Chapter Text
Orion noticed his friend's self-care had recently taken a nosedive. Grease smears and dullness could pass easily as natural metallic variation, but he knew his friend better than anyone else, and this wasn't normal for D-16. His eyes were paler, his affect duller. Something wasn't right.
Lately his bad habits had been catching up to him. D's armor dings added up day by day, his once shiny plating now marred with scuffs that he didn't bother to scrub.
On top of that, a mysterious allergy had overtaken him and he refused to get it checked out. He'd been vastly overbilled for minimal exams in the past, and didn't trust the medical centers anymore not to charge him a fortune. These last few weeks, D was sneezing, coughing, and runny-eyed all day. No matter where they went– mines, train, barracks, downtown– it didn't stop.
Orion begged him to take it easy, that he was working himself too hard, but it was no use.
Additionally, D had been complaining more and more about itching under his armor. Orion wanted to help out, but a step too far and D soon became harsh and prickly, insisting he was fine and to not press on.
Orion had known D long enough to guess why he was declining. He spent his days hacking away in the mines, burning himself at both ends, and by evening his tank was empty. No effort left to be concerned about his appearance, his health, his mind. It wasn't that D didn't care, he was simply too exhausted to bother.
Each week their energon mining demand climbed ever higher, and their quota ever lower, so he couldn't afford to sacrifice precious energy for anything else. That was Orion's best guess, anyway. It was like pulling screws to get D to open up about himself.
One day, they were playing games together on the couch in the community room. D sneezed a grey puff, and found his hand was covered in dust.
“Woah, what is that?” Orion pulls D's arm to see more closely. “Did that come out of your nose?”
D rubbed the dust off his fingers. “I dunno.” His voice sounded stuffy.
“We really need to find out what's making you so allergic.” D didn't respond. “Hey, you've been cleaning out your air grates, right?
“Huh, my– Oh. Yeah. Yeah.”
“Every day?”
“Mmm, I, uh, miss a day now and then.” He sounded dismissive, like he wasn't listening.
“You suuuure?” Orion peered up at him. He was laying down next to D, with his legs hanging over the armrest. “Because I'm looking at them right now and from where I am, they are full of dust.”
D just about choked, hugging his arms to cover them up. “Don't look in there!” he hissed.
“Too late.” Orion flicked his shoulder guard playfully. “Next time you shower, put some extra scrub into them.”
“Frag!” D jumped up. “What time is it?”
“Uhh, almost 11.”
“It's so late, I have to shower. I– I keep forgetting.”
“Me too. Do you want to go together?”
“Sure.”
~~~~~~~
Orion and D hustled to the barracks. Orion gathered his shower bag, scrubber, and towel. And D got… his towel.
“Where's your soap?”
“I don't need it.”
D trudged far ahead of him. Now that Orion thought about it, he'd never seen D bring supplies to the showers. Usually, a standard Cybertronian shower kit included soap, a sponge, and a small scrubber to get in between tricky armor crevices. Orion liked to bring a foam brush, microfiber towel, and cleaning powder too, for extra shine.
They arrived at the washroom together. The mine showers were utilitarian, with steel-paneled stalls, dingy curtains, and aluminum diamond-tread flooring. There weren't even lights in the stalls, so they were dark when the curtains shut.
“Don't forget those grates,” Orion reminded, tapping the back of D's helmet encouragingly.
He shot a scalding look, his yellow irises contracting. “I won't.”
They picked stalls side by side, shut their curtains, and ran hot water. As Orion soaped himself up and scrubbed under his plating, he heard D's water shut off. “How are you done already?”
“I'm fast.”
“You cleaned your fan grates, right?”
There was a suspended pause. He heard a towel rustling.
“Those grates better be clean!”
“Yes, Darkwing,” D drawled.
Once Orion had rinsed himself off, he stepped into the light and wrapped his towel around his shoulders. D had left his stall, towel thrown over an arm, and was trying to get a glimpse of his grates in the sink mirror. He used both hands to pin up his large chest armor and look underneath. He was startled by the sound of Orion's curtain swiping open, and flung his hands down to his sides.
“I can check for you, if you want.”
“You don't need to do that.”
“Can you even see them?”
D tilted his chest in the mirror and looked from multiple angles. It was no use. “What do you think?” he muttered defeatedly.
“Do you want help?”
D glowered at him in the mirror.
“I have this, uh, this duster-brush thing I use,” Orion stuttered, “for mine. It's handy. You can, uh.” He pointed a thumb backward toward his shower kit. “You can borrow it.”
