Heard my video work being compared to Blackspark today! I really dig his combination of indie music w/ erotic work, using cinematic lighting and photography. I appreciate the compliment, as some of his work is absolutely inspiring. You aren’t wrong to notice me dabbling with this aesthetic.
If we’re being honest, I’m super nervous about exploring this realm because I’m terrified of people not taking my art seriously.
-Brandon
“Hey, you did find something in there! What’d you-“
Blackspark stopped halfway through the door of his workroom as Gravescratch growled at him, entirely taken aback by the aggression, and dropped the bundle of chains he’d been carrying. “Woah, hey… hey, now… I’m not gonna take it. You know I’m not.”
Gravescratch bared his fangs for a klik more, shielding something behind his back, and didn’t even look remotely sorry for the threat as he rumbled “this is mine” at the mech who’d disturbed him. Yes, he knew that Blackspark didn’t take things, but… this was… this was his. Had to be sure.
“Yeah, hey, sure- it’s yours. Not- not even gonna bother arguing that. You know I’m not gonna steal y’ stuff… it’s yours. I don’t do that.” Blackspark soothed, very slowly moving closer, and sat down in the second chair a short distance away from Gravescratch. “Now… what’d you find? Didn’t think we’d get much out of an old kennel… all I got were chains. Prob’ly melt ‘em.”
Gravescratch’s antennae flickered on his helm and he slowly began to bring whatever it was out from behind his back, optics still narrowed slightly, before pausing and growling again. “Don’t. Laugh.”
“I’m- I’m not- Gravescratch, you know me. I don’t take people’s things, and I don’t laugh at things that’re serious. I’m not a terrible person. I’m an idiot sometimes, but… I try ta be decent, you know that. C’mon, now… what’s up? You got real worked up over somethin’ outta some… random…”
Blackspark trailed off as a realization struck him, and his voice was much, much softer as he spoke. “That… that wasn’t some random kennel, was it?”
Gravescratch slowly shook his helm, then, almost reluctantly, brought the object out from behind his back.
It was a large toy hound, about twice the size of his helm, made of wire mesh and soft metals. Unsurprisingly for something fished from the rubble, it was beat up and a bit chewed on, but it was mostly in one piece- and Gravescratch had been carefully reattaching one of the limbs. It didn’t seem to be sculpted after any creature in particular, but someone had modified the helm. Someone who had etched four additional optics on each side and one on the fore-helm. Someone who had evidently also bitten at the toy with a series of tiny teeth contained in long, narrow jaws.
Gravescratch looked the toy over for a moment, then held it to his chassis and, in a voice softer than Blackspark had ever heard from him, whispered “this is mine”.
Blackspark stayed quiet for a moment, then, slowly, stood up and moved towards Gravescratch. Purring very softly, he wrapped his arms around Gravescratch and held the lanky mech close, rubbing gently at spots along his back that he knew the scent-hound liked.
Not sure what to say, he left it at just the hug for a little while, not letting go as Gravescratch made no attempt to get loose, and spoke quietly when the words did come.
“Ya know… I know you’ve told me ‘bout how they treated you, but… don’t think it ever really sunk in that we might find somethin’ o’ yours in a kennel. ‘m sorry, mech.” Blackspark sighed, optics dimming slightly, and didn’t move except to continue petting. “You, uh… y’ wanna tell me th’ story there? And, here- you know what? Lemme grab this kit- let’s go t’ berth, more comfortable.”
Gravescratch silently returned the hug, leaning into Blackspark for as long as he could, and didn’t speak until the bounty hunter let go and began to gather up the repair kit. When he did speak, his voice was still quiet, still soft, as if he wasn’t quite certain he wanted to share this. Honestly, he wasn’t.
“I was… not born alone. You know this. There were others- not exactly like me, we were all prototypes, but… similar. And they… kept us together. Social species, after all. They’d found that isolation made for unwanted results. So… I had batchmates of a sort. I don’t… remember if they had names, though. Probably just numbers. And I don’t remember their numbers because… well, there was… there was an accident. When we were all young. Something… there was an explosion, I think. I don’t remember, but… I do know they were gone.
“From what I remember, I… wouldn’t stop howling. You- you must understand, I’d never recharged alone in my life, and it was cold without them. I… wasn’t old enough to really understand that they were gone, and I don’t think it would have helped if I had.
“Well, they’d learned that… that punishing young beings made for terrified, cowed tools rather than useful ones. So, instead… one of them gave me this. It- it holds heat very well, and… it was no substitute, but… I’d tired myself out enough that it worked.”
