*Throws fic at Tumblr and hides in a hole*


New Equipment

Author: CerysKitty, input/proof-read by LondonProphecy and Duckbats~

Pairing: Cyclonus/Tailgate

Summary: Tailgate seeks helps with some new upgrades to his frame.

Warnings: Whirl

Wordcount: 6024 (help it just wouldn’t stop)



New Equipment

Swerve’s Bar was noisy and crowded, which suited Tailgate just fine given the information he was about to unleash on his friend; the noisier the better, because the less mechs who heard or were too drunk to remember this, the less likely he was to die from embarrassment. He’d tried to get Swerve alone, but that was easier said than done with him running the bar at seemingly all hours of the day, and in the end his problem had gotten to the stage where he was almost ready to to shout it out over the broadcast system if it meant he’d get an answer.

'Swerve? Could I uh, speak to you quietly a sec?’ Tailgate was sat, leaning over the bar and trying to keep as quiet as possible.

'Huh, yeah sure! I mean, sure.’ Swerve brought his helm down closer to Tailgate’s. ‘What’s up then that you need good ol’ Swerve to help you out with?’ If this was Swerve’s ‘quiet voice’, thought Tailgate, then the entire bar was going to know about his problem in barely a few kliks.

'I uh… So you know when I first came uh, was first dragged onto the ship? And then Ratchet fixed me up and you, well yeah. Anyway I think… Ratchet kind of fixed me… Wrong?' Tailgate ducked his head to hide his face in shame, though over what Swerve couldn't begin to guess at.

'Ratchet fix something wrong? Yer sure? Hey why aren't you talking to him about this?'

'it's not so much wrong but he uh, fixed me a little too good. And I ran out on him and promised him I’d sort it out myself and no way in pit am I going back there! He’s scary when he’s got that look in his optic…’  Tailgate seemed to withdraw into himself and shudder, while Swerve got even more confused.

'Tailgate, what exactly is wrong?' Swerve tried to move the conversation along; as much as he loved idle chatter he had drinks to serve, and Skids was looking like he was going to do something totally amazing with that grappling hook in a minute.

'Um…' Tailgate's voice dropped to barely a whisper, and Swerve had to up his audials to strain to hear over the loud room. 'He installed this interfacing array thing? And it keeps acting up and leaking and seining me weird data and oh primus help! We only had sparks and cables and this is really weird!’ Halfway though his rambling Tailgate had started to flounder and hide his head under his hands. ‘I mean what do I even do with it?’

'Do with what?' Primus but Tailgate was already stressed, and Whirl's voice inches from his helm was definitely unappreciated at a time like this. He shot a 'look' at Swerve before he turned around to face the mech standing really kind of too close behind him.

'It's uh, nothing. Absolutely nothing. Just uh, minibot stuff yeah.' He tried to subtlety look around for help, but Whirl made a point of turning to face the direction he was looking.

'Who're you looking for? Hmm?' He turned back to face the two minib- no make that one minibot as Swerve had taken his chance to run away to 'serve drinks' the second Whirl's back was turned. 'So I think I overheard you have a problem huh? One you need some help with and well it just so happens that not only am I the deadliest mech on this ship, but I’m also a fantastic frag teacher so what do you say we take a trip back to my quarters hm? I’ve got them to myself now that uh, whatshisname got himself eaten by that Sparkeater.’

Tailgate was struggling to believe this was actually happening. Whirl, of all mechs Whirl was trying to take him back to his quarters for a frag. Whirl. What in primus’ name had he done to deserve this.

'I don't… Think that would be a uh… No I don't think that'd be a good idea.' Tailgate found himself at a loss for words, mostly out of a sheer disbelief, but also a healthy sense of self-preservation was stopping him from telling Whirl to go jump out the airlock. 'I have uh… A thing to do… Over there.' He pointed over Whirl's shoulder and tried to slip the opposite way around him, but was suddenly pinned in by claws on either side of his waist.

'Hey where you going? You know, I never thought I'd be agreeing with Cyclonus over anything but he’s right, you’re a terrible liar. Come oon~ it’ll be fun!’ Whirl tugged Tailgate out of his seat and started to drag him to the door. It took Tailgate a moment to react and he began to pull and scrabble back, but he didn’t exactly have much advantage over the tall ex-Wrecker.

