Title: Self Love 1
Author: Femme4jack
Rating: M+/NC-17/Explicit
Fandom: G1
Pairings & Characters: Perceptor/Himself, Greenlight

Notes: Written originally for the Transformers Kink Meme on livejournal, in response to the request found in full at tfanonkink . livejournal . com / 7561 . html?thread=8011657#t8011657 (remove spaces)

To recap, the anon requester stated: "I want to see the mech masturbating his valve with his own spike. It will still be semi-connected (cables, hoses, whatevs,) and can function either as a dildo (the mech moving it in and out manually) or vibrator (put it in and variable speed funtimes!) OR BOTH (why decide? ^^)! More than that, I want someone to happen to stumble on this accidentally (in person, on vidscreen, whatever) and get stupidly turned on. The mech is entirely unaware of being observed so he's not putting on a show-voy, not exhib. What happens next, I leave to anon!"

Anon requested some world building as to why this particular mech does not interface with others, and that really called to me and will be the major emphasis of much of this story, in addition to the kink.

Chapter Content Notification: Aside from those made obvious in the request, non explicit, possible dub con trigger in chapter 1 (character is under intense social pressure to sexually conform and attempts to do so). Also, there is a potentially squicky description of the actions of someone averse to anything that is not produced by or connected to his own frame, including personal lubricants.

Cybertron, a long long long time ago...

"This upgrade is normally only standard on mecha who are off planet for vorns at a time. I don't think you need any more excuses to avoid social interactions. The whole point of our interface equipment is to, you know, interface," the medic said from across the desk in her consultation office.

"On the contrary. The function of overload-inducing modifications of any configuration is to discharge excess circuit load and assist in defragmentation, leading to more efficient recharge cycles, and thus, to more adaptive functioning."

"Primus, Perceptor, you make it sound like recycling your coolant or cleaning your intake filters. Interfacing is also an amazing way to connect with others, something, I will remind you, that it very difficult to do when you spend orn upon orn in the lab..."

"Is there any medical justification to deny my application for the upgrade, Greenlight? Did I omit something from the request?" Perceptor interrupted sharply, picking up the datapad as if to search for possible errors. "The last I inquired, it was a medical board approved type 1c astandard modification that requires no further authorization than that of ones assigned medic, and may only be denied if it contradicts existing core coding and said coding cannot be upgraded without causing systemic damage."

The medic's field briefly surged in irritation, but was quickly schooled into the calm and compassionate resonance she was well regarded for. "Look Perceptor. We've been friends for how long now? I'm speaking as that now, not your medic. You are a lovely, desirable mech who has a lot to offer others as an interface partner. I don't want to see you missing out on that by spending even more time alone than you already do. There is nothing wrong with self-servicing, and this mod will certainly make that more enjoyable for you. But, if that is all you do, you are missing out on... on the things that make functioning worthwhile."

"So you will deny my request? On what grounds? That I am exceptionally effective at my research and dedicated to my function?" Perceptor's vocal modulator was rapidly pitching itself higher.

"Of course I won't deny it, Perceptor. Primus! Just promise me you won't let this be one more reason to keep yourself from others. I know what a good friend you are. I, and many others at the Academy would have gladly partnered with..."

"Please, Greenlight," Perceptor cut in with the same haughty tone he used to debate his peers at consultations and seminars. "Do not humiliate yourself further by persevering in this line of disputation."

Greenlight grimaced, and her optics flashed with annoyance at the tone, but entered her approval code on the datapad. "Very well, if you will follow me."

Arriving back at his lab, Perceptor threw himself on the small berth he kept in the corner, his frame visibly shaking. The nanite injection and his time in the growth tank formatting the new mod had not been so bad. But he had only barely managed to get through the necessary testing and calibration after he had emerged an orn later.

Thanks to his earlier rudeness, Greenlight had remained professional, if coldly distant, throughout the process, which was a relief to him. He had endured her questions and the ghastly touch of the medical probe without pushing it away from himself or purging, despite the horrifying feeling of having something external to himself activate sensors that only he should touch.

