Have you ever had that sudden urge of inspiration to write something and had to sit down and write it all out or else it was never going to leave you alone? Well, this crack-drabble-thing is exactly that. I wrote it in one sitting for the pure pleasure and insanity of it. XD It has nothing to do with anything, it's just some wonderful hot robot-sex to tease and flirt and bring a smile to your faces. ^_^
Review if you like lemon and crack pie! 8D
You Missed a Spot
The day had been long. Far too long for his liking. Their most recent scrape with the Decepticons had been hard, damages dealt to both side with no particular winner. And to make the current circumstances ever more cheerful, it had been raining nonstop for the past three weeks. Any and all possible battles were fought in at least three feet worth of mud.
Prowl was currently covered in muck, thoroughly dented from his run in with the Seekers on the battlefield, and feeling so exhausted that he was tempted to forego the wash racks until he could get some good recharge first. The only reason he was awake now, at the godforsaken hour of three forty-seven in the damn morning, was because he had had a report longer than he was tall to write up. Smokescreen had so kindly left it to him to write. Prowl, being the kind of mech who could not let something like that sit for long without its presence bothering him exponentially, had finished it and submitted it with stoic alacrity, though he also submitted a side note suggesting Optimus Prime speak with a certain gambling Datsun over his shirking of duties.
With the report-from-the-pit now done, Prowl was left in the middle of a hall, still covered in mud, debating which way he should turn. The wash racks were closer, and he would be able to slough off the copious amounts of mud now crusted to him like a second armour. His quarters, though farther away, offered the sanctity of his berth and a few good hours passed out on it.
Perhaps it was his exhaustion that was making it difficult to think. Or it very well could have been the blow to his head Thundercracker had so helpfully delivered during their earlier fight that was offsetting his logic circuits. Whatever the case, Prowl invariably chose the wash racks. Not exactly confident that he would make it there walking, he collapsed into his alt mode and rolled there at a speed barely faster than a crawl. Flakes of dried mud chipped off as he moved, leaving a trail behind him for the cleaning drones to follow. By the time he managed to drag his tired aft to the wash racks' door, he barely had enough strength to pull himself upright again. The idea of standing up long enough to wash himself seemed more daunting than it had when he first decided to come.
"I'm here now… might as well not waste the effort," he sighed.
Stepping under the nearest showerhead, he set the water for the highest temperature possible and let the spray wash over him. Nothing in his entire life had ever left so good. Hot water cascaded down his metal in steaming rivulets, breaking up the mud, sloughing off even his awful exhaustion. As the boiling water hit the cold tile floors, steam erupted in thick, billowing clouds. Soon enough the whole open area of the wash racks became a saturated world of swirling, damp white. Condensation quickly gathered on every surface where the humid steam touched, leaving everything damp and warm.
Prowl braced his hands against the wall and leaned into the spray, letting it run down his face. He tilted his head back and felt the water run down his neck, down his chest, across his abdomen. So good. Normally there was nothing but cold water left after every other Autobot had had their turn in the wash racks. Prowl was usually left to the discomfort of ice baths, or if he was desperate enough, he would go to the car washes in town, though that would only result in teasing from the other Autobots. He was not normally so desperate, but knew from the lamenting of comrades that the razing some bots came under from using one of the human facilities could be quite disconcerting. It was rare that the tactician ever had a proper hot shower, let alone one held in perfect seclusion. It was a very rare treat that he was not about to be ungrateful for.
He groaned his appreciation. A long, low rolling groan that became swallowed in the steam.
Honestly, there was nothing quite as relaxing as a hot shower after a long, hard day. As the water ran over him, he felt chronic tension slowly leak away. He rolled his shoulders, flexing his doorwings in the same movement. It was ultimately freeing to be able to let go of the hardships of the day, even for only the limited time of a shower. He raised his arms above his head and gave his whole body a good, healthy stretch, listening with private satisfaction as his spinal column cracked back into place. Yes, that had been exactly what he needed.
Again he groaned in pure pleasure, uninhibited in his outward displays when he knew he was alone to enjoy them.
Even the act of running a washcloth across his metal was pleasing. He took more time than he usually would, wasting more water than he would normally deem appropriate, simply to prolong the glorious feeling. By the time the last trace of mud was rinsed away and his conscience would no longer permit him to waste anymore hot water, Prowl had caught his second wind. He was far more awake and alert than he had been before. Not that he was ready to face another work shift without proper rest, but he no longer felt the need to drag his feet. He could hold his head up. He could confidently walk his way back to his quarters.
