WARNINGS: descriptive mentions of Sticky interfacing.
A/N:Do you remember this old tf_rare_pairing June challenge? You don't? well I don't blame you. I almost forgot abou it myself. This is one of the fills. ;)
Enjoy teh Crack
Prowl slammed Wheeljack against the nearest wall, the Inventor's mask snapping open. He pushed their mouths together, claiming the Lancia' lips in a demanding kiss.
He gripped the armor and squeezed; wanting, needing to feel it. Aching for any release...
"Please, Wheeljack," He whimpered wantonly.
/I'll make your every wish come true./ Wheeljack promised on the comm-link, but still kept his hands to himself.
"Touch me, fragit!"
The blunt fingers pressing into his hinges were greeted with a cry of delight that the whole ark could hear.
He didn't care about the audience, didn't really noticed something heavy dropping to the floor and no one other than Sideswipe groaning helplessly.
"We are so slagged."
Prowl went into recharge a bit grumpy and not entirely at ease with the state of things he had to leave unattended until the next morning.
A Cybertronian's unique build was dependant on solar energy, so adapting human routines of night-sleep and day-work was a logical state of things.
Usually, when he finally found matters acceptable enough to recharge most of the other bots were already off for the night.
To his surprise he was pinged with short note just before he called it a day.
"Sweet dreams, pretty boy." The note said. He quickly discarded it as some minor prank or a mistake. Who would send him such notes after all? Just in case it was a mistake, and not a prank, he sent a polite answer to the sender stating that he used the wrong comm-link frequency.
A few hours later, when he was slowly cycling online, not fully aware yet, he become conscious of the quiet humming of his comm links and switched them on.
"...push my fingers into your tight valve and feel when you squeeze on them..." Someone was saying and somewhere between recharge and awareness Prowl hummed, feeling his valve cycling online at the thought. Until he realized what he was hearing and snapped the link close embarrassed.
He ran a diagnostic twice and flushed his cache before its scheduled time just to be sure he wasn't glitching because of poor maintenance.
With that done, he left to get his morning Energon.
Recharge, while it made sure that all of his systems were properly and evenly supplied with energy that was often recycled from what he didn't use in the previous cycle, didn't re-charged his internal batteries to the full, so Energon in the morning was a must.
The corridors were bursting with activity, most internal chronometers set to the same time of boot-up. Prowl trudged towards the Energon dispenser a bit groggily, his tanks only 20% full, until he felt a delicate, pleasurable tingle between his door-wings, a breath or a morning field brushing against his sensors. He stopped, wanting to look behind only to have Wheeljack slam into him, both mechs tumbling to land on the floor with the engineer straddling Prowl and looking at him with piercing blue optics.
/You look good under me/ He heard over his comm-link, but it was so quick that his processor, which was running on fumes really, barely registered it. Then Wheeljack was scrambling up, saying sorry, and in his haste to get up pressing fingers into Prowl's door-wings.
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I was just devising a formula of de-nucleo-forma-errator and didn't look where I went. You okay?" He extended a hand to Prowl, the Second in Command taking the offered help and being pulled up.
Straight into the warm embrace of Wheeljack's arms. "My bad, I think I didn't had enough recharge yesterday, need to calibrate my systems." Wheeljack released him.
"That's alright, Wheeljack." He felt shivers running down his spinal strut. "Yes, have Ratchet check your systems and then report for duty. I have those lists you asked for."
"Thank you Prowl." Wheeljack nodded, and suddenly his blue optics pierced Prowl's very spark with an appreciative look, leaving the surprised mech in the middle of hallway.
Next hour found Prowl sitting in his office, browsing through the paperwork with his mind still coming back to what Wheeljack had said, because it had to be Wheeljack. A text message snapped him out of his reverie when he opened it, his fans whirred to life.
"I want to step behind you and breathe on your slim neck. I want to kiss your audial sensors. Brush my fingers over your quivering door-wings."
Ohhh. He could feel his body warm up, processor supplying him with images. Before he made it behave his fans were humming checked the sender, a nondescript frequency that almost anyone could use.
What was wrong with him!
He was sure it was Wheeljack. The bot wasn't stepping into Autobot ideas of harassment. The Cybertronians, being a highly tactile species, had different ideas of abuse than humans. Though, if they were humans Wheeljack was walking a fine line.
But Wheeljack didn't touch him in any inappropriate manner. Not even in the hall.
And yet Prowl felt like all those words 'Jack assaulted him with really happened.
Cybertronians didn't talk about touching, they either did it or not. What would be the purpose in talking when you could go to anyone and just invite them?
Prowl wasn't one of the mechs that hoped from mech to mech seeking pleasure. He occasionally interfaced when charge in his armor became unbearable, but usually it was quick and to the point.
Ratchet was very through in everything he done, and at that tough Prowl felt his charge become known. Snap! He didn't need this now!
Wheeljack chose this moment to come in and Prowl couldn't help the sudden hitch in his vents, while his processor supplied him with image of the science bot licking his chest.
No, he had to stop it, resolve it.
"Wheeljack, before I give you the lists I have to ask you for purpose of your verbal... advances towards me." He spoke, Wheeljack nearing his desk, watching Prowl with hungry optics.
