dracoqueen22 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
dracoqueen22) wrote2020-02-13 06:20 am
dracoqueen22) wrote2020-02-13 06:20 am
Entry tags:
[TF] Frame of Reference 07/07
Title: Frame of Reference
Universe: Transformers AU
Characters/Pairings: Prowl/Sideswipe/Sunstreaker, Optimus/Jazz, Megatron/Soundwave, Perceptor/Drift, Ratchet/Starscream, Autobot Ensemble, Decepticon Ensemble
Rating: M
Enticements: Sticky Interfacing, Angst, Moral and Ethical Quandries
Description: When Drift falls ill, a dive into his coding reveals a secret the Senate tried to bury, a secret that has altered the course of the war since before its inception. Burdened by the truth, the Autobots try their best to set things right, but in the process, Prowl is forced to face his own involvement in the matter – for better or for worse.
Part Seven
For all that the war was a long, bloody, violent clash of wills and anger, its end is the result of a peaceful negotiation. The only wounds are drawn with words, and Starscream in particular takes a savage glee in pointing out grammatical errors, while he and Ultra Magnus spar over the proper placement of a semi-colon.
Prowl makes adjustments as needed, and allows them to verbally battle over the commas and the spellings and how many “party of the firsts” are needed for a compliance both sides can agree upon.
At some point, Optimus wanders away with Jazz and Megatron disappears with Soundwave, until it is Prowl and Ultra Magnus fighting the good, diplomatic fight against Shockwave and Starscream. The former being a worthy adversary who, while he says little, when he does deign to speak it is a cutting word meant to slice to the spark of the matter.
Rules and regulations are put into play, ones both parties agree to, though not without some grumbling on both parts. Concessions are made. Luckily none are dealbreakers, and when an impasse is reached, Prowl learns to duck and cover. He interjects as needed, but honestly, Ultra Magnus and Starscream look as if they are having so much fun, he hates to interrupt.
Rebuilding is, of course, at the top of the list of ventures to be completed by both factions. It will be helmed by Hoist and Grapple and Scrapper, who will direct the Constructicons and other construction-trained mechs in Iacon. It’s easier to start with Iacon, since they are already present, but plans are made to branch out into other cities once they have a stable ground to consider a “home base”.
A segregated home base, mind. Neither faction leader is foolish enough to think a cease-fire is enough to calm all tensions. The Autobots and the Decepticons will live apart for now, but they will make efforts to desegregate in the future. After all, separation will only lead to further issues.
Leadership is one of the points of contention. No Decepticon wants to suffer under Autobot rule. No Autobot wants to report to a Decepticon. So a compromise must be made.
A triumvirate is established. Optimus is set to maintain leadership over the civilian population, with the last word on policies and procedures, economics, and infrastructure. With the other two triumvers serving as his check and balances.
Megatron will be the High Protector, an old position found in Iacon’s database, with leadership over the military and civil defense, including their Defensors, or a lukewarm version of Iacon’s former Enforcers. He will manage and maintain the military force in all branches of the government, but no overt acts of war can be made without approval from Optimus and Starscream.
Yes. Starscream.
Triumph gleams in the Seeker’s optics. Leadership is all he could have ever wanted, but since no one’s handing him the title of Winglord, he settles for Emirate. They’d had to argue him down from “High Chancellor of the Refulgent Cybertronian Dynasty, Emperor Perpetua and Defender of the Realm.” Though given the amusement curling Starscream’s lips, Prowl gathered that the obscenely long title had been something of a joke.
The Emirate will lead the research and development on Cybertron. They will work to solve the energon crisis, to tether Cybertron to a sun, to create a self-defense system, and first of all, finalize and perfect an anti-virus. Prowl doesn’t think it’s possible for Starscream to be any more smug, and he struts around for weeks after the treaty is signed, convinced he’s going to single-handedly bring Cybertron to a prosperous platinum age.
If he can do it, Prowl will be the first to stand up and applaud.
As a result of the triumvirate, mechs are shuffled around. Ironhide grumbles as he reports to Megatron now, and Jazz technically does as well. They bump shoulders with Cyclonus and Deathsaurus respectively, and Prowl is reasonably certain a pecking order will eventually establish itself. Hopefully with a minor amount of spilled energon.
Optimus appoints Ultra Magnus as his second, and for a moment, Prowl feels the sting of betrayal, as if Optimus’ words of trust had been nothing but empty promises. Until he’s cornered after that meeting by Megatron.
“I asked Optimus not to claim you,” Megatron says as Prowl ventilates and tries not to let his emotions get the best of him.
Surprise ricochets through Prowl’s spark. “What? Why? Do you think me untrustworthy?” Prowl demands, and outrage rises up within him, like an unquenchable tide, and he thinks maybe Sunstreaker and Sideswipe are rubbing off on him, because he has an urge to punch Megatron.
“The opposite.” Megatron straightens, imposing without effort, and though Soundwave isn’t standing there, peering over his shoulder, Prowl takes care. “With Starscream as Emirate, I will need a second. Soundwave will be serving under Optimus, and Shockwave under Starscream. I can think of no other Autobot I would prefer than you.”
Prowl takes a step back before he can compose himself. His sensory panels flick high and rigid. “I apologize, but it sounds like you are asking me to be your lieutenant.”
“That’s exactly what I’m asking.” Megatron folds his arms behind his back, shoulders straightening. “You have the skills, you have the intelligence, and you have the experience. I’ve hated your strategies as much as I’ve admired them. So yes, my offer is genuine.”
Prowl’s mouth opens and closes, but it still takes him a moment to form words. “You think I’m trustworthy? Even knowing what I was created to do?”
“We were all created for a purpose. Most of us have broken free of it.” Megatron tilts his head, lips peeling back over pointed denta, and Prowl nearly smacks himself in the forehead.
Of course Megatron, leader of the Decepticons, leader of a faction determined to break free of its chains, of its restrictions, would understand the struggle of overcoming one’s origins.
“And I know you will ensure something like what happened to you and to my Seekers will never happen again. To anyone,” Megatron says.
Prowl nods slowly, still surprised by the offer and the trust Megatron is giving him. "I... thank you, Lord Megatron," because the treaty has been signed, at least in this preemptive stage, and Megatron is now a mech worth of the title, "I am honored by the offer."
"I'm also obligated to tell you that you can say no," Megatron says with a huff and one hand tapping his comm, as though someone is shouting in his audial about manners and consent. "There is always a place for you in Optimus' service, but I negotiated a chance to ask you first."
Prowl does not trust Decepticons. He does not yet trust the treaty or Megatron. He's tentatively hopeful for the future lying in front of them, but he hasn’t put his entire faith in it yet. There are too many ways it can go wrong.
However, with him as Megatron's second, many of those possibilities are negated. He can help direct the Decepticons toward peace, help guide them, and keep an optic out for potential detractors. He can be a voice of reason while the fallout of the virus continues to send it's ripples through the Decepticon army.
He's most effective when he has a problem in front of him, and the Decepticons are rife with problems that need solving.
"Very well," Prowl says, and he lifts his chin, shoulders squared with determination. "I accept."
There's nothing left afterward but the paperwork. Prowl transfers his former duties into Ultra Magnus' waiting arms, and apologizes to Optimus for taking the new position, when he's only recently regained his previous one.
