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"You ready?"
"Yeah. I think so."
In a lot of different ways, Tailgate can seem naive and innocent; maybe it's his nature or maybe it's because of the years spent unconscious and missing the war. It's tough to say, but it still makes him come off as ingenuous at times. It's charming to Fulcrum, but there are times in which he realizes that it really comes to Tailgate's advantages. It allows him to surprise people.
Such as his suggestion.
Now, Fulcrum enjoys interfacing. The subject can make him a little shy in some spots depending on who he's talking to, but he doesn't dislike it. He's done a few interesting things with the partners he's had in the past, and sure the ideas came from both of them, but this? This is entirely Tailgate, and maybe it shouldn't shock him but it certainly caught him off-guard. It's just not very like the usually adorable little mech who looks at the universe with such brightness in his visor.
Currently, he's on his back, stretched out against the berth comfortably. Very carefully, Tailgate is settling his weight against his chest, but the disposal unit isn't very heavy at all, even to Fulcrum who isn't that strong in the first place. Deliberately, Tailgate is facing down towards Fulcrum's interface panel, his pleasantly thick and curvy thighs spread out with the K-Con having a view of his aft. Humming appreciatively, Fulcrum runs his fingers down the back of his thighs, earning a small squeak and a tiny giggle of amusement from Tailgate.
Tailgate opens up his equipment first with a sigh of relief. How long has he had this idea and how long has it been turning him on, Fulcrum wonders; the mouth of the valve in front of him already has a shiny gloss to it, droplets of lubricant clinging to the rim. Lightly, Fulcrum teases the outside with his fingers.
"Eee." The disposal unit wiggles a little. "You have to open up, too!"
"Must've slipped my mind," Fulcrum replies faux innocently. "You're dripping, you know."
There's a soft huff from Tailgate as he drags his fingers over Fulcrum's legs, almost impatiently. It's far too much fun to tease him, but the K-Con isn't determined to make him wait much longer. As eager as Tailgate is to receive, he's just as eager to give. It's a respectable trait.
Fulcrum lifts his hips slightly as he opens the covers, releasing his spike and opening his valve panel. There's a hum of delight from Tailgate; almost immediately, he can feel air venting over his member, no doubt from the smaller eager mech as hot air spills over him. It earns a little shudder from Fulcrum, and he can feel his spike pressurize a little more.
Oh. Well. Okay then.
Leaning in slightly, Fulcrum slides the tip of his tongue against the exposed valve before him, tasting the other mech with an appreciation to the flavor. A tremor passes through Tailgate along with a small squeak, but it seems as if Tailgate isn't interested in just being pleasured. Not when Fulcrum can feel fingers feathering up the base of his spike. Fulcrum exhales a little more sharply. Well. Okay then.
There's zero reluctance as he goes in a little more closely, slipping his tongue into Tailgate. There's finally a moan from the smaller, curvier Cybertronian; a brief swell of pride forms in Fulcrum. He cups a hand to Tailgate's aft, chuckling against him as he works his mouth.
The ego doesn't last, though. With a groan of determination, two careful fingers curl into Fulcrum's valve; the technician grunts into Tailgate's dripping entrance, his hips bucking into the air. Crafty little disposal unit! Fulcrum licks up the inside of him, enjoying the fact that Tailgate is struggling for a moment before wriggling against him, arching his body so that Fulcrum can get in deeper. Good, good.
Briefly, he wonders if he has the advantage. Sure, Tailgate has access to both his spike and valve, and he hates wonderful hands, but Fulcrum is able to work just fine with his mouth alone. Yet, Tailgate is able to surprise him again, venting hot air against his equipment once more. Fulcrum grunts into the wet passage in front of him, nuzzling in fiercely before he moans. There's another sensation of something rubbing against his spike, though he isn't quite sure what it is.
He pulls his head back, gasping and venting harshly as he peers over one of Tailgate's thighs. Yellow optics widen slightly as he carefully studies how the disposal unit is working; there's the finger-fragging right into his valve and that's of no surprise, or how Tailgate is carefully sliding his hand over the spike. No, it's how he's using his faceplate to nuzzle the spike as well, uncaring of how lubricant is smearing across his face, giving out a chuff all the while.
Pit, he's so endearing.
Fulcrum returns to work; he captures the lip of the valve into his mouth, suckling carefully. There's a sharp mewl from Tailgate, more squirming; satisfied, the K-Con thrusts his tongue back inside.
Gradually, it becomes more and more difficult to work, if only for the fact that Tailgate's enthusiasm never wanes; the nuzzles against his spike are both adorable and incredibly satisfying. Fulcrum can't control himself as his hips buck up against him, and Tailgate doesn't struggle. He just continues on, exhaling air against him and continuing to use his fingers so well. Determined to not be outdone, Fulcrum continues to lap up the lubricants dribbling out from Tailgate, hissing softly before he licks and sucks at him.
Ultimately, Tailgate wins. Fulcrum caves in with a whine, hips bouncing from the berth as his valve spasms over the skilled fingers thrusting into him; he finishes, feeling fluid jet out of him. Maybe that's the trigger for Tailgate, too, as he overloads, giving a cute little moan as the rim clenches as his tongue.
Fulcrum lets his head fall back and he cycles the air quickly as possible. It seems like Tailgate is in a similar position, still giving squeaking little sighs as he tries to cool off. After a bit of wriggling around, Fulcrum manages to turn him around in order to properly gather him into his arms.
It's then that he notices that he more or less overloaded into his face, lubricants trickling down Tailgate's face.
"Er. Sorry," Fulcrum mumbles, gently wiping off some with a thumb.
Tailgate gives a tired laugh. "It's fine. I was kinda expecting it."
"Heh, that makes one of us."