Optics soft, Gravescratch looked down at the toy for a moment longer, then nuzzled his face into it to muffle a quiet little noise. Which didn’t work very well, since he usually spoke with his mouth closed anyway.
“I thought this had been destroyed. The- the war, there was… some kind of a bomb. They emptied the building and left, wouldn’t let me take this with me, and… we never went back. I thought… I thought it had burned, or been buried hopelessly. But I… but I found it. This is mine. It’s the only thing they ever let me have, and it’s still mine.”
Blackspark finished packing up the repair kit and just… listened. Quietly. When Gravescratch seemed to be done talking, he very gently took one of those narrow servos in his own and pulled, coaxing the scavenger to follow him.
With the kit in one servo and Gravescratch’s claws in the other, he stepped out of his workroom and walked the short distance to their berthroom, then shut the door behind them both- just because this felt like a private thing. Even if there was no one else on the ship.
As Gravescratch watched, Blackspark sat down on the berth, spread a tarp out, and put the repair kit on it, and patted a spot right next to himself. “Gravescratch, honestly, I don’t know what ta say. I got a lotta really angry words in mind, bu’ they won’t help. So… c’mere. Sit. I’ve patched up a few li’l toys… lemme help you fix that? Promise not ta make it worse.”
Gravescratch stared for a moment, swaying side-to-side in uncertainty, and almost retreated with his find-
But he didn’t.
Instead, he slunk up onto the berth, sat down, leaned against Blackspark, and very slowly pressed the toy into Blackspark’s servos. He didn’t let go of it, but he offered it. Which was… the closest he could get.
Much later, Blackspark smiled to himself and rubbed very gently behind Gravescratch’s largest set of antennae, purring gently as he watched the lanky mech sleep. They’d cleaned the toy, tightened all the loose parts, and added paint not just to the original eyes, but to the ones Gravescratch had etched in himself. It still looked beaten up, but it did in fact hold heat very well, and that was being put to use.
Gravescratch was curled up on his side, helm against Blackspark, with the toy tucked against his throat. He was either recharging or very close, his field was nothing but contentment, and he kept kneading his claws on the toy.
Blackout doesn’t like to brag. He’s lost a lot in this war already, and in comparison to some of the other Commanders in the Third System, he doesn’t have much to boast about anyway.
But there is one thing that he will always take pride in, one thing that he will always point out with a grin the size of a small planet and eyes bright.
Spark waves to him from where he’s working on one of the ships with a squad mate, and then promptly smacks himself in the face with a wrench.
“That one is yours?” Cody asks with a smirk, pretending is isn’t making eyes at Fives a few few away.
“Yeeeah, he’s mine,” Blackout says with an exasperated, affectionate sigh.
It’s been weeks since Blackout saw his rookie off to begin his ARC Trooper training, and to say he’s more than a little excited would be an understatement. He’s definitely not pacing in the hangar waiting for the transport ship to land, and he definitely doesn’t have butterflies in his stomach.
Finally, after what seems like hours, the ship comes in, and Blackout does his best to keep his spine straightened, as a Commander should when greeting his fellow brothers-in-arms.
It takes every fiber of his being not to immediately pull Spark into a bruising kiss upon seeing him, but he manages to wait until most of the hangar has cleared out before he slides their fingers together and bumps noses with the freshly trained Trooper.
“Reunited at last,” Spark whispers against his lips before Blackout claims them.
***
Send me a clonecest pairing and a word, and I’ll write you a Five Sentence Fic.
“I hate storms,” Spark confesses, and though it’s mostly to himself, it catches his Commander’s attention.
Before Blackout can ask, Spark continues, “Most people think I got my name because I’m some kind of ‘spark of hope’ or some bantha shit, but...”
At the same time he trails off, a crack of thunder sounds over them, and a streak of lightning cuts through the dark grey sky, sending Spark straight into Blackout’s arms with a yelp.
The Commander frowns as he tightly winds his arms around his Shiny, who quivers against him and hides his face in his chest.
“It’s because you’re afraid of lightning,” Blackout sighs, and though he would normally find amusement in the irony, he finds that this time, it’s not all that funny.
***
Send me a clonecest pairing and a word, and I’ll write you a Five Sentence Fic.
3484 words of Blackspark grooming and otherwise pampering a newer OC of mine, Sharpshot. No real warnings for this, aside from dealing with some old scars. Literal ones. Technically plug’n’play interface, but not the sexual take on it, just as a way to share information.