"It was never lost to you," Optimus reminds him. His smile is bright and full of hope. "I hate to lose your guidance, but we will always be friends.
Sunstreaker and Sideswipe are a little less than enthusiastic, not out of a lack of pride or confidence in Prowl, but a concern of how much danger he'll be in, surrounded by Decepticons, many of whom carry a grudge.
"We're coming with you," Sunstreaker says.
"We aren't taking a badge or anything, but we're coming with you," Sideswipe agrees. They stand in front of the door, arms crossed, a pair of matching guardposts to keep him at bay.
Prowl arches an orbital ridge and continues packing his belongings. "If you thought I intended to go without you, clearly neither of you have been paying attention. Though I didn't want to presume." He gives them an askance look.
Sideswipe snorts. "You didn't think to just ask?"
"You didn't give me a chance," Prowl points out. "You were both on shift. I intended to bring it up, but you beat me to it."
"Oh." Sideswipe shifts, as if guilty, but Sunstreaker drops his arms and joins Prowl, grabbing an empty crate and starting to toss stuff into it.
"Megatron okay with that?" he asks.
Prowl makes a non-committal noise. "You'll have to learn to call him 'Lord Megatron' when in his presence, but yes, he's aware that I'm in a relationship with you two. He knows there's a likelihood you'll be coming with me, not that it matters, since it's a neutral area we're turning into a residence."
"Can't be too careful," Sideswipe says as he finally moves away from the door to grab a crate and start moving stuff into it as well. "Still don't trust this cease-fire. Not until it's been a long while."
"That's fair," Prowl says.
Sunstreaker tosses a few datapads into a crate already half-full with them. "Didn't think we'd live long enough to see peace," he says, and it's soft, contemplative. "Either me or Sideswipe. Figured we'd die in battle. It's kind of weird to think we might actually have a future."
"Don't even know what to do with ourselves, honestly," Sideswipe continues with a half-sparked roll of his shoulders. "I mean, it's not like Cybertron is gonna need a bunch of slum-born sparks afterward. The only thing we're good at is killing."
"That's patently untrue," Prowl says. He stops packing and grabs for Sideswipe's hand, since Sunstreaker is yet out of reach. "You have many talents that can be of use in many ways. And in a time of peace, you can learn any skills you wish." He squeezes Sideswipe's hand, catching his gaze. "You are needed. Both of you."
"It's not just that," Sunstreaker says as Sideswipe squeezes Prowl's hand, perhaps a bit too tightly, like he's afraid of letting go.
Sunstreaker crouches next to Prowl, and his optics are hooded. Dark. Worried. "You're going to be Megatron's second in command," he murmurs. "Eventually, you'll realize you can do better."
It's like a punch to the spark, that they'd think so little of themselves, or have so little faith in him. Perhaps he hasn't told them the truth of his feelings often enough or loud enough. He has been mistaken in thinking they understand the things he doesn't say.
"Bond with me," Prowl says, in what is perhaps the most uncalculated risk he's ever taken, a choice made on impulse, and it's not until the words leave his lips that he realizes precisely how much he wants them to say yes.
They blink at him in eerie unison, their fields spiking with matched surprise.
"Not because I feel I have something to prove," Prowl is quick to clarify, because he can understand how they might leap from one statement to another, "but because we are entering an era of peace, and I can't think of anything I'd want more than the two of you, by my side, for the rest of our lives."
Sideswipe stares at him, stunned, and it's Sunstreaker who leans forward, one hand resting on Prowl's knee. "That's permanent, Prowl."
"I know. That's why I asked for it." Prowl cups Sunstreaker's cheek and pulls him closer, pressing their foreheads together. "I've had you two at my side for decades. I want that to continue into the centuries and millenia we have left."
He pulls back and turns his attention on Sideswipe, tugging Sideswipe's hands so he's close enough for Prowl to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth.
"I want you both, as you are, as you were, and whatever you wish to become," Prowl murmurs, stroking his thumb over the back of Sideswipe's hands. "You can tell me 'no'. You don't have to decide now. But I want you both to know I mean it."
They exchange a glance, and Prowl knows they are talking over their shared bond. There's anticipation in the air, buzzing through their fields.
Prowl waits. Patience is something he has in spades, and for such an important decision, he's willing to wait as long as it takes. He doesn't want any of them to enter into this with regret.
"We love you," Sunstreaker says, at length, his gaze shifting from his twin to Prowl. "Separately and together."
"We never thought we'd find someone we'd consider bonding, or who would want both of us," Sideswipe adds with a crooked, self-deprecating grin. "We're a handful, you know."
Prowl smiles back. "I know. I happen to enjoy that."
Sideswipe snorts a laugh.
Sunstreaker shakes his head. "You two are ridiculous," he says, but his tone is fond rather than irritated.
"We do have an answer," Sideswipe says with a squeeze to Prowl's hand, a stroke of his thumb over Prowl’s palm. "And that answer is yes."
"Yes, Prowl, we'll bond with you," Sunstreaker echoes, leaning in for a nuzzle that sets Prowl's spark awhirl with delight. "But only after you let us sufficiently woo you."
Sideswipe grins and leans in to caress Prowl's other cheek. "We have such ideas," he purrs, and his tone sends a different shiver through Prowl's frame. “You haven’t packed up the berth, right?”
Prowl chuckles as heat flushes his armor and spreads south to his groin. “Not yet. I assumed we’d spend one last night here.”
“You assumed correctly,” Sunstreaker murmurs, and he presses a kiss to the curve of Prowl’s jaw, right below his audial. “We can finish packing tomorrow, yes?”
A low groan spills out of Prowl before he can tamp it down. “Primus, yes.”
Sideswipe chuckles and draws back, only to grab both of Prowl’s hands and pull him to his feet, a show of strength that makes Prowl more than a little weak in the knees. The twins are barely taller than him, but they both out-mass him, with their heavier battle-armor and their reinforced hydraulics.
“We have a lot to celebrate,” Sideswipe says as he draws Prowl toward the berth, and Prowl goes without hesitation, nimbly avoiding a stumble on a crate at the last second. “The end of the war, your new job, our upcoming bond…”
“I want you both,” Prowl says, without hesitation and in answer to the implied question.
Sideswipe grins, and it turns very sly. “Oh, you want a twin sandwich, hm?” he purrs and pulls Prowl into an embrace, his hands wandering and his lips tracing a hot, wet path around the curve of Prowl’s jaw. “I think that can be arranged.”
Sunstreaker presses against Prowl’s back, easily notching between his sensory panels, his arms sliding around Prowl’s belly, for his hands to flatten on it. “Like this?” he asks as he nibbles on the back of Prowl’s neck.
He groans, head tilting forward to lay against Sideswipe’s collar fairing, baring more of his neck to Sunstreaker’s mouth. “Sure,” Prowl says, his array throbbing with a building need.
Sideswipe chuckles and nudges a knee between Prowl’s thighs, the top of it scrubbing his interface panel. “Berth or here on the floor?”
“Berth,” Prowl pants. He’s not as young as he used to be. And why avoid the berth when there’s one right in front of them?
“Such a delicate crystal, our Prowl,” Sideswipe murmurs as he nuzzles Prowl, but there’s no taunt in his tone, just affectionate tease.
