Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Brainstorm sat hunched over his workbench, adamantly attempting to ignore the dull aching in his spinal strut. He had been in this same position for joors -- or, what he assumed to have been joors. It was now late in the nightcycle...or was it technically early in the morningcycle? Brainstorm hadn't exactly been paying any attention to his internal chronometer.

And why would he? He was teetering on the edge of an engineering breakthrough, he was sure of it! The passage of time didn't matter to a genius, much less one who was about to completely revolutionize technology!

Brainstorm's digits rapidly tapped away at the touchscreen of a datapad, one of many that were messily strewn across his workbench's cluttered surface. Some might say that his half of the lab was just as incomprehensible and chaotic as the jet himself, but Brainstorm would argue that chaos is where scientific innovation thrives, and where the most groundbreaking discoveries are made.

Never ceasing in his furious notetaking, Brainstorm clumsily fumbled for the nearby package of half-eaten rust sticks (that he definitely did NOT swipe from Rung's stash). He absentmindedly bit off yet another small piece of the sweet energon candy, his optics still staying practically glued to the glowing screen that he held just inches away from his exposed face.

He was so close to what would surely end up being a reality-shattering epiphany, but it infuriatingly remained just out of his processor's reach. Brainstorm let out a strained groan of frustration, and reluctantly took a brief moment to slowly massage at his throbbing temples with the pads of his digits. How dare the universe still try to keep its greatest secrets from him!

Well, the universe obviously didn't know who it was messing around with, and just how determined and stubborn Brainstorm could be. He would not rest until he finally figured this little...conundrum out; he could not! To go recharge now would essentially be to give up and admit defeat -- to give in and accept, however begrudgingly, that completely unraveling the complexities of the universe was much too great of an undertaking -- something that was to be beyond even his inimitable capabilities.

Ha! As if!

Brainstorm's optics fervently scanned over his scribbled notes again, an indignant frown beginning to gradually crease the metal-mesh of his face. What was he missing?! Had he somehow forgotten to carry a number somewhere in his equations or something?! He distractedly grabbed for the nearby glass of energon -- which had long since become tepid and bland -- and took a quick swig.

Ugh, he hated mathematics! Not that Brainstorm was bad with numbers or anything, excuse you -- it was just so processor-numbingly boring, and a total waste of his invaluable time and talent. Perceptor was the one who usually handled all of the dull and tedious stuff, while Brainstorm was the one who actually did all of the fun and important stuff. Where was that stupidly sexy microscope when you needed him? Specifically, when you needed him to do something for you?

...oh. Right. He was probably recharging by now.

Perceptor had retired back to his and Brainstorm's shared habsuite not very long after their joint shift for the cycle had technically ended; which must have been...several joors ago at this point. He had briefly attempted to persuade the jet to return to their berth with him, but Brainstorm was very adamant that he was currently on the verge of discovering something truly extraordinary. Which he definitely was!

Perceptor had to know all too well by now that it was pretty much futile to get his conjunx to take a break whenever his spark was fully set on something. And besides, it's not like Brainstorm would even be able to peacefully recharge right now anyways, what with just how much his fatigued processor was practically buzzing in anticipatory excitement at his imminent revelation.

...actually, now that he was fully focusing on it, it wasn't just his processor that was currently experiencing the strange buzzing sensation -- his entire being felt like it was continuously vibrating. Even his very spark seemed to pulse and whirl faster from within its chamber, much like it did whenever he was with Perceptor. But that handsome microscope of his was long gone, so what gives? Why was he feeling this way all of a sudden?

Brainstorm finally managed to tear his gaze away from the shaking datapad to look at his servos; they were trembling, causing the many glyphs crowded onto the glowing screen to slightly blur in his vision.

What in the Pit?

Brainstorm quickly attempted to stand, only for his knee joints to immediately buckle underneath him, as if his legs had suddenly turned into jellied energon. He dropped to the floor with a near-deafening crash, his wings banging painfully into both the workbench and the stool on his way down. He simply laid there for a long moment, disoriented and impatiently waiting to see if the ceiling way high up above him would just stop moving already.

Eventually, Brainstorm tried to at least sit up, but an unexpected spike of his quavering frame's internal temperature caused his elbow joints to suddenly give out from underneath him as well. The back of his helm heavily smacked against the solid floor with a loud clang, sending his already-overclocked processor spinning once again. Well, the slight coolness of the metal beneath him felt marginally relieving to his still-smarting wings, at the very least.

Brainstorm flared his clattering plating as much as he feasibly could in a desperate attempt to expel some of the rapidly-intensifying heat, but it ended up doing very little to alleviate his discomfort. Between the widening gaps in his shifting armor plates, he soon noticed that there were arcs of charge currently snaking all across his now-visible protoform.

