his frame. So unexpected it had been, the red and orange mech thought, when just ten minutes ago, the mech behind him, green, had clucked his vocalizer in annoyance from his words of boredom.

Oh how stiffly had Springer been sitting at his very appearance, and Hotrod had been put off to say the least at the off handed way that the other wreckers mech had been, ignoring him as he had played that solitary little card game. Imagine his surprise, Hotrod's, when the mech, larger than he, had so grabbed him whilst in the shower racks. It had been fast and rough so far, but it was hardly non-consensual.

"Bored, huh? I can bang all the boredom out of your CPU for the next three days," Springer had divulged in a low voice, taking him by the shoulders, shoving him against the wall only a few minutes after the mech had so brushed him off.

The promise had been all too tempting, and truly, the red and orange mech had been that bored. Springer was hardly the sort for foreplay it seemed, yet more than a few dirty things had been spoken.

"Roddy, Roddy, such a slut, aren't you?" he had drawled roughly before he had turned the lither mech about, pressing him against the wall.

Into his audio receptors the mech had whispered, "I see how you walk, your hips swaying, it's like you're begging for it. . ." Hotrod could only shiver to that as the spray of water and solvent sprinkled upon their plating.

"Ahhh, you know me, I'm just a little whore. . ." Hotrod groaned out as he felt lubricant drip from his valve as Springer pounded him.

"Slut would be a better word," Springer whispered before he buried his denta against a red shoulder.

Crying out, Hotrod dug his digits against the slick wall while his optics flared brightly. Oh, Hotrod loved a bigger mech taking him, forcing him down, and pleasuring him until he offlined. Never had he thought Springer so capable! Still, Springer wasn't the perfect match of what he wanted. . . As that pleasure trickled in, as Hotrod cried out time and time again as that spike brushed over sensor nodes in his valve, the slim mech's thoughts were going elsewhere. Red. . .blue. . .white. . . a larger mech than even Springer, Hotrod thought with a coy smile as he flicked an optic back at Springer who was still biting at his shoulder, by now leaving clear indents.

Smiling, Hotrod opened his mouth wider, and screamer out a designation.

Not Springer's designation.

No.

"Optimus!" screamed the lithe mech while his processor went wild with a myriad of scenarios that would now play out.

Springer's hips slammed into his aft roughly, but did not draw back, and rather quickly did Springer's denta leave his shoulder as he looked at Hotrod for an awkward, incredulous moment. Hotrod could only grin, though he gasped as Springer pulled free of him. Lubricant dripped down from his valve, splattering in the solvent that still flowed over the tile of the wash rack floors. "Heh. . ." Hotrod managed before he was slapped by one of Springer's large and powerful hands.

Toppling to the floor, Hotrod was far more amused than indignant over the fact he had been hit by Springer. "Little slagger," Springer muttered as he pressed his hand to Hotrod's backstrut, pushing the mech down.

"What's wrong, Springer. . ? You should take it as a compliment," Hotrod murmured breathily, lips agape while his valve felt so empty. "Not every day a mech can rail me that good. . . Mmm. . ." Hotrod remarked as he wiped his lips, "Now, are you going to gimme more, or leave me cold and waiting?"

Reaching a hand down, Springer jerked Hotrod up to his knees by grabbing his chin. "Naw, I have half the CPU to make you suck me off," Springer said with a grin.

A pout appeared over Hotrod's lips, "Oh don't be a spoilsport!" sulked the lithe mech upon his knees before Springer.

"What's that Hotrod? I wasn't paying attention," Springer smirked as he brushed his thumb over the bottom of Hotrod's lips, "I was just thinking of how nice these lips of yours would look stretched over my spike. . ." Springer continued.

Giving a huff, Hotrod responded, "Should I add in that I have a penchant for biting?" Pursing his lips, Hotrod gave a devious smirk as he met Springer's optics.

