Summary: Perceptor has something new to try for Drift.
Rating: M (tiny tentacle creatures, object/creature insertion, plugging, oral, light bondage, copious amounts of various fluids, sticky, NSFW)
[Inspired by a mention in ceryskitty's fic, Experimental Procedures. Special thanks to JenKristo and aut0bitch for being awesome beta readers!]
"What in Primus' name is that?" gaped Drift, a twinge of apprehension in his tone.
Lying cuffed to the desk in the private study attached to Perceptor's lab, his ankles were bound to his thighs and held apart with some of the scientist's own energon rope. Normally, he would have been more than willing to have Perceptor bind him, always eager to indulge in one of their many shared passions, but this time there was an air about Perceptor. In his optics, the quirk of his lip plates, the shifting of weight from one hip to the other.
Perceptor stood before him. Behind that sly smile—the smirk Drift had come to associate with some of the best nights of his life—Perceptor's optics were hungry, filled with intention.
Wrapped around Perceptor's servo and the current center of Drift's focus was a writhing bundle of pseudo-organic appendages, pastel in color, a tint of pink somewhere between organic flesh and energon, and able to fit in the palm of his servo. Ropes of secretion connected its tendrils and Perceptor's digits, a viscous slick that adhered it in the scientist's hand while also providing it locomotion. Though it made now sounds of its own, Drift heard the wet squelches as it moved and explored.
"The fruits of many long months of tireless research," Perceptor answered, all the while appraising his creation. He extended his opposite hand and the creature reached out, touched the tip of his digit, and shied away. "Do you like it, Drift? I've been fine-tuning my experiments with pseudo-organic physiology. A fascinating creature, isn't it? So . . . dexterous."
His smirked quirked higher at one side, looking at Drift.
A streak of arousal buzzed through him as the scientist's optics swept over him.
"I designed them with you in mind."
"'Them'? Wait a sec—you're not planning to put that thing inside me, are you?" Drift asked, experiencing a pang of worry at the idea of having an entire creature in his. . . .
He tugged unconsciously on his restraints.
Perceptor gave a wry look and chuckled. The creature started to climb down his forearm, so he repositioned his hand so it returned to its place. His entire forearm and above were coated in a fine layer of pearlescent secretion.
"Now, why would I do a thing like that?" Perceptor chuckled.
"'Cause that's the kind of thing you love torturing me with."
Perceptor hummed a low sound in his chassis that made Drift want to break out of his cuffs and ravish him, experiment or no experiment.
"Hmmm, so true, my lovely little racer."
But then Perceptor's expression became serious. He lowered his arm and allowed the creature to travel to the other servo.
"Are you opposed to this, Drift?" he asked, all play gone from his tone. "I understand I've been a bit secretive about this up until now, and if I have put you off from it I apologize. If you do not want to do this, tell me and I will not bring it up again."
"It's not that, I just. . . ." Drift wiggled a little, more surprised by Perceptor's invention than repulsed by it. His voice trembled despite the firmness he wanted to project, staring unblinkingly at the creature's dozens of sinewy tendrils. "A-are you sure that things not gonna', you know, bite me? 'Cause I'd make you explain to Ratchet why there are little pieces missing out of my internal lining."
"Not at all, Drift. I engineered this creature myself. Not even Rodimus knows it exists. It has neither teeth nor claws and subsists exclusively on a fluid-based diet. There isn't even a rigid structure in its entire body. It's perfectly harmless, I assure you."
Though the logic side of his brain remained appalled, it was a creation of Perceptor's, and Drift trusted its designer implicitly. Plus, he'd be lying if he said he wasn't insanely curious to know how it would feel.
He settled his systems with a breath.
"Okay," Drift said, "I'll give it a shot. You made it for me, after all."
The smile that crossed Perceptor's lips was gilded rapture.
"No safe words," Perceptor stated. "You say stop, I will remove it."