'N-no I really don't thi-' He looked over to try and shout for help from one of the mechs in the room, but all he could see was the backs of mechs as they stood up and shouted and roared at something on the table in front of them.

Whirl turned back to tug Tailgate along faster. ‘Why not it’ll be great! I bet you have a really cute mouth too behind that mask and we can try all sorts of pos-‘

'If you don't release him in the next astrosecond, I'm going to put your head through the wall.' Whirl came to such an abrupt stop that Tailgate almost fell over. Unfortunately he still didn't let him go.

'Cyclonus help!'

Cyclonus frag off!’

Tailgate had never been happier to see that dour looking face, though when he glanced at Whirl he could swear the mech was smirking? If this had all been a ploy to goad Cyclonus on he-

He didn’t have time to continue his train of thought because the next instant Cyclonus had pulled Whirl’s claws off him, and shoved the ‘copter back into the centre of the room.

Just in time for Skid’s grappling hook to plough into his face.

There was an abrupt silence, before mechs started to clamber to get a better view of the unconscious mech sprawled across the floor. Tailgate heard a drunken ‘oops’ hiccuped from Skids before he was being pulled yet again out the room, this time trailing after an angry Cyclonus.

Tailgate was flustered and confused enough that he didn’t even protest being dragged all the way back to their shared quarters. Once in with the door locked, Cyclonus finally released his wrist and turned to speak to him.

'What was that about?' No nonsense and straight to the point. Tailgate had no idea how he was going to get himself out of this one.

'It uh…' He moved to go sit on the chair to buy for time. 'It was just Whirl being an aft you know how he is.' He glanced off to the side, but rapidly put his attention bak on Cyclonus when he moved in front of him.

'Tailgate, stop lying. You really are appalling at it. Now, what happened?’ His face was stern, though when did that ever change, but it was the tone of voice telling Tailgate to ‘own up or you will die’ which made him mumble out his next words.

'I… Uh, Ratchet installed…' He made the mistake of looking up into Cyclonus' deep stare. 'Ratchet installed this new interfacing stuff and I have no idea what do do with it and I think it's installed wrong or something and Whirl said he wanted to help out but I really really didn’t want him to an-‘

'That's enough.' Cyclonus looked at him thoughtfully, and folded his arms before he spoke. 'When you say interfacing 'stuff', you mean the spike and valve mods? They became popular about a million years after you got yourself lost in that hole. These days everyone's brought online with them and I doubt it's an installation problem if Ratchet did the job. Have you even had a look at them yet?'

'I uh…' Cyclonus' stare prompted express honesty. 'No. No I mean, it leaks sometimes and I don't even know what you're supposed to do with it…' He trailed off in a small voice, determined to not look away from a very specific part of the floor tiling.

'You really are an idiot sometimes. Do you want me to teach you?'

That shifted his focus away from the floor so fast Tailgate could’ve sworn he heard something in his neck snap. He opened and closed his mouth, not that Cyclonus could see, searching for words. Any words.

'That… I mean… What?' Cyclonus moved to put a servo on his hip while Taligate stuttered.

'Yes or no, it's a simple enough question.'

How in the pit was that a simple question? Let Cyclonus teach him how to ‘face with his new parts? Cyclonus who might toss him through the window if he cycled air the wrong way. Cyclonus who had admittedly just saved him from Whirl. Cyclonus who was the only mech he knew from his life before. Cyclonus who he might’ve thought about while touching his spark a little in the dead of the night.


'Um… Yes? I mean if you don't mind of course!' He flinched when Cyclonus stepped towards him, only to relax when he realised he was going towards the window. Flicking a switch, the glass darkened and became mirrored, reflecting the entire room. Cyclonus sat on the berth facing the new mirror, then turned to look over at Tailgate.

'Well, get over here. I haven't got all night.'

Tailgate automatically jumped down and made his way over to him before he realised what he was doing.

'But… What's with the mirror?' He hesitated to ask, but still moved to sit down next to Cyclonus, less he run out of patience and he have to start back at square one with sorting this out.