What was going on?! Why was his frame-

All of a sudden, there was another overwhelming spike of heat and charge, but this time around, it was much more intensely concentrated right around his...oh.

One of Brainstorm's unsteady servos tentatively snuck its way down his boiling frame, towards his modesty panels. He instantly pulled his servo away, however, when his probing digits were abruptly met with burning-hot metal. He hesitantly drew his servo back into his sight, only to see that the pads of his digits had now been stained a translucent pink, slippery with the slick lubricants that must have leaked through the thin seams in his plating. His vents hitched.

...oh.

Perceptor was suddenly pulled from the oblivious depths of his recharge by the shrill sound of his internal HUD receiving a high-priority notification. He dimly onlined his still-tired optics with a deep, sleepy groan. Who wanted him now, and for what? Reluctantly, he checked his internal HUD, to see that he currently had an incoming message from...Brainstorm?

Perceptor frowned, and slowly lifted one of his servos to blindly grope around at the other half of the berth -- the side that was usually occupied by his conjunx's sprawling form. But his exploratory touches were only met with disappointingly cool sheets, and not the pleasantly warm metal that he had been silently hoping for.

Brainstorm wasn't here, and it was actually very likely that he hadn't even been back to their shared habsuite at all since Perceptor himself. The other scientist must still be messing around in the lab, having long since disregarded the time -- as he often ended up doing whenever he inexplicably became obsessed with one of his own projects. It wasn't the first time that this same exact scenario has occurred...and it definitely wouldn't be the last.

Perceptor vented out a heavy sigh of weariness as he slowly dragged his other servo down his face. He...well, in all honesty, he disliked being alone in the berth; he much more preferred to wake up with Brainstorm right there beside him, for his love's bare face to be the very first thing that he saw as soon as he onlined his optics.

Perceptor then momentarily focused his attention upon his internal chronometer -- the cycle had already been reset. Just what could the neurotic inventor possibly need him for during such a ridiculous joor?

Finally, he decided to open the new message that Brainstorm had pinged him.

Percy.

One word, zero exclamation points, zero emoticons; all worryingly contrary to the quirky jet's typical style of texting. Perceptor's frown deepened at this disquieting observation, and he moved to prop himself up onto his elbow joints. The lingering drowsiness now began to gradually ebb away from within his stirring processor, to instead be replaced with burgeoning concern.

After a moment of thought, he quickly typed his own message back to his bonded :

Brainstorm? Where are you? Are you still in the lab?

There was then a brief pause as Perceptor anxiously awaited Brainstorm's reply, all of his attention now fully focused upon his internal HUD. Only a few tense nanokliks managed to elapse before he ended up receiving the anticipated response :

Yes.

Again, just one word. Brainstorm's returned message gave no further information, only an uncharacteristically terse confirmation of his current location. Perceptor sat all of the way up in the berth now, and tried to keep himself from immediately jumping to conclusions. Had there been some kind of lab accident? Was Brainstorm hurt...?

The microscope hastily shook his helm in a quick attempt to forcefully recenter himself. No, no; as frustratingly obstinate as the jet could end up being at times, surely even he would have pinged one of the medics and been taken to the medibay if he had somehow been injured...right? Perhaps he had simply gotten himself stuck whilst working upside-down again, and was just too embarrassed to actually admit so in text.

Seeking answers regarding Brainstorm's well-being, Perceptor expeditiously messaged him another question :

Are you alright?

I need you.

Perceptor promptly rebooted his optics, momentarily taken aback by such an unexpectedly frank response. Three words this time, but also very obviously a non-answer. Without any more consideration, he swiftly flung the berthsheets off of himself, got to his pedes, and began to hurriedly speed-walk his way towards the habsuite door. He didn't even think to first retrieve his reticle from atop his nearby berthside table.

He could no longer keep tolerating all of this vexing uncertainty -- he just had to actually confirm for himself that Brainstorm really was safe. The utterly abnormal nature of the comm messages that Perceptor had recently been receiving only served to hasten his already-urgent pedesteps, and before he knew it, he was more than halfway down the corridor.

I'm on my way.

Please.

The very nanoklik that he read the single-worded plea, he felt like his rapidly-spinning spark suddenly shrunk from within its chamber, contracting with an intense fear for his mate. Perhaps it truly was quite advantageous for him that there was nobody else currently wandering around this particular section of the ship during such an odd time of the cycle, because he was full-on sprinting now. The loud sound of his own rhythmic pedesteps as he ran his way down corridor after corridor was almost deafeningly thunderous to his audials; the incessant reverberations of the unobstructed echoes were relentlessly beating against his processor like war drums.

