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20 kliks, maximum.
That's how long Rung has after his office door closes before it whirrs open with his next appointment. Of course, it could always be less. The next bot may come early, or someone may take Rung's 'open office' policy to heart and come chat with him.
Today, neither seems very likely. They're passing through what human star maps call the Eagle Nebula. Through the large windows of Rung's office, he admires the beautiful structures of interstellar dust and gases. The observation deck and the oil reservoir are sure to be packed with stargazing crew members, and Swerve is sure to have concocted some specials at the bar to keep anyone less interested in the beauty outside occupied.
Rung could join them. 20 kliks. Just enough time to make an appearance in the oil reservoir and come back before the next appointment. It would be nice, seeing a few of his friends. Even just for a moment.
However…
Alone time isn't something Rung gets a lot of, between certain patients and the hectic nature of life on the Lost Light. So 20 kliks is an opportunity that he is not going to let pass him by, even for the stunning scenery. No, these moments to himself are a little more precious than a lovely view.
Though maybe, Rung thinks idly as he sets his datapad aside, someone might think this is the lovelier view.
Without much time to spare on, well, taking his time, Rung turns his chair towards his desk. From the back of a drawer, he pulls one of his favorite distractions. Thick and textured, with a nice, wide base and a blunt head. A size king's dream. Sure, keeping a false spike in his office is probably a bit odd, but no one on this ship can be accused of being normal.
Rung adjusts himself in his seat, suctioning the toy to the space between his legs before letting his modesty panels transform away. He sighs with content as he shifts his hips to grind against the toy. He wraps his servo around his spike, squeezing it gently. Technically that wasn't the actual focus today, but overloading with it out is far more comfortable than the alternative.
It doesn't take much to have him dripping. Not as pent up as he is. What Rung wouldn't give to have a warm someone between his legs instead of cold silicone, but alas. He's stuck on a ship full of potential patients, therefore eliminating all of them from his list of prospective partners. It's fine. Rung is used to using his imagination.
Oh, his imagination… He's had a lot to work with since boarding the Lost Light. He probably shouldn't fantasize for the same reason that he resists his impulse to flirt with every big frame his lays his optics on.
Ah, his optics. Rung is thankful he kept a servo away from his array, setting his glasses aside. So much easier to concentrate. Or, rather, easier to let himself zone out while he imagines a full frame attached to his toy. Wide enough hips to keep his legs spread to their max. Unfortunately, he needs his legs for his current position, or he would have them splayed out over the arms of his office chair.
Rung lets out a shaky vent, closing his optics so he can give in to the fantasy. Big servos caressing his thighs, wrapping around them as easily as when Rodimus grabbed him to use as bait. If only his captain were a bit bigger...
But oh, there are plenty of big bots to think of. Big bots with deep voices that rasp filthy things directly into Rung's audials.
Look at how wet you are. I've barely touched you and you're already making such a mess.
Rung lets out a shaky moan. Oh yes, that's perfect. He ruts against the false spike, reaching down to adjust the angle. With its size, he has no choice but to change the fantasy to keep himself in the zone. He gets on his knees and turns to face his 'partner'. Much better.
Instead of holding his thighs open, he imagines those huge servos stroking over his plating, urging him to get into a comfortable position. If there were a frame here, Rung would lay against their chest. Let them guide his hips as the tip presses between the folds of his valve. Just a little pressure and…
Rung sucks in a sharp invent as the tip pops past the first ring of calipers. He can't hold in a long moan as he sinks down, optics unfocused as his digits dig into the back of his chair. He bottoms out quickly, valve twitching around the large intrusion.
As much as he would like to take his time to enjoy the sting of the unprepared stretch, he doesn't have the luxury of time. Rung can't help an undignified whimper as he rises back up, the next drop punching out a yelp as the fat tip of the toy strikes his ceiling node. The next drop hits with the same precision and nearly makes him sob with pleasure.
Primus, he's so pent up. Even alone in his office he's embarrassed by the wanton noises that spill from his vocalizer. Gasps, whimpers, and cries to his make believe lover as he imagines himself being lifted and dropped by large, incorporeal servos. His thighs shake as he quickens his pace, desperate to race the clock.
The echo of a deep voice uttering praise rattles Rung's processor and encourages his pace. He presses his forehelm against the chair, letting go with one servo and wrapping it around his spike. Charge crackles through his lines. So close. He's so close. Just a little more…
Rung has to clamp his free servo over his intake to muffle a shout as he bottoms out one last time, his calipers locking up in a death grip around the false spike. Transfluid splatters from his spike over the seat and back of his chair, and a puddle of lubricant threatens his toy's stability. Pleasant aftershocks fizzle through his wiring, ghosts of digits teasing at him. Oh, what a thrill it would be if he could just take his time...
He only gets a moment to bask in his overload. Like clockwork, a timer chimes on his HUD. 3 kliks to clean up. That should be fine. The most laborious part is encouraging himself to actually get off the spike, but once he's standing it's just a matter of wiping down the metal and stowing the toy back into its hidey hole.
Rung sits back down, picking up his glasses and datapad just as the door opens. He greets his patient with a smile, motioning to the seat across from him.
"Welcome back. Let's pick up where our last session ended."