He shifted a bit to better view as Perceptor inserted a metal ring into the rim of his valve, startling him momentarily with the cold. Perceptor apologized, placing chaste kisses along his arrays and a long lick up the underside of his spike.
Drift squirmed, feeling bare with his valve on display like this. The cold air unsettled him, but Perceptor's lips were a welcome comfort. Heat blushed across Drift's faceplate, his mind filled with the knowledge of what was about to happen, and twitched when Perceptor stroked his thigh to ease his nervousness.
With the utmost care, Perceptor nudged the creature against his valve; Drift's leg jerked, and Perceptor kissed his inner thigh. It could have been the warmth that enticed it, or the wetness, or perhaps even the scent. More likely it was a combination of all three that got the creature to release its hold on the sniper's hand and reach out. Tiny feelers explored the opening before it, touching the sides and the plating around it, tentatively seeking, familiarizing. It brushed into a few drops of lubricant and pulled itself inside.
Drift tensed at the influx of sensation. He whimpered.
Perceptor caressed his legs and kissed his knee.
"Easy, love," he whispered. "Relax. Don't clench too hard, now. You don't want to hurt it."
Drift willed himself to relax, if only a little, and the creature seemed to respond. With more freedom of movement, it shifted and pulled itself along, moving deeper to the back of his valve. A hard groan left Drift chewing his lower lip plate, staring blankly at the ceiling panels while his pleasure sensors tried to make heads or tails of the creature fluttering inside him.
Bizarre, torturous, and the perfect blend of euphoric and taboo, Drift shuddered. His optics came to focus on Perceptor: gazing over his body, walking his digits up and down his white inner thigh, and even giving his spike a few teasing strokes.
Pink tendrils arced out of his valve as the creature moved back down, but Perceptor guided them back inside.
Their optics met.
Drift panted, "I believe . . . there was a . . . a plural in there somewhere?"
Perceptor's optics brightened a shade, then darkened. "You want me to get the rest?"
"Wouldn't be too terribly agaINST IT—" Drift tensed as the creature's main bulk shifted past his caliper node, igniting a burst of sensations that left him a sudden quivering mess. He smiled breathlessly. "I know you don't mind sharing me. And—o-oh, Primus—i-it kinda feels . . . like more would be twice as good."
Perceptor retrieved a canister from one of countless shelves lining the walls—and something else Drift couldn't see. Unscrewing the lid, he reached into a viscous mess of opaque slime down to his elbow. Four more of the exact same creatures clung to his arm when he withdrew, each one a slightly different pastel color than the next. All felt about with their dozens of nimble tendrils, touching, exploring.
A shiver betrayed Drift as Perceptor returned. One by one, he introduced the creatures to their new dwelling. The first hesitated briefly, but when a cluster of other tendrils reached out to greet it, it pulled itself inside and the others eagerly followed suit. Their movements drew so many luscious sounds from the mech, his valve quivering as it expanded to make room for all the additions. Moving past each other, squirming, fluttering, and examining his sensory receptors and whatever divots and soft structures they could find.
The last one drew itself inside, a tight fit with five of the creatures now packed together. They moved about continually. Jockeying for positions which best suited them, sliding back and forth, one over the next, sometimes vying for a space occupied by another and getting into a squabble over it.
Drift felt it all. In perfect. Whimpering. Detail.
Perceptor cleaned his arm and removed the ring from Drift's valve, allowing it to retake its shape. Occasionally, a tendril or two would emerge to feel around, but Perceptor would always see the creature back inside.
Drift cycled rapidly. His body twitched at the smallest of movements. Groaning, shivering, optics a haze of cerulean lust.
There was no reprieve. The creatures never stopped moving, not for an instant. Either to play with each other or because of a tiff over space—Primus, maybe they just knew what sweet torture they were inflicting upon the mech.