And to make all of this somehow even more distressing for him, his overclocked processor kept forcefully presenting him with various upsetting imaginings of what could have happened to Brainstorm. Much to Perceptor's horror, he pretty much instantly recognized that many of these unbidden images were actually recycled memories from during his time as a Wrecker. However, instead of his previous comrades being the ones who were brutally mutilated and dying painfully, his mind cruelly replaced them with his own conjunx endura.

The blinding blue of Brainstorm's sparklight escaping through all of the countless deep cracks in his crushed chassis as his quickly-fading spark gives one final, desperate flicker before finally being extinguished forever. The bright yellow of Brainstorm's optics and the vivid red of his biolights slowly dimming, darkening, until they eventually ended up becoming a woefully vacant black. The familiar teal of Brainstorm's armor gradually desaturating into the even more familiar grey of death. The deep magenta of Brainstorm's energon, viscous and slick, completely soaking Perceptor's trembling servos and seeping sluggishly into every single seam in Perceptor's plating-

All of a sudden, he was (thankfully) yanked away from the black hole of terror that his thoughts had rapidly been spiraling into; he had finally arrived at the closed entrance to the lab, and none too soon. As soon as they detected and identified the presence of Perceptor's EMF, the blast doors quickly glided open with a quiet whoosh -- but even that still seemed much too slow to the impatient microscope. He then promptly stepped across the stainless-steel threshold and hurriedly strode his way into the lab, but much to his inner dismay, he did not receive his usual boisterous greeting from Brainstorm.

Perceptor's previous troubled frown from earlier suddenly returned with a vengeance now, the metal-mesh of his brow deeply furrowing with intensifying uneasiness. He immediately tilted his helm upwards so that his optics could frenetically scan the high ceiling, silently hoping that he would eventually come across the all-too-familiar sight of his upside-down lab partner -- but it soon became very apparent to him that Brainstorm was currently elsewhere. The well-used harness itself was still freely hanging from up there, but it was very obviously empty, swaying ever-so-slightly as it dangled lowly in the air.

Such a simple and unassuming visual shouldn't have perturbed Perceptor so much, but because of its current implication, now it did.

So, it seemed that Brainstorm really wasn't just stuck, after all. In any other situation, under any other circumstances, perhaps Perceptor would have actually been somewhat relieved by that fact. Now, however, all that he felt instead was an ice-cold, quickly-sinking dread. The harsh feeling was as if his frame had suddenly been completely submerged in liquid nitrogen, like his coursing energon had just instantaneously frozen within his lines.

His agitated spark spun impossibly faster from within its casing. Since Brainstorm hadn't just gotten himself stuck, that must mean that something else had to have happened to him instead, and Perceptor just couldn't help but fear that it was something worse.

"Brainstorm...?" he tentatively called out into the eerie stillness of the lab; his own voice sounded thin in comparison to the thick silence that completely filled the vast space. The sizeable scope that was located upon Perceptor's right shoulder bobbed reflexively as his sharp gaze meticulously scanned all across the surrounding area for even the slightest glimpse of familiar teal armor, but there was none to be seen. "I'm here -- where are you?"

For a long, harrowing moment, he heard no response -- only the muted humming and whirring of the lab's numerous idle machinery. Then, finally, Perceptor's audials just barely managed to detect the faint sound of someone saying his designation. He was almost instantly able to accurately pinpoint it as apparently coming from the far corner of Brainstorm's half of the lab, somewhere around where the chaotic engineer's self-assembled 'workshop' was located.

It would seem that the single-minded jet had hardly moved at all since the last time that Perceptor had seen him, which must have already been more than a quarter-cycle ago now. For just how long had Brainstorm been experiencing distress before he actually decided to contact his partner?

The extensive assortment of equipment, machinery, and furniture that comprised the small nook currently obscured its likely inhabitant from Perceptor's view, but at least he knew exactly where the other was now. That knowledge only slightly relieved his stress-addled spark.

Not daring to waste even a single moment more, he promptly began to hurriedly speed towards his new destination. As he did so, Perceptor desperately attempted to mentally brace himself for whatever he might end up seeing when he eventually reached it. Would he suddenly be met with the ghastly sight of slowly-spreading puddles of energon? Of melting armor plating and flickering lights? Of a seizing, violently-convulsing frame?

As soon as Perceptor rounded one of the tall shelving units, he almost tripped. His pede had unexpectedly bumped into something that he knew should not have been there -- something that was unusually large and heavy.

He immediately looked down, and...oh.

