In Service of the Community

not safe sideblog to best-head

[to-be-in-service]

[ @multiversalmoans | Red Alert ]

"Prowl," Red Alert greeted curtly, standing just within the door-frame of his office. "You...requested my presence?"

"I did." Prowl snapped his digits at Red Alert and pointed at his pedes.

"Right here. Now." He didn't seem to be interested in arguing- his tone allowed no gap for any sort of push back. He wasn't even looking at Red Alert, instead fixated on a datapad in front of him.

[to-be-in-service]

Sunstreaker doesn't really give Prowl much of a choice. Roughly grabbing and yanking a doorwing before he pulls him more along. Far enough away from any objects to grab and yank him up over his shoulder. Away from his work and any other important thing he may have been doing.

Dumping him in the berth, only to grab his ankles and hold him there.

Prowl doesn't yelp- he thinks, when his doorwing is pulled, but only just.

But he hasn't seen anything of the twins in... how long has it been? Prowl thought for a few moments. Years. Year and years of nothing from the twins.

And now Sunstreaker is dragging him off somewhere, and he doesn't know where-

"Sunstreaker," he tried, knowing damn well whatever they were going to be doing was trouble and that he was unlikely to get out of it by asking. ..which he learned to do.

Released, he attempted to to scoot back, optic cycling wide in alarm. "What are you doing!"

[noiizemaze]

{ @best-head } HEAVY VENTING

{ @best-head }

She’s never heard him made that kind of wheezy, half-strangled noise before, and Tarantulas has spent a LOT of time listening to Prowl in every state imaginable, whether he was aware she was there or not.

It would be cause for concern but the stiff posture of his doorwings, held in a quivering, needy flare, does wonders to convey just what Prowl isn’t saying.

“No need to be shy, sweet thing,” Tarantulas goads, a servo smoothing over her green and black corset to end on a hip. “Why don’t you, hyehhhehhehhh, come give mommy a kiss, hm…?”

[best-head]

Prowl was not a mech to be... outwardly toward, in this manner. But for a moment, he can't quite vent properly, struck by the flash of green around Tarantulas' waist, pulled tight, and-

He was on her before he realized he'd moved, servos grabbing her waist and helm moving to bite her. Not one of those soft, gentle bites, either, but a bite with those little Praxian fangs of his right into her shoulder, growling his engines.

Granted, to most, his growls weren't very intimidating, but Prowl wasn't, for once, thinking about that, not when Tarantulas was wrapped like a present for him.

[noiizemaze]

Savagery!

It is not the pain but the scent of her own ichor being spilled by Prowl’s— Prowl’s!— teeth sinking into the meat of the crescent of her shoulder that has her knees buckling, visor fritzing near-white in shock.

“Prowl.”

Prowl does not lose control like this. He’s staunchly stoic in all forms, even the times Tarantulas has managed to pull him into a dark corner or the decontamination bay—

Her fangs ache in sympathetic longing. So does her valve.

They go down together, of course. She clutches him closer, encouraging, a heavy wheeze slipping free as she drags him to the concrete floor with her, caged in her legs and claws. What wild beast has replaced her muse? What dark hunger has she awoken in him through indulgence?

Tarantulas whines. “Don’t— don’t swallow that. It’s bad for you. Prowl, my love, you’ll get sick, I’ll poison you, don’t—”

[to-be-in-service]

It's a little late for her to tell him not to swallow- even Prowl is subject to some things. Namely, swallowing, when liquid hit his intake. It is not... what he thought it would be. Frankly, he thought it'd be.. sludge-like?

Optic winking a little as some part of him categorized the flavor -mildly bitter- and the consistency -runny?- he pulled back, lips stained dark purple and optic bright, servos squeezing at her waist and venting like he'd just run for his life, staring at her with a crazed look to him.

The white part of his optic, the part that shifted and focused when he was crunching numbers, was blown wide.

"As much," he rasps, voice gone husky and low, "as the floor is a convenience, I do not want either of us to end up with the sort of ache that will bother us later."

He casted his optic over the living room before settling on the couch. ..yes, that will do. His gaze returned to her, and a sticky strand of her energon stretched as he parted his lips to speak, again.

"Couch. Now."

[best-for-last]

{ @to-be-in-service } [ ARREST ]  ―  for sender to handcuff receiver’s wrists behind their back

{ @to-be-in-service }

Oop— oh, wow, actually, these work startlingly well. Optimus can’t twist back to actually get a look at the cuffs, but the cold metal and faint buzz of neutralizers has him narrowing his optics a little bit.

“Prowl,” he asks, “You’re certain these are for light use and play scenarios, right?”

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Prowl blinked placidly at Optimus, helm tilting to the side. "Take your thumb, and- here, feel here." Reaching, he guiding Optimus's thumb to the side of the cuffs, where there was a latch he could move, if he tried. "This is a safe release, and there is one on the other cuff as well, if you begin to feel uncomfortable."

He knew- he'd checked. he also had a key, should those fail.

"Are they too tight, Optimus?"

[to-be-in-service]

It’s warm under the blankets. Dark, too— it was dark beyond the blankets, early as it is, but Tarantulas hardly cares about that. She’s keeping her visor and optics off anyways.

She does not need them to work her way between Prowl’s thighs, pedipalps smoothing over the spotless plating as she lowers her head to nuzzle at his intimate panels.