He reached for the taps to turn off the spray, though was impeded by a voice cutting through the steam.
"You missed a spot."
Jerking away from the taps, Prowl spun around to search for the intruder. A dark shape materialized through the billows of white. Gold paint glinted under the warm lights. Sunstreaker's smirk coalesced before any other feature on his face.
Prowl immediately schooled his features. "How long have you been there?"
Sunstreaker let his easy smirk stretch into a Cheshire grin that was somewhat challenging and a little too hungry.
"Not too long," he said with a slow shrug. "You were occupied enough that you weren't noticing much."
The tactician pressed his mouth into a thin line, trying to hide any outward sign of embarrassment. "You should have announced your presence."
"Should have, but I didn't." Sunstreaker continued to watch Prowl with ice-coloured optics that simmered with something more than his usual contempt for the world.
Prowl took an involuntary step backwards, feeling uncharacteristically exposed. Sunstreaker tracked the movement and grinned wider. Too much like a predator. Not one to put up with intimidation tactics, especially from the likes of Sunstreaker, Prowl forced himself to halt, and then tilted his chin up and narrowed his gaze.
"What are you doing here at all? It's quarter to five in the morning."
The Lamborghini offered yet another deceivingly easy shrug. "Best time to get in the wash racks. Got all the hot water to myself." His optics traced down Prowl's frame slowly, taking his time with the details; by the time he met the tactician's gaze again, Prowl felt thoroughly on edge again for a completely different reason than before. "Looks like you took your sweet share of it, though. Definitely worth it."
"Yes, and I am also done here, so if you'll excuse me?" Optics flashing, he tried to bypass the golden Autobot for a quick escape. Unfortunately, he was going to have no luck against a mech with faster reflexes and a mean streak a mile long. One long-fingered hand captured his arm and halted his escape.
"You missed a spot," repeated the melee warrior, one optic ridge raised in amusement.
"I find that highly unlikely," Prowl replied with an edge of warning. The Lamborghini was not about to take the hint.
"Unlikely, but possible, Prowler. Here, let me get it for you…" Freeing Prowl's arm, Sunstreaker stole the washcloth dangling forgotten in the tactician's grip. "All you gotta do is turn around."
Prowl defiantly stepped away. "No, thank you. I am sufficient enough at cleaning myself." He held his hand out in demand for his cloth back. "If you would please indicate where the spot is, I can get it myself."
"You're so uptight." Though, the way he said it, the fact was more like a challenge than anything else. He stepped closer, and this time Prowl did not move away. There was stubbornness in the tactician's optics, which Sunstreaker found he liked. He was turned on by the strangest things so early in the morning; all those delicious sounds the Datsun had been making earlier paired with the challenge he was making of himself now was proving to be a rather tempting package. It helped nothing that it had been too long since he had had been with anyone. And though most were careful never to admit it, Prowl himself was a classically handsome mech, in his own strange, silent sort of way.
"You're out of line," Prowl warned, tensing warily.
"No, I'm not." Faster than what the tactician could counter, Sunstreaker pinned him to the tile wall. "Now I am," he purred in Prowl's audios.
"Release me now-ah!" What had been meant as a serious order ended on a breathless exclamation as one golden arm snaked around him, sensation suddenly erupting through his neural wires as cloth rubbed against the sensitized sensors of his doorwings. The sudden surprise assault of sensation had his knees give out from under him. To add to the humiliation, Sunstreaker saw it fit to catch him with the arm still wrapped around him. That damned grin on his handsome face was probably as permanent now as it was hungrily interested. A predator who had caught his prey.
"So uptight," the Lamborghini admonished on a purr, his arm cinching a fraction tighter. "I'm only trying to help." His other arm came around, taking control of the cloth as so to direct a path across one doorwing, dipping down the curve of Prowl's back, and then up again to smooth across his other doorwing. "See? Is that so bad?"
Prowl exhaled, trying to regain control of his fraying wits. What he heard come out his mouth surprised even himself- "No, not bad at all." Slightly breathless. Low. Surprised, maybe? No, aroused.
"Good," Sunstreaker murmured, icy optics glinting. With a flick of his hand, the water came back on. Hot rivulets of water ran down them both, slicking their metal. Steam bathed the room, swirling over and around them. It was not just the room that was heating up. It was them.