'How else do you expect to learn if you can't see what we're doing.' Before Tailgate could sit down, Cyclonus pulled him to sit across his lap, back to Cyclonus' chest. His little legs ended up stretched wide over the larger mech's thighs, and as he stared in shock at the mirror he realised he could see his entire pelvic array; before this trip, that area held some alright places to get a charge up, but was mostly redundant. Primus only knew what Cyclonus was about to show him.

'For your first time, you should bring your charge up and wait for your panels to open of their own accord. Show me where you like to touch yourself when you self-overload.' Tailgate watched Cyclonus' mouth move in the mirror but he swore he could only hear static. Something about touching himself. Yeah alright. Because that wasn't needlessly embarrassing.

'I uh… I don't uh. Maybe hips? That usually feels go-OO OH PRIMUS.' He squeaked when Cyclonus' digits instantly found their way into the wide gaps of his stretched out hips, fluttering his hands about before he managed to bring them up to his face mask in an effort to stop any more embarrassing noises. He'd played with himself before sure, but his digits were nowhere near as long or sharp as Cyclonus' and primus could those claws delve deep and touch wires and nodes he never even knew he had.

There was no way he should be getting this revved up so quickly just from some wires being tweaked, and apparently Cyclonus thought so too.

'When as the last time you or another mech brought you to overload?' Cyclonus continued to stare at him via the mirror, holding optic contact when he shifted his claws and flicked a particularly sensitive spot which had Tailgate almost shouting.

'I u-UH- that's not really any of you-uR OK OK…Geez… uH two orbital cycles a-ago.'

'How?' Tailgate whined and wriggled in his lap at the awkward questions, though Cyclonus never stopped dipping his claws into his hips and the surrounding seams.

'What I don- nng! I touched my spark a bit, and uh maybe some TR-transformation seams?' Despite all his writhing, he couldn't seem to look away from Cyclonus' optics and he could swear he was mostly getting revved because of that deep stare.

Completely to Tailgate’s shock, after hearing his admission Cyclonus actually smiled. Well, smirked. Kind of.

'Two nights ago? Yes, I remember the light from your spark interrupted my recharge cycle, much as you tried to hide it.' He leaned down a little closer to Tailgate's audial, and he'd never seen a simple smirk look so dangerous. 'If I remember correctly, I distinctly heard you muttering my name as you overloaded.'

Oh. Oh frag.

Tailgate was completely still, spark fluctuating in his chest and if he was lucky it was about to gutter and flicker out because seriously this could not be happening.

'…I- I… Maybe you misHEARRRD!'

'Don't lie Tailgate.’ That was punctuated with a particularly harsh tweak of some major fuel lines. ‘But, if you hold a sexual attraction towards me this will be much easier, and would explain why you’re getting charged up so quickly.’

Tailgate writhed in humiliation, and a fair amount of arousal, finally breaking his gaze with Cyclonus to hide his head in his hands. There was nothing he could say that wouldn’t just get him deeper into this hole, and he whined into his palms. They sat like that for several kilks, and then he was vaguely aware of a servo leaving his hip, before his hand was being pulled from his face.

'You have nothing to feel ashamed about. If anything I am flattered.' Cyclonus moved his hand to rest at his own white chestplates. 'We should proceed. Show me how you prefer to touch yourself.' Cyclonus's claws became rougher in their fondling, and the charge Tailgate had forgotten about with his shameful misery revved right back up with a choked off moan.

He was hesitant, but slowly started to trace the seams on his chestplates, gingerly dipping into gaps; it was nice although he could barely feel it, the servo at his hip taking up his full concentration. His other hand had dropped from his face and he let it hover over his leg for a moment before he started to gently rub his thigh. He wasn’t sure he could show Cyclonus what he preferred, seeing as his preference was quickly becoming those claws scratching deep at his protoform.

As soon as he’d started to actually touch himself, the servo which had moved Tailgate’s hand was brought to the back of Tailate’s upper arm, scratching lightly at the plating along the way. He was wondering what Cyclonus was going to do when claws swiftly delved into the rims of his wheels, digging deep and expertly finding sensors and sensitive liens he’d never even knew existed. The strangled yelp the touch pulled from him only seemed to encourage Cyclonus, and his other hand moved from Tailgate’s hip to play with his other shoulder joint.

