Very, very short. Inspired by another fiction that I've read. (Not about these two)
Bumblebee slowly, silently, walked to his room after everyone had long since gone to recharge. He slid the door to his room closed as softly as he could, then made his way to his berth. He moved so that his back was against the wall, and he parted his legs slightly, sitting silently for a few moments to make sure the entire base was completely silent. Satisfied, he slowly moved a hand between his legs, pushing the palm of his right servo against his southern port, shuddering at the sensations the simple touch had ignited. He slid open the entryway to his port, and dipped a finger into the cavity, subconsciously brushing past neglected wires, making him let out a squeak-like moan.
He hadn't been touched in so long, he was sure his overload would come quickly, so he tried to make the most out of it. He pushed another finger in, and glanced down, imagining a large, wheat-brown and black-plated hand in place of his own. The thought alone sent a tremor down his spinal plating, and a gentle sigh escaped his lips as he let his head fall back against the wall. He pushed his fingers further inward, and found a cluster of wires Bumblebee knew were especially sensitive. He pulled against them and had to bite his other servo to keep him quiet. He continued running his fingers along sensitive cavity walls, wires and cables with one hand, while the other trailed up his side and across his chest, hindering against sensorial seams and areas.
He let a groan pass through his dental plating, his face contorting into a look of utter pleasure. He felt his overload coming on quickly, and his spark chamber doors slid open, revealing his highly-charged, glowing spark that nearly lit up the entire room.
He quickly replaced his fingers with his thumb, imagining a grey face dipping down between his legs, glossa darting out to finish Bumblebee off. The vision alone was enough to send Bumblebee over the edge, and with one last, gentle brush of his thumb, and a buck of his hips, his spark burst into a blinding show of light, forcing Bumblebee to remove his hand from between his legs in order to stifle the scream that erupted from him as an intense discharge of pleasure sent him convulsing with every pulse of his spark. As his overload died down, leaving behind the afterglow that he was waiting for, Bumblebee let out several pleasured gasps, and somewhere mixed in, a name was whispered. Begged for. Moaned. Thanked.
And outside of Bumblebee's door, a second mech leaned, desperately trying to hear more of those wonderful sounds, as if it would get him closer to the bot making them. But when the sounds died away, and the light that had seeped from beneath the door had dissipated, that mech was left there, forehead against the door, hands flat on the walls on either side of it, wishing he had actually been the one in that room. Silently, the mech promised that he would be the one making Bumblebee moan his name the next time.
Bumblebee would plead for Prowl, and Prowl would be there providing everything Bumblebee begged for.
Story completed 7-2-09