TFSC PJ IR
Pairing: Red Alert X Inferno, Prowl X Jazz
Universe: G1, or whatever you like
Notes: IMPORTANT PLEASE READ. I want you to have a good understanding of the setting. :3
The command deck of The Ark is unique. The security consoles are in a room next door to the command deck instead of being a part of it (because of Red Alert. He practically lives there).
If you're standing the corridor outside the command deck:
Straight ahead - door to command deck
Door to the right of the command deck - Optimus' office
Door to the left of the command deck - Security console room
Door to the right of Optimus' office - Jazz's office
Door to the left of the security console room - Prowl's office.
Here we go. :3
"Oh Primus- Inferno!"
Inferno growled triumphantly into Red Alert's throat at the impassioned cry. Inferno had done his best to coax the Security Director out of the security room, but when that had failed, Inferno channelled his energy at pleasuring Red Alert there instead. He'd managed to get Red Alert to shed the layers of facades he wore, and was exuberant when Red Alert's cold exterior had cracked and the wanton mech within had emerged.
Red Alert's helm thunked back on the wall that Inferno was interfacing him into, giving him more access to his throat. Inferno suckled on Red Alert's lines, glossa teasingly swiping over the turgid energon line.
"C'mon. Harder-!" Red Alert ground out, squirming frustratedly at his lack of leverage. Inferno happily complied, his hands slipping from under Red Alert's thighs to cup his aft. Red Alert locked his legs together, heels digging into Inferno's lower back. Inferno pounded into Red Alert, the smaller mech's aft banging into the wall on every thrust.
"Oh yes..." Red Alert moaned in ecstasy. "Give it to me, Inferno..."
"You're so hot, Red..." Inferno panted, his cable pistoning in Red Alert's port, which squeezed impossibly tight around his girth.
"Inferno-" Red Alert clenched his denta together, mimicking the movement of his port. "I'm coming... Inferno!"
"I'm coming..." -bang bang bang- "... Inferno!"
Prowl winced, losing his thought train for he umpteenth time that afternoon, no thanks to Red Alert and Inferno interfacing rambunctiously against the wall his office and the security room shared. He valiantly tried to ignore the din... And failed miserably. His codpiece was unbearably confining. His fingers twitched around the datapad in his hands as he concentrated on keeping them there, not really realizing that he wasn't reading the datapad anymore. Instead, he repeated a mantra in his processor: I will not I will not I will not-
Inferno's low pleasure filled moan, though muffled, tickled Prowl's audios, sending a shiver down his spine.
After a short battle with himself, Prowl sighed, his resolve crumbling. He locked his door and quietly set down his datapad, faceplates heating. Carefully, he lay back in his chair and reached down. He bit his lip when his thumb brushed over the red arrow on his black pelvic plating, then sighed in relief when he released his cable, which jumped to full pressure immediately, demanding release. Prowl stared at it in dismay, and then gingerly closed his fingers over it.
A gust of air hissed through his denta and he squeezed his optics shut. Carefully, he rested his thumb on the tip, and with a quick rub, pleasure coursed through his systems. He let the wave pass, then self-consciously, he glanced at the door, then down at the hand that was wrapped around his cable.
How inappropriate, Prowl thought, his lips twisting. This was his office, no less.
With a frustrated sigh, Prowl offlined his optics, let his helm rest on the back of his chair, and he began to pump his cable.
Prowl tried to keep his pace slow, but his body demanded more stimulation and soon, he was alternating between tensing up his whole frame and melting into his chair, one hand holding a death grip on his armrest while the other worked at his cable. His vents were coming in ragged pants, and he was spiralling deeper and deeper into a pleasure-filled haze, but something still wasn't quite right...
Prowl let his interface panel slide open, and he gasped as cool air washed over his port. He had been so turned on that even his port was eager for a cable filling it, and though that had bothered him at first, it now worked to his advantage as Prowl dipped two fingers into himself and coated them in the liberal amount of lubricant collected there. Quickly, he rubbed his fingers together, coating his palm in the fluid, then returned his attention to his cable. Ah- much better. His fingers slicked smoothly over the sensitive metal, and his pleasure spiked. Almost there...