Tailgate’s own hands slowed considerably as he focussed his attention on Cyclonus’ servos, those claws digging deep into places no one had ever touched. He was dimly aware that he was moaning and pushing into the pressure of those servos, but it felt so good he couldn’t bring itself to feel embarrassed. He wasn’t aware Cyclonus had spoken until there was a sharp pinch to grab his attention and his eyes shot to the other mech’s in the mirror.

'I huh?'

'I asked if your visor and facemask were retractable.' At Tailgate's shaky nod Cyclonus moved one hand down to scratch at the little mech's lower back. 'Then remove them. Emotive as you already are, I wish to see your full expressions.' There was a moment's hesitation before Tailgate reached up to manually unhook both mask and visor. He reset his optics a couple of times to get used to the sensation, and then brought himself to meet Cyclonus' own optics though he looked away again instantly. Without the comfort of his masks, Tailgate shrank into himself, servos making a move to cover his face again; before they even got past his chest, Cyclonus' had caught both his wrists in one servo and he held them there in front of his chest making no move to let go.

'Don't.' Claws tipped Tailgate's chin up to watch again, and Cyclonus rested his own helm down near his audials. 'Just watch. And feel. Let your body respond as it wishes to.' Those claws scrapped down his neck cables, brushed over his arm and ghosted over his hips again. They danced there a fraction, before skittering over to his pelvic plating; Cyclonus rubbed his palm over the main paneling, whilst letting his claw tips flit at the edges, then he rubbed lower, pressing firmly before rubbing back up. 

In Tailgate’s experience such actions would feel good and pleasantly add to any charge he had going, not  cause him to jolt and let lose an embarrassing squeak because of the pure pleasure shooting up his back struts. All of a sudden his plating felt too tight which was a ridiculous thought, and the plating under Cyclonus’s palm burned enough that he thought he might combust. The only feeling he could compare it to was when he touched his spark, but the burning was just so different it was impossible to predict what was happening.

His squeaks turned into breathy moans, his now visible mouth falling slack at the throbbing pleasure between his legs. He could feel his new parts leaking again, and was about to ask Cyclonus if it was normal, until the larger mech ground his palm down harshly and suddenly his world flipped.

In response to his high charge and that final push from Cyclonus’ servo, his panels snapped open and folded back out of the way, and with the help of the mirror he got his first glimpse at his new equipment. 

Not that the glimpse made much sense of what he was looking at.

Anticipating his confusion, and still holding his wrists for some reason, Cyclonus moved his claws to trace an outline of the top part, sending shivers of pleasure throughout his body.

'This.' He traced around again, slightly harder. 'Is your spike. Let it extend of it's own accord for now. I will show you where the manual commands are later.' Out of the corner of his optic Tailgate could see Cyclonus practically drinking in the expressions surely running across his face; whilst he was beginning to stroke the tip of his new 'spike', those deep optics never left his face for an astrosecond. However Tailgate was mainly watching those sharp claw tips ghost around the head of his spike, and flick slightly at the, was it a slit? Whatever it was it felt amazing and he started to wriggle in an attempt to get Cyclonus to touch a little harder.

Cyclonus hummed to himself a little, before increasing the touches and pressure on the spike, and it didn’t take long for it to start to extend, slowly as was normal for the first time. Tailgate couldn’t stop watching, having never seen anything like it before, as his spike emerged from his body; he had nothing to compare it to, but it was blue and white and he found himself wondering if they were all like that, ot if Ratchet had matched it up to his paintjob.

'I.. uh..' He struggled to get words out, what with those pin-pricks of pleasure dancing up and down his spike.

'Do you wish to see mine, as a comparison?' Was his face really that readable that Cyclonus could practically read his mind?

'…Uh, if you waNT! Yes! Yes I mean yes!' He wasn't sure if that signal was pain or pleasure from the scratch to the base of his spike, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

Cyclonus adjusted him on his lap, finally letting go of his wrists to sit him sideways, aft perched on one solid thigh while a large arm came round his lower back to help keep him upright. The next thing Tailgate knew, there was a soft snick and Cyclonus’ panel folded away, and a large purple spike rose smoothly in front of him. Primus but he didn’t need to know much about spikes to know it was big, and really quite intimidating. He looked back to his own spike, which he realised was pretty short, though perhaps wider than expected? He realised it probably suited his frame, just like Cyclonus’ weapon, and that was the only term which sprang to mind, of a spike suited him.

