Title: Consort 7 - Summons
Author: Femme4jack
Rating: NC-17
Continuity: AU Multi-continuity Fusion Madness (in other words I’m picking and choosing stuff I like and totally making slag up).
Characters & Pairings: Optimus Prime x Mirage x Jazz
Summary: Optimus arranges a surprise for his bonded.

Chapter Warnings: 5400+ words of totally self-indulgent consort!smut. Mech/mech/mech sticky smut, oral, PnP, spark, DOM/sub, PWP

Notes: For White Aster for her winning bid on the FandomAid Help Somalia Auction on livejournal. Thanks for the delicious prompt and for your generosity!

Cohorts have come up in my recent stories frequently, and in each story verse, there are minor variations. For the purpose of this story, cohorts are a "family grouping" of mechs and femmes, usually sharing a similar function or who work together as a team. They are siblings, lovers, colleagues, creators, friends, and more. Not all members of a cohort are lovers, but they all share a cohort bond, which is different from the more intense kind of sparkbond Mirage and Optimus share. Optimus lost his original cohort bonds when he became Prime. High forged mecha like Mirage normally do not have cohorts, but rather a bond of loyalty and obedience to their house Lord.

If I didn't say it already, credit to the peerless Dwimordene for the verb and noun "teek", meaning the Cybertronian sense of electromagnetic fields, from her story "All That You Can't Leave Behind" and for originating the ideas about Cybertronian cohorts that I've expanded on in her story, "Bridges".

Optimus stopped Jazz with a hand on his shoulder before he could leave the staff meeting. "Jazz, a word with you, please." Prime's field teeked strangely, almost as though he were embarrassed or reluctant to bring up whatever issue he needed to address with his lieutenant.

"Sure thing, boss. What's goin' on?" Jazz hopped up to sit comfortably on Prime's desk as the large mech sat back down on the other side.

The silver mech watched as Optimus looked down at his hands like a newling, appearing uncertain whether he should continue. Then Prime looked up resolutely. "I have something to ask you of a very personal nature, Jazz, and it is quite awkward."

"Optimus, we've known each other for how long now? Ya know ya can ask me anything, and ya certainly know Ah don't embarrass easily or ever. So out with it. Whatcha got goin' on? You and Mirage doin' okay?"

Jazz knew the answer to that one before he even asked it. At the sound of his bonded's designation, Prime's field surged to leave no doubt that he was as completely wrapped around the High Consort as he'd ever been. Jazz found it far more endearing than he ever would admit, but was careful not to tease. The two were happy and very much in love, Jazz knew, and having Mirage had settled something in Prime. But there was still a fragility to it all despite their being sparkbonded.

Optimus, even after twenty vorns, struggled with bouts of guilt. In the rare moments when Prime confided with Jazz about the relationship, he admitted to being troubled that no matter how free his bonded was, they would never know who Mirage would have been had he been created without Consort coding. That Mirage was happy and made Optimus so did not assuage the lingering remorse.

For his part, Jazz had to admit that many binary pairs, at least those without the modulating influence of a cohort, would likely be more successful if one of the members had Consort protocols.

"We are doing very well," Optimus was saying, his faceplates moving in such a way as to betray the gentle smile under his ever-present mask. "You know how very good he is to me, Jazz. How much he... indulges me. I wish to do something for him. Something special, that will take him by surprise."

Jazz felt his internal temperature creeping upward at Prime's awkward admission. Just imagining the two together, and having had the opportunity to witness some of that indulgence when Mirage became especially bold about his 'duties', was enough to put Jazz in need of finding a willing partner or three to 'face for the entirety of his off duty shift.

"So whatcha have in mind? Ah can give ya some ideas, but Ah'm sure ya have a far better sense o' what would surprise 'im than Ah would."

Optimus shifted awkwardly, refusing to meet Jazz's visor for a moment. "Oh, I know precisely what he would enjoy, Jazz. It is the implementation of the plan that I require assistance with. I have long known that Mirage has certain fantasies that we have not indulged, ones he has avoided bringing to my attention because he fears I will consider them inappropriate and unseemly."