Something hard pushed its way into the entrance of his valve, and with some chagrin Drift realized it was a plug. The tapered, unyielding shape was slightly bigger than what he was used to, but the mild discomfort was welcomed with a jerk of his hips, and Perceptor nudged it inside until the thickest part had forced its way through, allowing his valve to close around the thinner stalk. With the plug firmly in place, stretching Drift's first couple nodes with a mild zing, Perceptor had effectively sealed his creations inside.
The creatures reacted to the intrusion and the loss of space in the same way: by scrambling about and further mauling Drift's pleasure sensors.
Whimpers were like music to Perceptor's audios. Involuntary twitches riddled Drift's frame, jerking his legs occasionally and causing his spike to bob, burgeoning and leaking generous amounts of transfluid. Perceptor just couldn't help himself. He climbed into Drift's lap and surprised the mech by opening his panel and sinking down on his spike.
"Speak to me, Drift," Perceptor murmured, low and inviting. "Tell me how you feel."
Drift leaned his helm back on the table, chassis rising and falling rapidly with his cycling breath. Swallowing past the lump in his throat, the creatures buzzed about in his valve and Perceptor's own slick heat encompassed his spike as he rode him. It was a wonder he could form coherent thoughts at all. Black digits rubbed up and down his abdominal plating, massaging it.
"F-f-f-feels . . . str-trange—nnnngh," he panted. "They're—they're movi-ing . . . a lot. Primus, they move. Hah, hah. They . . . they're everywhere. . . . Filling me . . . squirming, ex-exploring? Aah, Perceptor . . . how long do you—mm! oh, yes, just like that. . . . H-how long do you intend to . . . leave them in . . . ?"
The smirk returned, and Perceptor leaned down. Caressing Drift's belly, he breathed on his lips.
"However long you can stand to keep them in you, love," he purred.
A delicious smile curved Drift's lips. He lifted his hips, pushing up the meet Perceptor's downward thrusts and igniting even more movement inside.
"Mmmmmm," Drift moaned, gazing sideways at his lover, "we might be here f-for a while, then. A-ah, Primus, Percy. . . . This feels . . . Primus, this feels incredible. . . ."
This was quite possibly the oddest interface Drift had done to date. Taking into account the fact he and Perceptor loved to indulge each other in as many kinks as they could come up with, both from their imagination and extensive research. Anything from bondage and suspension to energon play and—Perceptor's recent favorite—bringing a third party into their berths, like Ratchet or Rodimus, usually just so he could watch and self-service as Drift got the daylights fragged out of him. It was a considerable repertoire by any standard, but this. . . .
Drift rocked his helm back, jaw unhinging as numerous sets of sinewy tendrils grazed his sensory nodes. Sometimes they would grab on to move themselves around, stretching him wherever two passed together. Never keeping still. Always moving. Always writhing, buzzing, shifting. And Perceptor never slowed his pace, massaging his belly so ceaselessly it had gone from a mild tickle to adding to Drift's rising charge. The pleasure was mind-numbing, but not enough. Not nearly enough. He needed more, and at this rate he was starting to fear Perceptor wasn't going to give it to him.
Overload did eventually break over Perceptor's Spark. At that same instant, the tips of his digits opened up over two of Drift's abdominal seams and introduced a sinisterly high portion of his charge directly into his circuitry. Four events occurred simultaneously as a result: Drift overloaded with startling force, his valve spasmed, electrical impulses shot along his sensory nodes and sent the pseudo-organics inside into a frenzy, and an archaic transformation sequence (which had only ever been activated twice in his lifetime) was triggered. While the creatures in his valve squirmed about in a tizzy, the redundant gestation chamber at the base of his valve opened up, and Drift had approximately four seconds to realize Perceptor's intentions before all five creatures, in unison, bolted for the new opening.
Drift clocked his helm on the desk, crying out. He arched so quickly and so hard he nearly dislodged the mech from his lap. Overload fizzled through his processor as the creatures butted up against the iris into his chamber, clambering over one another until one finally won out, wedged itself into the narrow opening, and forced through.