Either he’ll wake up and acquiesce, or stay asleep and his body will answer for him.

Prowl has settled nicely into recharge as he does, flat on his back, optic shut off.

When she nuzzles at his panel, he shifts, just a little, murmuring before relaxing, again, thighs subconsciously shifting open for her, warm as she is. He does not wake, however.

..not yet, anyway.

But there is a scent there, of clean polish, and the soap from the shower, but also of his valve- the slight wetness of lubricant.

[sinpom]

a good(?) boy for @fiveboos

[to-be-in-service]

{ @best-for-last  } He touches one of Optimus’s fangs. It’s not.. normal, for Prowl to make a move without considering it, unless he’s flipping a table, but.

The fangs aren’t new, but he has always wanted to touch them. His thumb rubs over the flat of it, and his optics flicker as he pauses, considering what he has done. And then he carries on, climbing into Optimus’ lap. He is not one to back down, once he has made his mind up.

[best-for-last]

Optimus isn’t risking accidentally nicking Prowl in the midst of his… curiosity? Inspection?, so he sits patiently where he is, though he pings the Datsun a warm greeting and rumbles ever so faintly at him.

But then Prowl’s trying to get up into his lap, and Optimus can only chuckle a little and give him a boost up to sit across his lap without too much more hassle (Prowl’s pede heels, for how modest they are, can be a bit sharp).

“Hello. Should I keep my mouth open?”

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He and Optimus do have a long history, but they’ve been.. working it out, as of recent.

And so he smooths the flat of his thumb over a fang with that intensity he gets when he’s calculating something, and rumbles his engines in return. It does not have nearly the same effect as Optimus’ rumbling, but he hopes the message was clear.

“Hello, sir,” he murmurs, finally rocking back on his aft and taking his servo back, optic flickering. “No, I..” A pause, and he cocks his helm. Thinking. “I would like to kiss you. May I?”

[best-for-last]

His own servos find purchase on Prowl’s thighs, simply resting on them; though with how large Optimus’ servos are his thumbs press into Prowl’s inner thighs, right along the ridge of the armor seam there. The rest of his hand is a loose curl of warmth and scuffmarks.

They’ve certainly had their ups and downs between them. Optimus had once fondly boasted that Prowl was one of his closest friends— when had that changed? Probably around the same time that Ratchet started to avoid answering his comms. He’d been… someone else, leading up to the very end of the War. It had been inevitable, but still it pained Optimus to think about, like a fine sliver of glass caught in a tire. He wanted so badly to return to that gentle librarian and steadfast dockhand he had never been, to be a good person again.

The least he can do is try to make it up to his loved ones.

Prowl’s question gets an agreeable hum and Optimus ducks down to press his scarred lips to his former lieutenant’s cheek, teasing. “Here? Where else?”

[to-be-in-service]

Ah. Optimus wants to play this game. Prowl finds that he is very much into it, and he settles down into Optimus’ lap a little more, optic flickering as he shifts said thighs over Optimus’. His servos are warm, and heavy, and.. comforting, actually, in the way that they press against him. Prowl can not boast that he’d had no part in their communication breakdown. Prowl knows he had slipped from the path somewhere along the point that people began to look like obstacles, pieces to be moved around, or used to patch holes in the line. Optimus may not have always asked, but Prowl had certainly been fine with not telling. And it had lead to a finely kept web of lies and blackmail that he’d had to keep up with, lest everything fall down on top of his head like red tape.

He could not fix the manipulations. ..but he could.. stop doing it.

Lips against his cheek, and Prowl head tilts into it, optics dimming. “..my servos? My neck?” Optimus wants to tease- let the game begin.

[to-be-in-service]

{ @best-for-last  } He touches one of Optimus’s fangs. It’s not.. normal, for Prowl to make a move without considering it, unless he’s flipping a table, but.

The fangs aren’t new, but he has always wanted to touch them. His thumb rubs over the flat of it, and his optics flicker as he pauses, considering what he has done. And then he carries on, climbing into Optimus’ lap. He is not one to back down, once he has made his mind up.

[best-for-last]

Optimus isn’t risking accidentally nicking Prowl in the midst of his… curiosity? Inspection?, so he sits patiently where he is, though he pings the Datsun a warm greeting and rumbles ever so faintly at him.

But then Prowl’s trying to get up into his lap, and Optimus can only chuckle a little and give him a boost up to sit across his lap without too much more hassle (Prowl’s pede heels, for how modest they are, can be a bit sharp).

“Hello. Should I keep my mouth open?”

[to-be-in-service]

He and Optimus do have a long history, but they’ve been.. working it out, as of recent.

And so he smooths the flat of his thumb over a fang with that intensity he gets when he’s calculating something, and rumbles his engines in return. It does not have nearly the same effect as Optimus’ rumbling, but he hopes the message was clear.

“Hello, sir,” he murmurs, finally rocking back on his aft and taking his servo back, optic flickering. “No, I..” A pause, and he cocks his helm. Thinking. “I would like to kiss you. May I?”

[to-be-in-service]

{ @best-for-last  } He touches one of Optimus’s fangs. It’s not.. normal, for Prowl to make a move without considering it, unless he’s flipping a table, but.

The fangs aren’t new, but he has always wanted to touch them. His thumb rubs over the flat of it, and his optics flicker as he pauses, considering what he has done. And then he carries on, climbing into Optimus’ lap. He is not one to back down, once he has made his mind up.