"And ya want mah help settin' up a certain scenario, I imagine. Hound might be a better bet if in involves a simulated location," Jazz said thoughtfully.

"The scenario is not location specific, Jazz," Optimus explained, his voice quiet and hesitant, but Jazz noted that the further Prime got into the explanation, the more arousal was leaking into the large mech's field. It was doing nothing to help his own sorry state.

"It does, however, involve...," Optimus paused, and then rushed to continue and complete his confession. "It involves Mirage being intimate with someone else... namely one of my most trusted officers... in front of me, and then, I would be intimate with him in front of that same officer."

Oh...

OH!

Jazz had to physically hold himself to the desk to avoid toppling off. Here he was the Commander of Special Operations and supposedly was aware or everything going on, but Prime had just managed to take him completely by surprise.

"I'm sorry, Jazz," Optimus continued, completely misreading Jazz's expression. "I should not have brought it up. It was highly unprofessional..."

"Ah'll do it!" Jazz interrupted. "Primus almighty, Optimus, you actually thought Ah'd say no? Tell me when, where, and anything specific Ah need t' make it good for both of ya. An' for future reference, ya don't ever need t' worry 'bout bringin' up slag like this wit' me. Ah care for both of ya like cohort."

Mirage was on monitor duty when one of the younger enlistees, currently assigned to Optimus as an administrative aid, arrived with a datapad. The Praxian handed it to him, sensor wings twitching with nervous excitement.

"Thank you, Bluestreak," Mirage said reassuringly. "Does Prime require my response immediately?"

"Yes, sir," Bluestreak said. "I am to wait here and deliver your response personally. I'm not sure why he didn't comm you, but I assume it must be something really important if he didn't. It's encrypted... not that I looked at it, because I didn't! I would never do that, but he told me that it was and that you would have the key and could..."

"Thank you," Mirage gently cut the young mech off before he could really get started. "I am sure you handled your duty with the utmost of professionalism. Please allow me to read the message so you can relay my response as expeditiously as possible."

"Yes, sir, of course, sir," Bluestreak assured him before forcefully muting his vocalizer.

Mirage turned his attention to the datapad and entered the encryption key that he and his sparkmate only used for this particular purpose, feeling his calipers contract and lubricants beginning to slick his valve simply in anticipation of what he would read. The fact that Optimus had sent formal written instructions rather than casually comming him with an idea or reaching out emotionally through their bond indicated he was in a particular mood that boded well for things to come.

The Lord Prime requires the services of his High Consort at 36:00 joors in the royal berth chamber.

Mirage hid his smile and had to fight squirming in his seat, considering just what those simple words did to him. Optimus was indeed in a playful mood, and the orn had just become very, very interesting. Mirage plugged into the pad and entered his encrypted response.

The High Consort functions only to serve and please his Lord Prime. It will be done.

With a nod, Mirage handed the datapad back to Bluestreak, who was brimming with excitement at the simple task of having been a messenger for his Prime. Mirage knew exactly why his bonded was keeping the Praxian close, and felt a surge of affection for Optimus who was watching so carefully over the refugee who had volunteered for the Autobots as soon as he had reached the minimum number of vorns.

"Thank you, Bluestreak. Please relay my response without delay," Mirage said, dismissing the young mech with a warm smile and an affectionate pulse of his own field.

"Yes, sir, right away, sir," Bluestreak said, a strong flare of arousal escaping in his own field before he literally scampered off with the datapad.

Mirage laughed softly. It seemed that yet another Autobot was infatuated with Prime's High Consort. He wondered if the mech had any idea of what kind of game he had just been involved in, and what the prize would be when both players won. He felt a charge racing through his systems, and knew he would be lucky if his panel held in all the lubrication he was sure to produce in anticipation of pleasing his lover. The end of his shift simply could not come quickly enough.