"That so, huh?" Springer asked as he tipped his helm to the side, regarding Hotrod quietly. Smirking, the broad Wrecker reached a hand down, pressing it between the smaller mech's legs.

Hotrod gave a gasp when Springer wormed his middle digit into his valve. That intruding digit, Hotrod noted, was just as large as some mech's spikes. A shuddering thought, he realized as Springer covered his lips with his own. Moaning against Springer's mouth, Hotrod returned that opened mouth kiss, twining his glossa around Springer's when the mech's glossa intruded into his oral cavity. Lifting himself up a bit, Hotrod split his legs so Springer could better finger him. A muffle moaned was forced into Springer's mouth as Hotrod cried out as the larger mech forced another one of his stocky digits into the smaller mech's valve. Reaching his hands up, he gripped Springer's broad shoulders, holding them tightly while Springer scissored his digits back and forth within the confines of Hotrod's taut but pliable valve.

"Like that, huh?" Springer asked Hotrod after he had broken the kiss, smearing his wet lips over Hotrod's audio.

Disappointment appeared over Hotrod's features when Springer pulled his slicked digits from Hotrod's valve. However, Springer shoved his fingers, wet with lubricant, into Hotrod's mouth.

"There have a taste of yourself, you little harlot," Springer breathed against Hotrod's audio receptor.

The taste was slightly tangy, but not at all bad, Hotrod thought, smirking to Springer as he wrapped his glossa around the fingers to suck every last trace of his lubricant from them.

Hotrod couldn't help but nip Springer's digits as the mech pulled them free of his mouth and past his lips. "Mmm," Hotrod murmured as Springer fully knelt down, his thick spike standing proud and erect between his legs. Staring, Hotrod noted the thick bead of transfluid that had formed at the tip of it and was now dripping down slowly. Springer dropped his hands to Hotrod's hips, grabbing them forcefully and dragging the mech forward towards him. The abrasive tile would have surely scraped the paint right off of his shin plating, but Hotrod was hardly concerned with that at that precise moment. No, he was much more concerned with —

"Ohhhhh!" he screamed as he was pulled down upon Springer's spike. Helm thrown back, Hotrod's whole frame twitched as he was impaled once again upon that pleasurable intruder. Spread eagle over Springer's lap, a pleased little chuckle left his vocalizer while Hotrod stared up at the ceiling of the washracks.

Hotrod had just been about to moan or say some snide little comment to Springer to get the mech going, but they were interrupted.

"Ahem. . ." came a voice before the mech cleared his vocalizer.

Optics flaring, Hotrod gave a choked little sound at the sight of Perceptor standing at the doorway of the washracks looking annoyed. Hotrod had expected flustered but certainly not such a look as that. Gape mouthed, Hotrod also noticed how banged up Perceptor was. There was hardly a patch of smooth paint left on the normally gawky and sheepish scientist. Springer seemed just as surprised.

Tapping his pede, Perceptor crossed his arms, "Well? Are you two going to finish up and move out of here so I can get a wash? I mean, I've only been planet side for two weeks, in practical scum, and I would like a wash sometime in this next stellar cycle. . ." Perceptor rattled off.

Flustered and feeling hot in his cheeks, Hotrod quickly untangled himself from his and Springer's coitus. Almost awkwardly he rose up, closing his panel while Springer worked to tuck away his spike. Smiling weakly he strode towards the door and Perceptor whom stepped out of the way. Hotrod would've apologized but half gagged at the scent that caught his olfactory sensors.

"Primus, Percy! What did you roll in? A dead cyberwolf?" Hotrod asked incredulously as he covered his nasal ridge, which did little good.

"Oh, something like that. Now, excuse me, I'd like to get said stench of 'dead animal' off of me," Perceptor mused as he strode into the washrack as if he owned the place.

That was certainly new, Hotrod thought as he slipped out, Springer soon following.

Perhaps they could continue their fun in a more private setting. . .