"Oh, frag—oh, frag—oh, fraaaag—! Perceptoooor~ They're—ahh!"
Moaning hard, Drift clutched his restraints, feeling in great detail the divine pressure, the zing of the initial stretch, then relief as the next creature was finally through. Three more times he felt this happen, and only after his chamber was packed to the brink with five joyously wriggling masses did he feel any kind of dismay.
"Y-you—hah!—you planned this," he stammered accusingly.
"From the very beginning," Perceptor confirmed, stroking his love's cheek.
Sliding out of Drift's lap, Perceptor cleaned himself off and closed his arrays. A glance over Drift's body revealed a slight warp in his abdominal plating: a bulge so infinitesimal it might have gone unnoticed had Perceptor not been so fond of memorizing the spiritualist's frame.
Drift followed him with his eyes as Perceptor collected a few things and put them on their respective shelves, leaving the housing canister on a nearby table.
"Yo-you leaving?" asked Drift.
Perceptor returned to his side and indulged him in a long, fiery kiss.
"Just for a little while," he said, lingering at Drift's dazed lips. "There are a few data collection modules I need to see to in the lab, but I will not be far, Drift. My commlink will be open, and I will come to check on you regularly." He smiled, placing a servo on the other's paunch and stroking it with his thumb. "Besides, this would be a magnificent opportunity for you to get acquainted with our new friends."
Drift moaned. "A-ah, 'kay. . . ."
He chewed his lower lip. The creatures alternated their positions in his chamber. A couple chose to move back down into his valve. Pushing their way through the narrow iris, Drift whined from the pressure and gasped when they snapped free, delving back and forth in quick flicks of their bodies. Passing each other and stretching his humming nodes, another emerged from his chamber and the three jammed together into a ball of no-you-move-first stubbornness right under his caliper node, pushing it out. His hips lurched involuntarily, crying out.
Perceptor lingered a moment to watch this, then untied the ropes from Drift's ankles. Carefully, he helped him stretch out again, not wanting him to get cramped or, worse, cut off his circulation. Drift tugged on the cuffs, signaling he wanted them off as well.
Perceptor shook his helm.
"No, no, my lovely little racer, those stay on," Perceptor purred wryly. "Wouldn't want you to try to end the game before it's over, now, would we?"
Breathless, Drift smirked.
"Oh, you're evil, Perc-cy," he said, condensation forming along his brow guard. "Pure evil. . . ."
"Ah, yes," Perceptor grinned. Leaning down, he placed his hands on Drift's belly and gently kissed it, finding the slight roundness irrationally sexy. "And that is why you love me so much. Mmm, I can feel them moving, Drift."
"Mmngh, don't take too-oo long, Percept-tor. When we're done here, I'm gonna'—hah! O-oh, slagging Primus—!"
He was cut off as the three creatures pushed back up into his chamber, attempting it together at first, but reneged and went through one after the other, their passage eased as Drift's body acclimated. The other two exited down his valve and wrestled.
Perceptor kissed his panting lips and whispered, "I look forward to it."
Monitoring his experiments in the lab was easier said than done when his commlink was filled with the sweetest, most desperate moans a bot could make. Perceptor felt Drift writhing across the comm, and the begging certainly did not help his concentration. Still, he was getting quite a bit of useful data from the creatures' implants. If nothing else, at least he and Drift weren't the only ones enjoying themselves.
Every thirty minutes, Perceptor returned to the study to check on Drift, usually finding the mech wriggled into some odd position in his attempt to work himself to overload, yet the creatures seemed to put up valiant efforts in keeping it from him. There was nothing Perceptor loved more than seeing Drift in pleasure: whimpers of tortured bliss, biting his lip, optics watery, lissome plates blazing, and finials aglow.
Two hours in, Drift's expression was dazed. Drips of lubricant puddled under his aft where it had begun to escape passed the plug, spike standing tall and aching, untouched. Perceptor returned to his side and kissed him awake, stroking his cheek and neck and whispering loving things in his audial.