35:47 joors found Mirage outside the entrance to the quarters he shared with his sparkmate. He checked himself a final time, pleased and satisfied with what he saw. Optimus had been sure to allow plenty of time between Mirage's scheduled end of shift and the official time of summons, so he'd called in a favor from Sunstreaker. He was now clean and polished to a level of perfection rarely seen on their busy base, and in addition, had been decorated with a multitude of highly stylized, artistic glyphs using a silver-toned paint the nicely complemented his natural blue and white.

His own chromananites would absorb the additions in a few orns, but presently, his entire frame proclaimed just whom he belonged to. It would both scandalize and completely arouse his lover to know that others had seen him marked in the old way. At the very least, he was certain Red Alert had seen him on the monitors, and, of course, the twins were not known for muting their vocalizers.

Sideswipe had, as always, offered to take care of the obvious charge Mirage was struggling with during the preparations, but Mirage had laughed and said the delayed gratification was all part of the fun, much to the red mech's disappointment. Sunstreaker had simply growled that neither of them better scuff the newly polished finish or mar the glyphs. Mirage knew the gold twin had likely fragged his brother into the wall as soon as he'd left, though.

He quickly used a soft cloth to dust off any contaminants that might have settled on him during the walk. Next, he unsubspaced a finely crafted box, and pulled from it a delicate-looking silver net woven with rare minerals and crystals. He settled the helm ornamentation so that its top rested slightly above his optics and the rest covered his rounded helm and hung down the back. He schooled both his features and his field to that of reverent subservience and pinged for permission to enter, resolutely calming the trembling of his own plating.

The portal irised open and Mirage gracefully swept in, forcing himself to show no reaction to the completely unexpected second presence who was lounging on the chair next to an unmasked Optimus. Each mech held a cube of a rare vintage of high grade. Willing himself not to tremble or react in any visible way, Mirage moved himself to kneel next to the large chair that during their games functioned as Prime's throne, ready to do his master's bidding, pretending not to notice the hungry way both mechs had devoured his progress across the room.

Nothing, however, could hide the surge of gratitude and excitement that he sent across the bond, and the immense relief that came in response to Mirage's approval of the scenario. As if he had ever felt anything but, Mirage thought, with no small amount of humor.

Mirage remained completely silent and still as Optimus reached under the silver net to caress his helm and vents with casual possessiveness and continued to converse with Jazz as though he had never entered the room.

"You are a credit to our cause, Jazz," Optimus was saying. "Your latest operation will undoubtedly save hundreds, if not thousands of lives now that was know what Megatron's intentions are regarding the outer colonies, and has revealed a great weakness in his strategy which we can capitalize on."

"Ah just have excellent operatives, Optimus. Ya know that," Jazz waved his hand dismissively before tipping back his cube to finish the high grade.

At a quick signal from Prime, Mirage stood and took Jazz's cube to refill it. By all outward appearances, he was oblivious to the conversation, but he inwardly preened. The operation Optimus was referring to was the very one he had recently returned from, his intimate knowledge of Darkmount still a great asset even after twenty vorns of changes to the fortress.

"Indeed, the very best, Jazz," Optimus agreed. "But that is because you are the best. You have trained them, you are the one who ensures these missions are successful. Yet I have not... properly rewarded your skills and loyalty."

Mirage nearly spilled the priceless vintage he was pouring at the tone his bonded... his Lord Prime, he corrected himself, used to say 'rewarded'. He carefully steadied himself. Granted, the punishment he would receive for spilling high grade was something he desired rather than dreaded. But Mirage wanted to play his part to the very best of his abilities, and took pride in being the ideal High Consort when they engaged in these games. It was, after all, his coded primary function. No matter how non-traditional Optimus insisted their relationship be on the average orn, Mirage thrilled at the chance to so perfectly serve his Lord.

"Servin' the Autobots is reward enough, Prime. Ya know that," Jazz said, taking the ornate cube from Mirage's hands when he presented it from a kneeling position.