He pulls Prowl back to the berth, an awkward shuffling of footsteps as Sunstreaker never strays far from his back, and Sideswipe stays within reach of kissing. Their hands roam. It’s dizzying, the attention they pay him, the full bend of their gaze. It’s overwheming at times, and that’s exactly what Prowl needs, to be overwhelmed by them.
He loves them so much, it’s a swell in his spark, threatening to burst.
They tumble onto the berth. Sideswipe pulls Prowl into his arms, into a straddle of Sideswipe’s lower half, his aft planted on Sideswipe’s groin. Sunstreaker, a few seconds behind, presses against Prowl’s back and lays a string of kisses along his left sensory panel. Fingers brush over Prowl from behind, and he shivers, leaning back into Sunstreaker’s arms.
“Gonna need to loosen you up if you want both of us,” Sunstreaker murmurs.
Prowl moans quietly. He opens his panels and cants his hips back for two fingers to slide into him, slick with lubricant, rubbing pointedly over his tingling nodes.
Sideswipe touches his spike panel and offers a hungry grin. “Let me distract ya, Prowl,” he says. His glossa sweeps over his lips, making them glisten.
Prowl wants to kiss him, but he’d have to lean away from Sunstreaker to do it. Such difficult choices he has at times.
He lets his spike free, sighing as Sideswipe wraps his fingers around him, giving him a stroke. He’s already leaking, spike throbbing. What they stir inside of him has never ceased to amaze.
“You’re so beautiful for us,” Sideswipe says, and there’s something in his tone that speaks of wonder. “We’re the only ones who get to see this side of you, aren’t we?”
Prowl swallows over a lump in his intake, leaning back into Sunstreaker’s fingers, all three of them now, working deep, embracing his nodes and building charge in his valve.
“Only you,” Prowl murmurs, and he shivers as Sunstreaker strokes him perfectly, strokes him deep, and rubs firmly over the cluster of nodes just behind the rim of his valve.
“Open up, Sides,” Sunstreaker says, and the command in his voice makes both Sideswipe and Prowl react, Sideswipe’s optics darkening with hunger, and Prowl’s sensory panels flutter.
Prowl is, or was, the second in command to the Autobots. Now he will stand at Megatron’s side, helping to guide the Decepticons in a post-war world. Authority always cloaks Prowl like a second armor.
However, a single commanding word from Sunstreaker is enough to bring him to his knees. It makes him weak in the best ways, makes him go limp between his twins, offering himself to the pleasure he knows they’re going to give.
There’s a click and a hot length nudges against the inside of Prowl’s thighs, pre-fluid slicking his armor. He groans, sinks down, and Sunstreaker’s lubricant wet fingers help guide Sideswipe inside him.
Prowl shivers, pumping forward into Sideswipe’s grip as Sideswipe’s spike teases along his internal nodes, making them sing. Pressure on his backstrut leans him forward, into Sideswipe’s arms, into range of Sideswipe’s lips for several open-mouthed kisses.
“Mmm, that’s what I was hoping for,” Sideswipe says against Prowl’s lips, his glossa a sweeping tease, his hands shifting to touch Prowl’s sensory panels, caressing every erogenous sensor he and his brother have discovered over the decades.
Prowl quivers between them. His valve flexes around Sideswipe’s spike. Slick noises of lubricant are his only warning before a finger slips in beside Sideswipe’s spike, with no resistance at all.
Sunstreaker releases a soft moan. “Primus, you’re so ready for us now. It’s incredible. You’re incredible.”
Sideswipe chuckles softly and says, too quietly for it go any further than Prowl’s audials, “Sounds like Bluestreak a little, doesn’t he?”
“You hush,” Prowl retorts, and swallows thickly as Sideswipe shifts his hips, shifting his spike inside of Prowl, and sliding over a different sensor, sending a wave of pleasure through his array. “I’m ready, Sunstreaker.”
“Are you sure?” Another finger slides in behind the other, teasing at Prowl’s rim, stroking where he and Sideswipe are already joined. “I don’t want to hurt you. I’m bigger than Sideswipe.”
“We’re twins, you dumbaft!”
Sunstreaker strokes around Prowl’s valve, teasing the delicate folds, igniting his exterior sensors before sweeping over his anterior node. Pleasure jolts through his array and Prowl jerks, his fingers tightening in the berth covers.
“I’m sure,” Prowl says with a groan. He rests his forehead on Sideswipe’s clavicular strut, vent hot and wet through his denta. “Please.”
“Primus, when you beg like that,” Sunstreaker groans as he presses against Prowl, spike sliding firm and slick over his aft. He gently grabs Prowl’s hip with one hand, while the other guides him to Prowl’s valve. “Tell me if I need to stop.”
Prowl curls his fingers into the berth cover. “I won’t need to,” he says as Sideswipe grabs him for a kiss, one that makes his backstrut buzz with heat, and arousal surge through his lines.
The head of Sunstreaker’s spike presses against him, and he moans as Sunstreaker eases into him, stretching his valve wide with each incremental rock of his hips. Heat radiates through his frame, his sensornet swelling with pleasure, and Prowl arches his back, coaxing Sunstreaker deeper.
Both of Sunstreaker’s hands are on his hips now, steadying him, as he presses into Prowl inch by precious inch, and Sideswipe trembles below, on the precipice of wanting to thrust. The care they take with him makes Prowl’s spark throb with affection. It’s impossible not to love them, these two fierce and independent and honorable mechs.
“You okay?” Sunstreaker asks. His tone is strained, his field quivering in the space around them.
They’re both waiting now, holding still, while Prowl’s valve flexes and twitches around their spikes, a stretch that’s a shade too much, but altogether perfect. Their spikes throb, slightly out of sync, and it’s so incongruous, Prowl has to swallow a smile. They are identical in many things, but not this.
Sunstreaker’s arms slide around him, better an embrace, bearing Prowl’s weight. He scatters kisses along the back of Prowl’s sensory panels, the back of his neck, each one leaving a tingle, a rise in charge, in their wake.
Prowl moves, tentatively at first, rocking back and down onto their spikes, moaning as his nodes sing with pleasure and his valve cycles around them, feeding charge into their arrays.
“Perfect,” Prowl finally replies, and moves again, a little faster, a little further, a little harder. He takes them deeper, until they nearly nudge his ceiling node, and lubricant spills from his valve as he trembles. His elbows weaken, and he would have fallen onto Sideswipe, if Sunstreaker hadn’t held him, if Sideswipe hadn’t reached up to brace him.
“Let us,” Sideswipe murmurs as he guides Prowl down, as Sunstreaker curves over him from behind.
“We know the dance,” Sunstreaker says, equally silken, an erotic promise in Prowl’s other audial. Their fields entangle his, wrap him up, pulse to the same beat as the throb of their spikes, still barely arrhythmic.
Prowl shivers and melts between them, his valve opening up, taking them deeper, and they groan in unison as they notch inside of him. Prowl’s sensors flutter madly. Charge licks out, tasting their spikes, and his engines rumble a faster pitch.
It becomes a blur after that, as it so often does, when he’s pressed between them, with two sets of hands to tease his sensors, and two spikes to rub and rake along his innner nodes. For the slick glide of his own spike along Sideswipe’s abdomen, the sensitive head catching and rubbing on seams, leaving streaks of pre-fluid behind.