Prowl had a split second warning when he heard the lock on his door click before Jazz bounded in.
Prowl hastily seized his datapad in his clean hand, hooking his heels into the insides of his desk and pulling himself closer to the desk. His fuel pump thudded hard and fast, and he forced his face into something resembling a calm and neutral expression. Oh slag...
Jazz stopped short of Prowl's desk, pursing his lips. Despite having a visor, Prowl could tell that he was frowning.
"Your door was locked so I overrode it," Jazz pointed out.
"Good afternoon, Jazz. How may I help you? If it's not important, I'm busy now so if you don't mind..." Prowl said politely, blatantly ignoring Jazz's statement. He silently willed his vents to slow... And for Jazz to go away and leave him in 'peace'.
Jazz scrutinized Prowl. He could easily tell that was something off about the tactician. Prowl's doorwings were tense, held a tiny bit too high, the colour of his optics was a shade too bright, and his grip on the datapad was too tight. Jazz strode right up to Prowl's desk. His palms landed on its surface with a loud thunk and Prowl sucked in a quick vent of air. Jazz leaned into Prowl's personal space, and in turn, Prowl leaned back instinctively. The tension in the air thickened.
Before either mech could say anything, though, a steady thump thump thumpstarted up, emanating from the accursedly thin wall, then-
Jazz shot an incredulous look at the wall, but he caught Prowl's involuntary shiver in his periphery and he fixed his gaze back on Prowl. Jazz looked a little closer. Prowl's cheeks had a hint of colour in them, and his doorwings were trembling faintly. A sudden thought occurred to the saboteur. Carefully, without moving his head, he glanced down.
Prowl got worried when the Jazz didn't move for a while. Blast that visor. I can't tell where he's looking...
Jazz's gaze fixed firmly downwards, optics glued to Prowl's gleaming, wet fingers and his painfully erect cable. Oh my... He's bigger than I thought. Jazz resisted the urge to lick his lips. He took a careful sniff, and there it was- the delicious, tangy scent of Prowl's lubricant.
There was a barely perceptible shift in Jazz's demeanour, and dread and embarrassment knotted in Prowl's tanks. Jazz knew. Prowl was never going to live this down. He slumped a fraction deeper into his seat, and Jazz, fighting hard against the grin that threatened to split his face, asked bluntly, "are you getting off?"
"I- what- but-" Prowl spluttered, energon rushing to colour his cheeks. Without even waiting for a proper answer, Jazz leapt up onto Prowl's table, predatory and feline, and the next moment, he was in Prowl's lap. The momentum pushed the chair back, and it rolled across the floor to hit the wall with a loud bang, the impact jarring Prowl. Jazz rolled with it, however, and his hands closed around Prowl's slick spike, rubbing it and halting it's depressurization. Prowl's hands flew to Jazz's shoulders, his optics offlining in pleasure.
"Ooh..." he gasped. Damn, Jazz was good. The saboteur's black fingers tightened up and down Prowl's cable in a wave-like motion, thumb busy teasing the slit on the cable's head.
Somehow, Jazz managed to get Prowl out of the chair and onto the floor, his back up against thatwall. Prowl barely paid the thumps any heed, though, because Jazz squirmed down Prowl's body, regretfully letting go of Prowl's cable but quickly taking it into his mouth. His head bobbed between Prowl's thighs, glossa zigzagging over the bottom of the cable and swirling over the leaking tip. Prowl's hands clenched and unclenched against the floor.
Prowl gasped helplessly when Jazz teasingly flicked two fingers in and out of his dripping, flexing port, the electrical charge building and making Jazz's fingertips and tongue tingle... Then Prowl overloaded violently, valve clamping around Jazz's three fingers which he thrust in at the last moment, hot transfluid spurting from Prowl's cable into Jazz's waiting and hungry mouth. Prowl's helm thunked back against the wall as he arched. A primal sound of release was ripped from him, and his lips unconsciously shaped into the designation of the mech whose head was busy between his thighs-
Inferno's good-natured laughter could be heard through the wall. Absolutely mollified, Prowl pressed his face into Jazz's shoulder as the saboteur reached over with a chuckle and rapped his knuckles on the wall.
