TFSC PJ IR Chapter 2: Behind Closed Doors
Hi everyone! A huge THANK YOU for all the support you've given me. I never expected such a huge response. I'm really happy for all the contributions; as far as possible, I've tried to use them all. BUT I'm going to need your help again-
I have other oneshot slashfics, or as I like to call them, the TFSC fics. Would you rather I post them here as additional chapters or as a separate fic? Your feedback will be greatly appreciated.
An especially big thank you to people who reviewed this: Anonfeather, Silberstreif, Two Sides of a Shadow, Darkeyes17, MeowMix, Gatekat, Nnoca, Yami-Yugi3… I'll reply to them soon! I promise! *shot
Love y'all! :)
Now on to the good stuff.
Jazz hefted Prowl's leg onto his shoulder, the other already resting comfortably in the crook of his elbow. Prowl's aft slid repeatedly over Jazz's thighs, hands braced on the wall behind him as Jazz drove into him with deep, powerful strokes, hitting all the right spots within him.
"Nngh Jazz..." Prowl groaned, dizzy with pleasure, having shed all his inhibitions after the first overload. Jazz put just the right amount of pressure in his rarely-used port, and Prowl focused on the sensation of velvety friction that Jazz moving within him generated. Jazz panted hard, Prowl's port perfectly hot, slick and deliciously tight. It had taken some work preparing him, but once Jazz got inside, Prowl was completely worth the effort. They rocked together in a fast-paced tempo, both racing towards an overload, but Jazz was faster. When Prowl's port was beginning to reach the critical level of charge, Jazz was already there. He jerked out of Prowl and came with a shout, silvery transfluid spurting out of his cable and splattering over Prowl's stomach.
"Jazz!" Prowl screamed in frustration, port flexing helplessly. He was so close, slag it! Jazz languidly licked his way up Prowl's body, finally brushing his transfluid over Prowl's lips.
"I like to see you squirm," Jazz growled, his voice low and sultry. His hand reached between them and his thumb oh-so-lightly circled the entrance to Prowl's port, coming to rest on the sensory node at the anterior of Prowl's port. Prowl gasped, trembling.
"Jazz..." Prowl's tone had a hint of pleading in it.
"Beg." Jazz purred, his smile playful and sexy.
"I- what?" Prowl started to protest, but then Jazz held something before his face, and Prowl's optics crossed comically as he focused on the pleasure baton in Jazz's hand. Jazz flicked the switch and it hummed to life, vibrating slightly in his grip.
"Beg," Jazz repeated. He adjusted the dial on the base, Prowl watching his fingers with wide optics as they twisted the dial to the max. Charge crackled over the baton's surface. Prowl's gaze flicked over to Jazz's, and his empty port clenched, yearning. He scowled, then gave in, his expression turning submissive, optics half hooded in pleasure, lips parted and pouty, and breathy gasps escaped his vents.
"Please..." Prowl begged, reaching down to tease Jazz's headlights. Jazz shuddered. Prowl shifted, acutely aware of the warm transfluid that coated both their bellies. He licked his lips, and he knew that Jazz tracked the motion as his glossa swiped over his lips. Prowl put on his most seductive voice. "Please... master..."
Jazz purred, impressed, and incredibly turned on by the display. He sat back, touching the tip of the baton to Prowl's entrance. Prowl mewled, shivering. Keeping his view on Prowl's expression, Jazz suddenly thrust the baton into Prowl, and overload instantly slammed into the tactician. Oh it hurt, but it hurt so good, the pain crackling over his sensory net before wave after wave of pleasure crashed into him. His mouth dropped open, optics offlined in rapture; and his back arched, sirens and doorwings scraping on the floor, thighs trembling. The pleasure baton jumped in Jazz's hand at the force of Prowl's port clamping down on it at the height of his passion. Prowl cried out in ecstasy, way beyond being able to care if anyone heard him...
Wow, Red Alert really has stamina, Inferno thought blearily, appreciatively eyeing the Lambo as he sat astride his hips, enthusiastically bouncing against the fire truck's plating. Inferno was beyond tired, but apparently Red couldn't get enough, and had simply knocked a rather unsteady Inferno to the ground and mounted him. After multiple processor-blowing overloads, Inferno was barely in any position to resist Red Alert, so he simply let Red do as he pleased with his body. Red Alert had Inferno's hose-hand in his mouth, his hot mouth working desperately at it, licking, nibbling, teasing, and despite Inferno's doubts as to whether he could even reach another overload, he found himself going rigid and arching off the floor, a strangled gasp of pleasure escaping him. Red Alert's port milked Inferno's cable for what little transfluid it had left as he bounced, the charge building...
Several things happened at once.
"HOLY SLAG-!" Ironhide hollered, jumping back. He caught a glimpse of Red Alert, surprised but still busy going at it, was suddenly distracted when Prowl outdid his horrified shout in decibels, then, as he watched, Red Alert suddenly tossed his head back, hands tightening around Inferno's, and coming with a hoarse cry. Ironhide's yell startled Ratchet, who, in turn, accidentally jabbed something in Optimus' processor. Prime spasmed then toppled forward, taking Ironhide with him as he fell to the ground.