Prowl moves between them, but only just. There’s very little he needs to do but shift and twitch and enjoy the pleasure they lavish on him. Overload builds and builds inside of him, not an artillery shell launched in the air for a brief, but beautiful explosion, but the slow-climbing wave of a pulse weapon, starting in his groin and branching outward, swallowing him inch by inch.
He overloads with a quiet whine, his valve squeezing down, calipers flexing in a rhythmic wave, his spike spurting over Sideswipe’s abdomen. His vision flickers with static. His sensors go haywire, and the ecstasy lingers around, doubling back in on itself, as they keep moving, as they push him higher and higher.
Prowl moans, limp on top of Sideswipe, feeling them moving inside of him, around him. He’s twitching his hips, up and down, back and forth, as his sensors pulse with pleasure and another overload sends a wave of blue fire across his armor.
“Beautiful,” Sunstreaker murmurs.
“And ours,” Sideswipe echoes.
Yes, Prowl agrees as the pleasure sweeps him up and drags him into an explosive overload that’s enough to knock him into a reset of the very best kind.
He is theirs.
~
"How do you feel?"
Drift frowns and turns his awareness inward. "The same.” He searches his emotions, tries to pick them apart and identify them, but nothing sticks out to him as changed. "Am I supposed to feel different?"
"The virus was subtle. Any alterations it made were subtle, therefore removing it will only bring a subtle change," Ratchet says from over the rim of a datapad where his stylus is moving in quick succession, taking notes Drift assumes.
Drift catches Perceptor's gaze as he nods slowly. "Then how do we know it worked?"
"We trust. And we hope," Ratchet says, and he offers Drift a crooked grin. "Watch and see, too. There may be something buried we didn't know was there that causes it to root itself all over again."
Drift sighs and sweeps a hand over his head. "I suppose that means I'm in for a check-up every month?"
"Week," Ratchet corrects.
Drift sighs again.
Perceptor, however, smiles, and for the first time in weeks, looks genuinely relieved, like a massive weight has been lifted from his shoulders. "It’s a precaution. We want to be sure."
"And I want you to be sure," Drift replies with a lift of his shoulders. "But I'm not looking forward to trekking out to that neutral facility all the uppers are moving into." He gives Ratchet a pointed look. "Since a certain medic here is now answering to a higher power."
Ratchet rolls his optics. "Don't you start." He tucks his datapad away and points at Drift's chestplate. "Take it easy. Don't do anything strenuous. Maybe cuddle this scientist of yours. Enjoy the peace, Drift."
Drift exchanges a knowing look with Perceptor. He always did like to poke the sleeping Sharkticon. "Are you going to take your advice with your own scientist?"
Ratchet rears back, and Drift swears something like a flush colors his face. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Really?" Perceptor's voice takes on a hint of mischief. "Were you not telling me earlier you were unavailable tonight because you had a prior commitment?"
"A date?" Drift prompts with two raised orbital ridges and a devilish grin.
Ratchet sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. "I'll have you two stay out of my business, thank you very much." There's a flutter in his field though, barely discernible, of excitement and anticipation.
It's more than a little wonderful the cease-fire seems to be holding steady, the treaty is one both sides can agree to, and they may actually have a future now. Drift sometimes onlines and wonders if he's trapped in a dream and he never woke up from his glitch, because the world is so changed around him.
"I think it's sweet," Perceptor says.
"Very sweet," Drift echoes with a nod. "You two will make such pretty sparklings."
Ratchet throws his hands into the air and rolls his optics. "I'm ignoring the both of you and pronouncing Drift free to go." He turns and gestures to the door, making shooing motions. "Out, out, out, this medbay is for active patients only."
Drift laughs and hops down from the berth. "Does that mean I don't need to come back next week?"
"Don't make me get my wrench," Ratchet says in a dark tone.
Perceptor's lips twitch before curving into a grin. He hooks an arm around Drift's elbow and tugs him toward the door. "Oh, my. That means he's serious, Drift. We'd better go."
"And I'll see you next week!" Ratchet calls after him.
"Then you can tell me all about your date with Starscream," Drift tosses through the door before he wisely escapes with Perceptor, who shakes his head and gives him an affectionate look.
"Must you provoke him?"
Drift leans in and presses a kiss to Perceptor's cheek. "Yes, I must. It's good for him." He pauses, taking on a note of seriousness. "Ratchet's always been too stressed, too worried about everyone else. I'm glad he's finally chasing something for himself."
"Even if that something is Starscream?"
"Well, no one's perfect."
Perceptor chuckles. "To be fair, I do think they are a good match. They complement each other."
"Yeah, Screamer's not too bad when you give him a chance." Drift leans over, tucking himself further into Perceptor's side and warmth. "Come on. Let's go find that room we've not slept in once and enjoy my freedom and some privacy."
Perceptor's field flirts with his, warm and full of affection. "Both of those things are appealing to me. I've missed you."
"Despite the fact you've not been far from my side since I collapsed."
"You know what I mean."
"Yeah." Drift grins, his insides fluttering and his spark strobing a happy rhythm. "I do."
~
Prowl onlines slowly, luxuriously, his sensors blinking on one by one, registering warmth and comfort and familiar noises. Rather than burst into alertness, he lets himself swim in the hazy in-between, where he’s not quite online, but he’s not quite in recharge either. It’s a resting state, and he hasn’t allowed himself to indulge in it since before the official start of the war.
A quiet, warm chuckle caresses his left audial before lips press a kiss to the curve of his neck. “I know you’re awake,” Sideswipe murmurs, and the touch of his mouth sends a shiver across Prowl’s armor. “Welcome back.”
He distantly registers the delicate swipe of an impossibly soft mesh cloth against his armor, and can tell without looking, Sunstreaker is on the other end of it. Cleaning him. Buffing him. Polishing him. It’s one of the many quiet ways Sunstreaker shows he cares, where Sideswipe is more verbally aggressive about it.
Prowl manages a soft chuckle and onlines his optics. The room has been dimmed while he was drifting, but his chronometer informs him very little time has passed. Judging by the quiet, satisfied thrums of the twins, they had reached their peaks not long after him.
“Mmm. There you are,” Sideswipe says with a kiss to the curve of Prowl’s jaw. “Looked so cute I almost didn’t want to wake you.”
“We do have to finish packing,” Prowl says, making no efforts to move. He quite likes where he is.
“We’ll do that in the morning,” Sunstreaker says, with a tone of finality. “We have plenty of time.”
Yes, they do. There’s no war, no battle on the horizon, no one frantically pinging Prowl’s comm for an emergency meeting because of some horrendous battle-time act.
It’s peaceful.
It’s perfect.
“In the morning,” Prowl agrees and reaches for Sunstreaker, managing to catch him about the wrist. “Finish that in the morning, too. Come lay down next to me instead.”
“Prowl wants his cuddles,” Sideswipe translates.
“Yes, I do,” Prowl confirms, and his spark swells at the delight in Sunstreaker’s optics, the way he melts into the affection Prowl offers him.
Sunstreaker settles beside him carefully, and Sideswipe flops down, and there’s a brief scuffle over who puts their arms where, but Prowl lets them work it out on their own, as he always does. He listens to it with a smile on his lips and affection in his spark, and something a lot like contentment rising up inside of him.
He didn’t know it was possible, but here it is, right in front of him. He has already taken it, and he’ll fight to keep it, and if he’s at all lucky, the fight is truly done, and all that’s left are the consequences.
