[G1] With Benefits - Part Seven
a/n: On the road to marking more things complete. Huzzah! Once again, this is NSFW and I'm writing two unfamiliar characters to be warned of possible OOC. Self-beta'd. Enjoy!
Title: With Benefits
Universe: G1
Description: Optimus is about to have a very good day; he just doesn't know it yet. Inspired by this kinkmeme prompt.
Part Seven: Medical Necessity
Characters: HoistxGrapplexOptimus
Enticements: Sticky, Tactile, Oral, Handjob
Optimus is in the washracks for yet another quick rinse when he gets the ping for a new message. Grinning to himself, he is not at all surprised by the contents and can only conclude that Mirage must be trailing him wherever he goes. Or he is in league with Red Alert and tapping into the Ark's surveillance system.
Still, for this quality video, the former noble deserves a gift. Optimus will have to think of something nice to give him.
Today is turning out to be quite the unexpected day, Optimus muses as he steps out of the racks and hurriedly swipes his frame clear of solvent. Unexpected, but also very pleasant.
Sharing pleasure with his Autobots is nothing new to Optimus. It only seems to be happening in abundance today. He is far from complaining, only curious as to why.
Optimus tosses the damp, over-sized towel into a bin for later cleaning, checks the time, and hurries on to the medbay. He arrives with seconds to spare, finding the medbay to be empty of all personnel save Hoist and Grapple.
“Hullo, Optimus,” says Grapple with a cheerful wave.
“Good afternoon, sir,” adds Hoist as he swipes a cloth over the main diagnostic berth, fastidious to an even stronger degree than Ratchet. “Enjoying your day off?”
“Yes. Though unexpected it was.” Optimus peers around, into every nook and cranny, but he can't see anyone else. Not even another patient, miracle of miracles.
“Is there a problem?” Grapple asks, sounding amused.
Optimus chuckles, his plating relaxing. “No. It's hard not to be wary when entering Ratchet's domain, is all.”
“A wise frame of mind,” Grapple replies.
“Poor Ratchet. He has such a reputation.” Hoist laughs with a shake of his helm, stowing away his cleaning cloth. “On the berth with you then. This shan’t take long.”
“It is one well-deserved,” Optimus says as he climbs onto the medberth and Hoist hurries to lift the extenders to accommodate his frame. “Though I've often reassured the troops he's all bluster.”
“Small wonder they don't believe you.” Grapple wheels over a tray loaded with medical paraphernalia, including jugs of coolant and cydraulic fluid. “Ratchet enjoys cultivating an aura of terror.”
“That he does.” Optimus laughs and makes himself comfortable, remarking that they must have redesigned the berth because his pedes no longer dangle off the end. How nice.
Grapple pats him on the shoulder. “Relax, Optimus. Ratchet keeps you at one-hundred percent so we're just going to do some basic maintenance.”
“Change your filters. Flush your coolant. Fill your reservoirs. Et cetera. Et cetera,” Hoist adds, patting him on the other shoulder.
“That sounds acceptable.” Optimus draws in a heavy vent and releases it slowly, offlining his optics and completely relaxing onto the berth. Unlike most of the Autobots, he hasn't developed a fear of the medbay.
Yet.
Optimus drifts off as they work, half-dozing, half-aware. He watches as his HUD reports a steadily climbing percent of function. He can't remember the last time he's been entirely maintained.
Hoist tsks at him as a scan washes over Optimus, tingling where it hits his most reactive sensors. “How can you function with so many kinked cables?”
“To be honest, I've ceased noticing them,” Optimus replies, which is truth. They were, at first, irritating, but low on his list of priorities. They don't impede necessary function or cause true pain. Getting those kinks smoothed out feels like a luxury.
The medic sighs, the sound of a mech exasperated but also used to being so. “This won't do. They'll have to be sorted at once.”
Prime flickers his optics, raising his hands to spread them in surrender. “I'm at your mercy,” he says.
Grapple chuckles. “Yes, you are. Yet, you might find you'll enjoy it.”
Two sets of hands descend upon him. Grapple, at his helm, manually works the strong cables of his arms and shoulders. While Hoist starts at Optimus' pedes, a lazy heat emanating from his palms and pulsing against his kinked joints. Optimus fights back a moan. He can feel the tightness ease, an irritating but background pain vanishing into the minutes.