'The spikes goes into the valve, and with enough friction both mechs can be brought to overload, though it is generally easier to overload with the spike as it is far easier to stimulate.'

'I uh… Wow. Wait inside?’ He must mean that hole he’d glimpsed earlier. Oh primus. ‘Would that even fit? I mean in a mech uh, my size?’ He ducked his head again, not wanting to see whatever look graced Cyclonus’ face.

'Not straight away, and if you were interested in interfacing this way I would need to stretch you, perhaps over the course of a couple of days.' How Cyclonus said that without even a waiver Tailgate didn't know, all he could do was stare, slack-jawed up at him in disbelief.

'Would you, be uh interested? In um, future i-interfacing?' He was kind of hopeful; already this had been the best interface of his life and he hadn't even overloaded yet.

'Perhaps.' That tone offered no clue as to Cyclonus' thoughts, but then that was the least of Tailgate's worries when he was again pulled to spread across the other's thighs, hard spike pressed into his back. When he looked up into the mirror he noticed with dread that the leaking he'd worried so much about earlier was actually coming from that hole below his spike, and was getting so bad it was starting to drip to the berth between their legs.

He must’ve looked worried, because next thing Cyclonus was stroking his abdomen, and reaching his other servo back towards his new array. A single claw tip slid through the leaking mess, and then ran in a light cycle around the hole. Primus that felt good, but didn’t seem to help the throbbing ache which had settled inside him.

'This, is your valve. The lining is sensitive though durable, and this,' he held up two digits smeared with the thick pinkish liquid, 'is lubricant; it eases the way for the spike, and can also act as a conductor for a particularly heavy charge.' Tailgate had heard gossip, but never himself experienced an overload so powerful that tiny little electric bolts ran across his frame. 

'Whilst the lining is durable, it can also tear fairly easily if you are not properly prepared, of if your partner is careless.'

Cyclonus brought both of his servos to Tailgate’s thighs, and made eye contact in the mirror.

'I am going to help overload you, first using your spike, and then your valve. I've heard it described as a rising wave, or a tightening band. Eventually it will feel like that wave is going to crash, or the band will snap. Let it.' One servo grabbed Tailgate's own, and moved it to hover near his spike. 'Do you have any questions?'

At Tailgate’s frantic ‘no’, Cyclonus instructed the minibot to wrap his small digits around his spike, covering the small servo with his own; his large servo easily encompassed Tailgate’s, and he rested the thumb-digit over the slit in the head of the spike. Giving a light squeeze, Tailgate jolted enough that he nearly fell off Cyclonus’ lap, were it not for a large purple arm which wrapped around his waist.

Cyclonus moved his servo, thus also the one under it, in a soft upward stroke which had Tailgate shaking. A downwards stroke and he moaned and shut off his optics automatically, until a strong voice in his audial told him to ‘turn them back on and watch’. He had no idea what to do with his other servo which was fluttering in front of his chest, but Cyclonus solved that by reaching up with the arm around his waist, and grabbing his wrist, moving to lace their digits together.

His spike felt weird in his palm, unbelievably hot and the sensory input he was receiving from it was phenomenal. His digits could feel each individual ridge along it’s length, and the spike was sending information about the roughness and heat of  his palm, all interpreted as pleasure, especially the sharp pressure of Cyclonus’ claw tip brushing the head on every stroke. Occasionally, Cyclonus would make him squeeze, and he’d grunt or wriggle in pleasure, mouth wide open and panting in an attempt to get some cool air into his rapidly overheating frame.

Though his optics were dim, he never stopped watching his servo work himself over, aided by the mech behind him, who he was aware was still staring at his face. Like Cyclonus had said, he could feel the pleasure ramping up and up, and it wasn’t long before he was squirming and moaning unsure of what was coming but knowing he wanted it.

'Cy-Cylonus I thiNK I thi-it's gonna happeN but I-' 

'Shh, just let it happen.' Cyclonus' grip became harder, and the movements of his servo quicker, until Tailgate found himself bucking his hips up in time with the strokes. It was a harsh scrape of a claw on the spike's head which finally caused the rising pressure to collapse and wash over him.