Fortunately, Prowl has always been good at cleaning up messes.
***
Universe: Transformers AU
Characters/Pairings: Prowl/Sideswipe/Sunstreaker, Optimus/Jazz, Megatron/Soundwave, Perceptor/Drift, Ratchet/Starscream, Autobot Ensemble, Decepticon Ensemble
Rating: M
Enticements: Sticky Interfacing, Angst, Moral and Ethical Quandries
Description: When Drift falls ill, a dive into his coding reveals a secret the Senate tried to bury, a secret that has altered the course of the war since before its inception. Burdened by the truth, the Autobots try their best to set things right, but in the process, Prowl is forced to face his own involvement in the matter – for better or for worse.
For all that the war was a long, bloody, violent clash of wills and anger, its end is the result of a peaceful negotiation. The only wounds are drawn with words, and Starscream in particular takes a savage glee in pointing out grammatical errors, while he and Ultra Magnus spar over the proper placement of a semi-colon.
Prowl makes adjustments as needed, and allows them to verbally battle over the commas and the spellings and how many “party of the firsts” are needed for a compliance both sides can agree upon.
At some point, Optimus wanders away with Jazz and Megatron disappears with Soundwave, until it is Prowl and Ultra Magnus fighting the good, diplomatic fight against Shockwave and Starscream. The former being a worthy adversary who, while he says little, when he does deign to speak it is a cutting word meant to slice to the spark of the matter.
Rules and regulations are put into play, ones both parties agree to, though not without some grumbling on both parts. Concessions are made. Luckily none are dealbreakers, and when an impasse is reached, Prowl learns to duck and cover. He interjects as needed, but honestly, Ultra Magnus and Starscream look as if they are having so much fun, he hates to interrupt.
Rebuilding is, of course, at the top of the list of ventures to be completed by both factions. It will be helmed by Hoist and Grapple and Scrapper, who will direct the Constructicons and other construction-trained mechs in Iacon. It’s easier to start with Iacon, since they are already present, but plans are made to branch out into other cities once they have a stable ground to consider a “home base”.
A segregated home base, mind. Neither faction leader is foolish enough to think a cease-fire is enough to calm all tensions. The Autobots and the Decepticons will live apart for now, but they will make efforts to desegregate in the future. After all, separation will only lead to further issues.
Leadership is one of the points of contention. No Decepticon wants to suffer under Autobot rule. No Autobot wants to report to a Decepticon. So a compromise must be made.
A triumvirate is established. Optimus is set to maintain leadership over the civilian population, with the last word on policies and procedures, economics, and infrastructure. With the other two triumvers serving as his check and balances.
Megatron will be the High Protector, an old position found in Iacon’s database, with leadership over the military and civil defense, including their Defensors, or a lukewarm version of Iacon’s former Enforcers. He will manage and maintain the military force in all branches of the government, but no overt acts of war can be made without approval from Optimus and Starscream.
Yes. Starscream.
Triumph gleams in the Seeker’s optics. Leadership is all he could have ever wanted, but since no one’s handing him the title of Winglord, he settles for Emirate. They’d had to argue him down from “High Chancellor of the Refulgent Cybertronian Dynasty, Emperor Perpetua and Defender of the Realm.” Though given the amusement curling Starscream’s lips, Prowl gathered that the obscenely long title had been something of a joke.
The Emirate will lead the research and development on Cybertron. They will work to solve the energon crisis, to tether Cybertron to a sun, to create a self-defense system, and first of all, finalize and perfect an anti-virus. Prowl doesn’t think it’s possible for Starscream to be any more smug, and he struts around for weeks after the treaty is signed, convinced he’s going to single-handedly bring Cybertron to a prosperous platinum age.
If he can do it, Prowl will be the first to stand up and applaud.
As a result of the triumvirate, mechs are shuffled around. Ironhide grumbles as he reports to Megatron now, and Jazz technically does as well. They bump shoulders with Cyclonus and Deathsaurus respectively, and Prowl is reasonably certain a pecking order will eventually establish itself. Hopefully with a minor amount of spilled energon.
Optimus appoints Ultra Magnus as his second, and for a moment, Prowl feels the sting of betrayal, as if Optimus’ words of trust had been nothing but empty promises. Until he’s cornered after that meeting by Megatron.
“I asked Optimus not to claim you,” Megatron says as Prowl ventilates and tries not to let his emotions get the best of him.
Surprise ricochets through Prowl’s spark. “What? Why? Do you think me untrustworthy?” Prowl demands, and outrage rises up within him, like an unquenchable tide, and he thinks maybe Sunstreaker and Sideswipe are rubbing off on him, because he has an urge to punch Megatron.
“The opposite.” Megatron straightens, imposing without effort, and though Soundwave isn’t standing there, peering over his shoulder, Prowl takes care. “With Starscream as Emirate, I will need a second. Soundwave will be serving under Optimus, and Shockwave under Starscream. I can think of no other Autobot I would prefer than you.”
Prowl takes a step back before he can compose himself. His sensory panels flick high and rigid. “I apologize, but it sounds like you are asking me to be your lieutenant.”
“That’s exactly what I’m asking.” Megatron folds his arms behind his back, shoulders straightening. “You have the skills, you have the intelligence, and you have the experience. I’ve hated your strategies as much as I’ve admired them. So yes, my offer is genuine.”
Prowl’s mouth opens and closes, but it still takes him a moment to form words. “You think I’m trustworthy? Even knowing what I was created to do?”
“We were all created for a purpose. Most of us have broken free of it.” Megatron tilts his head, lips peeling back over pointed denta, and Prowl nearly smacks himself in the forehead.
Of course Megatron, leader of the Decepticons, leader of a faction determined to break free of its chains, of its restrictions, would understand the struggle of overcoming one’s origins.
“And I know you will ensure something like what happened to you and to my Seekers will never happen again. To anyone,” Megatron says.
Prowl nods slowly, still surprised by the offer and the trust Megatron is giving him. "I... thank you, Lord Megatron," because the treaty has been signed, at least in this preemptive stage, and Megatron is now a mech worth of the title, "I am honored by the offer."
"I'm also obligated to tell you that you can say no," Megatron says with a huff and one hand tapping his comm, as though someone is shouting in his audial about manners and consent. "There is always a place for you in Optimus' service, but I negotiated a chance to ask you first."
Prowl does not trust Decepticons. He does not yet trust the treaty or Megatron. He's tentatively hopeful for the future lying in front of them, but he hasn’t put his entire faith in it yet. There are too many ways it can go wrong.
However, with him as Megatron's second, many of those possibilities are negated. He can help direct the Decepticons toward peace, help guide them, and keep an optic out for potential detractors. He can be a voice of reason while the fallout of the virus continues to send it's ripples through the Decepticon army.
He's most effective when he has a problem in front of him, and the Decepticons are rife with problems that need solving.
"Very well," Prowl says, and he lifts his chin, shoulders squared with determination. "I accept."
There's nothing left afterward but the paperwork. Prowl transfers his former duties into Ultra Magnus' waiting arms, and apologizes to Optimus for taking the new position, when he's only recently regained his previous one.
"It was never lost to you," Optimus reminds him. His smile is bright and full of hope. "I hate to lose your guidance, but we will always be friends.