That was actually Brainstorm himself that Perceptor had apparently very nearly stepped on, as the teal flier was currently lying there on the floor. The very nanoklik that the panicking microscope finally laid his optics upon the supine form of his lover, his frame suddenly froze in place, and it felt like each and every one of his internal processes all just stalled instantaneously. Once he eventually remembered how to properly vent again, he quickly rebooted his optics -- but even still, he disbelievingly beheld the same, unchanging vision.

...oh.

Chapter Text

Brainstorm's still-aching spinal strut momentarily rose high off of the floor in a near-perfect arch when the heel of his servo suddenly pressed against his pulsing anterior node with just the right amount of pressure. His mouth reactively fell open and his glitching vocalizer emitted a loud, staticky moan as yet another invisible wave of sharp, electric pleasure quickly swept its way across his burning core like an incoming tide. He currently already had three of his digits awkwardly stuffed in-between the thick lips and thin folds of his valve, and was actually sincerely debating even adding a fourth one as well. He pushed and pulled them in and out at an erratic, frenzied pace, occasionally curling and wiggling them to rub delectably against the many swollen nodes lining his tight channel. Both his servo and his wrist had long since become absolutely soaked in his own slick lubricants, and the joints were now beginning to cramp and twinge from just how long he had been desperately fingering himself.

...actually, just how long had it been since he suddenly began doing this, anyways? Had it already been breems? Joors? Cycles? Or had it only been a scant few kliks? Brainstorm didn't know, and he honestly didn't even care to anymore. It didn't matter at all now, just as nothing else did during this wonderfully infinite moment. Time, space, reality -- anything and everything had soon become absolutely meaningless in comparison to the endless, delicious pleasure that he was currently experiencing. An entire eternity could come and go, the whole galaxy could slowly die and eventually be reborn again, the very universe could suddenly completely shatter and then inexplicably reform anew around him -- and he still wouldn't even notice any of it.

Pretty much as soon as he finally received the latest message from Perceptor confirming that his conjunx would very soon be there with him, Brainstorm had immediately stopped paying any further attention to his internal HUD; he wasn't sure if he even managed to actually respond to the microscope or not. All that he was currently aware of now was the increasing desperation, the agonizing frustration, and the all-consuming need.

So good. So close. But still not enough.

Brainstorm's strained vocalizer eked out a long, high-pitched whine of dissatisfaction, and he suddenly flung his helm back against the metal floor with a resounding tunk. He bit his wobbling bottom lip hard between his dentae, temporarily ignoring the blunt pain that quickly followed. His internal calipers cycled relentlessly around his penetrating digits, clutching them tight and vehemently trying to somehow pull them even deeper into his achingly hungry port. But, unfortunately, the numerous intruding appendages were far too short to conceivably reach anywhere close to his sensitive ceiling node, and even when crammed together, much too thin to actually be able to give him the wide stretch that he so desperately craved. The very essence of Brainstorm's being was still starving for more, more, more.

He was a dismally empty chalice, waiting impatiently to be filled all of the way up with molten pleasure until he soon began to completely overflow with it. He was a mundane lump of clay, ready to be pushed and pulled beyond his mortal limits and carefully molded anew into something divine. He was a dwindling, dying star, the intense pressure within his superheated core gradually building and building as he prepares to suddenly go supernova.

Brainstorm's ringing audials barely registered the noisy clattering sounds of his shaking wings repeatedly knocking into the furniture around him. His one unoccupied servo frantically searched for any purchase at all, his clawing digits only scrabbling uselessly against the perfectly smooth floor. He had no physical anchor to keep his overwhelmed consciousness from slowly drifting further and further away into this infinite sea of sensual oblivion. He felt like his flaring spark was persistently trying to expand from within its too-small casing, as if it was insistently attempting to completely escape from his frame, but was consistently kept trapped by his chamber.

Powerful gusts of hot air forcefully blew out from his wide-open vents, and his gaping mouth steadily puffed out thick clouds of curling steam with each and every exhale. Condensation had gradually fogged up across the majority of Brainstorm's practically boiling armor, eventually gathering into little translucent beads that would then occasionally end up slipping between his shifting plating. The isolated sensations of the cool liquid droplets slowly sliding along his currently super-sensitive protoform was just...eugh.

He finally managed to forcefully pull his fuzzy attention away from the uncomfortable feeling by playing around with his stiffened anterior node; he erratically switched back-and-forth between pinching it and pressing it like a button. He firmly rubbed his flattened servo up-and-down along the narrow length of his valve opening, his slick lubricants making the glide quick and practically effortless. He carefully cupped the entirety of his plump sex in his servo and then tightly squeezed, which immediately caused him to let out a sharp grunt of pleasure that soon transformed into a guttural groan of frustration.

