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Pt. 13: "Getting caught" (Datsun cuddling)
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In all honesty, it started out innocent. Not completely without intent, but the intent was flirting, not full-out naughty touch. They were in the common room, after all, under the watchful lenses of the surveillance cameras. Snuggled together watching horrible late-night MTV was a weekly tradition for them, and while most of the Autobots were either pulling third shift or tucked away recharging in their rooms, the common room was still a public area. Snuggling was as far as PDAs got on Red Alert's watch.
So Smokescreen seriously didn't intend for the gesture to be anything more than suggestive. As in, suggesting they move this elsewhere. He had his arm comfortably around Prowl, tucked between beanbag and Prowl's back, and he had just enough wiggle room to reach his fingers up to trace around the rim of one headlight.
Prowl's optics flickered rapidly.
Smokescreen blinked himself as a loud rev came from the engine so close at hand. Smirking, he repeated the move, whispering the very tip of his middle finger across the tiny divot where glass set into metal.
Prowl stiffened, doors popping up, but his face held the gambler's attention.
The normal stoic expression had cracked. Teeth buried in his lower lip, Prowl seemed absolutely shocked by his own reaction. He all but trembled as Smokescreen gently traced another scraping, sliding, lingering circle around that one headlight. Prowl's engine revved, suddenly panting in short, quick cycles of acceleration going nowhere. Smokescreen could feel the abrupt change as hot air poured out of wide-open vents, fans on high.
The joining point where different materials in a mech's body slotted together were often sensitive, but this? This was above and beyond finding a ticklish spot or pressure point. Captivated, Smokescreen flattened his finger to drawn the friction pad along the sensitized rim, one gloriously slow petting meant to do exactly what it did: light up Prowl's sensor system like a solar flare, stroking pleasure out of dancing electricity and wakened charge until Prowl melted against his side with a soft groan, helm rolling back and optics dimming to a dusky blue like an evening summer sky when everything slowed, everything drew out, everything was half in mystery and lasted forever in the heat they couldn't escape.
How could he possibly resist that?
Smokescreen curled around him, pressing his lips to the red chevron offered to him, and his other hand dropped the remote carelessly off the beanbag. He brought it up to cup Prowl's other headlight, the thumb rubbing around the rim as he pressed kiss after kiss down the lower edge of Prowl's chevron, aiming down, heading for -
The PDA alarm blared like no tomorrow.
When they peeled themselves off the ceiling, Smokescreen couldn't stop laughing. Prowl muttered something that shouldn't be repeated and stalked from the room, intent on murdering a certain Security Director.
Another normal night in Autobot HQ.
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