Duty Bound - Part 2

Transformers (G1) Verse
Rating: M
Characters: Optimus/Prowl

Disclaimer: I do not own those wonderful Transformers, but oh do I wish it.

A/N - Special thanks to my first reviewers on this story - MH and Blood Shifter 2. Sorry it took so long to update, but I thought it was a one shot. Apparently not. ;)


Silence.

It hangs oppressively as a very real presence in the orange-paneled conference room. My gaze sweeps from one side of the table to the next, taking in my most loyal friends and officers. They are waiting patiently in spite of their obvious thorough exhaustion from the battle earlier this morning. Some sport fresh weld patches, others favor parts of their bodies where damage was inflicted.

I myself am one of those walking wounded. Dealing with both Megatron and Soundwave is enough to leave any mech with at least a few extra dings. The more pliable metal under the front of my grill itches like the pit where Ratchet soldered a torn seam, but I do my best to not let it show.

There is another who is doing an even better job at hiding the pain that he must be in. Inadvertently, my optics wander over the soft lines of a black and white chassis as he debriefs the others on our battle and what went well. And what didn't. I can't help, but think ruefully – Prowl's current state being an excellent example of that. The tactician should not be out of the medbay yet, especially if Ratchet's ongoing glare at his person says anything about his condition. Dutifully and with years of practice, he ignores the white and red mech entirely. A small chuckle escapes my vocalizer at the thought of my CMO's homicidal mother hen tendencies and I am suddenly the unwanted subject of his fiery gaze. I attempt to cover the slip with a clearing of my intakes before nodding at Prowl to continue. He raises a single optic ridge, almost delicately before continuing on nonplussed.

I usually have little to worry about in regards to my second during battle. Partially because he is not regularly on the front lines, but mostly because he is more than capable as a warrior with a body as talented and sharp as his processors are. The guilt still hovers over me. Guilt that my men must suffer the same fate over and over again. Guilt that I can't end this pit-damned war with Megatron and give these mechs the peace and respite that they so rightfully deserve. Perhaps Sentinel Prime would have done better? He surely would not have let things progress as they have.

I sigh through my intakes – another one of the little habits that I have picked up from our human friends. Surely Sentinel would never have allowed harm to come to his second. He always kept him close to his side, going so far as to anchor him behind a desk. But had Sentinel seen his second as I have seen Prowl? The strong-willed enforcer completely surrendered to his Prime? I feel a bite of jealousy at the thought of my predecessor eliciting the same reactions from him as I have done.

I watch my tactician's hands elegantly move to emphasize a point in his presentation. Clean and pure white narrowed to slightly slender tips. Tips that make a delicious friction as they slide along my dermal plating. Not quite the hands of an aristocrat, but definitely those of one who has invested time more so in his CPU than in physical upgrades.

I shutter my optics briefly to clear my processors of the memory bit that has just resurfaced. I really need to watch myself lately. My self-constructed protocols seem to be slipping more often than not. I find scenes randomly replaying themselves behind my optics. A soft sigh, the flash of a silver throat arced in ecstasy, his vibrant blue optics alive and piercing my very core with that hidden passion running through them. For a moment, I clench my fists underneath the table and will my reaction away. It takes some effort, but I have been getting more practice than I would perhaps prefer.

Prowl gives his conclusions from the battle – mostly a bulleted list of individual strategies to strengthen our line and ensure that we outlast the Decepticons. There are some murmurs from the other officers in response, but none object or argue the tactician's points. The floor falls to me for the last time this meeting and with a few more closing remarks from myself, the debrief winds down to a close. Thankfully, everyone seems eager to leave. More than likely wanting rest and comfort from their comrades after this long day.

I can still feel the earlier heat that had started to build from my errant thoughts lingering throughout my systems. The excess energy is merely something that I have come to accept as well over time and know that it will need to be taken care of sooner rather than later. Ratchet gives me an unreadable look as he stands before loudly exiting the room, scattering any unfortunate mech from his path that takes too long for his liking. Ironhide shakes his head in amusement and makes to leave as well. A part of me wonders if he plans to follow after the grumbling mess that is the Autobot's Chief Medic to bring him down from his rage and offer the common ground that the two share. It is possible, but as always an unknown with those two thick-headed mechs.

I remain seated, half-heartedly skimming through notes jotted down on my datapad. The solitary break from the others will soothe my processes and quiet my systems before I move on to the next item on today's agenda. I light wisp of air triggers the sensors along my right shoulder and I realize I am not as alone as I thought. A quick glance over said shoulder confirms this. Prowl's impassive face greets me and I find the same parts of my anatomy that I had just gotten to wind down surging happily under his gaze. A servo delicately alights along my opposite shoulder as he leans forward to give me a searching look.