Clever hands ran across his back, delved into the secret little places. He was too knowledgeable of all the places to touch. Too good at watch he was doing. Prowl gasped, arching into the golden body that curved over him. His hands clenched Sunstreaker's shoulders, scrabbled at his sides. The wild contact seemed to be enough for the warrior. He growled heatedly. The vibrations travelled straight through him and resonated in Prowl. Long, sharp, smart fingers dipped into the open slates connecting his doorwings to his back, and the Datsun cried out from the pleasure of it.
"H-how did you know?" he managed to stammer weakly as Sunstreaker let his hands fall away to a safer region.
"Bluestreak," growled the Lamborghini. "He likes to be touched there. I was curious if it was the same for you."
"It's a design quirk," Prowl groaned. He raised his arms to Sunstreaker's fins and cupped his hands around them so that his fingers met the crevice where the handsome fins met his head. He stroked the crevice, illiciting a long, guttural groan of appreciation from the mech.
"Damn," Sunstreaker growled the moment his mind caught up with himself. "You know how to give just as good as you take."
"I've had others before you with similar frame models," the Datsun said, running his hands down Sunstreaker's slick sides. The Lamborghini really was a handsome mech was he wasn't scowling or cursing or causing trouble. Albeit, he was causing trouble now, but not the kind Prowl couldn't handle.
"You're full of surprises." Golden hands returned to Prowl's body, tracing every sleek, alluring detail. Where Sunstreaker loved to play most was Prowl's doorwings. The mech was just so damn sensitive! And so vocal about it, too! Who would have guessed quiet, repressed Prowl would have had such a wanton streak in him? It was enough to turn any mech on.
Chest-to-chest, the vibrations of each others' bodies as the revved towards the inevitable climax only served to coil them tighter, send them higher. Their coolant fans whirred, coolant in their lines heating as arousal peaked. The floor became too slick to support their grappling, so they slid down into the wafts of steam. Prowl's back was pushed to the wall, Sunstreaker pinning him there with barely restrained aggression. They grinded harder now, wild in reckless abandon as they let the sensate feelings take them. Were it not for the water continuing to cascade around them, there would have been sparks erupting between their clashing armour.
Pleasure coiled deep inside them. Tension built. Hands began to spasm as the scrambled against each other, giving and taking in a mindless, panting, groaning, grinding way. The heat of the water combined with the liquid fire rising in their frames turned the world to a distant haze. All that mattered was the others' hands touching, moving; the feeling of heat and pleasure erupting with every touch, every caress.
Their groans mingled in the steam. Growls vibrated hungrily off the tiled walls. Their revving engines were hot and desperate for completion. As the water kissed them now, not only did it steam from its own heat, but it evaporated off of them as well. They were heated to the point where their cooling fans whined and warning signs appeared in their vision warning of imminent overload.
Sunstreaker mouthed along Prowl's exposed neck, nipping at straining tension wires.
Prowl arched into the golden body wrapped over him, his hands continuing to play with the Lamborghini's fins.
They were so close.
And then the golden mech's hands found Prowl's doorwings again just as the tactician raked his fingers down Sunstreaker's with the right amount of pleasure mingling with pain. They both shattered. Ecstasy raced through them. Their frames arched into serpentine shapes, writing in the multihued rapture exploding behind their tightly shuttered optics. Their mouths opened wide to scream, but no sound came out save for a stunned keening by their straining internals.
When the finally came crashing back into themselves, their water had long since turned cold and the steam had billowed away. They were left on the floor of the wash racks feeling utterly satisfied and vaguely in awe of the other.
"Thank you," Prowl intoned suddenly when he could think of nothing else to say. He could think of no proper exchange after such a passionate tryst in a public area.
Sunstreaker stared, blinked, and then chuckled. "Anytime," he said, sitting up to turn off the water. "Any-damn-time."
They helped each other to their feet, finding both their legs unsteady now. Prowl was quite confident he was as clean as he could physically be now, so had no qualms about returning to his quarters. Sunstreaker was already a spotless image of perfection, so he was not so put upon by the idea that he was missing out on a proper morning cleaning; the trade off was well worth it.
Pausing before they went their separate ways to their quarters, Prowl inclined his head to the golden warrior.
"If you ever have a spot you've missed or can't quite reach…"
Sunstreaker smirked. "I'll know exactly who to call."