Grapple moves on to his chestplate and lateral seams, leaving loose plating in his wake and a soft bloom of comfort. Warmth spreads through Optimus, his engine rumbling with a happy purr.
Hoist slides up his legs, paying attention to his knees before approaching Optimus' thighs. Sensitive inner plating sensors tingle. His interface components heat, not so much a desperate lust as it is a floating desire.
In fact, he tingles all over.
Hoist's field pulses affection and amusement at him, even as his fingers dive into the seams at Optimus' hips.
“Will you open for me, sir?” Hoist asks, tone hinting of mischief as one of his fingers teases a path across Optimus' interface panel.
“Maintenance checks include all aspects of a mech's frame, after all,” Grapple purrs.
“I'm sensing an ulterior motive,” Optimus says, onlining his optics to give both of his medics an indulgent look.
“Perhaps,” Hoist says with a hot ex-vent over the panel concealing Optimus' spike and valve. “It would be my pleasure to offer you some.”
Grapple's fingers continue to work their magic, massaging relaxation into every stressed cable. “Every mech deserves to be pampered every so often, Prime.”
Optimus cycles a ventilation. “Everyone seems to share that opinion today.”
“Then, as Jazz would say, you should relax and go with the flow,” Hoist says with a wink and a stroke of his fingers.
“Sound advice.” Optimus smiles and relaxes, letting his panels slide open in answer to Hoist's request.
The tingling in his circuits grows stronger, especially as Hoist's warm ventilations caress his exposed components. Optimus grips the berth, cycling a ventilation. His spike throbs and his valve grows slick with lubricant, anticipating whatever Hoist might have in store for him. Today has been a day of surprises, all of them pleasant.
The first swipe of Hoist's glossa makes him tremble. It traces the outer rim of Optimus' valve, igniting every sensor with slow, measured intent. He is glad for the weight of Hoist's grip on his thighs else he would have arched upward, perhaps injuring the smaller mech.
“Someone has not been giving all of his parts fair attention,” Grapple purrs as his hands draw nonsense patterns in the charge rising from Optimus' substructure. Each arc snaps against Grapple's fingers, sharpening the sensation.
Grapple leans over Optimus, their helms brushing together in a lovely kiss of metal on metal that sends reverberations through Optimus' plating. His field ripples in response, warm with rising pleasure.
“For shame, Optimus,” Grapple continues into Optimus' audial, his vocals somehow stirring the desire into a needful lust.
Optimus shivers again.
Hoist's glossa slides deeper, exciting the sensors just within the rim of his valve. Optimus releases a strangled sound, fire flushing through his lines.
Grapple is right. Optimus rarely uses his valve as it is and whilst today it has seen more action than usual, it is nothing quite so dedicated and exploratory. And now, his valve responds as if it has never been touched, each sensor blooming with hot-fire sensation.
Each swipe of Hoist's glossa makes his spark throb and lubricant pool in his valve. He can feel it trickling out, further exciting the sensors. His calipers cycle down on nothing, as though remembering Red Alert's cable and aching to be filled once more. Optimus' hips shifts on the berth, thighs spreading wider in invitation.
Optimus' spike pressurizes, pointing at the ceiling, a dribble of transfluid hanging at the tip. He unwraps a hand from the berth, intent on reaching for himself, only to be intercepted by Grapple.
“Allow me,” Grapple offers, shifting until he can reach Optimus' spike and wrapping his long, agile fingers around the girth of it.
This time, a groan does escape Optimus. His entire frame rattles, releasing a crawling burst of static energy. Hoist's glossa slides deeper, a slick press on his internal nodes that causes electricity to spark within his valve. He squirms, a moan rolling from the depths of his chassis, frame overheating.
Grapple's hand tightens on Optimus' spike, giving him a firm stroke from root to tip. Optimus' hips jutter upward, nearly dislodging Hoist's efforts as he seeks more of the same from Grapple. Transfluid leaks from the tip of his spike and his hand spasms where Grapple's fingers tangle with his.
Optimus' fans burst to life and he sucks in a ventilation, only to blast it out again. Heat courses through his frame. He starts to tremble, thighs shaking, his valve trickling lubricant. Pleasure rises up, swallowing his higher-level thoughts, until all he can think is more, please, yes, yes, yes.
Hoist is happy to oblige his vocal stream of pleasure. Grapple's fingers increase their pace on his spike.