"You need your rest, sir." He murmurs in a low tone. The decibel is pitched just right that my antenna picks up the subtle vibration, allowing it to resonate throughout my frame. I turn my helm slightly to catch his gaze out of the corner of my optics. There is no trace of humor in his expression to indicate anything is amiss. I do however, pick up on what can only be a smirk shining somewhere in the back of his optics.

"I could say the same for you."

A light chuckle is his response and I feel something flutter in my fuel tanks at the sound. "What are you still doing here?"

"You seemed...distracted during our meeting. I wanted to be sure that there was not anything further that you required." His tone is matter of fact and neutral. Had I not already been keyed up, I probably would have thought nothing of his inquiry. But as it was...

"There is, in fact, something that you can definitely be of service to me with," I start slowly.

His lips part to reply, but I don't allow him the chance, quickly intercepting his mouth with my own, now exposed one. I take the opportunity to thrust my glossa into its depths commanding his involvement. From where his hand remained on my shoulder, I feel him tense as if to push or move away.

Having nothing of that, one of my large servos firmly grasps the back of his helm while the other slides up along the seam of his outer thigh to grasp a hip strut and pull him down onto my lap. Another squirm from his new position and a muffled sound, which I am sure is still a protest from the black and white mech. Well that won't do, I muse. His glossy chassis slides deliciously against my own as he struggles to unseat himself, unwittingly increasing the heat that is building in me for him.

My left hand travels its own path away from a hip, up to the nose of his alt mode to squeal shrilly as it scrapes across the opaque plastic of a headlight. Prowl breaks the lip lock I have had him under to throw his head back and gasp loudly. Finally getting the encouragement I need, I proceed to fondle his front end while tilting his pearl white helm back further to suck roughly at a fuel line in his neck.

My audios pick up a breathy "Primus" before he groans and throws his head to the side, "Prime...unh...no, please. Not here. *gasp* Any one could walk in..."

I chuckle lowly before answering, "Then you had better help me to finish this quickly, soldier."

He groans in frustration and pushes half-heartedly at my mag plates. I once again seal his lips with my own and time the movements of my glossa to the grinding of our cod plates. He now is responsive and meets the demanding press of my mouth with his own - alternating between sucking my glossa into his warm and welcoming mouth and curling the flexible metal of its tip around mine like some kind of dance.

Taking a moment to firmly grasp the black armour of his aft, I lift him off of my lap and position him on the table before proceeding to press into his smaller form with my own bulk. I can see the demonstration of strength has its typical effect on him and those creamy, white thighs are suddenly wrapping themselves tightly around my midsection, increasing our friction two-fold. Two servos firmly grab onto my helm and there is not an inch between our plating to be found.

I have no doubt that I would have actually succeeded in taking him there in that meeting room, in plain view on the table top, but fate was not so kind.

The sound of running pedes coming down the hall and towards the room has the effect of ice being thrown on both of us. Faster than I thought possible, Prowl maneuvers himself from under my bulk and is standing a good five feet away as I just have time to seat myself and close my battle mask.

Another black and white runs in through the half-open door, slightly out of breath and stops at the entryway.

"Prime, we've got a problem." My spark is still racing and my fans are going, but I feel my processor switch to battle mode before I even register that I am standing in response.

"What's wrong, Jazz?"

He takes another deep aspiration before straightening. "Teletran is showing that the perimeter grid on the East end just went down and we have no bots in that area."

I nod, frowning behind my battle mask. This soon after a battle can only mean infiltration. Troubling normally, but even more so since the majority of my mechs are currently in recovery. Speaking of which, "Jazz, why are you out of medical?"

He throws me a lopsided grin and I can only assume that Ratchet will probably be comming me shortly to report a missing/AWOL patient.

"Well, my comms are still down and everyone else was a bit overwhelmed, so I figured I could play 'messenger.'"

Up until this point, Prowl has been stone cold silent, but apparently decides that now is a good time to interject himself. "Jazz, return to medical. I will take over monitoring Teletran for now, Prime. You need your rest."

Both Jazz and I begin protesting our apparent orders, but my second will have none of that. He sends his subordinate packing quickly to the medbay and more than likely, Ratchet's warm embrace with subtle threats of paperwork, and before I know it I am at the entrance to my room. Blinking, I realize that Prowl has escorted me as well, probably to ensure that I would not sidetrack or investigate the disturbance myself. With another sigh I throw him a bemused glance, which he returns steadily.

"Rest, sir. I will inform you if there are any further problems." I nod and make to enter my room, but not before making a quick grab at his waist, so that he is pressed to my side.

"We will finish this later, Prowl." I fairly purr into his audio and am rewarded by a full body shiver from him in reply. His optics darken as if in a trance before he blinks, shaking his head, stern façade firmly in place. I am turned and gently pushed into the waiting, empty room like some reprimanded youngling.

A/N Part Deux - I think Jazz was a wee bit medicated when he snuck out of the medbay, hence him not noticing the...uhm...state of both mechs. Just a thought... ;)

Hopefully will have a new chapter up soon...one without the interruption of certain mechs...