It's like music, that quiet sound that tears itself from Rung's vocal processor. Perceptor growls as he works his glossa against the underside of Rung's spike, a pleased smile flickering across his lips as he allows himself to be pulled closer. He hesitates, just a click, as the tip of Rung's spike nudges the back of his intake, but the gentle, insistent pull urges him to shift until he can feel his lips press against Rung's pelvic frame.
He used to do this for Drift, once, and remembers he trick of cycling his intake to stimulate the sensors at the head of a spike snugged so deep. It had taken him a bit of time and practice to learn the complicated trick, a buymech's trick for pleasuring without tripping the overfuel sensors and instigating a system's purge. He'd never imagined using those lessons again; doing so makes him groan as he slides both hands up to cup against the small of Rung's back.
Rung wants him. Those hands against him, pulling him closer, urging him on, tell him as much. He works his lips against the base of Rung's spike in a reverent little prayer of thanks, sucking gently as his fingers stroke downward.
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He used to do this for Drift, once, and remembers he trick of cycling his intake to stimulate the sensors at the head of a spike snugged so deep. It had taken him a bit of time and practice to learn the complicated trick, a buymech's trick for pleasuring without tripping the overfuel sensors and instigating a system's purge. He'd never imagined using those lessons again; doing so makes him groan as he slides both hands up to cup against the small of Rung's back.
Rung wants him. Those hands against him, pulling him closer, urging him on, tell him as much. He works his lips against the base of Rung's spike in a reverent little prayer of thanks, sucking gently as his fingers stroke downward.