The overload caught him completely unaware, his frame suddenly tightening and spasming in pleasure, and he stared with over-bright optics as his spike jerked a silvery substance from slit, coating both their hands and part of his abdominal plates. Cyclonus moved his hand for him through the overload, dragging it out until he stopped shaking and slumped back exhausted; he could feel Cyclonus’ own spike jutting and twitching against his back again, but he ignored it to focus on the blissful lethargy radiating through his frame.

'That was, I mean that felt amazing I just… wow.' Tailgate Cyclonus allowed his servo to release it's grip, and he let his flop to the side to rest on his thigh. He wasn't aware he'd shuttered his optics until they flew open again when a lazy claw started to circle his valve again.

'Don't recharge just yet.' Before Tailgate could ask Cyclonus preempted him. 'This substance is transfluid, and also acts as a conductor, which along with the lubricant can result in some particularly good overloads if it's timed right.'

'But, surely there's got to be a… cleaner way?'

'The mods were based off an organic lifeform, within which they were used as a primary reproduction technique.' The circling around his valve got firmer, and a claw tip dipped past the rim, causing a low moan. 'When they were first developed for Cybertronians, there was a lot of controversy and sneering, but eventually it gave way when mechs realised how good they could feel.’ He punctuated the words by inserting the tips of two digits to rub along the inside rim. Cyclonus adjusted Tailgate slightly on his lap, and brought that small hand back own to his array, where he prompted Tailgate to start touching himself again.

'Like this.' He rubbed and teased, pulling at the rim slightly. 'Just do what feels good.'

Tailgate started to copy Cyclonus’ movements, rubbing at inner nodes just inside, and tracing the rim. The charge he’d thought had discharged with his last overload was creeping back up, and he again found himself moving his hips slightly in time to his touch.

'Good, now try deeper.' Cyclonus inserted one digit fully, before dragging it back out again, watching Tailgate copy his own movements, though the short digits couldn't reach anywhere near as deep.

'I-It feels better when you do it I d-don't think my digits are long enough…' Tailgate whined in frustration that he couldn't reach the nodes he'd briefly experienced Cyclonus touch.

'Do you want me to do this for you?' Tailgate shifted his optics from his messy array, to look Cyclonus in the optic again, nodding and glancing away after a moments hesitation. Cyclonus merely hummed to himself, and pushed Tailgate's servo away, before increasing the pressure of his touches.

Without thinking, Tailgate brought his servo up to stifle his moans, unaware that it was covered in sticky fluids until he smeared them over his mouth. He nearly cried out, until he noticed that Cyclonus’ touch had slowed considerably, and then he saw him in the mirror, burning optics watching that messy servo as it left his mouth.

'I-uh' He has no idea what to say, completely floored by the fierce lust directed in that gaze. Was it the stuff on his hand? Hesitantly, he brought his hand back to his mouth, entranced when Cyclonus' optics seem to darken further. Was this normal? He wasn't sure he could care, if it got Cyclonus to look at him like that.

Before he could stop himself, he flicked out his glossa to lick up some of the mixed fluids from his fingers, surprised at the not-unpleasant taste, and was pleased when he felt and heard a strong rumble from the chassis behind him. Daringly, he took one of his digit into his mouth to suck at, hoping for a stronger reaction. He wasn’t disappointed. With a growling moan, Cyclonus sank two digits deep within his valve, striking new and undiscovered sensor nodes as he slowly dragged them out, before rapidly thrusting them in again.

Tailgate moaned loudly around his finger, and began to thrust his hips again in earnest, gaze torn between watching those long digits spread him, or watching those optics burn through him. In the end his head fell back onto Cyclonus’ shoulder with a shuddering moan, unable to even focus enough to suck his own digits as he felt the familiar waves building up and up. Cyclonus began to crook his fingers on the outward pull, digging in and dragging over deep sensor nodes repeatedly, working up his charge to almost breaking point. 

Tailgate was shuddering, almost on the verge when a deep voice moaned in his audial.

'You look good like this, and I think it's about time you came.’ The word was punctuated with a particularly deep thrust, palm grinding on outer sensors whilst claws reached his ceiling node, the charge breaking and crackling over his array in a speculator show of tiny blue static bolts. Tailgate screamed his overload, one servo clutching at the one holding it, the other grasping tightly on the forearm still wrapped around his waist. As with his spike overload, Cyclonus continued to tease at his valve, dragging out the pleasure and spasms until he was once again lying limp in the other’s lap, ex-venting hard while he rebooted his optics a couple of times.