D turned to him, head tilted slightly, seeming at war with himself. Then, he shuffled into Orion's stall and poked around in the plastic bin. “Is this it?”
“Yeah!” Orion joined him. “It's supposed to be for dusting furniture, but um, I like it ‘cause it doesn't scratch.”
The long brush was skinny and carpeted with fabric coils. D stroked the silky, anemone-like brush, and enjoyed the softness. He blindly poked the vents under his chest, using his free hand to feel around.
“Here, can I show you?”
“Mhm.”
Orion uses the adjustable louvers to flip his aeration grills wide open. D sucked a surprised breath, and coughed from the dust it pulled up into his nose.
Orion flicked on his headlamp and peeked inside. As expected, his fans and slats were covered with compacted dust. And he wonders why he's always itchy? Orion thought to himself.
“Hold still,” he said, and breached the end of the brush in between two slats. D stilled, tensing his abdomen to keep his grills wide open despite the impulse to shutter them. His fists clenched at his sides.
The feeling was foreign and ticklish, like sticking a cotton swab too far up his nose, and his body urged him to expel it. He could feel how the spongy bristles crushed down to cram between the flat metal bars, and fluffed back out on the other side. As odd as it felt, the brush satisfied burning itches he'd been unable to scratch. This was an unexplored area of his body, and he briefly savored the knowledge that Orion was the first person to touch it.
Orion pulled it back out and dust flew everywhere. He swept it back and forth inside each gap one at a time, sawing from one side to the other.
D tilted his helm up and to the side, licking his teeth. “You don't have to do this,” he bit out, and folded his arms. “I'm not… helpless.”
“Of course you're not. You're just…” Orion lightly stroked the brush in and out of his ducts, “...a stubborn heel that won't take care of himself.” He steadied his opposite hand against the center of D's chest plating, and his fingertips unintentionally hooked against the lip of his empty cog-hole.
“At least I don't leap across rooftops,” D countered, leaning back against the shower wall. Orion pulled the brush out, and rubbed it against the other grate before slotting it in. “I may forget to dust, but at least I'm not as scratched up as you are.”
“My wear shows adventure!” Orion defended. “I get to keep souvenirs of my trails.”
“That's one way to put it.”
The sensations in and behind D's aeration were lighting up a V-shaped highway within his body. How strange. He had read something about how signals from certain areas cross and tangle with wires for interface organs.
Suddenly, the end of the brush bumped the back wall, hitting the protective shroud over an aeration fan. The shroud's screen had grid wiring with gaps barely wide enough for the brush. Orion aimed his light inside to see better, and wiggled the brush to loosen dust mats stuck to them. “Think you can turn off your blower-motor real quick?” he asked. He rolled the brush in his fingers to rotate it. “It's running pretty hard, my brush might get caught in your fans.”
“Uh, sure.” D hadn't noticed until now that his fans were roaring. He tried to shut them down, but nothing happened. He breathed deeply in an attempt to calm his errant systems. Orion's hand was gently pressing him against the wall, hooked into his cog hole. Condensation from the shower steam trickled down their bodies. Blue and gold irises glowed in the hot fog of their dark stall.
D distinctly felt his sparkbeat pulsing in his valve now. The press of Orion's brush against the sensitive inner back walls sent pleasure signals snaking through his body. His spark felt cold, then hot, then gravitational. Usually his arousal went straight to his spike, but somehow his aeration sensors were exciting his valve instead. It was swelling against his modesty panel.
“You okay, dude? Your face is burning up.” Orion touched the back of his hand to his forehead. “Are you having a hard time breathing?”
“No, it's fine, I'm fine.” Orion's hand felt chilly against his warm face. He braced his forearms against the shower wall, squeezed his fingers. “It's just, uh, the steam, it's making me hot. Don't worry.”
“Okay… But if it’s too much for you, let's get you some fresh air. Your air ducts are really irritated.”
“I know. I said I'm good.”
D's node pressed against his inner panel, and as his valve flexed, it rubbed slightly against the warm metal. His spikehead too was butting impatiently against its own panel. As long as Orion didn't know, it didn't matter, right?
Orion's brush slipped through the inner wire shroud and touched the center disc of D's fan. His aeration grills reflexively slammed shut, pinching the brush in place, and Orion's hand flinched out of the way. D's powerful legs trembled, and he felt hot pulses strike through his abdomen and core. The brush was accidentally pinched firmly in place by his grates, fed through the shroud wiring and pushed right against his fan. It felt ticklish– no, itchy– no, good– no, sore– no, something else–
“What did you do?” D tried to free the jammed brush from his tightly flattened grates.