"I'm afraid I must insist on more, Jazz," Optimus objected even as he reached out and grabbed Mirage's arm, pulling him to his feet and over to himself. Prime's hand began running freely over Mirage's panels in a blatantly molesting manner. "I have invited you here this cycle to give you the highest honor available to one of my commanders or emirates. Tonight, you may have my most prized Consort, in any way you wish that does not remove him from my service for repairs."

Before Jazz could respond, Optimus held up his hand for his commander to see the lubricants he had collected from the edges of Mirage's panel. He then pushed on Mirage's shoulders so he was in a kneeling position between Prime's legs, and nonchalantly presented the dripping fingers to Mirage's mouth.

A static-filled noise came from Jazz. Mirage could feel his commander watching, field surging with lust. The spy gave a hint of a smile, and then made a sensuous show of cleaning his own lubricants from each of his Lord's fingers.

"Ah'm not sure what t' say, Optimus," Jazz managed to choke out. "Ah'd be honored... but are ya sure? Ah'm not some high-forged mech, and he looks awfully delicate."

"It doesn't matter, Jazz. You have earned this. Come, we will enjoy him together, in my own berth. Show my Consort how the Kaon mechs do it. I promise, you will not be disappointed. His valve is the most finely tooled on Cybertron, as is his spike, if you wish. Tell me how you would like him. Bound and spread? Or perhaps you would prefer he service you first."

Mirage's engine gave an involuntary rev at Prime's words and tone, and he realized that his own hands, holding the much larger one he was cleaning, were visibly shaking. Oh Primus, he could feel Optimus's hunger through their bond. His lover was doing well hiding just how close he was to the edge, but Mirage knew that as hot as he was running, Optimus was running even hotter, and the game had barely begun. The vorns he had spent slowly helping his bonded relax into his fantasies, to indulge in them without shame, were all paying off, and he was reaping the benefits.

"Don't be shy, Jazz. How would you like him," Optimus pressed in a wicked tone, chuckling when nothing but static came from Jazz's vocalizer and the only other audible response was both of the saboteur's fans kicking in.

"If it pleases my Lord," Mirage began, well aware of the consequence of speaking without permission. Jazz clearly was ready to overload from visual and imaginative stimulation alone at this point, and needed some help settling his charge before they proceeded. Considering that his commander was a skilled infiltrator, Mirage would also later be teasing him relentlessly about falling out of character.

"I did not give you leave to speak, Consort," Optimus growled darkly.

"Forgive me, my Lord," Mirage said, pressing his helm to Prime's pedes.

"Speak Consort. Then I will decide how to punish your infraction," Optimus said in a tone that would have made some of the more sadistic Primes proud, at least if they had been unable to sense the utter love and affection through the bond as Mirage could.

Mirage occasionally wondered what it would have been like to have been Consort to a Prime like some of those Optimus had shared memories of, the ones who abused their Consorts simply out of their own sadism and cruelty. They were the same ones who still gave his beloved the recharge fluxes that Mirage had become so adept at soothing away. The Consort protocols would have coded him for one of them no differently than it had created him for Optimus, but he could not imagine actually loving such a Master as he did his sparkmate. Would he have loved Megatron this way, if the warlord had bonded with him? He quickly dropped that line of processing, and returned to the task at hand.

"If it pleases my Lord, your prized officer is having a difficult time finding his words. Perhaps you could command my actions for a time, until he is relaxed enough to make his own desires known." Mirage's helm remained on Prime's pede, and he gave it a sweet and reverent kiss in apology for speaking out of turn.

"While your suggestion does not displease me, your presumption does, Mirage. Now go and please Jazz's valve until I tell you that you are finished," Optimus ordered, drawing an inarticulate curse from Jazz.

Mirage felt Optimus transmit a code that, as always, went straight past his firewalls along with another caress across their bond. "Jazz, I apologize for the High Consort's impertinence. I have activated his overload inhibitor to remind him of his place. I'm afraid I'm far too lenient with him much of the time. Now open your panel so he can make amends."

"Oh, Vector Sigma," Jazz whispered, spreading his legs wider and retracting his lower panel.