All crude jokes aside, Blackspark knew how to handle a weapon. He had more than one sniper rifle of his own, and, when you came down to it, a rifle-alt wasn’t terribly different. Heavier around the base, since there was a living mech inside rather than just the needed components of a rifle, and with a thicker barrel to make up for the fact that the barrel had to be made of segments rather than one solid piece. The same general design, though, with three major differences. First, a rifle-alt could be trusted not to go off accidentally. Second, you didn’t take a rifle-alt apart for cleaning. Third, and most pleasantly, regular sniper rifles didn’t sigh quietly in enjoyment when you were working on cleaning their barrel.
Blackspark had laid a towel over his lap for some padding and was gently supporting Sharpshot’s alt in one arm, slowly polishing the barrel with a cloth held in his other servo. Cleaning the interior of the barrel hadn’t gotten any real response, and from what he’d heard didn’t tend to be a big deal for most weapon-alts. Made sense, since they were more than used to standard cleaning after a couple of years and the barrel wasn’t sensitive in alt mode anyway. But this… well, this wasn’t really necessary, but he’d promised to pamper Sharpshot.
And from the look of things, nobody had done so in a very long time. Sharpshot kept his frame clean, of course, but he had more scars on his alt than were really necessary- mostly in areas that indicated someone had been none too gentle with the rifle they were hauling. Even a few that looked like he might have been used as a club. Grumbling quietly about careless Functionalists, Blackspark shifted the small mech in his lap to carefully inspect the scars, then switched to a soft brush to clean the areas over the scars. Rougher metal needed a different scrubber to get it clean, but Sharpshot didn’t seem to mind. In fact, the plates under Blackspark’s servos lifted a fraction, allowing him to scrub at the edges. “Yeah- there we go. Havin’ fun?”
No response, other than a flicker of EM field against his fingertips. Which was, in itself, a considerable thing, since rifle-alts kept their fields entirely hidden in alt mode so they wouldn’t distract their wielder. They also kept their plating firmly down in place for stability. But this… this was distinctly unusual. Sharpshot was relaxed enough to flicker relaxation/pleasure/appreciation against Blackspark, to lift his plating and let him under, to start making quiet sounds of enjoyment at his work. Purring gently, Blackspark shifted the smaller mech in his lap and tucked the end of the barrel against the side of his neck, making the encounter just a bit more intimate and fully demonstrating his trust. Sharpshot could kill him like this, but wasn’t about to- didn’t even have any energy built up yet. Defenseless, for the moment, and trusting Blackspark entirely.
It felt excellent.
Letting himself purr, just slightly, Blackspark lingered on the edges of those slightly raised plates in an effort to reward Sharpshot for the trust. It worked, too, Sharpshot crooned softly up at him and fluffed the plating even further.
He’d already gotten all the vital cleaning done, so, once he’d given everything a good once-over, he set the rifle-alt flat in his lap and patted approximately where he thought Sharpshot’s chassis was. “A’right, c’mon out. We aren’t done here,” he purred, watching with a little smile as Sharpshot had to settle his plating back down to get to the point where he could transform. Cute- too relaxed to coordinate anything.
And then, well… then he had an attractive little mech in his lap. Not just in his lap- straddling his legs and blinking up at him with half-focused optics. Which was tasty, but now was not the time for suggestiveness, now was the time for gentle affection. Purring softly, he leaned back and lifted one delicate servo to his lips for a soft kiss, grinning widely when Sharpshot responded with a rather startled expression and a hint of flattery/pleasure in their field. Nice.
Pulling his supplies closer, he dipped Sharpshot’s servo into a basin of a mild solvent, then selected a small, soft brush and began to gently scrub around his fingers. Very carefully on the tips, then a bit more firmly around some of the scars, dislodging the grime that tended to build up in servo joints without removal. It was worse when scar tissue was involved, the rough metal clung to grime. Couldn’t be comfortable at all, poor mech. It wouldn’t interfere with Sharpshot’s ability to do their job, but, Primus- must be hard for him to move his fingers properly.
Humming softly, Blackspark cleaned away everything he could, then put the solvent aside started to work a few drops of oil into the tiny joints. Sharpshot’s optics were mostly closed by that point, so he let his gaze drift up a bit, taking the opportunity to look Sharpshot over from close up. Such an interesting frame!
