"Sideswipe wants to carve pumpkins."
Ratchet gasped, arching up into the clever touch of white digits in his seams. "Again? F-frag, that's good, keep that up – didn't we have this discussion with Jazz last year?"
"We did," Prowl confirmed, his professional tone belied by the way he nibbled on Ratchet's throat cables. "And it didn't do any good then either, as I recall."
Ratchet retaliated by turning his head slightly and sucking at that sensitive red chevron. Prowl shuddered above him.
"I assume you haven't taken this to Optimus?" Ratchet punctuated his words with a small bite and a soothing lick.
Prowl chuckled, insistent white fingers rubbing against the edge of Ratchet's panel. "We both know that that won't do any good."
"Mech loves his traditions," Ratchet moaned, surrendering to the touch and sliding his panel aside. "He'll be first in line with a carving knife."
A click heralded Prowl's own panel opening. "Sideswipe's pumpkin will be a mass of chaos until Sunstreaker fixes it. Bluestreak's will be a happy face, and he refuses to understand how eerie that is. The minibots'll start throwing the mess at each other, Ironhide will be shouting at them before he joins in, First Aid will be carving the tiniest pumpkin he can get his hands on, and Cliffjumper will be carving the biggest." He licked a broad stripe across Ratchet's windscreen, making the medic twitch. "And you'll be stuck cleaning pumpkin meat from finger joints and palm sensors all evening." Prowl thrust home, and Ratchet groaned.
They settled into an easy rhythm. Ratchet grinned ferally. "You know I won't. There'll be soaking bowls and cleaning solution, just like last year. There'll be cloths and brushes for those pips that won't come out. You will supply the usual warning that participation is at one's own risk, and injuries will be left to self-repair unless they're life-threatening. First Aid will take pity on the few who can't manage to get everything clean themselves, of whom Bluestreak will be the worst, and as everyone else go out trick-or-treating those two will end up in berth together. And I…" Ratchet tilted his hips, meeting Prowl thrust for thrust.
"Where will you be?" Prowl's voice was low and husky.
"I'll be in your quarters, railing you through the berth," Ratchet replied, smirking. "Just like last year."
Prowl grinned. "Now that's a tradition I can get behind." He lowered his lips to Ratchet's, nipping at his lower lip. "I'll let Optimus and Sideswipe know."
"Not right now, you won't," Ratchet threatened. "You're busy."
"I am," Prowl confirmed against the medic's mouth. "In the best way." He moved his head aside, tasting his way to Ratchet's throat cables. As Prowl bit down, hips grinding against Ratchet's, fingers tweaking his chevron just so, Ratchet overloaded so hard he saw stars.
He was looking forward to Halloween already.