Mirage kissed Prime's pede again in acceptance of his punishment, then stood and bowed to Jazz before prostrating himself at his commander's pedes and kissing each one.

Jazz felt utterly exposed, as though he were bare protoform under Mirage's kisses and skillfully moving hands. Where had his control gone? It had fled along with the profile he had set up for this encounter. Now he was simply a shivering mass of charged circuits that were being blown by the kisses and licks moving from his pedes up his lower leg struts along with the fingers wending their way under his plating and delving into the circuitry and conduits underneath.

He'd been with pleasure mecha before, and some slagging good ones, at that. Frag, Firestar, who was one of his own operatives, was one of the best. But everything about Mirage was perfect in a way that even the most finely built and coded pleasure mech could not hope to match.

The way Mirage's field was now entangled with his was exquisite, making him feel utterly commanding and desirable even as he simply sat back and enjoyed. He could order Mirage to do anything with him, and the beautiful mech would do it in a way that made him feel as if there were no activity on all of Cybertron that the High Consort desired more. How did Optimus do anything other than interface all orn with the blue and white beauty?

He never wanted the sensation of Mirage slowly moving up his frame to end, yet also was not sure he could wait any longer for the probing glossa to reach his valve. He could feel Prime's optics, hungrily devouring the sight, and knew that the only thing that could make it better would be Prime's hands, rather than just his gaze, all over him. But Jazz did not dare hope for that. It had not been part of their agreed plans. Optimus still enforced a distance between them should Jazz ever have to do his duty as the secret High Protector. What his Prime failed to understand was that Jazz was already severely compromised in that regard. He already loved his Prime so much that doing that duty would be at the cost of his own spark.

Fortunately, Prime's Consort had balanced things so well for Optimus, that Jazz no longer worried Optimus was coming unhinged.

Jazz watched and shivered as Mirage continue to move along his upper leg struts as though it were some graceful, ritualistic temple dance, the movements an act of worship along his frame. Static arced with each lick, kiss and touch, its sharp scent mixing with that of the lubricants of the three mecha in the room. A quick glance revealed that Prime had his own spike wrapped in his hand, squeezing it in time with each movement of Mirage's glossa.

He threw his head back and cursed again, or perhaps it was a prayer because he never, ever wanted this orn to end.

Mirage's mouthplates were suddenly covering his valve, humming the refrain of an erotic Towers song, the vibrations of his voice tingling the sensors on his rim and within. He felt himself blossom open, and was rewarded with Mirage's glossa widening one of his interior grooves to probe the sensors within. Each lick and kiss sent a pulses along his sensor net. Two graceful fingers pushed in and caressed open his lower grooves even as Mirage's glossa continued exploring the sensors along the upper one. His calipers clenched and relaxed rhythmically against the wanted invasion.

He heard Optimus say something in a commanding tone, but the buzz of the charge was shorting out his audials. Suddenly he was being lifted and held against Prime's thick frame, enveloped in the strong, welcoming field. He could feel the heat and lubricants of Prime's massive, quivering spike trapped against his back struts. Prime's hands wrapped around his thighs and pulled his legs further apart, making room for Mirage to kneel on the floor between them. Then the High Consort bent so that his helm brushed the floor before his valve in ritual supplication, begging permission to enter a higher ranking Lord.

Jazz heard his own vocalizer whine over the buzz of his charge, and, after another rumbled command from Optimus, and Mirage was pushing the tip of his spike into Jazz's valve as Optimus squeezed and caressed the struts of his bent legs. He momentarily offlined his optics, focusing all of his attention on Mirage's spike stretching him, adjusting to him, matching shape and sensors for a perfect fit. For a moment, Mirage was completely still. Then the spike inside him pulsed and flared wider and instantly stimulated every sensor on the walls of his valve, making Jazz's entire frame freeze and then jerk with ecstasy. Again and again Mirage's spike flared and pulsated, sending screaming jolts of raw pleasure from the nodes of Jazz's valve through his entire frame.