Sunstreaker and Sideswipe are a little less than enthusiastic, not out of a lack of pride or confidence in Prowl, but a concern of how much danger he'll be in, surrounded by Decepticons, many of whom carry a grudge.
"We're coming with you," Sunstreaker says.
"We aren't taking a badge or anything, but we're coming with you," Sideswipe agrees. They stand in front of the door, arms crossed, a pair of matching guardposts to keep him at bay.
Prowl arches an orbital ridge and continues packing his belongings. "If you thought I intended to go without you, clearly neither of you have been paying attention. Though I didn't want to presume." He gives them an askance look.
Sideswipe snorts. "You didn't think to just ask?"
"You didn't give me a chance," Prowl points out. "You were both on shift. I intended to bring it up, but you beat me to it."
"Oh." Sideswipe shifts, as if guilty, but Sunstreaker drops his arms and joins Prowl, grabbing an empty crate and starting to toss stuff into it.
"Megatron okay with that?" he asks.
Prowl makes a non-committal noise. "You'll have to learn to call him 'Lord Megatron' when in his presence, but yes, he's aware that I'm in a relationship with you two. He knows there's a likelihood you'll be coming with me, not that it matters, since it's a neutral area we're turning into a residence."
"Can't be too careful," Sideswipe says as he finally moves away from the door to grab a crate and start moving stuff into it as well. "Still don't trust this cease-fire. Not until it's been a long while."
"That's fair," Prowl says.
Sunstreaker tosses a few datapads into a crate already half-full with them. "Didn't think we'd live long enough to see peace," he says, and it's soft, contemplative. "Either me or Sideswipe. Figured we'd die in battle. It's kind of weird to think we might actually have a future."
"Don't even know what to do with ourselves, honestly," Sideswipe continues with a half-sparked roll of his shoulders. "I mean, it's not like Cybertron is gonna need a bunch of slum-born sparks afterward. The only thing we're good at is killing."
"That's patently untrue," Prowl says. He stops packing and grabs for Sideswipe's hand, since Sunstreaker is yet out of reach. "You have many talents that can be of use in many ways. And in a time of peace, you can learn any skills you wish." He squeezes Sideswipe's hand, catching his gaze. "You are needed. Both of you."
"It's not just that," Sunstreaker says as Sideswipe squeezes Prowl's hand, perhaps a bit too tightly, like he's afraid of letting go.
Sunstreaker crouches next to Prowl, and his optics are hooded. Dark. Worried. "You're going to be Megatron's second in command," he murmurs. "Eventually, you'll realize you can do better."
It's like a punch to the spark, that they'd think so little of themselves, or have so little faith in him. Perhaps he hasn't told them the truth of his feelings often enough or loud enough. He has been mistaken in thinking they understand the things he doesn't say.
"Bond with me," Prowl says, in what is perhaps the most uncalculated risk he's ever taken, a choice made on impulse, and it's not until the words leave his lips that he realizes precisely how much he wants them to say yes.
They blink at him in eerie unison, their fields spiking with matched surprise.
"Not because I feel I have something to prove," Prowl is quick to clarify, because he can understand how they might leap from one statement to another, "but because we are entering an era of peace, and I can't think of anything I'd want more than the two of you, by my side, for the rest of our lives."
Sideswipe stares at him, stunned, and it's Sunstreaker who leans forward, one hand resting on Prowl's knee. "That's permanent, Prowl."
"I know. That's why I asked for it." Prowl cups Sunstreaker's cheek and pulls him closer, pressing their foreheads together. "I've had you two at my side for decades. I want that to continue into the centuries and millenia we have left."
He pulls back and turns his attention on Sideswipe, tugging Sideswipe's hands so he's close enough for Prowl to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth.
"I want you both, as you are, as you were, and whatever you wish to become," Prowl murmurs, stroking his thumb over the back of Sideswipe's hands. "You can tell me 'no'. You don't have to decide now. But I want you both to know I mean it."
They exchange a glance, and Prowl knows they are talking over their shared bond. There's anticipation in the air, buzzing through their fields.
Prowl waits. Patience is something he has in spades, and for such an important decision, he's willing to wait as long as it takes. He doesn't want any of them to enter into this with regret.
"We love you," Sunstreaker says, at length, his gaze shifting from his twin to Prowl. "Separately and together."
"We never thought we'd find someone we'd consider bonding, or who would want both of us," Sideswipe adds with a crooked, self-deprecating grin. "We're a handful, you know."
Prowl smiles back. "I know. I happen to enjoy that."
Sideswipe snorts a laugh.
Sunstreaker shakes his head. "You two are ridiculous," he says, but his tone is fond rather than irritated.
"We do have an answer," Sideswipe says with a squeeze to Prowl's hand, a stroke of his thumb over Prowl’s palm. "And that answer is yes."
"Yes, Prowl, we'll bond with you," Sunstreaker echoes, leaning in for a nuzzle that sets Prowl's spark awhirl with delight. "But only after you let us sufficiently woo you."
Sideswipe grins and leans in to caress Prowl's other cheek. "We have such ideas," he purrs, and his tone sends a different shiver through Prowl's frame. “You haven’t packed up the berth, right?”
Prowl chuckles as heat flushes his armor and spreads south to his groin. “Not yet. I assumed we’d spend one last night here.”
“You assumed correctly,” Sunstreaker murmurs, and he presses a kiss to the curve of Prowl’s jaw, right below his audial. “We can finish packing tomorrow, yes?”
A low groan spills out of Prowl before he can tamp it down. “Primus, yes.”
Sideswipe chuckles and draws back, only to grab both of Prowl’s hands and pull him to his feet, a show of strength that makes Prowl more than a little weak in the knees. The twins are barely taller than him, but they both out-mass him, with their heavier battle-armor and their reinforced hydraulics.
“We have a lot to celebrate,” Sideswipe says as he draws Prowl toward the berth, and Prowl goes without hesitation, nimbly avoiding a stumble on a crate at the last second. “The end of the war, your new job, our upcoming bond…”
“I want you both,” Prowl says, without hesitation and in answer to the implied question.
Sideswipe grins, and it turns very sly. “Oh, you want a twin sandwich, hm?” he purrs and pulls Prowl into an embrace, his hands wandering and his lips tracing a hot, wet path around the curve of Prowl’s jaw. “I think that can be arranged.”
Sunstreaker presses against Prowl’s back, easily notching between his sensory panels, his arms sliding around Prowl’s belly, for his hands to flatten on it. “Like this?” he asks as he nibbles on the back of Prowl’s neck.
He groans, head tilting forward to lay against Sideswipe’s collar fairing, baring more of his neck to Sunstreaker’s mouth. “Sure,” Prowl says, his array throbbing with a building need.
Sideswipe chuckles and nudges a knee between Prowl’s thighs, the top of it scrubbing his interface panel. “Berth or here on the floor?”
“Berth,” Prowl pants. He’s not as young as he used to be. And why avoid the berth when there’s one right in front of them?
“Such a delicate crystal, our Prowl,” Sideswipe murmurs as he nuzzles Prowl, but there’s no taunt in his tone, just affectionate tease.
He pulls Prowl back to the berth, an awkward shuffling of footsteps as Sunstreaker never strays far from his back, and Sideswipe stays within reach of kissing. Their hands roam. It’s dizzying, the attention they pay him, the full bend of their gaze. It’s overwheming at times, and that’s exactly what Prowl needs, to be overwhelmed by them.