“Sorry, I think I touched your fan. Did that hurt?”
“No, but– That was– I, I don't know.” D threaded the brush carefully back out and tried to cool himself.
“It's probably pretty inflamed.”
“Quit reminding me.” He fed the brush back in and tried to reach the fan again himself, but struggled without a line of sight. “Yeah, I suck at this. Can you do it again?”
“Sure. Try stopping those fans for me, just for a second.”
D held his breath and turned his eyes to the ceiling. His fans whirred to a stop, and Orion carefully rubbed the dust mats off each sensitive blade. They were mortally itchy, and it felt incredible.
At the same time, D's valve twitched and leaked lubricant within his watertight paneling. He learned quickly that clenching his valve made his node pitch down slightly against its panel, producing tiny frictions. Guiltily, he clenched his valve again and again, chasing the unfamiliar feeling. Instead of the bright and brassy pleasure of squeezing his spike, his node felt more like butter melting, spreading warm ripples across his frame.
“There you go. Okay, breathe.”
By the time Orion was done with D's second fan, he was dizzy. He sighed out hard, and his fans ejected dark plumes of loosened dust.
“AH! Hey!”
D refocused his eyes to find Orion with a faceful of dust. His friend barked out a laugh. D covered his face and groaned hoarsely.
“This was a stupid idea.”
“But hey, doesn't it feel better?”
“Kind of. Here.” He grabbed Orion's sponge and scrubbed his face clean. He glanced himself down briefly, making sure he wasn't leaking any lubricant.
He had to admit, it was MUCH easier to breathe. Most of the air Cybertronians breathed travelled through their abdominal air ducts, as the nose and mouth connections were vestigial and mostly for communication. D's breathing for the last few weeks had felt like sucking air through wool. “Fine, I can breathe easier. I'll give you that. Thank you.”
“No problem. Almost done, let's just get you wiped down.” Orion sprayed a citrus-smelling detailer on his fibercloth and rubbed the dust clumps off of his grills and chest. Then he folded up the cloth's corner and threaded it through the slats to rub down the fan shroud. Once again, that terribly wonderful steady hand returned to his chest. D squirmed against the wall and his valve clenched impatiently.
“I think you're all set… Oh no, hold on, I missed some.” Orion squinted down his aeration grills and blew softly. A frosty, feather-light coolness blossomed through D's body. He soaked up Orion's breath and held it, just for a moment, with his eyes shut.
“There. Better?”
He blew it back out, sighing in relief. “Definitely. I owe you.”
“Sure thing.”
~~~~~~~
Once D was sure Orion had drifted off to sleep, he hopped out of his chamber and toed down the dark barracks hallway, past his crewmate's vertical sleeping bodies.
There was only one place, at one time, he could ever find true privacy. And ironically, he had just been there minutes ago.
D knew the washroom was empty because the motion-activated lights flickered on as he entered, and all the curtains were drawn open. Only in the dead of night could he be alone in the washroom. Tired and pent up, he stalked into the stall where dust still speckled the aluminum floor.
He ran hot water, shut the curtain, leaned against the wall, and shoved his hand to his panels. Dust rinsed away into the drain. Out of habit, he snapped his spike out-- but that wasn't what he was here for. D closed his eyes and imagined his own hand as Orion's, flipped open his valve panel, and stroked it reverently in the dark stall.
Hot water pattered against his bowed helm and steam surrounded him. Of course he'd touched his valve before, but he rarely used it to overload, and he'd never used it in interface. Frankly he was nervous to screw it up, and too nervous to ask about his seal. His hand curled to rub his node, now engorged and nearly completely out of its hood.
Orion's soothing touch and assurances surfaced in his mind. ‘Hold still,’ 'You okay dude?’ 'Did that hurt?’ Did Pax even know what he was doing, or was he this ignorant to his own charm? ‘There you go. Okay, breathe.’ The way he had brushed so carefully, like he was a precious thing, D would trust him to touch anywhere he wanted.
Hesitantly, he spread his thighs and sunk one fingertip into himself. It felt… not great actually, with the water washing away all his lubricant– but imagining it as Orion made it marginally better. Maybe if it were Orion pressing him to the wall with a clever hand feeling him up, it would be special.
His finger dipped deeper, deep enough to press his seal. D had heard that breaking your seal can hurt, can even bleed, but he didn't know if that was true. He didn't want to do it alone, he wanted it to be with someone he really, truly trusted.
D retreated to flicking his node into a quick and desperate overload, mind swimming with visions of his friend's compassionate eyes, and returned to the barracks to rest only somewhat satisfied.