His optics were probably the thing that caught people’s attention at first. One bright red, perfectly round primary optic, often kept shut indoors, and two smaller, dull orange optics that were set slightly out to the sides. His antennae were odd, too, seeming unusually short and thick at first glance. Second glance would reveal that those were actually sheathes, and that the actual antennae extended from the tips when it was safe. Sheaths like that were unusual on most frametypes, but relatively common on the audials and antennae of any mechs with a large gun incorporated into their frame, especially when their entire frame was a gun.
From there… narrow chassis, lanky stomach, slender hips, a distinctly delicate-looking frame that made Blackspark want to fit his servos around Sharpshot’s midsection. His legs were harder to get a look at without clearly staring somewhere other than his servo, but Blackspark could feel Sharpshot’s legs around his frame, and he’d seen before in quick once-overs. Oddly thick plating, but in narrow, vertical pieces, and relatively small pedes that split into two toes- ooh, with small silicone pads on them. Same pads on Sharpshot’s fingertips and palms, thin and slightly ridged, meant to help grip onto surfaces. Pausing again, Blackspark lightly brushed the pads against his own cheek, then purred reassuringly when Sharpshot opened all three optics to look up at him. “Don’t mind me, jus’ gettin’ a feel for these. Neat li’l detail. An’, hey- secret li’l pretty details right in here.”
Most of Sharpshot’s frame was a soft, matte silver with varying degrees of purple mixed in, seemingly meaningless patterns that would assemble into countershading in alt mode. His servos were darker, a shadowy matte purple, and there were thin white lines tracing around the edges of his fingers and collecting into white at the very tips of his claws. A lovely little bit of contrast.
Sharpshot opened his optics just enough to look down at his servos, seeing only the usual colorless gridwork that his secondary optics read in, then shut his optics again and sighed quietly. “Can’t see color this close up, remember? Don’t… know what you’re talking about.”
He was expecting it to end at that. It didn’t, though, and he opened their secondary optics at a quiet clicking sound. Hm- didn’t need to see color to see that Blackspark had just opened his wrist panel. That was… interesting, and he carefully held one of the plugs between his fingertips as he looked up to try and figure out the intent here.
Completely relaxed and pulsing quiet invitation/reassurance/enjoyment, Blackspark revved his engine in an encouraging gesture, holding his servo where Sharpshot could easily reach. “You’re missing out, handsome. Here… plug in, I’ll letcha at my visual feed so you can get a look at your pretty self. No strings, promise. Just a coupla cables.”
Sharpshot watched him for a moment, thinking, then opened his own wrist panel and carefully pressed Blackspark’s plug into place. Sure- why not? Blackspark definitely wasn’t up to anything with him, and he had good firewalls in any place. Besides… he was curious. So he settled the bounty hunter’s plug into one of his ports, then offered up one of his own cables, which hopefully wouldn’t be too small to fit.
It wasn’t. Blackspark’s port had to cycle down a size or two, but nothing the calipers couldn’t easily do, and the link flickered to life between them. An offer of a live feed popped up, and, when Sharpshot accepted, he was viewing Blackspark’s optical feed. A feed of himself, close up, in color and detail- interesting! He’d never seen close-up details in color, and-
Oh. Sharpshot blinked a couple of times, straightening up, then shut his optics to better focus on the feed. He’d never actually seen what he looked like. His own build, of course, from looking down at himself, but only being able to see the shapes of things up close meant that he couldn’t see his own colors or use a mirror in any way. So this… this was very interesting.
Turning to one side, then the other, he took the opportunity to look himself over for the first time. Hm- Blackspark might have a point. Sharpshot wasn’t quite certain what people generally considered attractive, but he did look quite nice, and- oh, the white details on his servos were definitely pretty. Come to think of it… so was the rest of him. Hm.
Sharpshot was aware of the overlapping, scale-like plates on his back, especially as he moved and lifted the plating up, but he’d never gotten anything like a look at it before. No wonder people wanted to touch his back- that did look like an interesting texture. And there was the white again, on the very edges of the plates, where it wouldn’t show up in his alt mode when the plating was settled in place. Interesting.
Settling against the wall, he half-opened his optics for a moment to see the colors as he looked over his shoulder, then shivered just a fraction at the sight of himself. Optics half-shut, lounging against the wall, plating lifted and smiling just a fraction. That was… hm. Well.
“Ah. No wonder you wanted me to see this. I am hot. Thank you for this.”
Shutting his optics again, Sharpshot turned around and settled comfortably into Blackspark’s lap, quietly enjoying the feed as he offered his servos to the larger mech again. “This is… not a level of attention I am used to, but… I find myself quite enjoying it. Please continue,” he purred, letting his field wrap softly into Blackspark’s, and practically melted into the corner and into the hunter’s lap as he obliged.