He tried to speak, but all his vocaliser could burst out was a jumble of static, so he lay spread in silence until Cyclonus started to shift him. Moaning, he gingerly drew his legs from their spread position over Cyclonus’ thighs, wincing when he realised he’d been sat in that position for far too long and his joints had almost seized. Slowly he clambered to sit next to the larger mech, suddenly noticing that that huge spike was still fully erect and jutting into the air.

'Um, do…' He kind of felt like he needed to repay the surly mech, for not only showing him his new array but making it enjoyable, and surely it wouldn't hurt to practice some more. 'Do you want me to, uh sort that out… for you?' He could barely look at Cyclonus as he said it, afraid of the rebuttal.

'…Sure.' The reply was a long time in coming, and Tailgate was honestly shocked that he'd said yes. Hastily, he move to kneel next to the larger mech, who was now leaning back on his servos. Hesitantly, he grabbed the spike with one servo, then the other when he realised one just wouldn't cover any sort of space.

'Uh, like this?' He began to move his servos up the spike, rubbing over the head and bringing them back down again.

'Mm, yes. But harder, it won't break.' Cyclonus' optics were dimmed as he stared at Tailgate's servos, though he minibot noticed his claws gripping and flexing at the berth. He shuffled forward a little more, trying to get a better angle, and increased his grip a fraction, then slightly more when he saw Cyclonus' mouth open slightly in pleasure. Being able to do this, to give someone such pleasure, was a heady, proud feeling, and Tailgate found himself wanting more than anything to be able to do this again.

He noticed tiny little sparks began to flicker along the ridges of the spike, and he belatedly realised that Cyclonus had been charged up for both of his own overloads, and must be about ready to release. Thinking to himself of how aroused Cyclonus became when he sucked his own digit, a thought crossed his mind, and he bent his head down before he could back out. Shaking slightly, he poked his glossa out to try licking at the head of the spike in his grasp, feeling inordinately pleased with himself when Cyclonus’ chassis rumbled loudly and his head tipped back in a deep groan. Confidence boosted, he started to lick up and around the head, making sure to keep his hands moving and squeezing.

He’d just poked the tip of his glossa into the slit atop the spike, when Cyclonus froze up and roared his overload, hot transfluid shooting directly into his mouth. He squeaked in surprise, pulling back to wipe at his mouth, glancing over at Cyclonus who’s shuttered his optics completely and was now relaxing back, his arms bent at the elbow.

'You could have warned me!' Tailgate nearly hit out at Cyclonus, though stop himself, not really wanting to ruin his mood now that he'd gotten him mostly relaxed. Cyclonus for his part blinked his optics on blearily, and looked almost confused at the mess dripping down Tailgate's chin.

'I was too caught up and didn't realise.' Well, that was probably the closest he'd get to an apology.

Sitting up, Cyclonus pulled a couple of rags out of his subspace, throwing one to Tailgate to clean himself up with. Once he he’d cleared up his mess, he stood up, reset the window and went to lie on his own berth. Tailgate hadn’t expected any post-overload snuggling, but it didn’t mean he wasn’t disappointed. Venting, he moved to lay down himself when he noticed the sticky fluids spread across it. He let out a sound of frustration as he tried to clean it up, only to find it still left a disgusting residue. Whining he looked over to Cyclonus to find him again staring at him, and he realised he still had put his visor or mask back on. He made to grab them, but then thoughtfully looked back over at his room mate. Taking a vent, he managed to get his sentence out without any hesitations for once.

'Could I recharge in your berth? With you?' Cyclonus seemed to prefer it when he was direct, so maybe this'd get him somewhere.

There was no answer, and they both just looked at each other, before Cyclonus shifted to the side slightly, and let his arm move a fraction. Well, it was all the answer he was going to get, so Tailgate took his chances, dropped his masks and gingerly crawled up next to him, snuggling into Cyclonus’ shoulder and was very pleased when he wasn’t instantly kicked out.

'Thank you.' He whispered before shutting off his optics and initiating recharge, smiling to himself when he heard a mumbled 'it's fine' before he shut down completely.