She had warned him that he would likely overload, and that this was expected. He most certainly had not, for which he was grateful.

Perceptor felt a twinge of guilt for being so harsh toward his medic and friend. Friendships were difficult for him on the best of orns. It was not that he did not enjoy the company of others. A good conversation, the stimulation of sharing theories and equations, or even attending a cultural event were highly engaging to him. He yearned for company to share such aspects of functioning with. But unlike his peers, enjoying the company of his fellow mecha did not automatically lead to a desire to interface.

In fact, touching another's frame intimately, or being touched in return, were not only undesirable to him, they were revolting. He could not fathom the desire to place intimate parts of his frame within another person or having something alien to himself penetrate him. Even external interface aids were repulsive, because they were not a part of his own frame.

He had made the mistake of trying to explain this aspect of his personality matrix to others he had been close to. Some had felt it to be a cruel rejection on his part, and had rejected him in turn, claiming that he was arrogant and thought himself better than them. Others had more kindly suggested all sorts of potential solutions to what they assumed had gone wrong with his interface protocols, because clearly a mech who did not wish to interface with others was defective in some manner.

One time, early on at the academy, he had followed the advice of well meaning friends to simply get himself overcharged and interface with someone, no matter how much disgust he felt. They had been certain that once Perceptor had actually experienced the process in its entirety, the aversion would naturally disappear.

The result had been horrific, to say the least. He had chosen an engineering student who had consistently been an outstanding conversation partner and had expressed a great deal of interest in him, but had always been respectful and never pushy. He'd had to mute his own vocalizer and freeze his own motor relays simply to tolerate the beginning of the process, and then had forced himself into emergency recharge to endure the rest. Scrapper had never spoken with him again.

Perceptor had been so distressed at how his aversion was impacting his relationships that he finally did seek the assistance of a specialist in interface coding malfunctions. Nothing was found in his coding, or at least nothing that could be fixed through non-destructive edits. The aversion was intermingled with nearly every line of his core code, in such a manner that suggested spark influence.

The medic had suggested a radical and experimental treatment known as desensitization and counterconditioning. It was a much more arduous and long-term type of reprogramming that involved exposing himself various stimuli he was averse to and concurrently rewarding himself with stimuli he found pleasurable.

It had been such a dismal failure that the high-end pleasurebot who had been engaged for the process had resigned midway through, saying it was in violation of his ethical coding to continue to attempt to interface with someone who found it so distasteful. Perceptor had never been so relieved, and when the medic had suggested contracting with another, he had politely declined, and then used his influence to have the record of the entire ordeal purged from his medical record lest the medical board decide his "disorder" warranted a full reformat.

What frustrated him most deeply was that his aversion to interfacing felt normal to him, not like the dreaded malfunction that others assumed it to be. He did not feel there was anything wrong with him. He enjoyed the company of other mecha, so long as they were not attempting to seduce him or thrust their overclocked fields into his own.

He was not even disgusted by other mecha interfacing with one another. Sometimes, he even found imagining others interfacing with one another to be a pleasurable way to activate his own equipment in a more efficient manner when he needed to defrag. He was not even averse to the occasional erotic datafile. So long as it did not involve his own frame being in intimate contact with another, real or imagined, it was fine.

It wasn't that he did not wish to have a social life. He did! The idea that he wanted nothing more than to spend all of his time locked in his lab working on his latest research was a carefully crafted fiction. It was simply easier for others to accept that he was a workaholic so dedicated to his function that he forgot to recharge, fuel, or interface than it was for them to accept that he desired their company but not their spikes and valves. He had learned early on not to tell the truth. When his fields failed to respond in the appropriate ways to those around him, feigning exhaustion, distraction with his latest project, or the occasional burst of rude arrogance were easy excuses that others had learned to accept.

