A Second Chance.
As Optimus watched patiently, Prowl and Jazz came out of their offlined states, both aware that something unusual had happened, that somebody else had joined them in their celebration of each other.
Optimus could have left at any stage. He could have slipped out as they recovered. He could have crept out as they roused. He did neither, instead, he just stood there and waited.
As the two mechs separated and turned, they spotted Optimus. Prowl's optics widened but Jazz just chuckled.
"Thanks for the helpin' hand, Boss, wanna come in and have a more reciprocal role?" he invited with a saucy wink and a provocative chest-thrust.
Optimus was tempted, but did not wish to intrude on the two's reunion.
"This is your time together. I can leave, lock the door and ensure you're not disturbed," he suggested.
"No, Prime, it is no intrusion. You are undoubtedly more skilled than either of us. Your participation would be valued," Prowl stated.
"Yeah, Optimus, come on!" Jazz laughed. "I believe the human expression is "the more the merrier."
Optimus needed no more persuasion. It had been a long time since he had engaged in interfacing for the sheer pleasure of it for himself. He had done so to relieve tension, reinforce trust, reassure and help to heal, but not, for a long time, to simply enjoy himself. He had been invited, it would be rude to refuse, surely?
He stepped forwards, extending his arms towards the two; they gripped his wrists and drew him down, allowing him to gather them close as they both engaged in a detailed exploration of their Leader's body. Curious digits probed at seams and teased grillework, caressed vent-entrances and stroked at edges. Optimus twitched and gasped, tensing under their ministrations, his own hands finding their way to delicate sensor arrays and doorwings.
Prowl gasped as a finger first poked at gently, than stroked a door hinge, and as Prowl's own fingers ran along the joins of Optimus' battle mask, the two halves parted, revealing a mouth whose corners were curved in a delighted sensuous smile. Prowl was unable to control himself any further: his own derma moved forwards to capture those of his Leader in a heated kiss.
Optimus responded with a matching passion, his hand pressing on Prowl's back to hold him tight against him, as Prowl's hands moved down to Optimus' neck to caress and stroke cables and wires. Optimus groaned into his tactician's mouth, both at that touch and the dexterous and gentle fingers of the silver saboteur, who was touching and caressing his abdominal grille. In retaliation, he found one of Jazz's upper wheels and began kneading it sensuously. Jazz's engine kicked in as he slid lower in order to tease a fuel valve of Optimus' with his glossa, which brought a deep groan and a shudder of desire from the Prime. Jazz, smiled, and moved one of his hands over to Prowl, slipping slender, pointed digit-tips into a handy seam.
Prowl gasped and jerked, the motion involuntarily separating his and Optimus' derma: Optimus moved his hand up to cup Prowl's head before pulling it back down in order to resume the interrupted kiss. Optimus' strong yet careful glossa entered the tactician's mouth cavity, skilfully exploring the space, finding the tactician's own glossa, the tip twisting around to capture and tease it forwards, the two twining as Prowl responded eagerly. It left Optimus' hand free to slide back down to caress a doorwing, as his other continued to massage Jazz's tyre.
The saboteur, in the meantime, moved his other hand to a side-seam of Optimus, both hands teasing wires and rubbing nodes as his glossa plunged deep into Optimus' valve, and his engine vibrated against his leader's abdomen. Optimus twitched and keened into Prowl's mouth at this stimulation, that and Prowl's own ministrations on his neck cables. Optimus' own engine growled into life, the deep, powerful vibrations transmitted through his two officer's frames, and, so stimulated, Prowl's own engine-tone joined the other two a few astroseconds later.
All were building a charge, but under the double assault, the larger mech didn't stand much of a chance: as the hands and glossas of his officers probed and teased ever more sensitive areas and his charge snowballed, Optimus suddenly hit overload, tensing and shouting as he arched and his hands clutched at the two smaller mechs. As his optics flared whitely and then died and his engine roared, declined to a purr and then stilled, the energy backwash pushed the other two closer to their own overloads, but not far enough to tip them into it.
"I-I suppose we should…get off and finish beside him," Prowl managed to say.
"W-why, Prowl?" asked Jazz. "He's b-big enough and comfortable enough that we can finish here."
Prowl's optics widened as he reached for Jazz: the thought of interfacing on top of Optimus as if he was a living berth had a certain arousing quality to it, and he was not about to argue. He doubted Optimus would mind much, if at all, and, twisting to one side, brought his hands down to caress one of Jazz's antenna with one, and caress the other top wheel with his other. Jazz for his part drew the hand in Optimus' seam out and reached up to caress the sensor-chevron on Prowl's forehead. The other hand he left in Prowl's seam, continuing to stimulate the interesting structured his skilled digits found. He removed his glossa from Optimus' valve and twisted his head up, seeking a kiss, and only then found he was too low down in relation to Prowl's head.
He cursed softly, craning his head up futilely: Prowl laughed gently, slid the hand on the wheel to Jazz's back, and drew him up, pulling him up and close, close enough so they finally could lock derma in a kiss that was equally passionate on both sides.
As Jazz found a sensitive part of the chevron, Prowl growled deep into Jazz's mouth as they touched glossas and explored each other's mouths with heated abandon. As they moaned into each other's mouths, hands moved from teasing to embracing, holding and grabbing at each other, each thrum of their respective engines pushing their charge higher.
Just as their overload hit them simultaneously, a slight shift beneath them told them that Optimus was rebooting. Again, the bigger mech didn't stand a chance: still sensitised by his earlier overload, the backwash from the two mechs on top of him pushed him straight into a second overload. Together, the three of them overloaded, the energy wash from all three magnifying each mech's own, and forcing all three into shutdown.
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It was Prowl who roused first, and he eased himself off Optimus and checked both Jazz and his leader.
Judging by the degree of relaxation of Optimus's servos and the gentle hum from his recharging systems, it would be some time before he roused again: he must have already been in need of rest, for his body had skipped rebooting and gone straight into recharge, a full, deep recharge, not the light first-stage shutdown sometimes utilised when there was less than a joor available or duty might necessitate the mech in question to need to rouse suddenly.
Jazz, however, seemed to still have energy: as Prowl watched, Jazz's optics unshuttered and he smiled and reached for Prowl again. Smiling, Prowl shook his head, motioning him off Optimus and pointing to the fully-shuttered optics. Jazz nodded, sliding off both Optimus and the desk.
"I think we should leave our Leader to his well-earned recharge, don't you?" Prowl asked.
"Ya want us ta stop?" Jazz asked, disappointment colouring his tone.
"No, not at all, I've got the energy to continue if you have, "Prowl said. "I was more thinking of finding somewhere else to let Prime reboot in his own time and not be woken by our antics."
"Ya got an idea for a place?" Jazz asked. Prowl smiled.
"I know this base, Jazz and you don't. I can think of several dozen places, and I think we should try them all."
"Then what are ya waiting for? Lead the way!" Jazz said.
Grinning, Prowl beckoned and moved to the door of Optimus' office, and Jazz obediently followed.