Optimus' hips dance in a rhythm all their own, up into the tunnel of Grapple's fist, and down against the wonderful swipe of Hoist's glossa. Up and then down. Up and then down. He gains his rhythm and loses it again, frame a confused twist seeking the nearest source of pleasure.
Grapple murmurs in his audial, a steady stream of encouragement and desire that shoots straight to Optimus' interface. His spike throbs, his valve clenches on nothing and overload seems to shoot through him like a lightning bolt.
Optimus all but bellows, electric discharge lighting up his frame in blue-white fire as his spike spurts. Lubricant floods his valve, quickly lapped up by Hoist's glossa. Optimus' vents churn at max speed as he collapses onto the berth. His circuits are humming, heat rising from his core.
“There,” says Hoist, his tone both smug and amused before he presses a final kiss to Optimus' valve. “Now isn't that better?”
Grapple laughs.
Optimus chuckles. “Much,” he says and forces his optics to online, though all he wants to do is fall into recharge. “Thank you.”
Hoist pats his thigh plating with a soft ring of metal on metal. “You're welcome. Now recharge.”
“Yes, Prime. Take a nap,” Grapple encourages, unwinding his fingers from Optimus' spike and pulling out a cloth to clean off his hand.
“In the middle of the day?” Optimus arches an orbital ridge.
“What better time?” Hoist pats his knees, fingers lingering over sensitive hydraulic lines. “Medic's orders.”
“Well, in that case...” Optimus shuffles around on the berth, aware of the sticky mess between his thighs and on his pelvic frame. “Though perhaps I could--”
Grapple tosses a cloth to Hoist. “Way ahead of you, sir. Relax. We'll take care of the rest. It's what we're here for.”
Optimus obeys, offlining his optics and surrendering to the sensation of cloth rubbing over his frame. He really could use a short shutdown, he muses to himself. It will be a nice indulgence, much like the rest of his day.
Optimus drifts into recharge, making a mental note to answer the message pinging his inbox as soon as he onlines. But first, a nap.
***
a/n: Two more porny parts and an epilogue to go, my friends.
Coming up next, Optimus gets invited to check out his scientists' newest inventions. And, as it should happen, they need a test subject. Optimus is eager to oblige. *grins*
Feedback is always welcome and appreciated.
This entry was originally posted at http://dracoqueen22.dreamwidth.org/247881.html. Feel free to comment wherever you find most convenient.
Title: With Benefits
Universe: G1
Description: Optimus is about to have a very good day; he just doesn't know it yet. Inspired by this kinkmeme prompt.
Part Seven: Medical Necessity
Characters: HoistxGrapplexOptimus
Enticements: Sticky, Tactile, Oral, Handjob
Optimus is in the washracks for yet another quick rinse when he gets the ping for a new message. Grinning to himself, he is not at all surprised by the contents and can only conclude that Mirage must be trailing him wherever he goes. Or he is in league with Red Alert and tapping into the Ark's surveillance system.
Still, for this quality video, the former noble deserves a gift. Optimus will have to think of something nice to give him.
Today is turning out to be quite the unexpected day, Optimus muses as he steps out of the racks and hurriedly swipes his frame clear of solvent. Unexpected, but also very pleasant.
Sharing pleasure with his Autobots is nothing new to Optimus. It only seems to be happening in abundance today. He is far from complaining, only curious as to why.
Optimus tosses the damp, over-sized towel into a bin for later cleaning, checks the time, and hurries on to the medbay. He arrives with seconds to spare, finding the medbay to be empty of all personnel save Hoist and Grapple.
“Hullo, Optimus,” says Grapple with a cheerful wave.
“Good afternoon, sir,” adds Hoist as he swipes a cloth over the main diagnostic berth, fastidious to an even stronger degree than Ratchet. “Enjoying your day off?”
“Yes. Though unexpected it was.” Optimus peers around, into every nook and cranny, but he can't see anyone else. Not even another patient, miracle of miracles.
“Is there a problem?” Grapple asks, sounding amused.
Optimus chuckles, his plating relaxing. “No. It's hard not to be wary when entering Ratchet's domain, is all.”
“A wise frame of mind,” Grapple replies.
“Poor Ratchet. He has such a reputation.” Hoist laughs with a shake of his helm, stowing away his cleaning cloth. “On the berth with you then. This shan’t take long.”
“It is one well-deserved,” Optimus says as he climbs onto the medberth and Hoist hurries to lift the extenders to accommodate his frame. “Though I've often reassured the troops he's all bluster.”