He loves them so much, it’s a swell in his spark, threatening to burst.
They tumble onto the berth. Sideswipe pulls Prowl into his arms, into a straddle of Sideswipe’s lower half, his aft planted on Sideswipe’s groin. Sunstreaker, a few seconds behind, presses against Prowl’s back and lays a string of kisses along his left sensory panel. Fingers brush over Prowl from behind, and he shivers, leaning back into Sunstreaker’s arms.
“Gonna need to loosen you up if you want both of us,” Sunstreaker murmurs.
Prowl moans quietly. He opens his panels and cants his hips back for two fingers to slide into him, slick with lubricant, rubbing pointedly over his tingling nodes.
Sideswipe touches his spike panel and offers a hungry grin. “Let me distract ya, Prowl,” he says. His glossa sweeps over his lips, making them glisten.
Prowl wants to kiss him, but he’d have to lean away from Sunstreaker to do it. Such difficult choices he has at times.
He lets his spike free, sighing as Sideswipe wraps his fingers around him, giving him a stroke. He’s already leaking, spike throbbing. What they stir inside of him has never ceased to amaze.
“You’re so beautiful for us,” Sideswipe says, and there’s something in his tone that speaks of wonder. “We’re the only ones who get to see this side of you, aren’t we?”
Prowl swallows over a lump in his intake, leaning back into Sunstreaker’s fingers, all three of them now, working deep, embracing his nodes and building charge in his valve.
“Only you,” Prowl murmurs, and he shivers as Sunstreaker strokes him perfectly, strokes him deep, and rubs firmly over the cluster of nodes just behind the rim of his valve.
“Open up, Sides,” Sunstreaker says, and the command in his voice makes both Sideswipe and Prowl react, Sideswipe’s optics darkening with hunger, and Prowl’s sensory panels flutter.
Prowl is, or was, the second in command to the Autobots. Now he will stand at Megatron’s side, helping to guide the Decepticons in a post-war world. Authority always cloaks Prowl like a second armor.
However, a single commanding word from Sunstreaker is enough to bring him to his knees. It makes him weak in the best ways, makes him go limp between his twins, offering himself to the pleasure he knows they’re going to give.
There’s a click and a hot length nudges against the inside of Prowl’s thighs, pre-fluid slicking his armor. He groans, sinks down, and Sunstreaker’s lubricant wet fingers help guide Sideswipe inside him.
Prowl shivers, pumping forward into Sideswipe’s grip as Sideswipe’s spike teases along his internal nodes, making them sing. Pressure on his backstrut leans him forward, into Sideswipe’s arms, into range of Sideswipe’s lips for several open-mouthed kisses.
“Mmm, that’s what I was hoping for,” Sideswipe says against Prowl’s lips, his glossa a sweeping tease, his hands shifting to touch Prowl’s sensory panels, caressing every erogenous sensor he and his brother have discovered over the decades.
Prowl quivers between them. His valve flexes around Sideswipe’s spike. Slick noises of lubricant are his only warning before a finger slips in beside Sideswipe’s spike, with no resistance at all.
Sunstreaker releases a soft moan. “Primus, you’re so ready for us now. It’s incredible. You’re incredible.”
Sideswipe chuckles softly and says, too quietly for it go any further than Prowl’s audials, “Sounds like Bluestreak a little, doesn’t he?”
“You hush,” Prowl retorts, and swallows thickly as Sideswipe shifts his hips, shifting his spike inside of Prowl, and sliding over a different sensor, sending a wave of pleasure through his array. “I’m ready, Sunstreaker.”
“Are you sure?” Another finger slides in behind the other, teasing at Prowl’s rim, stroking where he and Sideswipe are already joined. “I don’t want to hurt you. I’m bigger than Sideswipe.”
“We’re twins, you dumbaft!”
Sunstreaker strokes around Prowl’s valve, teasing the delicate folds, igniting his exterior sensors before sweeping over his anterior node. Pleasure jolts through his array and Prowl jerks, his fingers tightening in the berth covers.
“I’m sure,” Prowl says with a groan. He rests his forehead on Sideswipe’s clavicular strut, vent hot and wet through his denta. “Please.”
“Primus, when you beg like that,” Sunstreaker groans as he presses against Prowl, spike sliding firm and slick over his aft. He gently grabs Prowl’s hip with one hand, while the other guides him to Prowl’s valve. “Tell me if I need to stop.”
Prowl curls his fingers into the berth cover. “I won’t need to,” he says as Sideswipe grabs him for a kiss, one that makes his backstrut buzz with heat, and arousal surge through his lines.
The head of Sunstreaker’s spike presses against him, and he moans as Sunstreaker eases into him, stretching his valve wide with each incremental rock of his hips. Heat radiates through his frame, his sensornet swelling with pleasure, and Prowl arches his back, coaxing Sunstreaker deeper.
Both of Sunstreaker’s hands are on his hips now, steadying him, as he presses into Prowl inch by precious inch, and Sideswipe trembles below, on the precipice of wanting to thrust. The care they take with him makes Prowl’s spark throb with affection. It’s impossible not to love them, these two fierce and independent and honorable mechs.
“You okay?” Sunstreaker asks. His tone is strained, his field quivering in the space around them.
They’re both waiting now, holding still, while Prowl’s valve flexes and twitches around their spikes, a stretch that’s a shade too much, but altogether perfect. Their spikes throb, slightly out of sync, and it’s so incongruous, Prowl has to swallow a smile. They are identical in many things, but not this.
Sunstreaker’s arms slide around him, better an embrace, bearing Prowl’s weight. He scatters kisses along the back of Prowl’s sensory panels, the back of his neck, each one leaving a tingle, a rise in charge, in their wake.
Prowl moves, tentatively at first, rocking back and down onto their spikes, moaning as his nodes sing with pleasure and his valve cycles around them, feeding charge into their arrays.
“Perfect,” Prowl finally replies, and moves again, a little faster, a little further, a little harder. He takes them deeper, until they nearly nudge his ceiling node, and lubricant spills from his valve as he trembles. His elbows weaken, and he would have fallen onto Sideswipe, if Sunstreaker hadn’t held him, if Sideswipe hadn’t reached up to brace him.
“Let us,” Sideswipe murmurs as he guides Prowl down, as Sunstreaker curves over him from behind.
“We know the dance,” Sunstreaker says, equally silken, an erotic promise in Prowl’s other audial. Their fields entangle his, wrap him up, pulse to the same beat as the throb of their spikes, still barely arrhythmic.
Prowl shivers and melts between them, his valve opening up, taking them deeper, and they groan in unison as they notch inside of him. Prowl’s sensors flutter madly. Charge licks out, tasting their spikes, and his engines rumble a faster pitch.
It becomes a blur after that, as it so often does, when he’s pressed between them, with two sets of hands to tease his sensors, and two spikes to rub and rake along his innner nodes. For the slick glide of his own spike along Sideswipe’s abdomen, the sensitive head catching and rubbing on seams, leaving streaks of pre-fluid behind.
Prowl moves between them, but only just. There’s very little he needs to do but shift and twitch and enjoy the pleasure they lavish on him. Overload builds and builds inside of him, not an artillery shell launched in the air for a brief, but beautiful explosion, but the slow-climbing wave of a pulse weapon, starting in his groin and branching outward, swallowing him inch by inch.