"Perceptor," Drift groaned, worn out. Legs splayed and covered in coolant.
"Here, eat this," Perceptor said, gingerly pressing an energon treat to his lips. "It will give you back some energy."
Drift consumed the treats graciously, but he was even more relieved when Perceptor finally freed his wrists from the cuffs. Grateful just to be able to move his arms freely again, he was much too exhausted to even complain, and allowed Perceptor to feed him a few more bites. Primus, they tasted divine. He ate greedily, and by time Perceptor set the empty plate aside Drift grabbed him by his helm and mashed their lips together. Biting, tactless, and rough, they gripped each other tight and kissed like they were trying to devour the other.
Pulling away, Drift's shaking digits dug into the back of Perceptor's helm, hot breath fogging his reticle.
"Are you gonna' take them out now?" he asked, optics ravenous. "Because I think I've had about all I can ta-ake without a proper fragging."
Perceptor nodded. "Yes, I've collected all the data I needed. My intentions were to drag this out to tease you, but I apologize if it has taken too long."
Drift flopped back on the desk, biting his lip and dropping his jaw when one of the creatures dislodged from his chamber and wriggled about next to the others.
"Primus, Perc-cy, don't apol'gize," he slurred, cycling ragged. "We're going to do this again sometime. Soon. But—ah, mnnnn!—r-right now I just need you to. . . ."
Drift trailed off as Perceptor moved between his legs. Stroking his servos along scalding thighs, Perceptor sucked Drift's spike in his mouth and bobbed up and down. Drift's helm snapped back. He cried out, long and deliciously shrill. Transfluid leaked from the tip, the shaft throbbed, and Perceptor bobbed his helm, laved the slit with his glossa, and sucked until Drift was shocked with a burst of electrical euphoria. Overload crackled through his plates, and he collapsed in a heap of relief, barely registering Perceptor swallowing around him. Spurred by the sudden burst, Perceptor's creations came back to full activeness and began diving back and forth through Drift's chamber and valve.
The plug came out next and brought with it a suctioned pop and a virtual torrent of lubricant. Drift's knees trembled. He gripped the edge of the desk and arched his neck.
"Aaaah! Percy! Th-they went back—mmngh!—back in m-my chamber," Drift whined.
Perceptor had expected as much. Data from the implants suggested the creatures were quite happy with their new home, so removing them would be tricky. He tried the simplest approach first: feeling them out in Drift's valve. Drift seemed fine with the method, but it egged no response out of his creations.
The white mech groaned as he withdrew. "Tell me you h-have a way of getting them out, Percy. . . . As great as it is-is to feel like this . . . I really need to come down. . . ."
"There is no need to worry, Drift," Perceptor said. "I just need to tire them out."
Before Drift could wonder how he intended to do that, Perceptor shimmied him closer until his aft was almost off the edge of the desk. Bringing Drift's thighs to rest on his hips, Perceptor opened his panel and his spike pressurized immediately.
Already charged, Drift noted with a hint of satisfaction, licking a bit of oral lubricant from the corner of his mouth. He better positioned himself, and Perceptor finally—Finally!—entered him. Thighs flush with Drift's aft, both moaned thickly.
As far as his own pleasure went, Perceptor would have liked it to last. Primus, he wanted to make love to Drift. When he was shivering in sexual exhaustion, pliant and quivering and perfect, Perceptor wanted to ravish him through the desk. But the mech was spent, and he wasn't about to push boundaries when it might not be welcome. He held Drift's thigh and pumped his spike until it was fully pressurized, massaging the slit with the pad of his thumb.
Stuffed with those wonderfully writhing bodies, Drift whimpered. His chamber was heavy within him. His Spark ached, having held too much charge with too few opportunities to disperse it. Drift chewed his cheek lining and gripped Perceptor's servo as tightly as his circuits would allow.
