Srsly people... If we're being late, feel free to poke us for the updates! We're just fing with you, the whole story is already written, so if we don't update, it's not because 'OMG, RL got into our way and we didn't have the time, us poor souls'. Anyway, third and last chapter of 'Prowl and Prejudice'. Next up: the grumbly medic. 3 Enjoy.
The black-and-gold bot looked up steadily at his companion, and, without missing a beat, chuckled bitterly. If only Jazz could hear this.
"Given my behavior around the lot of you, I'm not surprised you were confused..." his optics turned away; Prowl drew one leg up and rested an arm on the knee-joint. He was silent, deep in thoughts and memories. Thinking back to those days long ago when he was still working alongside Jazz and the other soldiers...
"...Jazz...I did love him." The words were so quiet even Optimus had to strain his audios to hear. "By the time I was with the soldiers, sparkbonding had already all but vanished. Because of that...at most, we were simply mission partners. But, if we had the choice, then, we would have..."
The young Prime crouched down and lightly stroked the other's arm. "So you're not sparkless, after all," he smiled. "You can be sad or happy, too. I'm looking forward to seeing you smile." He sighed. "I won't want to hear more—this is your private secret. I will not mention him again, either. I care for you, Prowl, and I want you to know that if you need anything, you can always count on me. I'm your appointed leader; but I'd feel most honored, if you thought about me as a friend as well."
For once, Prowl didn't shrug the attention away—but he did go stiff and shift uncomfortably under that hand. "I don't exactly have good experience with friends, Prime. I'm not social, never will be. Jazz was one of the only real friends I had..." his frown creased deeper, "And how I ended up as a repair-bot nearly cost him his job."
"We all have our secrets," Optimus said quietly. "Well, maybe aside Bee and Bulkhead; they're too young to have dark spots in their pasts. But, regardless of that, I trust you with my life. Once you find the strength inside your spark to do the same...you'll have as many friends as any of us. You're a good mech, Prowl."
Prowl turned his head up at the words, then looked away again. He got lost in the past again; flashes of a star-white face, the way he smiled, the way he laughed. You're a good mech, Prowl. He would say that to him, even after he pulled out all the stops to lessen the punishment for his screw-up. Primus, what a mess that had been; Prowl had messed up bad that time; nearly became unemployed because of it. Had he truly lost his job as a soldier, it would have been very difficult to find a suitable job anywhere else thereafter; he had been so devastated with himself, he wouldn't stop sulking for orns at a time. Jazz tried to comfort him, then.
"Even if it were the dirtiest job on Cybertron, I would rather work than sit on my aft and do nothing," Prowl told him. Jazz listened. He pestered and petitioned and squandered everything he had, and thank Primus his excellent skills had put him in the good graces of Ultra Magnus—Sentinel Prime had been none too happy with Jazz's arm-twisting and had all but thrown the both of them out on their afts hand-in-hand.
Prowl never even properly thanked him for it...
...Damn it all.
Prowl fought back the sigh of his intakes, standing on his feet and pacing slowly towards the door. "It's not that I don't trust you, Prime. I know what I said before, when we first woke up on this planet; but it's been changing, slowly. I do trust you. But I've told you before, I'll never be social. It's not in my programming."
"Programming sometimes evolves." The young leader smiled brightly, and pulled his comrade into a loose embrace. "We were not programmed to protect the Allspark, either, now were we? Okay, I'm not asking you to party with us. It'd do if you just sat on the side and didn't leave."
Prowl stopped in his pacing, standing still in Prime's arms for a while. His optics dimmed a bit.
Hesitantly, after a pause, he lifted an arm to loosely wrap it around one of Prime's. "You know, you're not quite the same as him...but your optimism...he always had a lot of that, too..." Prowl trailed off when he realized he was talking too much. This was possibly the longest conversation he'd had with anyone on base ever. The ninja leered briefly up at Optimus. "This is confidential, what I'm telling you," he grunted.
"Of course," Prime nodded firmly. "It goes without saying." His spark was pulsing, a bit quicker than usual; it arched up a bit, sensing its counterpart's sadness nearby, instinctively wanting to soothe it, but Optimus resisted. If Prowl wanted something, he'd say it. The young mech, as his leader, long decided to not initiate with his comrades—if they didn't trust him enough to approach him, then they were clearly not ready for anything.