He overloads with a quiet whine, his valve squeezing down, calipers flexing in a rhythmic wave, his spike spurting over Sideswipe’s abdomen. His vision flickers with static. His sensors go haywire, and the ecstasy lingers around, doubling back in on itself, as they keep moving, as they push him higher and higher.
Prowl moans, limp on top of Sideswipe, feeling them moving inside of him, around him. He’s twitching his hips, up and down, back and forth, as his sensors pulse with pleasure and another overload sends a wave of blue fire across his armor.
“Beautiful,” Sunstreaker murmurs.
“And ours,” Sideswipe echoes.
Yes, Prowl agrees as the pleasure sweeps him up and drags him into an explosive overload that’s enough to knock him into a reset of the very best kind.
He is theirs.
"How do you feel?"
Drift frowns and turns his awareness inward. "The same.” He searches his emotions, tries to pick them apart and identify them, but nothing sticks out to him as changed. "Am I supposed to feel different?"
"The virus was subtle. Any alterations it made were subtle, therefore removing it will only bring a subtle change," Ratchet says from over the rim of a datapad where his stylus is moving in quick succession, taking notes Drift assumes.
Drift catches Perceptor's gaze as he nods slowly. "Then how do we know it worked?"
"We trust. And we hope," Ratchet says, and he offers Drift a crooked grin. "Watch and see, too. There may be something buried we didn't know was there that causes it to root itself all over again."
Drift sighs and sweeps a hand over his head. "I suppose that means I'm in for a check-up every month?"
"Week," Ratchet corrects.
Drift sighs again.
Perceptor, however, smiles, and for the first time in weeks, looks genuinely relieved, like a massive weight has been lifted from his shoulders. "It’s a precaution. We want to be sure."
"And I want you to be sure," Drift replies with a lift of his shoulders. "But I'm not looking forward to trekking out to that neutral facility all the uppers are moving into." He gives Ratchet a pointed look. "Since a certain medic here is now answering to a higher power."
Ratchet rolls his optics. "Don't you start." He tucks his datapad away and points at Drift's chestplate. "Take it easy. Don't do anything strenuous. Maybe cuddle this scientist of yours. Enjoy the peace, Drift."
Drift exchanges a knowing look with Perceptor. He always did like to poke the sleeping Sharkticon. "Are you going to take your advice with your own scientist?"
Ratchet rears back, and Drift swears something like a flush colors his face. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Really?" Perceptor's voice takes on a hint of mischief. "Were you not telling me earlier you were unavailable tonight because you had a prior commitment?"
"A date?" Drift prompts with two raised orbital ridges and a devilish grin.
Ratchet sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. "I'll have you two stay out of my business, thank you very much." There's a flutter in his field though, barely discernible, of excitement and anticipation.
It's more than a little wonderful the cease-fire seems to be holding steady, the treaty is one both sides can agree to, and they may actually have a future now. Drift sometimes onlines and wonders if he's trapped in a dream and he never woke up from his glitch, because the world is so changed around him.
"I think it's sweet," Perceptor says.
"Very sweet," Drift echoes with a nod. "You two will make such pretty sparklings."
Ratchet throws his hands into the air and rolls his optics. "I'm ignoring the both of you and pronouncing Drift free to go." He turns and gestures to the door, making shooing motions. "Out, out, out, this medbay is for active patients only."
Drift laughs and hops down from the berth. "Does that mean I don't need to come back next week?"
"Don't make me get my wrench," Ratchet says in a dark tone.
Perceptor's lips twitch before curving into a grin. He hooks an arm around Drift's elbow and tugs him toward the door. "Oh, my. That means he's serious, Drift. We'd better go."
"And I'll see you next week!" Ratchet calls after him.
"Then you can tell me all about your date with Starscream," Drift tosses through the door before he wisely escapes with Perceptor, who shakes his head and gives him an affectionate look.
"Must you provoke him?"
Drift leans in and presses a kiss to Perceptor's cheek. "Yes, I must. It's good for him." He pauses, taking on a note of seriousness. "Ratchet's always been too stressed, too worried about everyone else. I'm glad he's finally chasing something for himself."
"Even if that something is Starscream?"
"Well, no one's perfect."
Perceptor chuckles. "To be fair, I do think they are a good match. They complement each other."
"Yeah, Screamer's not too bad when you give him a chance." Drift leans over, tucking himself further into Perceptor's side and warmth. "Come on. Let's go find that room we've not slept in once and enjoy my freedom and some privacy."
Perceptor's field flirts with his, warm and full of affection. "Both of those things are appealing to me. I've missed you."
"Despite the fact you've not been far from my side since I collapsed."
"You know what I mean."
"Yeah." Drift grins, his insides fluttering and his spark strobing a happy rhythm. "I do."
Prowl onlines slowly, luxuriously, his sensors blinking on one by one, registering warmth and comfort and familiar noises. Rather than burst into alertness, he lets himself swim in the hazy in-between, where he’s not quite online, but he’s not quite in recharge either. It’s a resting state, and he hasn’t allowed himself to indulge in it since before the official start of the war.
A quiet, warm chuckle caresses his left audial before lips press a kiss to the curve of his neck. “I know you’re awake,” Sideswipe murmurs, and the touch of his mouth sends a shiver across Prowl’s armor. “Welcome back.”
He distantly registers the delicate swipe of an impossibly soft mesh cloth against his armor, and can tell without looking, Sunstreaker is on the other end of it. Cleaning him. Buffing him. Polishing him. It’s one of the many quiet ways Sunstreaker shows he cares, where Sideswipe is more verbally aggressive about it.
Prowl manages a soft chuckle and onlines his optics. The room has been dimmed while he was drifting, but his chronometer informs him very little time has passed. Judging by the quiet, satisfied thrums of the twins, they had reached their peaks not long after him.
“Mmm. There you are,” Sideswipe says with a kiss to the curve of Prowl’s jaw. “Looked so cute I almost didn’t want to wake you.”
“We do have to finish packing,” Prowl says, making no efforts to move. He quite likes where he is.
“We’ll do that in the morning,” Sunstreaker says, with a tone of finality. “We have plenty of time.”
Yes, they do. There’s no war, no battle on the horizon, no one frantically pinging Prowl’s comm for an emergency meeting because of some horrendous battle-time act.
It’s peaceful.
It’s perfect.
“In the morning,” Prowl agrees and reaches for Sunstreaker, managing to catch him about the wrist. “Finish that in the morning, too. Come lay down next to me instead.”
“Prowl wants his cuddles,” Sideswipe translates.
“Yes, I do,” Prowl confirms, and his spark swells at the delight in Sunstreaker’s optics, the way he melts into the affection Prowl offers him.
Sunstreaker settles beside him carefully, and Sideswipe flops down, and there’s a brief scuffle over who puts their arms where, but Prowl lets them work it out on their own, as he always does. He listens to it with a smile on his lips and affection in his spark, and something a lot like contentment rising up inside of him.
He didn’t know it was possible, but here it is, right in front of him. He has already taken it, and he’ll fight to keep it, and if he’s at all lucky, the fight is truly done, and all that’s left are the consequences.
Fortunately, Prowl has always been good at cleaning up messes.