No matter what he did or for how long, Brainstorm just couldn't overload. It was truly awful...but it was also so very good. It was the best experience ever, as well as the worst feeling of all time. It was the most sublime mixture of both pleasure and pain -- the delightful ecstasy of sexual stimulation mixed with the absolute agony of continuous denial. He now fully understood that self-servicing alone wouldn't actually be anywhere near enough to finally tip him all of the way over that edge and end up completely satisfying him at long last.

He needed more. He needed Percy.

Brainstorm needed Perceptor's sturdy frame just above his own, pretty much on top of him, firmly pressing him into the equally solid floor as the microscope totally and lovingly dominated him. He always felt so secure, so adored, so utterly owned whenever he was tightly held in his mate's strong embrace -- like he was some kind of beautiful, cherished treasure that belonged only to Perceptor. He desperately desired to have his conjunx on him and in him in each and every conceivable way, totally enveloping him and completely filling him all at once.

Brainstorm needed Perceptor's large servos to tenderly caress and unabashedly grope every single inch of his frame, for his thick digits to skillfully force their way into all of his sensitive gaps and aching orifices. He needed Perceptor's sinfully hot mouth on him, for the microscope to bite and lick and kiss him absolutely everywhere. He needed Perceptor's pale lips to slide ever-so-sweetly against his own yellow ones, for both of their derma to perfectly slot together like two puzzle pieces as their slick glossa entangled in an erotic dance. He needed... He needed...

But, more than anything else, Brainstorm needed Perceptor's spike.

Just the mere thought of his mate's impressive interface equipment immediately caused yet another intense jump of heat and charge to quickly course its way all throughout his sweating, spasming frame. He felt as if the entirety of his physical body was slowly melting away into a molten puddle of pure sexual stimulation, while his whirling spark was preparing to suddenly explode like a bright firework of utter ecstasy.

Despite the haziness of his other thoughts, Brainstorm was somehow still able to clearly picture Perceptor's pressurized spike in his struggling processor. He reactively swept the tip of his glossa across his dented derma, and could now feel the mildly gross sensation of oral solvent beginning to gradually drool out of the wide gaps in his cheeks. However, his mouth wasn't at all where he desperately needed that heavy spike to be right now.

Brainstorm tightly squeezed his shaking legs together, his wobbling knee joints clacking loudly as they suddenly knocked into each other. The action caused his busy servo to then become trapped between his lubricant-stained inner thighs, and also caused his valve walls to constrict even further around his rapidly-pistoning digits. The slight increase in his channel's overall tightness was marginally more satisfying, but it still wasn't Perceptor's spike, Primus damn it.

Every single element of Brainstorm's own interface equipment was aching now, demanding more and more intensely for what only his absent conjunx would actually be able to fully provide. His cycling internal calipers desired to be forcefully stretched so impossibly wide that they nearly snapped, and his woefully untouched ceiling node was still absolutely desperate for any kind of contact at all. It felt as if even his very gestation chamber longed to be repeatedly penetrated and completely flooded with warm transfluid.

The need had become so great by now that it was practically unbearable -- Brainstorm barely even had the presence of mind anymore to momentarily wonder if he was currently dying or something.

...well, if he actually was, then he supposed that there were certainly much worse (but definitely much less mortifying) ways to go than like this; he would very much prefer to die while experiencing overwhelming pleasure than while being consumed by agonizing pain.

Really, wouldn't anyone?

Just then, Brainstorm vaguely felt something foreign lightly press against his little iridescent bubble of sensuality. The sudden unexpected sensation almost immediately caused his relaxed frame to tense up slightly with apprehension.

...wait, no -- now that he actually attempted to properly focus on the new feeling, that was apparently the sensation of someone else's EMF gently brushing against his own. It took him an embarrassingly long moment to do so, but he did eventually realize that he actually recognized this particular EMF. It was one that he had gradually become very intimately familiar with over time -- one that he had since come to associate with the abstract concepts of security, adoration, and belonging. Was it really...?

With an immense amount of conscious effort, Brainstorm somehow managed to dimly online and temporarily focus his optics -- and his inquisitive gaze was instantly met with the more-than-welcome sight of a reflective chestplate and a large scope. The struggling jet couldn't contain his loud, high-pitched wail of pure relief. Like some kind of guardian angel having descended from the heavens above, Perceptor had finally arrived, and none too soon.

...but he wasn't moving. Like, at all. Not even a slight twitch. It was as if some kind of unseen entity had suddenly pressed the microscope's pause button or something.