"We're not done yet," he called teasingly.
"What?" Prowl protested weakly, trying to sound indignant despite the fuzziness of post-coital bliss in his processor. "I... Ah. Ahhhhhh..."
Prime happily headed to his office after a good long chat with Ironhide, energon cube in his hand. He frowned as he heard some bangs and clangs coming from the end of the corridor and checked the schedule- the twins were on monitor duty in the command deck. Tsk-ing, Prime strode into the command deck... Only to find it silent, both red and yellow Lamborghinis working diligently at their stations.
Naturally, Prime was stunned.
Sideswipe looked up.
"Oh Prime," he smiled sweetly, putting Optimus instantly ill at ease. "What brings you here?"
Sunstreaker sullenly looked over his shoulder and, spotting Prime, his scowl morphed into a knowing smirk and he turned back to his work with a quiet and sinister chuckle.
"But... Where's all the noise coming from?" Prime asked, confused.
A black hand landed on a glossy, red, Lamborghini chest-plate.
"You thought it was us?" Sideswiped gasped in indignation, fighting a Cheshire grin. "Of course not! We're working very hard here, aren't we, Sunny?"
"Mmph." Sunstreaker nodded his assent.
"I'm so hurt you thought it was us, Prime."
"But... Where's all the noise coming from?" Prime repeated his question.
Sideswipe's lips curled into a mischievous smile.
"From the offices, of course."
Warily, Prime backed out of the command deck. He automatically reached to knock on Jazz's door before he realised that the noise was coming from behindhim.
He turned and disbelievingly stared at the doors of the offices belonging to the most rigid, stick-up-the-aft, rule/regulation/protocol-loving mechs on the ship.
"Mm-mm... You taste great, Prowler..."
"Anf- ah- Jazz please-! I can't take it anymore... Jazz! Oh Jazz..."
"You're so hot like that, Red... Bent over the table for me..."
"I-Inferno... I think I'm going to-! Ahhhhhh..."
Prime's jaw dropped behind his battle mask, and his processor stuttered to a stop.
Ratchet burst into the mess hall, searching for the red mech.
"Ratchet!" Ironhide waved, perplexed at Ratchet's unusually flustered behaviour. "What's going on?"
"Have you seen Prime?" He skidded to a halt before Ironhide, puffing with exertion.
"Ah just had a drink with him before he left for the command deck. Why?"
Ratchet scowled. "He's very late for a routine check-up and he hasn't been answering his comm. On top of that, between giving him pings on his comm. frequency, I've been checking his locator beacon and he's been standing outside the command deck for the past half an hour." Suddenly, his gaze sharpened and he pinned Ironhide with a suspicious stare. "You didn't put anything in his energon, did you?"
"Hey now," Ironhide protested, raising his hands in a placating gesture. "Why would I do something like that for?"
Ratchet sighed, rolling his optics skywards. "You tell me. Anyway, I think he stalled or something. Mind helping me get him?"
"Not at all." Ironhide got up, stretched languorously (ignoring various cracks and pops that had Ratchet wincing) and headed out of the rec room.
They found Prime, frozen like a statue, outside the doors on the left side of the corridor, hand poised as if to press the buzzer on the door to Prowl's office. His optics were the colour of what humans called 'the blue screen of death'.
Ratchet swept a scanner over Prime and Ironhide waved a hand in front of Prime's face.
"He seems to have stalled." Ratchet opens a panel at the back of Prime's head and fiddled around a bit. "Ironhide- wanna get those doors open? I think what's behind them is the cause."
"Sure thing." Ironhide began to key in his override codes, but then... "Wait. Ain't these Prowl's and Red Alert's offices-?"
The doors slid open.
author's notes: ... So what happens next? You tell me. ;) If you've been getting tons of alerts for this story, I apologise because I have to keep re-submitting this because EATS UP MY ITALLICS AND LINES, DAMNIT! *ends rant*