Genuinely delighted, Blackspark left the plugs in place for as long as Sharpshot accepted the feed, working the oil gently into his servos in the meantime. Honestly, the link felt nice- Sharpshot’s port was tight around his plug, and the rifle-alt’s presence was soft, quiet, and relaxed on the other end of the link. A pleasant set of sensations, and a wonderful addition to the enjoyment of feeling Sharpshot relax under his servos. The rifle couldn’t purr, not quite, but he kept making soft, breathy noises somewhere between sighs and moans. Not quite suggestive, he was too relaxed for that, but mm.
Taking his time, Blackspark slowly worked a generous dose of oil into both of Sharpshot’s servos, especially around the scars, then began to move up his arms. This was a small and delicate mech, so it took a delicate touch, but that also meant that there was less space to cover.
Sharpshot stayed relaxed for most of the work, but tensed up now and then in discomfort when Blackspark got rougher with some of the scars. Sometimes it took a tougher brush to properly clean them off, to remove the outer layer of long-dead nanites adhered to the scar tissue, which wasn’t very pleasant for Sharpshot. Blackspark offered an assortment of distractions,though- kissing the backs of his servos again, pressing those tiny servo pads to his cheek or audial fins, or focusing his optics on a detail of Sharpshot’s frame that he liked in order to give his patient something better to think about. Fortunately, the only scars on his front large enough to need special attention were on his servos and arms, his stomach and chassis sported only a few slightly raised areas that were completely covered in healthy nanites. No joints to oil, either- just a few transformation seams, everything else was soft muscle cabling or protoform.
His back was slower, though, and they had to unplug so the cables didn’t get tangled up while trying to clean this mess. Lots of scars, lots of transformation seams tucked under plating, lots of work to be done. Not much of it was comfortable for Sharpshot, unfortunately, and there was very little that Blackspark could do about it. The scars wouldn’t heal properly like this, not without cleaning, and removing that outer layer of grime would allow Blackspark to work in more oil to help loosen the scars up. A necessary- well, not evil, but unpleasantness. One that had Sharpshot gritting his dentae and bracing himself against the wall, and had Blackspark feeling distinctly not okay with the situation. He didn’t like causing people pain, at least not people he liked, and he liked Sharpshot. So- time to stop and ask.
Lowering both servos to stroke gently at Sharpshot’s sides, Blackspark purred softly for a moment, trying to settle the smaller mech down a bit. “Easy, there… takin’ a li’l break. Sharpshot, you wanna stop? We can stop for a bit, or for good- don’t really need to strip all these scars now. Really should at some point, they ain’t gonna get any better ‘till they get some work done, but we can keep this whole session nice an’ gentle if yer uncomfortable.”
Sharpshot grumbled quietly and shivered, antennae low and askew, and slowly relaxed into Blackspark’s touches. “No. I want to get this out of the way, and I suspect this will feel rather nice when you finish. Continue. I can stand it.”
He could. It wasn’t fun, the scrubbing bordered on pain, but it was necessary- and he could put up with worse. It required bracing himself, but it worked. Helped that Blackspark kept-
Well, essentially snuggling him. Nuzzling the back of his helm, stroking his arms or sides when he got too tense, staying as close to him as possible while still being able to reach his back. It felt… hm. Completely opposite of the cleanings he was used to, but it was… mm.
It was amazing.
If a bit confusing when Blackspark proceeded to turn him around. What was he planning to do n-
Ohh-
Blackspark poured a large dose of the oil down Sharpshot’s back, over all the old marks and scars, and the sensors underneath lit up with fire. Sharpshot tensed and gripped tightly onto Blackspark’s frame, choking back a hiss of what was definitely pain, then slumped limp and-
Well, moaned. Much louder than expected, because the oil was soaking into and through the old wounds, soothing the briefly agitated sensors, and it felt amazing. He felt like he was melting, and probably looked like it, slumped against Blackspark and continuing to moan in bliss. It wasn’t intentional, but he was far too relaxed to stop himself.
“Oh, yeah- there we go,” Blackspark purred, holding Sharpshot gently against his own frame, and slowly stood up in lieu of setting him down. “You got real relaxed, cutie- tell ya what, how about we take this back to my berth? Not, uh- not for interface, just- gonna be more comfy. Would you be a’ight with that, Sharpshot? No pressure.”