“Small wonder they don't believe you.” Grapple wheels over a tray loaded with medical paraphernalia, including jugs of coolant and cydraulic fluid. “Ratchet enjoys cultivating an aura of terror.”
“That he does.” Optimus laughs and makes himself comfortable, remarking that they must have redesigned the berth because his pedes no longer dangle off the end. How nice.
Grapple pats him on the shoulder. “Relax, Optimus. Ratchet keeps you at one-hundred percent so we're just going to do some basic maintenance.”
“Change your filters. Flush your coolant. Fill your reservoirs. Et cetera. Et cetera,” Hoist adds, patting him on the other shoulder.
“That sounds acceptable.” Optimus draws in a heavy vent and releases it slowly, offlining his optics and completely relaxing onto the berth. Unlike most of the Autobots, he hasn't developed a fear of the medbay.
Yet.
Optimus drifts off as they work, half-dozing, half-aware. He watches as his HUD reports a steadily climbing percent of function. He can't remember the last time he's been entirely maintained.
Hoist tsks at him as a scan washes over Optimus, tingling where it hits his most reactive sensors. “How can you function with so many kinked cables?”
“To be honest, I've ceased noticing them,” Optimus replies, which is truth. They were, at first, irritating, but low on his list of priorities. They don't impede necessary function or cause true pain. Getting those kinks smoothed out feels like a luxury.
The medic sighs, the sound of a mech exasperated but also used to being so. “This won't do. They'll have to be sorted at once.”
Prime flickers his optics, raising his hands to spread them in surrender. “I'm at your mercy,” he says.
Grapple chuckles. “Yes, you are. Yet, you might find you'll enjoy it.”
Two sets of hands descend upon him. Grapple, at his helm, manually works the strong cables of his arms and shoulders. While Hoist starts at Optimus' pedes, a lazy heat emanating from his palms and pulsing against his kinked joints. Optimus fights back a moan. He can feel the tightness ease, an irritating but background pain vanishing into the minutes.
Grapple moves on to his chestplate and lateral seams, leaving loose plating in his wake and a soft bloom of comfort. Warmth spreads through Optimus, his engine rumbling with a happy purr.
Hoist slides up his legs, paying attention to his knees before approaching Optimus' thighs. Sensitive inner plating sensors tingle. His interface components heat, not so much a desperate lust as it is a floating desire.
In fact, he tingles all over.
Hoist's field pulses affection and amusement at him, even as his fingers dive into the seams at Optimus' hips.
“Will you open for me, sir?” Hoist asks, tone hinting of mischief as one of his fingers teases a path across Optimus' interface panel.
“Maintenance checks include all aspects of a mech's frame, after all,” Grapple purrs.
“I'm sensing an ulterior motive,” Optimus says, onlining his optics to give both of his medics an indulgent look.
“Perhaps,” Hoist says with a hot ex-vent over the panel concealing Optimus' spike and valve. “It would be my pleasure to offer you some.”
Grapple's fingers continue to work their magic, massaging relaxation into every stressed cable. “Every mech deserves to be pampered every so often, Prime.”
Optimus cycles a ventilation. “Everyone seems to share that opinion today.”
“Then, as Jazz would say, you should relax and go with the flow,” Hoist says with a wink and a stroke of his fingers.
“Sound advice.” Optimus smiles and relaxes, letting his panels slide open in answer to Hoist's request.
The tingling in his circuits grows stronger, especially as Hoist's warm ventilations caress his exposed components. Optimus grips the berth, cycling a ventilation. His spike throbs and his valve grows slick with lubricant, anticipating whatever Hoist might have in store for him. Today has been a day of surprises, all of them pleasant.
The first swipe of Hoist's glossa makes him tremble. It traces the outer rim of Optimus' valve, igniting every sensor with slow, measured intent. He is glad for the weight of Hoist's grip on his thighs else he would have arched upward, perhaps injuring the smaller mech.
“Someone has not been giving all of his parts fair attention,” Grapple purrs as his hands draw nonsense patterns in the charge rising from Optimus' substructure. Each arc snaps against Grapple's fingers, sharpening the sensation.
Grapple leans over Optimus, their helms brushing together in a lovely kiss of metal on metal that sends reverberations through Optimus' plating. His field ripples in response, warm with rising pleasure.
“For shame, Optimus,” Grapple continues into Optimus' audial, his vocals somehow stirring the desire into a needful lust.
