abstractborders | Because I can't get it out of my head B|

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Because I can't get it out of my head B|

There weren't many that were cut from his mold; not many that took on the task of dealing with the psychiatric needs of others. It was that fact that made him special in a way, but Rung was also good at what he did.

One of the best really.

He'd been doing it for years, working with patient after patient, solving problem after problem, and helping others move on with their lives. He had never once given up on a patient, which helped his reputation, and while moving forward may not have been an option for all of them, Rung stuck with them and kept working with them, even years later.

But, over time, playing head shrink to countless others took it's toll on an individual.

Rung was still good at what he did and had new patients coming in all the time, but what went on behind closed doors had changed.

Drastically.

Under the guise of helping others, he began to use his patients, abusing them in a way that seemed like it was still therapy. But instead of ultimately helping them, he was helping himself, taking what he wanted from others, manipulating them into thinking that this was how it was supposed to be.

To everyone else, he still seemed like the sane, kind-sparked individual that he'd always been.

But there was a darkness there, forged from years of dealing with the problems of others, a darkness that came out in a way that could ruin him forever.

If anyone ever found out that is.

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"Mostly. I wish that I wasn't forced to interact with Brainstorm quite as often," he replies quietly. It would be nice if Perceptor could go back to working mostly on his own schedule, so he could use the lab facilities when Brainstorm was otherwise occupied, but Rung had been right that when Perceptor did that, he didn't rest as often. Rung had shown him how detrimental not resting regularly could be.

He stands calmly as Rung approaches, noting the other's penetrating examination with a faint thrill of anxiety and anticipation, both. He hopes that Rung finds no fault with his current state; he'd rushed to get here punctually, but his energy levels are good, and he hopes that he doesn't appear flustered.

"Lonely," he admits with a soft sigh at that gentle brush against his cheek. It had taken a long time, several sessions, for Perceptor to finally be willing to admit that. To admit that he missed contact, or even simple interaction with others.

That he hated Drift for hurting him.

His optics dim; he wants to lean into that hand, but he doesn't.

"I've been trying to rest. I really have."

"I'm sure you have, Perceptor. You always do follow instructions as well as you can," Rung praised the other in a soothing manner, continuing to stroke the other's cheek. He could see the other's desire to lean into the touch and it was that desire that kept him touching the scientist, wanting to open him up more.

Ease him into letting Rung take it further.

"And you don't have to be lonely anymore. Not while you're here. Because I'm here and I'll make sure you aren't lonely, Perceptor," the therapist continue, stepping closer, his other hand coming up to caress the sniper's other cheek, cradling his face now. "Isn't that what we've talked about in the past?"

And it was what made Perceptor so easy to manipulate.

It was always a struggle - what Perceptor would allow himself to do, what he thought he would be allowed by Rung to do, what he thought would be proper by social norms. Never adept with social interaction anyway, Perceptor always second-guessed himself. The mask of stoic indifference was as much to hide his indecision as anything else. He'd found that it protected him much better than his former habit of open study and awkwardness. Protected him from ridicule, but mostly, from his own fears of how he was perceived.

Perhaps if he'd been more concerned with how he was perceived by everyone around him, he wouldn't have been left behind so many times.

Perceptor sighed softly as Rung cupped his face. Rung wouldn't leave him behind. He nodded, letting the slight motion press his plating just a little bit more against Rung's hands. Leaning into the touch, just fractionally, but noticeably.

"Yes," he murmured.

Ah, there we go.

That small but noticeable to a trained eye lean is what Rung was looking for, that opening that he would gladly take because he knew he could.

"Good. I don't want you to forget," Rung murmured softly, almost purring the words in a way as he gently started to coax the other to lean down a bit as he continue to caress his cheeks. Unlike some of his other patients, Perceptor required a gentle touch but Rung knew the other craved it as well.

A lack of physical contact from the one he had cared so dearly for made him vulnerable.

Leaning up, the therapist brushed their lips together in a ghost of a kiss, wanting to open the door a bit wider--get the other to open up a bit more. Step by step.

"Everything is alright now. I promise."

He did crave it. He always had.

From his first days in the science academies, fumbling his way through so many academic partnerships, only for the other mechs to quickly drift away - some more rapidly than others as Perceptor's intellect outstripped them - to his days with the Wreckers, the brief, achingly perfect time of Kup's high regard, and Drift's affection, he'd only ever wanted this. Acceptance. Approval. Connection.

Touch.

Kup hadn't really appreciated him, but that hadn't truly mattered once the veteran had taken Perceptor under his metaphorical wing after his upgrades. Once Kup had seen how useful Perceptor really could be and had slung his arm over Perceptor's shoulders and adopted him into his personal fold.

Drift, Perceptor was coming to realize with Rung's help, had merely seen him as a success. A life saved, a notch on his sword, a debt owed. It hadn't mattered, though, when Drift would sidle up to him, lean shoulder to shoulder with him. It had been worth it, then. It still was worth it, as Perceptor looked back on those memories, for the comfort that touch had brought.

