After a moment’s hesitation, Roach thrusted.

Pinned between the padded armor and the stallion above her, the gurgling moan that rose out of her throat felt better than the release of any chem the wasteland had to offer. She could feel the mess of her first orgasm slicken the length of his cock as it slid back the few precious inches the armor would allow before coasting back inside to warm itself against the rhythmic clenching of her walls.

“Harder,” she gasped into the sinew of his neck.

The changeling obeyed. Roach obeyed. Servos kicked into gear as he found a sturdier rhythm, drawing himself out several more inches just as the rest of the armor compensated for the motion. She coughed a happy little yip of profanity as her clit slipped out of her cleft with appreciation, only to be buried roughly against the friction of Roach’s deliciously warm bug dick.

“Like that?”

She squeezed her eyes shut and grinned. “Like that.”

It felt good. Not amazing. He certainly wasn’t going to win any awards for performance, at least not until she had time to process the absolute shitshow that this day had nearly become, but he was doing what her body screamed for. He understood the essentials.

In and out.

In and out.

She felt the electricity of her next orgasm rise and recede, teasing her with the possibility of an uncontrollable cascade before falling just out of reach again. On a whim, she turned her muzzle toward Roach’s neck and dragged her tongue against the tender patch of chitin she’d bitten twice before. He tasted like the salts of wasteland dust and she continued to sample him between gasps. She felt him shudder against her, his rhythm devolving into a hitching mess of grunting thrusts at the introduction of her wandering tongue.

Another laugh stole out of her throat at the visceral reaction, her own orgasm briefly sliding down her list of priorities as she placed her teeth against his neck and pinched. Not hard, but definitely not soft. Just enough to reward the effort.

And there it was. The first, pulsing throb that filled the length of his shaft and ended with the bizarre sensation of its tip blooming open like some strange, rigid orchid. The fleshy petals pressed deep against the surrounding walls as if trying to root him inside her, frantically dragging bolts of pleasure through her belly as his movements grew more frantic. More urgent.

A low, vibrating growl boiled out of his throat as the first thick spurt of pleasantly warm fluid painted the pucker of her cervix like a salve. She shuddered and made a noise that on any other occasion would leave her mortified, but right now she couldn’t care less. She wanted him to hear. She wanted him to know whatever it was he was doing inside of her, that it was good.

He spurted again. Hot, viscous fluid worked its way around his cock and drooled out of her in gouts that tickled the ring of her tailhole as it traced warm lines around its rim. Another gush. He shoved himself into her harder than before, threatening to punish her cervix again but never quite making the painful connection like before. He knew better.

A pattern formed, though her brain was too drunk on pleasure to piece it together in the moment. Spurt, thrust, spurt and thrust again. A sort of trust began to form as they allowed themselves to experience the other’s body in whatever way nature designed them to be experienced. Julip felt that electricity building inside her again and she embraced it this time, letting it build and delivering it to where she needed it to go. She groaned as powerful muscles clenched and released around Roach in fantastic spasms, squirting a stream of fluid through the disaster he was pumping into her and gently pattering against the armor's inner hull.

She grinned as he whimpered, sending one final torrent splashing against her walls before she felt the petals begin to weaken and fold. She offered an appreciative squeeze, pressing them the rest of the way shut and slowly, reluctantly, she felt him depart.

A pleasant sigh warmed the damp surface of his neck, and lacking his presence, her lips drifted together to seal in what little of his generous contribution they could contain.

The minutes passed as they collected themselves. Julip couldn’t help but smile as she listened to his breathing gradually settle to something approaching calm, then pressed her muzzle against his neck and listened to her own breath curl away from the smooth, fractured chitin.

“That was... really good,” she murmured. “Feel better?”

He swallowed, took a slow breath and nodded. “Much. Thank you.”

She let out an appreciative grunt, basking in the last waning twitches of her overtaxed marehood. After several minutes, she lifted a brow and glanced up in the general direction of his helmet, curious about his unusual stillness. “We should probably get moving, big guy.”

“In a second,” he said.

A deep, stuttering groan vibrated the power armor’s plating like a struck bell. Her smile vanished. “What was that.”

“I’m working on it.”

She didn’t like the sudden caginess in his voice. “Roach.”

“It’s fine.”

“Roach.”

The noise ratcheted through the armor again before clunking to a nonreassuring stop. He hissed a curse and the noise resumed, causing the entire chassis to shudder.

“Shit.”

She narrowed her eyes as the harsh odor of hot electrics reached her nose. Her eyes went wide. “What did you do?”

“We,” he corrected.

Her ears flattened, unsure if she wanted to take any blame for what was happening. “What did we do?”

He sighed, and she heard the muffled thump of his forehead against the inside of the visor. “We shorted the solenoids in the hind legs. It’ll be fine once they, well… dry off.”

Julip blinked. “We flooded the engine?”

Roach paused, debating whether to correct her, and smartly decided against it. He chuckled, stirring a grin out of her as he laughed.

“Yeah, Julip,” he said. “We flooded the engine.”

Careful not to let herself be spotted, the raider mare crouched along the northern ridge just above the battle below. She grinned behind the heavy plastic shield of her hazmat suit as she watched the radscorpions wear the lone Steel Ranger out.

She couldn't believe her luck. It looked like it was bearing the old P-45 model armor but it sure as shit beat the crinkly salvaged suit she wore now. Best of all, the stallion was out of ammo. Even across the crystals his voice carried far enough for her to decipher. A chatterbox, this one. And with a radio capable of cutting through the rads? Even better.

She waited as he tumbled around, tripping and panicking as the scorpions harassed him. Her rifle lay poised beside her, an armor piercing round chambered and ready to fly.

When the Ranger dispatched the last of the monsters, she leaned to the side and shouldered her weapon.
A round through the neck would drop him, no questions asked.

She lined up her sights and lit her horn, wrapping a haze of magic around the trigger.

Then she blinked.

Her horn dimmed.

The power armor stood there, motionless like a statue. Then, without warning, it started bucking its hips. Hard.

Her lip curled away from her teeth in abject confusion as she watched a suit of power armor feverishly hump the air. Surrounded by his recent kills, the stallion's grunts echoed across the glowing valley.

What in the twelve pits of Tartarus…?

She recoiled as the stallion's movements devolved into the unmistakable jerks of a powerful orgasm. Even the speaker projecting his voice managed to pick up the wet slapping from inside.

She made an irritated noise and threw the safety back on her rifle in disgust. The Steel Rangers were freaks.

No power armor was worth dealing with that.