It's almost three in the morning and I just spent the past 6 hours reworking the ugliest fucking waterfall tattoo I've ever seen, but my brain is sooooo stuck on Prowl rn.
Like I'm not a fan of fluids, both real and fictional, so im imagining reader always being particular about him never finishing inside when he's topping. It's just instinct at this point for him to pull back and hump desperately at their aftplating till he locks up and shivers through his overload.
But once, just once, they manage to time things just right to where they're both on the brink at the same time, desperate and feral. Right as their overload starts and Prowl moves to pull out because- holy shit that first calliper squeeze just about sent him over the edge right that second, they lock their pedes behind his hips and pull him flush.
He tries to hold on, panicked at the thought of their instinct getting the best of them mid overload and not wanting to take advantage. Those pulsing callipers give him no choice though and within seconds he's buckling forward, aggressively humping into their heat and whimpering like a kicked hound as he comes undone. The rippling grip of callipers in contrast to the cold air and hard metal he's used to is almost to much, dragging out his overload and making the the sound of his clattering armour panels almost louder than his relieved moaning. He can't help but to keep moving, overstimulation and ecstasy blending together and keeping his uncoordinated grinding going, unwilling to part with the heavenly grip.
He's sure to be mortified when he snaps out of it, but for now they enjoy the five-star meal in front of them.