Prime rumbled again, and then Mirage was kissing him deeply, glossa thrusting in and out of his mouth in imitation of what he was now doing with his spike. Jazz knew he would not last. Between the two fields enveloping and penetrating him, the hot frames crackling with charge in direct contact with his own, and the white-hot pleasure rushing from his valve through his core, to his very spark, Mirage only had to thrust in a dozen times before Jazz was swept away in an overload that felt endless.

Jazz's second overload crashed through him on Prime's great berth, while thrusting into Mirage's flawless valve from behind as Mirage worshipped Prime's spike with hands and glossa. Afterwards, the heat that was pouring off Mirage's frame and the telltale wisps of smoke were sure signs that Optimus had not yet permitted his Consort to overload. Somehow, even as Mirage trembled and his field fluctuated dangerously, he still managed to tenderly clean Optimus with perfect reverence and care, before moving to Jazz to clean him in the same fashion

Jazz knew that Mirage's charge had likely been building the entire day, ever since the moment Prime had sent the summons. And yet, still, Mirage waited, his entire frame shaking with need while he continued to serve. Jazz had interrogated his share of mecha over the vorns, and if he hadn't known just what it meant to Mirage to overload only at his Prime's command, he would have thought this treatment contended with some of the sessions he would rather forget. But nothing in Mirage's field or expression indicated pain, only complete rapture at fulfilling his duties and obeying Prime's commands.

"Mirage, fetch the restraints," Optimus ordered.

Mirage complied without a word, stumbling to a storage closet, falling to his knees when the charge visibly raced along his overclocked circuits, and going the rest of the distance on his knees, no longer able to stand. Restraints in his hands, he knelt by the berth, his arms stretched upward offering them to Prime, who took them, connecting them to various points on the berth and then commanding Mirage to place himself in the proper position, back arched over a thick, yet yielding cylinder placed at the center of the berth for that purpose, legs and knee joints spread wide, wrists together above his helm.

"Jazz, did you enjoy your reward?" Optimus asked in a deceptively casual tone as he hooked the restraints around Mirage's visible crackling, sparking joints.

"The only thing Ah'd enjoy more is feelin' him come with ya inside him, Prime," Jazz said with complete honesty.

"Mmmm, that sounds like a most pleasant idea. Mirage, show Jazz just what it feels like when I take what is mine," Optimus commanded even as he poised himself to claim his lover's frame.

A needy whine escaped Mirage's vocalizer as he extended his cables and opened his ports. Jazz hooked them up with trembling hands, before reaching for Prime's offered cables and completing the circuit between the three of them. The blast of Mirage's nearly crippling arousal was fiercely complemented by the hungry possessiveness that was Prime. Jazz moaned at the onslaught, swept into the dual sensation of both needs.

He lost track of himself as he watched and felt Prime rubbing the tip of his spike against Mirage's rim, the thick lubricants conducting the charge between them. Then, with no warning, Optimus claimed Mirage's valve in single, swift motion with complete assurance that no preparation was needed; Mirage was fully ready for him, belonged to him alone, and was shared only at Prime's whim and desire. He felt the welcome pain of the stretched walls and strained calipers, the enveloping, loving heat of a tightly embraced spike, a sense of completeness so sweet, so perfect that Jazz's spark ached with envy.

Mirage welcomed that envy as the affirmation it was of just how perfect he was for his Prime. Jazz found himself falling completely into Mirage's emotions and sensations as pain, pleasure, and a charge that was literally threatening to melt his circuits, rushed through him, wave upon wave with each powerful thrust. He found himself overcome by trust and wholeness and love as he gave everything he was to his Prime, waiting only for his beloved's signal to offer an overload that was bound to be so strong that any sane mech would be frightened. But for Mirage, it was just one more act of devotion.

"Mine!" Optimus growled into Mirage's neck, his thrusts making the entire berth shudder.

"Yes! Please! Yours, always yours," Mirage cried back, no longer playing a role, if he ever had been in the first place. It was so right, so perfect to be taken this way. His spark sang each time Prime buried himself deep in his valve, each time the burn rushed through him. Optimus roared his name, scalding fluid erupting into his valve as a simple signal released everything that had been held back like the bursting of a broken dam.