Prowl fell quiet again, staring directly ahead of him after Prime's affirmation. He could feel a very faint thrum of energy tugging softly at him, and it went without guessing who it could have been. There were only two bots in this room.
Yet Prowl hesitated. It had been a long time since he'd had anyone's company, friendly or otherwise—even during his time as a repair-bot, much of his time was spent in solitude. Had he ever felt the need for this kind of contact, he would lock the door to his quarters and do it himself—Prowl cried for Jazz, and only Jazz.
There had been so much mention of him lately, though, that the nostalgia hit him like a ton of steel. Slowly, Prowl eased backwards against Prime's frame—maybe, just this once, he could make an exception.
Optimus loosely wrapped his arms around the slender, dark form, and lowered his chin on top of Prowl's head. "You know..." he began quietly, "I don't think they can make us forget much longer. Our bodies may not be made for contact anymore, but our sparks still need this. Unless we stop feeling, our sparks will continue to crave for each other."
The black-and-gold bot hummed slightly in agreement, squeezing his arm a bit tighter around one of Prime's. "It's possible no one ever intended to have us forget. Wars are hard to predict...they could rage on for vorns or be over as quick as they started."
"We'll get back home," Optimus said full of confidence. "And then, you'll seek out Jazz. I'm sure you have a chance to win his spark."
Prowl sure hoped so. It had been a long time since he'd even spoken to Jazz, let alone seen him. He hadn't known until Optimus mentioned it that the mech had made it to second-in-command of the elite forces.
The bot turned his head a bit, easing back against Prime's frame a little more. "Until then...would you mind doing me a favor?"
"Sure. You only have to ask." The young Prime made the promise easily—he knew Prowl enough to know he wouldn't abuse the trust put into him, and wouldn't ask for anything ridiculous.
Prowl's spark pressed eagerly against the walls of its casing, and he allowed its lonely call to break through the seams for the first time since he couldn't remember when. He half-turned in Prime's arms, looking up at the other with optics that seemed brighter than usual.
"If it doesn't bother you...I...need some help, getting him off my mind."
"I'm not sure I can do that," Optimus said quietly. "But if you'd like to try, I'll gladly help. And...It's alright if you call his name instead of mine. I know well what this is about."
Prowl blinked, and something in his faceplates tensed a bit. "That wouldn't..." he paused in his own sentence, mouth pressing thin. He only nodded his head, and went to lock the door. If Bumblebee were to interrupt, it would take a lot of explaining from both of them, and Prowl was neither ready nor willing to debunk the little bridge-builder's suspicions, especially at the cost of revealing his private information. Not to mention, it would be stressful on Prime.
The young leader stretched a bit, and settled down, making himself comfortable. He waited patiently for his comrade's return, inviting him closer with an outstretched hand. "I know that calling one name while you're in another's arms is something you'd never do," he clarified. "But according to my experience, an overload makes it hard to think, and if you somehow slip, it will not hurt my feelings at all. I honestly hope you'll end up with him."
"Hmph," Prowl scoffed, returning to where he saw Prime had become comfortable as the door gave a secure beep. "Selfless as always..."
He joined Prime's outstretched hand with his own, and settled in the leader's lap, straddling him, one hand laid carefully against his chest. Prowl managed a slight smirk, the free hand making a gentle stroke across his chestplates and running over the blinds of his front grill. "Maybe you're a better leader than I imagined."
"I...t-try my best..." Optimus' voice broke with a moan as pleasure flared up inside him when the grill was touched. He wrapped his hands around the slender black waist, stroking lightly. "I've learned a lot about you, too. And if you guide me, I'll learn more. Show me where to touch."
Prowl hummed quietly and arched into those hands, guiding one of them to the plating between his legs. "Here," he directed, fingers still brushing against and between the slits of Prime's grill, "and the wings on my armor, too."
"Really...?" The young Prime's optics widened. "Between your legs, like the humans...? That's interesting." He rubbed his fingers against the plating—at least, he saw plenty of times how to do that. His body was heating up already quite nicely. The fact that is was not Bee's yellow frame in his lap made him a bit nervous, but a little excited, too. He wanted to give his best, and please Prowl.