Sharpshot didn’t seem coherent, kneading claws quickly against his arms, but nodded against his throat in response to the question. Therefore, Blackspark gently carried his bundle of relaxed little mech to his berthroom across the hall, humming softly as he set the sniper down. “You just stay riiight there. Gonna be back.”
Blackspark’s berth was large, soft, and lightly shredded. Not at all surprising, and very comfortable as Sharpshot nuzzled into it. Warm, soft… mmh.
Now that he was in a quiet place, Sharpshot let his antennae extend out of the sheaths, feeling the vibrations in the air as Blackspark approached. Giving a quiet “mrrp” noise, he fluffed his plating into the approaching servos, then moaned again –albeit quieter- as Blackspark’s servos landed on his back.
“Aw. Thought you’d relax,” Blackspark purred, stroking Sharpshot’s back plating, and gradually began to work his fingertips down the small mech’s spine in firm, careful rubbing motions. Sharpshot didn’t say anything in response, but pushed up into his servos, groaning softly against the blankets in clear (if muffled) pleasure.
As Blackspark continued to work, Sharpshot gradually relaxed again and made a noise almost like a purr, optics shut and face pushed into the blankets. He felt good, clearly, and it made Blackspark purr in return at the show. Oh- so pretty, so sweet, so relaxed. Had no one ever done something like this for him? It certainly seemed like they hadn’t. At the very least, it had been a very long time, because there was a lot of tension to work out.
More than willing to work out all of said tension, Blackspark moved down Sharpshot’s back, not shying from the complicated mechanisms just above his aft, occasionally applying the vibes in his fingertips ever-so-softly to particularly stubborn cables. From there, he slid both servos to Sharpshot’s leg, tilting the smaller mech to the side slightly to put his leg at a good angle, then propped the padded little pede against his own chassis and went to work. Each section got a thorough cleaning to remove any grit that had been missed earlier, then a careful massage, easing muscle cables and lengths of plating back to where they belonged.
And, when Blackspark got to Sharpshot’s pedes, he did something self-indulgent and lingered there. Sharpshot had thick, dense, silicone-like pads on the bottoms of his pedes, and massaging the pads was more than enjoyable. Plus, it made Sharpshot rumble quiet noises of happiness and push gently into him- apparently it was comfortable.
It was delightful, and Sharpshot voiced his approval in wordless sounds, lifting his plating against the touches with every soft noise. So gentle, so meticulous… this was far, far beyond any cleaning that he actually needed, but he loved it. Didn’t bother to hide it, either, it earned him more attention and lingering strokes to especially nice areas whenever he purred.
Primus… he’d never had anyone focus this much attention on him. Not even people who’d been trying to kill him- they gave up much faster than this. Blackspark was, mm…
A thought occurred to him, and Sharpshot propped himself up enough to look back over his shoulder at Blackspark, helm tilted slightly. “Are you trying to get me calm enough to proposition me?”
Blackspark paused, mildly surprised, then purred and continued working his way back up Sharpshot’s legs. “Nah. Don’ get me wrong, I’m sure we’d have fun, but no. When I wanna frag, I say so right off. Maybe later. You ignore tha’ right now, just enjoy this, this’s for you to get all melty.”
Humming softly, he worked his way further up the minibot’s frame, up to rub at his back again. “Mm- here, you flip over. Let’s keep goin’. Don’ get me wrong, Sharpshot, I’m enjoyin’ myself. Just keep makin’ those pretty noises for me.”
A satisfying enough answer. If this was an extended attempt at a proposition, it would still have been pleasant, but- without any sort of intent? Even better. Sharpshot turned over, as requested, and watched Blackspark’s servos travel up to his chassis. There was an overlay of smaller plates around the center of his chassis, ones that would fold into an extremely short barrel if needed, and Sharpshot obligingly flared them to allow Blackspark to work oil into the intricate sliding mechanisms.
Seeing no further reason to stay awake, Sharpshot let his optics slide shut, relaxing into the berth under surprisingly careful clawed servos. Blackspark wasn’t going to hurt him, clearly, and he was confident that he would wake up thoroughly oiled and relaxed.
Which he did.
When he woke up, Sharpshot found himself curled against Blackspark’s front, with Blackspark wrapped around him but not quite containing him. A series of slow, deliberate stretches revealed that Blackspark had loosened and oiled, mm… seemed like literally every joint in his frame, including the delicate ones around his antennae. Remarkably thorough.
Mm. He should do the same for Blackspark at some point.
