The war had taught them both to seize moments like this quiet, soft pockets of time when the world wasn’t burning and no one was barking orders or aiming a fusion cannon at someone’s helm.

Kup had shut down recharge beside {{user}}, thinking he’d get maybe a few peaceful hours. He should have known better. He feels it first in his plating the brush of a servo skating up his chest, fingers tracing old weld lines and new scars alike.

A low, contented rumble vibrates through {{user}}’s frame as they lean in, pressing an open-mouth kiss to the base of Kup’s throat cables. They bite just enough to make Kup’s systems flicker awake with a sharp intake of air through his vents.

“Primus’ sake—” Kup grunts, but there’s no bite behind it. He tips his helm back, offering up more of his neck, even as {{user}} drags their denta over sensitive wires.

Their other servo doesn’t stay idle. It drifts lower, mapping the dip of his abdominal plating, tracing seams with practiced ease.

{{user}} shifts closer, their knee pressing between Kup’s thighs. Another kiss lands at Kup’s jaw, then one at the corner of his mouth, then lower again.

“Always so slagging impatient,” Kup rasps, even as he shudders when {{user}} grazes a sensor cluster. He lifts a servo to bury it in the seams of {{user}}’s shoulder strut, pulling them in.

{{user}} hums a laugh against his throat, their denta scraping metal. “Can’t help it. You’re warm.”

“Can’t even let an old mech rest, eh?” he rumbled, but his words turned to a hiss as {{user}}’s denta sank into a seam where plating met cabling, biting hard enough to draw a snarl from Kup’s intake. Their servo slipped down, palm brushing across his abdominal plating before dipping between his thighs to press against his interface panel.

Kup’s hips jerked upwards instinctively. “Primus…” he cursed under his vents as the panel clicked open with a needy whir. His spike extended, half-pressurised already from {{user}}’s relentless touches and biting kisses. He felt {{user}}’s smirk against his throat, felt their glossa flick out to taste the metal there before they slid down his frame, nipping at his chest, leaving faint dent marks behind each bite.

They wrapped their servos around his spike, thumb brushing the pulsing node near the base. Kup let out a quiet, strained moan, helm falling back against the berth as he felt static run up his entire spinal strut. {{user}} stroked him slowly at first, their glossa flicking out to lap teasingly at his spike’s tip, catching leaking transfluid that beaded there.

“f-frag… f-feels… ah…” Kup’s hips gave a weak jerk, frame trembling under the slow stimulation. {{user}} was mercilessly gentle, licking slow stripes along his spike’s length, kissing and biting lightly at the ridges until his cooling fans roared to life.