The bigger you are, the more you get relegated to certain roles. And maybe it's the forbidden Engex part of it, but doing something you aren't supposed to do is kinda hot. Liberating, too.
Trailcutter loves being looked at like that. He loves being noticed, in general- but to have someone eyeing him, sizing him up, and starting to rev because of him and not what he can do with his fields-
That's hot.
It's double hot to watch as Jazz peels his armor away easily, fluidly, like he's a present that unwraps itself. The action is just- it does things to Trailcutter. The other trusts him. The other wants to be down to protoform with him, even though Trailcutter is so big and so clumsy, sometimes-
He wants to be gentle. He wants to make those fans whir so loudly that Jazz himself is surprised by it. What if he can make that cool expression- that hint of desire- absolutely ignite, destroying the illusion of control the other has?
And then TC can give him that control back. Hand it over, and Jazz can do whatever he wants and Trailcutter will absolutely let him.
Give and take and take and give and one very, very heavy overload for the both of them sounds fragging amazing.
"Y-you look so pretty," he hums, leaning forward, arm against the wall next to the berth. "How'd I get so lucky to get a sparkstoker like you in my hab?"
His spike is an average size, but it's also proportional to his body. Which means for most mecha, it's big. It's also still reacting, though Trailcutter is trying to take this slowly, and make it last.
Don't ask him how he found 'Cutter's hab-suite. Just know that as the dimness of the suite lifts, there's a mech sauntering in from a doorway leading from the washracks. There are several fun things in his sub-space and a liquid glide to his stride that makes him move almost organically. The visor is bright, a blue glow against those broad features.
He's openly admiring the other's frame and size. His own is sleeker, sans some of the thicker armor, he'd used for espionage and missions. No, this is the civilian variant, with decidedly fewer boxes and more curves.
Claws brush along the doorway as he grins at him, easy and smooth- that predatory interest in that visor.
"E'ya, TC. Toldja ah'd findja."
Trailcutter was ready for you, Jazz. He'd said he'd had some issues earlier, and he hadn't been lying- and that means his heavier armor is gone, and his protoform and undermesh is free to to take its full shape. He's not skinny, but he isn't particularly oversized- he has pleasant rolls of metal mesh that support emergency fuel storage tanks, which glow a pleasant orange like his biolights.
He'd dimmed the lights in his hab and then actually posed, showing off his best muscle fiber tone- and he'd done it for a WHILE, thinking that Jazz might come out of the vents, or the main door, or even the ceiling. Trailcutter wanted to make sure he was putting enough effort into this! He can't exactly fit into a lot of ready-made exogear, so his solution is to wear less and show it all off.
He turns slowly, showing off the swell of his back and spinal strut, trying for a cocky, sexy grin. "I was counting on it, J. Hopin' you wouldn't leave me all alone with this monst-"
His jaw drops. Trailcutter is so bad at faking being cool. He is so bad at it, and Jazz is so pretty, and whoops. There goes his below-belt activity again, along with a happy-to-see-you engine rev.
Please, it’s only reasonable because my frame was not made for heavy fuel use. I have some snacks with me, so could do that. Though you’re welcome to come over to my hab to pick the stuff up.
Yeah, I can save you the trip. Wouldn’t want you falling over and breaking your chevron open.
Plus, I get the fuel faster. Win-win for everybody!
Me? Hah, of course I can. I can handle more than I look. I bet I could outdrink you.
… Well, okay, I’m a bit of a lightweight, but I know my pace, I’ll be fine.
Oh, mech. You could not outdrink me. I have won so many drinking contests. Most of them ending in the other guy taking a trip to Ratchet for fuel overconsumption.
Don’t feel the need to compete, just get something you like. I can make the rest of it a good time, guaranteed.
I am envious of your immunity. I’ll bring it over once I’m allowed to walk on my own again.
I’d trade you for your ability to run on a reasonable amount of fuel, but the chrome is always shinier on the other side. ...Maybe you should try and eat something?
I drink tons of fuel just to move around because I burn so much of it. Being huge and having a power-consumptive outlier power means I am either always refuelling or constantly recharging.
Gettin’ overcharged is harder for me. But once I’m there, it’s great.
【A white finger delicately traces around the orange… thing. What is it? He has no idea but it’s a nice color.】
Hn? Delicate? I don’t think I’ve ever been called delicate.
[His palms are actually a little ticklish. His emitters are the sensitive parts of his hands, and that means anybody gently petting them feels... really nice.]
Almost everyone is delicate compared to me. Your fingers are half the width of mine, I think, so it was the first word I thought of.
[His hand is at minimum as big as Prowl’s face, and yet strangely gentle. There are large circular emitters at the center of both of them- and they glow a gentle orange.]
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