He'd wanted it so much, for so long, only to be held at arms length by everyone.

But no longer.

He shivered as Rung's lips ghosted across his own. The softly purred words washed through him, and he slowly folded down to his knees before Rung. His hand trembled as, greatly daring, he lifted it to hesitantly rest his fingertips against the back of Rung's knee.

"None of the others care for me at all, here. Just you," he admitted in a slow, almost silent whisper. "Brainstorm just doesn't bother with lying about it like they do."

Edited 2013-06-11 04:25 (UTC)

When Perceptor sank down it sent a pleased little shiver through Rung, the therapist never one to complain when his patients caved so easily. His touch to the other's cheeks became more firm, cradling his face as he tilted the scientist's head up and leaned in to rest their foreheads together.

"Which is why I will do everything I can to help make things better, Perceptor. We'll fix this, together," he promised though it was almost an empty promise. Sure he still had intentions of helping but his ultimate goal was to just keep the other as his own.

Keep him coming back even if the problems were fixed because he craved what only Rung had given him during his worst times.

Another kiss was stolen, the therapist pulling the other forward just a bit--not letting him pull back if he had any intentions to.

Let him make you better, Perceptor~

Together.

Yes, Perceptor liked the sound of that. It was right. Rung would help him, help him fix himself. Help him to learn how to truly shut out what everyone thought of him, instead of play at it with the mask he tried to wear now.

Help him not be lonely.

It was hard, though. Rung... He trusted Rung, but he'd trusted others in the past, only to have them abandon him, too. He hesitated, not pulling away, not resisting, but not really giving in. The insistence of the hands cradling his face were all that kept him from pulling away.

He didn't want to withdraw, though. He wanted to simply curl up and let Rung make everything better, make him feel, make him not feel. But... that probably wasn't how this was supposed to work, was it? He didn't know; Perceptor had never, not until now, ever sought help like this.

But the kiss... felt so nice. He'd missed that. Missed how good it felt, how much it made him feel wanted. That's all he'd ever really wanted... someone to want him, not his science, or his skills, or later, his gun, but him with all his foibles and quirks and failings.

He shivered under the kiss, his dim optics dazed as he blinked up at Rung, lost and confused.

Edited 2013-06-11 18:41 (UTC)

"it's alright, Perceptor," Rung whispered, optics soft--smile matching--as he kept their lips just barely touching, smalle hands caressing the sniper's face still. "You are allowed to give and take as you please. If you want me to do something, I will and if you want to do something to me, you can. Right here and now, it's just us and this is real."

As real as manipulation can get at least.

"What are you looking for, Perceptor?" The therapist whispered, pressing another kiss to his patients lips as his hands lowered, began to trail down over the others neck and shoulders. The touch so soft--feather light so to spek--the touch of a lover memorizing their chosen.

Rung was good at what he did after all.

"Promise?"

Because it just seems too good to be true, but... but he wants to believe so. Very. Badly.

With a shaking hand, he strokes Rung's back, pulling the smaller mech closer. Close enough to feel the rumble of his own engine vibrating through Rung and into his own hands. Close enough to tip his head back, letting Rung slowly nip and kiss his way down his neck. Perceptor chokes out a small moan as he shifts to bury his face against Rung's neck, shivering under the onslaught of sensation for several long moments.

"Acceptance," he finally murmurs, before nipping at Rung's neck, sucking at the tensors there, scraping his denta against the cables with another soft, needy sound.

"And... and maybe..." he murmurs, his other hand skimming along Rung's leg to flutter hesitantly at Rung's interface cover.

Rung smiled softly, what would seem like almost adoringly down at the sniper as he straightened up just a touch.

"I promise."

Empty promises were something he was good at though, twisting another's spark to get what he wanted out of them. As long as he kept up the game, nothing else mattered and Perceptor would be his; loyal and willing.

He allows himself to be pulled closer, optics flickering then dimming as he feels the purr of the other's engine coursing through his frame. The therapist continues to trail nips down the sniper's neck, reaching the other's shoulder and running his glossa along the mount of Perceptor's scope. A pleased hum escapes him when his patient finally speaks and then nips at Rung's neck in return now, the therapist tilting his head some to give the other more room.

Because how can he deny that needy sound?

"And maybe what?" he urged softly, nuzzling at the sniper as his hips rocked forward a bit, yearning for a more solid touch--willing the other to keep touching.

As Rung's ministrations reach the mount of Perceptor's scope, he shudders with a low moan, and nips harder at Rung's neck. It feels so wonderful. Slow heat building from within, and Rung's delicate hands teasing the sensitive micro-servos of his scope mount sends frissions of sharp want coursing through his frame.

"...maybe I could..." he gasps again, dragging his hand down Rung's back to curl his fingers into the slim gaps at Rung's hip for a moment, fingertips teasing the housing there. "Maybe I could taste you?" he dares, and the thin shiver that ripples through him is as much for the thrill of being able to utter those words, as it is for those hands and lips still teasing him.

A pleased sound escapes Rung, the therapist easily hiding the more delighted grin that he feels tugging at his lips, replacing it, instead, with a warm smile.