Several joors later

At some point during the night, Mirage forgot his designation. It might have been when Optimus finally allowed him to overload (the first of many the orn would bring). It might have been the second time Jazz had taken his valve, while Optimus held him tight and whispered through their bond how beautiful he was. Or it might have been when Optimus had not only reclaimed his valve again, but also claimed his spark with Jazz writhing on the berth, hardlined to both of them.

Or perhaps it was when they completely forgot the roles they had been playing and became a tangle of glossa, limbs, cables, spikes and valves that had led to the present moment, in which the mech who formerly knew his designation was Mirage found himself as the filling in a layered energon goodie between his bonded Lord Prime and his Commander.

Optimus was moving hard into him from behind, the momentum of which was burying his own spike deep into Jazz's tight valve, the small mech's size making for a scorching hot fit. Yet, he was only barely aware of what his own frame was doing. Between the hardlines and the open bond, none of them had any idea where one began and the others ended; they were simply a single three-bodied sensor net of crackling, sparking overclocked pleasure.

Smoke was literally swirling from their frames as relays were fried. One of them might have briefly thought about Ratchet's wrath, but it was quickly dismissed because even if this put them into stasis lock, it would have been worth it. At some unspoken signal, they all parted their chest plates, not enough to allow for a merge, but just enough to let their spark energies surge together when the shared overload crashed into all three and kept on crashing between them until they fell into a sweet nothingness that was still, somehow, shared.

Mirage onlined to the sound of quiet voices and laughter coming from either side of him and the awareness of two fields and frames intertwined with his own in perfect comfort.

"'Show mah Consort how the Kaon mechs do it?' Do ya have any idea how hard it was for me not t' completely lose it when ya said that?'"

"I was merely trying to get into character, and, as I recall, you were losing it, but for completely different reasons. The lines that you were supposed to give were something other than static filled versions of single syllable pre-linguistic expletives."

"What can Ah say. He's jus' that pretty."

"I will not argue with you there. He is also online. Hello, my love. Are you well?"

"Mmmmmm," Mirage replied, stretching out sensuously to relieve his cramped conduits and cabling. "I feel perfect. Though I think I could feel even better."

"Unfortunately, Mirage, I have staff meeting in ten breems, and your duty shift begins shortly after that," Optimus said, wrapping his arms around both lovers even tighter and rolling on his back so both of their frames could rest atop his larger one.

Mirage and Jazz turned toward one another and exchanged glances. "Better check the schedule again, my Prime," Mirage said. "I think you'll find that staff meeting has been cancelled due to the Prime and his third in command being indisposed, and my commanding officer has changed my duty shifts and has given me a full orn off as a reward for my good work."

Optimus shook his head and chuckled. "And just how did you manage that? Prowl doesn't cancel staff meetings for anything other than an attack."

"It is the duty of the High Consort to anticipate the needs of his Lord and ensure he is getting adequate recharge and time for recreation," Mirage explained lightly. "I have my ways."

"And jus' what did ya have in mind for our free time, Mirage?" Jazz asked, his visor shining bright.

"Well, two things," Mirage said innocently. "First, I want to watch my bonded take that lovely valve of yours like you have been hoping he would for far longer than just the last orn. And then, we should discuss just what is preventing us from formalizing that we are a cohort. My coding assumes Prime will have other mates, and it would make both of you, and me, very happy to have a cohort bond. Before the High Protector was a political position, it was one of the Prime's consorts, after all."

The shock that surged through his lovers' fields was priceless. Mirage simply smirked as both of them worked through their various emotions without speaking. Jazz, because his vocalizer had again shorted out. Optimus, because he was chuckling too hard to speak.

"And to think mechs assume I am the dominant one in this relationship," Optimus finally said.

"When it comes to making sure you get what you need, I have no issue with taking command, my Prime," Mirage teased back.

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