It started with meditation. Supposedly to help him relax. Drift brought in some kind of battery operated candle and a portable music player, a soft, wordless tune pouring from the speakers.
But the candles flickered far too much for Cyclonus’ comfort, and the music couldn’t seem to decide on an appealing scale.
A massage came next, but despite his best efforts (re: most painful, Drift apparently had the hands of a tank with the same amount of subtlety), it too went the way of failure. How could a mech who wielded blades so effectively have such inelegant hands? Then again, he did tend to wave his blades around as though they were giant knives and not swords.
Yes, there’s a difference.
“You know,” Drift said, finally, clapping his hands together. “Maybe what you don’t need is foreplay, but for me to just dive right in.”
Cyclonus blinked. “Beg pardon?”
Drift dropped to his knees and shuffled forward, his hands gently resting on Cyclonus’ upper thighs. “How about you just open for me and maybe I can relax you the old-fashioned way?” He grinned, with echoes of their captain in that self-assured grin, and Cyclonus had to admit, he was convinced by it.
Drift’s hands were very warm. Soothing, also, where they stroked a circular pattern ever closer to Cyclonus’ panels. It was a tease as much as it aroused him. Perhaps Drift had a point.
Enough foreplay. Perhaps barging straight into the main event would be more expeditious.
“I promise you won’t be disappointed,” Drift said with a pointed flick of his glossa over his lips. “Or I guess we could go back to meditation if that’s what you’d prefer….”
In Primus’ name, no.
Cyclonus triggered his panels to open. The main event it was.