"Of course," he murmurs, optics flickering as he caresses' Perceptor's scope, his body temperature spiking--spark thrumming with need and want. It wasn't often that the other was so bold--bold enough to ask for something like that and Rung was more than willing to give.

And to take whatever the other was going to give him.

The panel retracted without hesitation, a soft whimper escaping Rung as the pressure was relieved a bit, hands still working at Perceptor's scope mount as he gazed at his patient.

"Please, Perceptor."

Those hands on his scope tantalize him, but it's the quiet request, and the retraction of that panel that summons forth the urgent little moan from Perceptor's vocal processor. He leans in to rub his cheek against Rung's hip to steady himself for a moment as the wave of want swamps him.

"Yes," he agrees, nuzzling Rung's hip and thigh before dipping in to flick his glossa against the tip of Rung's spike. Peerceptor shivers, drawing back just enough that he can flick a brief little glance up at Rung's face. What he sees there makes him groan hungrily, his optics dimming as he leans in again to draw Rung's spike fully into his mouth.

It feels so amazing to see that want, to feel Rung's body heat against him. To be desired. He cups his hands against the backs of Rung's thighs, holding the smaller mech as he licks and suckles against Rung's hot spike with an appreciative moan.

That flick against his spike as a shudder going through the smaller mech, a choked off whimper bubbling up in his vocalizer as he grips at the other's scope mount for a level of support. Even though he's been doing this for awhile, always getting some sort of release with his patients, it feels so good--so new every time.

Which is why he keeps going; keeps using them.

As the other takes him in completely, Rung whimpers again and can't help but rock his hips just a bit, pushing his spike further into the other's mouth, using the grip he has on the scope and the opposite shoulder now to pull Perceptor forward. Not that he'd have to encourage the other to take it most likely but he wants to be sure; wants Perceptor to do what he wants him to do.

His internal temperature continues to climb as his body trembles every now and then, his hips moving more, urging the other to take him deeper; to keep going and not stop.

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.

Oh yes, Perceptor. He wants you. He wants your talents and your willingness.

The sniper is quite talented and Rung can't help but moan softly as those lips work at the base of his spike, pulling at the other's scope without really even realizing he's doing it. His hips rock forward before he can stop himself, forcing the other to take him deeper.

He glances down and there's something of an apologetic look there as he lifts his hand from Perceptor's shoulder to caress the side of his face.

In reality, Rung just doesn't want him to stop and knows that if he shows care the other will keep going.

Heat. Heat all against him where Rung presses against his frame, and heat slipping down his intake as little trickles of transfluid are coaxed from Rung's spike. Still more heat courses through his own frame as Rung's hand rakes down against his scope, setting his sensory net alight with delicious pleasure.

Perceptor shifts, tilting his head to one side just enough to rub his cheek against that apologetic hand, but there's a shadow in his adoring gaze... He'd endured far, far worse at Drift's hands, over their brief, bright affair. Endured... enjoyed...

Craved.

He steps up his pace, glossa stroking Rung's length, bobbing his head back for a moment, before pressing back in, trying to suck Rung in even deeper, still. Following the subtle urging of Rung's hands fervently as his hips begin a slow, restless rocking.
H
e growls, low and deep in his vocalizer as he rubs his cheek against Rung's hand again, as if nudging that hand back toward is scope. It's okay, Rung. He can take it. He'll take anything you'll give him. All you have to do is ask.

His optics shudder as Perceptor continues to encourage him, continues to want and take and Primus is it glorious. It's patients like this that make his entire practice worth it; patients like Perceptor that make Rung feel adored and worshiped and that's what he loves. Why he uses them.

Hand finding the sniper's scope again, he clenches it tightly as he leans over some, hunching over the other as it becomes harder and harder to stay upright. His sensors are going crazy, the sensations the other is creating--Primus is he taking it deeper?--making it near impossible for Rung to focus completely.

He does, however, have enough focus to just let go, unable to last more than a few minutes more before his overload hits. A cry escapes the therapist as his body goes rigid for a brief moment before it just erupts in trembles as his fluid floods Perceptor's mouth, Rung clinging to the other--to his scope--as he just rides it out.

And all the while his hips don't stop moving, begging for more even as his systems start to go crazy.

It almost hurts, just a little, as Perceptor presses even closer, sucking that spike impossibly deep. He followed Rung as the psychologist hunches over, fingertips digging into the seams of Rung's upper thighs. It does hurt, just a little, as Rung's hands clench on his sensitive scope. It hurts so good.

Perceptor whimpers as he feels Rung begin to tremble and shiver under the onslaught of sensations running through him. Soon. Soon.

Rung's transfluid scalds as it erupts from him, floods his intake, choking him for a moment as he struggles to swallow it don. It's incredible, and delicious, and Perceptor doesn't quite manage to stifle the cry that the clench of Rung's hands wrench from him. His own release is secondary to the pistoning of Rung's hips, and the fluid drooling down his chin.

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Because I can't get it out of my head B|

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