Prowl had a reply to that, but it was sacrificed for the better of pressing his lips thin and rocking a bit against the hand that stimulated his plating. A small groan of approval escaped as Prowl felt his systems reacting: sensors becoming more sharply attuned, temperature gradually climbing the scales. The ninja-bot returned the favor by continuing his ministrations on Prime's front grill, occasionally leaving it to lean against his chest and run his hands over the younger mech's body. They were on Prime's chest, over a shoulder plate, reaching up to brush against his helm—seeking out other hot spots.
"My audio-sensors..." Prime moaned, arching into the touches. The usual signs were already registering: rising temperature, overworking vents, fine servo glitches. "Prowl...can I kiss you?" The affectionate gesture had become part of the interfacing ritual, and Optimus found that he was really fond of it.
Prowl managed a smirk as he found Prime's audios, taking one between his fingers and stroking it lovingly. "Mmmm-hm," It was a heavy, rumbling purr, and the only acknowledgement Prowl gave aside from his system's intake of air as he leaned in and pressed his lips against Prime's.
The young leader moaned loudly into the kiss, offlining his optics from the bliss as their energy fields clashed. He continued rubbing the plating between Prowl's legs, more forcefully now, and his free hand slipped up to the shoulders, to fondle the protruding golden pieces of armor there.
The mech responded by moving his hips against Prime's hand, body arching and shivering when the younger leader began to stimulate the golden wings streaking over his shoulders. Prowl was literally squirming as he felt their fields intertwining, his temperature spiking in response. He was all but groping the leader, fingers pressing against Prime's audios and stroking his grill, paying attention to every surface he came across, and he groaned softly into the kiss as he ran his glossa over Prime's lips.
It didn't take long until Optimus felt like melting in the inside. He was gasping, his body trying to cool down every way possible, he was moaning and trembling, close to overload, so close...
Suddenly, he promptly grabbed Prowl, and lifted him up a bit, so his sensitive paneling was pressed against the grill; and then, Prime revved his engine.
Prowl moaned and practically curled against Prime's body, hips moving against his front grill to press his heated panel against the warm, rumbling surface, creating friction with the motions to add upon the already shudder-inducing sensations. Prowl was all but clinging to his partner, intakes hissing furiously for air and only blowing out more heat, and he was edging so close to overload it was driving him mad.
Optimus buried his face into the black and gold chest, moaning, occasionally brushing his lips against the smooth, hot surface. "Oh, Primus...I'm...Prowl, I can't...!" A few more desperate revs, each louder than the previous, and the young leader's frame arched backwards, his hold on the other tightening, and a strained whimper escaping his vocalizer, as the surge crushed down on him, sweeping through his entire sensory grid, frying it out in the process.
The smaller black-and-gold mech was trembling, and it was all he could do not to melt into a puddle of bolts and wires. Prime's voice reached his vocals and Prowl rocked anxiously against the other as his engine roared, tensing at the intense pleasure and hissing another quiet moan. Again and again, that sound, a desperate impassioned cry that Optimus could barely hear before Prowl clung to him in overload.
Prowl cut his vocals silent as his systems surged with energy, frying every grid in his possession, because the name that left him wasn't Prime's. No matter how Optimus had said he wouldn't mind, Prowl didn't want to feel thatheartless; he'd already been selfish enough in the first place.
And it was all over—processors rebooted, intakes sucked cool air in and vents spat out hot. Servos stopped malfunctioning, and Optimus loosened his death grip on his partner. He gently ran a thumb down Prowl's face. "You alright?"
As Prowl shook himself out of recovery, his systems slowly sorting themselves out, he only turned his head and pressed a bit against the thumb that caressed his faceplates. "Hmmm...I'm fine. Better, actually..."
"Glad to hear," Optimus nodded with a smile. "You have talented hands."
For once, as the mech responded, his lips curled upward in a genuine smile in return. "Thank you, Optimus." he said, for several reasons he was sure the other knew already.
The young leader stretched with a happy little moan. "Well then...everything's back in its perfect working order. And there's even some left from today."