Frag, but he could say that the inventor was prowling towards him, ready to pounce.
The bot stopped close and leaned forward, their fields brushing. Prowl felt hot ex-vents on his plating, his own body cycling in arousal. Then light-fins flickered to surprised blue and the mech did his best caught-in-the-headlights expression.
"Sir, I didn't touched you in a way that would imply advances. And I'm truly sorry for the accident in the hallway. Ratchet has calibrated my gyros and weights. It should be okay now."
Prowl stared and tried very hard to not do a 'but' action.
He was being silly, illogical.
If Wheeljack wanted to initiate interface he would at least touch Prowl's hand, or touch their foreheads together. Or if he was very forward, kiss him or caressed audials but he did nothing of that sort.
Prowl handed Wheeljack the lists and the inventor politely thanked him. He left Prowl uncomfortably charged and confused.
/I'd lick your fingers, one by one. Suck on the pads and kiss your palm as you whimper my name./
Prowl sputtered and immediately whimpered, fighting the urge to run after 'Jack and push him into the wall demanding answers…
Where the pit did that came from?
All this pent up energy was driving him crazy already and it wasn't even noon!
Prowl composed himself. He was strong, he would resist the temptation.
He could take whatever 'Jack threw at him.
Only… as the hours ticked by, nothing happened.
The only reminder of what had happened was a tingling sensation of charge accumulating in his circuits.
He couldn't stop thinking about it. His processor looped endlessly over why Wheeljack would send such mixed signals.
Maybe he was over-thinking things. The messages had stopped after all… but the thoughts of having his neck nibbled on, fingers pressing into his hinges or doorwings being palmed and licked... The sheer thought made him whimper helplessly. It was driving him insane with lust, charge and need.
Prowl was sure to catch Ratchet on the first available occasion and run his fingers over the medic's hand more urgently than he ever remembered doing. Little discharge jumped between their armors – evidence enough of just how charged up he was.
Ratchet only smiled at him and bowed, "Forgive me Prowl, but I cannot aid you today…"
Prowl took his hand away and nodded, his features schooled into polite expression.
"I understand. It was not right of me to assume your availability."
"Try to discharge yourself, Prowl… and I'll be happy to meet with you tomorrow." A teasing touch to his shoulder made the tactician quiver.
For Prowl, tomorrow sounded like a very long time.
He came back to his quarters and despite trying, couldn't concentrate on the work he had taken from his office.
His fingers were sparking, his door-wing sensors were upped to an uncomfortable level, systems whining with heat and overtaxing, and his energy levels fluctuating wildly.
Ghostly fingers caressed his hip plates whenever he succeeded from not-thinking-about-it, a ghost of a breath on his neck making him squirm.
Prowl's fingers found their way to his plating on their own that evening. While he exhausted himself to the point of recharge the charge in his circuits still tingled, leaving him wanting and frustrated.
The morning wasn't better. He booted up and left to get his Energon with door-wings twitching at mere gust of air, making him bite back whimpers.
He felt hot and needed, wanted to have his plating touched, caressed, stroked. Primus help him, but whatever Wheeljack was doing with him made him crave.
He tried to catch the engineer but the Lancia was impossible to find. Not even in his lab.
It made Prowl Twitchy, not knowing, not understanding. His tactical processor was running insane numbers, throwing probabilities at him, one of them saying it was some kind of game.
His second processor supplied images of Wheeljack running his fingers over his chevron, then lips over his door-wings, which twitched immediately.
Prowl went about his day every as calm as he could, yet every minute revved him up more, every duty interrupted by thoughts of caresses, by rising frustration.
But not until he met Wheeljack later that day, the engineer winking at him infuriatingly, did he snap.
The frustration, anger and arousal exploded, his tactical processor shorting in a burst of charge, leaving him vulnerable to his own desires.
Whatever Wheljack played in... worked if it was meant to make him snap. He fragging snapped, and he was going to take Wheeljack down with him!
"Is'sa pathenthed techinc, I tell ya." Wheeljack slurred, overcharged out of his processor. "Noone's gonna resist that. Gonna come ash me and beg me befffo'I touch 'em."
"I want to see you using it on Prowl, 'Jack." Sideswipe snorted, but Wheeljack had this thoughtful, though kind of crazy, look in his optics...
"Is'sat a dare *kshht*" His vocalizer reset and came online with unpleasant whine. "Essusme. Is'sat'a dare?"
"Frag it is!" Sunstreaker exclaimed and hit the table. "We dare you to get your hands onto Prowl's pristine plating. You lose, you're our service drone for ten earth solar cycles." Sunstreaker grinned maniacally.
"Ssat fine!" Wheeljack agreed. "I win, you're mine service drones for ten sholar cycles." Wheeljack's systems did a hickup then and with optics flaring white, he collapsed onto the table.
"I want to see him remembering that when he's clean." Sideswipe snorted...
"Oh yeah, brother? And if he does we're so going to get ourselves well polished."
But next cycle Wheeljack looked like he never drank an ounce of high-grade and while passing the twins in the corridor he only said with saucy smile.
"I can't wait to have you as my lab-rats, pretties." Then he blew them a kiss, leaving the twins befuddled, and only a tiny bit afraid of their plating.