Brainstorm's stinging vocalizer forced out a sharp moan of frustration. Why wasn't he moving? Why was he just standing there, as stiff and as still as a stone statue, and not touching Brainstorm like the jet so very desperately needed him to?

Brainstorm futilely attempted to perform a quick full-system reset of his malfunctioning optics. Despite all of the static fuzz that was persistently impairing his visual feed, he was somehow able to vaguely make out his conjunx's current facial expression.

Perceptor was just...staring at him. His deep blue optics were overbright with intense emotion, their apertures were cycled wide with utter shock -- he looked just like a mechanimal that had suddenly been caught in the headlights. In any other situation, under any other circumstances, perhaps such an unusual sight would have actually been pretty funny. However, instead of any hint of amusement, all that Brainstorm could really manage to feel at the current moment was exasperation. He needed the microscope to fragging move already, to do anything other than just stand there and stare at him, for Primus' sake.

Belatedly, he finally noticed that the microscope was actually missing his reticle...and now all that Brainstorm felt was an overwhelming sense of burning, terrible guilt. There was pretty much no doubt at all now that the jet had suddenly woken Perceptor up from his recharge by forcing a ping through to him, and that he had still decided to come here as soon as he had received it anyways.

With a soft whine of mortification, Brainstorm quickly turned his helm away, his dim optics rapidly flickering between online and offline. He was much too humiliated to continue looking at his conjunx any longer. Warm cleansing fluid slowly began to flood across his yellow lenses, causing his already-fuzzy visual feed to also become very blurry as well. This time around, the powerful wave of fire that suddenly swept throughout his internals was comprised entirely of shame.

Perceptor -- Brainstorm's loving, caring, darling Percy -- had abandoned his recharge, had left their habsuite, and had even come all of the way here to the lab...just because the jet had simply requested his help. And all during the middle of the nightcycle, no less. Brainstorm's rushed messages must have ended up really, really worrying the poor microscope. And here Brainstorm was, overheating, vulnerable, and self-servicing -- all while lying on the floor of his own damn workshop.

The jet was beginning to feel like some kind of...of lewd art piece at one of those sex-themed exhibitions or something. He was an alluring sculpture, having been painstakingly molded from sentio metallico into a single abstract shape. He was a gorgeous painting, his broad frame acting as the canvas and his various bodily fluids acting as the watercolors. Each and every sound that he made was yet another note added to further extend his sensual song -- a beautiful melody that was wholly comprised of his own moans, gasps, and whimpers. Brainstorm was being proudly presented upon a tall pedestal, on public display for anyone and everyone to accidentally come across and end up fully viewing; the thought was just as arousing as it was humiliating.

Maybe he should add 'exhibitionism' to his long list of kinks.

However, judging from Perceptor's current reaction -- or, well, his utter lack of pretty much any reaction at all -- it was probably unlikely that Brainstorm would ever be able to actually test this new hypothesis about himself. He supposed that he couldn't exactly fault the microscope for completely freezing up all of a sudden -- he probably looked like a mess. A super hot, totally sexy mess, no doubt, but still a mess. His poor Percy must have been temporarily stunned by the absurdly lewd sight in front of him.

...Brainstorm should say something. He needed to say something, anything. Perhaps actually speaking for once instead of just whimpering pathetically would end up prompting his mate into finally acting. He opened his mouth, parted his dented derma...but all that his glitching vocalizer managed to successfully output was only a low, warbling moan. Like his optics earlier, he quickly performed a full-system reset of his vocalizer and tried again -- but he was still frustratingly unable to form any actual words.

And, well, what would he even say, anyways? "Hey, Percy, so sorry for waking you up in the middle of the nightcycle and probably worrying you half to death, but I just got super horny all of a sudden and now I really need you to come here and frag me into stupidity." Yeah, right. Brainstorm has said a lot of pretty crazy things before, but even he knew just how completely insane that would end up sounding if actually spoken aloud, and he really didn't need Perceptor interrogating him right now.

He was currently struggling to even so much as talk; there was absolutely no way in the Pit that he would be able to accurately answer any of the countless questions that the other scientist was no doubt preparing to soon bombard him with.

...so maybe he could somehow manage to persuade Perceptor into just completely skipping all of the talking altogether. Desperate times often called for even more desperate measures, he supposed. Seduction mode : activate.