Inside him, the creatures reacted to the intrusion seemingly with interest. A number of tendrils probed curiously outward, retracting from Perceptor's thrusts but reaching out again when he retreated.
Perceptor deepened his thrusts, feeling the tendrils trying to explore. He pushed their frames as close as their armor would allow, reveling in the tortured keen it wrung from Drift, and pistoned his hips tightly. The tendrils grew bolder. Soon they were exploring his spike in greater detail, not retracting from his thrusts but catching the rhythm and timing their touches with it. Even Drift could feel how they all positioned themselves closer together, each wanting to explore this strange addition. He begged Perceptor to frag him harder.
Dozens of tiny tendrils snaked along the head of his spike. One found the slit and attempted to examine it by delving fractionally inside. It was the kick that sent Perceptor over, and he took Drift with him.
Drift tensed and slumped for the last time. Equal parts soreness and bliss quaked through his frame, more than happy to feel Perceptor overload in him. Transfluid washed into his chamber, a strange sensation by its own right, but the response it garnered from the creatures was unexpected. Their writhing slowed almost to a stop, so sudden he feared Perceptor may have killed them, but the worry was repealed when he pulled out and gently rubbed his belly.
"Move back a little, Drift. There, that's perfect. Push them out, now. Carefully," Perceptor guided him.
He did, and one by one the creatures slid easily from his chamber into an obscene puddle of mixed white, pink, and pearlescent fluids on the desk. Each still moved but slowly, lethargically.
Perceptor gathered them up one at a time and returned them to their housing canister, spun the lid shut, and put it back in its place on a shelf.
Drift lied there. He felt filthy. Transfluid, lubricant, and secretion smattered his thighs and condensation pooled across his plates. He didn't envy Perceptor, not when he would eventually have to clean up the mess; if he had enough energy later, maybe he'd help.
Drift couldn't ignore his curiosity, though. Fortunately, he didn't need to ask.
"I designed them with a failsafe in mind," Perceptor explained, matter-of-fact. "They power down immediately after feeding."
Drift blinked. "'Feeding'? Wait, you designed them to consume transfluid?" He gaped. "Of all the things—why?"
"It is a simple enough compound to synthesize in a laboratory environment, and if I were ever to run out and could not synthesize more then it is always possible to fall back to my own reservoir." The sideways grin the followed snapped Drift out of his bewilderment. "And while I did design them with the intention of furthering my research, I anticipated them to be functional during interface."
Drift was torn, finding the thoroughness of Perceptor's research results to be equal parts off-putting and unreasonably erotic.
He beckoned Perceptor with a digit. The instant the scientist was within arm's reach, Drift snagged him by the back of his helm and mashed their lips together. Like before, the kiss was fervid, passionate, and demanding above all, moaning, panting, and trying to run circles around Perceptor's glossa with his own. Drift pulled back, a thin rope of oral lubricant connecting them before being licked away, and locked optics with him. Perceptor looked ready to pounce.
"You've got about thirty seconds to get me to your habsuite and frag me through your berth, Perceptor," Drift growled, vehement despite the fact he could barely sit up much less stand or walk, "or you're going to have a very surly mech to deal with tomorrow. All of tomorrow. And you can bet your perfect aft I'm going to do to you exactly what you put me through today. Only don't think I'll ask nicely."
Perceptor didn't doubt a word of it. As naturally pliant as Drift was, the violent-Decepticon-turned-Autobot-spiritualist being dominating was a rare thing indeed—and, mmmm, something to treasure. It made him feel like prey under Drift's hungry stare, and Perceptor imagined him fragging him into every surface of his habsuite once he got his strength back.
He had Drift's panels and the desk wiped clean in a flash. Drift barely had time to tuck himself away before Perceptor grabbed him by the waist and slug him over his non-microscope shoulder, carrying him giggling and biting all the way to his habsuite.
[AM I KICKED OUT OF THE FANDOM YET? I'M KICKED OUT AREN'T I]
[*explodes into confetti anyway*]