Optimus shivers again.
Hoist's glossa slides deeper, exciting the sensors just within the rim of his valve. Optimus releases a strangled sound, fire flushing through his lines.
Grapple is right. Optimus rarely uses his valve as it is and whilst today it has seen more action than usual, it is nothing quite so dedicated and exploratory. And now, his valve responds as if it has never been touched, each sensor blooming with hot-fire sensation.
Each swipe of Hoist's glossa makes his spark throb and lubricant pool in his valve. He can feel it trickling out, further exciting the sensors. His calipers cycle down on nothing, as though remembering Red Alert's cable and aching to be filled once more. Optimus' hips shifts on the berth, thighs spreading wider in invitation.
Optimus' spike pressurizes, pointing at the ceiling, a dribble of transfluid hanging at the tip. He unwraps a hand from the berth, intent on reaching for himself, only to be intercepted by Grapple.
“Allow me,” Grapple offers, shifting until he can reach Optimus' spike and wrapping his long, agile fingers around the girth of it.
This time, a groan does escape Optimus. His entire frame rattles, releasing a crawling burst of static energy. Hoist's glossa slides deeper, a slick press on his internal nodes that causes electricity to spark within his valve. He squirms, a moan rolling from the depths of his chassis, frame overheating.
Grapple's hand tightens on Optimus' spike, giving him a firm stroke from root to tip. Optimus' hips jutter upward, nearly dislodging Hoist's efforts as he seeks more of the same from Grapple. Transfluid leaks from the tip of his spike and his hand spasms where Grapple's fingers tangle with his.
Optimus' fans burst to life and he sucks in a ventilation, only to blast it out again. Heat courses through his frame. He starts to tremble, thighs shaking, his valve trickling lubricant. Pleasure rises up, swallowing his higher-level thoughts, until all he can think is more, please, yes, yes, yes.
Hoist is happy to oblige his vocal stream of pleasure. Grapple's fingers increase their pace on his spike.
Optimus' hips dance in a rhythm all their own, up into the tunnel of Grapple's fist, and down against the wonderful swipe of Hoist's glossa. Up and then down. Up and then down. He gains his rhythm and loses it again, frame a confused twist seeking the nearest source of pleasure.
Grapple murmurs in his audial, a steady stream of encouragement and desire that shoots straight to Optimus' interface. His spike throbs, his valve clenches on nothing and overload seems to shoot through him like a lightning bolt.
Optimus all but bellows, electric discharge lighting up his frame in blue-white fire as his spike spurts. Lubricant floods his valve, quickly lapped up by Hoist's glossa. Optimus' vents churn at max speed as he collapses onto the berth. His circuits are humming, heat rising from his core.
“There,” says Hoist, his tone both smug and amused before he presses a final kiss to Optimus' valve. “Now isn't that better?”
Grapple laughs.
Optimus chuckles. “Much,” he says and forces his optics to online, though all he wants to do is fall into recharge. “Thank you.”
Hoist pats his thigh plating with a soft ring of metal on metal. “You're welcome. Now recharge.”
“Yes, Prime. Take a nap,” Grapple encourages, unwinding his fingers from Optimus' spike and pulling out a cloth to clean off his hand.
“In the middle of the day?” Optimus arches an orbital ridge.
“What better time?” Hoist pats his knees, fingers lingering over sensitive hydraulic lines. “Medic's orders.”
“Well, in that case...” Optimus shuffles around on the berth, aware of the sticky mess between his thighs and on his pelvic frame. “Though perhaps I could--”
Grapple tosses a cloth to Hoist. “Way ahead of you, sir. Relax. We'll take care of the rest. It's what we're here for.”
Optimus obeys, offlining his optics and surrendering to the sensation of cloth rubbing over his frame. He really could use a short shutdown, he muses to himself. It will be a nice indulgence, much like the rest of his day.
Optimus drifts into recharge, making a mental note to answer the message pinging his inbox as soon as he onlines. But first, a nap.
***
a/n: Two more porny parts and an epilogue to go, my friends.
Coming up next, Optimus gets invited to check out his scientists' newest inventions. And, as it should happen, they need a test subject. Optimus is eager to oblige. *grins*
Feedback is always welcome and appreciated.
This entry was originally posted at http://dracoqueen22.dreamwidth.org/247881.html. Feel free to comment wherever you find most convenient.