With a deliberately loud, somewhat over-the-top moan of his lover's designation, Brainstorm slowly opened his quivering thighs wide, now fully exposing his unsatisfied interface equipment to his slack-jawed lover. He sighed in ever-so-slight relief when the pleasantly cooling air of the lab lightly caressed his thoroughly-abused valvelips, and he arched his aching backstrut wantonly. He suddenly tossed his helm to the side dramatically and quickly brought his one unoccupied servo up to excessively fondle his burning chassis. His trembling digits delicately traced their way around and around the sensitive outer edges of his cockpit, just as he knew how Perceptor himself often enjoyed doing. Brainstorm was absolutely sure that he seemed like the very epitome of sexual pleasure by now; like some kind of interfacing deity impatiently awaiting the microscope's thorough worship.

He then gave Perceptor a sultry look -- or, well, he really tried to do so, at the very least. With all of the optical fluid and oral solvents that were still leaking from and trailing down his face, he probably just ended up looking like a total wreck. But anything would be worth a try at this point, wouldn't it?

Come on, Percy -- you know that you want this hot piece of aft. Who wouldn't?

However, his tried-and-true 'seduction' ploy must not have been enough this time, because instead of finally moving his body, Perceptor only moved his mouth.

"B-Brainstorm...?" he eventually managed to awkwardly choke out the jet's designation. "What the... wh-what is this?"

Brainstorm was almost immediately able to tell that the sniper was desperately attempting to appear as if he was entirely unaffected by the other's...situation, but in reality, he actually sounded like he was currently experiencing a spark attack or something. There was this obvious breathiness now present in his voice that instantly gave away just how 'affected' he really was. But even still, Perceptor continued speaking :

"What in Primus' name is going on...? Wh-why are you- you-" he suddenly cut himself off before he could complete his questioning sentence, as if he didn't know what he would even say to finish it -- or maybe he was just unable to bring himself to actually speak it aloud.

Brainstorm then noticed that Perceptor was now blatantly staring down at his pink-stained crotch, where his lubricant-soaked digits were still practically attacking his swollen valve. The microscope's jaw slackened and his derma parted slightly when he suddenly realized that the jet had a grand total of four digits currently crammed between his plush folds. Brainstorm couldn't hold back a small, smug smirk.

Bingo.

Nice try, Percy, but we both know that you can't resist me. A for effort, though.

Deciding to continue teasing his frozen lover, he allowed his weak legs to quickly fall open even further and slightly adjusted his pumping hips into what he guessed was the most revealing angle. With two of his aching digits, he slowly spread his flashing valvelips wide, shamelessly showcasing to the other how his tight channel was rhythmically clenching around nothing. Brainstorm desperately hoped that such an overtly wanton display of sexual desire would finally entice Perceptor into bodily action.

However, absolutely maddeningly, his wonderful, awful mate still did not move. Not even an inch! Had that stubborn microscope of his actually been turned into a stone statue?! Was he doing some kind of new denial foreplay or something?!

Brainstorm wanted to scream, to loudly vocalize his extreme frustration -- but all that actually managed to emerge from his overtaxed vocalizer was a pitchy, warbling whine of pure need.

...wait, Perceptor had just said something to him, hadn't he? He had asked Brainstorm what the frag he was doing.

Um, was it somehow not obvious enough already? So much for being a genius, Percy.

But perhaps if Brainstorm did properly answer all of the other scientist's (pointless) questions and actually provided him with a semi-understandable explanation, then maybe he would finally decide to have his way with him.

Brainstorm briefly considered only using his comms messages to reply instead of his very nearly broken vocalizer, but his internal HUD had since become far too glitchy by now for him to even recognize any of the controls. So, vocalizer it would have to be, then -- despite how utterly wrecked his current speaking voice would probably end up sounding. Although it took more than a few awkward tries for him to successfully do so at first, he did eventually manage to respond aloud.

"D-dunno," he shortly huffed out between steaming vents, heavily panting, glossa lolling as if he were just another mechanimal currently in the middle of experiencing its very first heat cycle. Perhaps he actually was -- he really didn't even know anymore. "Jus'...jus' got so hot."

When Perceptor failed to say anything in return, Brainstorm groaned low and deep, feeling both intense exasperation and overwhelming exhaustion from his ceaseless self-servicing. He desperately needed for someone else to just shove him off of this knifelike precipice already, to finally send him wildly careening into the awaiting abyss of wonderful ecstasy that was so damn close. He needed...he needed...

"N-need you, Percy. Help me, please-" Brainstorm suddenly gasped with surprised pleasure when one of his questing digits unexpectedly poked a blinking internal node in just the right way. With a desperate, choking sob, he suddenly quit the self-fondling of his chestplates and immediately extended his now-freed arm to longingly reach out towards his frustratingly distant mate. He knew that he probably both looked and sounded absolutely pathetic, but he honestly didn't even care about that at all anymore. His yearning body needed the physical contact with another living being, needed to just be touched; it no longer mattered to him where or how.

