Title: Privileges of Rank
Pairing: Sentinel Prime/Prowl
Universe: G1 (IDW)
Summary: Rank comes with certain privileges... Sentinel's favorite is getting to bend his second over a desk.
"Prowl. My office, if you please."
Prowl looked up when Sentinel Prime spoke. Despite the wording, it was clearly an order. He nodded in acknowledgment, taking the datapad from Red Alert. "See what you can do to back trace his financial transactions. He'll have made sure he could access his finances from his former residences, and it's likely that he'll be holed up somewhere familiar to him."
Red Alert made a noise of agreement, already turning back to his computer.
Sentinel Prime waited for Prowl to walk into his office, then followed him inside, palming the lock as he did.
"We managed to trace the arms dealer as far as Altihex before we lost him. We're-"
"I don't care about Swindle," Sentinel interrupted him, taking the datapad out of Prowl's hands and tossing it on his desk. "That's not what I called you in here for."
"Sir?" Prowl asked, voice rising slightly. He had a feeling he knew exactly what Sentinel meant...
His feeling was confirmed when Sentinel stepped forward, looming over him and crowding him back until he hit the desk. Trapped between it and Sentinel Prime's bulk, Prowl couldn't do anything but protest.
"Sir, this... this is highly inappropriate – we're in your office..."
"Yes," Sentinel rumbled, close enough that Prowl could feel his engine purring. "My office." He placed his hands on the desk to either side of Prowl, leaning over the tactician. "I should be able to do anything I like in my office, don't you think?"
"I... I don't..." Prowl stammered, his voice catching as Sentinel slid his knee between Prowl's legs. "Sentinel..."
"Yes?" Sentinel purred, wrapping an arm around Prowl's back to pull the smaller mech tight against him.
"I'm on duty..." Prowl tried one last time, trying to ignore the hand that slid down his hip.
"Your objection is noted," Sentinel told him with amusement, enjoying the way Prowl shivered against him.
When Sentinel's wandering hand brushed against his door-wings, Prowl admitted defeat. "...You remembered to lock the door this time, right?" he asked, his normally soft voice harsh with suppressed desire.
"Mmhm." Sentinel buried his face in Prowl's neck, hiding his grin as Prowl finally brought his hands up to cling to his commander. Then he turned his attention back to his second's door-wings, marveling in the sheer elegance of the design, and in the wonderful needy little gasps Prowl made when he traced his fingers along the bottom edges.
Tilting his head, Sentinel nuzzled under the edge of Prowl's jaw while his fingers traced the hinges of those beautiful door-wings, drawing a moan out of the normally stoic tactician. Frag, he loved that sound... and he wanted more of it. And louder.
The door chime interrupted them. Sentinel clamped a massive hand over Prowl's mouth, turning slightly to glare at the door. "Yes?" he demanded. Frag it all, if this isn't a matter of life or death...
"Sir? The Senate's on the line for you..." came the tremulous voice from the other side of the door.
Sentinel bit back a curse. Fragging senate and their fragging timing... Prowl had frozen in place at the sound of the chime, only the occasional tremor giving any sign of the suppressed need Sentinel could still see in his optics.
He brushed his knuckles down Prowl's face with surprising gentleness. "My quarters. Tonight," he murmured. Then he pushed away from the desk, striding towards the door and palming it open.
Prowl leaned heavily against the desk for some time after Sentinel left, trying to regain his composure. Eventually he straightened and retrieved his datapad from where it had fallen to the floor, only the barest quiver in his door-wings betraying his anticipation.
Just need to make it through the rest of the shift...