It made for a lonely functioning, but at least he was not constantly harassed.

Like it or not, Perceptor did still need to drain his excess charge and defrag. Overloads were as necessary to proper functioning as energon and recharge. For many vorns, he had avoided touching his own spike and valve in order to overload. It was difficult not to associate them with what others all too often expressed a desire to do. There were plenty of other places on his frame that, when stimulated in the proper ways, could eventually lead him to overload.

Unfortunately, such overloads required a great deal of time, and he was not overly patient with the process. Self-stimulating his spike shortened the duration, but not enough for his satisfaction. His valve was truly the most sensor rich part of his frame, but his dislike of interface aids did not make that particularly efficient, either. It took almost as long for him to achieve an overload in his valve through self-stimulation as it did his spike.

As he lay curled on his berth, he felt a sense of relief that perhaps he finally had a way to conduct this needed maintenance in a manner that would be both pleasurable and fast. He slowly relaxed from the unintentional horror Greenlight had inflicted on him while calibrating the sensors. When he felt he could touch himself without activating that recent memory file, he popped the manual release on his cover and examined the upgrade.

At first glance there was nothing to indicate that it was anything other than a normal spike, still tucked into the protective tubing that housed it. He unsubspaced a container of lubrication. It was not something he had obtained elsewhere, but rather, had collected from his own reservoirs that he occasionally coded to produce extra just for this purpose. The scent molecules and consistency felt so right. Perceptor placed a generous amount on one of his dexterous fingers, and circled the tip of his new spike that was just peaking out.

Mmmmm, now that felt nice. Gently circling, teasing, in just the right way, knowing exactly what would help his equipment to pressurize and extend itself from the housing. With his other hand, he traced the rim and then dipped into his valve, knowing precisely which sensors would stimulate the reservoirs within to release that first, lovely rush of hot, slickness and the anticipatory crackling of his nodes deep within.

Next he firmly squeezed the tube housing his spike, and felt the delight of the equipment within extending outward, thick, full, and ready. Just for him, and only for him.

Now was the true test. He wrapped his hand around the base of the spike, and extended his lowest finger down below the base to activate the function that made this spike so desirable to him. He felt a tingle as connectors disengaged, and he pulled it upward and away from his frame.

Perceptor had feared that upon detaching, the spike would feel too much like an interface aid, but as he felt it pulling away, he let out a happy warble. His new spike felt like it was extending, not separating. A long, sensuous looking cable connected it to his interface plate. It was covered in sensors as well, and contained a thick coil of neural-wiring within that connected the nodes in his spike to the rest of his neural net and his spark-chamber.

His other hand left his valve, and both hands began to play with the spike, exploring the high concentration nodes on the bumps and ribs, as well as those scattered along the long cable connecting it to his frame. Without giving it a second thought, he began rubbing it along his frame, touching it to sensitive areas he would normally have to stimulate for several breems just to achieve overload, his frame giving jerks of pleasure as the nodes of his spike crackled and lit nodes along the lens of his microscope, his neck cabling, and on the seam of his chest.

Another rush of fluid between his legs, and with a delighted laugh, Perceptor plunged his own spike into his slick, throbbing valve. It was longer than the standard model, allowing him to grip the end and fill himself completely with thick, hot, crackling perfection.

"Oh, dear me, ah, so good!" Perceptor announced to the empty lab. He did not even need to move it, or activate its vibrating function. His entire universe focused in on the deliriously pleasurable double input as the nodes on the tip of his spike hit those deep in his valve. He felt both the hot tight sheath and throbbing, aching fullness spiraling together with a surge that came straight from his spark. With a high keen, his calipers clamped down hard and his own fluid erupted from his spike into his valve even as flickers of blue ghostly fire erupted all over his frame.

As Perceptor drifted off to recharge, he noted in his logs that the whole process had taken half a breem. Half a deliriously enjoyable, highly efficient breem. Suddenly, his frame seemed like a very good companion, indeed.