In the silence that followed, four pairs of optics (okay, fine, three pairs and one visor) turned to him. Red Alert rudely flipped Ironhide the bird with a 'frag off, 'Hide' before he got up and headed over to the access panel with a surprisingly steady gait, cycling the doors shut. In contrast, Prowl squeaked, gasping in surprise, scrambling for some semblance of dignity, and wincing when his movements caused the pleasure baton to be roughly jerked out of him. Both Ironhide and Jazz's optics were on the string of glistening lubricant that followed the pleasure baton out of Prowl's port. Comically, their gazes flicked up in unison as Ratchet stepped in front of Ironhide and tossed a tube to Jazz.
"That's for Prowl," he said, gesturing at the pair of them. "Help him with it, will you? He'll probably need it." Prowl had curled up, his doorwings droopy against the wall and face buried in his knees as he mumbled and muttered to himself. Ratchet shook his head and reached for the button to shut the door, leaving them in privacy.
"Oh my goodness- Jazz!" Prowl cried, lifting his head and glaring as soon as they were alone again. Caught between fury, pleasure and mortification, cleansing fluid sparkled in his optics, and a dark blush burned his cheeks.
"Salve for your port." Jazz read the label.
"What?"
Jazz crawled over to Prowl. "Here let me-"
"No!" Prowl backed up against the wall, bringing his hands up in a defensive position, twisting his body away, then- "Ah- ow...!" Prowl grimaced. He was so sore!
"Prowl," Jazz pleaded. "I feel really bad for... For everything. Let me make it up to you, at least?"
Prowl paused. Jazz's concern seemed to be genuine, and his expression was open and distressed. Prowl shifted, considering. When he had to suppress a wince at the slight movement, he relented.
"Fine."
A tad shyly, he looked away and let his legs drop open, baring his port to Jazz. Jazz fought to urge to take Prowl again when the tactician's glistening, quivering port came into full view, and instead, squeezed the salve onto his fingers before reaching forward and gently pressing them into Prowl. Prowl gasped when Jazz's fingers, cold with salve, parted the soft folds within him. He swallowed hard, having to forcibly quash the desire that flared up again and rampaged over his systems.
"How're you feeling, babe?" Jazz asked, voice pitched low and quiet. His free hand rested on Prow's thigh, thumb stroking over the gap between Prowl's inner thigh and hip plating.
"F-fine!" Prowl tried to keep his voice steady but then Jazz rotated his wrist to spread the salve on the upper wall of Prowl's port and Jazz had to suppress a smirk when the tactician's answer came out as a squeak. Prowl's hips twitched, simultaneously wanting to grind down on Jazz's fingers and squirm away at the same time. The corner of Jazz's lips curled up. He leaned forward, lips a hair's breadth from Prowl's cable, which had depressurized and retreated into housing.
"You sure?" He breathed, warm breath ghosting over the exposed tip of Prowl's cable.
"Ah-"
Jazz laughed when Prowl's cable butted his nose before the tactician could even form a proper reply. Jazz quickly licked up Prowl's cable, aiding its pressurization. When it was fully erect, Prowl buried his face in his hands, cheeks burning against his palms.
"Damnit," he groaned.
"Look at me, Prowler," Jazz purred, lips brushing over Prowl's cable. "I'm gonna give you a show."
Prowl wanted to protest, but then Jazz's hot mouth closed over his cable, and Prowl's hands fell to his sides in surrender.
Ironhide stared blankly at the door ahead, Prime a dead weight across his back.
What-
"Ironhide."
What is this-
"Ironhide, help me with Optimus."
I don't even-
"'Hide..."
"Yargh!"
Fingers delicately caressed their way up Ironhide's thigh, and he jumped so violently that Prime rolled off his back and onto the floor.
"Wha- what was that for?" Ironhide demanded, scrambling up and painfully conscious that his cheeks were heating up.
"You weren't listening to me." Ratchet said matter-of-factly, as if he hadn't just molested Ironhide. He had his hands on his hips, which were cocked to one side. "Help me get Optimus to the medbay."
"Uh, ah- yeah. Sure." Ironhide picked up Optimus' legs and Ratchet slid his arms under Optimus', and together, they hauled their comatose commander to the medbay.
... Where am I...?
Prime slowly came to, feeling as though his processor was moving through honey. Slowly, orange swam into focus and his first reaction was panic when memory files from just before he blacked out were pushed to the forefront of his processor, but then he realized he was lying down, and therefore, relatively safe, so he relaxed into the medical berth.
Wait.
He was in the medbay, but... Ratchet never let his patients wake up alone. So where...?
Prime rolled his head to the side, and regretted it instantly.
The translucent screen between berths was pulled shut, but Optimus could see the distinct silhouette of his CMO bent over the med berth next to his, and the weapon specialist thrusting into him from behind.
Pleasured moans and groans punctuated the steady thumps of metal against metal.
"Nngh Ratchet..."
"Shh... Ah-! My patients are trying to rest... Mmh..."
There were some things that bots just didn't need to know, say, that their best friends and trusted officers were 'facing each other senseless in their workplaces. But to find out that six of them were going at it in their offices in the same day and to catch them doing it was just a little too much for even Optimus to handle, and he blacked out again.
GUYS I'M SORRY FOR THE SHIT ENDING
BUT IT HAS TO BE THIS WAY.
I couldn't think of anything else. *shot
Thanks for reading!
P.S. Just a genteel reminder to reply to my question- more TFSC fics here, or posted as separate stories? Arigatou.