Brainstorm felt like he was actually beginning to lose his mind. Everything was becoming just way too much, but at the same time, somehow nothing could ever truly be anywhere near enough. He was helplessly suspended within this infinite, sensual limbo; unable to fully rise all of the way up into sobering lucidity, and yet still unable to finally fall all of the way down into blissful oblivion. He was hopelessly stranded inside of this purgatory of stimulation, endlessly alternating between heavenly pleasure and hellish pain. The only one who could rescue him from all of this was-

Thankfully, blessedly, Perceptor's firm servo suddenly grasped Brainstorm's own weak one, and the jet instantly felt electric charge swiftly course its way all across his protoform from just that small amount of physical contact alone. He quickly onlined his optics again, unaware that he had actually even offlined them to begin with.

There, by his side at last, was Perceptor -- Brainstorm's beloved conjunx endura and savior. The sniper had lowered himself down onto one knee joint, the large scope that was mounted upon his right shoulder moving slightly as he closely analyzed his lab partner's overheating, overcharged frame. He had since lost the absolutely stunned look, now fully replaced with one of intense concentration instead. It was an expression that the other scientist would pretty much always end up wearing whenever he was faced with a particularly difficult problem to solve, and Brainstorm found such a sight unfairly sexy.

Perceptor held Brainstorm's servo tight, finally providing him with that solid anchor and assuring comfort that he had been deeply yearning for since the very beginning of this distressing situation. Perceptor's large servo was as stiff and cold as ice compared to Brainstorm's own shaking, warm one. Perceptor's presence was like a lone lighthouse, standing strong and tall amidst the turbulent sea wherein Brainstorm had just previously been lost and adrift. Perceptor's EMF, always so admirably focused and controlled, was like that very lighthouse's bright beams, confidently guiding Brainstorm closer and closer towards slightly more mental clarity.

The overwhelming panic that had been mercilessly gripping Brainstorm for so long finally began to gradually fade away into a sense of tentative calm instead, and he now tried to vaguely concentrate on actually composing himself. Percy was here now, and Brainstorm knew that his devoted mate would take care of him, as he always did. With a soft sigh of absolute adoration, his distant gaze slowly traced across the unique shape of his lover's impossibly handsome face.

"I am no medic," Perceptor suddenly began speaking again, immediately startling Brainstorm out of his lovestruck reverie, "so I cannot say what exactly is happening with your internal mechanisms right now; however, I can tell you that your frame is very close to reaching dangerous levels of accumulated heat and charge."

Brainstorm only grunted in response. He really wanted to roll his optics at such a ridiculously obvious statement, but he just couldn't manage to muster up enough conscious willpower to actually do so at the current moment.

Well, duh, Percy. Any other enlightening observations? Thought you were supposed to be smart or something.

Perceptor's scope entirely ceased all of its small movements, and he promptly straightened his spinal strut back up slightly; however, his sturdy servo still staunchly kept his comforting hold on Brainstorm's own. Perceptor then finally turned his helm to lock gazes with Brainstorm, and the jet could now fully see that there was actually a concerned frown currently upon his lover's face. That particular expression was much less sexy, he thought; he really didn't like that look, especially whenever the sniper directed it towards Brainstorm himself. He quietly whimpered, quickly becoming distressed and upset all over again; he didn't want Perceptor to be worried about him -- he needed him to be horny for him, dammit!

Stop overthinking for once in your functioning and just frag me already!

Perceptor then gave Brainstorm's malfunctioning frame another brief once-over before quickly glancing away from him again; however, Brainstorm didn't miss how his lover's piercing blue optics momentarily lingered upon his messy pelvic region.

Perceptor reset his vocalizer awkwardly, as if he was desperately trying to keep maintaining some slight sense of proper decorum despite the blatant indecency of the current situation.

"You are overheating and overcharged. I am going to contact the medibay-"

"N-no...!"

Before the microscope could even say one more word, silver digits suddenly hooked around black ones and tugged insistently. Brainstorm sharply yanked down on their intertwined servos with a surprising amount of strength, quickly pulling Perceptor even closer to the jet than he had been before. Their faces were only mere inches apart from each other now, causing their warm exvents to mingle in the small space left between their derma. Blue and yellow optics were forced to meet once again; both of their emotional gazes were practically magnetized to each other.

"P-Percy, I don't need...need a medic, I need y-you!" Brainstorm keened desperately. He began wiggling his hips around with a completely renewed vigor, and artlessly plunged all four of his aching digits into his gaping valve as deep as they could possibly go. "Frag, I n-need you to...to m-make me overload!"